Sea Scamps. Three Adventurers of the East

Front matter

To

GRACE HUBBELL ROWLAND

CONTENTS

Back Tracks

THE ship was one mass of incongruities from stem to stern. To begin with, she wore the red, white, and blue of Uncle Sam's Quarter-master's Department on her two big buff funnels and flew the British Ensign. Then her captain wasn't a captain at all, but only the navigating officer, and the real captain was an army man who didn't know the lazarette from the foretop. The snore of the trades through her rigging mingled with barnyard sounds from the 'tween decks, and when the bosun called "all the starboard watch" the mules made such a racket that the pipe was drowned.

Also, we were cursed with captains. There was an army surgeon with the rank of captain who got peevish if anybody called him "doctor," though why I'm sure I don't know. I took the trouble to point out to him that his President could make any silly ass a captain in a day, but that it took time, money, and in some cases brains to make him a doctor. In addition, we had a naval captain, Uncle Sam's Navy, then our captain-quartermaster, and a few Volunteer captains whom some of the privates called by their Christian names, and last, and, as far as I could make out, least, the original captain of the ship, who had his certificate from the British Board of Trade and carried the responsibility of the ship upon his shoulders.

I had been a surgeon in the line before the ship was chartered to the Americans, and, in some peculiar way, was transferred to Uncle Sam's army for service on the transport by signing a contract for a month and taking an oath which, as far as I could discover, was for the same length of time as the contract. Thereafter I was directed to buy a uniform in which I was promptly addressed as "Lieutenant," which struck me as being rather an Irish promotion, having once previously served as major—but that has nothing to do with this yarn. All things considered, our old floating stockyard and her complement were about as odd a jumble as I was ever shipmates with.

The greatest incongruity of the whole outfit was that of the ship's captain and his first mate. The captain was an ex-Royal Navy officer of the frequent bluff, beefy, sea-going type, with a voice like a sea-lion and a hand like the fluke of a whale. He came of a good old county family and was probably the black sheep of the lot. I knew something of his people and had heard some queer stories of how he was kicked out of the service for some crooked work that wouldn't stand inspection, backed up by brutality and general caddishness. He no doubt owed his present billet to sheer force of vitality at sea, supplemented by boot-licking ashore. On the transport he managed to keep his position pretty solid by cursing out everyone beneath him and currying favour with every dummy that had a bit of gold lace stitched to the collar of his blouse.

The mate, on the other hand, impressed me as being the mongrel strain of two fine breeds. It was not easy to form an idea of what nationality he belonged to. One instinctively felt him to be a type, without being able to say of what. Some thought that he was an Egyptian, others a Mongol, a few sized him up as a "down East" Yankee. Whatever he might be, he certainly possessed all of the earmarks of a gentleman, both in appearance and behaviour. I never knew of but one person that gauged him correctly for what he was, and that was myself.

To one who had made the study of anthropology that I had, the man was absorbingly interesting, both mentally and physically. He stood about six feet in height and might have weighed 176 pounds. His head was rather long in the antero-posterior diameters, well planted on a firm, rounded neck, his shoulders disproportionately broad, and his chest unusually arched and full, but the most remarkable thing about his figure was the extreme smallness of his waist and narrowness of hips. I saw him several times early in the morning taking a bath under the deck hose, and noticed that, when standing naturally, his arms hung well clear of his hips, reminding one of the figures of the men pictured in Egyptian hieroglyphics. When one got a side view of him, however, one was struck by the depth of the muscles of waist and thigh. His legs were all ankle until almost to the knee, when they suddenly bulged into round knotted bunches of muscle. In fact, the man's whole figure reminded me of the anatomical drawings illustrating the muscular system.

His face was the most sinister that I have ever seen on any man, savage or civilised. The hair, straight, coarse, and black, typically Indian, was brushed away from a brow broad and intelligent enough, but carved straight across without the slightest superciliary arch. Underneath a pair of heavy brows there shone a pair of cold metallic eyes as fierce and unblinking as an eagle's. They were of that stony grey often seen in the Gaelic tribes, and had a peculiarity seldom seen in man; that is, the "retinal reflex." In certain lights the expression of the eye suddenly became blank, and one got the flat red glint that we associate with the low animals. The eyes themselves were set on the slightest suspicion of an upward slant, which effect may have been accentuated by a pair of high, prominent cheek-bones. His nose was aquiline and keenly chiselled, and his mouth, thin-lipped and compressed, was cut straight across his face like a gash.

The man's actions were as striking as his appearance. He seemed incapable of slowness or deliberation. Once I saw him reach for a loose roll of marlin-stuff that was lying on the deck, at the same time that one of the sailors stooped to pick it up. The rope was off the deck, thrown into the bosun's chest near by, and McKim on his way aft before the sailor had straightened his back again.

One could see at a glance that the transport captain hated the sight of the mate, having no doubt the usual British Navy suspicion and dislike of anything that acted independently and of its own volition. The captain was forever growling and fault-finding, and I often wondered just what effect it had upon the mate, for his face was as immobile as a mask, and he would simply salute and get to work to remedy the matter. The clash, which I plainly saw was imminent, came at last, and in a most remarkable manner.

The captain was just finishing his morning inspection of the ship, made in company with the quarter-master, captain-doctor, and aides. As they came through the forward alleyway to reach the deck he noticed a small puddle of water formed by the condensation of the moisture on a waterpipe overhead.

The mate was standing by the starboard bitts at the foot of the companionway leading to the deck above.

"Mr. McKim!" growled the captain. The mate was at his side in three quick steps.

"Why don't you keep the water off the deck? What d'ye think this is—a fishin' smack or a Sound coaster?"

"You don't want the pipe parcelled, so it can't be helped, sir," replied the mate. He said "can't" with the broad Maine accent. "The pipe's cold and the air's hot, so the water's bound to condense!"

"Ho!—very interestin'!" sneered the captain. "Well, mister mate, I want to tell ye that it will be helped, by 2, or the deck 'll be gettin' as rotten as the crew! Get out the way!"

He stepped across the puddle, and the mate leaned back against the bulkhead to give him room to pass. Whether it was by accident or design I do not know, although I suspect the latter, but the burly brute of a skipper, although the ship was steady and there was plenty of room, deliberately planted his great heavy-soled boot on the mate's instep, at the same time brushing him roughly with his elbow.

I heard a low soft gurgle,—the sound of a cat when stroked,—and saw the mate's hands flash up to the captain's waist, just above the belt. It simply looked as though he had grasped him instinctively to take the weight from off his foot, but the next instant there was a bellow of pain and fright that fairly shook the deck, and the captain came lurching through the door and reeled over against the rail. The high colour had left his face, and it was drawn and tense.

"My God!" he gasped; "my God!"

I turned to him instantly, and noticed that his shirt on both sides of his body was blood-soaked. I glanced for a moment toward the mate; his hands were hanging empty at his sides, and his face was expressionless, but just for an instant I caught the flat red gleam in both eyes. The captain was getting paler, and the perspiration stood out on his face in beads. I pulled up his shirt and to my astonishment found not the cut that I expected, but a great semi-circular tear through skin and adipose. The mate had torn the flesh apart with his hands!

No one seemed to know just what course to take in the matter. The action was so grotesquely inhuman that it didn't seem to fall under any definite jurisdiction, so the captain-quartermaster decided to let the matter drop until we reached Manila and then ship a mate more canny in his actions.

The next day I was leaning on the rail watching the little flying fish spattering out under the bows when I was conscious of a light tread behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw McKim.

"Good-morning," I remarked casually. I was intensely interested in the man, but felt instinctively that to betray it would be to fog the plate,

"Good-morning, Doctor Boles," he answered. He paused a moment, then remarked suddenly, "You saw me lose my temper with the captain yesterday?"

"Yes," I said; "you have a strong grip, McKim. I've seen some queer wounds in my time, but never one made in that way."

"What do you think they'll do about it?" he asked.

"I think you'll lose your billet," I answered.

"I don't care for that," said he. "All I wanted was to get out here."

"What are you going to do?" I asked carelessly.

"Get a little vessel and trade around the islands. I can buy a fifty-ton brig out here for five thousand." He regarded me silently for a few minutes.

"Doctor," he said, "I don't know why a man of your age, and an Englishman at that, should want to come out to this God-forsaken place as an acting-assistant surgeon in the army. There's no money in it and not much glory." There was a bit of a sneer on his face as he said this.

"Now I've got a proposition to make. I want another man to go in with me on this trading scheme. There is no end of money in it. I've made two trips out here before and know what I'm talking about. Do you know anything about a ship?"

"A little," I said.

"When will your time be up?" he asked.

"It's up now as far as that's concerned. My contract was only made for a month."

"Have you ever been in the East before?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered, "I once went out to China as a medical missionary. Now, I want to see the Filipinos. You ought to be interested in them yourself," I remarked, turning to him suddenly. "They're distant blood relations of yours."

His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Haven't you got some Indian blood? North American, I mean?"

"What makes you think so?"

"Because I've studied racial peculiarities and see many points of similarity."

"You are right, doctor; my grandmother was a Tuscarora woman."

"And your grandfather?"

"A Scotch Puritan," he answered with a slight smile. "Queer combination, wasn't it? I was brought up among the Indians until I was twelve years old, and then I was sent to my cousin's people in Maine."

"And went to sea with the fishing-fleet. Summer on the banks and winter on the farm?" I added.

"How do you know that?"

"Partly because everyone there's a fisherman, partly from the way you hold your hands."

"Right again, doctor; but let me tell you more about my trading scheme."

He explained the idea with so much clearness and certainty that I began to get interested, and before he had finished I was about as enthusiastic as a man can be who has made a failure of everything he has tried from boyhood to his fortieth year. The outcome of it was that I decided to go into it with him; he to be master of the vessel with a three-quarter interest, and I as mate with a quarter's. The proceeds would be shared on that ratio.

When we reached Manila McKim was informed that his services were no longer required, as I had foreseen. I had rather more difficulty than I expected in getting my contract annulled, and was, in fact, subjected to considerable criticism for leaving the service right upon arriving on the scene of action. But I had gotten past the age when sentiment counted for much, and I was sick and tired of taking orders from everyone in sight, anyway; so I simply demanded that my contract be annulled, and in due time was successful.

McKim came in to see me almost every day. Most of his time was spent along the Pasig and paddling around inside the breakwater looking for a suitable vessel at a reasonable price. Until my contract was annulled I was occupied with my duties in the First Reserve Hospital, where I had been temporarily assigned. One day I met him on the Escolta talking to a Spanish mestizo who seemed greatly excited.

"Good-morning, doctor," he remarked in Spanish. "Señor Valdez," turning to the mestizo, "permit me to introduce my partner, Doctor Boles. Señor Valdez," he continued to me, "owns a vessel that I think might answer our purpose were it not for the sad fact that some of her frames and part of her keel are badly burned as the result of a fire that broke out in her cargo a few months ago."

"Madre di Dios, the señor captain is mistaken. The fire occurred three years ago; the muchacho lied. He does not know what he is talking about; and the timbers are in no way injured, simply scorched and blackened, in fact, rendered stronger from the hardening effect of the heat, and her bottom is but newly coppered."

"Probably because she got so worm-eaten that she wouldn't float without," remarked McKim. "That's the trouble. These tubs are all copper-sheathed, of course, or they'd be eaten right up in these waters, and that copper costs. Let's go down and look at her," he added, turning to me.

We jumped into a passing carimita and jolted across the Bridge of Spain, over through the Walled City, and pulled up at the "cut-off" that runs from behind the breakwater into the river. There we got a banca and paddled out to look at the Purissima Concepcion, Valdez' little brig, that was lying in the inner basin. She was an ungraceful, chunky little tub, of about forty tons, not exactly pot-bellied; she didn't have shape enough for that, but straight-waisted and chopped off, like the first effort of a small boy trying a new knife. Her bluff bows and slender black bowsprit reminded me of a pug-nosed girl with a slate pencil in her mouth, and she had a stern like a bull-pup. She was brig-rigged, and sparred from the tough "Nampan" wood, which partly accounted for her clumsy appearance, as the stuff is so strong and heavy that the spars are cut down to what seems a ridiculous lightness. There was no attempt at any sheer; in fact she looked a little hogged, and as we pulled up under her counter I noticed that she was pieced in the side, although the seams had been carefully puttied and painted, and just at that place the curve of her bilge was a trifle too abrupt.

"Her first two after frames are gone," I remarked to McKim; "look at that sag." It was just a guess on my part, of course, but it turned out to be about right, as when we went below we found that three of the frames on her starboard side were burned clear through. However, that was easily remedied, although we made Valdez, who wasn't much of a sailor, but had simply bought the hooker at a bargain on speculation, think that the circumstance ruined her absolutely. We persuaded him that if she was to go to sea in that condition, the first big wave that struck her would break her clean in two, and we hinted that perhaps it was our duty to report the matter to the captain of the port and have her condemned. Before we got through with him he was overjoyed to let us have her at our own price, which was fair enough, and we made him throw in an extra anchor and two hundred fathoms of three-inch coir hawser. Valdez was a "compradore," and had a shop down on the canal that runs up from the river under the Puente del General Blanco.

The following day McKim shipped a native crew, three Tagals and two Visayans, Ilo Ilo men, who afterwards turned out to be brave, devoted servants. Our idea was to run down among the southern islands of the Archipelago and try to pick up a cargo of hemp and tobacco, especially the former, as the war had put the price 'way up. Many of the ports were still closed, but natives can be induced to run cargoes off at night, and besides there were the pearls and copra to consider. I was strongly in favour of a trip to Sydney or Melbourne after a load of trading junk, calico prints, condemned cutlery, and stuff of that sort, knowing how much the natives preferred these things to money. But McKim seemed to think there was more in getting our hands on all of the loose hemp around the islands.

A week later we had got our craft in pretty good sea-going shape. I had the cabin aft slightly re-modelled and made very comfortable. Some Chino carpenters had been strengthening the burned portions, replacing some of the teak frames, and fishing others in weak spots. One afternoon I was superintending the work as McKim was ashore haggling with Valdez about stores, when I saw a banca coming alongside. Under the awning sat the biggest, fattest Chinaman I ever saw. As he seemed to want to come aboard I called to one of the crew to drop the ladder for him. With amazing activity for a man of his size he came up over the side and stood smiling at me placidly. It was easy to see that he was a person of some consequence, both from his brisket, for only a wealthy Chinaman grows really fat, and from the richness and care with which he was dressed. On his head was the usual mandarin cap with its Turk's-head button, and his queue, which was spliced out at the end with black silk, barely brushed the deck. His tunic was of silk, richly embroidered around the corners and fastened pajama-like with buttons of carved antique ivory. Over his trousers he wore the divided silk overalls usually affected by the better class of Chinamen.

"Good-afternoon," I remarked in Spanish. He answered fluently in the same tongue.

"Is this Mr. McKim?" he added.

"No," said I; "he's ashore, but he'll be back soon. Come under the awning and sit down."

At first he started to pump me about our plans, but I cut him short, gave him a cigar, and went on about my work. In about an hour McKim came aboard.

"Who's that chap?" he asked.

"Some Chinese compradore, I expect," said I. "Seems to be quite a swell in his way. Probably wants to sell us a few extra kegs of nails. Looks as if we might need 'em before we get back, too." I pushed a sprung piece of deck planking back into place with my heel. McKim walked aft. A few minutes later he called me.

"Come here, will you, doctor. This gentleman," said McKim in Spanish, indicating me, "is my partner, and whatever I do must be done with his consent. Will you please state the proposition to him?"

The big Chinaman looked at me with twinkling eyes; one would have sworn that he was about to tell a funny story.

"I have just been telling Mr. McKim," he said in very good Spanish, "that I wish to charter your vessel to carry a cargo for me from Hai Chin."

"Where is that?" I asked.

"Ten miles up the Hai Chin River."

"What is the cargo?" said I, though I knew what was coming.

"Opium."

"And where is it to be landed?"

"Here; but I will attend to that myself. You will run no risk whatever."

"And we are to keep our mouths shut."

"That is, of course, understood—your own interests would demand it."

I looked at the old scoundrel in admiration. He was willing to trust European honesty to bring a valuable cargo across the China Sea, and was consistent enough to see that it would not do to try and persuade us to run it for him. But our being silent accessories of this act of smuggling did not seem to occur to him as crooked. In his Oriental code of ethics there could be no dishonesty where there was no risk of punishment. I looked at McKim. His face was as expressionless as the Chinaman's. Then I turned to the latter.

"How large a cargo?" I asked.

"Altogether, including a few bales of silk, about what you could load into a casco."

"And the compensation?"

"Two thousand pesos."

I shrugged my shoulders disdainfully.

"I have lived in China for many years," I said, "and I know the danger of loading a cargo of opium; also of getting it away from that part of the coast. The place you speak of being shallow and dangerous and full of pirates, we risk losing our brig, and, as you know, our lives as well!" I caught McKim's eye.

"What do you think of it?" he asked in English.

"It's worth while," I answered, "and he will give us ten thousand; let's do it."

McKim's sinister face almost beamed.

"Good," he said; "I thought you wouldn't be foolish about it. You see we don't have anything to do with landing the stuff. And it isn't smuggling."

"Yes it is," said I, "and I don't give a hang if it is. If I can make a dollar without breaking God's commandments I'll do it. The devil for those made by fool legislators!" I turned to the Chinaman.

"We won't take a peseta less than ten thousand pesos," I said, "and if you try to beat us down, we'll raise our price."

The Chinaman still smiled and his eyes twinkled merrily.

"It is a bargain," he said; "do you want an agreement signed?"

"Oh, no," said I, "it's not necessary, but we want the money before we transfer the cargo to your lighters."

"Very well, you shall have it. Now, if you will come to my office to-morrow morning I will give you all the necessary information."

"One moment," said McKim. "How is it that you dare entrust such a valuable cargo to strangers and foreigners?"

The Chinaman smiled joyously and emitted a few happy little chuckles.

"I cannot go myself," he said; "it is necessary to trust someone, and I have found that white men of the better class are honest. Besides, there will be more cargoes to carry!"

The following day we went over to Manila and saw our patron. He explained in detail what was required of us, at the same time giving suggestions as to the easiest way of accomplishing the undertaking. It was easy to see that the thing had been done before, and not to his satisfaction. We were to clear in ballast for the open ports of the southern islands, ostensibly after a general cargo of rice, tobacco, coffee, hemp, sugar, etc., and, once clear of the land, were to make all haste across the China Sea, run into the estuary of the Hai Chin River, and drop anchor. Then we were to charter a boatman to take a letter about twenty miles up the river to a place called Wai Fu, lying in the foothills of the Yan Chin Mountains. The following night a small junk would come alongside from which we would transfer our cargo. On our way back we were to call at Cebu, where a general cargo would be quickly put aboard. Then we were to break out the hemp and bale it up around the opium and silk. If there were any questions about the time it took us to go from Manila to Cebu we were to answer that we had got aground and sprung a leak, so that it was necessary to beach her for repairs. This story the appearance of our craft would amply justify.

Our patron promised us that there would be no risk to us, as he would give us an order duly made out to carry his cargo, of which, of course, we would not be expected to know any more than its general appearance seemed to justify, from Cebu to Manila. Once Anchored in Manila Bay the whole work of discharging would be taken by him, and all it would be necessary for us to do would be to show him the manifest signed by his Chinese partner and receive our pay. The whole trip should not take over six weeks.

Three days later we sailed. Much to my surprise the Purissima proved to be a fairly good traveller, and it was truly a marvel the way the old coffin would get to windward. McKim had made a few alterations in her rig and had given her a tremendous fore-and-aft mainsail, which made her something between a brigantine and a hermaphrodite brig. It had a queer look, but it helped her wonderfully in getting up into the wind. Our crew turned out very well. They all bunked forward, of course, and seemed to get on peacefully enough. McKim had the starboard watch with the two Tagals, and I the port with the Visayans. The odd man cooked.

Once clear of Corregidor we struck the northeast monsoon, which blows steadily at that time of year, so we were able to make one leg of it across, and on the seventh day we sighted the southern island of Pratas that lay about 150 miles from the China coast. There we caught a slant that headed us, so we had to beat in, and it was three days later before we entered the bay, and with nothing but a forestaysail and a scrap of our mainsail set stood cautiously up toward the river mouth. I had never heard of the place before, and what I had told our patron was simply an invention, but it turned out to be about correct.

An incident had occurred on our way across that I must not forget. On the morning of the second day out McKim came on deck to relieve me at eight bells, and before I went below to get my breakfast he dipped up a bucket of water from over the side and threw off his clothes for a bath. I was watching him casually, for his quick, lithe motions always had a fascination for me, and I noticed around his neck a sort of rosary, which when I observed more closely seemed to be a diminutive imitation of those peculiar ancient rosaries that have frequently been found in use in China, Thibet, North America, and old Mexico. I believe they have also been dug up with the relics unearthed from the ancient tumuli of the mound builders.

"Why do you wear that thing, McKim?" I asked. He flushed and then looked rather vexed.

"It belonged to my grandmother," he answered shortly. "It is an amulet. Here, boy, throw that water over me," he added, turning to one of the sailors.

I saw that he was touchy about the thing, so I made no further comment, but went below.

The little bay where we dropped anchor was a fine harbour, land-locked on all sides by high, bold, rounded hills, naked of vegetation and studded with great black granite boulders; a wild, desolate place, and uninhabited except for a few fishermen's huts on the shore. We got ahold of a couple of coolies who came out in a sailing sampan, and after much haranguing, for their dialect was different from any that I had encountered in my missionary work, made them understand what we wanted, and that there would be twice the amount of money paid them when they returned. Our patron's agent was to send us back a scrap of paper bearing, a character of which we held the duplicate, to indicate that our message had been received.

The following day the messengers returned, so I got everything in readiness to receive our cargo. The silk was to go down in the forepeak under some extra sails, and the opium under a false flooring beneath our cabin. I had seen enough of Chinese character not to trust it too far, so I got out my Colt's revolver and carefully oiled and loaded it, getting McKim to do the same. Then I armed the sailors with heavy knives that I had secured before leaving Manila, and cautioned them against turning their backs on the crew of the dhow.