I was a youngster back then and lived on Little Cranberry Island, also known as Islesford. I was born here and this writing I am one of only three living here now, who were.
Eber Spurling of Great Cranberry Island was our mailman all through my early youth. He was a quiet little man with a large bushy mustache and he always wore a brown felt hat.
The mail boat went back and forth to Seal Harbor in those days and Eber handled only the mail. No extra freight. He kept a wheelbarrow at Seal Harbor, one at Great Cranberry and one at Islesford. He was finally asked to bring boxes of bread to our island. No “store boughten” bread was sold here in our stores up to this time and the island ladies used to bake a tin of biscuits each day, until Eber came to their rescue and agreed to fetch over some bread. His little open boat with its spray hood and one cylinder “put-put” engine in the stern was a sturdy and dependable craft.
Seal Harbor is the closest harbor on Mount Desert Island from us. But all open sea to the east, not as sheltered a run, as it is to N.E. or S.W. Harbor. It can get mighty rough at times on trips to Seal Harbor.
I used to watch Eber occasionally from our North Shore on stormy days. His little boat would frequently go completely out of sight behind the waves.
One early summer’s day I was at Seal Harbor waiting to go back with him on the mail boat. He was always good about taking folks if not too many at one time. The tide was getting low and his boat was alongside of the wharf. Nearby was a box of bread on the dock. I was starting to climb down the ladder to get aboard the boat when Eber shouted: “Son,” said he, “pass me down that bread and save me climb up that ladder, will you?” I was happy to oblige and a little too quick and eager, I guess, because I didn’t check the bottom of the large cardboard box. It came open just before he could grab it, and loaves of bread rained down on Eber, hitting the boat rail too, and some went overboard. One large loaf landed squarely on top of Eber’s head and flattened his brown felt hat right down around his ears. His mustache drooped and his eyes sparkled in anger, for he was thoroughly irked. He uttered a few unprintable cuss-words and after a short lecture and scolding at me, got his boat hook and proceeded to get the floating loaves from the water. In those days our loaves all came unsliced, so the damage wasn’t as great as it could have been. I was in disgrace for a while.
To top it off and add to his displeasure, while attempting to rescue the loaves, a summer lady happened to stroll by on the dock and jokingly sang out, “Ah, I do believe I see bread cast upon the waters!” And so it was, but not intentionally. I was very serious and contrite on the boat trip home. Eber was a good man and didn’t stay mad at me for too long, although he did tell me to stay on the other side of the boat, where he wouldn’t have to look at me on the passage over.
Correction: Islesford correspondent Ted Spurling Sr. hauled his last lobster trap 12 years ago, not 112 years ago as stated in his Cranberry Report last month. The error is the fault of the typesetter, who is also the editor.