NIGHT
The week before the sailing of the _Wear Jack_ was a busy time for the
Fisher Syndicate and business was not expedited owing to the fact that
Candon had to be kept hidden. The red-bearded one seemed happy enough,
spending most of his time in the engine room smoking cigarettes. At
nights, safe with Hank in the “saloon,” his mind disclosed itself in
his conversation.
No, this was no wasp let in on them by Barrett or the Club boys. The
mind of Candon, as revealed to Hank, was as free from crookedness as
the eyes through which it looked, and on most topics from the League
of Nations to Ella Wheeler Wilcox, it was sound. And it was not unlike
the mind of Hank. It was self-educated and their enthusiasms, from the
idea of Universal Brotherhood to the idea of the sanctity of womanhood,
matched, mostly.
Candon, from what one could gather, had been a rolling stone, like
Hank, but he gave little away about himself and he was quite frank
about it.
“I’d just as soon forget myself,” said he. “I’ve been in a good many
mix-ups and I’ve missed a fortune twice through my own fault, but I’ve
come through with all my teeth and no stomach worries and we’ll leave
it at that.”
Barrett’s stores came on board and were stowed, and Hank, through a
boarding-house keeper, got his crew, four Chinamen all of the same
tong, all Lees, and bossed by a gentleman rejoicing in the name of Lee
Wong Juu. Champagne Charley, Hank labeled him. They came tripping on
board with their chests the night before starting, vanished like shades
down the foc’sle hatch and were seen no more.
Hank, standing on the deck with George, heaved a sigh of contentment.
“Well, that’s done,” said he. “There’s nothing more to take on board
and we’re all ready for the pull out in the morning.”
“What time do you propose to start?” asked the other.
“Sunup. Barrett has got it into his head, somehow, we’re going at noon.
I didn’t tell you, but I got wind he’d arranged for a tug with a brass
band to lead us out and josh us. Can you see his face when he finds us
gone?”
They went below where the cabin lamp was lit, with Candon reading a
newspaper under it.
“The Chinks are come,” said Hank, taking his seat at the table, and
fetching out his pipe. “There’s nothing more to come in but the
mud-hook. Well, how do you feel, now we’re starting?”
“Bully,” said Candon. “I was beginning to feel like a caged canary.
You chaps don’t know what it’s been the last week. Well, let’s get
finished. There’s some truck still to be stowed in the after cabin and
I want to do a bit more tinkering at the engine. There’s a day’s work
on that engine—them cylinder rings were sure made in Hades.”
“Well, you can leave it,” said Hank. “I’m putting out at sunup. I don’t
count on that engine and you’ll have time to tinker with her on the
way down.” He stopped suddenly, raised his head, and held up a finger.
The night was warm and the skylight full open. In the dead silence
that fell on the cabin they could hear through the open skylight the
far-away rattle of a cargo winch working under the electrics, the
whistle of a ferry boat and away, far away, though great as the voice
of Behemoth, the boo of a deep sea steamer’s siren.
“Yes,” began Hank again, gliding to the door of the saloon as he spoke,
“you can tinker with it on the way down.” He vanished, and the others,
taking his cue, kept up the talk. Then they heard him pounce.
“What you doing here?”
“Hullo! me—I ain’t doin’ nothin’—what you gettin’ at? You lea’ me go.”
“What you doing here, you low down scow-hunker? Answer up before I
scrag you.”
“Tell you I was doin’ nothin’. I dropped aboard to see if I couldn’t
borry a light, seein’ the shine of your skylight.”
“I’ll give you a light.”
Then they heard the quite distinctive sounds of a man being kicked off
the ship, blasphemous threats from the wharf-side—silence.
A minute later Hank appeared, his lean face lit with the light of
battle.
“Popped my head on deck,” cried Hank, “and saw a fellow on the
wharf-side—I’ll swear it was Jake. He lit, and then I saw another one
hunched down by the skylight. You heard me kicking him off.”
“Who’s Jake?” asked Candon, who had taken his seat again at the table.
“Watchman I fired for handing me lies more’n a fortnight ago.”
“Well,” said Candon, “the other man was Mullins, if I have my ears on
my head.”
“Who’s Mullins?”
“Black Mullins, McGinnis’ left hand. Boys, we’ve gotta get out. How’s
the wind?”
“Nor’west,” said Hank.
“And there’s a moon. Boys, we’ve gotta get right out now, get the
whaleboat over and the Chinks ready for a tow clear of the wharf. Let’s
see, the whole of the _Heart_ crowd will be over at Tiburon, the old
_Heart_ will be in dry dock, for she’d started a butt and there’s
weeks’ work on her, so they won’t be able to use her to chase us for
another fortnight, get me? Well, see now, that guy will be back in
Tiburon somewhere about two hours or more and he’ll rouse the hive.
He’ll have seen me, lookin’ down through the skylight, and he’ll know
you’re starting to-morrow. Not having a ship to chase us, they’ll board
us. You’ll have a boatload of gunmen alongside somewhere about two in
the morning.”
“You mean to say they’ll board us?” cried George.
“Yep.”
“But what about the police?”
“Police! Nothing. Why they’d beat it in a quick launch before the cops
had begun to remember they weren’t awake.”
“Well, let’s notify the police and have an ambush ready for them.”
“Not me,” said Candon. “I don’t want to have any dealings with the law.
Why if McGinnis and his crowd were taken, they’d swear Lord knows what
about me. Besides I’m not friends with the bulls. I’m no crook, I’ve
never looked inside a jail, but I’ve seen enough good men done in by
the law to make me shy of it.”
“But see here,” said Hank. “I can’t take her out at night. I don’t know
the lights, I’d pile her up sure.”
“I’ll take her out,” said Candon, “I’d take her out with my eyes shut.
It’s near full moon and we’ll have the ebb, what more do you want?”
Hank turned to George.
“Let’s get out,” said George. “We don’t want a mix-up with those
people; if we get piled, why we have the boat.”
Hank turned to Candon.
“You’re sure you can do it?”
“Sure.”
“Then come on,” said Hank. He led the way on deck.
The wharf was deserted. To the left of them lay the bay, silver under
the moonlight and spangled here and there with the lights of shipping
at anchor. Whilst Hank trimmed the side lights and Candon attended to
the binnacle light, George went forward to rout out the Chinks. He
found them finishing their supper. Lee Wong Juu was their cook as well
as boss, he had lit the galley stove on his own initiative and made
tea. They had brought provisions enough for supper. Their chests were
arranged in order, everything was in apple-pie trim and as they sat on
their bunk sides with their tin mugs in their hands and their glabrous
faces slewed round on the intruder, they looked not unlike a company of
old maids at a tea party.
George gave his order and they rose, put away their mugs and followed
him on deck.
The whaleboat had cost Hank ninety-five dollars, second-hand. It was
not a real whaleboat, either in size, make or fittings, but good
enough for their purpose, carvel built, four-oared, with tins fixed
beneath the thwarts to help float her in case of a capsize.
Candon was standing by the boat as George came on deck.
In the rapid moments that had come on them since the spy had been
kicked off the ship, Candon had gradually gained supremacy, without
effort, one might say. The man had arisen and was rising to the
emergency like a swimmer on a wave, bearing the others with him. He was
giving orders now quietly and without fuss.
They got the boat afloat with the four Chinks in her, and, the tow rope
having been fixed, Candon got into her, having cast off the mooring
ropes. Hank took the wheel of the schooner. George, standing silent
beside Hank, heard the creak and splash of the oars. Then came the chug
and groan of the tow-rope tightening, then slowly, almost imperceptibly
the bowsprit of the _Wear Jack_ began to veer away from the wharf.
And now to port and starboard lay the glittering harbour water and
astern the long line of the wharves began to show with the electrics
blazing here and there where they were working cargo overtime. As the
wharves receded, they stole into a world of new sounds and lights. San
Francisco began to show her jewelry, glittering ribbons of electrics,
crusts of gems; on the port bow the lights of Oakland, far across
the water, answered to the lights of San Francisco, and across the
scattered silver ferry boats showed like running jewels. The wind from
the north west came steady and filled with the breath of the unseen sea.
“Lord!” said Hank, “how much further is he taking us? Seems like as if
he were making for Oakland.”
“He knows what he is doing,” said George.
“Sure.”
They held on.
A Chinese junk passed, with her lateen sail bellying to the wind, and
then came along a yacht, lighted and riotous as a casino, with a jazz
band playing “Suwanee.” It passed and the great quietude of the night
resumed. Still the tow kept on.
Then came a voice from alongside. Candon had cast off the rope and was
coming on board.
To George, just in that moment, the whole scene and circumstance came
as an impression never to be forgotten; the silence following the
casting off of the rope, the vast harbour surface, glittering like a
ball-room floor, where the helpless _Wear Jack_ lay adrift, the lights
of ’Frisco and the lights of Oakland and the secrecy and necessity for
despatch lest, drifting as they were, they should be side-swiped by
some Bay boat in a hurry. But he had little time for thought. Candon
was on board, the boat was got in and the slack of the tow-rope, and
Candon at the wheel began to give his orders with speed but without
hurry.
The mainsail rose slatting against the stars, then the foresail; a
Chink cast the gaskets off the jib, whilst the _Wear Jack_, trembling
like an undecided and frightened thing, seemed to calm down and take
heart. The slatting of the canvas ceased. They were under way.
Candon seemed steering for Oakland, then the Oakland lights swung to
starboard and passed nearly astern. They were making for Alcatraz. The
lights of San Francisco were now to port and the city showed immense,
heaving itself against the moonlight; Nobs Hill, Telegraph Hill,
Russian Hill, all ablaze beneath the moon, slashed with lines of light.
Away beyond Angel Island showed the lights of Tiburon.
Right under Alcatraz, Candon put the helm hard over; the canvas
thrashed and filled again and the _Wear Jack_ settled down on her new
tack, heading for the Presidio. Close in, the helm went over again, the
canvas fought the wind and then filled on the tack for Lime Point, the
northern gate post of the Golden Gate.
The breath of the sea now came strong, spray came inboard from the
meeting of wind and ebb tide and the _Wear Jack_ began to thrash at the
tumble coming in from the bar.
Under Lime Point she came about on the port tack, taking the middle
passage. Then beyond Pont Bonito came the tumble of the bar. The wind
was not more than a steady sailing breeze but the long rollers coming
in from Japan gave them all the trouble they wanted, though the _Wear
Jack_, proving her good qualities, shipped scarcely a bucket full.
Then the sea smoothed down to a glassy breeze-spangled swell and the
schooner, with the loom of the land far on her port quarter, spread her
wings beneath the moon for the south.