Heave short!

Front matter

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Foreword

The title of this book is an order used by sea¬ faring men in getting a ship under way. When hoisting the sail, the anchor chain is pulled up until the anchor is directly under the bow, but still on the bottom. With the anchor still holding, the filling sails will not cause the ship to yaw, and thus interfere with the work. After the sails are hoisted, then the anchor is raised quickly to the bows and the ship is off. So, I have chosen “Heave Short,” signifying that we are ready to start: according to the mariner’s lingo, “Heave Short, H’ist the jibs, and fill away.”

To William Lewis Parsons, Esq., I am deeply grateful for certain legal information, which he has so kindly given me.

C. P. D.

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I Sam Hotchkiss Arrives at Saquoit . i II The Eastern Shellfish Company . 17

III The New Sailboat.23

Chapter I Sam Hotchkiss Arrives At Saquoit

“/'"'lAP’N SETH is expectin’ ye,” grinned

V^l Eben Bates, the driver of the depot stage, affably, as he handed Sam Hotchkiss and his bags into the carryall.

“Hey, Abner,” he yelled to a man standing bn the depot platform, who, like Sam, had just alighted from the Boston train. “Goin’ over to Saquoit?”

“Cal’lated to,” drawled Abner, “if your rig’ll hold together.”

“If you’re goin’ with me you’ll have to heave short and git yer jib up in a hurry,” called Eben. “I’m late as it is.”

“It’s the fust time I ever knew you to be in a hurry,” grumbled Abner, as he climbed in¬ to the back seat. “I alius like to stay and see the train pull out. What’s the matter, ’fraid you’re old crow bait is going to die on ye, if you don’t git thar quick?”

“This hoss ain’t the dyin’ kind,” snapped the stage driver.

“Wal, I reckon you can git over to the vil¬ lage ’fore he does anyway, for if he was goin’ to die he’d take his time about it, if he lived up to his reputation.”

Eben Bates ignored this remark and turned to Sam. “You’ve come down purty early this season, ain’t ye?” he asked.

“Yes, I didn’t come till nearly July last year,” answered the boy.

“What’s the matter, don’t ye go to school?” questioned Eben.

“Yes, I go to school, but I took my exams early and got off.”

“Sho, that’s funny. Warn’t cuttin’ up was ye, so they was anxious to git clear of ye?” he chuckled.

“No,” laughed Sam. “Some of us got high enough grade in school so that the principal allowed us to leave as soon as we had all the work done.”

“Wal, that’s better than I ever done,” said Eben reflectively. “Guess you must be purty smart in books.”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Sam hastily, not wishing to give Eben the idea that he was bragging. “There were quite a number did the same thing. I just dug in, that’s all. I had such a good time down here last sum¬ mer that I wanted to get here as soon as I could.”

“That beats all,” remarked Eben. “When I was in school, I got as fur as the rule er three, and there I stuck. Couldn’t seem to git no further, so I quit and went coastin’.”

Sam had no idea what the rule of three was, but he did not wish to embarrass the driver of the stage by asking.

“Had a good time last summer, did ye?” Eben continued.

“You bet,” said Sam.

“Got to be sunthin’ of a sailor,” he smiled. “I see ye win the boat race over to the Sianna Yacht Club in August. That was a good race: the Cynthy B is an able boat.”

Without waiting for Sam to more than nod assent he went on. “D’you ever know Cap’n Seth Nickerson and his wife ’fore you and your folks come down last summer? Didn’t? Wal, you couldn’t have found a better board¬ in’ place. Awful nice folks, the Nickersons be. Yes suh, Cap’n Seth has helped more people out er trouble and eased ’em over shoals than any man in town. ‘If you’re in trouble, go to Seth Nickerson,’ has been the motto in this town fer quite a spell.

“Le’s see, yer pa warn’t very well when you come last year, was he? How is he now?”

“Oh, he’s all right,” answered Sam. “The summer down here did him worlds of good. He and Mother have gone to North Carolina this week. He gave me my choice of going with them or coming down here and I chose Saquoit.”

“You don’t say!” ejaculated Eben. “Gi’n up a trip like that to cruise along with Cap’n Seth. You’d stopped at all the best hotels most likely. Don’t that beat all! If anybuddy ever asked me to ship on a voyage like that they wouldn’t have to urge me none,” he chuckled. “I ain’t never been anywhere, hardly, except when I was coastin’, and then I didn’t have a chance to see nothin’. When I made New York I didn’t dare go off the dock. No, I ain’t been no where except from the house to the barn, and I can’t find my way there in a fog,” he laughed.

“Git ap, git ap, Jerry,” chirped the driver. “I’ve got to git home and shift my clothes in time to git up to the Wescusset House for supper with a feller. I ain’t passin’ by nochance for free victuals.”

Soon the stage stopped at the Craig’s Mills post office, where Eben dragged the mail bags from under the back seat and carried them inside.

“Know how Eb happens to be goin’ up to the hotel for supper?” asked Abner of Sam. Abner had kept silent during the ride.

“No,” answered Sam, who had no partic¬ ular interest in Eben’s meals.

“I’ll bet ye a silver dollar agin a cent he’s goin’ up to eat with that feller Hastings,” he announced. “Yes suh, that’s it, sure’s you’re a foot high.”

“Hastings?” asked Sam. “I guess I don’t know him.”

“No, you wouldn’t know him. You ain’t been here sence last summer and Hastings jest hove in. Wal, I’ll tell ye. He’s what they call a promoter, from New York. Got lots er money: dresses right up to the nines. He’s formed a; stock company to run all the shellfish business in town. Been buyin’ all the oyster grants he could and sellin’ stock in the company besides. Purty good thing, too. He’s bought nigh everybuddy’s oyster grants here at Saquoit and over to Masonville, and they claim there’s some big capitalists back of it. I hear that Cap’n Seth and two or three more is kinder holdin’ off and won’t sell out to the company, nor buy stock, nuther one. I reckon after a while they’ll come to it. I’d go into it in a minute if I had any money.”

The recital was cut short by the reappear¬ ance of the stage driver, who had waited for the mail to be sorted and Saquoit’s portion placed in a separate bag.

“All aboard,” he shouted. “Git ap.”

As they rode along the plains and marshes, Sam was lost in the May time beauties of Cape Cod. He could hear the clear peep of the frogs and the hopeful whistle of the whip-poor-will. To the boy of fifteen, who had been housed in a school room all winter, the spring twilight sounds of the beloved Cape Cod came as the sweetest music, particularly as he thought of the joyous four months ahead: four months of outdoors, four months of fishing and sailing, four months at Uncle Seth’s.

In May on Cape Cod the air is soft and filled with the earthy smells and the scent of swelling buds. Hope and promise come to age and youth alike and fill the heart with the joy of living. When the day wanes on the harbors, marshes, lakes and meadows, all the singing and chirping things of the twilight hours furnish vespers of cheer.

“I wish Td jest sold a parstur lot,” came from Abner in the back seat.

“Eh?” said Eben. “Wha’ for?”

“Mebbe then I’d git an invite up to the

Wescusset for supper,” said he mournfully.

“What are ye talking about, Abner Ben¬ son?” demanded the driver.

“Oh, nothin’,” he said, “only I cal’lated Hastings was givin’ ye a supper.”

“Wal, s’posin’ he is,” snorted Eb. “Gut a right to, ain’t he, as long as he can pay for it?”

“Sartin, sartin,” Abner hastened to say. “I was only sayin’ that if I’d sold a parstur, same as you have, mebbe I could git in on this thing.”

Silence followed as the old White horse plodded down the tree-bordered village street with its snug white cottages.

Suddenly Sam spied Captain Seth Nick¬ erson and his wife, Aunt Cynthia, at their gate waiting for the stage. They hadn’t changed a bit, thought Sam. Aunt Cynthia in her neat gingham gown, and snow white neckerchief with the same cameo pin, looked not a day older. Uncle Seth, “broad of beam,” as he himself said, with white hair and beard and the glow of health upon his cheeks, stood as erect as he did in the days when he paced a vessel’s deck, thirty years before. Just the kind of man that boys, real boys, gravitate towards. Just the kind of man who would say, “Wal, son, how about gittin’ a mess of clams?” or sitting upon the bench on the sunny side of the woodshed would begin, “Makes me think of the time—” and so on. Like Sam, nearly every one called Captain Nickerson, Uncle Seth.

Sam leaped from the wagon before it stopped and rushed toward the old couple at the gate. He planted a smack upon the soft cheek of Aunt Cynthia and shook hands with Captain Nickerson.

“Wal, Sam, I believe you’ve grown a head and you’re ten pounds heavier. Ain’t he shot up though, Cynthia?” said Uncle Seth.

“I guess likely he has,” admitted his wife. “That seems to be a habit with boys and I often think they must be kinder sick of hearin’ older folks marvel at it so much. I know when our Robert was growin’ up he used to say, ‘Mother, it seems as though all folks talk about to me is how I’m growin’.’ ”

“Don’t you worry, Cynthia,” smiled her husband. “Sam and I will have plenty to talk about after we git squared away. Jest now Sam would ruther hear you say supper was ready than anything else.”

“Goodness me, I was goin’ to make corn muffins!” she exclaimed as she hurried for the kitchen.

Aunt Cynthia was never as happy as when preparing “good victuals” for her “men folks.” Sam remembered the wonderful dishes that Aunt Cynthia concocted last sum¬ mer. It didn’t seem as though he ever ate anything that tasted so good as the food at Uncle Seth’s.

“Wal, Sam, I’m glad to see ye and no mis¬ take,” said Uncle Seth heartily. “You must feel considerbul set up that you come out so well in your studies.”

“I’m glad I did,” said Sam, “but you know there were others who did the same thing.”

“That’s all right, Sam, s’posin’ there was. You gut what you went after by workin’ hard. The habit of workin’ hard is the main thing anyway, whether you win or not,” said the old man earnestly.

Just at that moment there came to Sam a feeling that Uncle Seth was not quite him¬ self : that he seemed to have something on his mind. True it was that he laughed and joked but at the same time Sam had a “hunch” that the old man had something that he was “figgerin’ on,” as he himself would have said.

“How have you been this winter since we saw you, Uncle Seth?” asked Sam.

“Fust class, Sam,” responded Captain Nick¬ erson. “Don’t seem to be driftin’ astern a mite, so fur as I can see.”

“I’ll bet it’s that stock company that’s got him worried,” thought Sam, and resolved to ask him point blank about it at the first oppor¬ tunity.

“How’s the fishing?” he asked.

“To tell ye the truth, I ain’t had time to wet a line yit,” said Uncle Seth. “I’ve been gardening and paintin’ and general chorin’ ’round so I’ve been purty well driv up.”

“I think I could paint,” asserted Sam, “and I could do something in the garden too, I’m sure.”

“Wal, I’m alius willin’ to take on an extry hand, especially if he’s willin’. There’ll be plenty to do around here for a spell and we can enjoy playin’ better, I cal’late, when we’ve got our work all done up.”

“Got the Cynthia B. in the water yet?” asked Sam.

“I have jest, and that’s about all. I ain’t hardly sailed her yit,” said the old skipper. “I scraped her and give her a coat of paint and shoved her in. She’s down there swellin’ up. She needs a new main sheet and her upper works ought to be gone over. There’s sure plenty for us to do.”

“And it will all be fun,” declared the boy. “You can set me to work bright and early in the morning.”

Never once did Uncle Seth remind Sam of how the summer before, as a fourteen-yearold, he had come to Saquoit under protest with his mouth all puckered to have a mis¬ erable time. That was like Uncle SetK not to bring up unpleasant topics. But things hadn’t been dull. The pleasures of the shore had been unfolded to the boy, under the old sea captain’s guidance, and he was soon having the time of his life. He had learned to do things: sail a boat, fish, catch blue claws and besides that, the adventure and fascination of the old seafaring days had been recited to him by the old skipper, until Sam, too, in fancy fought the northern gales and trod the heaving deck.

“Where do you want Zeb Makepeace to put them spars, Seth?” called his wife from the kitchen. “He’s jest driv up and he’s in a hurry.”

“Tell him to dump ’em down anywhere except on top of my cold frame,” called the captain.

“Did you have to get new spars for the Cynthia B.?” asked Sam solicitously.

“No, them’s for another boat I’m buildin’,” answered Uncle Seth.

“Is there anything the matter with the Cynthia? You aren’t going to discard her, are you?” inquired Sam, his eyes wide open.

“Bless ye, no, she’s all right. Never better,” the old sailor hastened to assure the boy.

Sam had had a moment of uneasiness. He loved the little catboat in which he had ex¬ plored every crook and corner of Saquoit Bay and he would have sorrowed deeply if any disaster had befallen the craft he had learned to sail and in which he had won a race the summer before.

“I’m buildin’ this craft for a feller up [Boston way/’ explained Captain Nickerson. “He see the Cynthia B. and liked her fust rate, so I’m buildin’ this one for him. I was some time makin’ up my mind to undertake the job but its cornin’ on purty well; all planked and decked over. Some finishin’ off to do and then her paintin’ and riggin’ will take some time. Guess a month or six weeks ought to fetch it.”

“Supper,” called Aunt Cynthia, and Sam needed no second invitation, for he had had an early lunch.

While he ate the crisp corn muffins, broiled flounders, beach plum jelly, topped off with fluffy whipped cream pie, Sam talked of his winter at home in Boston.

“This filet of sole is great, Aunt Cynthia,” he said, as he passed his plate for the third helping.

“Filly what?” asked Uncle Seth, in aston¬ ishment.

“Why, filet of sole,” said Sam. “I’ve eaten it when I’ve lunched with Father at the club, but it didn’t come up to this.”

“Bless your heart these ain’t nothin’ but flounders,” said Mrs. Nickerson. “Lucy Emma’s husband caught a mess and they had more’n they wanted, so she brought us some.”

“They are what we call English sole in Boston,” declared Sam.

“Seems to me I’ve heard they call’m sunthin’ different after their train ride to Boston,” said Captain Nickerson. “They take the bone out of ’em, the same as we do here, but when they git up town them flounders begin to git puffed up and put on airs and take on a fancy name.”

“They are good, whatever the name is,” said Sam.

“Don’t seem as though you’d et a thing,”

complained Mrs. Nickerson. “Have some more of this cream pie, do.”

Sam declared that he was full to the eyes and hadn’t eaten a meal that tasted as good since he was at Saquoit before.

Chapter II The Eastern Shellfish Company

I T was six o’clock the next morning when Sam was awakened by a call from Uncle Seth at the foot of the stairs.

“Turn out, aloft there.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” cried Sam, his feet striking the floor. He hustled into his clothes, and was down in the kitchen in short order, where the old Captain was building the fire.

“You must have slept in your clothes,” said the old man.

“No,” laughed Sam, “but I didn’t waste any time in getting them on.”

“Aunt Cynthia ain’t showed up yit,” Uncle Seth remarked, as he touched a match to the pile of kindlings. “Now that’s started I’ll go out and do the chores.”

Sam followed him to the barn and helped in the “before breakfast chores.” He gave

Bess, the cow, a measure of grain and forked sweet smelling hay from the loft. While Uncle Seth got out the milking stool and sat down beside the sleek Holstein, Sam opened the tie-up door and looking down the pasture lane he breathed deeply of the fresh early morning air.

“You’d have more light if you sat on the other side of the cow,” he commented.

“Yes, yes, but I don’t hanker to try it,” chuckled the old man. “Cows are funny about that. You alius want to milk a cow from the starb’ud side. If you ever tried it on the port side she’d most likely kick you and the pail all over the deck.”

“Are you in earnest?” asked Sam, thinking it might be one of the old sailor’s jokes.

“Sartin, I’m in earnest,” said Uncle Seth. “I ain’t goin’ to demonstrate what she’d do if I went up alongside of her to port. I done that once when I fust come home from sea. You’ll have to take my word for it. I don’t know why it is cows are so finnicky about that: mebbe its the female of the critter.”

Sam sat down on a stool where he could

EASTERN SHELLFISH COMPANY 19 watch the old man and hear the musical sound of the streams of milk as each one stirred the milk already in the pail to a froth.

“There was a chap on the stage yesterday who was telling me about an oyster company that somebody was forming—”

“Yes, yes, they’ve formed one,” muttered Uncle Seth, “and it bothers me like time. I don’t say much about it to Cynthy, but I’m considerbul worried about it.”

“Why do you worry about it?” asked the boy. “You don’t have to buy any of the stock nor sell out your oyster grant to them.”

“No, I don’t, that’s a fact,” Captain Nicker¬ son agreed, “but my neighbors and friends in town think they do, and I think they’re makin’ a big mistake. That feller Hastings has gut ’em hog tied. He’s suppered ’em at the hotel and he’s cigarred ’em, till they believe every word he tells ’em.

“I’ll tell ye. Hastings blew in here about a week ago; started right in talkin’ about com¬ binin’ all the oyster grants in town and over to Masonville and makin’ one big company out of ’em. He’s bought grants, right and left, payin’ for ’em mostly in stock, I hear. Made out that there’d be more money in it for everybuddy if it was all under one management: improved methods, better prices for shell¬ fish and so on. He’s a slick appearin’ feller, ’course, that is the kind that would alius do that sort of business, but I figger he’s a good deal like a Ben Davis apple, not nigh so good as he looks. He’s sold stock, too, and a lot of it.”

“What makes you think that it isn’t a good thing, Uncle Seth?” asked Sam, who had al¬ ways heard more or less of combines and stock companies from his father and his associates in the lumber trade.

“I don’t know, Sam,” replied the old man thoughtfully. “I jest have the feelin’ that our folks here are goin’ to lose. Yer see, I don’t know anything about sech things and mebbe that’s why I’m sorter prejudiced against ’em.

“I’ve figgered it out this way. These pro¬ moters’ll git all the grants under their control and keepin’ controllin’ interest in the concern, mebbe make some money the fust year. The

EASTERN SHELLFISH COMPANY 21 folks that hold stock will think they’re gittin’ a purty soft thing and the promoters can begin to unload on ’em slow and careful like. The fust thing anybuddy’ll know the New York fellers will git rid of all their stock and the local stock holders will be left holdin’ the bag.

“Yes suh, its gut me worried. It ain’t very often that I let anything trouble me much, but this ’ere is so much out of my general course, that I feel sort of helpless.”

“These promoters may be honest,” said Sam. “Perhaps it will be a good thing.”

“Don’t believe it,” said the old man. “There ain’t no folks with money that these fellers claim is back of the thing goin’ to come down here and mix up in a little shellfish busiiness. No suh, Sam, there’s a hole in the skimmer somewheres but I can’t find it.”

“It’s a darn shame,” said Sam indignantly.

“It is, and no mistake,” said Captain Seth. “There’s folks buyin’ this stock that’s puttin’ all they’ve got into it. Folks that ain’t gut but five hundred dollars to their names handin’ it over to this man Hastings.”

“I could write to Father and see if he could suggest anything,” said Sam, hopefully, who thought that his father could handle almost any situation.

“I reckon he’s too busy to fool ’round with our little two-penny squabbles down here,” said the old man, shaking his head sadly. “I wouldn’t bother him, if I was you. But I’m sorry for our folks, if it all turns out the way I’m ’fraid its goin’ to, and I’m sorry for our little shellfish industry.”

“I am going to write Father tonight,” de¬ clared Sam. “I’m not afraid of bothering him.”

“Wal, wal, do jest as you are a mind to, Sam, I’m stumped, and no mistake.”

CHAPTER III THE NEW SAIL BOAT NCLE Seth had apparently put all u disquieting thoughts of his dilemma out of his mind, for at breakfast he joked and laughed as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

Perhaps the old sailor was feeling easier now that Sam’s father was to be consulted. Not so with Sam,—he felt that he would like to do something desperate to rid the town of these stock promoters.

“Wal, Sam, let’s have a look at the new boat,” suggested Uncle Seth. “We’ll work on her a spell this mornin’.”

“Oh, yes, Uncle Seth,” said Sam, “I had almost forgotten you were building a craft.”

“There she is,” announced the old skipper, throwing open the door to the shop. “What do you think of her?”

“Isn’t she a dandy!” exclaimed the boy. “But she isn’t any better than the Cynthia B., even if she is bigger,” he added loyally.

“No, I guess she ain’t no better than the Cynthy, ,f said the old man, “nor much big¬ ger either. You see her bow’s a leetle more slopin’ and her stern more shaller and not so square. That makes her look longer than she reely is. You notice her stern is narrered up so she’ll steer well, if she’s runnin’ ’fore heavy seas. They’ll ride by her and she’ll rise to each sea like a duck. She’s a good weather boat or I miss my guess.”

The Captain rubbed his hand over the smooth surface of the hull. “Plenty of curve to her bulwarks from stem to stern: she’ll ride the rollers like a frigate bird, that craft will.”

“She’s a stout looking boat, all right,” re¬ marked Sam.

“Stout, I guess she is stout,” asserted the builder. “I’ve put her together for keeps,— oak keel and timbers and every piece of her as clear as a nut. That boat is built right, if I do say it.”

“I’m anxious to see her slide into the water,” said Sam.

“I’ll be kinder interested to see how she rides, myself,” admitted the Captain. “She’ll be a purty boat, I think. I’ll paint her hull white with a green water line. Then, with the coamin’ and ribbon varnished, she’ll be a sight for sore eyes, I tell ye.”

“She surely will,” agreed Sam, as he looked at the graceful lines of the curving hull.

“It’s been some time sence I built a boat,” said Uncle Seth, “and if this one turns out as well as I expect, it’s goin’ to be considerbul satisfaction, for when I started the job I wondered whether I’d kept my hand in and whether I could do it or not.”

“I guess there’s no doubt about that,” said Sam heartily.

“I guess the old man’s come back after all,” he chuckled. “Sunthin’ like an old whale I knew once—”

“A whale you knew?” laughed Sam.

“Sure,” said the old salt. “You see there’s whales that you remember and there’s those jyou don’t. Some you feel acquainted with and some that you jest haul in. I reckon there’s personalities among whales jest as there is among folks.”

“What about this particular whale, Uncle Seth?” asked Sam.

“Wal, I’ll tell ye,” began Uncle Seth. “Yer see, I alius have to start at the beginnin’ and things come along natural like. It was when I was boat steerer on the Luella Bently. We got under way from New Bedford in October. Had good weather all the way to Cape Verde and purty nigh all the way south to the Cape of Good Hope: that is, no bad gales nor nothin’. Wal, we rounded the Cape and then on up to Madagascar, takin’ whales occasion¬ ally along. We gut into the Indian Ocean and there it was that I run afoul of this whale I speak of.

“One mornin’, jest at the crack of day, the lookout at the masthead sings out, ‘Thar she blows, b-l-o-w-s, b-l-o-w-s.’ Everybuddy tumbled on deck in a hurry.

“ ‘Where away?’ yelled the old man.

“ ‘Three p’ints off the lee bow, sir . 1

“ ‘Thar she breaches.’

“ ‘Lower away the boats,’ called the Cap’n. Everything was hustle and bustle. I can see that ship’s deck now,” said Uncle Seth, rem¬ iniscently squinting his eyes. “I can hear the rattle of the falls as them four boats took the water with hardly a jolt.

“The ship keeper had trimmed the yards to the wind and hauled up courses, so when her helm was put down it deadened her way, and the boats could put off without foulin’ one another.

“I was in the Cap’n’s boat. We put for that whale, everybuddy bendin’ to it. A whale boat goes through the water purty, I tell ye. About twenty-eight foot long, she is; as clean as a dolphin and rides the seas like a Mother Carey’s chicken.

“We come up to that whale gentle like, purty nigh wood to black skin. He was a lone bull. He didn’t notice us, for he was feedin’. But then, a whale can’t see very well anyway, for his eyes are purty well aft down nigh to the angle of his jaw and he has to turn his head from side to side in order to look with both eyes. They claim he’s gut two fields of vision, if you know what I mean.

“I was forrud, you remember that’s where the boatsteerer is till after he strikes a whale, then he runs aft and takes the steerin’ oar.

I gut my thigh in the clumsy cleat, that’s the crotch you know, with paddin’ on it for a man to brace his leg against so he can keep his balance when he strikes, and the old man whispered, ‘Give it to him.’

“I gut both irons into the whale and then we backed off and waited to see what he’d do. We knew he’d do one of several things. He might swim around in a circle, millin’ we call it, or he might git his eye on the boat and charge it, or he might sink or he might start and run. Wal, he started goin’ in a circle. He was a big feller and I judged would go better than eighty bar’l. After he’d milled for a spell he sounded, that is, went down. Never in my life see a whale run out so much line, nor one that stayed down so long, never. We bent on one tub of line and then another, hitchin’ drogues on each of ’em to slow him up all we could. Still he kept goin’. After awhile he come up to the wind’ard and we begun to haul in as fast as we could. Then he begun to run. Jimmynetty, how he did run! Took us on one of the doggondest Nan¬ tucket sleigh rides you ever see.