Warren sheaf. [volume] (Warren, Marshall County, Minn.) 1880-current, 1900-05-31

luOu - 5udSC3 uOuc the ndTQeSL ana
toughest sort Of laboriag.
Up! Up! At last the necks of the
dredges appeared above the gunwale
rollers. Up! Up! And they were on
deck, and their contents dumped out
in a heap. Then we fell on our knees
and commenced to separate as quick
~ as possible the oysters from the
loose shells, finging the oysters behind
us to form pile. Any extra shells tina.
were sticking to them were broken off
with our '.culling hammers AS soon
as we had got all the oysters out Of
the heap we quickly shoveled the
loose shells, the stone, and the sea-
weed overheard. ''Culling," as we
called the picking out of the oysters,
was sort of rest after the terror OF
the winding. By the time we had got
out all the oysters, or, usually. a little
before it, the captain had put the boat
about-so as to cross the oyster bed
again-and was ready to give the word
to heave the dredges overheard. Thus
we never got real breathing spell.
Again would come the terrible wind
lug, anu dSdlu NOu1O COlIc lut Gull
ing.
This awful work would continue
! without break up to shutdown, bar
ring a few moments we got to snatch
bite of food. At shutdown we made
fast to the dredges, washed up the
deck, and made for the nearest cove or
harbor. Arriving there, we let go the
anchor, and took in and furled the
sails. After that came supper, and
then we filed, wet, weary and detected,
into the fo'castle. The day was ended.
Still there were fine moments in the
life. as there are fine moments in all
lives, however sad or hard they may be.
1t was fine to stand on the foredeck of
the little schooner and feel her rushing
towards the harbor when our days
work was done. 1t gave one a sense Of
rest, a sense of peace The jib of the
schooner stood out like the wing of a
giant bat. used to think and wonder
about many things then. I used. to
wonder how long would be a dredger.
Though the life was hard, still in sort
of a way it appealed to me. Being
faced with grim iron facts has charm
of its own.
The dredgers lad saying that if
you ever once got the dredging mud on
you, you would always come back to
it again. And, indeed, there We're fell
lows who had been at it years and
years. At the beginning of every oys
ter season they would turn up in Bal
timore. and greet each other, and com
pare notes as to what they had been do
ing since the last season.
Often there were black tragedies in
the life. Bodies of men were found
floating in the bay. They had been
murdered and pitched overheard by
the captains and mates.
AS rule the captains were lot of
brutal DULLES. If man didn't have the
fighting instinct strong in him he was
very apt to get knocked about. II you
sailed down the bay with some cap
tains you had to be ready to go the
whole length of the rope. You had to
and give the whole blade of it into the
mate or captain who offered to strike
you. In no otherway could you keep
up your style as man. Fighting back
with your fists wouldn't be worth
rap You would be knocked fiat with
the butt of a revolver, and like enough
get the life kicked out of you. Some
captains used to have loaded revolvers
lying within grasp while the men were
actually working over the oyster bed.
There were laws, to be sure, against
the ili-using and killing of men, but the
laws didn't work.
a word as to the way we used to get
our food. First the captain and the
mate would eat. They, of course, would
have clean plates and clean knives and
forks. When they had finished eating,
two of the men would be called in, and
the cook would ladle out the food for
them on the plates that the captain
and the mate had just used. When
these had finished two more would be
called in, and SO on, TIL everyone on
board had eaten. During the whole
course of the meal the two plates and
the knives and forks would not be
washed. You had to eat from the
dirty plate of another man, or two
other men, OF four other men, as the
case may be. If you were out of favor
with the captain, you were kept till the
last. The idea was to take up as little
time as possible in eating, and save the
cook trouble.
remember getting into a row over
this custom on one boat I was on. The
cookwas called Scotty. He was mean
looking little sailor man, with
SCARED face and hard eyes. Hewas the
captains toady. But for all that, he
was stout, hard little block of a fell
low, who would fight till he dropped.
For some reason or another, he didn't
like me, andI didn't like him. We used
to scowl at.each other now and then.
One morning came aft into the cabin
for breakfast believe it was one of
the Last two men-and suddenly a
sense of revolt seized me at the sight of
the dirty plate | had to eat off. Why
should be dog any more, I thought?
Why shouldn't l have a clean plate like