Somewhere along Theater Street he had lost it. He remembered being
hustled somewhat roughly on the bridge over one of the canals that
cross that busy thoroughfare. Possibly some slant-eyed, light-fingered
pickpocket was even then enjoying the fifty-odd yen his purse had
contained. And then again, he thought, he might have lost it himself,
just lost it carelessly.
Hopelessly, and for the twentieth time, he searched in all his pockets
for the missing purse. It was not there. His hand lingered in his
empty hip-pocket, and he woefully regarded the voluble and vociferous
restaurant-keeper, who insanely clamored: "Twenty-five sen! You pay now!
Twenty-five sen!"
"But my purse!" the boy said. "I tell you I've lost it somewhere."
Whereupon the restaurant-keeper lifted his arms indignantly and
shrieked: "Twenty-five sen! Twenty-five sen! You pay now!"
Quite a crowd had collected, and it was growing embarrassing for Alf
Davis.
It was so ridiculous and petty, Alf thought. Such a disturbance about
nothing! And, decidedly, he must be doing something. Thoughts of diving
wildly through that forest of legs, and of striking out at whomsoever
opposed him, flashed through his mind; but, as though divining his
purpose, one of the waiters, a short and chunky chap with an
evil-looking cast in one eye, seized him by the arm.
"You pay now! You pay now! Twenty-five sen!" yelled the proprietor,
hoarse with rage.
Alf was red in the face, too, from mortification; but he resolutely set
out on another exploration. He had given up the purse, pinning his last
hope on stray coins. In the little change-pocket of his coat he found
a ten-sen piece and five-copper sen; and remembering having recently
missed a ten-sen piece, he cut the seam of the pocket and resurrected
the coin from the depths of the lining. Twenty-five sen he held in his
hand, the sum required to pay for the supper he had eaten. He turned
them over to the proprietor, who counted them, grew suddenly calm, and
bowed obsequiously--in fact, the whole crowd bowed obsequiously and
melted away.
Alf Davis was a young sailor, just turned sixteen, on board the _Annie
Mine_, an American sailing-schooner, which had run into Yokohama to
ship its season's catch of skins to London. And in this, his second trip
ashore, he was beginning to snatch his first puzzling glimpses of the
Oriental mind. He laughed when the bowing and kotowing was over, and
turned on his heel to confront another problem. How was he to get aboard
ship? It was eleven o'clock at night, and there would be no ship's boats
ashore, while the outlook for hiring a native boatman, with nothing but
empty pockets to draw upon, was not particularly inviting.
Keeping a sharp lookout for shipmates, he went down to the pier. At
Yokohama there are no long lines of wharves. The shipping lies out at
anchor, enabling a few hundred of the short-legged people to make a
livelihood by carrying passengers to and from the shore.
A dozen sampan men and boys hailed Alf and offered their services. He
selected the most favorable-looking one, an old and beneficent-appearing
man with a withered leg. Alf stepped into his sampan and sat down.
It was quite dark and he could not see what the old fellow was doing,
though he evidently was doing nothing about shoving off and getting
under way. At last he limped over and peered into Alf's face.
"Ten sen," he said.
"Yes, I know, ten sen," Alf answered carelessly. "But hurry up. American
schooner."
"Ten sen. You pay now," the old fellow insisted.
Alf felt himself grow hot all over at the hateful words "pay now." "You
take me to American schooner; then I pay," he said.
But the man stood up patiently before him, held out his hand, and said,
"Ten sen. You pay now."
Alf tried to explain. He had no money. He had lost his purse. But he
would pay. As soon as he got aboard the American schooner, then he would
pay. No; he would not even go aboard the American schooner. He would
call to his shipmates, and they would give the sampan man the ten sen
first. After that he would go aboard. So it was all right, of course.
To all of which the beneficent-appearing old man replied: "You pay now.
Ten sen." And, to make matters worse, the other sampan men squatted on
the pier steps, listening.
Alf, chagrined and angry, stood up to step ashore. But the old fellow
laid a detaining hand on his sleeve. "You give shirt now. I take you
'Merican schooner," he proposed.
Then it was that all of Alf's American independence flamed up in his
breast. The Anglo-Saxon has a born dislike of being imposed upon, and
to Alf this was sheer robbery! Ten sen was equivalent to six American
cents, while his shirt, which was of good quality and was new, had cost
him two dollars.
He turned his back on the man without a word, and went out to the end of
the pier, the crowd, laughing with great gusto, following at his heels.
The majority of them were heavy-set, muscular fellows, and the July
night being one of sweltering heat, they were clad in the least possible
raiment. The water-people of any race are rough and turbulent, and it
struck Alf that to be out at midnight on a pier-end with such a crowd of
wharfmen, in a big Japanese city, was not as safe as it might be.
One burly fellow, with a shock of black hair and ferocious eyes, came
up. The rest shoved in after him to take part in the discussion.
"Give me shoes," the man said. "Give me shoes now. I take you 'Merican
schooner."
Alf shook his head, whereat the crowd clamored that he accept the
proposal. Now the Anglo-Saxon is so constituted that to browbeat or
bully him is the last way under the sun of getting him to do any certain
thing. He will dare willingly, but he will not permit himself to be
driven. So this attempt of the boatmen to force Alf only aroused all the
dogged stubbornness of his race. The same qualities were in him that are
in men who lead forlorn hopes; and there, under the stars, on the lonely
pier, encircled by the jostling and shouldering gang, he resolved that
he would die rather than submit to the indignity of being robbed of a
single stitch of clothing. Not value, but principle, was at stake.
Then somebody thrust roughly against him from behind. He whirled about
with flashing eyes, and the circle involuntarily gave ground. But the
crowd was growing more boisterous. Each and every article of clothing he
had on was demanded by one or another, and these demands were shouted
simultaneously at the tops of very healthy lungs.
Alf had long since ceased to say anything, but he knew that the
situation was getting dangerous, and that the only thing left to him
was to get away. His face was set doggedly, his eyes glinted like points
of steel, and his body was firmly and confidently poised. This air of
determination sufficiently impressed the boatmen to make them give way
before him when he started to walk toward the shore-end of the pier. But
they trooped along beside him and behind him, shouting and laughing more
noisily than ever. One of the youngsters, about Alf's size and build,
impudently snatched his cap from his head; but before he could put it on
his own head, Alf struck out from the shoulder, and sent the fellow
rolling on the stones.
The cap flew out of his hand and disappeared among the many legs. Alf
did some quick thinking; his sailor pride would not permit him to leave
the cap in their hands. He followed in the direction it had sped, and
soon found it under the bare foot of a stalwart fellow, who kept his
weight stolidly upon it. Alf tried to get the cap out by a sudden jerk,
but failed. He shoved against the man's leg, but the man only grunted.
It was challenge direct, and Alf accepted it. Like a flash one leg was
behind the man and Alf had thrust strongly with his shoulder against the
fellow's chest. Nothing could save the man from the fierce vigorousness
of the trick, and he was hurled over and backward.
Next, the cap was on Alf's head and his fists were up before him. Then
he whirled about to prevent attack from behind, and all those in that
quarter fled precipitately. This was what he wanted. None remained
between him and the shore end. The pier was narrow. Facing them and
threatening with his fist those who attempted to pass him on either
side, he continued his retreat. It was exciting work, walking backward
and at the same time checking that surging mass of men. But the
dark-skinned peoples, the world over, have learned to respect the white
man's fist; and it was the battles fought by many sailors, more than his
own warlike front, that gave Alf the victory.
Where the pier adjoins the shore was the station of the harbor police,
and Alf backed into the electric-lighted office, very much to the
amusement of the dapper lieutenant in charge. The sampan men, grown
quiet and orderly, clustered like flies by the open door, through which
they could see and hear what passed.
Alf explained his difficulty in few words, and demanded, as the
privilege of a stranger in a strange land, that the lieutenant put him
aboard in the police-boat. The lieutenant, in turn, who knew all the
"rules and regulations" by heart, explained that the harbor police were
not ferrymen, and that the police-boats had other functions to perform
than that of transporting belated and penniless sailor-men to their
ships. He also said he knew the sampan men to be natural-born robbers,
but that so long as they robbed within the law he was powerless. It
was their right to collect fares in advance, and who was he to command
them to take a passenger and collect fare at the journey's end? Alf
acknowledged the justice of his remarks, but suggested that while he
could not command he might persuade. The lieutenant was willing to
oblige, and went to the door, from where he delivered a speech to the
crowd. But they, too, knew their rights, and, when the officer had
finished, shouted in chorus their abominable "Ten sen! You pay now!
You pay now!"
"You see, I can do nothing," said the lieutenant, who, by the way, spoke
perfect English. "But I have warned them not to harm or molest you, so
you will be safe, at least. The night is warm and half over. Lie down
somewhere and go to sleep. I would permit you to sleep here in the
office, were it not against the rules and regulations."
Alf thanked him for his kindness and courtesy; but the sampan men had
aroused all his pride of race and doggedness, and the problem could not
be solved that way. To sleep out the night on the stones was an
acknowledgment of defeat.
"The sampan men refuse to take me out?"
The lieutenant nodded.
"And you refuse to take me out?"
Again the lieutenant nodded.
"Well, then, it's not in the rules and regulations that you can prevent
my taking myself out?"
The lieutenant was perplexed. "There is no boat," he said.
"That's not the question," Alf proclaimed hotly. "If I take myself out,
everybody's satisfied and no harm done?"
"Yes; what you say is true," persisted the puzzled lieutenant. "But you
cannot take yourself out."
"You just watch me," was the retort.
Down went Alf's cap on the office floor. Right and left he kicked off
his low-cut shoes. Trousers and shirt followed.
"Remember," he said in ringing tones, "I, as a citizen of the United
States, shall hold you, the city of Yokohama, and the government of
Japan responsible for those clothes. Good night."
He plunged through the doorway, scattering the astounded boatmen to
either side, and ran out on the pier. But they quickly recovered and ran
after him, shouting with glee at the new phase the situation had taken
on. It was a night long remembered among the water-folk of Yokohama
town. Straight to the end Alf ran, and, without pause, dived off cleanly
and neatly into the water. He struck out with a lusty, single-overhand
stroke till curiosity prompted him to halt for a moment. Out of the
darkness, from where the pier should be, voices were calling to him.
He turned on his back, floated, and listened.
"All right! All right!" he could distinguish from the babel. "No pay
now; pay bime by! Come back! Come back now; pay bime by!"
"No, thank you," he called back. "No pay at all. Good night."
Then he faced about in order to locate the _Annie Mine_. She was
fully a mile away, and in the darkness it was no easy task to get her
bearings. First, he settled upon a blaze of lights which he knew nothing
but a man-of-war could make. That must be the United States war-ship
_Lancaster_. Somewhere to the left and beyond should be the
_Annie Mine._ But to the left he made out three lights close
together. That could not be the schooner. For the moment he was
confused. He rolled over on his back and shut his eyes, striving to
construct a mental picture of the harbor as he had seen it in daytime.
With a snort of satisfaction he rolled back again. The three lights
evidently belonged to the big English tramp steamer. Therefore the
schooner must lie somewhere between the three lights and the
_Lancaster_. He gazed long and steadily, and there, very dim and
low, but at the point he expected, burned a single light--the
anchor-light of the _Annie Mine_.
And it was a fine swim under the starshine. The air was warm as the
water, and the water as warm as tepid milk. The good salt taste of it
was in his mouth, the tingling of it along his limbs; and the steady
beat of his heart, heavy and strong, made him glad for living.
But beyond being glorious the swim was uneventful. On the right hand he
passed the many-lighted _Lancaster_, on the left hand the English
tramp, and ere long the _Annie Mine_ loomed large above him. He
grasped the hanging rope-ladder and drew himself noiselessly on deck.
There was no one in sight. He saw a light in the galley, and knew that
the captain's son, who kept the lonely anchor-watch, was making coffee.
Alf went forward to the forecastle. The men were snoring in their bunks,
and in that confined space the heat seemed to him insufferable. So he
put on a thin cotton shirt and a pair of dungaree trousers, tucked
blanket and pillow under his arm, and went up on deck and out on the
fore-castle-head.
Hardly had he begun to doze when he was roused by a boat coming
alongside and hailing the anchor-watch. It was the police-boat, and to
Alf it was given to enjoy the excited conversation that ensued. Yes, the
captain's son recognized the clothes. They belonged to Alf Davis, one of
the seamen. What had happened? No; Alf Davis had not come aboard. He
was ashore. He was not ashore? Then he must be drowned. Here both the
lieutenant and the captain's son talked at the same time, and Alf could
make out nothing. Then he heard them come forward and rouse out the
crew. The crew grumbled sleepily and said that Alf Davis was not in the
forecastle; whereupon the captain's son waxed indignant at the Yokohama
police and their ways, and the lieutenant quoted rules and regulations
in despairing accents.
Alf rose up from the forecastle-head and extended his hand, saying:
"I guess I'll take those clothes. Thank you for bringing them aboard so
promptly."
"I don't see why he couldn't have brought you aboard inside of them,"
said the captain's son.
And the police lieutenant said nothing, though he turned the clothes
over somewhat sheepishly to their rightful owner.
The next day, when Alf started to go ashore, he found himself surrounded
by shouting and gesticulating, though very respectful, sampan men, all
extraordinarily anxious to have him for a passenger. Nor did the one
he selected say, "You pay now," when he entered his boat. "When Alf
prepared to step out on to the pier, he offered the man the customary
ten sen. But the man drew himself up and shook his head.
"You all right," he said. "You no pay. You never no pay. You bully boy
and all right."
And for the rest of the _Annie Mine's_ stay in port, the sampan men
refused money at Alf Davis's hand. Out of admiration for his pluck and
independence, they had given him the freedom of the harbor.