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FOREST AND S 
guished from the steamboat oysterman are called small 
growers because they have to depend on small sloops with 
which to gather their crops. Through the summer 
months, when business is dull, it would be an easy mat- 
ter to obtain board on one of these boats at from $5 to $6 
per week. 
^ As oyster grounds need more or less attention all the 
time a great deal of sailing is done to and from them. It 
is on these occasions that the outer would have an oppor- 
tunity to acquire a knowledge of boat sailing. The 
owner or whoever happens to be in charge of the boat is 
never averse to taking it easy while some one else handles 
the tiller; to him it is work to handle the boat, not pleas- 
ure. A better school than this in which to learn small 
boat navigation it would be hard to find. There are oc- 
casions too when a good-natured oysterman is not averse 
to taking a day off himself, mayhap to pay a visit to some 
favorite fishing spot. An idea of what might be experi- 
enced on such an occasion may be gained from the fol- 
lowing experience of my own. I was then, however, not 
a boarder, but the guest of the owner of the boat, who 
has long since gone out of the oyster business. 
It was one of those balmy June mornings which seem 
to be made in order to entice those who labor away from 
their toil. Not the faintest sign of a breeze stirred the 
water as the sun rose out of the mirror-like bosom of Long 
Island Sound, causing the Connecticut shore to stand out 
in sharply defined banks of verdancy in the clear 
atmosphere. The distant shores of Long Island hung sus- 
pended, a mirage on the sky. Here and there an island 
seemed set like an emerald gem upon a sea of glass. A 
flock of ducks floating on the surface, in the magnifying 
atmosphere, looked more like a reef of black-headed rocks 
than like living things. The only moving objects to be 
seen were two or three steamers which, on account of the 
mirage, seemed to be steaming through the heavens. 
Such was the morning that Samuel Chard looked upon 
as he thrust his frowsy head through the companionway 
of the stanch Bloop Guiding Star, of Greenwichj Conn. 
After gazing around and sniffing the fresh air for an in- 
stant, Sam yawned, then sneezed and that settled every- 
body's chances for further sleep that day on the boats 
anchored in Indian Harbor. It also caused two other 
frowsy heads to appear in the companion way. One of 
these heads belonged to Sam's hired man, George; the 
other being a part of my own anatomy. 
"No wind, 'Skip' — no work to-day," said George,address- 
ing Sam with a grin of satisfaction. He knew that his 
wages would run on, whether he worked or not. 
"I don't care," said Sam. "If we should get some this 
afternoon though, we'll take a run over to the island and 
try to get a mess of eels. I'm eel hungry." , 
"Where will you find any eels over there?" asked 
George, who had evidently figured on|a day ashore. "Why, 
over in that creek that empties into the Sound at the end 
of Lloyd's Neck. We'll take some eelpots along and set 
them to night when the tide is out." 
It is unnecessary to tell how often I scanned the surface 
of the Sound that day for the first indication of wind. 
About 4 o'clock a light breeze sprung up out of the west 
and after getting our anchor, the Guiding Star, under 
mainsail and jib, glided out of the harbor into the waters 
of the Sound. 
The Guiding Star is rather a swell among oyster 
sloops; she is about 45ft. on deck by 14ft. beam and will 
carry in the neighborhood of 1,000 bushels of oysters. 
Although she was built in 1876 her timbers and planking 
appear almost new to-day. Like most boats of her class, 
her cabin is placed well aft, so as to give plenty of deck 
room forward. She carries a mainsail, topsail and jib. 
With a capable man at the tiller she is as able as most 
centerboard boats are. 
When the wind came the sail across the Sound was de- 
lightful; the air was soft and balmy, and there was just 
enough of it to round out the sails of such craft as de- 
pended on the wind for propulsion. It was in the neigh- 
borhood of 6 o'clock when we anchored in the Sound to 
the west of and close to the point that forms Lloyd's 
Neck. After furling our sails we got out the eelpots and 
putting them into the skiff we started for the shore. The 
creek, in which it was our intention to set the eelpots, 
flowed but a short distance from where we landed. After 
landing we carried the eelpots to the banks of the creek, 
and as the tide was out we each took as many as we could 
carry, and wading into the creek clothes and all, we 
commenced to set them. It took nearly an hour to set 
all of them. It was 7:15 when we got aboard the sloop 
again. After putting on some dry clothes I went on deck 
to watch the sunset. 
Could I live to be as old as Methuselah I would always 
remember that evening. As the king of day sank in his 
rosy bed back of the shores of Westchester county he 
traversed the heavens with delicate tinted rainbow 
paths, which, rising higher and higher into infinite space, 
seemed to mingle, then melt, among the pale worlds 
which were beginning to flash their twinkling presence 
on the advancing night. The softest zephyr whispered 
through the rigging a low accompaniment to the com- 
plaining sob of the surf rolling on the point. To add to 
the soothing sensation imparted by the rhythmical cour- 
tesy ing of the sloop as she gently rose and fell on the 
smooth waves, the aroma of baking biscuit, steaming 
coffee and roasting oysters came forth from the cabin to 
fill my nostrils. 
Just as the lighthouse on Captain's Island flashed its 
first warning gleam the cry of "Supper's ready" put an 
end to my dreaming. I can't do that supper justice, so I 
shall not try. When the dishes were washed and put 
away we lounged on the deck, smoked and spun yarns 
until well into the night, then taking a final look to see 
that all was right and that the riding light burned as it 
should we turned in. 
Smash— slam — bang— crash! "Ugh! where am I?" I 
soon find out, as, rising suddenly in my bunk, I fetch my 
head a thump against the under side of the deck. 
The sun is streaming through the cabin windows, but 
what a change from the peaceful night before. A gale 
of wind is blowing right out of the north and the Guid- 
ing Star is pitching her bowsprit into some of the seas. 
Another crash of pans and kettles causes Sam and George 
to tumble out on the double-quick. 
Hastily slipping into our clothes, we hurried on deck to 
find a nasty condition of affairs. The Sound was covered 
with whitecaps and it was becoming worse every minute. 
We could not have anchored in a worse place had we 
tried. 
Hurriedly tying a double reef in the mainsail, we turn- 
