by Avi
I leaned over the hatchway again. “Jacob!” I yelled, as loud as I could.
No answer.
I told myself there had to be many rooms, berths, and cabins on the lower deck. If Jacob was trapped, or confined there, the only way to find him was to go down.
A rope banister was slung along one side of the steps. Holding the lantern in one hand, the rope with the other, I took perhaps fifteen steps down until I was a few feet above the lower deck. Thad came down right behind me.
The lantern light allowed me to look into a vast, empty cavern, the cross timbers looking like the ribs of some enormous, hollow beast. Against the port and starboard side were multiple sleeping berths. Everything empty. It made me think of a cemetery with nothing but open, unfilled graves.
The lower deck was another confusion of boxes and barrels. And rats. I saw their eyes — like hot embers — reflecting the glow of my lantern. Impossible to count their numbers. My light or shouting must have disturbed them because the deck floor fairly quivered with these dirty, revolting beasts, with their constant high-pitched squeaks. The thought that Jacob might be down among them made me queasy.
“Jacob!” I yelled again.
The rats scurried, the patter of their tiny feet enough to raise goose bumps on my arms.
I waited for a reply, any reply. None came. Just rats.
“He’s not here,” I said, and backed up. Thad went before me.
Without saying anything, we returned to the rail where we had come aboard. Trying not to sound defeated and dirty, which is how I felt, I said, “We need to try another ship.”
Thad said. “I’ll go down first. Catch you if you fall.”
Irritated, I said, “I’m not going to fall.”
I held the lantern over the topgallant rail. Thad grasped our climbing line and hoisted himself onto the rail. For a moment, he sat there then flipped over onto his belly with his feet hanging over the side. Using two hands, he slid down until his head disappeared. I watched him as he went, moving a lot faster than when he had come up.
He reached our rowboat. “I’m here!” he yelled.
Using another line, I lowered the lantern into his hands. He held it up so I could see where I needed to go.
“I’m coming,” I called, and grabbed the same line he had used. First I hoisted myself to the topgallant rail, and then let my feet dangle over nothing. Gripping the line as tightly in my two hands as I could, I spun about and began to descend.
When I had come up, hard as it was, I hadn’t considered how much harder it would be going the other way. Now, my weight pulled at me as if I had gained a hundred pounds. My body wanted to drop. My brain told me I must not. I might land in the water, and I could not swim.
I tried to descend hand over hand, but the palms of my hands burned. And then, after I had gone down no more than a third of the way, Thad’s lantern light went dark.
Clinging to the line, I hung there, unable to see anything. “Thad!” I screamed.
“Right here.”
“What happened?”
“Oil must have been used up. You all right?”
“No! Keep talking. I’ve got to keep coming.”
I started going down again, moving slower than before, which was also more painful. I had no idea how far I was above the water and Thad.
I paused. I swayed.
“Are you there?” I yelled. “Talk.”
Next moment, Thad began to sing:
“You’re crowded in with dirty men
As fattening hogs are in a pen,
And what will more a man provoke
Is musty plug tobacco smoke.
The ladies are compelled to sit
With dresses in tobacco spit.
The gentlemen don’t seem to care
But talk of politics as they swear.
“You’re close,” he shouted. Next moment, I felt his hands on my boots. My relief was so great that my grip on the line gave way, and I tumbled, falling on top of Thad, so we both went floundering in the bottom of our rowboat. It rocked wildly, shipping some water.
We lay there, too skeery to move, until the boat became steady. I pushed myself up. All I could think to say was “Why were you singing that song?”
“So you’d know where I was.”
“Where’d you ever learn it?”
“Don’t know. Think it’s funny.”
“It’s not,” I said, except my respite from fright was so great that I started to laugh. Then he laughed too. Our sense of safety made us giddy.
We got onto the boat seats. I rubbed my arms. “That was almost impossible.”
“Right gory,” he agreed. “Ready to try another boat?”
I did want to. But I said, “Not without a lantern. We need to get extra oil and a flint. Let’s get to shore.”
Though my hands felt raw, once our rowboat was set free, I pulled up the oars and headed us back to the cove beach. Gradually, light from the city allowed us to make our way. I was glad to be rowing; the steady strokes freed up my muscles.
Within minutes we were on shore and had the boat hauled up. We stood there, staring out at the ghostly fleet. Glad to be on land, I realized I was completely worn out. My legs felt weak.
“I can’t do any more,” I said, disappointed in myself. “In the morning, early, we can look some more.”
“Sure,” Thad said. “Do you think Jacob could be somewhere other than the ships?”
“Sam seems to know what he’s talking about,” I said. Then I added, “Thank you for your help,” full of gratitude but not knowing how to say or show it beyond simple words.
“Ayuh,” said Thad. He lifted the lantern. “Should get this back to Sam. He’s probably still at the Mercury.”
I was too tired to talk as we started walking, going along Montgomery Street until we reached the Central Wharf. Once there, we headed out, finding it crowded with shouting and carousing miners. Many were slovenly with drink, San Francisco at its worst. We had to push and squeeze our way through the maelstrom of men.
As we approached the entrance to the Mercury, there were two men having a fistfight. A crowd had gathered round them and while the men were bloodying each other, the onlookers were clearly enjoying it, encouraging the men to fight harder. It is difficult to say what this violence did more: disgust or frighten me.
Thad and I moved away, but I could not take my eyes from the fight or the men who had gathered round. It was ugly. Why are you watching? I asked myself even as I continued doing so.
“We going in?” Thad asked me after a moment.
I shook my head. “I shouldn’t be here. Sam was warned about talking to me.”
“Warned about talking?”
I nodded. “Because I’m white.”
Thad shook his head.
“That’s what he said.”
“Who warned him?”
“That Mr. Kassel.”
“The crimp?”
I nodded.
Thad, glowering, stood looking at the Mercury as if he could see the man.
“I may have already done harm talking with the police,” I reminded him. “Sam doesn’t need me to make things harder.”
Thad lifted the lantern. “What about this?”
“You bring it. Kassel doesn’t know you.”
Thad considered me for a moment and then said, “Be back fast as I can.” He disappeared into the Mercury while I stood on the far side of the wharf.
I waited, my eyes going from the ongoing fight to the entrance to the Mercury, wanting Thad to hurry. I was sorry we had come. This was not a good place to be.
As I had that thought, Mr. Kassel stepped out of the saloon and stood there, seemingly doing nothing other than observing the fight.
Since the last thing I wanted was for him to see me, I moved farther away, but even so, I could not keep my eyes from him. Was he the one who had taken Jacob? I think I wanted to see something that would reveal that he was evil. The fact is, however, that he stood ther
e calmly, merely watching, with no visible emotion I could observe, even as the two fighters exchanged ferocious blows.
Then I was struck with the thought: Is that what sin is, when people merely watch evil and do nothing to curb it?
Next moment, Kassel turned and looked in my direction. In the instant, I was sure his face showed recognition. And anger. Worse, next moment, he spun about and, moving fast, rushed back inside the Mercury.
I was not sure what to do: try to go after Kassel or wait for Thad. I felt the need to tell Sam what had happened, that Mr. Kassel had seen me.
Next moment Thad reappeared on the edge of the crowd of miners. He looked around in search of me.
“Thad!” I called from across the wharf, lifting my hand. “Here.”
He worked his way through the crowd. When he got close, I grabbed his arm and began to lead him away.
I said, “That Mr. Kassel came out. He saw me.”
“You say anything? Did he?”
“No. Did you see Sam?”
“Gave him the lantern. Told him what we did. That we’re going back early morning.” Thad halted. “Think you should tell Sam that Kassel saw you?”
I shook my head. Oh, how I wished I had not come.
“I could go back, tell him,” said Thad.
I looked around. The fight in front of the Mercury was still going on, with even more men watching than before. “Not sure you can,” I said. “Anyway, what if that man is observing Sam? If you went back, he might guess you’re connected.”
“You decide,” said Thad.
“In the morning,” I said. “After we do some more searching, I’ll go to his tent. Tell him.”
“Ayuh. Best get away,” he said.
Two days before, I’d loved California. Now I hated it.
In the darkness, we started uphill. I kept thinking about what had just happened, the brawling, Mr. Kassel, Sam and Jacob, how many ships there were, how endless, how hard our search might be. I didn’t usually pray much, but I did then. “Please God,” I murmured, “help me.”
I had no idea what Thad was thinking because we didn’t talk until we got to my tent. When we got there, all he said was “Be down early.”
“Thank you.”
He started off. “Good night.”
“Thad,” I called. “Truly. I appreciate your help.”
“Nothing. And don’t worry. We’re going to find him. We will.” In moments, he was out of sight.
I gazed after Thad for a few moments, thinking how lucky I was to have him for a friend. Then I ducked into our tent, which was darker than outside, stuffy and close. I felt for my bed, threw myself on it, and lay there, muscles sore, spirits jangled. I fumbled about until I found Mother’s shawl and wrapped it round myself, seeking some comfort. I was hungry too, not having eaten since morning. I reminded myself how much I had wished to be a heroine. That was stupid. I just wanted to find Jacob.
Jacob is somewhere, I kept telling myself. I have to find where. Have to.
Like a waking nightmare, I gave myself over to remembering dangling from the ship in the dark. That wasn’t good, I allowed myself to think. Scary.
I spoke into the night: “Thank you, Thad. Thank you, Sam. Thank you, Señor Rosales.”
Weary, I fell asleep. My last thought before I did was: What if I can’t find Jacob? What if I really am no more than a little lamb?
And the lobos are about.
I SLEPT POORLY, AND ROSE INTO WHAT WAS YET night. My muscles ached, my hands were stiff, my arms sore. My chest seemed heavy, and my hair felt like seaweed.
Doubts tumbled in. I should never have come here. I should never have left Jacob alone. I’ll never find him. I can’t do this. I made things worse for Sam. I don’t know what I’m doing. Sam, Thad, Señor Rosales, they’re all doing things for me. What do I do for them? Make everything worse. And Father will be here soon. Maybe Mother. How will I be able to tell them that Jacob is gone? I hate myself.
No! I fairly shouted at myself. You’re just making excuses.
I scrabbled about our tent and found a cooked potato. Unsteady from tension, dissatisfied with myself, cold, wishing only to resume the search, I wrapped Mother’s shawl about my shoulders and went outside.
I sat before the tent and ate the potato. I kept wishing Thad would hurry, but was not sure when he’d show up. I could see no stars or moon, the darkness made heavy by a mist that swirled around me like a wet black cloth. A briny sea-smell was strong. The smell of the city equally so. The only sound was my own uneasy breathing. Now and again I’d pass a hand over my cheeks, wiping away driblets of water. I preferred to think it was mist, not tears. I suspect I was wrong.
I shivered, drew my shawl tighter, and wished I had hot coffee. But Señor Rosales’s café was not yet open, and I had no energy to make a fire. Instead, I used my flint to light my lantern. It offered a poky point of light and a hint of heat. I kept it close.
As I continued to sit there — in the middle of what seemed like a world of nothingness — my thoughts were mostly about Jacob. I tried to imagine where he was but was unable to summon a picture. I worried again about Sam, fearful that by my talking to the police chief, being at the Mercury, and being seen, I had put him and his father at greater risk than they already were.
I remembered something I once read: “Night is the devil’s way of making you feel alone.”
I kept staring uphill, looking for Thad. It was, however, from the direction of Portsmouth Square that someone appeared out of the haze, as if materializing from a cloud. It took a moment for me to realize it wasn’t Thad but a man I didn’t recognize. He seemed surprised to see me too, because he halted, gawped a moment, then swerved in haste and hurried downhill, never looking back.
I watched him go, thinking I knew him. But he had shown up and disappeared so quickly I could not recall exactly where or when I’d seen him.
I looked across the way at the San Francisco Café Restaurant, and my thoughts went to Señor Rosales. Since we had said we must talk this morning, I felt obliged to tell him what I was doing lest he worry. But there was no sign of wakefulness in his café. As I was thinking of him, I saw someone coming down the hill with what looked like a fuzzy star.
It was Thad, stepping out of the mist like a scarecrow’s ghost. I had told Jacob he wasn’t my sweetheart. To be honest, I wasn’t sure what having a sweetheart meant. All the same, I was surprised how relieved and glad I was to see him.
“Mornin’,” he called.
“Good morning,” I returned, standing up. “Thank you for coming.”
He bobbed a nod. “Waiting long?”
“Didn’t sleep well.” For a moment, he and I stood face-to-face, awkward, unable to find words.
I was learning one must listen hard since what is truly said might well be mute. I had not listened well enough to Jacob. Now, as I stood there with Thad, what I felt beyond all else was gratitude. But all I said was “I have my flint case in my money belt. In case our lanterns go out again.”
“Knife?”
“Always.”
He wiped the wetness from his face. “Guess we better get. I’m betting we find him.”
I tried to imitate his “yes” by saying “Ayuh.” It came out as “Uh.”
In return he gave a mocking snort.
I grinned.
I looked to the café, but there was still no sign of Señor Rosales. I said, “Let’s go.”
Thad and I headed downhill, lanterns held before us, splashing through muck and mud. The fog was so intense that we were unable to see more than two feet ahead. It was as if we were passing through a cloud.
Thad, echoing my thoughts, said, “Fog’ll make looking harder.”
“It’ll lift,” I said, determined to be optimistic. Moments later I tripped over something — I had no idea what — and went sprawling. Thad helped me get up, but I was damp, filthy, and distraught. My lantern had also gone out.
“You all right?”
“F
ine,” I said, although nothing seemed right.
He said, “My light will work.”
While I worked to scrape off the mud, we kept on with Thad’s lamp as I told myself I mustn’t let him see my tears. I don’t know if he did, but he said nothing.
We crossed over Montgomery Street and reached the cove beach but knew it only because our feet crunched in sand and I could hear the gentle slip-slap of water plucking against the shore. The swirling gloom made it hard to see. Even though I knew that before us, right offshore, were hundreds of Rotten Row ships, I couldn’t see one of them. How do you search for what is invisible?
Thad said the obvious: “Hard to see.”
I said, “We’ll just row out. Can’t avoid the ships. Besides,” I added, “it’s not as if we know where to look anyway.”
Thad grunted his agreement, then led the way to where we had left our rowboat. As we approached, I saw a blob of light. Thinking of that man who’d gone past me as I waited for Thad, I halted. “Someone’s there,” I said.
“Hoot to a holler,” said Thad, “it’s Sam.”
He was right. Sam had remembered where our rowboat was from the day before and was sitting in it. I was so glad to see him. A small light was at his feet, giving a glow to his face. It occurred to me that I had never seen him smile.
As we approached, he stood up. “Morning.”
“Good morning,” I returned. “Thanks for coming.” The three of us stood staring out into the dark bay. None of us spoke. I sensed something was wrong.
Even as Sam continued to eye the bay, he said, “Kassel saw you at the Mercury last night. Told my father and me to get out. Said we can’t work there anymore.”
“Oh, Sam,” I cried. “That’s awful.”
“Didn’t even pay us what he owed us.”
Terribly upset, I said, “We shouldn’t have been there.”
“Wasn’t you. You were just bringing that lantern back.”
“God-awful man,” said Thad.
Sam finally turned around to face us. “Not saying otherwise,” he said.
I said, “But . . . what will you and your father do? Can you find another job?”
“Probably, at another saloon. The saloons like music. Don’t know why. Nobody listens.” He sounded so sad.
