by Jake Logan
“I ought to keelhaul you for insubordination. I can do that during the half day I’m not laid up moaning in pain.”
“Use boiled tea leaves on it. And eat cherries,” Sir William said.
“What? Are you a doctor?”
“I have been in all corners of the world. Those remedies work on gout.”
“Do tell,” the naval captain said, rubbing his leg. “I’ll give it a try. It has to be better than that bitter potion the doctor’s been giving me.”
“The junk,” Sir William urged. “It left suddenly. Are other vessels due into port?”
“Only one. A cargo ship from down south.” Captain Johnson got to his feet and hobbled to his desk. A few seconds of page flipping brought him to the one he wanted. His bushy eyebrows arched and he looked back at Sir William. “You have interest in the Nathan?”
“I have never heard of this vessel until this moment. My interest is in what that pirate stole from me. She has it on board. A valuable artifact.”
“She? Pirate?”
“Lai Choi San is a notorious pirate from the South China Sea. She came here to steal my incredibly valuable collection of jade artifacts. They are valuable not only in a monetary sense but also from the knowledge the academic world can glean from—”
“The Nathan is carrying five hundred rifles, ammunition and four new cannons for Fort Point. It’s a military arms shipment.”
“Just the thing a pirate like Lai Choi San would sniff out. She’s like a hound dog on the seas, I tell you, Captain. Nothing gets past her. She has stolen the finest piece of my jade collection, and now she is going after your guns.”
“Not mine, the army’s,” Captain Johnson said glumly. “Colonel Fisher will not be pleased if his replacement armament is stolen on the high seas, though.”
“The lieutenant mentioned that you have a frigate. Send it out after the junk.”
“I cannot contact the ship’s captain. I am supposed to have two frigates but—”
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard all that. You are trapped behind a desk and can do nothing?”
“I can telegraph down the coast and see if I can contact the Nathan at a port along the way. A warning might be sufficient to allow the captain to fight off a pirate attack.” Captain Johnson sounded skeptical. Pirates in these waters were nonexistent. The patrolling frigates had driven off what few wreckers there were along the coast. An occasional Russian ship ventured toward the Farallones and the egg farmers there got upset. The frigate would chase the Russian sealing ships away. That was as close to piracy as he had seen in the five years he had been posted here.
“What other ships are due to lift anchor soon?” Sir William asked.
“Only one. A Cape schooner bound for New York. The Portobello sails with the tide.”
“At sundown or dawn tomorrow?”
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Captain Johnson asked. His face twisted in pain as he tried to put weight on his gouty foot.
“I see you are off for the rest of the day. Cherries and tea leaves, old man. That’s the spirit.” Sir William left the naval station and walked to the end of the dock. His eyes fixed on the emptiness where Lai Choi San had anchored. He heaved a sigh. Without naval cooperation, the pirate would go unpunished and his jade crown would be lost forever.
Disconsolate, he turned and walked slowly down the Embarcadero, unaware of eyes following his every step.
“No, no, be careful!” cried Tess Lawrence. She hurried to hold the door for the workers moving the crate filled with jade artifacts. “Don’t bang it around so.”
“It’s gonna get bunged up somethin’ good if you’re movin’ it any distance. Where are we takin’ this stuff?”
“Load everything onto your wagon first. There’re only two more boxes.” Tess wrung her hands as the men moved the crates from the main room of the museum to the waiting wagon. She cringed as they heaved the final crate up into the wagon bed. It landed with a distinct thud. She relaxed. There had not been a breaking sound accompanying it.
She had worked all afternoon packing the crates. Excelsior filled every nook of each crate and she had stuffed carefully wrapped items into the wood shavings. Not trusting another to do the work, she had wielded hammer and nail herself to close each crate. Then she had sealed cracks where she could with melted candle wax. Already she saw some of the wax cracking off the crate that had been dropped so unceremoniously.
“Where we goin’? I remember hearing the British gent say somethin’ ’bout the train station.”
“Train? No, how did you get that idea?” Tess said too quickly. Her heart hammered fiercely.
“Just what I’d heard. Where, then?”
“To the docks. To the Portobello loading area.”
“That one of them schooners?”
“Yes,” she said, not wanting to go into detail with a mere workman. “I’ll ride in the back with the crates. Please put my trunk and other luggage into the wagon, also.”
“Whatever you say.”
The man grunted as he heaved the trunk in. Tess could hardly slide it, and he lifted it with only a small display of strain. Her valise quickly followed. She hugged it close to her chest as the wagon began moving through the darkened streets. She hoped they were not too late. Sir William’s being away had convinced her of this last-minute change in plans. He had wanted the collection sent on the train.
A small smile curled her lips. He had wanted so many things, and now he was not going to get any of them.
“Do you have to hit every pothole in the street?” she complained. She clung to her valise. In it were all the papers for shipping the jade to New York City—and the rest of the ticketing. To lose any of it now meant explanations she simply did not want to give Sir William.
She rested her hand on one crate and looked at the others. They would survive the sea voyage well. The wax made them almost impervious to the water seepage bound to occur on any long trip around Cape Horn. The excelsior cushioned shocks to prevent cracking of the jade. And there were only four crates. Few enough to keep track of but enough to make her ridiculously rich.
“That the one? That there sailin’ ship?” The workman pointed to a tall-masted ship.
Tess had no idea if it was the right one but she realized the man could not read. She peered about, then saw a man working with a thick sheaf of papers.
“A moment. Wait right here.” She jumped down, turned and glared at the driver to make certain he would not drive off with the precious jade collection. Only then did she go to the man with the papers.
“Evening, ma’am,” the man said.
“Are you in charge of cargo for the Portobello?”
“That I am. You got another load?”
“Yes, right here.” She fumbled in the valise and found the necessary bills of lading. Tess passed them over.
“Have your men unload where they are. I’ll get the dock wallopers to get it aboard. You sailin’ with us, too, ma’am?”
“I reckon so,” she said.
The man smiled ear to ear, showing two gaps where teeth had been knocked out. “Then this might be about the best trip we’ve had in years. You’re an asset, that’s for certain sure.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Will your husband be joining you on the trip?”
“I…yes, he will,” Tess said, hoping she sounded positive enough to dispel any suspicion.
“We’ll be sailin’ with the morning tide. Be aboard the good ship Porto, as we affectionately call ’er, by five a.m.”
“I had hoped to stay in my berth overnight,” Tess said. She looked around, sure someone watched her.
“Ma’am, you’re gonna be sick of that cabin ’fore we reach New York. Spend the time on land.”
“Then I cannot stay in the berth?”
“Nope,” he said. “We got a small problem we’re takin’ care of. Fumigatin’, you see.”
“Bugs?”
“Them, too. Seems the ship’s ca
t got fat and lazy and the rats sorta took over once we got to port. But that won’t be no problem when we get under way,” he assured her.
“No, of course not.” Tess looked around, increasingly nervous now. She was certain someone stared at her, but she could not find where they were.
“Five sharp, ma’am, or we leave without you.”
“My crates…” She took an involuntary step when four sailors came down the gangplank and hefted the boxes with practiced ease.
“Stowin’ ’em in the cargo hold, ma’am. Don’t you worry your pretty head none. My boys are the best on the San Francisco–New York run.”
“Yes, of course, how silly of me.” She saw that the driver and workman who had unloaded the crates from the wagon waited impatiently. She started for them, only to be stopped by the ship’s mate.
“Your bill of lading, ma’am. For the cargo.” He held out a sheet of paper.
“Oh, yes, thank you.” She smiled weakly and went to pay her workers. They touched the bills of their caps, hopped back into the wagon and drove off with a clatter, leaving her alone on the dock.
She pulled her valise closer to her for comfort. She found none.
“Find somewhere to spend the night,” she said aloud to convince herself she could do it. “There must be a nearby hotel where…where I won’t be seen.”
She started walking, only to hear a steady click-click of boots against the cobblestones behind her. Every time she spun to confront whoever followed, she saw nothing. Tess screamed when she rounded a corner and ran full into a man who stepped out.
Strong arms circled her and pulled her close. She caught the scent of filth, of dirt and whiskey.
“Let me go!” she cried, trying to force herself away. The man was too strong.
“Is that any way to act with the man who is going to ride you like a prize filly all night long?”
She stopped fighting and looked up into the man’s unkempt, bearded face.
“Jason!”
“Who else, princess?”
“You have it? Where is it?”
Jason Stark laughed and spun her around.
“The crown’s where nobody can find it. You got the rest of the jade? I saw you with men unloading a wagon.”
Tess laughed and stood on tiptoe to kiss him.
“I have it all. Sir William left for the day and never came back. I had hoped to steal a few of the smaller pieces, but with him gone, I packed it all up. It’s aboard the Portobello right now!”
“So that British fool’s going to be at the railroad station, thinking his precious gewgaws are on the way to Boston?”
“And we’ll be on the Portobello going around the Horn to New York.”
“With the jade,” Stark said.
“With the jade and the emperor of China’s jade crown,” Tess said. “Now where are you going to make love to me until the ship sails? I want to see the place.”
“Like hell. You want to get down to doing the dirty deed,” Stark said, laughing. He put his arm around her. “This way, princess. I might even let you wear the crown—if you take off all the rest of your clothes.”
“Oh, Jason, you’re such a joker.”
“Who says I’m joking? You’d look great naked as a jaybird ’cept for the crown.”
Together they went off, whispering to each other what outrageous things they would do that night.
Behind them, unblinking eyes followed their every step.
15
“It’s nothing but a plow horse,” Slocum complained. “You can’t expect me to pay twenty-five dollars for this broke down old mare.” He looked over the horse. Its teeth were good, gums pink and eyes clear. Otherwise, there was hardly anything about the horse worth a second glance—other than he needed to ride faster down the coast than he could walk.
“Well,” said the farmer, rubbing his chin. “I had this old nag for quite a spell. Like one of the family.”
“I’m not offering to buy your wife,” Slocum said. “Just the horse.”
“Truth to tell, I’d as soon give up my wife as this horse. She’s not as likely to kick me. Twenty dollars.”
“Sold,” Slocum said. He patted the horse’s neck and got a sour look in return. He pulled out the money he had been paid by Sir William to act as his guard and handed it over. The farmer counted it twice, then nodded brusquely.
“Get on out of here, ’fore the wife sees you takin’ the horse. Like I said, the horse is like one of the family.”
Slocum put a hackamore on the horse and then swung up to ride bareback. He never gave the farmer a second glance. He had been right about the horse. It was broken but for the plow. The mare danced about under him and then settled down, resolved to make the best of carrying a man on its back rather than being hitched to a yoke and plow.
Slocum got the horse to a trot and kept up the pace as he found the coast road. His feet ached and his back hurt, but it felt good to once more be astride a horse. He strained to catch a glimpse of the ocean. Lai Choi San had been sailing slowly. The winds had turned against the pirate captain the last time Slocum had glimpsed her ship.
But the more he rode the more desolate he became. Nothing but endless steel gray ocean stretched as far as he could see—and not a sail interrupted the endless vista. By close to sundown he rode into a small town. A sign battered by wind and salt spray revealed this was San Grigorio. To Slocum it meant only a place to rest.
As he rode slowly down the middle of the main street, people came out to stare at him. He doubted being a stranger was any part of the attraction he provided. Not many men rode without saddles or decent bridle. He waved to a few of the men, who turned away and grumbled. In a few minutes he had become just another face and ceased to be newsworthy.
Dismounting, Slocum swung the rope around a hitching post and went into the saloon. The crowded gin mill was already filling with men finished with their day’s work. He stopped when he heard one man, wearing a green visor and sleeve protectors say, “Damnedest ’gram I ever got. From the navy commander up in San Francisco.”
Slocum moved to stand closer to the telegrapher. He smelled pungent acid and saw many small holes burned in the man’s shirtfront and pants from tending the lead-acid batteries needed to move messages up and down the coast.
Slocum signaled that he wanted a beer. He sipped at the warm, bitter brew slowly and leaned toward the telegrapher to hear more. He got an earful.
“Captain name of Johnson wants a signal sent to his frigate.”
“He don’t know where it is?” asked another patron.
“Reckon not. If we see his frigate we’re supposed to send a wire up to naval headquarters and try to semaphore a warning.”
“Warning?” Slocum could not hold his tongue. The locals turned and stared at him as if he had three heads. “What kind of warning? It must be something that’s mighty dangerous for everyone.”
“Nope. Wants the ship commander to know there’s a Chinese boat with some stolen goods on it.”
“Do tell,” Slocum said, taking a deeper draft of his beer. It left a metallic taste in his mouth.
“Not sure what’s aboard the chink ship,” the telegrapher went on, “but I never heard of such a thing. A boat that’s sailed all the way from China and don’t look like anything else in these waters.”
“I saw that ship,” the barkeep said excitedly. He put down his polishing rag and leaned closer. “Earlier on today. I thought it looked funny. Had three-sided sails. One was flapping real strange.”
“Suppose I ought to tell that Captain Johnson?”
“Costs money to send telegrams, don’t it? You ought to make ’em pay. Them’s the gummint. They got more money ’n any of us.”
“Going south?” Slocum asked the barkeep. The man’s bushy eyebrows wiggled, seemingly alive and on their own.
“Yup. You some kind of lawman? You after the thieves on that boat?”
Slocum shook his head. He finished his beer and left, aware that the
telegrapher and his small group of friends watched him. Out in the street, he looked around. The sun had set and turned the air cold as a breeze blew off the ocean. He shivered, hitched up his gun belt and then mounted his plow horse.
“A while longer, old girl,” he promised the mare. The horse snorted and began plodding along. No matter what Slocum did, he could not get more speed from the horse.
It turned out he did not need a racehorse to overtake Lai Choi San’s junk. Sometime before midnight he drew rein and stared into a small cove. Bobbing on the gentle waves there lay Lai Choi San’s junk. Slocum could not make out the crew aboard, but he heard the singsong calls of one pirate to another.
Slocum dropped to the ground and considered what to do. This was the best chance he was likely to get. If he tethered his horse too securely, it might starve.
“Go on, you’re on your own,” Slocum said, taking off the hackamore. He gave the mare a swat on the rump. The horse neighed, tried to rear, thought better of such effort and walked away. Slocum knew someone would find the horse eventually. In this part of the country the only danger lay in mountain lions deciding this was a tasty meal on the hoof.
Pushing that from his mind, Slocum studied the terrain, then began a slow descent down the rocky sides of the hill. He tumbled and slid but eventually got to the shoreline. Not a hundred feet away toiled a dozen Chinese pirates. They sawed at a long tree trunk, taking off the limbs. Slocum wondered if one of the ship’s spars had broken, and they worked to replace it.
With so many of the crew ashore, Slocum knew he stood a better chance of reaching the junk and searching it to settle once and for all the matter of whether Lai Choi San had the jade crown. The telegram message making its way down the coast told Slocum that the naval commander back at San Francisco thought the pirate had the stolen artifact. Slocum was a good poker player and read people well, even Celestial pirate captains. He doubted Lai Choi San had the jade.
He was the only one. Sir William thought she had it. So did the U.S. Navy.
Slocum slipped away from the crew, going around the dark shoreline until he reached a spot where the junk bobbed not fifty yards away. Grunting, tugging, rolling, Slocum got a fallen log into the water. He worried it would be too rotted to float, but his fears proved groundless as it caught on the waves and rode high. As far as his approach went, this was the easy part. Flipping belly-down on the log, Slocum aimed it toward the junk and began paddling.
