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 more noisily than ever. One of the youngsters
about Alf's size and build, impudently snatched his cap from his head;
and 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 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 sailormen 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
forecastle-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.
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Page 5, "spice" changed to "splice" (reef und splice)
Page 35, "undego" changed to "undergo" (undergo with one's)
End of Project Gutenberg's Stories of Ships and the Sea, by Jack London