Gold Rush Girl

by Avi

  I tell you true, my first thought was: He looks so young.

  “Tory!” he cried, jumping up. His face was pale, his clothing rumpled and torn. No shoes were on his feet. But the joy and relief on his face when he realized it was me was everything I could have wished.

  When I rushed forward and threw my arms about him, he burst into tears, but all the same managed to say, “I never thought you’d come.”

  “Of course I would,” I returned like a proper book heroine. “This is Sam, my friend. We’ll talk later. We need to move fast. Keep quiet. Come on.”

  From then on, all our efforts were bent on getting free of the ship.

  “Follow me,” whispered Sam, leading the way. Then came Jacob. Then I. Once out of the stateroom, we hurried toward the companionway steps, the same upon which we’d come down. Sam went up the first few risers, turned, and held out his hand. Jacob took it. They started up.

  That’s when we heard, from directly overhead, steps moving about on the main deck — heavy, irregular steps, as if the one walking were unsure of his direction.

  Sam pointed up and, speaking softly, said, “That man we saw. He’s about.”

  I understood: it was the man in the wheelhouse cabin, the one who had been in a drunken stupor, the one with the Colt pistol on his chest. The loud noise we’d made when ripping open the door to the room in which Jacob was being held must have woken him.

  Sam made a motion which told Jacob to back down the steps. He did so quickly. I too retreated. Then the three of us stood in the dim light, looking up, straining to listen, not daring to move or make any sound.

  A garbled shout came from above: “Some . . . body here? I heard you. Who the devil . . . are you?”

  I made a quick decision. Whispering to Sam, I said, “Stay with Jacob. I’ll use the forward companionway, go up, and try to get the man’s attention. Lead him away. When I do, bring Jacob up to the deck. Get him to Thad.”

  “But —”

  “Do it,” I said, without thinking how abrupt I must have sounded. My sole excuse is that I was not going to be thwarted in my rescue of Jacob. And if anyone should take the greater risk, it must be I.

  Leaving Sam and Jacob, I raced along the tween deck until I came to the forward steps. Once there, I dashed up as fast as I could and stepped out on deck. As soon as I did, I spun about and looked toward the stern.

  By the light of the lower spar lantern, I saw the broken-nosed man standing there, the one we’d seen in the wheelhouse. Clearly having trouble standing upright, he was stumbling about, showing every evidence of being thoroughly drunk. Even so, in one hand he was gripping his Colt pistol, waving it in the air. In his other hand was the lit oil lantern. He was holding it over the companionway, trying to see below.

  “Who’s there?” he cried. “Come on up . . . do you hear?” He pointed his wavering pistol down.

  “I’m right here,” I shouted from behind him.

  With a heavy lurch, the man managed to swing about and drop into a stooping posture. From under his beetled brows, he stared in my direction, eyes squinted, suggesting his vision was none too clear.

  “Were you calling me?” I shouted.

  Swaying from side to side, head thrust forward, the man stayed in place. I was certain he was trying to make sense of what he was seeing and hearing, which is to say, me.

  “Come over here . . . you,” he yelled, making a summoning gesture with the pistol. His speech was all slithered.

  “If you’re trying to get me,” I returned, “you’ll have to come where I am.”

  He seemed to be struggling to see me, because his body continued to waver and his head — birdlike — moved side to side, as if he were adjusting his sight. He also held his lantern higher to see me better. “Who . . . the devil are you?” he cried out. “What are you doing here?”

  He did not appear to recognize me.

  “Come closer,” I said. “I’ll answer you.”

  “You’ve no b . . . bloody business being here,” the man bellowed, extending the arm with the pistol in my direction. “I can shoot you,” he proclaimed. “I will. And . . . I can.” He had yet to move from where he was.

  Trying to coax him nearer, I stepped backward, moving in the direction of the ship’s bow, though never taking my eyes from him. But one time when I moved, he lifted his pistol and fired straight up into the air. The explosion was thunderous, made me cower, and set my heart to pounding. It took the greatest effort to remain in place and not flee.

  The man began to advance upon me, his lantern swinging wildly even as his body staggered side to side. Since he kept his pistol pointed — more or less — in my direction, I was all too aware that he could pull the trigger at any moment. Wanting — needing — to lure him farther toward me, I continued to back up, keeping an eye underfoot so as not to trip over something on the cluttered deck. It worked. As I retreated, the broken-nosed man moved in equal measure with numb-footed steps.

  That was when I saw, out of the corner of my eye, just what I was hoping for. Sam, now a good way behind the man on the deck, emerged cautiously from the aft companionway. What’s more, I could see Jacob on Sam’s back, clinging to his neck. Dim though the light was, I could see my brother’s frightened eyes staring at the drunken man. The man with the pistol was so intent on me, he never looked behind.

  “I’ll kill you,” the man shouted to me, waving his pistol while taking more clumsy steps in my direction. “I will,” he shouted.

  I edged backward, only to have the man come forward that much more.

  Sam rose fully up from below.

  Once he was free of the steps and fully on the deck, he moved with silent speed to the port side of the ship. I don’t know how or where he found the strength, but he climbed atop the rail with Jacob still holding on. Then Sam grabbed a spar line and hoisted himself up, Jacob with him. Next moment, Sam — with Jacob clinging to him — swung out and away from the ship, dropped, and disappeared. At the same moment, I heard Sam shout, “Thad!”

  I heard a splash.

  My thought: Was Thad there?

  The man who was stalking me also must have heard. He spun about and looked to see who had made the call and splash. He was too late: Sam and Jacob were not there.

  All I wanted to do was to see where Sam and Jacob had gone — if they were safe — but the man who was stalking me now whirled about, extended his wavering arm and pistol in my direction, and pulled the trigger.

  The explosion was deafening. I ducked, but I need not have done so. His aim was so undirected, I have no idea where the bullet went, or even if it was close to me.

  Seeing he hadn’t struck me, the man, now furious, charged forward, as though intent on striking me bodily with his pistol. That was when his foot became entangled with something on the deck. Doddering to begin with, he now tumbled forward and fell. As he fell, he extended his hands forward. They struck the deck. That caused the pistol to fire off another shot. Another wild miss. But also, the lantern he’d been holding in his hand struck and shattered, spewing oil all about.

  In an instant, a flash of flame shot up, a brilliant orange-red geyser, two, three feet high. Wherever the oil spilled, fire began to spread with violent speed.

  Despite his stupefaction, the man grasped what was happening: the blaze was spreading. Panicky, he pulled himself up to his knees, dropped his pistol, and began to swat at the flames with both his bare hands.

  It was to no avail. The inferno grew, disgorging black plumes of smoke that became part of the night. The look on the man’s face — made scarlet with the light of the fire — was full of dread.

  I didn’t stop to see what else the man did. Realizing that he was no longer watching me, that his gun was out of his hand, I raced to the topgallant rail and scrambled up, my terror no doubt giving me extra strength. In seconds I was standing atop the rail, waving my arms for balance.

  I glanced back: the fierce fire was spreading, mounting.

  “Thad!” I shoute
d, and without looking, I jumped off the ship into nothing, even as I had the thought: I can’t swim.

  HOW LONG DID IT TAKE ME TO REACH THE WATER?

  It seemed forever. It also felt no more than half a second. If that is a contradiction, so be it. All I know is that I hit the cold water hard, painfully so, and instantly began to sink.

  Sputtering, struggling for breath, my arms wild in their motion, I somehow rose up to the surface. I struggled, flailed, sank. But then I was grabbed by hands, followed by a grip around my shoulders, which pulled me up.

  It was Thad — in the water at my side — who held me. Such was my trust, I stopped struggling. For some moments, we floundered, but he supported me.

  The next thing I realized was that the Sadie Rose had come up, and many hands, Sam’s, Jacob’s, and Thad’s, were dragging and shoving me onto the deck of the ketch.

  I lay on our little ship, spewing and dripping water, gagging, while Jacob thumped me on my back, far too much. I was soaking wet, cold, and no doubt trembling too. I was aware our little ship was drifting. But mostly, I knew I was alive and my dear Jacob was next to me. As I lay there, I managed to say, “Are you all right?”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, but his eyes — I realized — were not on me but on something else. Puzzled, I shifted and pulled myself around so as to see at what he was staring.

  I could hardly believe what I saw.

  Not so very far from us, the Yankee Sword was engulfed in fire.

  It was as if I were seeing a gigantic red rose, a rose twisting and turning in agony, as petal-like flames spurted in all directions, creating a radiance that pressed and poked into the darkness of the waning night. Masts and spars were fingers of fire, illuminating rising clouds of scarlet smoke. The air was thick with the smell of burning wood, tar, and canvas, the heat of the fire — even at a distance — hot upon my face. All I could hear was a crackling and hissing, the sound of the ship being consumed. In truth, the Yankee Sword’s hull, long, low, and black, lay altogether motionless, lifeless midst the frenzied fire.

  It was Sam who cried out, “They’re coming back.”

  “What?”

  “The Yankee Sword crew.”

  The light of the burning Yankee Sword, helped by the growing dawn, enabled me to see two jolly boats coming from the direction of the city. They were full of men — perhaps as many as four to a side — straining at multiple oars, moving rapidly toward the Yankee Sword. But as I watched, one of the jolly boats began to slow down. It was as if only then did the crew realize that their ship was doomed. Then one of the boats, as if under command, turned toward the Sadie Rose. We had been too intent upon the burning ship. It took but a moment for us to realize they were racing toward us.

  Thad leaped to haul up the sail. Sam tore aft to grab the tiller. I was still too dazed and out of breath to lend a hand. Jacob, in his own state of panic, was of no use whatsoever.

  The boom swept over my head. Our ketch heeled. We tacked away from those rowboats. I knew we were now moving, but I also realized we were not going fast.

  The jolly boat, however, was, without doubt, coming right toward us with great swiftness, her multiple oars working in unison, propelling her forward at great speed so that white foam curled before her sharp prow as before a high-nosed shark.

  I also saw that a man was standing in the bow of that boat. The light of the fire allowed me see his white head of hair, his beard. I recognized him: Captain Littlefield of the Yankee Sword. He must have seen the Sadie Rose when we were sailing about the bay. Connecting us to the fire, he was now coming after us.

  As streaks of morning sunlight began to strengthen in the eastern sky, Sam tried to sail us away from Littlefield, toward the protection of the city. But we were moving much too slowly, whether because of adverse currents or little wind, I cannot say.

  Littlefield’s jolly boat was not impeded by such restraints. On the contrary: her multiple oars meant she was quickly gaining on us.

  “You need to go faster,” I shouted.

  “Can’t,” returned Sam, whose constant looking back told me he was well aware of — and alarmed by — what was happening.

  I glanced toward the Yankee Sword. The fires on her had much subsided when I heard a great hissing sound. By the dawn’s light, I watched as plumes of black smoke turned white, the white of steam. Flames suddenly shrank. Next moment, those same flames vanished, and nothing was left upon the bay waters save smoke, which hovered over the bay like a slowly fading spirit.

  “She’s sunk,” said Thad in an awe-filled voice.

  “Glory be,” muttered Sam.

  “Stop!” ordered a voice over the water.

  I spun about and realized that while we had been staring at the sinking Yankee Sword, Littlefield and his jolly boat had drawn that much closer, gaining on us every moment. The captain, like a whaleboat harpooner, stood in the bow.

  “He’s going to ram us,” I cried.

  Thad leaped up and looked back with a fierceness I had never seen on him before. In his hand was a mallet, which had been left on the ketch. For his part, Sam had found a belaying pin and was clutching that even as he clung to the tiller. As for me, I pulled the knife from my money belt, though what I — or we — intended to use such for, I cannot say I had any idea. The notion that we, with our makeshift weapons, could repel them was absurd.

  Sam dropped down and tried to maneuver the ketch away from the rowboat, only to shift us directly into headwinds, which is to say, our boat simply ceased to move. In irons, as sailors say — dead in the water.

  As for Littlefield’s jolly boat, the multiple oars were moving her ever faster, quickly gaining on us. As she drew closer, I saw Captain Littlefield bend down and then stand. Something was in his hands. It was an anchor attached to a line. He was holding the anchor by its shaft.

  When his jolly boat was within ten feet of us, he heaved the anchor at us. Perfectly thrown, one of the anchor flukes neatly hooked our gunwale so that we were tied to him. Then Littlefield began to draw in the taut line — and us — while the rowers kept up their rowing, and since we were being held right in their furious path, we must be crushed.

  That was when I leaped forward and, with my knife, desperately sawed through the taut anchor line. Like an opening fist, fingers of cordage sprang apart. The line was severed.

  As though released from a grip, our ketch sprung free.

  On the instant, Sam shifted the tiller hard, thereby catching a wind. The boom swung over our heads like a scythe. We heeled over at such a deep angle, bay water began to trickle into the boat. It seemed we were about to be swamped; my heart misgave. Next second, Sam turned us again, righted the ketch, and headed out into the open bay. The scuppers let the water flow out. Thad found a bucket from somewhere and began to bail as well. Jacob and I, making cups of our hands, worked too. The more water we dumped, the faster we moved.

  I looked back. Captain Littlefield and his boat were being left far behind.

  “Look,” I said. “They’ve stopped coming.”

  Thad stood up. “We’re away!” he cheered.

  “Hurrah!” cried Jacob.

  It was only then that Thad looked down at me and said, “Good thing you had that knife.”

  “Thank Father,” I replied, and gave Jacob a squeeze.

  Sam steered the Sadie Rose farther out, putting more and more distance between us and Littlefield and his crew.

  By then we were all grinning fools.

  Then, feeling secure and out of reach, Sam made a big loop and, by the light of a blooming dawn, came around into Yerba Buena Cove.

  It was not long before the Sadie Rose — in full dawn — was threading her way among the ships of Rotten Row. They were so large, and our ketch so small, I had no doubt we were well hidden. What had once been only hundreds of ugly, decaying vessels, ships that had repulsed and frightened me, now became our protection, our fortress, and our walls of defense.

  Rotten Row had become our place of safety.
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  HOW HE DID IT, I DON’T KNOW, BUT SAM maneuvered the Sadie Rose to the approximate place where we had begun. Once there, I heaved our anchor out into the shallow water. Thad dropped the ketch sails, then hauled in the rowboat. I got into the stern seat and placed Jacob next to me, my arm tightly around him. Sam got in. Finally, Thad. Settled, we shoved away from the Sadie Rose, her FOR SALE and FREE signs still attached. I was happy to leave her behind.

  “Not sure we should go to the cove beach,” said Sam. “Be safer for us to head for Happy Valley. If we need to, we can hide in my tent.”

  Nobody objected, and Thad and Sam rowed side by side, pulling hard. From time to time I’d look back. No one was coming after us.

  It was only as we went along that Jacob told us what had happened to him.

  It was the night that Thad and I returned so late from fishing down-bay. Exceedingly worried as to where I might be, Jacob searched all over for us, and at one point — knowing how Thad liked to gamble — went into the crowded Mercury. That was when he was approached by a man — his description fit Mr. Kassel. Kassel asked what Jacob was doing there. When Jacob told him whom he was looking for, the man offered help in finding me. He also gave Jacob some gingerbread and lemonade, which a hungry Jacob took and consumed. The lemonade must have been drugged, because the next thing Jacob knew, he was locked up on a ship.

  He was on one such ship and then another, before being taken to the Yankee Sword. His jailor was the man with the broken nose. I never did learn his name. No more than I knew his fate.

  But Jacob’s tale was much as Sam had told me it might have happened. While we had a successful rescue, we also knew how close we’d come to something otherwise. It kept us quiet. The boys rowed. I stayed close to Jacob. When we came ashore and stepped out on land, Happy Valley was a happy place for me.

  Sam led the way in the dawn light to his tent where his father, Mr. Nichols, greeted us with a mixture of warmth and alarm as Sam related all that had happened. Mr. Nichols was simultaneously angry with Sam and proud of him, the way parents will be when their child does something foolish but brave. But after congratulations, warnings were offered. “Mr. Kassel will be looking for you, all of you. You’ll need to be careful.”