in her mouth.' Cutbush had seen the stranger's smoke, and he lost no
time. He seemed to be heading for our starboard side, and we thought
the game was up; but the Old Man kept off imperceptibly, and again the
tug came to port.
"Changed yer mind, Cap.? Guess I must be gwine back. Got t' take the
_Drumeltan_ up t' Port-Costa in th' mornin'. What d'ye say t' three
hundred?"
The Old Man called the Mate, and together they held a serious
consultation, with many looks to windward, aloft, and at the compass.
The stranger was rapidly approaching, and showed herself to be a
yellow-funnelled tow-boat, with a business-like foam about her bows.
Spreckel's man was getting fidgety, as this was one of the opposition
boats, and he expected soon to be quoting a competitive figure. To his
pleased surprise, the Old Man came over to leeward, and, after a last
wrangle about the hawser, took him on at the satisfactory figure of
three hundred dollars.
We put about, and the Mate had another little deal in burned paint.
Courses were hauled up, and the Active came along our starboard side to
pass the towing wire aboard. The paint hid the patch, and in the
manoeuvre of keeping clear of our whisker-booms, the smell escaped
notice, and the marks of our distress were not noticed by her crew. We
hauled the wire aboard and secured the end, and the _Active's_ crew
heard nothing significant in the cheer with which we set about
clewing-up and furling sail.
The afternoon was far spent when we reached the pilot schooner. She
was lying at anchor outside the bar, the wind having died away; and as
she lifted to the swell, showed the graceful underbody of an old-time
'crack.' The pilot boarded us as we towed past. Scarce was he over
the rail before he shouted to the Old Man, "What's the matter, Cap'n?
Guess she looks 's if she had a prutty hot cargo aboard."
"Hot enough, Pilot! Hot enough, b' Goad! We've bin afire forr'ard
these last seven days that we know of, and I'm no' sayin' but that I'm
glad t' see th' beach again."
"Wall, that's bad, Cap'n. That's bad. Ye won't make much this trip, I
guess, when the 'boys' have felt ye over.' He meant when the 'Frisco
sharps had got their pickings, and the Old Man chuckled audibly as he
replied.
"Oh, we'll chance that--aye, we'll chance that. It's no' so bad 's if
Cutbush was gettin' his figger."
"What's he gettin', anyway?"
"Oh, he's doin' verra well. He's doin' verra well," said the Old Man
evasively.
We were now approaching the far-famed Golden Gate, the talk of mariners
on seven seas. We boys were sent aloft to unrig the chafing gear, and
took advantage of our position and the Mate's occupation to nurse the
job, that we might enjoy the prospect. The blue headland and the
glistening shingle of Drake's Bay to the norrard and the high cliffs of
Benita ahead: the land stretching away south, and the light of the
westing sun on the distant hills. No wonder that when the Mate called
us down from aloft to hand flags there was much of our work left
unfinished.
At Benita Point we had a busy time signalling news of our condition to
the ship's agents at 'Frisco. After we passed through the Narrows, we
had a near view of the wooded slopes of Saucilito, with the
white-painted houses nestling comfortably among the trees. Away to the
right the undulating plains of the Presidio reached out to the purple
haze of the distant city. The Pilot, seeing admiration in our eyes,
couldn't help blowing, even to us boys, and exclaimed aloud on the
greatness of the U-nited States in possessing such a sea-board.
"Saay, boys," he said. "Guess yew ain't got nothin' like this in th'
old country!"
Young Munro, who was the nearest, didn't let the Pilot away with that,
and he mentioned a 'glint of Loch Fyre, when the sun was in the
west'ard.' "And that's only one place I'm speakin' of."
The sun was low behind us as we neared the anchorage, and a light haze
softened and made even more beautiful the outlines of the stately City.
As we looked on the shore, no one had mind of the long dreary voyage.
That was past and done. We had thought only for the City of the West
that lay before us, the dream of many long weary nights.
But, as I gazed and turned away, I was sharply minded of what the sea
held for us. Houston had been carried on deck, "t' see th' sichts," as
he said. His stretcher stood near me, and the sight of his wan face
brought up the memory of bitter times 'off the Horn.' Of the black
night when we lost Duncan! Of the day when Houston lay on the cabin
floor, and the master-surgeon and his rude assistants buckled to 'the
job'! Of the screams of the tortured lad--"Let me alane! Oh, Christ!
Let me al----" till kindly Mother Nature did what we had no means to
do! ... "Man, but it was a tough job, with her rolling and pitching in
the track o' th' gale!" The Old Man was telling the Pilot about it.
"But there he is, noo! As sound as ye like ... a bit weak, mebbe, but
sound! ... We'll send him t' th' hospital, when we get settled
down.... No' that they could dae mair than I've dune." Here a smile
of worthy pride. "But a ship 's no' the place for scienteefic
measures--stretchin', an' rubbin', an' that.... Oh, yes! Straight?
I'll bate ye he walks as straight as a serjunt before we're ready for
sea again!"
As we drew on to the anchorage, a large raft-like vessel with barges in
tow made out to meet us. The Old Man turned his glasses on her and
gave an exclamation of satisfaction.
"Meyer's been damn smart in sending out the fire-float," he said to the
Mate, adding, "Get the foreyard cock-billed, Mister; and a burton
rigged to heave out the cargo as soon 's we anchor. There's the
tow-boat whistlin' for ye to shorten in th' hawser. Bear a hand, mind
ye, for we've a tough night's work before us."
* * * * *
But all was not pleasant anticipation aboard of the screw tug _Active_,
towing gallantly ahead, for Captain John Cutbush had discovered his
loss, and the world wasn't big enough for his indictment of Fortune.
He had seen our flags off Benita, but had not troubled to read the
message, as he saw the answering pennant flying from the Lighthouse.
In scanning the anchorage for a convenient berth to swing his tow in,
the fire-float caught his eye.
"Hello! somethin' afire in th' Bay!" He turned his glasses among the
shipping, in search of a commotion, but all was quiet among the tall
ships.
"But where's she lyin'-to fer? There ain't nothin' this side ov
Alcatraz, I reckon."
Then a dread suspicion crossed his mind, that made him jump for the
signal-book. He remembered the flags of our last hoist, and feverishly
turned them up.
"Arrange--assistance---for--arrival."
Muttering oaths, he dropped the book and focussed his glasses on the
tow. The track of the fire was patent to the world now, and we were
unbending the sails from the yards above the fore-hatch.
"She's afire right 'nuff, 'n I never cottoned. Roast me for a ----.
'N that's what the downy old thief was standin' t' th' norrard for, 'n
I never cottoned! 'N that's what he took me on at three hundred for,
'n Meyer's boat almost along-side. Three ---- hundred 'n my ----
hawser. Waal--I'm--damned! The old limejuice pirate! Guess I should
'a known him for a bloody sharp when I saw Glasgow on her stern."
He stopped cursing, to blow his whistle--a signal for us to shorten in
the towing hawser. In the ensuing manoeuvres he was able to relieve
his feelings by criticising our seamanship; he swung us round with a
vicious sheer, eased up, and watched our anchor tumbling from the bows.
He gazed despairingly at his Mate, who was steering.
"Here's a ruddy mess, Gee-orge," he said. "Three thousan' dollars
clean thrown away. What'll the boss say. What'll they say on th'
Front?"
George cursed volubly, and expended much valuable tobacco juice.
"Here's a boomer fer th' 'Examiner,' Geeorge; here's a sweet headline
fer th' 'Call'!
"'Cutbush done!'
"'Cap'n Jan Cutbush done in th' eye!!'
"'Cap'n Jan S. Cutbush, th' smartest skipper on th' Front, done in the
bloody eye by a bargoo-eatin' son ef a gun ef a grey-headed
limejuicer!!!'"
VIII
WORK!
Scarcely was our anchor down in 'Frisco Bay than the boarding-house
'crimps' were alongside, beaming with good-fellowship, and tumbling
over one another in their anxiety to shake 'Jack' by the hand, and to
tell him of the glorious openings and opportunities for smart sailormen
ashore. The Mate vainly endeavoured to prevent them boarding the ship,
but with the ordinary harassing duties incident on arrival, and the
extraordinary matter of a serious fire in the hold, he could not do
everything; so the 'crimps' installed themselves in the fo'cas'le, and
the grog (Welcome-home Brand) was flowing far and free.
The starboard watch were aloft furling the tops'ls, and only the
presence of the Captain and Mates at the foot of the rigging kept them
from joining the hilarious crowd in the fo'cas'le. The Mate's watch
had been employed at the ground tackle, and had dodged in and out of
the fo'cas'le; so that, in a very short time, they were all 'three
sheets in the wind,' and making for trouble. Vootgert, the Belgian,
was the first to fall foul of the Mate, and that sorely-tried Officer
could hardly be blamed for using all four limbs on the offending
'squarehead.' Seeing their shipmate thus handled, the watch would have
raised a general melee, but the boarding-house 'crimps,' having no
liking for police interference, succeeded in calming the valiant ones
by further draughts of their fiery panacea. To us boys (who had heard
great tales of revolvers and other weapons being freely used by ship
captains in preventing their men from being 'got at') these mutinous
ongoings were a matter of great wonderment; but, later, we learned that
freights were low, and we were likely to be many months in 'Frisco;
that crews' wages and victualling, when the ship is earning no money,
reflect on the professional character of an old-time shipmaster, and
that to baulk the 'crimps' on arrival means an expensive delay in
making up a crew when the ship is again ready for sea.
Wee Laughlin and the nigger were the first to yield to the eloquence of
their visitors. No one was surprised that the Mate let Laughlin clear
without interference. A poor sailor, though a lot had been licked into
him since he left the 'Poort,' he was not worth keeping. His kind
could be picked up on the Water Front any day. He had come on board at
Greenock--a pierhead jump, with his wardrobe on his back and a
'hauf-mutchkin' of very inferior whisky in his pocket. Now, to our
astonishment, he threw a well-filled bag over the side before he slid
down the rope into the 'crimp's' boat. Long intending to desert when
we arrived, he had taken as much of his pay in clothes and slop-chest
gear as the Old Man would allow. It was said, too, that a lot of poor
Duncan's clothes never came to auction, and more than one suspected Wee
Laughlin of a run through Duncan's bag before the Old Niven got forward
and claimed what was left.
That well-filled bag!
To the Second Mate, who was eyeing his departure, he flung a
salutation, first seeing that his line of retreat was clear. "Weel, so
long, Mister, ye Hielan' ----, ye can pit ma fower pun ten i' yer e'e
'n ca' yersel' a bloody banker!"
No one saw the nigger go, but gone he was, bag and baggage; and loud
were the curses of the cook, to whom he owed four pounds of tobacco for
losses at crib.
While all this was going on, and the 'crimps' were marking down their
prey, the crew of the fire-float had located the fire and cut a hole in
the 'tween-decks above the hottest part. Through this a big ten-inch
hose was passed, and soon the rhythmic _clank-clank_ of their pump
brought 'Frisco Bay to our assistance.
Darkness fell on a scene of uproar. Everything was at sixes and sevens
forward, and the discipline of five months was set at naught. Drunken
men tumbled over the big hose and slippery decks, and got in the
firemen's way; steam enveloped the decks as in a fog; dim figures of
men struggled and quarrelled; curses and hoarse shouts came from the
fo'cas'le, whence the hands were being driven by the rising smoke and
steam; rushing figures transferred their few belongings to safer
quarters; and through all throbbed the steady _clank-clank_ of the
fire-engine.
A strange contrast to the quiet and peaceful scene about us--with a low
moon over San Rafael, and the lights of the shipping reflected in the
placid water. A few fishing-boats were drifting out on the tide, with
creak of oar and rowlock; and above all was the glare of the lighted
streets and harbour lights of the great city.
Not long had we to contrast the scenes, for the Mate, and the Old Man
himself, were at our backs, man-driving the few sober hands, to make up
for their inability to handle the skulkers. They did not spare
themselves in driving, and at salving the gear in the lamp-room the
Captain made a weird picture, black and grimy, with a cloth over his
mouth, passing the lamps out to the boys.
With such a volume of water pouring below, it was necessary to get a
pump in position to keep our craft afloat. She was now far down by the
head and had a heavy list, and as the ship's pumps would not draw, the
Firemaster arranged to put one of his pumps into the fore-peak. To
make this efficient, we had to raise the sluice in the forrard
bulkhead; and even the Old Man looked anxious when the Carpenter
reported that the sluice was jammed, and that the screw had broken in
his hands. The stream of water into the hold was immediately stopped,
and all available hands (few enough we were) were put to clearing the
fore-peak, that the sluice could be got at. In this compartment all
the ship's spare gear and bos'un's stores were kept, and the lower hold
held ten tons of the ship's coal. The small hatchway made despatch
impossible, and the want of a winch was keenly felt. It was
back-breaking work, hauling up the heavy blocks, the cordage, sails and
tarpaulins, chains, kegs and coils, and dragging them out on deck. A
suffocating atmosphere and foul gases below showed that the seat of the
fire was not far off, and often the workers were dragged up in a
semi-conscious state. The Mate was the first to go down, and he hung
out till nature rebelled, and he was dragged up and put in the open
air. There the aggrieved Belgian saw him, and, maddened by drink, took
advantage of his exhaustion to kick him viciously in the ribs; but
Jones promptly laid the Dutchman out with a hand-spike.
In a moment the drink, discontent, excitement, and overwork found vent
in furious riot: shipmates of five months' standing, comrades in fair
weather and foul, were at each other's throats, and amid the smoke and
steam no man could name his enemy. Welsh John, in trying to get young
Munro out of harm's way, was knocked down the open hatch, and he lay,
groaning, with a broken arm, amid the steam and stench. Hicks, the
bo'sun, was stabbed in the cheek, and someone knocking the lamps over,
added darkness to the vicious conflict. Blind and blaspheming, animals
all, we fought our way to the doors, and the malcontents, in ill plight
themselves, cared little to follow us.
Meantime the Firemaster, seeing how matters stood, called his men
together and turned a hose into the fo'cas'le. The thin, vicious
stream proved too much for the mutineers, and we were soon in
possession again. John was taken up from the fore-peak (he was far
through) and carried aft. The mutineers, such as were fit, were put
down below to dig coals till they could dig no more; and again the work
went on--weary, body-racking work.
With aching eyes and every muscle in revolt, we toiled on in silence,
not even a curse among us. Silence, broken only by the rattle of the
block-sheave, as the baskets of coal were hove up and emptied. There
was now no need for the Old Man to hold himself in readiness, with
something in his pocket that bulged prominently, for there was not an
ounce of fight left in the crowd, and 'Smith and Wessons' are
ill-fitting things to carry about. Two hours we had of this, and give
in was very near when the welcome news came up that they had got at the
sluice, that the water was trickling through. Soon after, the sluice
was prised up, and the pent-up water rushed into the peak. The
Firemaster passed his pipe below, and again the pumps were set agoing.
We staggered out into the fresh morning air, red-eyed and ragged, and a
madhouse gang we looked in the half-light of an early Californian dawn.
Faces haggard and blackened by the smoke, eyes dazed and bloodshot, and
on nearly everyone evidence of the ten minutes' sanguinary encounter in
bruised eyes and bloody faces. The Mate called a muster to serve out
grog, and of our crew of twenty-seven hands only fifteen answered the
call. The Old Man tried to make a few remarks to the men. He had been
frequently to the bottle through the night, for his speech was thick
and his periods uncertain.
"No bloody nozzush, b' Goad ... tan' no nozzush, Mis'r----" was about
the burden of his lay.
With a modest glass of strong rum to raise our spirits momentarily, we
lingered before going below to note the wreck and confusion that our
once trim barque was now in. She was still down by the head, and
listed at an awkward angle. The decks were littered with gear and
stores, muddy and dirty as a city street on a day of rain. Aloft, the
ill-furled tops'ls hung bunched below the yards, with lazy gaskets
streaming idly in mid-air; and the yards, 'lifted' at all angles, gave
a lubberly touch to our distressed appearance. The riding-light, still
burning brightly on the forestay, though the sun was now above the
horizon, showed that we had lost all regard for routine.
A damp mist, the 'pride o' the morning,' was creeping in from seaward,
and the siren at the Golden Gate emitted a mournful wail at intervals.
Near us, at the anchorage, a big black barque, loaded and in sea-trim,
was getting under weigh, and the haunting strain of 'Shenandoah,' most
beautiful of sea-chanteys, timed by the musical _clank_ of the windlass
pawls, was borne on the wind to us.
"An outward-bounder, and a blue-nose at that," said Martin.
We wondered if Wee Laughlin was already in her fo'cas'le, with a
skinful of drugged liquor to reckon with. The 'crimps' lose no time if
they can get their man under, and Wee Laughlin, by his own glory of it,
was a famous swallower.
In the half-deck, some of the boys were already turned in, and lying in
uneasy attitudes, with only their boots and jackets off. Jones, who
had been severely handled in the scrimmage, was moaning fitfully in his
sleep, his head swathed in bloody bandages, and the pallor showing in
his face through the grime and coal-dust. Hansen was the last man in.
He threw himself wearily down on the sea-chests, now all of a heap to
leeward, snatched a pillow from under Munro's head, and composed
himself to rest.
"Mate says I'm to keep watch, 'n call him at eight bells; but, judgin'
by th' way he put the grog down, I'm damn sure he'll stir tack nor
sheet till midday.... Firemaster says she's under hand, 'n he'll have
the fire out in two hours, 'n she can bally well look out for
herself.... T' hell with an anchor watch; I can't keep my eyes open,
an' 'll work ... work ... no m----"
IX
IN 'FRISCO TOWN
We moored at Mission Wharf to discharge what cargo the fire had spared,
and there we made a lubberly picture, outcast among so many trim ships.
The firemen had done their duty and had left us to do ours, and we had
to work our hardest to put the ship in order again. A firm of
shipwrights were employed to repair the damage--the twisted stanchions,
buckled beams, burnt decks, worthless pumps, and hold fittings. Old
Jock was not a Scotchman for nothing, and to make their contract
profitable, the 'wrights did nothing that they could wriggle out of.
So we had extra work to do--their work--and from daylight to dark were
kept hard at it, man-driven as only our hardcase Mate could drive. It
was no wonder that we were in a state of discontent. Here we were,
after a long, hard voyage, working our 'soul-case' to shreds! And
there--just across the wharf--were the lights of Market Street, that
seemed to beckon us to come ashore! There were angry mutterings, and
only a wholesome fear of the Mate's big hands kept us at the task.
With the men forward it was even worse. The word had gone out that no
money would be advanced until the cargo was discharged and the ship put
to rights. No money--not even the price of a 'schooner'! And the
ghost of nigh six months, salt beef waiting to be 'laid!'
Their state of mind was soon observed by the boarding-masters. Whalers
were in the Bay, fitted out and ready for sea, and only a lack of
sailormen kept them within the Golden Gate. To get these men--the
blood-money for their shipment, rather--was the business of the
'crimps,' who showed a wealth of imagination in describing the various
topping shore jobs that they held at their disposal. Now it was a
'mine manager' they were looking for in our forecastle; to-morrow it
would be a fruit salesman they wanted! They secured smiling Dutch John
as a decoy, and set him up behind the bar of a Water Front saloon.
There, when work was over for the day, his former shipmates
foregathered, and John (fairly sober, considering) put up free drinks
and expanded on the goodness of a long-shore life.
"Vat jou boysh stop _mit der_ ship on? Jou tinks dere vas no yobs on
shore? De boardin'-master damn lie, eh? ... Ah vas get me four
dollars a day; _und der_ boss, ven 'e see me de glasses break, say me
nodings! Ah goes from _der haus, und_ comes to _der haus in--und_ 'e
say nod like _der_ Mate, 'Vat jou do dere, _verdamt shwine_? Was _fuer_
jou no go on mit jour vark?' ... _'ttverdam_! It vas _der_ life,
_mein_ boysh! It vas _der_ life!"
Against such a pronouncement from their whilom shipmate, and with the
plain evidence of his prosperity before their eyes, it was useless to
argue. Here was John able to stand free drinks all round, and the
saloon boss 'standin' by' and smiling pleasantly. Didn't John say,
"Here, boss, jou gif me a light for _mein_ cigar!" and the owner of the
place handed out his silver box instanter? John! A 'Dutchman,'
too,--not even the best sailorman of the 'crowd'! ... ("Here, boss,
what was that job ye was talkin' about? I _guess_ there ain't nuthin'
I can't do w'en I sets my 'ead to it!") Soon the 'crimps,' ever ready
at hand, were off to the ship, hot-foot, for bags and baggage!
Those who still held by the ship were visited at all hours, and the
comings and goings of the tempters were not even checked by the Mate.
The dinner hour was the most opportune time for them, for then they had
the miserable meal to point to in scorn.
"Call yewrselves min," they said, "a sittin' hyar at yer lobscouse an'
dawg biscuits, an' forty dallars a month jest waitin' t' be picked up?
... Forty dallars ... an' no more graft 'n a boy kin dew! Darn it, I
wouldn't give that mess to me dawg! ... A fine lot yees are, fer sure!
Ain't got no heart t' strike aout f'r decent grub 'n a soft job....
Forty dallars, I guess! ... Is thar a 'man' among ye? ... Chip in
yewr dunnage an' step ashore, me bucks! A soft job in a free country,
an' no damn lime juice Mate t' sweat ye araound!"
The 'spell worked'! Within a fortnight of our arrival most of the men
who had signed with us had, '_Deserted. Left no effects_,' entered
against their names in our official Log. Soon the whalers were at sea,
standing to the north, and Dutch John shorn of his proud position, was
shipped as cook on a hard-case New Yorker!
The bos'un and Old Martin were still with us, and we had Welsh John and
Houston safe in the hospital--about the only place in 'Frisco where no
healthy 'crimp' could gain admission. For want of better game,
perhaps, the boarding-masters paid some attention to the half-deck, but
we had, in the Chaplain of the British Seamen's Institute, a muscular
mentor to guide us aright. From the first he had won our hearts by his
ability to put Browne (our fancy man) under the ropes in three rounds.
It was said that, in the absence of a better argument, he was able and
willing to turn his sleeves up to the stiffest 'crimp' on the Front.
Be that as it may, there was no doubt about his influence with
brassbounders in the port. Desertions among us--that had formerly been
frequent--were rare enough when James Fell came, swinging his stick, to
see what was doing on the Front!