crew, and departed in the night with a pair of blankets belonging
to me. During the night, while the oyster pirates lay stupefied
in their bunks, the schooner and the Reindeer floated on the high
water and swung about to their anchors. The salmon boat, still
filled with rocks and water, rested on the bottom.

In the morning, early, I heard wild cries from the Reindeer, and
tumbled out in the chill grey to see a spectacle that made the
water-front laugh for days. The beautiful salmon boat lay on the
hard sand, squashed flat as a pancake, while on it were perched
French Frank's schooner and the Reindeer. Unfortunately two of
the Reindeer's planks had been crushed in by the stout oak stem of
the salmon boat. The rising tide had flowed through the hole, and
just awakened Nelson by getting into his bunk with him. I lent a
hand, and we pumped the Reindeer out and repaired the damage.

Then Nelson cooked breakfast, and while we ate we considered the
situation. He was broke. So was I. The fifty dollars reward
would never be paid for that pitiful mess of splinters on the sand
beneath us. He had a wounded hand and no crew. I had a burned
main sail and no crew.

"What d'ye say, you and me?" Nelson queried. "I'll go you," was
my answer. And thus I became partners with "Young Scratch"
Nelson, the wildest, maddest of them all. We borrowed the money
for an outfit of grub from Johnny Heinhold, filled our water-
barrels, and sailed away that day for the oyster-beds.