CHAPTER XXIX. NATURE TAKES HER COURSE
The big steam schooner Quickstep was lying at the Los Medanos dock when Matt Peasley reported for duty. The captain was not aboard, but the first mate received him kindly and explained that Captain Kjellin had gone down to San Francisco by train for a little social relaxation and to bring back funds to pay off the longshoremen.
Early on Monday morning the crew and a large force of stevedores commenced to discharge the vessel. Two winches were kept busy, the first mate being in charge of the work up forward and Matt superintending that aft. The shingles were loaded in huge rope cargo nets, snatched out of the ship and swung overside onto flat cars, which were shunted off into the drying yard as soon as loaded.
The captain returned at noon on Tuesday, and at two o'clock the last bundle of shingles was out of the Quickstep, for the mate had worked overtime Monday night in order that they might finish discharging early enough on Tuesday afternoon to drop down to Oleum and take on fuel oil for the next voyage. This schedule would bring them to the dock at San Francisco about six o'clock, where they would take on stores and passengers and sail at seven for Eureka, on Humboldt Bay, where they would arrive Wednesday night. On Thursday they would commence taking on cargo, but since they had to take shingles from several mills round the bay, they were bound to be delayed waiting for tides to get in and out, and in all probability they would not be loaded and at sea until Saturday night, which would give them Sunday at sea—and in the lumber trade on the Pacific Coast the only profitable way to spend Sunday is to spend it at sea. To spend it in port is a day lost, with the crew loafing and drawing full pay for it. The mate explained to Matt that Captain Kjellin would drive them hard to maintain this schedule, for he prized his job as master of the Quickstep, and had a reputation for speed and efficiency with his owners which he was anxious to maintain.
Despite their best efforts, however, the vessel was doomed to fall behind her schedule. At Oleum they found the oil dock lined with vessels taking on fuel, and in consequence were forced to wait two hours for a berth; seeing which the captain went ashore and telephoned his owners that he would be unable to get to the dock in San Francisco until about eight o'clock. Consequently, Mr. Skinner, realizing that the passengers their agent had booked for the Quickstep, by reason of the cut-rates prevailing on lumber steamers, would not wait on the dock until the Quickstep should arrive, instructed the captain to lay over in San Francisco all night and put to sea at nine o'clock Wednesday morning. In the meantime he said he would send a clerk down to the dock to notify the waiting passengers of the unavoidable change in schedule.
Promptly at eight o'clock Wednesday morning the Quickstep got away from the dock. The minute she was fairly out the Golden Gate, however, she poked her nose into a stiff nor'west gale; and as she was bound north and was empty, this gale, catching her on the port counter, caused her to roll and pitch excessively, and cut her customary speed of ten miles an hour down to five. Every passenger aboard was soon desperately seasick, and off Point Reyes so violently did the Quickstep pitch that even some members of the crew became nauseated, among them Matt Peasley. He had never been seasick before and he was ashamed of himself now, notwithstanding the fact that he knew even the hardiest old seadogs are not proof against mal-de-mer under certain extraordinary conditions. Captain Kjellin, coming up on the bridge during Matt's watch, found the latter doing the most unseamanlike thing imaginable. Caught in a paroxysm at the weather end of the bridge, Matt, in his agony, was patronizing the weather rail! The captain heard him squawk, and ducked to avoid what instinct told him the gale would bring him his way.
“Vat you ban tankin' of?” he roared furiously. “You damned landsman! Don't you know enough to discharge dot cargo over der lee rail?”
Having disposed of a hearty breakfast, Matt raised his green face and stared sheepishly at the Finn. “You didn't get sprayed, did you, sir?” he queried breathlessly.
“No, but who der devil ever heard of a seaman gettin' sick to windward—?”
“I know it looks awful, sir,” quavered Matt. “I thought something like this might happen, and in order to be prepared for eventualities I hung a fire bucket over the edge of the weather-bridge railing and set another there by the binnacle. The man at the wheel got me started, sir. He asked me if I liked fat pork. Can't you see that if I had made a quick run for the lee rail while the vessel was pitching to leeward the chances are I'd continue right on overboard? As soon as I get my bearings again I'll empty the bucket, sir.”