XII
ON THE SACRAMENTO
After our cargo was discharged we left Mission Wharf for an anchoragein the Bay, and there--swinging flood and ebb--we lay in idleness.There were many ships in the anchorage, and many more laid up atMartinez and Saucilito, for the year's crop was not yet to hand, andMasters were hanging back for a rise in freights. There we lay, idleships, while the summer sun ripened the crops and reared the goldengrain for the harvest--the harvest that we waited to carry round theroaring Horn to Europe. Daily we rowed the Old Man ashore, and when hereturned from the Agent's office, we could tell by the way he took arequest (say, for a small advance "to buy a knife") that our ship wasstill unchartered, and likely to be so for some time.
To a convenient wharf the gigs of each ship came every morning, andfrom then to untold hours of the night the jetty steps were well wornby comings and goings. Some of the Captains (the man-driving ones, whoowed no man a moment) used to send their boats back to the ship as soonas they landed, but a number kept theirs at the wharf in case messageshad to be sent off. We usually hung around at the jetty, where therewere fine wooden piles that we could carve our barque's name on whenour knives were sharp enough. With the boats' crews from other shipswe could exchange news and opinions, and quarrel over points inseamanship.
Those amongst us who had often voyaged to 'Frisco, and others who hadbeen long in the port, were looked upon as 'oracles,' and treated withconsiderable respect. The _Manydown_ had been sixteen months in'Frisco, and her boys could easily have passed muster as Americans.They chewed sweet tobacco ("malassus kyake," they called it), and sworeSpanish oaths with freedom and abandon. Their gig was by far thefinest and smartest at the jetty, and woe betide the unwitting 'bow'who touched her glossy varnished side with his boat-hook. For him awet swab was kept in readiness, and their stroke, a burly ruffian, wasalways willing to attend to the little affair if it went any farther.Our Captains came down in batches, as a rule, and there would be greatclatter of oars and shipping of rowlocks as their boats hauledalongside to take them off. Rivalry was keen, and many were thegallant races out to the anchorage, with perhaps a little sum at stakejust for the honour of the ship.
We had about a month of this, and it was daily becoming more difficultto find a decently clear space on the piles on which to carve'_Florence_, of Glasgow.' One day the Old Man returned at an unusualhour, and it was early evident that something was afoot; he was toopreoccupied to curse Hansen properly for being away from the boat onbusiness of his own, and, instead of criticising our stroke and tellingus what rotten rowers we were, as was his wont, he busied himself withletters and papers. We put off to the ship in haste, and soon the newswent round that we were going up-river to Port Costa, to load for home.Old Joe Niven was the medium through whom all news filtered from thecabin, and from him we had the particulars even down to the amount ofthe freight. We felt galled that a German barque, which had gone up aweek before, was getting two and twopence-ha'penny more; but we tookconsolation in the thought of what a fine crow we would have over the'Torreador's,' who were only loading at forty-five and sixpence, directto Hull.
On board we only mustered hands enough to do the ordinary harbour work,and raising the heavy anchors was a task beyond us; so at daybreak nextmorning we rowed round the ships to collect a crew. The other Captainshad promised our Old Man a hand, here and there, and when we pulledback we had men enough, lusty and willing, to kedge her up a hill.
There was mist on the water when we started to 'clear hawse'--thethick, clammy mist that comes before a warm day. About us bellsclattered on the ships at anchor, and steamers went slowly by with ahiss of waste steam that told of a ready hand on the levers. Overhead,the sky was bright with the promise of a glorious day, but with no mindto lift the pall from the water, it looked ill for a ready passage. Wehad four turns of a foul hawse to clear (the track of a week's calms),and our windlass was of a very ancient type, but our scratch crewworked well and handy, and we were ready for the road when the screwtug _Escort_ laid alongside and lashed herself up to our quarter. Theytow that way on the Pacific Coast--the wily ones know the advantage ofhaving a ship's length in front of them to brush away the 'snags.'
A light breeze took the mist ''way down under,' and we broke theweather anchor out with the rousing chorus of an old sea song:
Old Storm-along, he's dead a-an' gone, (_To my way-ay, Storm-alo-ong;_) O-old Storm-along, he's dead a-an' gone, (_Aye! Aye! Aye! Mister Storm-along._)
Some friends of the Captain had boarded us from the tug, eager for thenovelty of a trip up-river in a real Cape Horner. One elderly lady wasso charmed by our 'chantey,' that she wanted the Captain to make ussing it over again. She wondered when he told her that that was onething he could not do. With the rare and privileged sight of frocks onthe poop, there was a lot of talk about who should go to the wheel.Jones worked himself into it, and laid aft in a clean rig when the OldMan called for a hand to the wheel. There he made the most of it, andhung gracefully over the spokes with his wrists turned out to show thetattoo marks.
The skipper of the tug came aboard our ship to pilot up the river, andhe directed the movements of his own vessel from our poop deck. Wepassed under the guns of rocky Alcatraz, and stood over to the woodedslopes and vineyards of Saucilito, where many 'laid-up' ships werelying at the buoys, with upper yards down and huge ballast booms lashedalongside. Here we turned sharply to the norrard and bore up the broadbosom of Sacramento--the river that sailormen make songs about, theriver that flows over a golden bed. Dull, muddy water flowing swiftlyseawards; straight rip in the channel, and a race where the high banksare; a race that the Greek fishermen show holy pictures to, when thesprings are flowing!
With us, the tide was light enough, and our Pilot twisted her aboutwith the skill and nonchalance of a master hand. One of ourpassengers, a young woman who had enthused over everything, from theshark's tail on the spanker-boom end ("Waal--I never!") to the curl ofthe bo'sun's whiskers ("Jest real sweet!"), seemed greatly interestedat the frequent orders to the steersman.
"Sa-ay, Pilot!" she said, "Ah guess yew must know every rock 'bouthyar?"
"Wa-al, no, Miss, ah kyan't say 's Ah dew," answered Palinurus; "but Ahreckon tew know whar th' deep wa-r-r is!"
As we approached the shallows at the head of San Pablo Bay, the Old Manexpressed an opinion as to the lack of water, and the Pilot againprovided a jest for the moment.
"Oh, that's awl right, Cap.; she's only drawin' twelve feet, 'n Ah kintak' 'r over a damp meadow 'n this trim!"
We met a big stern-wheel ferry bound down from Benicia with a load offreight wagons. She looked like an important junction adrift.Afterwards we saw a full-rigged ship towing down, and when near we madeher out to be the _Torreador_, ready for sea. This was a greatdisappointment to us, for we had looked forward to being with her atPort Costa. Now, our long-dreamt-of boat-race was off (with our boat'screw in first-class trim, too!), and amid the cheering as we met andpassed on, we heard a shrill and unmistakable '_cock-a-doodle-doo!_'which we remembered with indignation for many a day. Tall and statelyshe looked, with her flags a-peak and everything in trim: yards allaloft, and squared to an inch and her sails rolled up without creaselike the dummy covers on the booms of a King's yacht. A gallant ship,and a credit to the flag she flew.
We passed many floating tree trunks and branches in the river. Thesnows had come away from the Sierras, and there was spate onSacramento. We rode over one of the 'snags' with a shudder, and allour jack-easy Pilot said was, "Guess that'll take some 'f th' barnaclesoff 'r battum, bettr'r a week's sojerin' with the patent scrubber!"All the same he took very good care that his own craft rode free ofobstruction.
Rounding a bend, we came in sight of our rendezvous, but Port Costashowed little promise from the water-side, though the sight of our oldfriends, the _Crocodile_, the _Peleus_, and the _Drumeltan_, moored atthe wharf cheered us. Two or three large mills, with a cluster ofwhite houses about, composed
the township; a large raft-like ferrywhich carried the 'Frisco mail trains bodily across the rivercontributed to its importance, but there was nothing else about theplace to excite the remark of even an idle 'prentice boy.
A little way up-stream was a town, indeed; a town of happy memories.Benicia, with its vineyards and fruit gardens, and the low, old houses,alone perhaps in all California to tell of Spain's dominion. A town ofhearty, hospitable folk, unaffected by the hustle of larger cities; apeople of peace and patience, the patience of tillers of the vine.
Off Martinez, where the river is wide, we canted ship, and worked backto Port Costa against the tide. We made fast at the ballast wharf, andour borrowed crew, having completed their job, laid aft to receive theCaptain's blessing, and a silver dollar to put in their pockets. Thenthey boarded the tug, and were soon on their way back to 'Frisco.
When Jones came from the wheel, he had great tales to tell of theattentions the ladies had paid him. He plainly wished us to understandthat he'd made an impression, but we knew that was not the way of it,for Old Niven had told Eccles that the pretty one was engaged to bemarried to the ship's butcher, down in 'Frisco, a fairy Dutchman ofabout fifteen stone six.
The Brassbounder: A Tale of the Sea Page 12