Chapter 6

We moored at Mission Wharf to discharge what cargo the fire had spared, and there we made a lubberly picture, outcast among so many trim ships. The firemen had done their duty and had left us to do ours, and we had to work our hardest to put the ship in order again. A firm of shipwrights were employed to repair the damage--the twisted stanchions, buckled beams, burnt decks, worthless pumps, and hold fittings. Old Jock was not a Scotchman for nothing, and to make their contract profitable, the 'wrights did nothing that they could wriggle out of. So we had extra work to do--their work--and from daylight to dark were kept hard at it, man-driven as only our hardcase Mate could drive. It was no wonder that we were in a state of discontent. Here we were, after a long, hard voyage, working our 'soul-case' to shreds! And there--just across the wharf--were the lights of Market Street, that seemed to beckon us to come ashore! There were angry mutterings, and only a wholesome fear of the Mate's big hands kept us at the task.

With the men forward it was even worse. The word had gone out that no money would be advanced until the cargo was discharged and the ship put to rights. No money--not even the price of a 'schooner'! And the ghost of nigh six months, salt beef waiting to be 'laid!'

Their state of mind was soon observed by the boarding-masters. Whalers were in the Bay, fitted out and ready for sea, and only a lack of sailormen kept them within the Golden Gate. To get these men--the blood-money for their shipment, rather--was the business of the 'crimps,' who showed a wealth of imagination in describing the various topping shore jobs that they held at their disposal. Now it was a 'mine manager' they were looking for in our forecastle; to-morrow it would be a fruit salesman they wanted! They secured smiling Dutch John as a decoy, and set him up behind the bar of a Water Front saloon. There, when work was over for the day, his former shipmates foregathered, and John (fairly sober, considering) put up free drinks and expanded on the goodness of a long-shore life.

"Vat jou boysh stop _mit der_ ship on? Jou tinks dere vas no yobs on shore? De boardin'-master damn lie, eh? ... Ah vas get me four dollars a day; _und der_ boss, ven 'e see me de glasses break, say me nodings! Ah goes from _der haus, und_ comes to _der haus in--und_ 'e say nod like _der_ Mate, 'Vat jou do dere, _verdamt shwine_? Was _für_ jou no go on mit jour vark?' ... _'ttverdam_! It vas _der_ life, _mein_ boysh! It vas _der_ life!"

Against such a pronouncement from their whilom shipmate, and with the plain evidence of his prosperity before their eyes, it was useless to argue. Here was John able to stand free drinks all round, and the saloon boss 'standin' by' and smiling pleasantly. Didn't John say, "Here, boss, jou gif me a light for _mein_ cigar!" and the owner of the place handed out his silver box instanter? John! A 'Dutchman,' too,--not even the best sailorman of the 'crowd'! ... ("Here, boss, what was that job ye was talkin' about? I _guess_ there ain't nuthin' I can't do w'en I sets my 'ead to it!") Soon the 'crimps,' ever ready at hand, were off to the ship, hot-foot, for bags and baggage!

Those who still held by the ship were visited at all hours, and the comings and goings of the tempters were not even checked by the Mate. The dinner hour was the most opportune time for them, for then they had the miserable meal to point to in scorn.

"Call yewrselves min," they said, "a sittin' hyar at yer lobscouse an' dawg biscuits, an' forty dallars a month jest waitin' t' be picked up? ... Forty dallars ... an' no more graft 'n a boy kin dew! Darn it, I wouldn't give that mess to me dawg! ... A fine lot yees are, fer sure! Ain't got no heart t' strike aout f'r decent grub 'n a soft job.... Forty dallars, I guess! ... Is thar a 'man' among ye? ... Chip in yewr dunnage an' step ashore, me bucks! A soft job in a free country, an' no damn lime juice Mate t' sweat ye araound!"

The 'spell worked'! Within a fortnight of our arrival most of the men who had signed with us had, '_Deserted. Left no effects_,' entered against their names in our official Log. Soon the whalers were at sea, standing to the north, and Dutch John shorn of his proud position, was shipped as cook on a hard-case New Yorker!

The bos'un and Old Martin were still with us, and we had Welsh John and Houston safe in the hospital--about the only place in 'Frisco where no healthy 'crimp' could gain admission. For want of better game, perhaps, the boarding-masters paid some attention to the half-deck, but we had, in the Chaplain of the British Seamen's Institute, a muscular mentor to guide us aright. From the first he had won our hearts by his ability to put Browne (our fancy man) under the ropes in three rounds. It was said that, in the absence of a better argument, he was able and willing to turn his sleeves up to the stiffest 'crimp' on the Front. Be that as it may, there was no doubt about his influence with brassbounders in the port. Desertions among us--that had formerly been frequent--were rare enough when James Fell came, swinging his stick, to see what was doing on the Front!

With the crew gone, we found matters improved with us. The Mate, 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.