Great Sea Stories Part 25

Tea over--still excited talk went on. Some one recalled the last time we had overhauled and pa.s.sed the _Rhondda's_ gig.

"It's all very well your bucking about beating the _Rhondda_," said Gregson; "but don't think we're going to have it all our own way!

Mebbe they were 'playing 'possum' when we came by that time!"

"Maybe," said Jones. "There's Peters and H. Dobson in her crew. Good men! Both rowed in the Worcester boat that left the Conways' at the start, three years ago. . . . And what about the _Rickmers_? . . . .

No, no! It won't do to be too c.o.c.ksure! . . . . Eh, Takia?"

Takia was our c.o.x-n, a small wiry j.a.p. Nothing great in inches, but a demon for good steering and timing a stroke. He was serving his apprentices.h.i.+p with us and had been a year in the _Hilda_. Brute strength was not one of his points, but none was keener or more active in the rigging than our little j.a.p.

He smiled,--he always smiled,--he found it the easiest way of speaking English. "Oh, yes," he said. "Little c.o.c.ksu'--good! Too much c.o.c.ksu'--no good!"

We laughed at the wisdom of the East.

"Talk about being c.o.c.ky," said Gregson; "you should hear Captain Schenke bragging about the way he brought the _Hedwig Rickmers_ out. I heard 'em and the old man at it in the s.h.i.+p-chandler's yesterday.

Hot . . . . Look here, you chaps! I don't think the old man cares so much to win the Cup as to beat Schenke! The big 'squarehead' is always ramming it down Burke's throat how he brought his barque out from Liverpool in a hundred and five days, while the _Hilda_ took ten days more on her last run out!"

"That's so, I guess," said Jones. (Jones had the Yankee "touch.") "Old Burke would dearly love to put a spoke in his wheel, but it'll take some doing. They say that Schenke has got a friend down from Sacramento--gym.-instructor or something to a college up there. He'll be training the 'Dutchy' crew like blazes. They'll give us a hot time, I'll bet!"

Gregson rose to go on deck. "Oh, well," he said, "it won't be so bad if the _James Flint_ only lifts his hook by Sat.u.r.day. Here's one bloomin' _hombre_ that funks racin' a fancy whaler! . . . An' doesn't care who knows it, either!"

II

Thursday pa.s.sed--and now Friday--still there was no sign of the wind changing, and the big Yankee barque lay quietly at anchor over by the Presidio.

When the butcher came off from the sh.o.r.e with the day's stores, we eagerly questioned him about the prospects of the _James Flint's_ sailing. "_Huh_! I guess yew're nat the only 'citizens' that air concarned 'bout that!" he said. "They're talkin' 'bout nuthin' else on every 'lime-juicer' in the Bay! . . . . An' th' _Rickmers_! Gee!

Schenkie's had his eye glued ter th' long telescope ever since daybreak, watchin' fer th' _Flint_ heavin' up anchor!"

The butcher had varied information to give us. Now it was that Bully Nathan had telegraphed to his New York owners for permission to remain in port over Sunday. Then again, Bully was on the point of being dismissed his s.h.i.+p for not taking full advantage of a puff of nor'-west wind that came and went on Thursday night.

. . . The _Flint_ was short of men! . . . The Flint had a full crew aboard! Rumours and rumours! "All sorts o' talk," said the butcher; "but I know this fer certain--she's got all her stores aboard. Gos.h.!.+

I guess--she--has! I don't like to wish n.o.body no harm, byes, but I hope Bully Nathan's first chop 'll choke him, fer th' way he done me over the beef! . . . Scorch 'im!"

In the forenoon we dropped the gig and put out for practice. Old Burke and the mate came after us in the dinghy, the old man shouting instruction and encouragement through his megaphone as we rowed a course or spurted hard for a furious three minutes. Others were out on the same ploy, and the backwaters of the Bay had each a lash of oars to stir their tideless depths. Near us the green boat of the _Rickmers_ thrashed up and down in style. Time and again we drew across--"just for a friendly spurt"--but the "Dutchies" were not giving anything away, and sheered off as we approached. We spent an hour or more at practice and were rowing leisurely back to the s.h.i.+p when the green boat overhauled us, then slowed to her skipper's orders.

"How you va.s.s, Cabtin Burke?" said Schenke, an enormous fair-headed Teuton, powerful-looking, but run sadly to fat in his elder years.

"You t'ink you get a chanst now, _hein_? . . . Now de Yankee is goin'

avay!" He pointed over to the Presidio, where the _Flint_ lay at anchor. We followed the line of his fat forefinger. At anchor, yes, but the anchor nearly a-weigh. Her flags were hoisted, the blue peter fluttering at the fore, and the _Active_ tug was pa.s.sing a hawser aboard, getting ready to tow her out. The smoke from the tugboat's funnel was whirling and blowing over the low forts that guard the Golden Gates. Good luck! A fine nor'-west breeze had come that would lift our dreaded rival far to the south'ard on her way round Cape Horn!

Schenke saw the pleased look with which old Burke regarded the Yankee's preparations for departure.

"Goot bizness, eh?" he said. "You t'ink you fly de flack on de _Hilda_ nex' _Sonndag_, Cabtin? Veil! Ah wish you goot look, but you dond't got it all de same!"

"Oh, well, Captain Schenke, we can but thry," said the old man. "We can but thry, sorr! . . . Shure, she's a foine boat--that o'

yours. . . . An' likely-looking lads, too!" No one could but admire the well-set figures of the German crew as they stroked easily beside us.

"_Schweinehunden_," said Schenke brutally. We noticed more than one stolid face darkling as they glanced aside. Schenke had the name of a "hard case." "_Schweinehunden_," he said again. "Dey dond't like de hard vork, Cabtin. . . . Dey dond't like it--but ve takes der Coop, all de same! Dey pulls goot und strong, oder"--he rasped a short sentence in rapid Low German--"Shermans dond't be beat by no durn lime-juicer, _nein_!"

Old Burke grinned. "c.o.c.ky as ever, Captain Schenke! Bedad now, since ye had the luck of ye're last pa.s.sage there's no limit to ye!"

"Luck! Luck! Alvays de luck mit you, Cabtin!"

"An' whatt ilse? . . . Sure, if I hadn't struck a bilt of calms an'

had more than me share of head winds off the Horn, I'd have given ye a day or two mesilf!"

"Ho! Ho! Ho! _Das ist gut_!" The green boat rocked with Schenke's merriment. He laughed from his feet up--every inch of him shook with emotion. "Ho! Ho! Hoo! _Das ist ganz gut_. You t'ink you beat de _Hedwig Rickmers_ too, Cabtin? You beat 'm mit dot putty leetle barque? You beat 'm mit de _Hilda_, _nichtwahr_?"

"Well, no," said our old man. "I don't exactly say I beat the _Rickmers_, but if I had the luck o' winds that ye had, bedad, I'd crack th' _Hilda_ out in a hundred an' five days too!"

"Now, dot is not drue, Cabtin! _Aber ganz und gar nicht_! You know you haf bedder look von de vind as Ah got. Ah sail mein sheep! Ah dond't vait for de fair winds nor not'ings!"

"No," said Burke, "but ye get 'em, all the same. Everybody knows ye've th' divil's own luck, Schenke!"

"Und so you vas! Look now, Cabtin Burke. You t'nk you got so fast a sheep as mein, eh? Veil! Ah gif you a chanst to make money. Ah bet you feefty dollars to tventig, Ah take mein sheep home quicker as you va.s.s!"

"Done wit' ye," said stout old 'Paddy' Burke, though well he know the big German barque could sail round the little _Hilda_. "Fifty dollars to twenty, Captain Schenke, an' moind y've said it!"

The green boat sheered off and forged ahead, Schenke laughing and waving his hand derisively. When they had pulled out of earshot, the old man turned ruefully to the mate: "Five pounds clean t'rown away, mister! Foine I know the _Rickmers_ can baate us, but I wasn't goin'

t' let that ould 'squarehead' have it all his own way! Divil th' fear!"

We swung under the _Hilda's_ stern and hooked on to the gangway. The old man stepped out, climbed a pace or two, then came back.

"Look ye here, byes," he said, "I'll give ye foive dollars a man--an' a day's 'liberty' t' spind it--if ye only baate th' 'Dutchmen.' . . .

Let th' Cup go where it will!"

III

The Bay of San Francisco is certainly one of the finest natural harbours in the world, let Sydney and Rio and Falmouth all contest the claim. Land-locked to every wind that blows, with only a narrow channel open to the sea, the navies of the world could lie peacefully together in its sheltered waters. The coast that environs the harbour abounds in natural beauties, but of all the wooded creeks--fair stretches of undulating downs--or stately curves of winding river, none surpa.s.ses the little bay formed by the turn of Benita, the northern postern of the Golden Gates. Here is the little towns.h.i.+p of Sancilito, with its pretty white houses nestling among the dark green of the deeply wooded slopes. In the bay there is good anchorage for a limited number of vessels, and fortunate were they who manned the tall s.h.i.+ps that lay there, swinging ebb and flood, waiting for a burthen of golden grain.

On Sat.u.r.day the little bay was crowded by a muster of varied craft.

The s.h.i.+ps at anchor were "dressed" to the mastheads with gaily-coloured flags. Huge ferryboats pa.s.sed slowly up and down, their tiers of decks crowded with sightseers. Tug-boats and launches darted about, clearing the course, or convoying racing boats to the starting lines. s.h.i.+ps'

boats of all kinds were ma.s.sed together close insh.o.r.e: gigs and pinnaces, lean whaleboats, squat dinghys, even high-sided ocean lifeboats with their sombre broad belts of ribbed cork. A gay scene of colour and animation. A fine turn-out to see the fortune of the Merchants' Cup.

At two the Regatta began. A race for longsh.o.r.e craft showed that the boarding-house "crimps" were as skillful at boatman's work as at inducing sailormen to desert their s.h.i.+ps. Then two outriggers flashed by, contesting a heat for a College race. We in the _Hilda's_ gig lay handily at the starting line and soon were called out. There were nine entries for the Cup, and the judges had decided to run three heats. We were drawn in the first, and, together with the _Ardlea's_ and _Compton's_ gigs, went out to be inspected. The boats had to race in sea-service conditions, no lightening was allowed. At the challenge of the judges we showed our gear. "Spare oar--right! Rowlocks--right!

Sea-anchor--right! Bottom boards and stern grating--right. Painter, ten fathoms; hemp. . . . A bit short there, _Compton_! Eh? . . .

Oh--all right," said the official, and we manoeuvred into position, our sterns held in by the guard-boats. Some of the s.h.i.+ps' captains had engaged a steam-launch to follow the heats, and old Burke was there with his trumpet, shouting encouragement already.

"Air yew ready?"

A pause: then, pistol shot! We struck water and laid out! Our task was not difficult. The _Ardlea's_ gig was broad-bowed and heavy; they had no chance; but the _Compton's_ gave us a stiff pull to more than midway. Had they been like us, three months at boat-work, we had not pulled so easily up to the mark, but their s.h.i.+p was just in from Liverpool, and they were in poor condition for a mile and a half at pressure. We won easily, and scarce had cheered the losers before the launch came fussing up.

"Come aboard, Takia," shouted old Burke. "Ye come down wit' me an' see what shape the German makes. He's drawn wit' th' _Rhondda_ in this heat!"

Takia bundled aboard the launch and we hauled insh.o.r.e to watch the race. There was a delay at the start. Schenke, _nichts verstehen_, as he said, was for sending his boat away without a painter or spare gear.

He was pulled up by the judges, and had to borrow.

Now they were ready. The _Rickmers_ outside, _Rhondda_ in the middle berth, and the neat little _Slieve Donard_ insh.o.r.e. At the start the Rhonddas came fair away from the German boat, but even at the distance we could see that the "Dutchmen" were well in hand. At midway the _Rhondda_ was leading by a length, still going strong, but they had shot their bolt, and the green boat was surely pulling up. The _Slieve Donard_, after an unsteady course, had given up. Soon we could hear old Schenke roaring oaths and orders, as his launch came flying on in the wake of the speeding boats.