The Young Wireless Operator—With the Oyster Fleet / How Alec Cunningham Won His Way to the Top in the Oyster Business

by Lewis E. Theiss

As the days lengthened and winter drew near to spring, there was more activity in the oyster fleet. Planters began to inquire for shells. Farmers began to bring loads of stakes with which to mark the oyster-beds afresh. Boats were overhauled. Propellers were removed from power craft or boxed in such a way as to render them useless, for the law prohibited any power boats from going on the natural oyster-beds. Nothing but sails could be used in dredging seed-oysters.

Then at last came the planting season itself, the great event in the oysterman's year. From far and wide a huge fleet assembled. Every boat that could still carry a sail and drag a dredge joined the assembly. The river was fairly jammed with oyster-boats. At every pier ship after ship made fast until the rows of boats extended far out into the stream. The piers themselves took on new life. Now they fairly hummed with activity. Ships were freshly provisioned. New supplies of all sorts were brought aboard. Chains and dredges were examined and stowed in the holds. Great crews were recruited, double or triple the size of the crews ordinarily carried. From miles around came every able-bodied man to join the fleet. Ships were continually passing to and from oyster-beds, where new stakes were being put down and everything possible done in advance to get ready for the actual planting.

Then came the great day, the first of May. On the afternoon before, ship after ship cast loose and headed for the oyster grounds. Now Alec saw a sight that stirred his blood and made his heart beat faster. Down the river went the fleet, ship after ship, dozens, scores, hundreds of them, heeling in the wind, their sails shining in the sun, like a wondrous flock of huge, white birds.

Like schoolboys on a lark were the men aboard these ships. Like Alec, they had chafed at their enforced idleness. The feeling of spring was in their blood. The spirit of fun was abroad among them. Laughter rose from every deck. Across the water voice called to voice. Old friends greeted one another across the dancing waves. Skipper hailed skipper. To right and left challenges were flung, and boat after boat picked up her heels to prove her master's assertion that she was faster than her neighbor. A dozen races were staged at once.

So the fleet proceeded, like a great covey of birds, out of the sheltering river and into the open Bay. Across the oyster-beds raced the rolling vessels, now spread out in wide array, pressing on and on until they joined their fellows who had come before, and dropped their anchors at the very side of the Southwest Line, where the state had said, "Thus far and no farther, shalt thou go."

Now Alec witnessed a sight that thrilled him as few things in all his life had done. Nightfall found practically every ship in the fleet anchored near the line. North, east, south, and west of the Bertha B oyster-boats lay at rest. Aloft a white light glimmered on every ship. And as the boats moved ever so slightly in the gentle swell, these lamps aloft swayed slowly back and forth, as though signalling one to another. The weather was balmy, the night was lighted by a radiant moon. The gentlest of breezes sighed through the rigging. The beauty of the night drew Alec on deck as irresistibly as a powerful magnet draws a piece of steel. For a time he stood by the ship's rail, looking at the gently heaving water, studying the swirls in the tide, as they shone and sparkled in the moonlight, listening to the gentle slap! slap! slap! of the waves against the oaken sides of the Bertha B.

From her cabin, and from the cabins of sister ships arose the sound of laughter, the noise of raucous voices. In the calm and holy beauty of the night they seemed out of place. To Alec's sensitive soul they were as discordant as the rasping tones of a horse fiddle. He wanted to get away from them, where he could drink in the beauty of the scene undisturbed; where he could steep himself in the spirit of the night. So he clambered up the rigging and perched himself on the crosstrees.

Now he was like one in a tower. He could see far and wide. Beneath him the white ships, huddled together, made him think of a flock of sheep, herded for the night. And afar off on the dancing water Alec saw the laggards of the flock hastening toward the fold. Like little white specks they seemed in the far distance. Then, as they drew nearer and nearer, their sails seemed to grow larger and larger, until suddenly they appeared gigantic. With majestic flight, like the sweep of darting gulls, they bore to right or left, seeking their places of rest. Then came the faint splash of anchors, the rattling sound of tackle blocks as the great white wings were lowered, and presently peace.

One by one the cabin lamps were doused, until only sailing lights shone throughout the fleet. One by one the raucous voices were stilled, and peace enfolded the nestling ships as a hen hovers above her little ones. Still Alec sat in the crosstrees, watching the swaying lights, studying the swirling waters, peering along the moon's broad path of gold that seemed to lead straight from the little fleet to the Shepherd keeping watch above.

When or how Alec got to bed he never knew. It seemed to him as though he had only just turned in when he heard Dick punching up the fire. In a moment he was afoot, for this was no time for laggards. It was well enough to dream in the moonlight, when the day's work was done; but this was the time for action, the time to turn his dreams into something tangible. For before them lay the prize, free for the taking the moment the sun's rising disc should touch the horizon. He who would grasp it must be ready.