The Brassbounder Part 11

XII

ON THE SACRAMENTO

After our cargo was discharged we left Mission Wharf for an anchorage in the Bay, and there--swinging flood and ebb--we lay in idleness.

There were many s.h.i.+ps in the anchorage, and many more laid up at Martinez and Saucilito, for the year's crop was not yet to hand, and Masters were hanging back for a rise in freights. There we lay, idle s.h.i.+ps, while the summer sun ripened the crops and reared the golden grain for the harvest--the harvest that we waited to carry round the roaring Horn to Europe. Daily we rowed the Old Man ash.o.r.e, and when he returned from the Agent's office, we could tell by the way he took a request (say, for a small advance "to buy a knife") that our s.h.i.+p was still unchartered, and likely to be so for some time.

To a convenient wharf the gigs of each s.h.i.+p came every morning, and from then to untold hours of the night the jetty steps were well worn by comings and goings. Some of the Captains (the man-driving ones, who owed no man a moment) used to send their boats back to the s.h.i.+p as soon as they landed, but a number kept theirs at the wharf in case messages had to be sent off. We usually hung around at the jetty, where there were fine wooden piles that we could carve our barque's name on when our knives were sharp enough. With the boats' crews from other s.h.i.+ps we could exchange news and opinions, and quarrel over points in seamans.h.i.+p.

Those amongst us who had often voyaged to 'Frisco, and others who had been long in the port, were looked upon as 'oracles,' and treated with considerable respect. The _Manydown_ had been sixteen months in 'Frisco, and her boys could easily have pa.s.sed muster as Americans.

They chewed sweet tobacco ("mala.s.sus kyake," they called it), and swore Spanish oaths with freedom and abandon. Their gig was by far the finest and smartest at the jetty, and woe betide the unwitting 'bow'

who touched her glossy varnished side with his boat-hook. For him a wet swab was kept in readiness, and their stroke, a burly ruffian, was always willing to attend to the little affair if it went any farther.

Our Captains came down in batches, as a rule, and there would be great clatter of oars and s.h.i.+pping of rowlocks as their boats hauled alongside to take them off. Rivalry was keen, and many were the gallant races out to the anchorage, with perhaps a little sum at stake just for the honour of the s.h.i.+p.

We had about a month of this, and it was daily becoming more difficult to find a decently clear s.p.a.ce on the piles on which to carve '_Florence_, of Glasgow.' One day the Old Man returned at an unusual hour, and it was early evident that something was afoot; he was too preoccupied to curse Hansen properly for being away from the boat on business of his own, and, instead of criticising our stroke and telling us what rotten rowers we were, as was his wont, he busied himself with letters and papers. We put off to the s.h.i.+p in haste, and soon the news went round that we were going up-river to Port Costa, to load for home.

Old Joe Niven was the medium through whom all news filtered from the cabin, and from him we had the particulars even down to the amount of the freight. We felt galled that a German barque, which had gone up a week before, was getting two and twopence-ha'penny more; but we took consolation in the thought of what a fine crow we would have over the 'Torreador's,' who were only loading at forty-five and sixpence, direct to Hull.

On board we only mustered hands enough to do the ordinary harbour work, and raising the heavy anchors was a task beyond us; so at daybreak next morning we rowed round the s.h.i.+ps to collect a crew. The other Captains had promised our Old Man a hand, here and there, and when we pulled back we had men enough, l.u.s.ty and willing, to kedge her up a hill.

There was mist on the water when we started to 'clear hawse'--the thick, clammy mist that comes before a warm day. About us bells clattered on the s.h.i.+ps at anchor, and steamers went slowly by with a hiss of waste steam that told of a ready hand on the levers. Overhead, the sky was bright with the promise of a glorious day, but with no mind to lift the pall from the water, it looked ill for a ready pa.s.sage. We had four turns of a foul hawse to clear (the track of a week's calms), and our windla.s.s was of a very ancient type, but our scratch crew worked well and handy, and we were ready for the road when the screw tug _Escort_ laid alongside and lashed herself up to our quarter. They tow that way on the Pacific Coast--the wily ones know the advantage of having a s.h.i.+p's length in front of them to brush away the 'snags.'

A light breeze took the mist ''way down under,' and we broke the weather anchor out with the rousing chorus of an old sea song:

Old Storm-along, he's dead a-an' gone, (_To my way-ay, Storm-alo-ong;_) O-old Storm-along, he's dead a-an' gone, (_Aye! Aye! Aye! Mister Storm-along._)

Some friends of the Captain had boarded us from the tug, eager for the novelty of a trip up-river in a real Cape Horner. One elderly lady was so charmed by our 'chantey,' that she wanted the Captain to make us sing it over again. She wondered when he told her that that was one thing he could not do. With the rare and privileged sight of frocks on the p.o.o.p, there was a lot of talk about who should go to the wheel.

Jones worked himself into it, and laid aft in a clean rig when the Old Man called for a hand to the wheel. There he made the most of it, and hung gracefully over the spokes with his wrists turned out to show the tattoo marks.

The skipper of the tug came aboard our s.h.i.+p to pilot up the river, and he directed the movements of his own vessel from our p.o.o.p deck. We pa.s.sed under the guns of rocky Alcatraz, and stood over to the wooded slopes and vineyards of Saucilito, where many 'laid-up' s.h.i.+ps were lying at the buoys, with upper yards down and huge ballast booms lashed alongside. Here we turned sharply to the norrard and bore up the broad bosom of Sacramento--the river that sailormen make songs about, the river that flows over a golden bed. Dull, muddy water flowing swiftly seawards; straight rip in the channel, and a race where the high banks are; a race that the Greek fishermen show holy pictures to, when the springs are flowing!

With us, the tide was light enough, and our Pilot twisted her about with the skill and nonchalance of a master hand. One of our pa.s.sengers, a young woman who had enthused over everything, from the shark's tail on the spanker-boom end ("Waal--I never!") to the curl of the bo'sun's whiskers ("Jest real sweet!"), seemed greatly interested at the frequent orders to the steersman.

"Sa-ay, Pilot!" she said, "Ah guess yew must know every rock 'bout hyar?"

"Wa-al, no, Miss, ah kyan't say 's Ah dew," answered Palinurus; "but Ah reckon tew know whar th' deep wa-r-r is!"

As we approached the shallows at the head of San Pablo Bay, the Old Man expressed an opinion as to the lack of water, and the Pilot again provided a jest for the moment.

"Oh, that's awl right, Cap.; she's only drawin' twelve feet, 'n Ah kin tak' 'r over a damp meadow 'n this trim!"

We met a big stern-wheel ferry bound down from Benicia with a load of freight wagons. She looked like an important junction adrift.

Afterwards we saw a full-rigged s.h.i.+p towing down, and when near we made her out to be the _Torreador_, ready for sea. This was a great disappointment to us, for we had looked forward to being with her at Port Costa. Now, our long-dreamt-of boat-race was off (with our boat's crew in first-cla.s.s trim, too!), and amid the cheering as we met and pa.s.sed on, we heard a shrill and unmistakable '_c.o.c.k-a-doodle-doo!_'

which we remembered with indignation for many a day. Tall and stately she looked, with her flags a-peak and everything in trim: yards all aloft, and squared to an inch and her sails rolled up without crease like the dummy covers on the booms of a King's yacht. A gallant s.h.i.+p, and a credit to the flag she flew.

We pa.s.sed many floating tree trunks and branches in the river. The snows had come away from the Sierras, and there was spate on Sacramento. We rode over one of the 'snags' with a shudder, and all our jack-easy Pilot said was, "Guess that'll take some 'f th' barnacles off 'r battum, bettr'r a week's sojerin' with the patent scrubber!"

All the same he took very good care that his own craft rode free of obstruction.

Rounding a bend, we came in sight of our rendezvous, but Port Costa showed little promise from the water-side, though the sight of our old friends, the _Crocodile_, the _Peleus_, and the _Drumeltan_, moored at the wharf cheered us. Two or three large mills, with a cl.u.s.ter of white houses about, composed the towns.h.i.+p; a large raft-like ferry which carried the 'Frisco mail trains bodily across the river contributed to its importance, but there was nothing else about the place to excite the remark of even an idle 'prentice boy.

A little way up-stream was a town, indeed; a town of happy memories.

Benicia, with its vineyards and fruit gardens, and the low, old houses, alone perhaps in all California to tell of Spain's dominion. A town of hearty, hospitable folk, unaffected by the hustle of larger cities; a people of peace and patience, the patience of tillers of the vine.

Off Martinez, where the river is wide, we canted s.h.i.+p, and worked back to Port Costa against the tide. We made fast at the ballast wharf, and our borrowed crew, having completed their job, laid aft to receive the Captain's blessing, and a silver dollar to put in their pockets. Then they boarded the tug, and were soon on their way back to 'Frisco.

When Jones came from the wheel, he had great tales to tell of the attentions the ladies had paid him. He plainly wished us to understand that he'd made an impression, but we knew that was not the way of it, for Old Niven had told Eccles that the pretty one was engaged to be married to the s.h.i.+p's butcher, down in 'Frisco, a fairy Dutchman of about fifteen stone six.

XIII

HOMEWARD

In a Sunday morning, while Benicia's bells were chiming for early Ma.s.s, we cast off from the wharf at Port Costa and towed down Sacramento.

Though loaded and in sea trim, we were still short of a proper crew, so we brought up in 'Fris...o...b..y to complete our complement.

Days pa.s.sed and the boarding-masters could give us no more than two 'rancheros' (who had once seen the sea from Sonoma Heights), and a young coloured man, a sort of a seaman, who had just been discharged from Oakland Jail. The Old Man paid daily visits to the Consul, who could do nothing--there were no men. He went to the boarding-houses, and had to put up with coa.r.s.e familiarity, to drink beer with the sc.u.m of all nations, to clap scoundrels on the back and tell them what sly dogs they were. It was all of no use. The 'crimps' were crippled--there were no men.

"Wa-al, Cap.," Daly would say to the Old Man's complaint, "what kin we dew? I guess we kyan't make men, same's yewr bo'sin 'ud make spunyarn.... Ain't bin a darned soul in this haouse fer weeks as cud tell a clew from a crojeck. Th' s.h.i.+ps is hangin' on ter ther men like ole blue! Captens is a-given' em chickens an' soft-tack, be gosh, an'

dollars fer 'a drunk' on Sundays.... When they turns 'em to, it's, 'Naow, lads, me boys! When yew'r ready, me sons!' ... A month a-gone it was, 'Out, ye swine! Turn aout, d.a.m.n ye, an' get a move on!' ...

Ah, times is bad, Cap.; times is d.a.m.n bad! I ain't fingered an advance note since th' _Dharwar_ sailed--a fortnight ago! Hard times, I guess, an' we kyan't club 'em aboard, same's we use ter!"

A hopeless quest, indeed, looking for sailormen ash.o.r.e; but s.h.i.+ps were expected, and when the wind was in the West the Old Man would be up on deck at daybreak, peering out towards the Golden Gate, longing for the glad sight of an inward bounder, that would bring the sorely needed sailors in from the sea.

A week pa.s.sed, a week of fine weather, with two days of a rattling nor'west wind that would have sent us on our way, free of the land, with a smother of foam under the bows. All lost to us, for no s.h.i.+ps came in, and we lay at anchor, swinging ebb and flood--a useless hull and fabric, without a crew to spread the canvas and swing the great yards!

Every morning the Mate would put the windla.s.s in gear and set everything in readiness for breaking out the anchor; but when we saw no tug putting off, and no harbour cat-boats tacking out from the sh.o.r.e with sailors' bags piled in the bows, he would undo the morning's work and put us to 'stand-by' jobs on the rigging. There were other loaded s.h.i.+ps in as bad a plight as we. The _Drumeltan_ was eight hands short of her crew of twenty-six, and the Captain of the _Peleus_ was considering the risk of setting off for the Horn, short-handed by three. Sailors' wages were up to thirty and thirty-five dollars a month, and at that (nearly the wage of a Chief Mate of a 'limejuicer') there were no proper able seamen coming forward. Even the 'hobos' and ne'er-do-weels, who usually flock at 'Frisco on the chance of getting a s.h.i.+p's pa.s.sage out of the country, seemed to be lying low.

One evening the s.h.i.+p _Blackadder_ came in from sea. She was from the Colonies; had made a long pa.s.sage, and was spoken of as an extra 'hungry' s.h.i.+p--and her crew were in a proper spirit of discontent. She anch.o.r.ed near us, and the Old Man gazed longingly at the fine stout colonials who manned her. He watched the cat-boats putting off from the sh.o.r.e, and smiled at the futile attempts of the s.h.i.+p's Captain and Mates to keep the 'crimps' from boarding. If one was checked at the gangway, two clambered aboard by the head, and the game went merrily on.

"Where's she from, Mister?" said the Old Man to the Mate who stood with him. "Did ye hear?"

"Newcastle, New South Wales, I heard," said Mr. Hollins. "Sixty-five days out, the butcher said; him that came off with the stores this morning."

"Sixty-five, eh! Thirty o' that for a 'dead horse,' an' there'll be about six pound due the men; a matter o' four or five pound wi' slop chest an' that! They'll not stop, Mister, d.a.m.n the one o' them' ...

Ah, there they go; there they go!" Sailors' bags were being loaded into the cat-boats. It was the case of:

_The grub was bad, an' th' wages low,_ _An' it's time--for us--t' leave 'r!_

"Good business for us, anyway," said the Old Man, and told the Mate to get his windla.s.s ready for 'heaving up' in the morning.

Alas! he left the other eager s.h.i.+pmasters out of his count. The Captain of the _Drumeltan_ raised the 'blood-money' to an unheard-of sum, and two days later towed out to sea, though the wind was W.S.W.

beyond the Straits--a 'dead muzzler'!

A big American s.h.i.+p--the _J. B. Flint_--was one of the fleet of 'waiters.' She was for China. 'Bully' Nathan was Captain of her (a man who would have made the starkest of pirates, if he had lived in pirate times), and many stories of his and his Mates' brutality were current at the Front. No seaman would sign in the _Flint_ if he had the choice; but the choice lay with the boarding-master when 'Bully'