Part 13 (1/2)

Reaching the forest, on our way to the Mills, we found the river had risen so that ten miles from the mouth we were obliged to climb upon the wagon-seats, and hold our luggage above high-water mark.

At Duncan's, on the home stretch, we made our final pilgrimage, to a wild glen over the Russian River, where, a few weeks before, the Bohemian Club had held high jinks. The forest had been a scene of enchantment on that midsummer night; but now the tents were struck, the j.a.panese lanterns were extinguished, and nothing was left to tell the tale but the long tables of rough deal, where we had feasted. They were covered with leaves and dust; spiders had draped them with filmy robes.

The quail piped, the jay-bird screamed, the dove sobbed, and a slim snake, startled at the flight of a bounding hare, glided away among the rustling leaves. So soon does this new land recover the primeval beauty of eternal youth.

INLAND YACHTING

When your bosom friend seizes you by the arm, and says to you in that seductive sotto voce which implies a great deal more than is confessed, ”Come, let us go down to the sea in s.h.i.+ps, and do business in the great waters,” you generally go, if you are not previously engaged. At least, I do.

Much has been said in disfavor of yachting in San Francis...o...b..y. It is inland yachting to begin with. The shelving sh.o.r.es prevent the introduction of keel boats; flat and shallow hulls, with a great breadth of beam, something able to battle with ”lumpy” seas and carry plenty of sail in rough weather, is the more practical and popular type. Atlantic yachts, when they arrive in California waters, have their rigging cut down one-third. Schooners and sloops with Bermudian mutton-leg sails flourish. A modification of the English yawl is in vogue; but large sloops are not handled conveniently in the strong currents, the chop seas, the bl.u.s.tering winds, the summer fogs that make the harbor one of the most treacherous of haunts for yachtsmen.

Think of a race when the wind is blowing from twenty-five to thirty-five miles an hour! The surface current at the Golden Gate runs six miles per hour and the tide-rip is often troublesome; but there is ample room for sport, and very wild sport at times. The total area of the bay is four hundred and eighty square miles, and there are hundreds of miles of navigable sloughs, rivers, and creeks. One may start from Alviso, and sail in a general direction, almost without turning, one hundred and fifty-five miles to Sacramento city. During the voyage he is pretty sure to encounter all sorts of weather and nearly every sort of climate, from the dense and chilly fogs of the lower bay to the semi-tropics of the upper sh.o.r.es, where fogs are unknown, and where the winds die away on the surface of beautiful waters as blue as the Bay of Naples.

There are amateur yachtsmen, a n.o.ble army of them, who charter a craft for a day or two, and have more fun in a minute than they can recover from in a month. I have sailed with these, at the urgent request of one who has led me into temptation more than once, but who never deserted me in an evil hour, even though he had to drag me out of it by the heels. I am at this moment reminded of an episode which still tickles my memory, and, much as a worthy yachtsman may scorn it, I confess that this moment is more to me than that of any dash into deep water which I can at present recall.

It was a summer Sat.u.r.day, the half-holiday that is the reward of a week's hard labor. With the wise precaution which is a prominent characteristic of my bosom friend, a small body of comrades was gathered together on the end of Meigg's Wharf, simultaneously scanning, with vigilant eyes, the fleets of sailing crafts as they swept into view on the strong currents of the bay. It was a little company of youths, sick of the world and its cares, and willing, nay eager, to embark for other climes. They came not unfurnished. I beheld with joy numerous demijohns with labels fluttering like ragged cravats from their long necks; likewise stacks of vegetables, juicy joints, fruits, and more demijohns, together with a small portable iceberg; blankets were there, also guns, pistols, and fis.h.i.+ng tackle. If one chooses to quit this world and its follies, one must go suitably provided for the next. Experience teaches these things.

The breeze freshened; the crowd grew impatient; more fellows arrived; another demijohn was seen in the distance swiftly bearing down upon us from the upper end of the wharf, and at this moment a dainty yacht skimmed gracefully around the point of Telegraph Hill, picking her way among the thousand-masted fleet that whitened the blue surface of the bay, and we at once knew her to be none other than the ”Lotus,” a crack yacht, as swift as the wind itself. In fifteen minutes there was a locker full of good things, and a deck of jolly fellows, and when we cast off our bow-line, and ran up our canvas, we were probably the neatest thing on the tide. I know that I felt very much like a lay figure in somebody's marine picture, and it was quite wonderful to behold how suddenly we all became sea-worthy and how hard we tried to prove it.

A heavy bank of cloud was piled up in the west, through which stole long bars of suns.h.i.+ne, gilding the leaden waves. The ”Lotus” bent lovingly to the gale. Some of us went into the cabin, and tried to brace ourselves in comfortable and secure corners--item--there are no comfortable or secure seats at sea, and there will be none until there is a revolution in s.h.i.+p-building. Our yachting afforded us an infinite variety of experience in a very short time; we had a taste of the British Channel as soon as we were clear of the end of the wharf. It was like rounding Gibraltar to weather Alcatraz, and, as we skimmed over the smooth flood in Racc.o.o.n Straits, I could think of nothing but the little end of the Golden Horn. Why not? The very name of our yacht was suggestive of the Orient. The sun was setting; the sky deeply flushed; the distance highly idealized; homeward hastened a couple of Italian fis.h.i.+ng boats, with their lateen sails looking like triangular slices cut out of the full moon; this sort of thing was very soothing. We all lighted our cigarettes, and lapsed into dreamy silence, broken only by the plash of ripples under our bow and the frequent sputter of matches quite necessary to the complete consumption of our tobacco.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Meigg's Wharf in 1856]

About dusk our rakish cutter drifted into the shelter of the hills along the north sh.o.r.e of the bay, and with a chorus of enthusiastic cheers we dropped anchor in two fathoms of soft mud. We felt called upon to sing such songs as marines are wont to sing upon the conclusion of a voyage, and I believe our deck presented a tableau not less picturesque than that in the last act of ”Black-eyed Susan.” Susan alone was wanting to perfect our nautical happiness.

How charming to pa.s.s one's life at sea, particularly when it is a calm twilight, and the anchor is fast to the bottom: the sheltering sh.o.r.es seem to brood over you; pathetic voices float out of the remote and deepening shadows; and stars twinkle so naturally in both sea and sky that a fellow scarcely knows which end he stands on.

I have preserved a few leaves from a log written by my bosom friend. I present them as he wrote them, although he apparently had ”Happy Thoughts” on the brain, and much Burnand had well nigh made him mad.

THE LOG OF THE ”LOTUS”

9 p.m.--Dinner just over; part of our crew desirous of fis.h.i.+ng during the night; hooks lost, lines tangled, no bait; a row by moonlight proposed.

10 p.m.--The Irrepressibles still eager to fish; lines untangled, hooks discovered; two fellows despatched with yawl in search of bait; a row by moonlight again proposed; we take observation--no moon!

11 p.m.--Two fellows returning from sh.o.r.e with hen; hen very tough and noisy; tough hens not good for bait; fis.h.i.+ng postponed till daybreak; moonlight sail proposed as being a pleasant change; still no moon; half the crew turn in for a night's rest; cabin very full of half-the-crew.

Midnight.--Irrepressibles dance sailor's hornpipe on deck; half-the-crew below awake from slumbers, and advise Irrepressibles to renew search for bait.

12:30 a.m.--Irrepressibles return to sh.o.r.e for bait. Loud breathing in cabin; water swas.h.i.+ng on rocks along the beach; very picturesque, but no moon yet; voice in the distance says ”Halloa!” Echo in the other distance replies, ”Halloa yourself, and see how you like it!”

1 a.m.--Irrepressibles still absent on sh.o.r.e; a dog barks loudly in the dark; a noise is heard in a far away hen-coop--Irrepressibles looking diligently for bait.

1:30 a.m.--Dog sitting on the sh.o.r.e howling; very heavy breathing in the cabin; noise of oars in the rowlocks; music on the water, chorus of youthful male voices, singing ”A smuggler's life is a merry, merry, life.” Subdued noise of hens; dog still howling; no moon yet; more noise of hens, bait rapidly approaching.

2 a.m.--Irrepressibles try to row yawl through sternlights of ”Lotus”; grand collision of yawl at full speed and a rakish cutter at anchor.

Profane language in the cabin; sleepy crew, half awake, rush up the hatchway, and denounce Irrepressibles. Irrepressibles sing ”Smuggler's Life,” etc.; terrific noise of hens; half-the-crew invite the Irrepressibles to ”be as decent as they can.” No moon yet; everybody packed in the cabin.

2:30 a.m.--Sudden squall. ”Lotus,” as usual, bends lovingly to the gale; dramatic youth in his bunk says, in deep voice, ”No sleep till morn!”

More dramatic youths say, ”I heard a voice cry, 'Sleep no more'.” Very deep voice says, ”Macbeth hath mur-r-r-r-dered sleep!” General confusion in the cabin. Old commodore of the ”Lotus” says, ”Gentlemen, a little less noise, if you please.” Noise subsides.