LANDING AT SAN FRANCISCO.
On the following evening at sunset, the deck of the steamer presented a
most impressive appearance. All the officers and passengers of the ship
were assembled around the corpse of poor Nina Van der Beck, over which
the captain was reading the burial service. The evening was gloomy and
threatening, and the dark-green waves were beginning to be capped with
foam. Overhead there was a glaring red sky, of the fierce, angry color
of blood which tinged the water around the ship a lurid crimson. Away
in the west the sun, like a gigantic ball of fire, was sinking behind
a bank of ominous-looking clouds, and from time to time a passing
shadow shivered on the troubled waters like a streak of purple. Several
huge albatross were unceasingly circling around the vessel with broad
expanded wings, and their discordant cries added to the weird fantasy
of the scene. The engines had been stopped, and the silence was only
broken by the slashing of the waves against the ship's side and the
melancholy moaning of the wind through the rigging, which was so strong
as to sometimes almost drown the voice of the commander as he proceeded
with the service.
On the deck at his feet lay a long, narrow object, sewed up in a
canvas cover. An Austrian flag had been thrown partly over it, so as
to conceal as much as possible the rigid outline of the corpse which
produced so dismal an impression in its shroud of sail-cloth, to which
two heavy cannonballs had been attached.
Frederick was leaning against the bulwark, close to the place where
an opening had been purposely prepared. His arms were folded on his
breast, and his head was bent; but, although he was deadly pale, he
showed no trace of emotion, and remained so perfectly still that he
might have been carved in marble. Only once during the brief ceremony
did his unnatural calm give way. The captain had arrived at those most
solemn words of a burial service at sea:
“We therefore commit her body to the deep, looking for the
resurrection of the body when the sea shall give up her dead.”
[Illustration: NINA BURIED AT SEA.]
Four quartermasters, with bared heads, at that moment seized the
corpse, and, placing it on an inclined plank, allowed it to gently
glide downward into the dark waters. The waves opened for an instant,
with a low, hissing sound, and then closed again over all that remained
of the once beautiful and admired Nina. Frederick shuddered, as if
overcome by a great terror, and an expression of horror swept over
his livid features. Making his way through the group of mourners, he
rapidly walked forward to the very bows of the vessel, and for three
long hours he remained there motionless, leaning against the bulwark,
peering into the gathering darkness, and apparently heedless of the
terrible storm which was coming on.
The tempest, which had announced itself by an alarming fall of the
barometer, burst forth shortly after ten o'clock that night in all its
intensity. It seemed as if the very elements were raising their voices
in protest against the great crime which had been committed. For a time
the wind was so powerful that the ship could make no headway, and the
very waves were beaten down by its terrific force. The air for a depth
of about fifteen feet above the surface of the water was covered with
a dense kind of mist, formed of pulverized spray. It was impossible to
stand on deck without being tied.
On the following day the wind lulled slightly, and then the waves, as
if released from the pressure which had kept them down, burst upon
the vessel in all their mad fury. Seas mountain high swept the deck
from stem to stern, carrying almost all before them. The boats were
torn from their davits and shattered to pieces. The smoking-room,
pilot-house, and captain's cabin were severely damaged, and the
paddle-boxes splintered to match-wood, leaving the huge wheels exposed
to view.
In the midst of all this turmoil, Frederick was below in the saloon,
half-stretched on a divan, making an attempt to read. Suddenly a
terrific lurch sent everything flying to starboard, and the young man,
without touching the table in front of him, was hurled clean over it
through the air to the other side of the cabin, where his head came in
violent contact with the heavy brass lock of the door.
For a moment it was thought that he was dead. Some artery had been cut,
and a torrent of blood deluged his face and clothes. As soon as his
fellow-passengers were able to regain their feet, they carried him off
to the surgeon's quarters, where some minutes elapsed before he could
be restored to his senses.
Marvelous to relate, it was found that he had sustained no injury
beyond a deep and jagged cut extending over the top of the head. This
was carefully sewed up, and with the exception of severe headaches
during the next few weeks, accompanied by slight fever, Frederick
suffered no ill effects from his accident.
The wound, although it had healed well, yet left, even when the hair
had grown again, a slight scar, which the French police might have
discovered at the time of “Prado's” imprisonment and execution, had
they taken the trouble to shave the front part of his head.
The storm had driven the steamer so far out of its course that it did
not arrive in front of the Golden Gate until the twenty-ninth day after
leaving Yokohama. A few hours later the good ship was made fast to
the enormous wharf of the Pacific Mail Steamship Company. Frederick
hastened on shore, and was driven to one of the leading hotels.
In the afternoon, having gone down to see about the passing of his
luggage through the custom-house, he was much amused by the sight of
the landing of the five or six hundred Chinese who had made the passage
across the Pacific with him. If ever human beings were treated like
chattels it was on this occasion. The inspectors first of all began
by carefully examining the strange-looking bundles and boxes which
constituted their baggage; and, having ascertained that there was no
opium concealed therein, they marked them with a large hieroglyphic
in white chalk, in order to show that they had been duly passed. The
owners themselves were then taken in hand, and their persons equally
minutely searched, after which ceremony their backs were ornamented
with a similar large hieroglyphic in chalk. The spectacle they
presented as they marched into San Francisco, labeled in this fashion,
from the highest mandarin down to the humblest coolie, was ludicrous
beyond description, and was greeted with many a hearty laugh.