having no 'crowd' to rush around, was inclined to take things easy,
and, when sober, was quite decent. Although but a few weeks in the
country, we were now imbued with the spirit of freedom; learned to
'guess' and 'reckon'; called Tuesday 'Toosday'; and said "No, sir-rr!"
when emphatic denial was called for. Eccles even tried the democratic
experiment of omitting his "sir" when answering the Mate. Disastrous
result!
Seamanship was shelved, for a time at least, and we were employed like
longshore labourers on the ship's hull. The rust and barnacles of our
outward passage had to be chipped off and scraped, and we had more than
enough of the din of chipping hammers and the stench of patent
compositions. One day Burke discovered his elder brother's name
painted on the piles of the wharf, and when he told us with pride of
the painter's position, 'Captain of a big tramp steamer,' we were
consoled by the thought that we were only going through the mill as
others had done before us. When the painting was finished we had the
satisfaction of knowing that our barque was not the least comely of the
many tall ships that lined the wharves.
At night, when work was over, we had the freedom of the City. It was
good to be on the beach again. Money was scarce with us, and in a
place where five cents is the smallest currency, we found our little
stock go fast, if not far. If luxuries were beyond our reach, at least
the lighted streets were ours, and it was with a delightful sense of
freedom from ship discipline that we sauntered from 'sailor-town' to
'China-town,' or through the giant thoroughfares that span the heart of
the City itself. Everything was new, and fine, and strange. The
simple street happenings, the busy life and movements, the glare and
gaudery of the lights, were as curious to us as if we had never landed
before.
'Sailor-town'--the Water Front, was first beyond the gangway. Here
were the boarding-houses and garish saloons, the money-changers' and
shoddy shops. The boarding-houses were cleaner than the dinginess of
an old-world seaport would allow, and the proprietors who manned their
doorways looked genial monuments of benevolence. On occasions they
would invite us in--"Come right in, boyees, an' drink the health o' th'
haouse," was the word of it--but we had heard of the _Shanghai
Passage_, and were chary of their advances. Often our evident distrust
was received with boisterous laughter. "Saay," they would shout.
"_Yew_ needn't shy, me sucking bloody Nelsons! It's little use _yew_
'ud be aboard a packet!" ... "Light--the--binnacle, bo--oy!" was
another salutation for brassbounders, but that came usually from a lady
at an upper window, and there would be a sailorman there--out of sight,
as prompters properly are.
At the clothing shop doors, the Jews were ever on the alert for custom.
A cheap way of entertainment was to linger for a moment at their
windows, pointing and admiring. Isaac would be at us in a moment,
feeling the texture of our jackets with his bony fingers and calling on
the whole street to witness that it was "a biece 'f damn good shduff!"
Then it would be, "Gome into de shop, Misdur! I guess I god de tingsh
you vannt!"
After we had spent a time examining and pricing his scent-bottles and
spring garters, and hand-painted braces and flowered velvet slippers
and 'Green River' sheath-knives, we thought it but right to tell him
that Levy Eckstein of Montgomery Street was our man; that our Captain
would pay no bills for us but his!
With Levy our business was purely financial; cent, per cent,
transactions in hard cash. He had contracted with the Old Man to
supply us with clothing, but, though our bills specified an outfit of
substantial dry goods, we were always able to carry away the parcels in
our smallest waistcoat pocket. "One dollar for two," was Levy's motto.
If his terms were hard, his money was good, and, excepting for the Old
Man's grudging advances, we had no other way of 'raising the wind.'
In 'China-town' we found much to astonish us. We could readily fancy
ourselves in far Cathay. There was nothing in the narrow streets and
fancily carved house fronts to suggest an important City in the States.
Quaint shop signs and curious swinging lanterns; weird music and noises
in the 'theatres'; uncanny smells from the eating-houses; the cat-like
sound of China talk--all jumbled together in a corner of the most
western city of the West!
The artisans in their little shops, working away far into the night,
interested us the most, and some of our little money went to purchase
small wares for the home folks. It was here that Munro bought that
long 'back-scratcher'; the one he took home to his father!
Sometimes, when we could induce our Burke to make up to one of his
compatriots (the blue-coated, six-foot Fenians who keep 'Frisco under
martial law), we saw something of the real, the underground China-town.
It was supposed to be a hazardous excursion, but, beyond treading the
dark, forbidding alleys, haunts of 'Li-Johns' and 'Highbinders,' we had
no sight of the sensational scenes that others told us of. We saw
opium dens, and were surprised at the appearance of the smokers.
Instead of the wasted and debauched beings, of whom we had read, we
found stout Johns and lean Johns, lively Johns and somnolent Johns,
busy and idle--but all looking as if they regarded life as a huge joke.
They laughed amiably at our open mouths, and made remarks to us.
These, of course, we were unable to understand, but at least we could
grin, and that seemed to be the answer expected. When our guide took
us to free air again, and we found ourselves far from where we had
entered, we could readily 'take it from Michael' that the underground
passages offered harbour to all the queer fellows of the City. With
the night drawing on, and a reminder in our limbs that we had done a
hard day's work, we would go to Clark's, in Kearney, a coffee-house
famed among brassbounders. There we would refresh and exchange ship
news with 'men' from other ships. Clark himself--a kindly person with
a hint of the Doric amidst his 'Amurricanisms'--was always open to
reason in the middle of the week, and we never heard that he had lost
much by his 'accommodations.'
When we returned to the streets, the exodus from the theatres would be
streaming towards cars and ferry. It was time we were on board again.
Often there would be a crowd of us bound for the wharves. It was a
custom to tramp through 'sailor-town' together. On the way we would
cheer the 'crimps' up by a stave or two of 'Mariners of England.'
X
THE DIFFICULTY WITH THE 'TORREADOR'S'
In the half-deck differences, sometimes leading to fisticuffs, were of
daily occurrence; but, considering that we were boys, drawn from all
parts, each with his town or county's claim to urge, we dwelt very
happily together. Though our barque was Scotch, we were only two
strong, and at times it was very difficult to keep our end up, and
impress our Southron shipmates with a proper sense of our national
importance. The voice of reason was not always pacific, and on these
occasions we could but do our best. Our Jones (of Yorkshire) was of a
quarrelsome nature; most of our bickers were of his seeking, and to him
our strained relations with the 'Torreador's' was mainly due.
The _Torreador_ had berthed next to us at Mission Wharf, and by the
unwritten laws of the sea and the customs of the port of San Francisco,
her crew should have fraternised with us; from the mates (who could
exchange views on the sizes of rope and the chances of promotion) down
to the younger apprentices (who should have visited one another to
'swap' ship's biscuit). With other ships matters might have been
arranged, but the _Torreador_ was a crack ship, and flew the blue
ensign, even on week-days; her captain was an F.R.A.S., and her boys
(whose parents paid heavy premiums for the glitter) wore brass buttons
to everyday work, and were rated as midshipmen, no less! The day after
her arrival some of them were leaning over the rail looking at our
barque, and acquaintance might have been made then and there, but Jones
(who fancied himself a wit) spoiled the chances of an understanding by
asking them if the stewardess had aired their socks properly that
morning. Such a question aroused great indignation, and for over a
fortnight we were 'low bounders,' and they 'kid-glove sailors.'
Matters went ill between us, and our ships were too close together to
ignore one another altogether. The 'Torreador's' contented themselves
with looking smarter and more aggressively clean than ever, and with
casting supercilious glances all over us when they saw us chipping and
scraping the rust off our vessel's topside--(they never got such jobs
to do, as their Old Man was too busy cramming them up with "Sumners"
and "Deviation Curves"). We replied by making stage asides to one
another on the methods of 'coddling sickly sailors,' and Jones even
went the length of arraying himself in a huge paper collar when he was
put over-side to paint ship. A brilliant idea, he thought it, until
the Mate noticed him, and made his ears tingle till sundown.
The 'Torreador's' kept a gangway watch, and one of his duties seemed to
be to cross the deck at intervals and inspect our barque, crew, and
equipment in a lofty manner. He would even (if his Mate--the Chief
Officer, they called him--wasn't looking) put his hands in his beckets
and his tongue in his cheek. At first we greeted his appearance with
exaggerated respect; we would stand to attention and salute him in
style; but latterly, his frequent appearances (particularly as he
always seemed to be there when our Mate was recounting our misdeeds,
and explaining what lazy, loafing, ignorant, and 'sodgering' creatures
he had to handle) got on our nerves.
Matters went on in this way for over a week, and everybody was getting
tired of it; not only on our ship, for one day we caught a 'Torreador'
openly admiring our collection of sharks' tails which we had nailed to
the jib-boom. When he found himself observed he blushed and went about
some business, before we had a chance to ask him aboard to see the
sharks' backbones--fashioned into fearsome walking-sticks. Up town we
met them occasionally, but no one seemed inclined to talk, and a
'barley' was as far away as ever. If we went to the Institute they
were to be seen lolling all over the sofas in the billiard-room,
smoking cigarettes, when, as everyone knows, a briar pipe is the only
thing that goes decently with a brass-bound cap, tilted at the right
angle. They did not seem to make many friends, and their talk among
themselves was of matters that most apprentices ignore. One night
Jones heard them rotting about 'Great Circle sailing,' and 'ice to the
south'ard of the Horn,' and subjects like that, when, properly, they
ought to be criticising their Old Man, and saying what an utter duffer
of a Second Mate they had. Jones was wonderfully indignant at such
talk, and couldn't sleep at night for thinking of all the fine
sarcastic remarks he might have made, if he had thought of them at the
time.
When our barque, by discharge of cargo, was risen in the water, we were
put to send the royal-yards down on deck, and took it as a great relief
from our unsailorly harbour jobs. The 'Torreador's,' with envious
eyes, watched us reeving off the yard ropes. They had a Naval Reserve
crew aboard to do these things, and their seamanship was mostly with a
model mast in the half-deck. They followed all the operations with
interest, and when Hansen and Eccles got the main royal yard on deck,
in record time, they looked sorry that they weren't at the doing.
"Sumners" and "Deviation Curves" are all very well in their way, but a
seamanlike job aloft, on a bright morning, is something stirring to
begin the day with. A clear head to find one's way, and a sharp hand
to unbend the gear and get the yard canted for lowering; then, with a
glance at the fore (where fumblers are in difficulties with their
lifts), the prideful hail to the deck, "All clear, aloft! Lower away!"
No wonder the 'Torreador's' were not satisfied with their model mast!
Some days later we got another chance to show them how things were done
aloft, and even if we were not so smart at it as we might have been,
still it was a fairly creditable operation for some boys and a
sailorman. Our main topgal'nmast was found to be 'sprung' at the heel,
and one fine morning we turned-to to send the yard and mast down. This
was rather a big job for us who had never handled but royal-yards
before; but under the able instructions of the Mate and Bo'sun, we did
our work without any serious digression from the standards of
seamanship. The Mate wondered what was making us so uncommon smart and
attentive, but when he caught sight of the 'Torreador's' watching our
operations with eager eyes, he understood, and even spurred us on by
shouting, "_Mister!_" (the boys of the _Torreador_ were thus addressed
by their Officers) "_Mister_ Hansen, please lay out 'n the topsl-yard,
'n unhook that bloody brace!"
At dusk the 'Torreador's' had stiff necks with looking aloft so much,
and when we knocked off, with the yard and mast on deck, and the gear
stopped-up, they went below and hid their elaborate model mast under a
bunk in the half-deck.
Soon after this a better feeling began. Eccles met one of the
'Torreador's' up-town, and an acquaintance was made. They spent the
evening together, and he learned that the other chap came from near his
place. [It was really about fifty miles from there, but what's a fifty
miles when one is fourteen thousand miles from home?] The next evening
two of them came across. "To see the ship," they said. They brought
briar pipes with them, which was rather more than we could reasonably
have expected. Thereafter nightly visits were the rule, and we became
as thick as thieves. We took them to our bosom, and told them of many
fresh ways to rob the store-room, though they had no need to go
plundering, theirs being a well-found ship. We even went the length of
elaborating a concerted and, as we afterwards found, unworkable scheme
to get even with a certain policeman who had caught our Munro a clip on
the arm with his club when that youngster was singing "Rule Britannia"
along the Water Front at half-past midnight. In the evenings our
respective commanders could be seen leaning across their poop rails,
engaged in genial conversation, addressing one another as "Captain" in
the middle of each sentence with true nautical punctiliousness.
Once the 'Torreador's' Old Man seemed to be propounding his views on
the training of apprentices with great earnestness. What he said we
could not hear, but our Old Man replied that he had work enough "----
to get the young 'sodgers' to learn to splice a rope, cross a
royal-yard, and steer the ship decently, let alone the trouble of
keeping them out of the store-room," and that he'd "---- nae doot but
they'd learn navigation ---- in guid time!"
The elder boys went picnicing on the Sundays to Cliff House or
Saucilito; the second voyagers played team billiards together at the
Institute, and proposed one another to sing at the impromptu concerts;
while the young ones--those who had only been a dog-watch at sea--made
themselves sick smoking black tobacco and talking 'ship-talk' in the
half-deck.
Thus we fraternised in earnest, and when the _Torreador_ left for Port
Costa to load for home we bent our best ensign (though it was on a
week-day), and cheered her out of the berth.
Next week a Norwegian barque took up her vacant place. She had come
out from Swansea in ninety-eight days, and was an object of interest
for a while. Soon, though, we grew tired of the daily hammering of
'stock-fish' before breakfast, and the sight of her Mate starting the
windmill pump when the afternoon breeze came away. We longed for the
time when we, too, would tow up to Port Costa, for we had a little
matter of a race for ship's gigs to settle with the 'Torreador's' and
were only waiting for our Captains to take it up and put silk hats on
the issue.
XI
THE 'CONVALESCENT'
Welsh John was discharged from hospital at ten on a Sunday morning;
before dark he was locked up, charged with riotous behaviour and the
assaulting of one Hans Maartens, a Water Front saloon keeper. A matter
of strong drink, a weak head, and a maudlin argument, we thought; but
Hansen saw the hand of the 'crimps' in the affair, and when we heard
that sailormen were scarce (no ships having arrived within a
fortnight), we felt sure that they were counting on John's blood-money
from an outward-bound New Yorker.
"Ye see, John hadn't money enough t' get drunk on," he said. "We saw
him in hospital last Sunday, an' Munro gave him a 'half' to pay his
cars down t' th' ship when he came out. Half-dollars don't go far in
'sailor-town.' I guess these sharks have bin primin' him up t' get 'm
shipped down th' Bay. The _J. B. Grace_ has been lyin' at anchor off
The Presidio, with her 'Blue Peter' up this last week or more, an'
nobody 's allowed aboard 'r ashore but Daly an' his gang. Maartens is
in with 'em, an' the whole thing 's a plant to shanghai John. Drunk or
no' drunk, John 's seen th' game, an' plugged th' Dutchman for a start."
As it was on Munro's account that he had come by the injuries that put
him in hospital, we felt more than a passing interest in John's case,
and decided to get him clear of the 'crimps' if we could. We knew he
would be fined, for saloon-keepers and boarding-masters are persons of
weight and influence in 'Frisco town, and, although John had nearly
eight months' pay due to him, it would be considered a weakness, a sort
of confession of Jack's importance, for the Captain to disburse on his
account. It being the beginning of a week, we could only muster a few
dollars among us, so we applied to James Peden, a man of substance on
the Front, for assistance and advice.
James was from Dundee. After a varied career as seaman, whaleman,
boarding-house keeper, gold seeker, gravedigger, and beach-comber, he
had taken to decent ways and now acted as head-foreman to a firm of
stevedores. He was an office-bearer of the local Scottish Society,
talked braid Scots on occasions (though his command of Yankee slang
when stimulating his men in the holds was finely complete), and wore a
tartan neck-tie that might aptly be called a gathering of the clans.
To James we stated our case when he came aboard to see that his
'boy-ees made things hum.' It was rather a delicate matter to do this
properly, as we had to leave it to inference that James's knowledge of
these matters was that of a reputable foreman stevedore, and not that
of a quondam boarding-master whose exploits in the 'crimping' business
were occasionally referred to when men talked, with a half-laugh, of
shady doings. It was nicely done, though, and James, recalling a
parallel case that occurred to a man, "whom he knew," was pessimistic.
"Weel, lauds, Ah guess Joan Welsh 'r Welsh Joan 'll be ootward bound
afore the morn's nicht. They'll pit 'm up afore Judge Kelly, a bluidy
Fenian, wha'll gie 'm 'ten dollars or fourteen days' fur bein' a
British sailorman alane. Pluggin' a Dutchman 's naethin'; it's th'
'Rid Rag' that Kelly's doon oan. Ah ken the swine; he touched me
twinty dollars fur gie'n a winchman a clout i' the lug--an ill-faured
Dago wi' a haun' on 's knife. Ah guess there's nae chance for a
lime-juicer up-bye, an' ye may take it that yer man 'll be fined. Noo,
withoot sayin' ony mair aboot it, ye ken fine that yer Captain 's no'
gaun tae pey 't. Wi' nae sicht o' a charter an' th' chances o' 's ship
bein' laid bye fur a whilie, he'll no' be wantin' mair men aboard, 'n
Ahm thinkin' he'll no' be sorry tae see th' last o' this Joan Welsh.
This is whaur Daly 'll come in. He'll offer t' pey th' fine, an' yer
man, wi' seeven weeks' hospital ahint 'm, an' the prospeck o' a
fortnicht's jile afore 'm, 'll jump at th' chance o' a spree. Daly 'll
pey th' fine, gae yer man a nicht's rope fur a maddenin' drunk, an'
ship 'm on th' New-Yorker i' th' mornin'. There's nae help for't;
that's th' wey they dae things oot here; unless maybe ye'd pey th' fine
yersels?"
This was our opportunity, and Munro asked for a loan till next week.
He explained the state of our purses and the uselessness of applying to
the Captain so early in the week; James was dubious. Munro urged the
case in homely Doric; James, though pleased to hear the old tongue, was
still hesitating when Munro skilfully put a word of the Gaelic here and
there. A master move! James was highly flattered at our thinking he
had the Gaelic (though never a word he knew), and when Munro brought a
torrent of liquid vowels into the appeal, James was undone. The blood
of the Standard Bearer of the Honourable Order of the Scottish Clans
coursed proudly through his veins, and, readjusting his tartan necktie,
he parted with fifteen dollars on account.
Now a difficulty arose. It being a working day, none of us would get
away to attend the Court. We thought of Old Martin, the night
watchman. As he slept soundly during three-fifths of his night watch,
it was no hardship for the old 'shellback' to turn out, but he wasn't
in the best of tempers when we wakened him and asked his assistance.
"Yew boys thinks nuthin' ov roustin' a man out, as 'as bin on watch awl
night." (Martin was stretched out like a jib downhaul, sound asleep on
the galley floor, when we had come aboard on Sunday night). "Thinks
nuthin' at awl ov callin' a man w'en ye ain't got no damn business
to.... W'en Ah was a boy, it was ropesendin' fer scratchin' a match in
fo'cas'le, 'n hell's-hidin' fer speakin' in a Dago's whisper!"--Martin
sullenly stretched out for his pipe, ever his first move on
waking--"Nowadays boys is men an' men 's old.---- W'y"--Martin waved
his little black pipe accusingly--"taint only t' other day w'en that
there Jones lays out 'n th' tawps'l yardarm afore me 'n mittens th'
bloody earin' 's if awl th' sailormen wos dead!" His indignation was
great, his growls long and deep, but at last he consented to do our
errand--"tho' ain't got no use for that damned Welshman meself!"
Arrayed in his pilot cloth suit, with a sailorlike felt hat perched
rakish on his hard old head, old Martin set out with our fifteen
dollars in his pocket, and his instructions, to pay John's fine and
steer clear of the 'crimps.' We had misgivings as to the staunchness
of our messenger, but we had no other, and it was with some slight
relief that we watched him pass the nearest saloon with only a wave of
his arm to the bar-keeper and tramp sturdily up the street towards the
City.
At dinner-time neither John nor Old Martin had rejoined the ship. We
thought, with misgiving, that a man with fifteen dollars in his becket
would be little likely to remember the miserly meal provided by the
ship, and even Browne (the Mark Tapley of our half-deck) said he
shouldn't be surprised if the 'crimps' had got both John and Old Martin
(to say nothing of our fifteen dollars). As the day wore on we grew
anxious, but at last we got news of the absentees when Peden passed, on
his way out to the Bay. The sentimental Scotsman of the morning had
thought a lot after his liberal response to Munro's appeal, and had
called round at the Police Court to see that the affair was genuine.
He was now in his right senses; a man of rock, not to be moved even by
a mention of Burns's 'Hielan' Mary,' his tartan tie had slipped nearly
out of sight beneath the collar of his coat, and the hard, metallic
twang of his voice would have exalted a right 'down-easter.'