WILLIS MARSH SPRINGS A TRAP
The ensuing days were strenuous ones for the partners, working as they
did, with a crippled force and under constant guard. Riot was in the
air, and violence on every side. By the police, whose apathy
disappeared only when an opportunity occurred of arresting the men they
were supposed to protect, they were more handicapped than helped. The
appearance of a fisherman at any point along the water-front became a
sure signal for strife.
Day by day the feeling on both sides grew stronger, till the non-union
men were cemented together in a spirit of bitterest indignation, which
materially lessened their zeal for work. Every act of violence
intensified their rage. They armed themselves, in defiance of orders,
tossed restraint to the winds, and sought the slightest opportunity of
wreaking vengeance upon their enemies. Nor were the rioters less
determined. Authority, after all, is but a hollow shell, which, once
broken, is quickly disintegrated. Fierce engagements took place,
populating the hospitals. It became necessary to guard all property in
the warehouse districts, and men ceased to venture there alone after
dark.
One circumstance caused Boyd no little surprise and uneasiness--the
fact that no vigorous effort had been made to fix the blame for the
striker's death on that riotous afternoon. Surely, he reasoned, Marsh's
detective must have witnessed the killing, and must recognize the ease
with which the act could now be saddled upon him. If delay were their
object, Emerson could not understand why they did not seek to have him
arrested. The consequences might well be serious if Marsh's money were
used; but, as the days slipped past and nothing occurred, he decided
that he had been overfearful on this score, or else that the manager of
the Packers' Trust had limits beyond which he would not push his
persecution.
A half-mile from Captain Peasley's ship, the rival Company tenders were
loading rapidly with union labor, and it seemed that in spite of Boyd's
plan to be first at Kalvik, Marsh's force would beat him to the ground
unless greater efforts were made. When he communicated these fears to
Big George, the fisherman suddenly became a slave-driver. He passed
among his men, cajoling, threatening, bribing, and they began to work
like demons, with the result that when the twentieth arrived he was
able to announce to his partner that the work would be finished some
time during the following morning.
The next day Emerson and Clyde drove down to the dock with Cherry in a
closed carriage, experiencing no annoyance beyond some jeers and
insults as they passed through the picket line. Boyd had barely seen
them comfortably established on board, when up the ship's gangway came
"Fingerless" Fraser radiantly attired, three heavily laden hotel
porters groaning at his back, the customary thick-waisted cigar between
his teeth.
"Are you going with us?" Boyd inquired.
"Sure."
"See here. Is life one long succession of surprise parties with you?"
"Why, I've figgered on this right along."
"But the ship is jammed now. There is no room."
"Oh, I fixed that up long ago. I am going to bunk with the steward."
"Well, why in the world didn't you let us know you were coming?"
"Say, don't kid yourself. You knew I couldn't stay behind." Fraser blew
a cloud of smoke airily. "I never start anything I can't finish, I keep
telling you, and I'm going to put this deal through, now that I've got
it started." With a half-embarrassed laugh and a complete change of
manner, he laid his hand upon Boyd's shoulder, saying: "Pal, I ain't
much good to myself or anybody else, but I like you and I want to stick
around. Maybe I'll come in useful yet--you can't tell."
Emerson had never glimpsed this side of the man's nature, and it rather
surprised him.
"Of course you can come along, old man," he responded, heartily. "We're
glad to have you."
To one who has never witnessed the spring sailing of a Northern
cannery-tender, the event is well worth seeing; it is one of the
curiosities of the Seattle water-front. Not only is there the
inevitable confusion involved in the departure of an overloaded craft,
but likewise there is all the noisy excitement that attends a shipment
of Oriental troops.
The Chinese maintain such a clatter as to drown the hoarse cries of the
stevedores, the complaint of the creaking tackle, and the rumble of the
winches. They scurry hither and yon like a distracted army, forever in
the way, shouting, clacking, squealing in senseless turmoil. They are
timid as to the water, and for them a voyage is at all times beset with
many alarms. It is no more possible to restrain them than to calm a
frightened herd of wild pigs, nor will they embark at all until their
frenzy has run its course and died of its own exhaustion. To discipline
them according to the seamen's standard is inadvisable, for many of
them are "cutters," big, evil, saffron-hued fellows, whose trade it is
to butcher and in whose dextrous hands a knife becomes a frightful
weapon.
The Japs, ordinarily so noiseless and submissive, yield to the
contagion and add their share to the uproar. Each man carries a few
pounds of baggage in bundles or packs or valises, and these scanty
belongings he guards with shrieking solicitude.
While the pandemonium of the Orientals who gathered to board _The
Bedford Castle_ was sufficient in itself to cause consternation, it was
as nothing to that which broke loose when the fishermen began to
assemble. To a man they were drunk, belligerent and, declamatory. A
few, to be sure, were still busy with the tag ends of the cargo, but
the majority had gone to their lodgings for their packs, and now
reappeared in a state of the wildest exuberance; for this would be
their last spree of the season, and before them lay a period of long,
sleepless nights, exposure, and unceasing labor, wherein a year's work
must be crowded into three months. They, therefore, inaugurated the
change in befitting style.
On the whole, no explosive has ever been invented that is so noisy in
its effect, so furiously expansive in its action, as the fumes of cheap
whiskey. The great dock-shed soon began to reverberate to the wildest
clamor, which added to the fury of the crowd outside. The strikers,
unable to enter the building, flowed down upon the adjoining wharf, or
clambered to the roofs nearby, whence they jeered insultingly. Among
them was a newspaper photographer, bent on securing an unusual picture
for his publication, and in truth the scene from this point of view was
sufficiently novel and striking.
The decks of the big, low-lying tramp steamer were piled high with gear
of every description. A trio of stout tow-boats were blocked up
amidships, long piles of lumber rose higher than a man's head, and the
roofs of the deck-houses were jammed with fishing-boats nested, one
inside the other, like pots in a kitchen. Every available inch was
crowded with cases of gasoline, of groceries, and of the varied
provisions required on an expedition of this magnitude. Aft, on rows of
hooks, were suspended the carcasses of sheep and bullocks and hogs;
there seemed to be nowhere another foot of available room. The red
water-line of the ship was already submerged, yet notwithstanding this
fact her derricks clanged noisily, her booms swung back and forth, and
her gaping hatches swallowed momentary loads. Those fishermen who had
come aboard early had settled like flies in the rigging, whence they
taunted their enemies, hurling back insult for insult.
It was much like the departure of a gold steamer during the early
famine stages of the northward stampede, save that now there were no
women, while the confusion was immeasurably greater, and through it all
might be felt a certain strained and angry menace. All the long
afternoon _The Bedford Castle_ lay at her moorings subjected to the
customary eleventh-hour delays. As the time dragged on, and the liquor
died in the fishermen, it became a herculean task to prevent them from
issuing forth into the street, while the crowds outside seemed
possessed of a desperate determination to force an entrance and bring
the issue to a final settlement. But across the shore end of the dock a
double cordon was drawn which hurled back the intruders at every
advance.
The fishermen who remained inside the barnlike structure, unable to
come at their enemies, fought among themselves, bidding fair to wreck
the building in the extravagance of their delirium, while outside the
rival faction kept up a fire of missiles and execrations. As the hours
crept onward the tension increased, and at last Boyd turned to Captain
Peasley saying, "You'd better be ready to pull out at any minute, for
if the mob breaks in we'll never be able to hold these maniacs." He
pointed to the black swarm aloft, whence issued hoarse waves of sound.
"I don't like the look of things, a little bit."
"They are a trifle strained, to be sure," the Captain acknowledged.
"I'll stand by to cast off at your signal, so you'd better pass the
word around."
Boyd left the ship and went to the dock-office, for there still
remained one thing to be done: he could not leave without sounding a
final note of triumph for Mildred. How sweet it would be to her ears he
knew full well, yet he could not help wondering if she would feel the
thrill that mastered him at this moment. As he saw the empty spaces
where had stood those masses of freight which he had gathered at such
cost, as he heard his own men bellowing defiance at his enemies and
realized that his first long stride toward success had been taken, his
heart swelled with gladness and the breath caught momentarily in his
throat. After all, he was going to win! Out of the shimmering distance
of his desire, the lady of his dreams drew closer to him; and ere long
he could lay at her feet the burden of his travail, and then--.
Oblivious to the turmoil all about, he wrote rapidly, almost
incoherently, to Mildred, transcribing the mood of mingled tenderness
and exultation which possessed him.
"Outside the building," he concluded, "there is a raging mob. They
would ruin me if they could, but they can't do it, they can't do it. We
have beaten them all, my lady. We have won!"
He was sealing his letter, when, without warning, "Fingerless" Fraser
appeared at his side, his fishlike eyes agleam, his colorless face
drawn with anxiety.
"They've come to grab you for killing that striker," he began,
breathlessly; "there's a couple of 'square-toes' on the dock now.
Better take it on the 'lam'--quick!"
"God!" So Marsh had withheld this stroke until the last moment, when
the least delay would be fatal. Boyd knew that if he were brought into
court he would have hard shift to clear himself against the mass of
perjured testimony that his rival had doubtless gathered; but even this
seemed as nothing in comparison with the main issue. For one wild
instant he considered sending George Balt on with the ship. That would
be folly, no doubt; yet plainly he could not hold _The Bedford Castle_
and keep together that raging army of fishermen while he fought his way
through the tedious vexations of a trial. He saw that he had
under-estimated his enemy's cunning, and he realized that, if Marsh had
planned this move, he would press his advantage to the full.
"There's two plain-clothes men," he heard Fraser running on. "I 'made'
'em as they were talking to Peasley. You'd better 'beat' it, quick!"
"How? I couldn't get through that crowd. They know me. Listen!" Outside
the street broke into a roar at some taunt of the fishermen high up in
the rigging. "I can't run away, and if those detectives get me I'm
ruined."
"Well! What's to be done?" demanded Fraser, sharply. "If you say the
word, we'll shoot it out with them, and get away on the ship before--"
"We can't do that--there are a dozen policemen in front here."
"Well, you'll have to move quick, or they'll 'cop' you, sure."
Boyd clinched his hands in desperation. "I guess they've got me," he
said, bitterly. "There's no way out."
His eyes fell upon the letter containing his boastful assurance of
victory. What a mockery!
"From what they said I don't think they know you," Fraser continued.
"Anyhow, they wanted Peasley to point you out. When they come off,
maybe you can slip 'em."
"But how?" Boyd seized eagerly upon the suggestion. "The wharf is
empty--see! I'll have to cross it in plain sight."
Through the rear door of the office that opened upon the dock proper
they beheld the great floor almost entirely clear. Save for a few tons
of freight at which Big George's men were working, it was as
unobstructed as a lawn; and, although it was nearly the size of a city
block, it afforded no more means of concealment than did the little
office itself, with its glass doors, its counter, and its long desk, at
the farther end of which a bill-clerk was poring over his task.
Iron-barred windows at the front of the room looked out upon the
street; other windows and a door at the right opened upon the driveway
and railroad track, while at the rear the glass-panelled door through
which they had just been peering gave egress only to the dock itself,
up which the two officers were likely to come at any instant. Even as
Emerson, with a last desperate glance, summed up the possible places of
concealment, Fraser exclaimed, softly:
"There they are now!" and they saw at the foot of the gang-plank two
men talking with Big George. They saw Balt point the strangers
carelessly to the office, whence he had seen Boyd disappearing a few
moments before, and turn back to his stevedores; then they saw the
plain-clothes men approaching.
"Here! Gimme your coat and hat, quick!" cried Fraser in a low voice,
his eyes blazing at a sudden, thought. He stripped his own garments
from his back with feverish haste. "Put mine on. There! I'll stall for
you. When they grab me, take it on the run. Understand!"
"That won't do. Everybody knows me." Boyd cast an apprehensive glance
at the arched back of the bill-clerk, but Fraser, quick of resource in
such a situation, forced him swiftly to make the change, saying:
"Nix. It's your only 'out.' Stand here, see!" He indicated a position
beside the rear door. "I'll step out the other way where they can see
me," he continued, pointing to the wagon-way at the right. "Savvy? When
they grab me, you beat it, and don't wait for nothing."
"But you--"
Already they could hear the footsteps of the officers.
"I'll take a chance. Good-bye."
There was no time even for a hand-shake; Fraser stepped swiftly to the
door, then strolled quietly out into the view of the two men, who an
instant later accosted him.
"Are you Mr. Boyd Emerson?"
The adventurer answered brusquely, "Yes, but I can't talk to you now."
"You are under arrest, Mr. Emerson."
Boyd waited to hear no more. The glass door swung open noiselessly
under his hand, and he stepped out just as the bill-clerk looked up
from his work, staring out through the other entrance.
"Fingerless" Fraser's voice was louder now, as if for a signal. "Arrest
me? What do you mean? Get out of my way."
"You'd better come peaceably."
Boyd heard a sharp exclamation--"Get him, Bill!" And then the sound of
men struggling. He ran, followed by a roar from the strikers, in whose
full view Fraser's encounter with the plain-clothes men was taking
place. A backward glance showed him that Fraser had drawn his pursuers
to the street. He had broken away and dodged out into the open, where
the other officers responded at a call and seized him as he apparently
undertook to break through the cordon. This diversion served an
unexpected purpose. Not only did it draw attention from Emerson's
retreat, but it also gave the mob its long-awaited opportunity.
Recognizing in the officers' quarry the supposed figure of Emerson, the
hated cause of all this strife, the strikers gave vent to a great shout
of rage and triumph, and surged forward across the wide street,
carrying the police before them with irresistible force.
In a moment it became not a question of keeping the entrance to the
wharf, but of protecting the life of the prisoner, and the policemen
rallied with their backs to the wall, their clubs working havoc with
the heads that came within striking distance.
Scarcely had Boyd reached Big George, when a wing of the besieging army
swept in through the unguarded entrance and down the dock like an
avalanche, leaving behind them the battling officers and the hungry
pack clamoring for the prisoner.
"Drop that freight, and get aboard the best way you can!" Boyd yelled
at the fishermen, and with a bound was out into the open crying to
Captain Peasley on the bridge:
"Here they come! Cast off, for God's sake!"
Instantly a wild cry of rage and defiance rose from the clotted rigging
and upper works of _The Bedford Castle_. Down the fishermen swarmed,
ready to over-flow the sides of the ship, but, with a sharp order to
George, Boyd ran up the gang-plank and rushed along the rail to a
commanding position in the path of his men, where, drawing his
revolver, he roared at them to keep back, threatening the first to go
ashore. His lungs were bursting from his sprint, and it was with
difficulty that his voice rose above the turmoil; but he presented such
a figure of determination that the men paused, and then the steamship
whistle interrupted opportunely, with a deafening blast.
The dozen men who had been slinging freight on the dock hastened up the
gang-plank or climbed the fenders, while the signal-man clung to the
lifting tackle, and, at the piping cry of his whistle, was swung aloft
out of the very arms of the rioters.
Above, on the flying bridge, Captain Peasley was bellowing orders; a
quartermaster was running up the iron steps to the pilot-house; on deck
the sailors were fighting their way to their posts through the ranks of
the raging fishermen and the shrieking confusion of the Orientals; the
last men aboard, with a "Heave Ho!" in unison, slid the gang-plank
upward and out of reach. The neighboring roofs, lately so black, were
emptying now, the onlookers hastening to join in the attack.
Big George alone remained upon the wharf. As he saw the rush coming he
had ordered his men to abandon their load; then he ran to the
after-mooring, and, taking slack from a deck hand, cast it off. Back up
the dock he went to the forward hawser, where, at a signal, he did the
same, moving, toward the last, without excessive hurry, as if in a
spirit of bravado. The ship was clear, and he had not cut a hawser. He
had done his work; all but a ton or two of the cargo was stowed. There
was no longer cause for delay.
"Get aboard! Are you mad?" Emerson shouted, but the cry never reached
him. Back he came slowly, in front of the press, secure in his
tremendous strength, defiance in his every move, a smouldering
challenge in his eyes; and noting that gigantic frame with its
square-hewn, flaming face, not one of his enemies dared oppose him. But
as he passed they yapped and snarled and jostled at his heels, hungry
to rend him and only lacking courage.
As yet the ship, although throbbing to the first pulsations of her
engines, lay snug along the piling, but gradually her stern swung off
and a wedge of clearance showed. Almost imperceptibly she drew back and
rubbed against the timbers. A fender began to squeeze and complain. The
dock planking creaked. Sixty seconds more and she would be out of
arm's-reach, and still George made no haste. Again Boyd shouted at him,
and then with one farewell glower over his shoulder the big fellow
mounted a pile, stretched his arms upward to the bulwarks, and swung
himself lightly aboard.
Even yet Emerson's anxiety was of the keenest; for, notwithstanding the
stress of these dragging moments, he had not forgotten Fraser, the
vagabond, the morally twisted rascal, to whose courage and
resourcefulness he owed so much. He strained his eyes for a glimpse of
the fellow, at the same time dreading the sight of a uniform. Would the
ship never get under way and out of hailing distance? If those officers
had discovered their mistake, they might yet have time to stop him. He
vowed desperately that he would not let them, not if he had to take
_The Bedford Castle_ to sea with a gun at the back of her helmsman. He
made his way hurriedly to the bridge, where he hastily explained to
Captain Peasley his evasion of the officers; and here he found Cherry,
her face flushed, her eyes sparkling with excitement, but far too wise
to speak to him in his present state of mind.
A scattered shower of missiles came aboard as the strikers kept pace
with the steamer to the end of the slip, exciting the fishermen, who
had again mounted the rigging, to a simian frenzy. Oaths, insults, and
jeers were hurled back and forth; but as the big steamer gathered
momentum and slid out of her berth, they grew gradually more
indistinct, until at last they became muffled, broken, and meaningless.
Even then the rival ranks continued to volley profanely at each other,
while the Captain, with hand on the whistle-rope, blew taunting blasts;
nor did the fishermen descend from their perches until the forms on the
dock had blurred together and the city lay massed in the distance, tier
upon tier, against the gorgeous evening sky.