by S. L. Stoner
Sage turned back toward the Maggie Jane. She didn’t look seaworthy enough to make an ocean run to San Francisco. Mid ships, she rode exceedingly low—her deck no more than five feet above the water. Her stern was stubby while her bow was long and narrow. One third of the deck supported a low house punctured by portholes and a few doorways. Atop that housing structure, near its front end, was a wheel house with a smoke funnel rising skyward at its rear. Every part of the boat looked like it was long overdue for a scrape and paint job. She definitely fit the definition of what was commonly called a “rust bucket”.
He turned to Sinclair who was also staring at the ship. “They’re locked up on which side of the ship?” he asked.
“Port side, the side closest to us,” Sinclair told him. “Third porthole back from the bow end.”
Minutes later, their boat halted right in front of the oncoming ship. The police chief, resplendent in his official uniform, picked up a megaphone and his voice boomed, “Ahoy, captain of the Maggie Jane! Shut down your engine and prepare to be boarded.”
Sage watched as the Maggie Jane’s crew began running to and fro. His blood froze when many of them ran toward the cabin housing. Were they going to throw the women overboard? He swiftly bent down and untied his shoes. When Sinclair saw what Sage was doing, he did the same. Sage frantically searched the deck around him for something that would float since he wasn’t much of a swimmer.
The Maggie Jane, instead of stopping, sped up as even more smoke belched from its stack. It began to change course, clearly intending to dodge their boat. Sage heard the police chief shout an order and a rifle shot rang out, followed by a wooden splinter flying off the Maggie Jane’s nearest rail. That shot had the effect of driving the coastal steamer’s crew off the deck. Sage couldn’t see how shooting was going to help. The crew could just hide inside. The ship was still picking up speed.
By now the other boats in the rescue flotilla had formed a semi-circle in front of the fleeing ship. But that tactic failed to stop the ship’s forward momentum. It charged directly at one of the small boats forcing it to quickly reverse away. The Maggie Jane powered past the last of their boats and was free. Only the frail shells of the Chinese fishermen’s boats floated between the Maggie Jane and the open sea.
The boat Sage was on gave chase. In no time at all it was within a hundred feet of the Maggie Jane’s stern. Sage, Sinclair and Fong ran to the bow. Fong too had shed his shoes and was dropping his trousers as well. Sinclair and Sage stripped down to their underwear. Only then did Sage notice Lucinda standing at the railing, a few feet away; her whole body stretched forward as if urging their boat to move faster. He stepped over, hugged her tightly and returned to his post.
As they moved up on the Maggie Jane’s side, Sage could see forward to the Chinese fishing skiffs. When the big boat got closer, he saw the skiffs part and the man in each one stand. Each held a hatchet, machete, big knife or some other big weapon. As the Maggie Jane rushed by, the men leapt for her midship railing, one hand grasping the rail and the other a weapon as their feet scrabbled to propel them upward. They were boarding the boat. Their invasion took but seconds.
Sage’s mouth flew open and he turned toward Fong who shrugged and said, “China Sea full of pirates. Sometimes have to take back stolen boat.”
Sage turned toward the police chief. “Can you move us closer to the ship?” The chief nodded and their own boat surged forward. Obviously, the chief approved of a pirate approach to their problem. He and the other officers on board joined them at the rail. Two of the officers clutched lines in their hands, ready to leap aboard the Maggie Jane and tie it to their boat.
Everyone, except Lucinda, Caroline, Eich and the pilot, crowded the railing nearest the ship they were overtaking. When their boat came close enough to rub hulls, they all leapt over the tiny gap. Sage landed awkwardly but quickly regained his footing. As he did so, he saw that the weapon-wielding Chinese had a couple of the Maggie Jane’s crew backed up against a packing crate on the deck. He and Sinclair didn’t hesitate. Like a well-matched pair of horses they turned and ran toward the housing.
They reached the first open doorway and plunged through only to be driven back when a pistol roared and bullets splintered the walls beside their heads. They ducked outside. “You hauled the women aboard. Is there another way in?” Sage asked Sinclair. The man shook his head. “Anyone in the corridor has a clear shot at anyone who enters from the outside.
“Let’s go look through the porthole. Make sure they’re in the cabin,” Sage said. Sinclair nodded and led the way, crouching low and moving fast. A few more shots rang out but no bullets hit them. Finally, Sinclair cautiously raised his head to look through a porthole. He had to shield his eyes from the reflection, the positioning making him a clear target for anyone inside with a gun. He stood motionless, his hands cupping the side of his face and then he dropped back down. “They’re not there!” he cried, panic shrilling his voice. “There’s someone lying on the floor but it’s a man.” He clutched at Sage’s arm. “Where are they?” he demanded.
Sage glanced over his shoulder. Hanke, the police chief and his men were helping the Chinese fishermen round up the crew and corral them on deck. He turned back to Sinclair, “You know, we haven’t a single weapon between us.”
Before Sinclair could respond, the deck underfoot gave a great shudder that was followed by a roar and then an explosion powerful enough to knock both of them onto their butts. Sage was the first to recover. “Quick, the boiler’s blown. They’ll be distracted!” Saying no more, Sage scuttled through a companionway door on his hands and feet. He heard Sinclair following. No shots sounded. Sage flung open a nearby door. An empty kitchen. He kept going.
Midway down the corridor a door swung open and a man stepped into the corridor. He was big and in his hand was a old shotgun, its twin barrels aimed straight at them. The gun didn’t waiver as the man said, “I suggest you gentlemen back out of here immediately. If you don’t, I will blow you both to smithereens.
“We just want the three women. That’s all. Where are they?” Sage said in a voice he hoped sounded calm.
There was a metallic crack as the man pulled back on the shotgun’s hammer. Sage sensed Sinclair moving up closer beside him. Sage put his hand out to hold Sinclair back and froze. A cloud of smoke was working its way down the corridor from behind the man. A small figure with bare feet and legs was inching down the corridor within the smoke. Sage hoped Sinclair’s face wouldn’t betray Fong’s approach. He could hear distant shouts of men and felt the deck beneath his feet list to one side. He kept his eyes on the man even as he fought to keep his balance. “Captain, you don’t’ have to do this. We just want the women.”
“Ha! Do you really think I can just sail away? The damn boiler just blew. The Maggie is dead in the water. At least I’ll have the pleasure of taking some of you with me.” He raised the barrels and jammed the weapon against his shoulder.
Fong leapt around the man and shoved the barrels up just as they discharged. The shotgun slid along the tilting floor toward Sage, even as bits of wood rained down from the corridor ceiling. Two seconds later, the man was on his knees, his arm twisted behind his back, his mouth wide open in a cry of pain.
Sage picked up the shotgun and walked toward Fong and the man. “Where the heck did you come from?” he asked his friend.
Fong grinned toothily as he answered, “Cabin house have two sides and more than one door.”
“You didn’t see the women anywhere did you? We can’t find them,” Sage said just as the ship lurched abruptly before beginning a scary side-to-side roll.
“No, but maybe staying here is not a good idea.”
Sinclair brushed past him to fling the remaining doors open, calling at the top of his voice, “Rebecca, Rebecca!” The terror in his voice answered any question Sage had about where Sinclair’s feelings lay. When he reached a locked door, Sinclair raised his foot and kicked the lock so hard that the door flew open. Rushi
ng inside, he was soon dragging a man from the room, one bound hand and foot.
Sage smiled. “Don’t worry, that looks like Mae’s handiwork. I bet she had something to do with the boiler blowing as well.”
“Having those damn women aboard cursed the ship,” muttered the captain who now lay face down on the floor, his arm still twisted behind his back in Fong’s strong grip. It had to be getting difficult for Fong to keep holding the man because the ship was violently rolling from side to side.
“Can you get him out on the deck?’ Sage asked his friend.
“No problem. Upsy-daisy,” said Fong to the captain who immediately began squeaking as Fong encouraged him to stand by wrenching his arm upward.
Sage turned to Sinclair, “Come on. If Mae blew that boiler I bet they’re hiding somewhere outside. Reaching the deck, Sage ran to the rail and saw that police chief’s boat had pulled about a hundred yards away. As he grappled with that situation, he saw the chief raise the megaphone. “Ahoy, you on the Maggie Jane! We had to stand off. Your ship is sinking and we’re at the bar. Try to get into a lifeboat and launch. We’ll do our best to pick you up.”
Sage searched the railing of the other boat. He saw Lucinda, Caroline and Eich but not the three missing women. He whirled toward Sinclair, “Come on, they’re still here. We’ve got to find them!” By now the ship was canting, side to side, broadside to the river flow and the ocean waves. No doubt they’d reached that place where the river collided with the ocean.
Seeing no lifeboat nor people on the forward deck, they both turned and raced toward the stern. They arrived just in time to see three women struggling to free a lifeboat tied to a rack. Greatly relieved, Sage raced to help with the lines. “Really, mother,” he said under his breath when he reached her, “You do manage to get yourself in a pickle now and again. I really, really wish you wouldn’t.”
She turned to him, a wide grin on her face but all she said was, “It took you long enough to get here. Though really, Sage, you could have at least taken the time to pull on your britches.”
As they freed the small boat it got away from them, crashing onto the deck and then slamming against the railing with another of the ship’s violent rolls. Sage saw that the waves were now at least six feet high. He wondered whether the eight of them could fit into the small lifeboat, let alone keep it afloat in such a turbulent froth. It looked impossible.
He again fought to keep upright as the Maggie Jane leaned into the side of a wave and wallowed to its crest. There he was startled to see a large ship bearing down on them. Just before the wave dropped them out of sight, an air horn blasted.
“Good grief, what was that? Is that a gigantic whale sounding? What next?” Mae asked, her voice fearful for the first time. She hadn’t seen the approaching boat.
“Don’t worry. I think it’s a revenue cutter, the Commodore Perry, coming to our rescue,” Sage told her. At his urging, the five of them abandoned the stern and ran for the bow just in time to see a line harpooning from the cutter onto the bow of the Maggie Jane. Fortunately, Fong was there to catch the line and tie it off around a deck stanchion.
As the cutter swept past the line tightened and the cutter tugged the Maggie Jane’s bow upriver. Moving at a glacial pace, the cutter towed the foundering Maggie Jane out of the bar’s roiling waters.
Sage glanced around. He saw only the bound sailor lying on the deck. “Where’s the captain?” he asked Fong who sat on the deck, his hand gripping the tow line as if he feared it would vanish if he let go of it.
Fong shrugged. “We came on deck, just as cutter start to pass by. I had to run grab line so had to let captain loose. He took one look at cutter and decided to go swimming.”
It took a second for Fong’s meaning to penetrate. Sage ran to the railing, searching the heaving water for some sign of the man. He saw nothing but rolling swells of angry green water.
Chapter Thirty Six
Unquestionably, the Levy sisters were the guests of honor as they sat side by side at the head of the table. Prior to the gathering, Mae had obtained their promise to keep secret that John Miner’s real name was John Adair and that he owned Mozart’s Table. The key players in their adventure were all there—Sage, Mae, Fong Kam Tong, Lucinda Collins, Herman Eich, Angus Solomon, Sergeant Hanke as well as, Caroline Stark.
It was a Monday night in early September. The summer’s heat wave was just a bad memory. Mozart’s was closed for the night though Ida was still cooking dinner for the ten people sitting at the big table they’d created by pushing tables together.
We’re as merry as Robin Hood’s men, Sage thought as he circled the table with a bottle of wine. Sitting down he said, “Well, I’d like to toast our wrapping up of recent events.” They all raised their glasses and voices in return.
At Sage’s nod, Rachel started off by detailing the outcome of the labor dispute. “Once Thaddeus Cobb left town, the association quickly fell apart. I think most of them were ashamed that they let Cobb lead them so far astray. We ended up winning our nine-hour days, a nickle more an hour and back pay for the two weeks they locked us out.”
“What’s going to happen with the union’s steam laundry cooperative?” asked Mae.
“The Trade Council is going to get it up and running. They say that want to make sure our wins are permanent before they sell their “ace in a hole” as they like to put it.”
“Rachel has some other news,” Rebecca said. “She’s probably too shy to tell you but, she’s going to take over as president of the laundry workers’ union. The international union was so pleased with our outcome that they hired the president away. The gals voted for Rachel to fill his position. She’ll be the only female union president in the state.” That information brought forth cheers and toasts which set Rachel to blushing mightily.
“Exactly what’s going to happen to Cobb and Farley?” Sage asked Hanke once the congratulatory noise died down.
“Mr. Farley’s got a bunch of important friends in Washington D.C. Still, Sinclair’s testimony against him might hold up. Problem is, none of the ladies here, ever saw Farley. He’s going to say it was Sinclair’s plan from beginning to end and that he knew nothing.
“As for Cobb, we’d like to talk to him but his wife says he was suddenly called back east to assist a sick relative.” That brought snorts of derision. Hanke continued once they’d quieted, “Cobb will probably say the same thing. His problem is that he hired Sinclair and Sinclair is confessing everything. I suspect our Mr. Cobb might stay away a long time.” Everyone around the table clapped.
“Surely, Warder’s not going to go free after killing Ryland McCarthy,” Solomon exclaimed. “Not to mention nearly setting fire to the entire North End.”
Hanke took a sip of wine, set it down carefully and said, “Farley tried to trade his information about Warder for his own freedom. He wasn’t too clever. He should have hired one of your lawyers, Adair. Anyway, he signed a statement saying Warder started the fire that killed McCarthy. Once Warder saw that statement, he admitted to everything.
“The prosecutor says he’s not going for the death penalty because Warder didn’t know there was someone inside the laundry. But, for sure, Warder and his confederate will be spending quite a few years in the Salem penitentiary.
Solomon cleared his throat. “I feel like I’m a bit of an interloper at this celebration since I wasn’t much help in finding the ladies.”
They all protested, assuring him that was not the case. Sage spoke for them when he said, “Thanks to you we were able to find Farley and his operatives right off the bat. Most importantly, it was your man who spotted Rebecca here, being hustled down the street near the rail yards. That’s how we knew to look there. Lastly, thanks to your railroad porters, we didn’t have to keep an eye on the trains. That way we were able to narrow the search.”
Mae cleared her throat to ask, “What about Paul Sinclair? What’s going to happen to him?”
Rachel said, “Rebecca should answer th
at question because she’s stayed in touch with him.”
Blushing red, Rebecca said, “He’s already down at the penitentiary. He pled guilty and received a sentence of a year and a day for kidnapping us. Thanks to Sergeant Hanke, the judge said his subsequent efforts to save us were a mitigating factor. Also, Paul says that, when he’s released, he intends to work with the Society for Social Hygiene. Mr. Adair got that lady, Mrs. Harris, to tell the judge that the Society would be happy to accept Paul’s help and that she believed his offer is sincere.”
“Tell them the rest,” Rachel goaded.
Still blushing Rebecca told them that all three of Sinclair’s sisters were already on a train coming from Ohio. They intended to visit Paul in the penitentiary and she added softly, “They say they are looking forward to meeting me.” This declaration brought forth teasing whistles which only heightened the poor girl’s color.
Caroline Stark, who’d not spoken up to that point, now spoke. Sage thought she did so, in part, to rescue Rebecca. “Since you have promised to keep what I tell you confidential, I will tell you that as Mae rightly suspected,” she sent a sweet smile in Mae’s direction, “I was working at the steam laundry under false pretences. In truth, my training is as a social worker which is a relatively new field of science.
“In that capacity I am currently working for the Consumer’s Union which has me conducting an undercover survey of women’s working conditions here in Portland. Three other women are also doing the same thing in the other traditionally female occupations. Mae discovered us meeting to discuss our project and I had to tell her what I was doing but made her promise to keep it secret.”
