Oakton
Admiral Biscuit
The basin on the upper side was nearly empty, and she watched as the last barge proceeded across the bridge.
Flash had told her and Swanky that some ponies were scared of how high the bridge was, but she liked it. Walking across it was like flying, but with good, solid ground underhoof. She could look out over the edge and see everything in the valley. Sometimes there was even a train passing by underneath–as much as she hated them for what they represented, looking down on one from above was neat.
Did the train ponies look up at the canal boats passing overhead?
The crossover gate was slippery. She’d long since learned that she couldn’t do any pulling as she crossed the canal to the wrong-side path, so she let the barge do the work for her, coasting up and slacking the rope. If there was a lot of flow in the canal–which sometimes happened after heavy rains–she really had to be careful to keep momentum up. Clogging the bridge with a stalled barge would get her yelled at.
She had the slack back out in time to feel the barge hit the trip-rollers, to feel the gentle tug as the mechanism resisted and then let the crossover path swing aside, and then it was following along like it should again.
The trees slowly dropped away, and then the valley was in full view, and she was up where the birds and pegasi soared.
Sometimes the valley would be shrouded in fog, and that was really neat, too. It was like she was walking on a cloud.
•••
The bridge stood in stark contrast to some of the rest of the canal. Everywhere else the towpath wasn’t always well-maintained and sometimes weeds overgrew the banks–even little trees that could snag a towrope weren’t always cut down as quickly as they should have been–everything on the bridge was kept in perfect shape. The stonework was cared-for, the crossover gates well-adjusted, and the towpath was raked several times a day to keep it smooth. There was never a lull in activity that she’d seen, so the rake was towed along with barge traffic.
She’d gotten to follow it once, the first pony on the freshly-smoothed surface. It was almost as good underhoof as being the first pony behind a snow roller.
•••
As the other side rose up to meet them, Mersey watched the towpony in front of her cross the canal, and as the stern of the barge cleared the gate, watched to make sure it went back into position. So far it always had, but if it didn’t, she would have to be ready to swim across.
It clicked back into position, and it looked right, but as always she gave a sideways push with her forehoof to make sure it was latched. She’d seen a pony fall off it before, and she claimed it wasn’t latched. Maybe she was just trying to blame the gate for her clumsy hoofwork, but it hadn’t occurred to Mersey until then that the gate might not always latch itself back into place, especially since this one closed against the current.
•••
There had rarely been a day that Oakton wasn’t complete chaos, and today was no different. They’d beaten most of the usual cluster of barges, which could mean that today was going to be an easy day on the canal, or that somepony was doing a bad job of routing barges across the viaduct, or that one of the up-canal locks was broken.
She didn’t need to be told what to do; forward progress was her job, and she kept pulling until she was stopped by a flyboat that was tied up on the shore.
Flash saw it, too. “Hoy, Mersey, drop the line.”
She turned and released the latch on her harness, letting it fall into the water. Flash kept her hoof on the tiller, aiming for the company docks.
Mersey trotted ahead. Without the barge holding her back, she was light on her hooves.
The dock had a capstan, and a pegasus line-handler. Sometimes when they got out of Manehattan late, or had made a lot of stops on the way, they had to wait their turn for the winch. Most of the time, they didn’t.
Learning the route had taken months. The canal was mostly straight, and Flash didn’t regularly serve any locations off the main canal, but just the same she’d had to learn all the docks and other stopping points. Now she knew them, and knew when they loaded cargo where they would have to stop; she knew where they might pick up something else.
Sometimes they could coast by the winch, but not today. The center hold was full of barrels and crates to be delivered to Oakton, and that meant she was going to winch. Not to mention the other barge behind them, slowing them down.
Wind Waker, the pegasus on rope duty today, was a former Wonderbolt. He knew her, he knew her boat, and he didn’t need to be told where to fly the rope.
She nuzzled his shoulder once he’d landed back beside her, and plucked a loose feather off his wing, spitting it onto the dock. She liked him; he always got the rope right and would loop the extra turns around the capstan so she didn’t have to work as much. Sometimes when they were roped up but had to wait to pull in, he’d bend her ear with tales of the Wonderbolts.
Today there was no competition at the dock, and she pushed into the windlass while he guided the rope, preventing tangles until it was pulled taut.
Winching in the barge wasn’t the same as towing it. Pushing with her chest was uncomfortable, and she had to concentrate to keep from tripping over her hooves as she made the tight circles on the worn wood. She’d wondered why there wasn’t just a clip to attach to her harness, but then she’d seen a couple of unharnessed workponies off one of Treskow’s barges using the windlass.
Even on the windlass, the rope would slack in and out just as much as it did when she was pulling, but she got almost no feedback. Her first time, she’d almost gotten confident that she was getting it right, then the rope slacked and she’d tripped over her hooves and gone down in a tangle. Wind Waker had chuckled and offered to help her up, but she’d shaken her head and gotten back to her hooves. She hadn’t trusted him then; she thought he was mocking her.
Her cheeks burned with the memory. How many ponies had Wind Waker seen fall at the capstan? Dozens? Once their barge was winched in, he’d unspooled the rope and tried to clip it back to her harness, but she’d just yanked it out of his grip and clipped it on herself, stomping off towards their warehouse with her tail flicking in anger.
The next time they’d approached, she’d hesitated; she held the line on her harness longer than she should have and let the barge drift to a stop before reluctantly plodding down to the capstan. Wind Waker had already looped it around the drum and was working in the extra slack from the still-moving barge. She waited for the insult, waited for him to call her a stupid farmpony or a green-hooved rookie. Maybe he’d call out to his friends on the other barges so they could mock her, too.
But he didn’t. He hadn’t said a word as she’d pushed up against the sweep, or as she started reeling in their towline. And when it had been done, he’d kicked off the ratchet on the capstan, let the rope slack before he’d pulled it off. This time he’d offered her the clip.
As she’d walked across the rough planks of the dock, barge in tow, she’d turned to wave at him before continuing, and the next time–and every time thereafter–let him clip the barge back to her harness.
•••
Mersey slowed down as the lead barge got close to the dock. Her brother was waiting on the stern, rope in hoof. He expertly looped it over a cleat on the dock and tugged the stern in, also arresting the barge’s forward momentum.
That did nothing to slow the trailing barge.
Some of the canal companies didn’t worry too much about that and let their barges bash into each other; some of the canal companies had decided that splintered timbers and scraped paint was just the cost of doing business. Some of the canal companies had invested in extensive fendering on their barges to absorb the hits, and Mersey had watched a tandem of coal barges pulled by an enthusiastic but unskilled team collide hard enough to wreck their fendering and the fantail on the lead barge.
Flash Lock wanted professionalism, and the barge or barges undamaged at the end of a tow. Mersey knew full well if her carelessness damaged the barge, she was going to have to fix it herself, or pay for a boatwright to fix it.
Swanky knew that, too, and he also knew that pulling their stern against the dock hadn’t changed the course of the trailing barge—he’d waited until the towline had slacked, letting it coast ahead on its original course, clearing their stern.
He trotted to the starboard side of their barge and looped another length of rope he’d laid out over its bow cleat, letting it slowly pull the bow in as it ran by at no more than a walking pace. Mersey knew that trick, too; the secret was in the loop of line, causing extra friction, a sort-of brake.
That also tugged the bow over. He slacked and unlooped the line once the two barges were close and dropped a second line over an aft cleat, pulling the stern in and then trotting to the front to wrangle the bow before the two barges could collide.
Just like that, it was done. There’d be a few scrapes on the rub rail, nothing that a little touch-up paint wouldn’t fix.
•••
While Swanky finished mooring the barges, Mersey unfastened her line and made her way to the warehouse. The laborers there would have seen them arrive—they were always watching what happened on the canal, even if they pretended not to know.
When she’d first started, Flash had to come ashore and roust out the dockworkers, but now Mersey could do it. She poked her muzzle into the open loading door and then walked through the warehouse, until she located Cucuzza Verde.
He was busy directing a sorting crew, so she waited until he’d finished shouting orders before simply pointing out the open door to their barge.
“Ah, Mersey, my love.” He nuzzled her cheek and she blushed. He did that to all the bargees and towponies and yet there was genuine warmth behind his words. “Are we unloading both your barges?”
She shook her head—the railroad barge was going through to Stroudwater.
“Just yours?”
She nodded.
“And do we have anything we need to load in?” He turned to a clipboard bursting with papers that was dangling off the edge of his desk.
Mersey didn’t know; Flash hadn’t told her. They usually loaded cargo in Oakton, but not always. She shrugged.
“Boss mare forgot to tell you, eh?” She watched as he started to flip through the sheets, amazed as always at how he did his job. Hers was simple by comparison; all she had to do was pull the barge from one place to another, and set locks and turn capstans as required. All she had to do was help load the barge at the start of the day and unload it at the end of the day, and help in the middle if that was needed, too. She didn’t have to juggle around barrels and boxes and whatever else from dozens of shipping companies going to dozens of different customers.
“Looks like we do! Wine, flour, and flowers . . . quite the mix you’re hauling. And we’ve got three—no, four consignments coming in. I’ll roust up a crew, my dear.”
When she was young and green, she’d helped the warehouse crew. Even though that wasn't technically her job, it didn’t feel right to just be standing around when other ponies were working.
She still didn’t like it. The fact was that her duty was now done; she’d worked her towing hours and earned a break.
•••
It was a working break; while the stevedores unloaded the cargo bound for Oakton and loaded in new cargo for Stroudwater, Flash discussed how they were going to get back out of their docks.
“We could wait for the tug,” Flash said, “or we could pull out backwards, there’s nopony on the other side of the canal right now. If it stays clear, we’ll have enough room to get the sterns into the canal and then straighten out.
Mersey perked her ears up. Sometimes they got pulled out by the tugboat and she knew Flash didn’t like it, even if she was pragmatic enough to use it when she had to.
“We’ll want to be fast, so we don’t choke up the canal. Mersey, if it’s okay with you, I’ll have you pull with Swanky since we’ve got two barges. Once we get going forward, you can bring the line aboard with you, so long as there aren’t barges tied up on the docks—I didn’t see any when we came in.”
Mersey nodded. She didn’t mind a little extra work after she was supposed to be off-duty, especially if she’d be pulling with Swanky.
She turned and bumped him with her rump, then tapped a hoof on his barrel to remind him that he needed to put on his harness.
He sighed—he liked waiting until the barge was almost full before putting it on, but if there was something wrong with it then they’d be delayed and Mersey didn’t like that.
The two of them went to the forward cabin, walking across the railroad barge to keep themselves clear of the ponies loading their barge, and Mersey helped her brother put on his harness. Once she was satisfied it was on right, she tied on a second tow rope.
“Be easiest if you were on the canal side,” Swanky said. “So once we get going you can jump aboard and not tangle my line.”
She nodded.
“And if we’ve only got one or two barges to get around, and if traffic’s light, we could also pull from the other side of the canal.”
They’d done that a couple times at Oakton. Usually it was too busy, but depending on who was tied up where and how much barge traffic there was, Flash could zig-zag across the canal, letting whichever pony had a clear path pull.
When she’d first started pulling the barge, Mersey hadn’t appreciated how much of an advantage its momentum could be: if there was a single barge tied on shore, Flash could cut the bow in to the towpath, close enough that she could board, and then coast past the boat and still have enough speed to drop her off on shore again.
There weren’t that many docks that were in the way, but there were some, like the railroad dock in Fens Junction that was in their way when they headed to Manehattan.
There wasn’t anything more they needed to do on the barge, not until it was loaded. Mersey took up a position on the roof of the aft cabin, watching the action in the canal.
•••
Theirs wasn’t the only company that switched towponies in Oakton. The ones that were the most amusing to watch were the coal companies; they had their own dedicated docking spaces along the towpath—since they didn’t load or unload any significant cargo, they didn’t get warehouse space, just some unused straight spots where bollards had been fitted.
As often as not, the barges would crash into one another as they docked, and then it was utter chaos as the morning crew unfastened the towlines and unhitched from each other, only to be replaced by a parade of ponies from the packet boats.
Both Treskow and the Mount Carbon Navigation Railroad had company boarding-houses in Oakton which cut down on some of the chaos, or was at least one fewer barge to crash into the others. If things went to plan, the new crew would be standing by the docks, all harnessed up and ready to go. If they didn’t, the barges would dock and a runner would trot to the company house to find them.
When the switch went well, it was a thing of beauty. Treskow attracted more qualified ponies, and when they were on their game they could switch without the barges ever actually stopping.
Mount Carbon had once had an entire team fall in the canal, one after the other. She could only assume that they’d rented a boarding house because they didn’t trust their crew to not fall off a packet boat, or else they’d accidentally sunk their packet boat.
Either option was equally likely.