Neil's family lived in Oakland, which is on the Lower Bay, not more
than six miles across the water from San Francisco. One day, while
scouting among the Chinese shrimp-catchers of Point Pedro, he
received word that his wife was very ill; and within the hour the
Reindeer was bowling along for Oakland, with a stiff northwest
breeze astern. We ran up the Oakland Estuary and came to anchor,
and in the days that followed, while Neil was ashore, we tightened
up the Reindeer's rigging, overhauled the ballast, scraped down,
and put the sloop into thorough shape.
This done, time hung heavy on our hands. Neil's wife was
dangerously ill, and the outlook was a week's lie-over, awaiting
the crisis. Charley and I roamed the docks, wondering what we
should do, and so came upon the oyster fleet lying at the Oakland
City Wharf. In the main they were trim, natty boats, made for
speed and bad weather, and we sat down on the stringer-piece of the
dock to study them.
"A good catch, I guess," Charley said, pointing to the heaps of
oysters, assorted in three sizes, which lay upon their decks.
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