184 THE OYSTER. 



not dull. As midnight approached, men dressed in 

 oilskin, and carrying oars, paddles, rakes and tongs, 

 collected all along the shore, where a crowd of women 

 and children assembled to see the fun. Every sort of 

 craft was prepared for action, and they lined the whole 

 margin of the river and harbor on each side in 

 thick array. As the 'witching hour' drew near, the 

 men took their seats with much hilarity and nerved 

 their arms for a few moments' vigorous work. No eye 

 could see the face of the great church clock on the 

 hill, but lanterns glimmered upon a hundred watch- 

 dials and then were set down, as onlv a coveted 

 minute remained. There was a hush in the merriment 

 along the shore, an instant's calm, and then the great 

 bell struck a deep-toned peal. It was like an electric 

 shock. Backs bent to oars and paddles churned the 

 water. From opposite banks, waves of boats leaped 

 out and advanced towards one another in the dark- 

 ness, as though bent on mutual annihilation. * The 

 race was to the swift ' and every stroke was the mighti- 

 est. Before the twelve blows upon the loud bell liad 

 ceased their reverberations, the oyster-beds had been 

 reached, tongs were scraping the long-rested bottom, 

 and the season's campaign upon the Quinepiac had 

 begun. In a few hours the crowd upon some beds 

 would be such that the boats were pressing close to- 

 gether. They were all compelled to move along as 

 one, for none could resist the pressure of the multitude. 

 The more thickly covered beds were quickly cleaned 

 of their bivalves. The boats were full, the wagons 

 were full, and many had secured what they called • 

 their * winter's stock ' before the day was done, and 



