LITTLE BLUE BOOK NO. 1169 Edited by E. Haldeman-Julius Stories of Shipsand the Sea Jack London HALDEMAN-JULIUS COMPANYGIRARD, KANSAS Copyright, 1922, By Charmian London. Reprinted by Arrangement. PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA CONTENTS Page Chris Farrington: Able Seaman 5 Typhoon Off the Coast of Japan 17 The Lost Poacher 25 The Banks of the Sacramento 40 In Yeddo Bay 54 STORIES OF SHIPS AND THE SEA CHRIS FARRINGTON: ABLE SEAMAN "If you vas in der old country ships, a liddle shaver like you vood peonly der boy, und you vood wait on der able seamen. Und ven der ableseaman sing out, 'Boy, der water-jug!' you vood jump quick, like a shot, und bring der water-jug. Und ven der able seaman sing out, 'Boy, myboots!' you vood get der boots. Und you vood pe politeful, und say'Yessir' und 'No sir. ' But you pe in der American ship, and you t'inkyou are so good as der able seamen. Chris, mine boy, I haf ben asailorman for twenty-two years, und do you t'ink you are so good as me?I vas a sailorman pefore you vas borned, und I knot und reef und spliceven you play mit topstrings und fly kites. " "But you are unfair, Emil!" cried Chris Farrington, his sensitive faceflushed and hurt. He was a slender though strongly built young fellow ofseventeen, with Yankee ancestry writ large all over him. "Dere you go vonce again!" the Swedish sailor exploded. "My name isMister Johansen, und a kid of a boy like you call me 'Emil!' It vasinsulting, und comes pecause of der American ship!" "But you call me 'Chris'!" the boy expostulated, reproachfully. "But you vas a boy. " "Who does a man's work, " Chris retorted. "And because I do a man's workI have as much right to call you by your first name as you me. We areall equals in this fo'castle, and you know it. When we signed for thevoyage in San Francisco, we signed as sailors on the _Sophie Sutherland_and there was no difference made with any of us. Haven't I always donemy work? Did I ever shirk? Did you or any other man ever have to take awheel for me? Or a lookout? Or go aloft?" "Chris is right, " interrupted a young English sailor. "No man has had todo a tap of his work yet. He signed as good as any of us and he's shownhimself as good--" "Better!" broke in a Novia Scotia man. "Better than some of us! When westruck the sealing-grounds he turned out to be next to the bestboat-steerer aboard. Only French Louis, who'd been at it for years, could beat him. I'm only a boat-puller, and you're only a boat-puller, too, Emil Johansen, for all your twenty-two years at sea. Why don't youbecome a boat-steerer?" "Too clumsy, " laughed the Englishman, "and too slow. " "Little that counts, one way or the other, " joined in Dane Jurgensen, coming to the aid of his Scandinavian brother. "Emil is a man grown andan able seaman; the boy is neither. " And so the argument raged back and forth, the Swedes, Norwegians andDanes, because of race kinship, taking the part of Johansen, and theEnglish, Canadians and Americans taking the part of Chris. From anunprejudiced point of view, the right was on the side of Chris. As hehad truly said, he did a man's work, and the same work that any of themdid. But they were prejudiced, and badly so, and out of the words whichpassed rose a standing quarrel which divided the forecastle into twoparties. * * * * * The _Sophie Sutherland_ was a seal-hunter, registered out of SanFrancisco, and engaged in hunting the furry sea-animals along theJapanese coast north to Bering Sea. The other vessels were two-mastedschooners, but she was a three-master and the largest in the fleet. Infact, she was a full-rigged, three-topmast schooner, newly built. Although Chris Farrington knew that justice was with him, and that heperformed all his work faithfully and well, many a time, in secretthought, he longed for some pressing emergency to arise whereby he coulddemonstrate to the Scandinavian seamen that he also was an able seaman. But one stormy night, by an accident for which he was in nowiseaccountable, in overhauling a spare anchor-chain he had all the fingersof his left hand badly crushed. And his hopes were likewise crushed, forit was impossible for him to continue hunting with the boats, and he wasforced to stay idly aboard until his fingers should heal. Yet, althoughhe little dreamed it, this very accident was to give him thelong-looked-for-opportunity. One afternoon in the latter part of May the _Sophie Sutherland_ rolledsluggishly in a breathless calm. The seals were abundant, the huntinggood, and the boats were all away and out of sight. And with them wasalmost every man of the crew. Besides Chris, there remained only thecaptain, the sailing-master and the Chinese cook. The captain was captain only by courtesy. He was an old man, pasteighty, and blissfully ignorant of the sea and its ways; but he was theowner of the vessel, and hence the honorable title. Of course thesailing-master, who was really captain, was a thorough-going seaman. Themate, whose post was aboard, was out with the boats, having temporarilytaken Chris's place as boat-steerer. When good weather and good sport came together, the boats wereaccustomed to range far and wide, and often did not return to theschooner until long after dark. But for all that it was a perfecthunting day, Chris noted a growing anxiety on the part of thesailing-master. He paced the deck nervously, and was constantly sweepingthe horizon with his marine glasses. Not a boat was in sight. As sunsetarrived, he even sent Chris aloft to the mizzen-topmast-head, but withno better luck. The boats could not possibly be back before midnight. Since noon the barometer had been falling with startling rapidity, andall the signs were ripe for a great storm--how great, not even thesailing-master anticipated. He and Chris set to work to prepare for it. They put storm gaskets on the furled topsails, lowered and stowed theforesail and spanker and took in the two inner jibs. In the oneremaining jib they put a single reef, and a single reef in the mainsail. Night had fallen before they finished, and with the darkness came thestorm. A low moan swept over the sea, and the wind struck the _SophieSutherland_ flat. But she righted quickly, and with the sailing-masterat the wheel, sheered her bow into within five points of the wind. Working as well as he could with his bandaged hand, and with the feebleaid of the Chinese cook, Chris went forward and backed the jib over tothe weather side. This with the flat mainsail, left the schooner hoveto. "God help the boats! It's no gale! It's a typhoon!" the sailing-mastershouted to Chris at eleven o'clock. "Too much canvas! Got to get twomore reefs into the mainsail, and got to do it right away!" He glancedat the old captain, shivering in oilskins at the binnacle and holding onfor dear life. "There's only you and I, Chris--and the cook; but he'snext to worthless!" In order to make the reef, it was necessary to lower the mainsail, andthe removal of this after pressure was bound to make the schooner falloff before the wind and sea because of the forward pressure of the jib. "Take the wheel!" the sailing-master directed. "And when I give theword, hard up with it! And when she's square before it, steady her! Andkeep her there! We'll heave to again as soon as I get the reefs in!" Gripping the kicking spokes, Chris watched him and the reluctant cook goforward into the howling darkness. The _Sophie Sutherland_ was plunginginto the huge head-seas and wallowing tremendously, the tense steelstays and taut rigging humming like harp-strings to the wind. A buffetedcry came to his ears, and he felt the schooner's bow paying off of itsown accord. The mainsail was down! He ran the wheel hard-over and kept anxious track of the changingdirection of the wind on his face and of the heave of the vessel. Thiswas the crucial moment. In performing the evolution she would have topass broadside to the surge before she could get before it. The wind wasblowing directly on his right cheek, when he felt the _SophieSutherland_ lean over and begin to rise toward the sky--up--up--aninfinite distance! Would she clear the crest of the gigantic wave? Again by the feel of it, for he could see nothing, he knew that a wallof water was rearing and curving far above him along the whole weatherside. There was an instant's calm as the liquid wall intervened and shutoff the wind. The schooner righted, and for that instant seemed atperfect rest. Then she rolled to meet the descending rush. Chris shouted to the captain to hold tight, and prepared himself for theshock. But the man did not live who could face it. An ocean of watersmote Chris's back and his clutch on the spokes was loosened as if itwere a baby's. Stunned, powerless, like a straw on the face of atorrent, he was swept onward he knew not whither. Missing the corner ofthe cabin, he was dashed forward along the poop runway a hundred feetor more, striking violently against the foot of the foremast. A secondwave, crushing inboard, hurled him back the way he had come, and lefthim half-drowned where the poop steps should have been. Bruised and bleeding, dimly conscious, he felt for the rail and draggedhimself to his feet. Unless something could be done, he knew the lastmoment had come. As he faced the poop, the wind drove into his mouthwith suffocating force. This brought him back to his senses with astart. The wind was blowing from dead aft! The schooner was out of thetrough and before it! But the send of the sea was bound to breach her toagain. Crawling up the runway, he managed to get to the wheel just intime to prevent this. The binnacle light was still burning. They weresafe! That is, he and the schooner were safe. As to the welfare of his threecompanions he could not say. Nor did he dare leave the wheel in order tofind out, for it took every second of his undivided attention to keepthe vessel to her course. The least fraction of carelessness and theheave of the sea under the quarter was liable to thrust her into thetrough. So, a boy of one hundred and forty pounds, he clung to hisherculean task of guiding the two hundred straining tons of fabric amidthe chaos of the great storm forces. Half an hour later, groaning and sobbing, the captain crawled to Chris'sfeet. All was lost, he whimpered. He was smitten unto death. The galleyhad gone by the board, the mainsail and running-gear, the cook, everything! "Where's the sailing-master?" Chris demanded when he had caught hisbreath after steadying a wild lurch of the schooner. It was no child'splay to steer a vessel under single reefed jib before a typhoon. "Clean up for'ard, " the old man replied "Jammed under the fo'c'sle-head, but still breathing. Both his arms are broken, he says and he doesn'tknow how many ribs. He's hurt bad. " "Well, he'll drown there the way she's shipping water through thehawse-pipes. Go for'ard!" Chris commanded, taking charge of things as amatter of course. "Tell him not to worry; that I'm at the wheel. Helphim as much as you can, and make him help"--he stopped and ran thespokes to starboard as a tremendous billow rose under the stern andyawed the schooner to port--"and make him help himself for the rest. Unship the fo'castle hatch and get him down into a bunk. Then ship thehatch again. " The captain turned his aged face forward and wavered pitifully. Thewaist of the ship was full of water to the bulwarks. He had just comethrough it, and knew death lurked every inch of the way. "Go!" Chris shouted, fiercely. And as the fear-stricken man started, "And take another look for the cook!" Two hours later, almost dead from suffering, the captain returned. Hehad obeyed orders. The sailing-master was helpless, although safe in abunk; the cook was gone. Chris sent the captain below to the cabin tochange his clothes. After interminable hours of toil day broke cold and gray. Chris lookedabout him. The _Sophie Sutherland_ was racing before the typhoon like athing possessed. There was no rain, but the wind whipped the spray ofthe sea mast-high, obscuring everything except in the immediateneighborhood. Two waves only could Chris see at a time--the one before and the onebehind. So small and insignificant the schooner seemed on the longPacific roll! Rushing up a maddening mountain, she would poise like acockle-shell on the giddy summit, breathless and rolling, leap outwardand down into the yawning chasm beneath, and bury herself in the smotherof foam at the bottom. Then the recovery, another mountain, anothersickening upward rush, another poise, and the downward crash. Abreast ofhim, to starboard, like a ghost of the storm, Chris saw the cook dashingapace with the schooner. Evidently, when washed overboard, he hadgrasped and become entangled in a trailing halyard. For three hours more, alone with this gruesome companion, Chris held the_Sophie Sutherland_ before the wind and sea. He had long since forgottenhis mangled fingers. The bandages had been torn away, and the cold, saltspray had eaten into the half-healed wounds until they were numb and nolonger pained. But he was not cold. The terrific labor of steeringforced the perspiration from every pore. Yet he was faint and weak withhunger and exhaustion, and hailed with delight the advent on deck of thecaptain, who fed him all of a pound of cake-chocolate. It strengthenedhim at once. He ordered the captain to cut the halyard by which the cook's body wastowing, and also to go forward and cut loose the jib-halyard and sheet. When he had done so, the jib fluttered a couple of moments like ahandkerchief, then tore out of the bolt-ropes and vanished. The _SophieSutherland_ was running under bare poles. By noon the storm had spent itself, and by six in the evening the waveshad died down sufficiently to let Chris leave the helm. It was almosthopeless to dream of the small boats weathering the typhoon, but thereis always the chance in saving human life, and Chris at once appliedhimself to going back over the course along which he had fled. Hemanaged to get a reef in one of the inner jibs and two reefs in thespanker, and then, with the aid of the watch-tackle, to hoist them tothe stiff breeze that yet blew. And all through the night, tacking backand forth on the back track, he shook out canvas as fast as the windwould permit. The injured sailing-master had turned delirious and between tending himand lending a hand with the ship, Chris kept the captain busy. "Taughtme more seamanship, " as he afterward said, "than I'd learned on thewhole voyage. " But by daybreak the old man's feeble frame succumbed, and he fell off into exhausted sleep on the weather poop. Chris, who could now lash the wheel, covered the tired man with blanketsfrom below, and went fishing in the lazaretto for something to eat. Butby the day following he found himself forced to give in, drowsingfitfully by the wheel and waking ever and anon to take a look at things. On the afternoon of the third day he picked up a schooner, dismasted andbattered. As he approached, close-hauled on the wind, he saw her deckscrowded by an unusually large crew, and on sailing in closer, made outamong others the faces of his missing comrades. And he was just in thenick of time, for they were fighting a losing fight at the pumps. Anhour later they, with the crew of the sinking craft were aboard the_Sophie Sutherland_. Having wandered so far from their own vessel, they had taken refuge onthe strange schooner just before the storm broke. She was a Canadiansealer on her first voyage, and as was now apparent, her last. The captain of the _Sophie Sutherland_ had a story to tell, also, and hetold it well--so well, in fact, that when all hands were gatheredtogether on deck during the dog-watch, Emil Johansen strode over toChris and gripped him by the hand. "Chris, " he said, so loudly that all could hear, "Chris, I gif in. Youvas yoost so good a sailorman as I. You vas a bully boy und ableseaman, und I pe proud for you! "Und Chris!" He turned as if he had forgotten something, and calledback, "From dis time always you call me 'Emil' mitout der 'Mister'!" TYPHOON OFF THE COAST OF JAPAN _Jack London's First Story, Published at the Age of Seventeen. _ It was four bells in the morning watch. We had just finished breakfastwhen the order came forward for the watch on deck to stand by to heaveher to and all hands stand by the boats. "Port! hard a port!" cried our sailing-master. "Clew up the topsails!Let the flying jib run down! Back the jib over to windward and run downthe foresail!" And so was our schooner _Sophie Sutherland_ hove to offthe Japan coast, near Cape Jerimo, on April 10, 1893. Then came moments of bustle and confusion. There were eighteen men toman the six boats. Some were hooking on the falls, others casting offthe lashings; boat-steerers appeared with boat-compasses andwater-breakers, and boat-pullers with the lunch boxes. Hunters werestaggering under two or three shotguns, a rifle and heavy ammunitionbox, all of which were soon stowed away with their oilskins and mittensin the boats. The sailing-master gave his last orders, and away we went, pulling threepairs of oars to gain our positions. We were in the weather boat, and sohad a longer pull than the others. The first, second and third lee boatssoon had all sail set and were running off to the southward andwestward with the wind beam, while the schooner was running off toleeward of them, so that in case of accident the boats would have fairwind home. It was a glorious morning, but our boat steerer shook his head ominouslyas he glanced at the rising sun and prophetically muttered: "Red sun inthe morning, sailor take warning. " The sun had an angry look, and a fewlight, fleecy "nigger-heads" in that quarter seemed abashed andfrightened and soon disappeared. Away off to the northward Cape Jerimo reared its black, forbidding headlike some huge monster rising from the deep. The winter's snow, not yetentirely dissipated by the sun, covered it in patches of glisteningwhite, over which the light wind swept on its way out to sea. Huge gullsrose slowly, fluttering their wings in the light breeze and strikingtheir webbed feet on the surface of the water for over half a milebefore they could leave it. Hardly had the patter, patter died away whena flock of sea quail rose, and with whistling wings flew away towindward, where members of a large band of whales were disportingthemselves, their blowings sounding like the exhaust of steam engines. The harsh, discordant cries of a sea-parrot grated unpleasantly on theear, and set half a dozen alert in a small band of seals that were aheadof us. Away they went, breaching and jumping entirely out of water. Asea-gull with slow, deliberate flight and long, majestic curves circledround us, and as a reminder of home a little English sparrow perchedimpudently on the fo'castle head, and, cocking his head on one side, chirped merrily. The boats were soon among the seals, and the bang!bang! of the guns could be heard from down to leeward. The wind was slowly rising, and by three o'clock as, with a dozen sealsin our boat, we were deliberating whether to go on or turn back, therecall flag was run up at the schooner's mizzen--a sure sign that withthe rising wind the barometer was falling and that our sailing-masterwas getting anxious for the welfare of the boats. Away we went before the wind with a single reef in our sail. Withclenched teeth sat the boat-steerer, grasping the steering oar firmlywith both hands, his restless eyes on the alert--a glance at theschooner ahead, as we rose on a sea, another at the mainsheet, and thenone astern where the dark ripple of the wind on the water told him of acoming puff or a large white-cap that threatened to overwhelm us. Thewaves were holding high carnival, performing the strangest antics, aswith wild glee they danced along in fierce pursuit--now up, now down, here, there, and everywhere, until some great sea of liquid green withits milk-white crest of foam rose from the ocean's throbbing bosom anddrove the others from view. But only for a moment, for again under newforms they reappeared. In the sun's path they wandered, where everyripple, great or small, every little spit or spray looked like moltensilver, where the water lost its dark green color and became a dazzling, silvery flood, only to vanish and become a wild waste of sullenturbulence, each dark foreboding sea rising and breaking, then rollingon again. The dash, the sparkle, the silvery light soon vanished withthe sun, which became obscured by black clouds that were rolling swiftlyin from the west, northwest; apt heralds of the coming storm. We soon reached the schooner and found ourselves the last aboard. In afew minutes the seals were skinned, boats and decks washed, and we weredown below by the roaring fo'castle fire, with a wash, change ofclothes, and a hot, substantial supper before us. Sail had been put onthe schooner, as we had a run of seventy-five miles to make to thesouthward before morning, so as to get in the midst of the seals, out ofwhich we had strayed during the last two days' hunting. We had the first watch from eight to midnight. The wind was soon blowinghalf a gale, and our sailing-master expected little sleep that night ashe paced up and down the poop. The topsails were soon clewed up and madefast, then the flying jib run down and furled. Quite a sea was rollingby this time, occasionally breaking over the decks, flooding them andthreatening to smash the boats. At six bells we were ordered to turnthem over and put on storm lashings. This occupied us till eight bells, when we were relieved by the mid-watch. I was the last to go below, doing so just as the watch on deck was furling the spanker. Below allwere asleep except our green hand, the "bricklayer, " who was dying ofconsumption. The wildly dancing movements of the sea lamp cast a pale, flickering light through the fo'castle and turned to golden honey thedrops of water on the yellow oilskins. In all the corners dark shadowsseemed to come and go, while up in the eyes of her, beyond the pallbits, descending from deck to deck, where they seemed to lurk like somedragon at the cavern's mouth, it was dark as Erebus. Now and again, thelight seemed to penetrate for a moment as the schooner rolled heavierthan usual, only to recede, leaving it darker and blacker than before. The roar of the wind through the rigging came to the ear muffled likethe distant rumble of a train crossing a trestle or the surf on thebeach, while the loud crash of the seas on her weather bow seemed almostto rend the beams and planking asunder as it resounded through thefo'castle. The creaking and groaning of the timbers, stanchions, andbulkheads, as the strain the vessel was undergoing was felt, served todrown the groans of the dying man as he tossed uneasily in his bunk. Theworking of the foremast against the deck beams caused a shower of flakypowder to fall, and sent another sound mingling with the tumultuousstorm. Small cascades of water streamed from the pall bits from thefo'castle head above, and, joining issue with the streams from the wetoilskins, ran along the floor and disappeared aft into the main hold. At two bells in the middle watch--that is, in land parlance one o'clockin the morning;--the order was roared out on the fo'castle: "All handson deck and shorten sail!" Then the sleepy sailors tumbled out of their bunk and into theirclothes, oilskins and sea-boots and up on deck. 'Tis when that ordercomes on cold, blustering nights that "Jack" grimly mutters: "Who wouldnot sell a farm and go to sea?" It was on deck that the force of the wind could be fully appreciated, especially after leaving the stifling fo'castle. It seemed to stand upagainst you like a wall, making it almost impossible to move on theheaving decks or to breathe as the fierce gusts came dashing by. Theschooner was hove to under jib, foresail and mainsail. We proceeded tolower the foresail and make it fast. The night was dark, greatlyimpeding our labor. Still, though not a star or the moon could piercethe black masses of storm clouds that obscured the sky as they sweptalong before the gale, nature aided us in a measure. A soft lightemanated from the movement of the ocean. Each mighty sea, allphosphorescent and glowing with the tiny lights of myriads ofanimalculae, threatened to overwhelm us with a deluge of fire. Higherand higher, thinner and thinner, the crest grew as it began to curve andovertop preparatory to breaking, until with a roar it fell over thebulwarks, a mass of soft glowing light and tons of water which sent thesailors sprawling in all directions and left in each nook and crannylittle specks of light that glowed and trembled till the next sea washedthem away, depositing new ones in their places. Sometimes several seasfollowing each other with great rapidity and thundering down on ourdecks filled them full to the bulwarks, but soon they were dischargedthrough the lee scuppers. To reef the mainsail we were forced to run off before the gale under thesingle reefed jib. By the time we had finished the wind had forced upsuch a tremendous sea that it was impossible to heave her to. Away weflew on the wings of the storm through the muck and flying spray. A windsheer to starboard, then another to port as the enormous seas struck theschooner astern and nearly broached her to. As day broke we took in thejib, leaving not a sail unfurled. Since we had begun scudding she hadceased to take the seas over her bow, but amidships they broke fast andfurious. It was a dry storm in the matter of rain, but the force of thewind filled the air with fine spray, which flew as high as thecrosstrees and cut the face like a knife, making it impossible to seeover a hundred yards ahead. The sea was a dark lead color as with long, slow, majestic roll it was heaped up by the wind into liquid mountainsof foam. The wild antics of the schooner were sickening as she forgedalong. She would almost stop, as though climbing a mountain, thenrapidly rolling to right and left as she gained the summit of a hugesea, she steadied herself and paused for a moment as though affrightedat the yawning precipice before her. Like an avalanche, she shot forwardand down as the sea astern struck her with the force of a thousandbattering rams, burying her bow to the cat-heads in the milky foam atthe bottom that came on deck in all directions--forward, astern, toright and left, through the hawse-pipes and over the rail. The wind began to drop, and by ten o'clock we were talking of heavingher to. We passed a ship, two schooners and a four-masted barkentineunder the smallest canvas, and at eleven o'clock, running up the spankerand jib, we hove her to, and in another hour we were beating back againagainst the aftersea under full sail to regain the sealing ground awayto the westward. Below, a couple of men were sewing the "bricklayer's" body in canvaspreparatory to the sea burial. And so with the storm passed away the"bricklayer's" soul. THE LOST POACHER "But they won't take excuses. You're across the line, and that's enough. They'll take you. In you go, Siberia and the salt mines. And as forUncle Sam, why, what's he to know about it? Never a word will get backto the States. 'The _Mary Thomas_, ' the papers will say, 'the _MaryThomas_ lost with all hands. Probably in a typhoon in the Japaneseseas. ' That's what the papers will say, and people, too. In you go, Siberia and the salt mines. Dead to the world and kith and kin, thoughyou live fifty years. " In such manner John Lewis, commonly known as the "sea-lawyer, " settledthe matter out of hand. It was a serious moment in the forecastle of the _Mary Thomas_. Nosooner had the watch below begun to talk the trouble over, than thewatch on deck came down and joined them. As there was no wind, everyhand could be spared with the exception of the man at the wheel, and heremained only for the sake of discipline. Even "Bub" Russell, thecabin-boy, had crept forward to hear what was going on. However, it was a serious moment, as the grave faces of the sailors borewitness. For the three preceding months the _Mary Thomas_ sealingschooner, had hunted the seal pack along the coast of Japan and north toBering Sea. Here, on the Asiatic side of the sea, they were forced togive over the chase, or rather, to go no farther; for beyond, theRussian cruisers patrolled forbidden ground, where the seals might breedin peace. A week before she had fallen into a heavy fog accompanied by calm. Sincethen the fog-bank had not lifted, and the only wind had been light airsand catspaws. This in itself was not so bad, for the sealing schoonersare never in a hurry so long as they are in the midst of the seals; butthe trouble lay in the fact that the current at this point bore heavilyto the north. Thus the _Mary Thomas_ had unwittingly drifted across theline, and every hour she was penetrating, unwillingly, farther andfarther into the dangerous waters where the Russian bear kept guard. How far she had drifted no man knew. The sun had not been visible for aweek, nor the stars, and the captain had been unable to takeobservations in order to determine his position. At any moment a cruisermight swoop down and hale the crew away to Siberia. The fate of otherpoaching seal-hunters was too well known to the men of the _MaryThomas_, and there was cause for grave faces. "Mine friends, " spoke up a German boat-steerer, "it vas a pad piziness. Shust as ve make a big catch, und all honest, somedings go wrong, undder Russians nab us, dake our skins and our schooner, und send us mitder anarchists to Siberia. Ach! a pretty pad piziness!" "Yes, that's where it hurts, " the sea lawyer went on. "Fifteen hundredskins in the salt piles, and all honest, a big pay-day coming to everyman Jack of us, and then to be captured and lose it all! It'd bedifferent if we'd been poaching, but it's all honest work in openwater. " "But if we haven't done anything wrong, they can't do anything to us, can they?" Bub queried. "It strikes me as 'ow it ain't the proper thing for a boy o' your ageshovin' in when 'is elders is talkin', " protested an English sailor, from over the edge of his bunk. "Oh, that's all right, Jack, " answered the sea-lawyer. "He's a perfectright to. Ain't he just as liable to lose his wages as the rest of us?" "Wouldn't give thruppence for them!" Jack sniffed back. He had beenplanning to go home and see his family in Chelsea when he was paid off, and he was now feeling rather blue over the highly possible loss, notonly of his pay, but of his liberty. "How are they to know?" the sea-lawyer asked in answer to Bub's previousquestion. "Here we are in forbidden water. How do they know but what wecame here of our own accord? Here we are, fifteen hundred skins in thehold. How do they know whether we got them in open water or in theclosed sea? Don't you see, Bub, the evidence is all against us. If youcaught a man with his pockets full of apples like those which grow onyour tree, and if you caught him in your tree besides, what'd you thinkif he told you he couldn't help it, and had just been sort of blownthere, and that anyway those apples came from some other tree--what'dyou think, eh?" Bub saw it clearly when put in that light, and shook his headdespondently. "You'd rather be dead than go to Siberia, " one of the boat-pullers said. "They put you into the salt-mines and work you till you die. Never seedaylight again. Why, I've heard tell of one fellow that was chained tohis mate, and that mate died. And they were both chained together! Andif they send you to the quicksilver mines you get salivated. I'd ratherbe hung than salivated. " "Wot's salivated?" Jack asked, suddenly sitting up in his bunk at thehint of fresh misfortunes. "Why, the quicksilver gets into your blood; I think that's the way. Andyour gums all swell like you had the scurvy, only worse, and your teethget loose in your jaws. And big ulcers forms, and then you die horrible. The strongest man can't last long a-mining quicksilver. " "A pad piziness, " the boat-steerer reiterated, dolorously, in thesilence which followed. "A pad piziness. I vish I vas in Yokohama. Eh?Vot vas dot?" The vessel had suddenly heeled over. The decks were aslant. A tinpannikin rolled down the inclined plane, rattling and banging. Fromabove came the slapping of canvas and the quivering rat-tat-tat of theafter leech of the loosely stretched foresail. Then the mate's voicesang down the hatch, "All hands on deck and make sail!" Never had such summons been answered with more enthusiasm. The calm hadbroken. The wind had come which was to carry them south into safety. With a wild cheer all sprang on deck. Working with mad haste, they flungout topsails, flying jibs and staysails. As they worked, the fog-banklifted and the black vault of heaven, bespangled with the old familiarstars, rushed into view. When all was shipshape, the _Mary Thomas_ waslying gallantly over on her side to a beam wind and plunging ahead duesouth. "Steamer's lights ahead on the port bow, sir!" cried the lookout fromhis station on the forecastle-head. There was excitement in the man'svoice. The captain sent Bub below for his night-glasses. Everybody crowded tothe lee-rail to gaze at the suspicious stranger, which already began toloom up vague and indistinct. In those unfrequented waters the chancewas one in a thousand that it could be anything else than a Russianpatrol. The captain was still anxiously gazing through the glasses, whena flash of flame left the stranger's side, followed by the loud reportof a cannon. The worst fears were confirmed. It was a patrol, evidentlyfiring across the bows of the _Mary Thomas_ in order to make her heaveto. "Hard down with your helm!" the captain commanded the steersman, all thelife gone out of his voice. Then to the crew, "Back over the jib andforesail! Run down the flying jib! Clew up the foretopsail! And aft hereand swing on to the main-sheet!" The _Mary Thomas_ ran into the eye of the wind, lost headway, and fellto courtesying gravely to the long seas rolling up from the west. The cruiser steamed a little nearer and lowered a boat. The sealerswatched in heartbroken silence. They could see the white bulk of theboat as it was slacked away to the water, and its crew sliding aboard. They could hear the creaking of the davits and the commands of theofficers. Then the boat sprang away under the impulse of the oars, andcame toward them. The wind had been rising, and already the sea was toorough to permit the frail craft to lie alongside the tossing schooner;but watching their chance, and taking advantage of the boarding ropesthrown to them, an officer and a couple of men clambered aboard. Theboat then sheered off into safety and lay to its oars, a youngmidshipman, sitting in the stern and holding the yoke-lines, in charge. The officer, whose uniform disclosed his rank as that of secondlieutenant in the Russian navy went below with the captain of the _MaryThomas_ to look at the ship's papers. A few minutes later he emerged, and upon his sailors removing the hatch-covers, passed down into thehold with a lantern to inspect the salt piles. It was a goodly heapwhich confronted him--fifteen hundred fresh skins, the season's catch;and under the circumstances he could have had but one conclusion. "I am very sorry, " he said, in broken English to the sealing captain, when he again came on deck, "but it is my duty, in the name of the tsar, to seize your vessel as a poacher caught with fresh skins in the closedsea. The penalty, as you may know, is confiscation and imprisonment. " The captain of the _Mary Thomas_ shrugged his shoulders in seemingindifference, and turned away. Although they may restrain all outwardshow, strong men, under unmerited misfortune, are sometimes very closeto tears. Just then the vision of his little California home, and of thewife and two yellow-haired boys, was strong upon him, and there was astrange, choking sensation in his throat, which made him afraid that ifhe attempted to speak he would sob instead. And also there was upon him the duty he owed his men. No weakness beforethem, for he must be a tower of strength to sustain them in misfortune. He had already explained to the second lieutenant, and knew thehopelessness of the situation. As the sea-lawyer had said, the evidencewas all against him. So he turned aft, and fell to pacing up and downthe poop of the vessel over which he was no longer commander. The Russian officer now took temporary charge. He ordered more of hismen aboard, and had all the canvas clewed up and furled snugly away. While this was being done, the boat plied back and forth between the twovessels, passing a heavy hawser, which was made fast to the greattowing-bitts on the schooner's forecastle-head. During all this workthe sealers stood about in sullen groups. It was madness to think ofresisting, with the guns of a man-of-war not a biscuit-toss away; butthey refused to lend a hand, preferring instead to maintain a gloomysilence. Having accomplished his task, the lieutenant ordered all but four of hismen back into the boat. Then the midshipman, a lad of sixteen, lookingstrangely mature and dignified in his uniform and sword, came aboard totake command of the captured sealer. Just as the lieutenant prepared todepart his eye chanced to alight upon Bub. Without a word of warning, heseized him by the arm and dropped him over the rail into the waitingboat; and then, with a parting wave of his hand, he followed him. It was only natural that Bub should be frightened at this unexpectedhappening. All the terrible stories he had heard of the Russians servedto make him fear them, and now returned to his mind with double force. To be captured by them was bad enough, but to be carried off by them, away from his comrades, was a fate of which he had not dreamed. "Be a good boy, Bub, " the captain called to him, as the boat drew awayfrom the _Mary Thomas's_ side, "and tell the truth!" "Aye, aye, sir!" he answered, bravely enough by all outward appearance. He felt a certain pride of race, and was ashamed to be a coward beforethese strange enemies, these wild Russian bears. "Und be politeful!" the German boat-steerer added, his rough voicelifting across the water like a fog-horn. Bub waved his hand in farewell, and his mates clustered along the railas they answered with a cheering shout. He found room in thestern-sheets, where he fell to regarding the lieutenant. He didn't lookso wild or bearish after all--very much like other men, Bub concluded, and the sailors were much the same as all other man-of-war's men he hadever known. Nevertheless, as his feet struck the steel deck of thecruiser, he felt as if he had entered the portals of a prison. For a few minutes he was left unheeded. The sailors hoisted the boat up, and swung it in on the davits. Then great clouds of black smoke pouredout of the funnels, and they were under way--to Siberia, Bub could nothelp but think. He saw the _Mary Thomas_ swing abruptly into line as shetook the pressure from the hawser, and her side-lights, red and green, rose and fell as she was towed through the sea. Bub's eyes dimmed at the melancholy sight, but--but just then thelieutenant came to take him down to the commander, and he straightenedup and set his lips firmly, as if this were a very commonplace affairand he were used to being sent to Siberia every day in the week. Thecabin in which the commander sat was like a palace compared to thehumble fittings of the _Mary Thomas_, and the commander himself, in goldlace and dignity, was a most august personage, quite unlike the simpleman who navigated his schooner on the trail of the seal pack. Bub now quickly learned why he had been brought aboard, and in theprolonged questioning which followed, told nothing but the plain truth. The truth was harmless; only a lie could have injured his cause. He didnot know much, except that they had been sealing far to the south inopen water, and that when the calm and fog came down upon them, beingclose to the line, they had drifted across. Again and again he insistedthat they had not lowered a boat or shot a seal in the week they hadbeen drifting about in the forbidden sea; but the commander chose toconsider all that he said to be a tissue of falsehoods, and adopted abullying tone in an effort to frighten the boy. He threatened andcajoled by turns, but failed in the slightest to shake Bub's statements, and at last ordered him out of his presence. By some oversight, Bub was not put in anybody's charge, and wandered upon deck unobserved. Sometimes the sailors, in passing, bent curiousglances upon him, but otherwise he was left strictly alone. Nor could hehave attracted much attention, for he was small, the night dark, and thewatch on deck intent on its own business. Stumbling over the strangedecks, he made his way aft where he could look upon the side-lights ofthe _Mary Thomas_, following steadily in the rear. For a long while he watched, and then lay down in the darkness close towhere the hawser passed over the stern to the captured schooner. Oncean officer came up and examined the straining rope to see if it werechafing, but Bub cowered away in the shadow undiscovered. This, however, gave him an idea which concerned the lives and liberties of twenty-twomen, and which was to avert crushing sorrow from more than one happyhome many thousand miles away. In the first place, he reasoned, the crew were all guiltless of anycrime, and yet were being carried relentlessly away to imprisonment inSiberia--a living death, he had heard, and he believed it implicitly. Inthe second place, he was a prisoner, hard and fast, with no chance toescape. In the third, it was possible for the twenty-two men on the_Mary Thomas_ to escape. The only thing which bound them was a four-inchhawser. They dared not cut it at their end, for a watch was sure to bemaintained upon it by their Russian captors; but at this end, ah! at hisend-- Bub did not stop to reason further. Wriggling close to the hawser, heopened his jack-knife and went to work. The blade was not very sharp, and he sawed away, rope-yarn by rope-yarn, the awful picture of thesolitary Siberian exile he must endure growing clearer and more terribleat every stroke. Such a fate was bad enough to undergo with one'scomrades, but to face it alone seemed frightful. And besides, the veryact he was performing was sure to bring greater punishment upon him. In the midst of such somber thoughts, he heard footsteps approaching. Hewriggled away into the shadow. An officer stopped where he had beenworking, half-stooped to examine the hawser, then changed his mind andstraightened up. For a few minutes he stood there, gazing at the lightsof the captured schooner, and then went forward again. Now was the time! Bub crept back and went on sawing. Now two parts weresevered. Now three. But one remained. The tension upon this was so greatthat it readily yielded. Splash the freed end went overboard. He layquietly, his heart in his mouth, listening. No one on the cruiser buthimself had heard. He saw the red and green lights of the _Mary Thomas_ grow dimmer anddimmer. Then a faint hallo came over the water from the Russian prizecrew. Still nobody heard. The smoke continued to pour out of thecruiser's funnels, and her propellers throbbed as mightily as ever. What was happening on the _Mary Thomas_? Bub could only surmise; but ofone thing he was certain: his comrades would assert themselves andoverpower the four sailors and the midshipman. A few minutes later hesaw a small flash, and straining his ears heard the very faint report ofa pistol. Then, oh joy! both the red and green lights suddenlydisappeared. The _Mary Thomas_ was retaken! Just as an officer came aft, Bub crept forward, and hid away in one ofthe boats. Not an instant too soon. The alarm was given. Loud voicesrose in command. The cruiser altered her course. An electricsearch-light began to throw its white rays across the sea, here, there, everywhere; but in its flashing path no tossing schooner was revealed. Bub went to sleep soon after that, nor did he wake till the gray ofdawn. The engines were pulsing monotonously, and the water, splashingnoisily, told him the decks were being washed down. One sweeping glance, and he saw that they were alone on the expanse of ocean. The _MaryThomas_ had escaped. As he lifted his head, a roar of laughter went upfrom the sailors. Even the officer, who ordered him taken below andlocked up, could not quite conceal the laughter in his eyes. Bub thoughtoften in the days of confinement which followed that they were not veryangry with him for what he had done. He was not far from right. There is a certain innate nobility deep downin the hearts of all men, which forces them to admire a brave act, evenif it is performed by an enemy. The Russians were in nowise differentfrom other men. True, a boy had outwitted them; but they could not blamehim, and they were sore puzzled as to what to do with him. It wouldnever do to take a little mite like him in to represent all thatremained of the lost poacher. So, two weeks later, a United States man-of-war, steaming out of theRussian port of Vladivostok, was signaled by a Russian cruiser. A boatpassed between the two ships, and a small boy dropped over the rail uponthe deck of the American vessel. A week later he was put ashore atHakodate, and after some telegraphing, his fare was paid on therailroad to Yokohama. From the depot he hurried through the quaint Japanese streets to theharbor, and hired a sampan boatman to put him aboard a certain vesselwhose familiar rigging had quickly caught his eye. Her gaskets were off, her sails unfurled; she was just starting back to the United States. Ashe came closer, a crowd of sailors sprang upon the forecastle head, andthe windlass-bars rose and fell as the anchor was torn from its muddybottom. "'Yankee ship come down the ribber!'" the sea-lawyer's voice rolled outas he led the anchor song. "'Pull, my bully boys, pull!'" roared back the old familiar chorus, themen's bodies lifting and bending to the rhythm. Bub Russell paid the boatman and stepped on deck. The anchor wasforgotten. A mighty cheer went up from the men, and almost before hecould catch his breath he was on the shoulders of the captain, surrounded by his mates, and endeavoring to answer twenty questions tothe second. The next day a schooner hove to off a Japanese fishing village, sentashore four sailors and a little midshipman, and sailed away. These mendid not talk English, but they had money and quickly made their way toYokohama. From that day the Japanese village folk never heard anythingmore about them, and they are still a much-talked-of mystery. As theRussian government never said anything about the incident, the UnitedStates is still ignorant of the whereabouts of the lost poacher, nor hasshe ever heard, officially, of the way in which some of her citizens"shanghaied" five subjects of the tsar. Even nations have secretssometimes. THE BANKS OF THE SACRAMENTO "And it's blow, ye winds, heigh-ho, For Cal-i-for-ni-o; For there's plenty of gold so I've been told, On the banks of the Sacramento!" It was only a little boy, singing in a shrill treble the sea chanteywhich seamen sing the wide world over when they man the capstan bars andbreak the anchors out for "Frisco" port. It was only a little boy whohad never seen the sea, but two hundred feet beneath him rolled theSacramento. "Young" Jerry he was called, after "Old" Jerry, his father, from whom he had learned the song, as well as received his shock ofbright-red hair, his blue, dancing eyes, and his fair and inevitablyfreckled skin. For Old Jerry had been a sailor, and had followed the sea till middlelife, haunted always by the words of the ringing chantey. Then one dayhe had sung the song in earnest, in an Asiatic port, swinging andthrilling round the capstan-circle with twenty others. And at SanFrancisco he turned his back upon his ship and upon the sea, and went tobehold with his own eyes the banks of the Sacramento. He beheld the gold, too, for he found employment at the Yellow Dreammine, and proved of utmost usefulness in rigging the great ore-cablesacross the river and two hundred feet above its surface. After that he took charge of the cables and kept them in repair, andran them and loved them, and became himself an indispensable fixture ofthe Yellow Dream mine. Then he loved pretty Margaret Kelly; but she hadleft him and Young Jerry, the latter barely toddling, to take up herlast long sleep in the little graveyard among the great sober pines. Old Jerry never went back to the sea. He remained by his cables, andlavished upon them and Young Jerry all the love of his nature. When evildays came to the Yellow Dream, he still remained in the employ of thecompany as watchman over the all but abandoned property. But this morning he was not visible. Young Jerry only was to be seen, sitting on the cabin step and singing the ancient chantey. He had cookedand eaten his breakfast all by himself, and had just come out to take alook at the world. Twenty feet before him stood the steel drum roundwhich the endless cable worked. By the drum, snug and fast, was theore-car. Following with his eyes the dizzy flight of the cables to thefarther bank, he could see the other drum and the other car. The contrivance was worked by gravity, the loaded car crossing the riverby virtue of its own weight, and at the same time dragging the empty carback. The loaded car being emptied, and the empty car being loaded withmore ore, the performance could be repeated--a performance which hadbeen repeated tens of thousands of times since the day Old Jerry becamethe keeper of the cables. Young Jerry broke off his song at the sound of approaching footsteps. Atall, blue-shirted man, a rifle across the hollow of his arm, came outfrom the gloom of the pine-trees. It was Hall, watchman of the YellowDragon mine, the cables of which spanned the Sacramento a mile fartherup. "Yello, younker!" was his greeting. "What you doin' here by yourlonesome?" "Oh, bachin', " Jerry tried to answer unconcernedly, as if it were a veryordinary sort of thing. "Dad's away, you see. " "Where's he gone?" the man asked. "San Francisco. Went last night. His brother's dead in the old country, and he's gone down to see the lawyers. Won't be back till tomorrownight. " So spoke Jerry, and with pride, because of the responsibility which hadfallen to him of keeping an eye on the property of the Yellow Dream, andthe glorious adventure of living alone on the cliff above the river andof cooking his own meals. "Well, take care of yourself, " Hall said, "and don't monkey with thecables. I'm goin' to see if I can pick up a deer in the Cripple CowCañon. " "It's goin' to rain, I think, " Jerry said, with mature deliberation. "And it's little I mind a wettin', " Hall laughed, as he strode awayamong the trees. Jerry's prediction concerning rain was more than fulfilled. By teno'clock the pines were swaying and moaning, the cabin windows rattling, and the rain driving by in fierce squalls. At half past eleven hekindled a fire, and promptly at the stroke of twelve sat down to hisdinner. No out-of-doors for him that day, he decided, when he had washed the fewdishes and put them neatly away; and he wondered how wet Hall was andwhether he had succeeded in picking up a deer. At one o'clock there came a knock at the door, and when he opened it aman and a woman staggered in on the breast of a great gust of wind. Theywere Mr. And Mrs. Spillane, ranchers, who lived in a lonely valley adozen miles back from the river. "Where's Hall?" was Spillane's opening speech, and he spoke sharply andquickly. Jerry noted that he was nervous and abrupt in his movements, and thatMrs. Spillane seemed laboring under some strong anxiety. She was a thin, washed-out, worked-out woman, whose life of dreary and unending toil hadstamped itself harshly upon her face. It was the same life that hadbowed her husband's shoulders and gnarled his hands and turned his hairto a dry and dusty gray. "He's gone hunting up Cripple Cow, " Jerry answered. "Did you want tocross?" The woman began to weep quietly, while Spillane dropped a troubledexclamation and strode to the window. Jerry joined him in gazing out towhere the cables lost themselves in the thick downpour. It was the custom of the backwoods people in that section of country tocross the Sacramento on the Yellow Dragon cable. For this service asmall toll was charged, which tolls the Yellow Dragon Company appliedto the payment of Hall's wages. "We've got to get across, Jerry, " Spillane said, at the same timejerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his wife. "Herfather's hurt at the Clover Leaf. Powder explosion. Not expected tolive. We just got word. " Jerry felt himself fluttering inwardly. He knew that Spillane wanted tocross on the Yellow Dream cable, and in the absence of his father hefelt that he dared not assume such a responsibility, for the cable hadnever been used for passengers; in fact, had not been used at all for along time. "Maybe Hall will be back soon, " he said. Spillane shook his head, and demanded, "Where's your father?" "San Francisco, " Jerry answered, briefly. Spillane groaned, and fiercely drove his clenched fist into the palm ofthe other hand. His wife was crying more audibly, and Jerry could hearher murmuring, "And daddy's dyin', dyin'!" The tears welled up in his own eyes, and he stood irresolute, notknowing what he should do. But the man decided for him. "Look here, kid, " he said, with determination, "the wife and me aregoin' over on this here cable of yours! Will you run it for us?" Jerry backed slightly away. He did it unconsciously, as if recoilinginstinctively from something unwelcome. "Better see if Hall's back, " he suggested. "And if he ain't?" Again Jerry hesitated. "I'll stand for the risk, " Spillane added. "Don't you see, kid, we'vesimply got to cross!" Jerry nodded his head reluctantly. "And there ain't no use waitin' for Hall, " Spillane went on. "You knowas well as me he ain't back from Cripple Cow this time of day! So comealong and let's get started. " No wonder that Mrs. Spillane seemed terrified as they helped her intothe ore-car--so Jerry thought, as he gazed into the apparentlyfathomless gulf beneath her. For it was so filled with rain and cloud, hurtling and curling in the fierce blast, that the other shore, sevenhundred feet away, was invisible, while the cliff at their feet droppedsheer down and lost itself in the swirling vapor. By all appearances itmight be a mile to bottom instead of two hundred feet. "All ready?" he asked. "Let her go!" Spillane shouted, to make himself heard above the roar ofthe wind. He had clambered in beside his wife, and was holding one of her hands inhis. Jerry looked upon this with disapproval. "You'll need all your hands forholdin' on, the way the wind's yowlin'. " The man and the woman shifted their hands accordingly, tightly grippingthe sides of the car, and Jerry slowly and carefully released the brake. The drum began to revolve as the endless cable passed round it, and thecar slid slowly out into the chasm, its trolley wheels rolling on thestationary cable overhead, to which it was suspended. It was not the first time Jerry had worked the cable, but it was thefirst time he had done so away from the supervising eye of his father. By means of the brake he regulated the speed of the car. It neededregulating, for at times, caught by the stronger gusts of wind, itswayed violently back and forth; and once, just before it was swallowedup in a rain squall, it seemed about to spill out its human contents. After that Jerry had no way of knowing where the car was except by meansof the cable. This he watched keenly as it glided around the drum. "Three hundred feet, " he breathed to himself, as the cable markings wentby, "three hundred and fifty, four hundred; four hundred and----" The cable had stopped. Jerry threw off the brake, but it did not move. He caught the cable with his hands and tried to start it by tuggingsmartly. Something had gone wrong. What? He could not guess; he couldnot see. Looking up, he could vaguely make out the empty car, which hadbeen crossing from the opposite cliff at a speed equal to that of theloaded car. It was about two hundred and fifty feet away. That meant, heknew, that somewhere in the gray obscurity, two hundred feet above theriver and two hundred and fifty feet from the other bank, Spillane andhis wife were suspended and stationary. Three times Jerry shouted with all the shrill force of his lungs, but noanswering cry came out of the storm. It was impossible for him to hearthem or to make himself heard. As he stood for a moment, thinkingrapidly, the flying clouds seemed to thin and lift. He caught a briefglimpse of the swollen Sacramento beneath, and a briefer glimpse of thecar and the man and woman. Then the clouds descended thicker than ever. The boy examined the drum closely, and found nothing the matter with it. Evidently it was the drum on the other side that had gone wrong. He wasappalled at the thought of the man and woman out there in the midst ofthe storm, hanging over the abyss, rocking back and forth in the frailcar and ignorant of what was taking place on shore. And he did not liketo think of their hanging there while he went round by the Yellow Dragoncable to the other drum. But he remembered a block and tackle in the tool-house, and ran andbrought it. They were double blocks, and he murmured aloud, "A purchaseof four, " as he made the tackle fast to the endless cable. Then heheaved upon it, heaved until it seemed that his arms were being drawnout from their sockets and that his shoulder muscles would be rippedasunder. Yet the cable did not budge. Nothing remained but to cross overto the other side. He was already soaking wet, so he did not mind the rain as he ran overthe trail to the Yellow Dragon. The storm was with him, and it was easygoing, although there was no Hall at the other end of it to man thebrake for him and regulate the speed of the car. This he did forhimself, however, by means of a stout rope, which he passed, with aturn, round the stationary cable. As the full force of the wind struck him in mid-air, swaying the cableand whistling and roaring past it, and rocking and careening the car, heappreciated more fully what must be the condition of mind of Spillaneand his wife. And this appreciation gave strength to him, as, safelyacross, he fought his way up the other bank, in the teeth of the gale, to the Yellow Dream cable. To his consternation, he found the drum in thorough working order. Everything was running smoothly at both ends. Where was the hitch? Inthe middle, without a doubt. From this side, the car containing Spillane was only two hundred andfifty feet away. He could make out the man and woman through thewhirling vapor, crouching in the bottom of the car and exposed to thepelting rain and the full fury of the wind. In a lull between thesqualls he shouted to Spillane to examine the trolley of the car. Spillane heard, for he saw him rise up cautiously on his knees, and withhis hands go over both trolley-wheels. Then he turned his face towardthe bank. "She's all right, kid!" Jerry heard the words, faint and far, as from a remote distance. Thenwhat was the matter? Nothing remained but the other and empty car, whichhe could not see, but which he knew to be there, somewhere in thatterrible gulf two hundred feet beyond Spillane's car. His mind was made up on the instant. He was only fourteen years old, slightly and wirily built; but his life had been lived among themountains, his father had taught him no small measure of "sailoring, "and he was not particularly afraid of heights. In the tool-box by the drum he found an old monkey-wrench and a shortbar of iron, also a coil of fairly new Manila rope. He looked in vainfor a piece of board with which to rig a "boatswain's chair. " There wasnothing at hand but large planks, which he had no means of sawing, so hewas compelled to do without the more comfortable form of saddle. The saddle he rigged was very simple. With the rope he made merely alarge loop round the stationary cable, to which hung the empty car. Whenhe sat in the loop his hands could just reach the cable conveniently, and where the rope was likely to fray against the cable he lashed hiscoat, in lieu of the old sack he would have used had he been able tofind one. These preparations swiftly completed, he swung out over the chasm, sitting in the rope saddle and pulling himself along the cable by hishands. With him he carried the monkey-wrench and short iron bar and afew spare feet of rope. It was a slightly up-hill pull, but this he didnot mind so much as the wind. When the furious gusts hurled him back andforth, sometimes half twisting him about, and he gazed down into thegray depths, he was aware that he was afraid. It was an old cable. Whatif it should break under his weight and the pressure of the wind? It was fear he was experiencing, honest fear, and he knew that there wasa "gone" feeling in the pit of his stomach, and a trembling of the kneeswhich he could not quell. But he held himself bravely to the task. The cable was old and worn, sharp pieces of wire projected from it, and his hands were cut andbleeding by the time he took his first rest, and held a shoutedconversation with Spillane. The car was directly beneath him and only afew feet away, so he was able to explain the condition of affairs andhis errand. "Wish I could help you, " Spillane shouted at him as he started on, "butthe wife's gone all to pieces! Anyway, kid, take care of yourself! I gotmyself in this fix, but it's up to you to get me out!" "Oh, I'll do it!" Jerry shouted back. "Tell Mrs. Spillane that she'll beashore now in a jiffy!" In the midst of pelting rain, which half-blinded him, swinging from sideto side like a rapid and erratic pendulum, his torn hands paining himseverely and his lungs panting from his exertions and panting from thevery air which the wind sometimes blew into his mouth with stranglingforce, he finally arrived at the empty car. A single glance showed him that he had not made the dangerous journey invain. The front trolley-wheel, loose from long wear, had jumped thecable, and the cable was now jammed tightly between the wheel and thesheave-block. One thing was clear--the wheel must be removed from the block. A secondthing was equally clear--while the wheel was being removed the car wouldhave to be fastened to the cable by the rope he had brought. At the end of a quarter of an hour, beyond making the car secure, he hadaccomplished nothing. The key which bound the wheel on its axle wasrusted and jammed. He hammered at it with one hand and held on the besthe could with the other, but the wind persisted in swinging and twistinghis body, and made his blows miss more often than not. Nine-tenths ofthe strength he expended was in trying to hold himself steady. For fearthat he might drop the monkey-wrench he made it fast to his wrist withhis handkerchief. At the end of half an hour Jerry had hammered the key clear, but hecould not draw it out. A dozen times it seemed that he must give up indespair, that all the danger and toil he had gone through were fornothing. Then an idea came to him, and he went through his pockets withfeverish haste, and found what he sought--a ten-penny nail. But for that nail, put in his pocket he knew not when or why, he wouldhave had to make another trip over the cable and back. Thrusting thenail through the looped head of the key, he at last had a grip, and inno time the key was out. Then came punching and prying with the iron bar to get the wheel itselffree from where it was jammed by the cable against the side of theblock. After that Jerry replaced the wheel, and by means of the rope, heaved up on the car till the trolley once more rested properly on thecable. All this took time. More than an hour and a half had elapsed since hisarrival at the empty car. And now, for the first time, he dropped out ofhis saddle and down into the car. He removed the detaining ropes, andthe trolley-wheel began slowly to revolve. The car was moving, and heknew that somewhere beyond, although he could not see, the car ofSpillane was likewise moving, and in the opposite direction. There was no need for a brake, for his weight sufficientlycounterbalanced the weight in the other car; and soon he saw the cliffrising out of the cloud depths and the old familiar drum going round andround. Jerry climbed out and made the car securely fast. He did it deliberatelyand carefully, and then, quite unhero-like, he sank down by the drum, regardless of the pelting storm, and burst out sobbing. There were many reasons why he sobbed--partly from the pain of his hand, which was excruciating; partly from exhaustion; partly from relief andrelease from the nerve-tension he had been under for so long; and in alarge measure for thankfulness that the man and woman were saved. They were not there to thank him; but somewhere beyond that howling, storm-driven gulf he knew they were hurrying over the trail toward theClover Leaf. Jerry staggered to the cabin, and his hand left the white knob red withblood as he opened the door, but he took no notice of it. He was too proudly contented with himself, for he was certain that hehad done well, and he was honest enough to admit to himself that he haddone well. But a small regret arose and persisted in his thoughts--ifhis father had only been there to see! IN YEDDO BAY Somewhere along Theater Street he had lost it. He remembered beinghustled somewhat roughly on the bridge over one of the canals that crossthat busy thoroughfare. Possibly some slant-eyed, light-fingeredpickpocket was even then enjoying the fifty-odd yen his purse hadcontained. And then again, he thought, he might have lost it himself, just lost it carelessly. Hopelessly, and for the twentieth time, he searched in all his pocketsfor the missing purse. It was not there. His hand lingered in his emptyhip-pocket, and he woefully regarded the voluble and vociferousrestaurant-keeper, who insanely clamored: "Twenty-five sen! You pay now!Twenty-five sen!" "But my purse!" the boy said. "I tell you I've lost it somewhere. " Whereupon the restaurant-keeper lifted his arms indignantly andshrieked: "Twenty-five sen! Twenty-five sen! You pay now!" Quite a crowd had collected, and it was growing embarrassing for AlfDavis. It was so ridiculous and petty, Alf thought. Such a disturbance aboutnothing! And, decidedly, he must be doing something. Thoughts of divingwildly through that forest of legs, and of striking out at whomsoeveropposed him, flashed through his mind; but, as though divining hispurpose, one of the waiters, a short and chunky chap with anevil-looking cast in one eye, seized him by the arm. "You pay now! You pay now! Twenty-five sen!" yelled the proprietor, hoarse with rage. Alf was red in the face, too, from mortification; but he resolutely setout on another exploration. He had given up the purse, pinning his lasthope on stray coins. In the little change-pocket of his coat he found aten-sen piece and five-copper sen; and remembering having recentlymissed a ten-sen piece, he cut the seam of the pocket and resurrectedthe coin from the depths of the lining. Twenty-five sen he held in hishand, the sum required to pay for the supper he had eaten. He turnedthem over to the proprietor, who counted them, grew suddenly calm, andbowed obsequiously--in fact, the whole crowd bowed obsequiously andmelted away. Alf Davis was a young sailor, just turned sixteen, on board the _AnnieMine_, an American sailing-schooner, which had run into Yokohama to shipits season's catch of skins to London. And in this, his second tripashore, he was beginning to snatch his first puzzling glimpses of theOriental mind. He laughed when the bowing and kotowing was over, andturned on his heel to confront another problem. How was he to get aboardship? It was eleven o'clock at night, and there would be no ship's boatsashore, while the outlook for hiring a native boatman, with nothing butempty pockets to draw upon, was not particularly inviting. Keeping a sharp lookout for shipmates, he went down to the pier. AtYokohama there are no long lines of wharves. The shipping lies out atanchor, enabling a few hundred of the short-legged people to make alivelihood by carrying passengers to and from the shore. A dozen sampan men and boys hailed Alf and offered their services. Heselected the most favorable-looking one, an old and beneficent-appearingman with a withered leg. Alf stepped into his sampan and sat down. Itwas quite dark and he could not see what the old fellow was doing, though he evidently was doing nothing about shoving off and gettingunder way. At last he limped over and peered into Alf's face. "Ten sen, " he said. "Yes, I know, ten sen, " Alf answered carelessly. "But hurry up. Americanschooner. " "Ten sen. You pay now, " the old fellow insisted. Alf felt himself grow hot all over at the hateful words "pay now. " "Youtake me to American schooner; then I pay, " he said. But the man stood up patiently before him, held out his hand, and said, "Ten sen. You pay now. " Alf tried to explain. He had no money. He had lost his purse. But hewould pay. As soon as he got aboard the American schooner, then he wouldpay. No; he would not even go aboard the American schooner. He wouldcall to his shipmates, and they would give the sampan man the ten senfirst. After that he would go aboard. So it was all right, of course. To all of which the beneficent-appearing old man replied: "You pay now. Ten sen. " And, to make matters worse, the other sampan men squatted onthe pier steps, listening. Alf, chagrined and angry, stood up to step ashore. But the old fellowlaid a detaining hand on his sleeve. "You give shirt now. I take you'Merican schooner, " he proposed. Then it was that all of Alf's American independence flamed up in hisbreast. The Anglo-Saxon has a born dislike of being imposed upon, and toAlf this was sheer robbery! Ten sen was equivalent to six Americancents, while his shirt, which was of good quality and was new, had costhim two dollars. He turned his back on the man without a word, and went out to the end ofthe pier, the crowd, laughing with great gusto, following at his heels. The majority of them were heavy-set, muscular fellows, and the Julynight being one of sweltering heat, they were clad in the least possibleraiment. The water-people of any race are rough and turbulent, and itstruck Alf that to be out at midnight on a pier-end with such a crowd ofwharfmen, in a big Japanese city, was not as safe as it might be. One burly fellow, with a shock of black hair and ferocious eyes, cameup. The rest shoved in after him to take part in the discussion. "Give me shoes, " the man said. "Give me shoes now. I take you 'Mericanschooner. " Alf shook his head, whereat the crowd clamored that he accept theproposal. Now the Anglo-Saxon is so constituted that to browbeat orbully him is the last way under the sun of getting him to do any certainthing. He will dare willingly, but he will not permit himself to bedriven. So this attempt of the boatmen to force Alf only aroused all thedogged stubbornness of his race. The same qualities were in him that arein men who lead forlorn hopes; and there, under the stars, on the lonelypier, encircled by the jostling and shouldering gang, he resolved thathe would die rather than submit to the indignity of being robbed of asingle stitch of clothing. Not value, but principle, was at stake. Then somebody thrust roughly against him from behind. He whirled aboutwith flashing eyes, and the circle involuntarily gave ground. But thecrowd was growing more boisterous. Each and every article of clothing hehad on was demanded by one or another, and these demands were shoutedsimultaneously at the tops of very healthy lungs. Alf had long since ceased to say anything, but he knew that thesituation was getting dangerous, and that the only thing left to him wasto get away. His face was set doggedly, his eyes glinted like points ofsteel, and his body was firmly and confidently poised. This air ofdetermination sufficiently impressed the boatmen to make them give waybefore him When he started to walk toward the shore-end of the pier. Butthey trooped along beside more noisily than ever. One of the youngstersabout 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 theshoulder, and sent the fellow rolling on the stones. The cap flew out of his hand and disappeared among the many legs. Alfdid some quick thinking, his sailor pride would not permit him to leavethe cap in their hands. He followed in the direction it had sped, andsoon found it under the bare foot of a stalwart fellow, who kept hisweight stolidly upon it. Alf tried to get the cap by a sudden jerk, butfailed. He shoved against the man's leg, but the man only grunted. Itwas challenge direct, and Alf accepted it. Like a flash one leg wasbehind the man and Alf had thrust strongly with his shoulder against thefellow's chest. Nothing could save the man from the fierce vigorousnessof the trick, and he was hurled over and backward. Next, the cap was on Alf's head and his fists were up before him. Thenhe whirled about to prevent attack from behind, and all those in thatquarter fled precipitately. This was what he wanted. None remainedbetween him and the shore end. The pier was narrow. Facing them andthreatening with his fist those who attempted to pass him on eitherside, he continued his retreat. It was exciting work, walking backwardand at the same time checking that surging mass of men. But thedark-skinned peoples, the world over, have learned to respect the whiteman's fist; and it was the battles fought by many sailors, more than hisown 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 theamusement of the dapper lieutenant in charge. The sampan men, grownquiet and orderly, clustered like flies by the open door, through whichthey could see and hear what passed. Alf explained his difficulty in few words, and demanded, as theprivilege of a stranger in a strange land, that the lieutenant put himaboard in the police-boat. The lieutenant, in turn, who knew all the"rules and regulations" by heart, explained that the harbor police werenot ferrymen, and that the police-boats had other functions to performthan that of transporting belated and penniless sailormen to theirships. 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 wastheir right to collect fares in advance, and who was he to command themto take a passenger and collect fare at the journey's end? Alfacknowledged the justice of his remarks, but suggested that while hecould not command he might persuade. The lieutenant was willing tooblige, and went to the door, from where he delivered a speech to thecrowd. But they, too, knew their rights, and, when the officer hadfinished, shouted in chorus their abominable "Ten sen! You pay now! Youpay now!" "You see, I can do nothing, " said the lieutenant, who, by the way, spokeperfect English. "But I have warned them not to harm or molest you, soyou will be safe, at least. The night is warm and half over. Lie downsomewhere and go to sleep. I would permit you to sleep here in theoffice, were it not against the rules and regulations. " Alf thanked him for his kindness and courtesy; but the sampan men hadaroused all his pride of race and doggedness, and the problem could notbe solved that way. To sleep out the night on the stones was anacknowledgment 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 preventmy 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 youcannot take yourself out. " "You just watch me, " was the retort. Down went Alf's cap on the office floor. Right and left he kicked offhis low-cut shoes. Trousers and shirt followed. "Remember, " he said in ringing tones, "I, as a citizen of the UnitedStates, shall hold you, the city of Yokohama, and the government ofJapan responsible for those clothes. Good night. " He plunged through the doorway, scattering the astounded boatmen toeither side, and ran out on the pier. But they quickly recovered and ranafter him, shouting with glee at the new phase the situation had takenon. It was a night long remembered among the water-folk of Yokohamatown. Straight to the end Alf ran, and, without pause, dived off cleanlyand neatly into the water. He struck out with a lusty, single-overhandstroke till curiosity prompted him to halt for a moment. Out of thedarkness, 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 paynow; 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 amile 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 aman-of-war could make. That must be the United States war-ship_Lancaster_. Somewhere to the left and beyond should be the _AnnieMine_. But to the left he made out three lights close together. Thatcould not be the schooner. For the moment he was confused. He rolledover on his back and shut his eyes, striving to construct a mentalpicture of the harbor as he had seen it in daytime. With a snort ofsatisfaction he rolled back again. The three lights evidently belongedto the big English tramp steamer. Therefore the schooner must liesomewhere between the three lights and the _Lancaster_. He gazed longand 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 thewater, and the water as warm as tepid milk. The good salt taste of itwas in his mouth, the tingling of it along his limbs; and the steadybeat of his heart, heavy and strong, made him glad for living. But beyond being glorious the swim was uneventful. On the right hand hepassed the many-lighted _Lancaster_, on the left hand the English tramp, and ere long the _Annie Mine_ loomed large above him. He grasped thehanging rope-ladder and drew himself noiselessly on deck. There was noone in sight. He saw a light in the galley, and knew that the captain'sson, who kept the lonely anchor-watch, was making coffee. Alf wentforward to the forecastle. The men were snoring in their bunks, and inthat confined space the heat seemed to him insufferable. So he put on athin cotton shirt and a pair of dungaree trousers, tucked blanket andpillow under his arm, and went up on deck and out on theforecastle-head. Hardly had he begun to doze when he was roused by a boat comingalongside and hailing the anchor-watch. It was the police-boat, and toAlf it was given to enjoy the excited conversation that ensued. Yes, thecaptain's son recognized the clothes. They belonged to Alf Davis, one ofthe seamen. What had happened? No; Alf Davis had not come aboard. He wasashore. He was not ashore? Then he must be drowned. Here both thelieutenant and the captain's son talked at the same time, and Alf couldmake out nothing. Then he heard them come forward and rouse out thecrew. The crew grumbled sleepily and said that Alf Davis was not in theforecastle; whereupon the captain's son waxed indignant at the Yokohamapolice and their ways, and the lieutenant quoted rules and regulationsin 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 sopromptly. " "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 clothesover somewhat sheepishly to their rightful owner. The next day, when Alf started to go ashore, he found himself surroundedby shouting and gesticulating, though very respectful, sampan men, allextraordinarily anxious to have him for a passenger. Nor did the one heselected say, "You pay now, " when he entered his boat. When Alf preparedto 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 boyand all right. " And for the rest of the _Annie Mine's_ stay in port, the sampan menrefused money at Alf Davis's hand. Out of admiration for his pluck andindependence, 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)