'Aye, Aye, Mister Mate!'

I

YOU’VE heard, I suppose, of men whose patience is inexhaustible; of men who can remain phlegmatic through anything whatever? I’ve heard of them, too.

Take Gregory. I’ll tell you about Gregory. He was tolerably well known in the old windjammer days of some thirty years or so ago.

I don’t know anything of Gregory’s life before he went to sea. Nothing at all. I don’t know if he had parents, or brothers, or sisters. All I know of him is after he went to sea. Maybe it was his upbringing that made him as he was. Maybe he had been brought up by some very religious person who trained him in the way that person thought was the right way for him to go. Perhaps in his early years he had been what is nowadays known as ‘repressed.’ The bubbles had been bottled down, so to speak. Or maybe it was simply his nature that made him as he was.

Gregory was eighteen when he started to sea — old enough to have a mind of his own, old enough to resent being continually overridden. Most lads of his age would at least have looked a bit rebellious, at any rate sometimes.

Gregory was the only green hand, the only first-voyager, among the apprentices of the ship in which he started to sea. That was how he came to be bossed so much. You know how it was. He had to wait on the others, had to be a sort of seagoing butler to them. It was sea custom, and good custom, too. Nothing like a hunk of humble pie for a first-voyager. But he got a rather larger share of humble pie than common. It was up to him to fetch the meals at every mealtime, and to carry the empty mess kids back to the cook afterward. It was up to him to keep the quarters clean and shipshape, to see that the lamp was kept full and rightly trimmed, and so forth. It was for him to run every time the mate blew his whistle for an apprentice to do some job or other in the dogwatch, when every sea apprentice likes, and expects, to be left to himself. Usually when there is only one green hand in a half deck the apprentices more or less share up all those things. But there was no sharing up with Gregory.

It was owing in part to his size, but mostly to his manner, that Gregory’s fellow apprentices treated him as they did. He was taller than any of them, and he looked older. Some who were several years older than he looked younger. Some were younger. Because age does n’t count in seniority aboard ship, he had to wait on those younger ones as well as on the others. It’s sea experience that counts in seniority. And the youngsters particularly took it out on him a good deal. It was rather good fun, of course, to have such a big first-voyager to boss.

Gregory never made the slightest kick. He was utterly phlegmatic about it. And of course it was not long till the others were setting him down as easy. They took him for a fellow with no backbone, without any pride; and they got to ragging him quite a bit. He took that quite calmly, too. It did n’t appear to have the slightest effect on him. He never became the least bit sore, so after a while they quit ragging him because there was no fun in it. They set him down as a queer fish, and let it go at that. They said, all of them, ‘He’ll never make an officer. There’s no ginger in him. He’s too confounded soft.’

But after a time, as the voyage progressed, Gregory’s shipmates in the apprentices’ quarters changed their minds a little. They found that he was quite wide-awake in some respects, and that he was not so soft in others. He picked up the names of the ropes and so forth a good deal faster than most first-voyagers; and, though he seemed to make no effort at all, he began to show that there were some seamanlike qualities in him.

If a sea came over the rail, knocking down and soaking the other apprentices, they growled, of course. Gregory never growled. He did n’t growl when he was too hot, or too cold, or when the grub was bad, or when his sleep was disturbed. Nothing seemed to faze him. ‘He’s too blasted gentlemanly,’ said one. Another said,‘No. He’s just simple-minded.’ And they all agreed with that. Long before the end of the voyage they lost interest in him. He was a queer fish, and that was all there was to it.

II

Gregory kept to himself, did n’t open up and confide in anyone at all. And no one was sufficiently interested in him to try to dig into his reserve. There did n’t appear to be any mean streak, any selfishness, in him; and since he was free of that, the worst of all sins at sea, he was not objectionable.

Even the mate tried to get Gregory mad at first, and failed. As a rule, mates don’t go out of the way to try out an apprentice, but this was once when a mate did so. He not only kept every nasty, dirty, finicking job he could find for Gregory, but he swore at him a good deal when there was no real reason for it. On a fine evening, when all hands were peacefully walking the deck or sitting yarning on the hatches, the mate would go down to the main deck, take a jerk on a skysail buntline, and break the stop. Then the buntline, which had been perfectly all right before, would need overhauling. ‘You, Gregory, hop aloft and overhaul that buntline!’ the mate would order. That’s an old, old trick of mates with young apprentices, and it never fails to rile the victim. But it never riled Gregory. Up to the skysail mast he’d climb, his bland expression never in the least changed. As for swearing at him, that was like pouring water on a duck’s back. He never seemed to hear it.

Gregory remained unaltered through the four years of his apprenticeship. By the end of it he was a tall fellow of twenty-two, and a lot huskier than you’d expect such a long-limbed, slender youngster to be. And he’d never been known to hurry since the first day he came aboard. That was another queer thing about him. There did n’t seem to be such a thing as hurry, or as getting rattled, in his make-up. He went about everything at an even gait. But he was never behindhand. He always ‘got there’ just about as soon as anyone else. It was because of those long, spindly-looking limbs of his. To see him making for the ropes, or climbing aloft, reminded you of one of those long-legged spiders that, scarcely seeming to move their legs, get over a floor or a wall in no time at all.

’I’d like to see that fellow Gregory if he ever does get a move on,’ the mate said to the second mate one day. ‘I’d like to see him lose his temper just once.’

‘He’s got no temper,’said the second mate. ‘If he ever gets his ticket, he’ll be a fine large joke. His men’ll laugh in his face.’

As soon as Gregory had finished his apprenticeship he took his exam and passed for second mate, and he was lucky enough to get a second mate’s berth right away.

If Gregory’s new ship had been specially manned for him, she could n’t have fitted him better. There were no apprentices in her, and every one of her foremast hands was either Swede, Norwegian, or Finn. You know how it is with those fellows. In the first place, they’re almost always cracking good sailors; and in the second place, they never make any trouble. Docile is just the word for them. It takes the meanest of officers to rouse their temper. The skipper was an easy-going old sort, and the mate was like him. The ship was a regular ‘home ship,’ and the voyage that Gregory made in her was as peaceable as a voyage could very well be. She did n’t experience any particularly bad weather, and when she came in after a year and a half Gregory took his mate’s ticket.

III

It was funny how the luck stayed with Gregory. It’s not often that a young fellow just out of his apprenticeship lands a second mate’s billet right away, and it’s still rarer for a man who has just passed for mate to land a mate’s billet. Gregory did. He was wandering about the docks on the day after he’d taken his ticket, looking for a ship needing a second mate. He’d been aboard several ships and was approaching another when four men came over her gangway carrying a stretcher. Her mate had been injured by a cargo sling that had carried away, and was being taken to the hospital. She was deep-loaded and her sails were all bent. She was ready for sea, and due to go out next morning. When Gregory stepped to her deck he met her skipper, who was going ashore in a great stew because, with a thousand things to see to at the last minute, he had also to find a new mate. He took Gregory on at once.

The crew came aboard late that night, and the ship towed to sea at dawn. When the tug dropped her a few miles offshore and the mates went to setting sail, they very soon found that there was only one man in the forecastle who was fit to be called a sailor. He was an old, gray-haired, stoopshouldered, bow-legged Dane. He had been at sea some forty-five years or so. A regular old shellback — simple and honest, a sailor when at sea, a fool when in port. He’d come aboard hog-drunk like the rest of the crew, and with a bottle in his pocket. The others had all turned in and gone to sleep, but he’d spent the night finishing his bottle and singing chanteys in the forecastle. At the first long breath of the sea wind, with the first roll that the ship took, he was instantly sober — or at any rate practically so.

The second mate said to Gregory, ‘Good night, sir! Lord love a duck, we’ll catch hell off Cape Stiff if we try to get this hooker round it with this lot of swabs!’

Gregory, who was watching the old Dane, said nothing at all. He’d been round the Horn ten times. The second mate had been round once.

The second mate begged Gregory to try to get the skipper to put back for a better crew. Gregory did n’t do it. Maybe he’d have liked to — I don’t know. Sailors were scarce, and he knew it. Several ships had gone to sea in the last few days and had taken the pick. If the ship were to put back, she would probably have to wait some days for other men, and, with steamers crowding sailing ships on every trade route, hurry was the watchword.

The mates managed to get sail on the ship. Anyone can loose a sail, or pull on a rope after a fashion. A fair wind took her down the North Sea and out into the channel. When she was pretty well down channel, the wind fell away to an air. The second mate came to Gregory and begged him to try to get the skipper to put in somewhere for a better crew. Gregory said, ‘We’ve got one good man, and there’ll be plenty of time for the others to learn between here and the Horn.’ The skipper had n’t noticed the crew. He was one of those skippers who, while themselves attending to the navigation, leave the foremast hands entirely to the mates. He was a large, Heshy man, ponderous and rather short-winded.

The wind soon came back and the ship ran on her course at a good clip. Gregory set the old Dane to work in the rigging and put the rest of the crew to cleaning ship. She was loaded with general cargo, among which were some hundreds of tons of coal, and was filthy, of course. Had Gregory been skipper, he would perhaps have left the cleaning ship till later and would have spent the early part of the voyage in drilling the men into sailors. It was the skipper who gave him orders to clean ship. The skipper was a great stickler for cleanliness, one of the sort who go in heavily for paint and polish and are a bit apt to neglect other things for the sake of a smart appearance. The second mate was desperate, but Gregory never turned a hair.

It was remarkable how the fair wind held, all the way down into the trade winds. The trades took the ship south of the line, which she crossed when twenty days out; and all the way there had never once been occasion to take a sail off her. That sort of thing happens not infrequently. What made it remarkable in this instance was that it was certainly not the best thing to happen. The crew were still cleaning paintwork, polishing brass, and holystoning decks. The old Dane still worked in the rigging. She was in good shape aloft, and such repair work as was necessary could be done by one man provided he was a good one. The old Dane was a good one.

The northeast trades carried the ship right into the southeast trades, without any doldrum weather at all. The second mate was like a grasshopper on a hot stove lid. One morning, when she was getting well down in the trades, down to latitudes in which she might lose them at any minute, he took it on himself to speak to the skipper — which is something that second mates don’t ordinarily do.

‘How’d it be, sir, to take some sail off her and set it again, just by way of giving the hands a bit of sail drill?’

The skipper looked at the second mate as if he were n’t sure that he had heard aright.

‘They’re a lot of useless swabs, sir. There’s not a sailor in the lot,’ said the second mate.

The skipper called Gregory. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘What’s all the fuss about? Can’t you handle this ship, mister?’

Gregory looked the skipper coolly in the eye. ‘Yes, sir. Everything’s all right,’ he replied.

When the skipper had gone below, the second mate cursed Gregory to his face, demanding, ‘How the devil do you think we’ll ever get round Stiff alive?’

Gregory shrugged his shoulders.

The trades took the ship to latitude thirty-three south, and left her there. She lay in a flat calm off the River Plate coast — a sullen sea below, a sullen sky above her. The second mate wore the look of a condemned man. Lots of ships have been lost off the Plate. The Plate’s a bad place, very bad. Gregory remained quite unruffled.

Toward dusk the skipper came on deck and ordered the royals and topgallant sails taken in. It took the crew over an hour to furl those light sails. A good crew would have done it in twenty minutes or less. They were still aloft when the skipper came up again and ordered the mainsail and foresail furled. That took the crew another hour and a half. The second mate went aloft with them, and, hearing him cursing up there, the skipper said to Gregory, ‘What’s the matter aloft, mister?’

‘ Nothing, sir,’ said Gregory. ‘ Everything’s all right.’

If it had not been for the old Dane, it would have taken the crew a lot longer to furl the sails than it did. He was of the sort to whom it makes no difference at all whether it is daylight or dark, hot or cold, flat calm or a gale of wind blowing. Gregory was confident that with him aloft everything would be done right. The Dane would n’t come down till everything was shipshape. Despite the difference in their ages, in their nationality and appearance, there was something precisely similar about the old Dane and Gregory. And, though Gregory had never held any conversation with him except on such matters as the work in hand, there was something of an understanding between them.

IV

An hour or so after the ship was snugged down the wind came. Suddenly is hardly the word for the way it came. It was as though somewhere a button had been pressed to awaken the hitherto motionless air to utter fury. But, snugged down as she was, the ship was safe.

Toward morning Gregory went forward to look for the old Dane. The wind was a continual scream. Spray was driving over the ship in an incessant sheet. The decks were full of white water. It had occurred to Gregory that just possibly some of the sails might work loose from their lashings. The old Dane could not very well have seen to every foot of the lashings, of course.

Gregory could n’t find the old Dane. He was n’t in the forecastle and he was n’t on the deck. Gregory took it for granted that the old sailor had been swept overboard in the darkness, so he went back to the poop. Since it would not be possible to put a boat out in such a sea, even with a good crew, he did n’t call the skipper to tell him that one of the men was lost.

After a while the bell struck and a sailor came to relieve the wheel. Soon after the new helmsman arrived to take the wheel, Gregory went to look at the compass. At the wheel he found the old Dane.

I was looking for you a while ago,’ said Gregory.

‘I voss aloft, sir,’ said the old Dane. Unordered, he had taken it on himself to go aloft and make sure that the furled sails were all right. ‘Voss dot all right, sir?’ he asked.

‘All right,’ said Gregory, who had intended to send him aloft for just that purpose.

Soon after daybreak the wind moderated, and Gregory started to set some sail. It was the first time any sail had been set since the ship had left port. That had been in fine weather, with a smooth sea. Now there was a strong breeze with a rough sea.

‘You lot of infernal farmers!’ bellowed the second mate, and began to use his fists on the incompetent crew, who were giving a good demonstration of lubberliness.

Gregory called the second mate aside. ‘Don’t get excited, sir,’ said he.

Gregory walked to the rope on which the crew were hauling, took hold of it, and lent them a hand — without a word to any of them. Appreciating a mate who was willing to show them the way, they were very soon learning to haul all together. The second mate, looking on, not offering to lend a hand at all, scowled and muttered to himself, ‘I would n’t give a damn for the whole lot, mate included. This ship’s a crazy madhouse and she’ll never get round Stiff.’ He was several years Gregory’s senior, and he looked on Gregory as a young, inexperienced fool. When sail was set, he lost control of himself and again cursed Gregory to his face. That Gregory did n’t take any notice of him enraged him the more. He went to the cabin and called the skipper. ‘If you’re going to try to get this packet round Stiff with this lot of swabs to handle her, I’m done. You can put me in irons, for all I care,’ he said.

The skipper called Gregory. ‘What’s the matter here? Have you got any complaints to make, mister?’ he asked.

‘No, sir. Everything’s all right,’ said Gregory.

The skipper ordered the second mate to go to his room.

The crew had seen and heard everything. They knew Gregory for a firstrate seaman, and it appeared that he had confidence in them. You know how that sort of thing goes. Trust a man, and if there is man in him he’ll make a try. The crew began to get a bit keen. But the skipper was becoming somewhat perturbed. It was borne in on him now that he had a very poor crew and a rather peculiar mate. Without saying anything about it to Gregory, he decided to take the ship in to the Falklands and get a new crew to take her round the Horn. The Falklands were only a few days’ sail to the south and west. ‘I’ll look after the ship by night. You’ll take her by day, mister,’ he said to Gregory.

That night one of the men came running to Gregory’s cabin. The wind had freshened and the skipper had gone down to the deck to see about taking some sail off the ship. It was the first time that he’d been down to the main deck in a good many years. Many skippers never go down to the main deck when their ships are at sea. Owing to the water that was washing about on it, the main deck was slippery. He had only been on it a moment or so when he lost his footing and fell heavily. He was no sooner up than he fell a second time. And then, before he could get to his feet, a big sea came over the side, washed him into the scuppers, back to the scuppers at the other side, and brought him up heavily against a stanchion. A minute later one of the men stumbled over him as he lay groaning, and shouted to his fellows.

Gregory had the skipper taken to his bed, and then returned to the deck to look after the ship. Having managed to get some sail off her, he went back to the skipper. The skipper’s eyes were open. ‘Take her in, mister. Take her in,’ he groaned, and lapsed into unconsciousness.

‘Very good, sir,’ said Gregory, taking it for granted that the skipper meant that he was to take the ship in to Frisco.

Gregory hurried up to the poop and altered the ship’s course, heading her in for the South American coast in the hope of falling in with a steamer. She was well to the north of Magellan Straits, and some hours after the skipper had been hurt the lookout man in the bow reported a light right ahead, A steamer just come out of the Straits was approaching. Gregory burned a blue flare to attract her attention, and, when she burned an answering flare, backed the main yard and brought the ship to a stop. In a few minutes one of the steamer’s boats was alongside, to find out what was the matter.

Wakened by strange voices, the second mate came from his room. ‘I reckon you’ll put in to the Falklands, eh, sir?’ he asked Gregory, when he found that the ship was minus a skipper.

‘What for?’ calmly inquired Gregory.

‘By gad, that settles it for me, then,’ said the second mate, and ran back to his room. Hastily gathering his belongings together, he dashed out to the deck and clambered down into the steamer’s boat, where the injured skipper had already been conveyed, so that he could be rushed to the hospital by the returning vessel.

V

As soon as the boat was away, Gregory squared the yards and put the ship on her course again. Then he called the old Dane aft. ‘Stay on the poop and keep a close eye on the weather,’ he said. ‘ Call me at once if the wind shifts at all or shows any sign of freshening. I’m going to finish my sleep out in the chart room.'

Next day Gregory spent in drilling the crew — taking in and setting sail over and over again. A good crew, knowing that there was no skipper aboard, and no second mate, and that the mate was only a young fellow, would very probably have refused duty — would have refused to face the Horn, and insisted that Gregory take the ship in to the nearest port. It did n’t occur to Gregory’s lot of lubbers to do so. They’d developed a good deal of respect for him, for one thing, and, for another, they did n’t any of them realize just what they were up against. It was not till evening that there was any question raised, and then it was the cook who raised it.

The cook went to the forecastle and began to complain to the foremast men. He said that it was against the law for any such fellow as the mate to try taking a ship round the Horn without a skipper, or even a second mate. Gregory happened to be passing the forecastle at the time, and when the old Dane, sheath knife in hand, chased the cook out of the forecastle he saw it. He saw the Dane return to the forecastle, and heard one of the men ask him, ‘What d’ye think? D’ye think things is all right?’ The cook had wakened some doubts in the men. Gregory listened to the Dane pacifying them; heard him say, ‘Sure, tings iss all right. Der mate knows well his yob.’ Gregory said nothing about it to the Dane or anyone.

Gregory kept the deck all day every day, and at night he and the Dane stood watch and watch on the poop. In his watch below he slept in the chart room, where he was within instant call. Day by day he gave the men some sail drill. On the morning of the fourth day after the skipper had left her, he took the ship past the corner of Staten Island. The Horn was now less than a hundred miles away.

Coming out from under the lee of the land, the ship met a tumultuous sea and a stiff westerly wind. Gregory had expected just that and had taken some sail in in readiness for it. Despite his apparent nonchalance and the complete indifference of the old Dane, the crew were feeling a bit jumpy. Once a ship gets past the corner of Staten Island, the general scenery is enough to make the best of crews tighten up their belts a bit. The sky and the sea looked mighty dirty, as they usually do thereabout.

Gregory quite possibly felt a bit jumpy himself now. I don’t know. No one knows. Certainly it was no light job that he was undertaking. Any man in his shoes would have been justified in feeling rather nervous just then.

Gregory did the only thing he could do. Instead of trying to keep a lot of sail on the ship and crowding her along, he shortened her down till he had her under three lower topsails and a main upper topsail only. He knew that he could n’t count on his crew to get sail off in a hurry. They had not yet had enough sail drill. Whatever happened, he must not be caught under too much sail. And the thing he expected very soon came. A Horn gale blew up, from due west — dead ahead. And it was n’t even a common Horn gale. It was a genuine Horn hurricane. He took the main upper and the fore lower topsail off her, and he went aloft with the men to help them stow the sails. The men were pretty well scared, but, noting Gregory’s calmness and the indifference of the old Dane, steadied and did their work in reasonably good shape.

It blew hard for a full week, and Gregory scarcely left the poop all that time. There was nothing to be done but ride the blow out. The ship was well found in all respects; the standing rigging all in first-class shape, and the running rigging all good. The life lines were stretched, the relieving tackles on the tiller. All through the blow a large bag of seal oil was kept hanging over the lee bow, that the seeping oil might break the force of the seas a little. ‘Diss iss der vedder vot makes of you sailors now,’ the old Dane told the apprehensive crew. ‘ Der mate iss on to hiss yob. Dot’s all right.’

VI

When the westerly gale died, it did so very suddenly, just as those gales often do down there. A light breeze sprang up from the east, a fair wind for rounding the Horn. But Gregory could n’t make any use of the fair wind. The ship was lying far over to starboard; the cargo had shifted. Had the gale lasted for a few hours longer, she would very likely have gone down. Gregory had been saved by the skin of his teeth, as you might say. Now, instead of piling the canvas on her, he must get her on an even keel, if that could anyhow be done. He was pretty well fagged out for want of sleep, and the men were pretty well fagged out too. Even the old Dane looked a bit white about the gills.

Leaving the Dane on the poop to keep an eye on the weather, Gregory had the main hatch taken off and led the crew below to trim cargo. All that day and all that night he worked among them, and worked harder than any. But there was no evidence of any nervousness in the way he worked. He was perfectly matter-of-fact. With him leading, they shoveled coal, moved heavy barrels of cement, laboriously hauled back-breaking bars of pig iron, and shifted lengths of railroad steel. When at last they had the ship trimmed, they were completely done in. So was Gregory, but he did n’t show it.

When the hatches had been put on again he looked at his crew and in even tones said to them, ‘Well, boys, that’s a good job well done. It was a close call, but you’ve saved her. Good for you, lads.’ Not till then did the crew realize the dire peril they had been in. Now one of them stepped forward. Taking off his sou’wester, he looked at his comrades. ‘ Three cheers for the mate! ’ said he. But Gregory cut their cheers short. ’Hop up aloft and get that foretopsail and the main upper topsail loosed!’ he ordered. Weary though they were, the men hastened into the rigging.

When the sails were set he sent all hands below, the old Dane included, and himself went up to the poop, where he remained for four hours till his men were a bit rested. By that time the wind was gone and the sea flat calm. Knowing that a Horn calm is almost invariably followed by a gale from the westerly, he ordered the two topsails furled again, and when that was done went into the chart house to get a little sleep, leaving the old Dane to keep watch.

There’s no use in describing in detail just what took place during the ensuing three weeks. Gregory could have taken the ship back to the Falklands, of course, or, as many skippers have done, could have turned tail on the Horn and taken the easterly route by the Cape of Good Hope and Australia. He did neither. He fought it out. If ever any of his crew murmured, they did so among themselves only, and when the old Dane was not there. At first Gregory shepherded his crew, working among them, leading them, encouraging them now and then with a word of praise, always infinitely patient. Dangerous though it often is, a sailor’s work is really very simple. Willingness and a reasonable degree of courage are the chief requisites. But even though he be unwilling, and a coward, a man will often manage his work well enough with someone to lead him. With the old Dane’s never-failing assistance, little by little Gregory made his men into sailors. After the first two weeks he was driving them, showing that he trusted them, and no longer working among them. Treating them as though from the first they had been worthy seamen, he challenged their pride; and they answered his challenge well enough.

A month after passing the corner of Staten Island, Gregory headed the ship north into the Pacific. She was rusty and battered. Her standing rigging needed setting up, her running rigging called for much repair. And now, with the old Dane to help him, he worked among the men again, showing them how to splice, knot, rattle down, and so forth. Such sleep as he had he took by night, never more than four hours in the twenty-four, leaving the old Dane to keep watch while he slept. In twenty-three days he crossed the line, and, with the top-hamper in good trim, set all hands to cleaning and painting.

When he took the ship through the Golden Gate she was as smart-looking as any ship in port. And he was lean as a rake handle — not an ounce of spare flesh on him. But there was no care in his face, no sign of any strain. He looked what he was — a twenty-threeyear-old mate, not very much more than a boy. And his men were no longer lubbers.

As the ship approached her anchorage, Gregory called all hands to the quarter-deck. He said to them, ‘As soon as the anchor’s down, the boarding masters will be coming aboard. They’ll offer you their rotgut whiskey, and they’ll promise you all soft jobs. If you take their drinks, if you listen to them, you’re a lot of fools. They’ll take you ashore, keep you filled with liquor, and first thing you know they’ll have shanghaied you. What about it?’

The old Dane stepped forward. ’Vee stays by der sheep, sir,’ said he. The others joined in noisy acquiescence.

The boarding masters came aboard, and went back ashore without having prevailed upon one of Gregory’s men to leave the ship. That was something practically unknown in Frisco. It was the talk of the water front. Everyone was talking of Gregory, and of what a fine lot of men he must have.

VII

A new skipper came aboard to take command, and, after lying at anchor for a few days, awaiting a berth, the ship went alongside to discharge. It was Saturday. At quitting time the crew were able to go ashore.

When Gregory came on deck next morning there was no one about. Since it was Sunday, that was quite all right. He himself went ashore and spent the day.

When he came on deck on Monday morning, there was still no one about. The forecastle was empty. He knew what that meant, or at any rate could make a good guess. The boarding mast ers had got hold of his men. They would all be shanghaied, sold like so many cattle to other skippers. He went to the new skipper and asked to be allowed to go ashore to look for the men. The skipper said, ‘No use, Mr. Gregory. Sailors are all a lot of fools. The boarding masters have got them.’

Word went round the front that Gregory’s men had all skipped their ship. Everyone was laughing. ‘Gregory’s a pretty good man,’ they said, ‘but you can’t keep a crew in Frisco.’ It was plain fact, of course. Not ten men in a hundred ever stayed by their ships in Frisco.

Gregory remained entirely unruffled. He did not attempt to argue with his skipper. He stayed aboard all day, and saw two ships come down river from Port Costa and anchor in the bay. He knew what that meant. The two ships would be going to sea right away, and when they did so it would be his lost crew who would help man them.

If it had not been that the old Dane was among the skipped men, perhaps Gregory would have let things slide. I don’t know.

Directly quitting time came and the stevedores went ashore, Gregory went too. He’d asked a few quiet questions during the noon hour, which he had spent ashore, and he’d found out that his lost men were all of them at Shanghai Brown’s place on Front Street. Brown was known as the toughest sailor’s boarding master in Frisco.

Gregory went ashore looking just as he had always looked, perfectly placid. He walked slowly, not hurrying in the slightest. He walked straight to Shanghai Brown’s place, opened the door, and stepped in.

Brown was behind his bar. So was Brown’s partner — an ex-prize fighter. After seven o’clock every evening he worked at a large dive on the Barbary Coast, where it was his job to throw out anyone who tried to start any trouble. He did that job, not for the money that was in it, but because he enjoyed it. Even among the Barbary Coast bouncers he had a reputation. He was not as tall as Gregory, but he weighed some forty pounds more and was very much squarer built. In front of the bar one of Brown’s crimps was sweeping the floor with a long broom. All three glanced up when Gregory entered.

Gregory said, ‘You’ve got my men here. I want them.’

Brown reached a bottle from under the bar, poured a drink, and held it toward Gregory. ‘Have a drink on the house, mister,’ he said, completely ignoring Gregory’s words.

‘I’ve come for my men,’ said Gregory, ignoring the drink.

Brown winked at his partner.

The bouncer looked satirically at Gregory. ‘What’s that you say?’ he asked.

Gregory said, ‘I reckon you heard.’

‘S’pose we tell you to get to hell out of here?’ the bouncer said.

Gregory shrugged his shoulders.

‘Then get to hell out of here!’ said the bouncer, and moved round toward the front of the bar.

In later years, questioned as to what took place in Shanghai Brown’s place that evening, Gregory referred to the affair as ‘a pleasant little rumpus.’ Just exactly what happened no one could say very well, I suppose, because it all happened so quickly. Neither Brown nor his partner ever discussed the matter, and Gregory was never much of a talker. Very shortly after it started, the crimp took his departure.

There are men who are born with a natural aptitude for using their fists, and Gregory, we may presume, was of that type. He was wiry, of course, and quick on his feet, and, being accustomed to plain living and hard muscular exertion, was in excellent trim, with plenty of wind. Brown, naturally, had no wind to spare, and the bouncer, in the common run of his bouncing, was used to dealing with men more or less in their cups.

A few moments after the crimp had cleared out, a young sea apprentice lad chanced to be passing, and, hearing a tinkle as of breaking glass, looked in. Brown was sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, his mouth wide open and one of his eyes closed. The bouncer was leaning back against the bar, his breath coming in gasps. There was a large bruise on his forehead, his nose and lips were bleeding, and he was cursing most horribly.

To quote the sea apprentice, ‘Mr. Gregory was yanking the bottles from the shelves behind the bar and shying them on to the barroom floor one after another. Gosh, there was whiskey and broken glass all over the shop! Brown got to his feet and shouted to him to stop, and Mr. Gregory yanked off the wall behind the bar one of those big paintings of naked women that you always see in a saloon and brought it down on Brown’s head, so that his head came right through the canvas and he collapsed on the floor again. Mr. Gregory was whistling softly to himself, like when a mate whistles for a wind in calm weather at sea. Brown saw me and called to me to get the harbor police, but I did n’t, of course. When there were n’t any unbroken bottles left, Mr. Gregory walked to a door at one end of the barroom, opened it, and stepped through. I stepped in and went after him. There was a little narrow passage inside the door with another door at the other end of it. He turned the handle, but it was locked; so he kicked it in.

‘There was a room with a lot of sailors in it, and you could see that they were all more or less drunk. They were lolling about, on dirty cots, except one old gray-headed fellow who was on his feet singing, “Whiskey is the life of man, whiskey for my Johnnie.” He quit singing all of a sudden when he saw Mr. Gregory, and he and Mr. Gregory looked at one another for a minute. Then he stepped up to Mr. Gregory and said, “Vee iss all done mitt der damn sea, Mister Mate. Vee iss goin’ get goot yobs on der shore. Brown iss goot vren’ to sailormans, an’ go get all us fallers goot yobs.”

‘And Mr. Gregory said, “Yes, I suppose so. All right, boys. Get down to the ship! ”

‘For about half a minute, maybe, the old gray-headed fellow stood staring at Mr. Gregory, and then he began to look sort of sheepish. Mr. Gregory pointed to the door and said again, “All right, boys. Get down to the ship!”

‘And then the old gray-headed fellow said, “Aye, aye, Mister Mate!” He made for the door, and the others with him, and Mr. Gregory followed them out to the street.’