The oyster-boat Bertha B lay off her pier at Bivalve, the great New Jersey oyster shipping centre. On either side of her were other craft of the oyster fleet, all packed together like cigars in a box, and all held fast to one another by stout hawsers, for the tide in the Maurice River was running out at a gallop, driven by a high northeast wind. Yet an observer could hardly have told whether one boat or a dozen lay off the pier, so dark was the November morning. Heavy clouds obscured the sky, hiding star and moon. Not the faintest sign of daybreak was yet visible in the east. A dense mist, that even in daylight would have made things appear uncertain and indistinct, drove before the high wind, chilling to the bone every one it touched.
For despite the early hour, the oystermen were astir. Lamps glowed in the snug cabins of the oyster-boats. Here and there a lantern bobbed mysteriously in the dark. Red and green lights were being hoisted in the ships' riggings, and white lights fastened astern of many vessels. Harsh voices were heard calling through the night. The heavy tramp of boots on wooden decks sounded here and there in the darkness. Now and again there was a sharp splash as some sailor dropped a bucket into the tide for water, or a heavy hawser was cast off. On every side was heard the sound of preparation; for the fleet was about to sail for the oyster grounds.
Suddenly the door of the Bertha B's cabin opened. A great shaft of yellow light shot athwart the darkness. Two figures emerged from the cabin.
"Hello, Jim," called one of them. There was no answer. After a moment's pause the speaker called again. This time he raised his voice to a great bellow and repeated his cry: "Hello, Jim!" The second call, magnified by the fog, went roaring through the fleet. Still there was no answer. "He ain't here, Cap," said the man who had called, to the figure by his side. "Maybe he went ashore to get some tobacco."
"Tobacco nothing!" exclaimed the other angrily. "The skunk got his breakfast and then snuk ashore. I ain't surprised. He looked like that kind o' cattle. Though he did work pretty darned good the three weeks we had him!"
The speaker, Captain Christopher Bagley, paused an instant. Then, "Scabby trick!" he exclaimed. "Leaves us deucedly short handed, and he knowed it. Better go ashore, George, and see if you can find him. If you can't, get anybody you can pick up. We got to have another hand."
The sailor, George Bishop, turned without a word and made his way ashore, ducking under ropes and rigging, stumbling over chains and dredges, and stepping carefully from boat to boat, until at last he reached the ship at the end of the pier. The tide was near ebb, and the sailor had to climb into the ship's rigging in order to get on the pier.
The huge shed skirting the shore was dimly lighted by electric lights; and the illumination from these faintly lighted the pier, along which the sailor was now making his way. A great pile of burlap sacks was heaped up near the centre of the pier, and behind these, like a windbreak, stood a long row of barrels, piled one above another, and at least three tiers deep. But the sailor took no note of these things. His glance roved hither and thither through the great shed and on the various piers, looking for a familiar form. Half-way across the pier, he met a fellow sailor.
"Hello, Tom!" he called. "Seen anything of Jim Hawley?"
"No. Did he give you the slip?"