CHAPTER XI
A VISIT TO CHINATOWN
It was long after daybreak when Roy awoke. He sat up on the edge of his bunk to look at his timepiece, but almost immediately fell back on his pillow. Something was wrong with him. Roy had had very few illnesses in his life and he did not at first know what ailed him. He felt sick all over. He heard the ship’s bell strike and realized that if he wanted any breakfast he would have to hustle. But at the thought of food he felt worse than ever. In fact, it seemed as though he never wanted to take food again. The very idea of it made him feel worse. Then he knew what was the matter. He was seasick.
Presently he got to his feet and punched the call bell. Then he lay down again. He became conscious that the ship was rolling violently—at least the motion seemed violent to Roy, though a seasoned sailor would have smiled at the idea. Sometimes a lurch of the ship almost threw Roy out of bed. The wind was howling about the wireless house. Things were rattling and creaking under its pressure. Rain was falling. Roy was sure that the ship was in the midst of a terrible and dangerous storm. He wondered if he were needed. Then he wondered if he would be able to get to his operating table. He felt so sick that he was sure he was going to die.
Then Sam, the steward, appeared. Roy could hardly believe his eyes when he saw the venerable darky enter his room smiling. Roy didn’t see how anybody could smile in such a storm. And he said so to Sam.
“Lawd bless you, Mr. Mercer,” said Sam. “Dis yere ain’t no great storm. It’s only a little gale. Wait till you sees one o’ dem September exenoxtail storms. Den you’ll know what a real storm am like.”
Roy felt relieved. “I feel sick enough for anything, Sam,” he said. “I don’t believe even an equinoctial storm could make me feel any worse. Can you do anything for me, Sam?”
“Lawd bless you, Mr. Mercer, I’ll fix you up in no time. Jess you stay in bed till I gets back,” and Sam disappeared through the doorway. In a few moments he reappeared, with a lemon and some concoction he had mixed in a glass. Roy gulped the mixture down and presently felt somewhat better. After a time he rose and dressed, but he did not go near the breakfast table. From time to time he sucked at the lemon, as Sam had told him to do. By the middle of the forenoon he felt much better. When the dinner call came, he decided that he would go down to the dining-room and perhaps eat some soup.
He expected to be teased a little, but there was almost no one to plague him. Chair after chair was empty, only a few seasoned voyagers having ventured to the dining-room. The purser was at his table, smiling and jolly as usual. It cheered Roy merely to look at him. The captain was not present and Roy knew he was pacing the bridge. However much he disliked Captain Lansford, Roy knew that the commander would be found at his post of duty in time of stress. But little did Roy realize that before his time came to leave the Lycoming he would see the day when, of all the things for which he was grateful, he was most thankful because Captain Lansford was in command of the Lycoming.
By nightfall the ship had run past the storm, and by the next day the wind was again blowing at a normal velocity, though the water continued to be rough.
The passengers rapidly recovered from their seasickness, and left their staterooms. Again the decks were peopled with a jolly throng. On the sheltered side of the ship and on the after-deck, passengers sat in intimate little groups chatting, or in solitary aloofness, noses buried in the latest novels or magazines. Steamer chairs were set in rows, with indolent old ladies, corpulent men, and weary invalids reclining at ease in them. In the saloon little knots of passengers were gathered about tables playing cards. Games were played on the open parts of the deck, such as ring toss, and bean bags. Altogether it was a happy company aboard the Lycoming.
As is always the case at sea, formalities were forgotten. Acquaintances were easily made and before the voyage was half over everybody knew everybody else. Roy profited by the opportunity and soon was on speaking terms with most of the passengers. His uniform was his introduction, and after what the purser had said about him, everybody was eager to make his acquaintance.
It was a real opportunity for Roy to cultivate social grace, and he realized this. Keen of observation, he had long ago noted the great differences in manner in different persons. Some, by their pleasing way, he saw, charmed and attracted all with whom they came in contact, like the purser. Others, like the captain, seemed to repel and offend by their austerity of mien and deportment. Aboard ship Roy met all types of people and had abundant opportunity to study them and analyze the effects produced by their conduct. Most of all he studied the purser. Everybody liked the purser, and Roy saw that this was invaluable to Mr. Robbins. He could deal with more passengers in an hour than some men could handle in double that time. And he could obtain favors that were denied others. The secret of Mr. Robbins’ power, Roy came to believe, lay in his kindliness of heart, coupled with his invariable cheerfulness and his unimpeachable integrity. Roy came to understand that true courtesy is merely good-will expressed through kindness. The more he studied people the more clearly Roy saw that a man’s manners have much to do with his success or failure in life.
“If that’s the case,” thought Roy, “a fellow’s a fool not to cultivate a pleasing way. What’s the use of working hard to learn a trade or a profession or a business and then lose half the advantage of that training by lack of proper manners?”
Thereafter he consciously strove to make people like him. That was not a difficult task, for Roy was good-looking and both witty and sunny in disposition. Before long he found himself a general favorite. In a way that troubled Roy, for passengers persisted in coming to the wireless house, which was contrary to regulations. He had to inform visitors that unless they came on business he could not allow them in the wireless house. As Roy was popular and everybody aboard was interested in him and his work, passengers began to send messages merely that they might see something of the wireless house. The result was a tremendous increase in business—an increase which the Marconi people were not slow to notice. Thus, although he did not realize it, Roy was already profiting by his effort to cultivate charm of manner.
Swiftly the days went by. The weather continued fair and pleasant. Roy remained busy. He had many messages to send for passengers and at night he continued to take the time and weather signals and to jot down the day’s news for the captain. Most of all he loved to listen in at night when the air was vibrant with wireless voices. Every night he talked to Reynolds, and soon felt as though they were old acquaintances. Behind the Lycoming, Roy soon discovered, were some of the vessels he had visited with the purser in Galveston. He had many a conversation with them before finally the Lycoming, just at dusk, drew abreast of the signal station at Sandy Hook, and a string of flags was hoisted above the Lycoming announcing her safe arrival. The flags came fluttering down and Roy knew that the marine observer was probably already sending out the news that the Lycoming, with cotton aboard, had arrived from Galveston. It was dark when the ship reached quarantine, and dropped her anchor just off the Staten Island shore to await a medical inspection in the morning.
The quarantine officials were astir early and the Lycoming was soon on her way up the harbor. Roy had no work to do, and he came out on deck to enjoy the stirring scene. Mr. Young was in command, and he invited Roy to join him on the bridge. Roy was amazed at the great number of ships in the harbor. Never had he seen anything like so many. Ordinarily the waters of the upper bay hold but few ships at anchor. Now there were vast fleets of anchored ships. Usually, Roy knew, tramp ships were almost the only vessels to be found anchored in the harbor. But now he saw dozens of fine, large ships that were quite evidently liners, lying in one or another of the various anchorages. He could make out the names of some of the vessels, so that he was sure he was right.
“How does it come,” he asked the first officer, “that these liners lie here at anchor instead of at their piers?”
“Because some other ships occupy their piers,” explained Mr. Young. “The harbor has never seen such congestion as exists now. It is relatively as crowded as Fifth Avenue on a sunny afternoon. So many ships now come to this port that it is necessary to have a marine traffic squad, just as they have a traffic squad ashore to direct land traffic. You have seen traffic policemen at the street corners holding up traffic and sending it this way and that. If you keep your eyes open, you will see the same thing out here on the water. Dozens of great liners are arriving daily with soldiers and war supplies and the usual freight of commerce. Docking space gave out long ago, so the traffic squad regulates the matter of unloading, assigning different docks to the different ships as fast as there is room. Sometimes there are more than 150 great ships lying at anchor at one time. Many of these are craft built since the war began. Every night a number of ships arrive off quarantine, just as we did, and they must anchor there until examined by the officials. The doctors get to work at six-thirty and the early part of the day is a pretty busy time in this harbor. Every morning there’s a regular procession of ships steaming up to their piers from quarantine.”
Roy looked behind him and saw several ships following the Lycoming. There were four ahead of the Lycoming, but he had not realized what a string of incoming ships there was. Suddenly a swift little craft came darting across the water, straight toward the advancing line of ships.
“There’s one of the patrol boats,” said Mr. Young. “Probably it has directions for some of us.”
The little boat, which was one of seven patrol boats directing the traffic, steamed directly toward the ship immediately ahead of the Lycoming, turned when abreast of her, and shot close to her side. A traffic official shouted something through a megaphone and waved his hand toward the statue of Liberty. At once the big ship swung toward Bedloe’s Island, and in a few minutes Roy heard her chain rattle as she dropped her anchor. Meantime, the patrol craft had sped past the Lycoming, the man with the megaphone directing Mr. Young to proceed to his accustomed dock.
“I’m glad they aren’t going to hold us up,” said Mr. Young, as he rejoined Roy. “We might swing at anchor for a week if we ever got into that crowd.”
He waved his hand toward the western anchorage, where a great fleet of ships tugged at their anchor chains.
“Why, there are dozens and dozens of them,” exclaimed Roy. “They seem to be anchored in groups.”
“Yes. That is to make room for ships to pass. You see there is one big group between Robbins’ Reef light and the Jersey shore. That is an anchorage for general cargoes. Then you notice a great pier built out from the Jersey shore and the narrow channel leading to it. Just north of that channel a little way is the anchorage ground for ships loaded with explosives. It is just below Black Tom Island, where that awful explosion occurred during the war. Above that point the anchorage extends north of Ellis Island. Altogether that’s a space several miles long, and it’s just jammed with ships. Over on the Brooklyn side and even far up the Hudson the anchorages are crowded.”
“I’m glad I have seen this,” said Roy. “It is wonderful.”
“You may well be glad. We used to think New York harbor was a pretty busy place before the war, but it was dead compared with the present conditions. I don’t know what we’ll do if traffic continues to increase the way it has been increasing the last few months. The only thing that saves the harbor from utter confusion now is the traffic squad. Its power is absolute and we have to do exactly as the patrolmen say. So they keep excellent order and prevent all sorts of trouble. But I tell you they are strict. It doesn’t take much of an offense to bring a fine on a ship captain, and for a serious offense he may even lose his papers.”
Just then Captain Lansford came on the bridge with a despatch in his hand. “I will take charge, Mr. Young,” he said. Then, turning to Roy, he said brusquely, “Send this.”
Roy took the despatch from the captain and returned to the wireless house. There was the usual number of messages to send for the passengers, telling of a safe arrival, and by the time Roy came out of the wireless house again, the Lycoming lay snug in her dock. Hatches and ports were open, and the derrick booms were creaking as they hoisted from the hold great slingfuls of trunks and other baggage. The purser, as usual at such a time, was buried under an avalanche of work, and Roy spent the day helping him. He had formed a real affection for the purser, and was rapidly making himself invaluable to that official. Having assisted him once before, Roy was now somewhat familiar with the purser’s work. The thought that he was really helping his friend gave Roy genuine pleasure. He was so busy and so preoccupied that he did not notice the clamor and racket on the pier, as the ship was unloaded, or hear the roar and clatter from the water-front.
Night hushed the discordant noises of the day as effectually as though some one had clamped a lid down on them. The streets were already deserted and quiet when Mr. Robbins threw down his pen and heaved a deep sigh.
“There,” he exclaimed, “that’s a good day’s work—a mighty good day’s work. And the Bible tells us the laborer is worthy of his hire. Get your cap, Roy, and we’ll get something to eat. No ship’s grub for us to-night, eh?”
They went ashore, caught an up-town subway train in a few minutes, and got out at Worth Street. A short walk took them through an Italian district to Chinatown. Roy had never visited Chinatown before. He was so much interested in what he saw that the purser could hardly drag him away from the shop-windows. There were wonderful pieces of needlework on display, intricate and weird carvings of ivory and ebony, curious little trinkets and ornaments of jade and semiprecious stones, vases little and large, brass trays and ornaments, and a thousand other unfamiliar and strange objects. But what interested Roy more than anything else was the strange foods displayed in the provision shops. There were dried fish, dried fowls, dried meats, curious candies made of some gummy substance covered with queer little seeds, or dried orange-peel or other vegetable growths covered with a coating of sugar. There were Chinese cabbages, unlike any cabbage Roy had ever seen, for instead of being round or flat, they were tall and urn-like, or even cylindrical. There were curious creamy-white little things in big baskets that the purser said were bamboo shoots, and water-chestnuts that looked like lily bulbs.
The purser led the way to a restaurant in Pell Street. Its atmosphere was so strange and foreign that Roy was almost startled. Heavy, curiously wrought hangings decorated the walls. Great screens, ornamented with elaborate needlework, stood here and there. Dragons and curious birds were wrought on them. Grilles of elaborately carved ebony divided the dining-room into smaller compartments. The little tables and the stools about them were of teak-wood or ebony, elaborately carved by hand, and very heavy. Lustrous banners with heavy dragons on them hung here and there. Slit-eyed Chinese stood silent and inscrutable in their curious dress, ready to take orders. The odor that pervaded the place was unlike anything Roy had ever smelled. Partly it was the odor of cooking, partly of incense, partly of tobacco, though Roy was not able to analyze it. All he knew was that it was as unusual and striking as the bizarre decorations.
“Lots of people would not think of eating in a Chinese restaurant,” said the purser as they seated themselves, “but such a prejudice is unreasonable and foolish. Chinese cooks are clean. They are probably the best cooks in the world, not even excepting the French, who have such a great reputation. You see China swarms with a population really too great to be supported by the country’s resources. So the greatest thing in a Chinaman’s existence is the food problem. Everybody learns to cook, and to make delectable dishes out of almost nothing. In all the world there are no more delicious foods than some the Chinese make. As you probably don’t know what to order, I am going to take the liberty of ordering for us both.”
The purser called the waiter and ordered chicken omelette, fried noodles, a little chop suey, a ham omelette, some preserved kumquats, and some Chinese candy. He told the waiter to bring the dishes one at a time so that they would be warm. While the cook was preparing the order, the waiter brought two bowls of rice and a pot of tea, with sugar and some tiny cups. Mr. Robbins filled the cups and they sampled the beverage. Roy had never tasted such delicious tea. Nor had he ever seen rice cooked like that in the bowls. It was perfectly cooked yet dry and flaky. It was not at all the mushy stuff he had eaten in American homes.
“The Chinese,” explained Mr. Robbins, “eat rice just as we do bread. Most of their dishes are more or less greasy or soupy, and the rice takes up the gravy very nicely. Chinamen eat it with chop-sticks, and they will bring you some if you want to try it. But I suspect you will make much better weather of it if you use a fork.”
Roy laughed. “A fork for mine,” he said.
Presently the waiter brought a ham omelette. Mr. Robbins cut it in half and served it. “Bring the chop suey, too,” he said.
That was fetched and they fell to. But Roy hadn’t eaten more than two bites before he stopped and looked at the purser.
“That omelette is the best thing I ever tasted,” he commented.
“Wait till the chicken omelette comes,” smiled the purser.
They ate the ham omelette and nibbled at the chop suey as a side-dish. Then the waiter brought the chicken omelette and the fried noodles. The chicken omelette wasn’t so much unlike a good chicken potpie, but it was more delicious than any chicken dish Roy had ever eaten. The noodles were curious little slivers of dough fried crisp and covered with gravy. They were good, too. But Roy was sure he had never tasted anything so delicious as the two omelettes. He ate until he could hold no more.
When they left the restaurant Roy thanked the purser for the treat. “I’m obliged to you for the food,” he said, “but I’m more obliged to you for showing me something new. I might never have known about the Chinese way of cooking if it hadn’t been for this experience.”
“Good!” smiled the purser. “I’m glad you put it that way. Lots of people lose a great deal of fun and happiness in this life because they aren’t willing to try new things. The older we get, the worse our prejudices become.”
Roy’s face grew serious at once. “I should say so,” he answered. “Look at Captain Lansford. Why, his ship is a thousand times safer because he has a wireless outfit. Yet he doesn’t like it at all. It hardly seems possible that anybody can be so unreasonable.”
“It does not. Yet the world is full of such foolish prejudices.”
“Well,” sighed Roy, “I hope that I’ll never get like that.”
“You won’t if you try not to, Roy. But you may if you don’t. You know eternal vigilance is the price of liberty. And that applies to mental liberty as well as political.”
They walked slowly back to the ship, passing again through the lower end of the down-town Italian district. Roy was instantly attracted by the names on the shop fronts and the objects offered for sale, particularly the oddly-shaped and highly-colored candies and pastry.
“My, but there are a lot of Italians here,” said Roy. “Almost enough to make a city by themselves.”
The purser smiled. “Do you know what is the largest Italian city in the world, Roy?” he asked.
“Rome, I suppose,” answered Roy.
“New York City,” said the purser. “There are more Italians here than Rome or any other city in Italy ever saw at one time.”
Roy expressed his surprise.
“And there are more Jews here than ever inhabited Jerusalem,” continued the purser. “New York has more than 7,000,000 population—more people than most of our states contain—and among those millions are a great number of colonies of foreigners, each large enough to make a good-sized city. Some day we’ll make a trip through the Italian sections and try some Italian cooking.”
“Fine,” said Roy. “That’ll be my treat.”
When they reached the ship the purser said good-night. Roy went to the wireless house and caught the weather-report and listened to some of the messages scudding through the air. But when he was ready to retire he was as wide-awake as he would have been at noon, although it was past midnight. The unaccustomed amount of tea he had drunk had made him sleepless. It was a beautiful, warm June night, and Roy went out and sat on the deck to watch the stars and the twinkling lights ashore and in the harbor.
How long Roy sat there he did not know, but it was some time after two bells, and the harbor was as quiet as it ever becomes, when Roy heard the sound of a motor-boat. There was nothing unusual in that and Roy would have given the matter no thought had not the engine suddenly stopped. The sound seemed to have been straight out from the Lycoming’s pier. Roy at once thought that the little craft was suffering from engine trouble. He wondered where and what it was and if help were needed. Thinking he might be able to see its lights, Roy walked to the stern and sat down on a life-raft. No lights were visible. That did not seem strange, as Roy’s vision was obstructed on either hand by a long pier shed. Near the Jersey shore a ferry-boat, brilliantly illuminated, was drawing into its slip, and Roy almost forgot the motor-boat as he watched the distant ferry.
Then suddenly he sat straight up with a start. The sound of oars came to his ears. They were dipping slowly and gently in the water and ordinarily such a slight sound would have been indistinguishable. But the silent, empty pier sheds acted as sounding-boards and both magnified and reflected the sound. Roy’s first thought was that the passengers in the motor-boat had abandoned their craft and were coming ashore in a rowboat. He wondered how they would make a landing, for the doors of the pier sheds were tightly closed. Probably, thought Roy, they see the lights of the Lycoming and hope to get aboard her. The dock between the piers was so dark that Roy could hardly see anything in it. He strained his eyes but could not make out the boat. He was about to call out to it, for he was certain that it was in the dock, when it occurred to him that if the occupants of the boat were in distress they would make their presence known. Then, for the first time, he thought of thieves.
Just then the glowing ferry-boat came directly astern of the Lycoming; and, although it was on the other side of the river, the broad reflection of its lights in the water, like a ribbon of gold, showed Roy the boat he was looking for. He could see it but dimly, yet he was certain that the craft below him was the motor-boat itself. Three men were in it. One was carefully propelling it with long oars, and the attitudes of the two others showed that great caution was being observed in the approach.
Roy sat still as an image. He was now fully convinced that the men in the boat were thieves. What they were after he could not conceive. They could not hope to get aboard the Lycoming, for a sailor was on watch. Nor could they hope to break into a pier shed. Roy crushed down his desire to raise an alarm and sat silent, determined to discover what they were up to before he made any move. If the Lycoming were their object, he would thwart them. He had not long to wait. Very cautiously the motor-boat crept near the Lycoming. A long, low whistle was heard and all was still again. Then Roy heard an indistinct, guarded sound, like the careful raising of a window, followed by a low whistle. The motor-boat stole cautiously to the very side of the Lycoming. Roy crept to the edge of the deck, in order to keep the boat under observation, and peered down. Distinctly he could see that one of the lower ports was open and two heads were thrust out. Then the heads disappeared and a moment later a small bale of something came slowly through the port and was seized by the men in the motor-boat. They stowed it away in the boat, then turned again to the open port.
Roy had seen enough. It was time for action. But what should he do? Roy’s mind worked like lightning. If he raised an outcry the thieves would start their engine and be off while their confederates on the Lycoming would slip back to their quarters. If the thieves were to be caught, it must be done by stealth. But how? In a second Roy thought of the wireless.
Cautiously drawing back from the edge of the deck, he tiptoed rapidly to the wireless house, threw open his switch, and sent forth a call.
“KIN—KIN—KIN—WNA,” flashed his signal through the night.
Almost immediately came back the answer, “WNA—III—GA.” It was the police boat Patrol replying to Roy’s frantic call.
“This is the Confederated liner Lycoming, pier 14, North River,” rapped out Roy as fast as he could work his key. “Thieves in motor-boat taking stuff from confederates in the ship. What shall we do?”
“Watch. Raise no alarm until we enter the slip.”
It was no great distance to Harbor A Station and Roy knew that the Patrol would be at the end of the slip in a short time. He tiptoed down the ladder and hurried to the officers’ quarters. All was in darkness. He tried the captain’s door. It was locked. Roy dared not rap on it for fear of alarming the thieves. Mr. Young’s door was also fastened. But the second officer’s door opened under Roy’s hand. The occupant was snoring like a fat hog. Roy shook him by the shoulder.
“Mr. Adams,” he said softly. “Wake up. Thieves are at work below.”
The second officer was on his feet in a flash. “Where?” he demanded, rushing toward the door.
“Wait!” said Roy. “If we want to catch them, we mustn’t make a sound. Some of the crew are passing stuff out of an open port to men in a motor-boat. I’ve called the police and they will be here in a minute. They’ll pull into the slip and catch the men in the boat and we’ll grab the men on the ship. If you have a flash-light, put it in your pocket. We’ll need it down in the dark hold.”
“You watch for the police boat,” said Mr. Adams. “I’ll get some sailors and be ready to grab those fellows in the hold.”
Roy stole to the deck and cautiously watched the dark forms below. His heart beat so loud he was afraid the thieves would hear him. Seconds seemed like minutes. Time seemed actually to stand still, so fearful was he that the thieves would get away before the police came. Anxiously he kept glancing at the end of the slip, but the Patrol did not come. Meantime, the motor-boat was loaded almost to capacity. If the police did not arrive soon it would be too late. Suddenly Roy became aware that a rowboat was stealing along the other side of the slip. It was more than half-way in before Roy discovered it. The boatmen rowed with muffled oars, but came on swiftly. Were they more thieves? Roy did not know what to do. It was useless to call the police again. Why didn’t they hurry?
Meantime the rowboat came silently on. It stole along the far side of the slip until nearly opposite the Lycoming, then shot toward the motor-boat. Roy was in an agony of uncertainty. He could do nothing but watch and pray for the police to make haste.
Then suddenly a great light flashed from the bow of the rowboat and fell full on the men in the motor-boat. “Hands up or we’ll shoot,” came a stern warning.
The rowboat was full of policemen. The thieves hesitated a second, then raised their hands above their heads. The rowboat glided alongside the motor-boat, the thieves were skilfully searched for weapons, handcuffed, and transferred to the police boat.
Meantime an uproar arose within the ship’s hold. There were curses, cries, and blows. But the noise soon subsided, for two policemen leaped through the open port and helped to subdue the thieves on board. The latter were dragged to the deck and there recognized as the men who had joined the crew at Galveston. The noise had aroused everybody aboard. Captain Lansford came running down the stairway, inquiring about the disturbance.
“We discovered these men passing stuff out to some thieves in a motor-boat,” explained Mr. Adams, “and while the police attended to the fellows outside, we grabbed those in the hold.”
Roy, coming down the stairway, heard every word. His heart flamed with indignation. Mr. Adams had not even mentioned him, but had taken full credit for the capture. Roy was not seeking for glory, but under the circumstances he did want the captain to know the truth. He was almost minded to speak out, especially when the captain said, “Excellent, Mr. Adams. These fellows are probably smugglers, and if that proves to be the case, you have saved me a lot of trouble. I shall remember this.”
That was high praise from Captain Lansford, and Roy’s face burned with indignation as he listened. Wisely, however, he held his peace. A moment later he was glad he had. The roundsman in charge of the police came on deck and asked for the wireless man. When Roy was pointed out, he said, “Young man, I want to thank you for the good judgment you showed. This is a gang we’ve been after for months, and they would have given us the slip again if there had been the least alarm. We are obliged to you and your captain ought to be more so.”
Roy’s face flushed again, but this time for a far different reason. His heart beat with joy. But all the joy faded when the captain, after learning the truth, turned to him and said sternly, “Mr. Mercer, in a case of this sort you should have notified the commanding officer at once. Your failure to do so is inexcusable.”