The Brassbounder Part 9

With such a volume of water pouring below, it was necessary to get a pump in position to keep our craft afloat. She was now far down by the head and had a heavy list, and as the s.h.i.+p's pumps would not draw, the Firemaster arranged to put one of his pumps into the fore-peak. To make this efficient, we had to raise the sluice in the forrard bulkhead; and even the Old Man looked anxious when the Carpenter reported that the sluice was jammed, and that the screw had broken in his hands. The stream of water into the hold was immediately stopped, and all available hands (few enough we were) were put to clearing the fore-peak, that the sluice could be got at. In this compartment all the s.h.i.+p's spare gear and bos'un's stores were kept, and the lower hold held ten tons of the s.h.i.+p's coal. The small hatchway made despatch impossible, and the want of a winch was keenly felt. It was back-breaking work, hauling up the heavy blocks, the cordage, sails and tarpaulins, chains, kegs and coils, and dragging them out on deck. A suffocating atmosphere and foul gases below showed that the seat of the fire was not far off, and often the workers were dragged up in a semi-conscious state. The Mate was the first to go down, and he hung out till nature rebelled, and he was dragged up and put in the open air. There the aggrieved Belgian saw him, and, maddened by drink, took advantage of his exhaustion to kick him viciously in the ribs; but Jones promptly laid the Dutchman out with a hand-spike.

In a moment the drink, discontent, excitement, and overwork found vent in furious riot: s.h.i.+pmates of five months' standing, comrades in fair weather and foul, were at each other's throats, and amid the smoke and steam no man could name his enemy. Welsh John, in trying to get young Munro out of harm's way, was knocked down the open hatch, and he lay, groaning, with a broken arm, amid the steam and stench. Hicks, the bo'sun, was stabbed in the cheek, and someone knocking the lamps over, added darkness to the vicious conflict. Blind and blaspheming, animals all, we fought our way to the doors, and the malcontents, in ill plight themselves, cared little to follow us.

Meantime the Firemaster, seeing how matters stood, called his men together and turned a hose into the fo'cas'le. The thin, vicious stream proved too much for the mutineers, and we were soon in possession again. John was taken up from the fore-peak (he was far through) and carried aft. The mutineers, such as were fit, were put down below to dig coals till they could dig no more; and again the work went on--weary, body-racking work.

With aching eyes and every muscle in revolt, we toiled on in silence, not even a curse among us. Silence, broken only by the rattle of the block-sheave, as the baskets of coal were hove up and emptied. There was now no need for the Old Man to hold himself in readiness, with something in his pocket that bulged prominently, for there was not an ounce of fight left in the crowd, and 'Smith and Wessons' are ill-fitting things to carry about. Two hours we had of this, and give in was very near when the welcome news came up that they had got at the sluice, that the water was trickling through. Soon after, the sluice was prised up, and the pent-up water rushed into the peak. The Firemaster pa.s.sed his pipe below, and again the pumps were set agoing.

We staggered out into the fresh morning air, red-eyed and ragged, and a madhouse gang we looked in the half-light of an early Californian dawn.

Faces haggard and blackened by the smoke, eyes dazed and bloodshot, and on nearly everyone evidence of the ten minutes' sanguinary encounter in bruised eyes and b.l.o.o.d.y faces. The Mate called a muster to serve out grog, and of our crew of twenty-seven hands only fifteen answered the call. The Old Man tried to make a few remarks to the men. He had been frequently to the bottle through the night, for his speech was thick and his periods uncertain.

"No b.l.o.o.d.y nozzush, b' Goad ... tan' no nozzush, Mis'r----" was about the burden of his lay.

With a modest gla.s.s of strong rum to raise our spirits momentarily, we lingered before going below to note the wreck and confusion that our once trim barque was now in. She was still down by the head, and listed at an awkward angle. The decks were littered with gear and stores, muddy and dirty as a city street on a day of rain. Aloft, the ill-furled tops'ls hung bunched below the yards, with lazy gaskets streaming idly in mid-air; and the yards, 'lifted' at all angles, gave a lubberly touch to our distressed appearance. The riding-light, still burning brightly on the forestay, though the sun was now above the horizon, showed that we had lost all regard for routine.

A damp mist, the 'pride o' the morning,' was creeping in from seaward, and the siren at the Golden Gate emitted a mournful wail at intervals.

Near us, at the anchorage, a big black barque, loaded and in sea-trim, was getting under weigh, and the haunting strain of 'Shenandoah,' most beautiful of sea-chanteys, timed by the musical _clank_ of the windla.s.s pawls, was borne on the wind to us.

"An outward-bounder, and a blue-nose at that," said Martin.

We wondered if Wee Laughlin was already in her fo'cas'le, with a skinful of drugged liquor to reckon with. The 'crimps' lose no time if they can get their man under, and Wee Laughlin, by his own glory of it, was a famous swallower.

In the half-deck, some of the boys were already turned in, and lying in uneasy att.i.tudes, with only their boots and jackets off. Jones, who had been severely handled in the scrimmage, was moaning fitfully in his sleep, his head swathed in b.l.o.o.d.y bandages, and the pallor showing in his face through the grime and coal-dust. Hansen was the last man in.

He threw himself wearily down on the sea-chests, now all of a heap to leeward, s.n.a.t.c.hed a pillow from under Munro's head, and composed himself to rest.

"Mate says I'm to keep watch, 'n call him at eight bells; but, judgin'

by th' way he put the grog down, I'm d.a.m.n sure he'll stir tack nor sheet till midday.... Firemaster says she's under hand, 'n he'll have the fire out in two hours, 'n she can bally well look out for herself.... T' h.e.l.l with an anchor watch; I can't keep my eyes open, an' 'll work ... work ... no m----"

IX

IN 'FRISCO TOWN

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 s.h.i.+ps.

The firemen had done their duty and had left us to do ours, and we had to work our hardest to put the s.h.i.+p in order again. A firm of s.h.i.+pwrights 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 ash.o.r.e! 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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+pment, rather--was the business of the 'crimps,' who showed a wealth of imagination in describing the various topping sh.o.r.e 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 s.h.i.+pmates foregathered, and John (fairly sober, considering) put up free drinks and expanded on the goodness of a long-sh.o.r.e life.

"Vat jou boysh stop _mit der_ s.h.i.+p on? Jou tinks dere vas no yobs on sh.o.r.e? De boardin'-master d.a.m.n lie, eh? ... Ah vas get me four dollars a day; _und der_ boss, ven 'e see me de gla.s.ses 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 _fur_ jou no go on mit jour vark?' ... _'ttverdam_! It vas _der_ life, _mein_ boys.h.!.+ It vas _der_ life!"

Against such a p.r.o.nouncement from their whilom s.h.i.+pmate, 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 s.h.i.+p, hot-foot, for bags and baggage!

Those who still held by the s.h.i.+p 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 ash.o.r.e, me bucks! A soft job in a free country, an' no d.a.m.n 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 s.h.i.+pped 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 Inst.i.tute, 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 bra.s.sbounders 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!

Seamans.h.i.+p was shelved, for a time at least, and we were employed like longsh.o.r.e labourers on the s.h.i.+p's hull. The rust and barnacles of our outward pa.s.sage had to be chipped off and sc.r.a.ped, 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 s.h.i.+ps 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 s.h.i.+p 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 Pa.s.sage_, 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 b.l.o.o.d.y Nelsons! It's little use _yew_ 'ud be aboard a packet!" ... "Light--the--binnacle, bo--oy!" was another salutation for bra.s.sbounders, 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 d.a.m.n good shduff!"

Then it would be, "Gome into de shop, Misdur! I guess I G.o.d 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 pa.s.sages 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 bra.s.sbounders. There we would refresh and exchange s.h.i.+p news with 'men' from other s.h.i.+ps. 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.'