Round a picturesque cliff, capped by a brilliant light, they hauled, and the City of Vancouver burst upon their vision with a blaze of twinkling electrics, which spun twisting threads on the mirror of the harbor waters. The Queen City of the West! It has been called thus, but to one sea-wearied lad it was Fairyland—a veritable Valhalla for ship-tired Vikings—and he hungered for the moment when he could set foot ashore and roam its streets. The fo’c’sle crowd gladdened at the sight of a town again, and McLean and other old-timers were busy answering eager questions. “Is the beer good an’ cheap ashore here?” or “Is this der place where dot Two Bit Hilda has dot haus mit der lager und der gals?” “Aye, aye,” McLean was saying, “ye can get a’ th’ whusky an’ gurls ye want here if ye hae th’ dollars. Let me tell ye aboot th’ time....” Donald listened carelessly to a vicious adventure. It did not affect him. He was staring longingly at the city and the snow-clad heights around and paid no attention to the excursions in vice which the crew were planning. Nature’s beauties had no place in their make-up. It was whisky and women, and most of them knew the beauty spots of the world only by the price and quality of the liquor to be procured therein. Poor devils! It was their idea of pleasure, and after what they had gone through, it was corporeal joys they appreciated rather than mental.
He was brought to things material by the warning shriek from the tow-boat’s whistle, which found an echo in the lofty heights. “Stand by, forrad!” came Nickerson’s voice. The men shambled to the bows. “Haul in yer hawser!”
The steamer slipped the rope and the barque rounded up and threw her great hull and spars athwart the moon-path. “Leggo yer anchor!” came the strident command from aft. A plunge—a roar—a rattle of chain—and silence. The awakened waters showed new facets to the moon-glare and spread in concentric rings away from the disturbing hull, and with a voice hailing from the departing tug, “We’ll berth you at five!” the Kelvinhaugh lay quiet and motionless at the end of her chain, like a tired horse that had travelled a long and weary road.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Kelvinhaugh lay alongside a wharf and her steam donkey was working, as it never worked at sea, slinging the long bars of railway iron out of the holds by yard-arm tackles. It was a noisy discharge, as the rails clanged sonorously on impact with each, and the whole harbor rang with the sound.
All the ship’s company had departed, with the exception of Captain Muirhead, the steward, and the four apprentices. Though chartered to load lumber at Hastings Mills for Australia, Muirhead had paid the crew off—a rash and unwise act, as he would find when he came to ship another—but he was probably willing to take a chance and get rid of all witnesses to his disgrace and deposition from command. Judson Nickerson had gone, too, but before he took his dunnage ashore, he called Donald and said, “I’m going ashore for a spell, but I’ll give you a hail later. Don’t run away or do anything foolish until I communicate with you. Let on that you intend to stand by the ship!”
Thompson was now “out of his time” and the skipper had given him permission to leave and go home to take the examination for second mate, but he had asked him to stand by the ship for a while until a mate was signed on. Moore had cabled his “Pa” for a remittance to take him home and away from sea-faring. He was seldom aboard the ship, and spent most of his time ashore “sun-fishing” around bowling alleys and billiard parlors with young loafers of a similar cut of jib to himself.