The call had come for the brisk beginning of the strangest duties in which young Halstead had ever been employed.
"Captain Halstead, my friend, Mr. Jason Ross," announced Mr. Baldwin, crisply, as soon as the young skipper had closed the owner's door behind him.
Mr. Ross was a man of forty-five, and looked like a man who might be of much importance in the financial world. Yet he was presented to Halstead, for on a yacht the captain is considered next in importance to the owner.
Tom modestly greeted Mr. Ross.
"Sit down, Captain," snapped out the owner, though not unkindly. "Now, I've got to take you into my confidence a bit. Delavan's word for you makes me feel that I can safely do it."
Tom had only time to nod ere Mr. Baldwin went on, crisply:
"My guests are on board, with one exception. In a way, the exception is the most important one of us all. He isn't so very important in himself, but Gaston Giddings, though a very weak, foolish young man, happened to succeed his father in the principal control and presidency of the Sheepmen's National Bank. Young Giddings and the funds his bank can supply are of the utmost importance to my associates and myself in some big enterprises we are putting through. Do I make myself clear?"
"Wholly so, sir," Tom answered, quietly.
"Now, Giddings, besides being several kinds of plain and ornamental fool—no, I won't quite say that, but this weak young man has one fearful fault for the head of a bank——"
Joseph Baldwin paused in his rapid speech. He looked sharply at Mr. Ross an instant, then continued:
"Oh, well, Frank Delavan told me I could trust you and Dawson with anything from my yacht to my reputation. You understand that what I'm telling you, Captain, is absolutely confidential?"
"Of course, sir," responded Tom, quietly.
"Well, then, within the last three months young Giddings has, in some way we can't understand, fallen a victim to the opium habit. The young man is all but totally wrecked by the vile drug. How, or why, he started, none of us can understand. You see, a good many of us older men, who were fast friends of his father, have tried to stand by the young man. Two of to-night's party are directors in the Sheepmen's Bank. We've tried to get the bank's funds placed in interests that we control, so that young Giddings couldn't go very far wrong, by not having enough money left in his charge to wreck the bank. You follow me?"
"I—I think so, Mr. Baldwin."
"Truth to tell," pursued the owner, "I had planned—my friends on board with me—to go out ostensibly for one night, but really to be gone for several days. One of our friends is a specialist in the opium habit—Dr. Gray. We had hoped, on this trip, to plan some financial enterprises that would use up, for the present, the dangerously large balance at the Sheepmen's Bank. At the same time we were going to try to force young Giddings to agree to heroic medical treatment in order to overcome his fearful vice."
Tom Halstead remained silent, but attentive.
"Now, at the last moment," pursued Mr. Baldwin, "we hear that Giddings was seen in a closed carriage, evidently headed for Chinatown, that vile Oriental section of San Francisco, where the opium vice flourishes at its worst. And in Chinatown a man can disappear so completely that his friends can't find him again in years. Giddings was to be here to-night, but he's in a Chinatown opium den instead. If we appeal to the police, it'll all be in the newspapers. There'll be a scandal that will disgrace Giddings forever, start a run on the Sheepmen's Bank, and—though this is the least of our worries—will delay for some time the pushing of the big financial game in which my friends and myself are interested. Now, we've got to find some way of getting at Giddings, and of bringing him on board without trouble or noise. I've told you this much, Captain Halstead, so that you'll understand the need of secrecy. If we can find Giddings, and get him out here, then we must bring him over the side and get him into his stateroom without his being seen by any of the crew on board, except, possibly, by one or two of your own comrades whom you think you can best trust."
"I can trust every one of 'em, sir," declared Captain Tom, promptly. "So will you, when you know them better."
"Then, Captain, before we make any move to find Giddings in his Chinatown hiding-place, and attempt to get him aboard this yacht, we must have all of the crew safely out of the way, save for your own personal friends among the officers."
"I can plan for the crew to go ashore," declared Tom Halstead. "I have only to state that you've decided to delay putting out to sea, and that you've been good enough to grant the men a night on shore at the theatre at your expense. That will take every one of them over the side. Do you want Mr. Costigan to go?"
"Why, I think Costigan is all right, but he isn't needed here, anyway, so he'd better go ashore also."
"Easily settled, then, Mr. Baldwin. I can send Mr. Costigan off in charge of the shore party. At what hour do you wish them all to return, sir?"
"Not a minute before midnight!"
"Very good, sir. I can tell Mr. Costigan that you've been called ashore, that you will dine there, and that you are very glad of this opportunity to give the older members of the crew a chance to enjoy themselves ashore."
"Excellent, indeed!" cried Mr. Baldwin, in a low tone. "What do you say, Ross?"
"If Captain Halstead can vouch so heartily for the silence and discretion of his own friends, then the plan ought to clear the decks so that we can get Giddings aboard—if we find him—without any comment or scandal at all," agreed Jason Ross.
Joseph Baldwin employed himself stripping a few banknotes from a roll that he drew from a trousers pocket.
"Give this money to Mr. Costigan, Captain, and tell him to see to it that the men have a good time on shore—though no drunkenness! And you, Captain Halstead, I trust to see to it that none but your own friends remain aboard."
Ten minutes later Captain Tom returned to the owner's suite to report that Third Officer Costigan and the crew, including the stewards and cooks, had gone ashore in the tender, Jeff Randolph running the boat in.
"How soon will Randolph be back?" asked Mr. Baldwin.
"Within ten minutes, sir."
"Then I shall want him to put Mr. Ross and myself ashore. We two must take up the seemingly impossible task of locating young Giddings in the heart of Chinatown's slums, and bring him here by force, yet without noise. Once we get him on board, and below, we can keep the young man quiet until morning, when we'll be well out on the ocean. Dr. Gray will attend to that."
"Are your friends going to remain on board, without dinner?" asked Halstead.
"No; they can go ashore and get dinner at a restaurant, returning presently. Mr. Randolph can keep the tender at the landing stage until they return. Then, as soon as he has brought our other friends aboard, Mr. Randolph can return for Ross and myself, when we get back. But Mr. Randolph must not let Costigan or the crew get aboard until after we've returned."
"I'll make his instructions clear on that point," nodded Tom.
"That is all, then. Let me know when the tender returns."
"Hold on, a moment, Baldwin," interposed Mr. Ross.
"Well?"
"Baldwin, neither of us is in what might be called the pink of condition, and young Giddings may put up a fight in his half-crazed way. Don't we need a little real brawn with us?"
"Taking Captain Halstead with us, do you mean?"
"That was the idea that had come into my head," nodded Mr. Ross.
"Yes; it would be an excellent idea. Captain, you will go with us. Leave your first officer in command here until we return."
"Very good, sir."
Tom Halstead saluted, then withdrew. He gave his orders quickly, not deeming it necessary to mention any phase of the story of young Gaston Giddings to his comrades of the Motor Boat Club.
As soon as the launch was alongside Tom hastened to inform Mr. Baldwin. The entire party thereupon came out on deck, gathering at the side gangway. They speedily embarked in the tender, in which Jeff sat where he could handle both engine and steering gear.
"Your instructions are clear, Mr. Perkins?" called Tom Halstead, softly, from the launch.
"Quite clear, sir," Ab replied. "The instructions will be followed to the letter."
"Shove off, then," Tom commanded. "To the landing stage, Mr. Randolph."
It would have been almost laughable, to anyone who had witnessed the frolicsome motor boat boys going through their hazing affair of the forenoon, had he now been at hand to hear them using the stately "mister" and "sir" with all the gravity of naval officers.
Jeff speedily had the party ashore.
Twenty minutes later a closed cab rolled slowly in at one corner of gayly-lighted, malodorous Chinatown. The vehicle contained Messrs. Baldwin and Ross and young Captain Tom Halstead. In this poisonous atmosphere they sought a young human wreck, Gaston Giddings.
During the ride from the water front Captain Tom Halstead had sat on the front seat of the cab, quiet and reserved.
Now, as they entered the outer confines of Chinatown, Halstead leaned slightly forward, peering out at the shops and at the queer Oriental jumble, mixed here and there with white people, that thronged the narrow sidewalks.
"Are you headed for any particular place, sir?" queried the young skipper, after a few moments.
"No," admitted Mr. Baldwin. "I know nothing of Chinatown. We must drive through, first of all, at a venture. Presently an idea may come to us. Whatever we do, our plans must soon be formed. If I dared speak to a police officer—but the risk is too great."
"There's a restaurant," murmured the boy, suddenly. "It looks like a big and clean place. Why don't you and Mr. Ross slip in there, have some tea or something, and let me prowl about in these queer, crooked streets for a few minutes? Chinatown is only a few blocks in extent, I understand. I may be able to learn something that way, unless you have a better plan, sir."
"I am afraid you'll run into danger, alone in this barbarous crowd," objected Mr. Baldwin.
"I'm not in the least afraid," smiled Tom, confidently. "Two prosperous looking men like you might attract attention, but, as for me, the people hereabouts will think only that I'm some young sailor ashore for a lark. Shall I stop the cab, sir?"
"Yes," agreed Joseph Baldwin, though he spoke doubtfully.
Tom's hand shot up at once, grabbing the check string. The driver pulled up his horses, then came to the door, opening it.
"This will be as good a place for you to remain, driver, as anywhere," said Halstead, as he stepped out. Then he turned, waiting for Messrs. Baldwin and Ross to alight.
"Shall I find you in that restaurant, sir?" the young skipper inquired.
"Yes; but don't be too long away, Halstead, or we shall be more uneasy than ever."
"Trust a sailor to take care of himself in any crowd, sir," laughed Tom Halstead, jauntily. With that he stepped off, at a more rolling gait than he usually employed on shore.
The young motor boat captain carried in his mind a good personal description of Gaston Giddings. He had secured this from Mr. Baldwin before leaving the yacht.
"Ugh! The smell here is worse than in New York's Chinatown," Tom told himself, disgustedly.
From upper windows of some of the buildings that lined the narrow, dirty streets came the squawkings of Chinese fiddles and other discordant "musical" instruments of a wholly Oriental type. There seemed to be two or three joss-houses, or temples, in every short block. On the street floors, however, stores offering all kinds of Chinese merchandise were most common. Tom suspected that the gambling places and opium joints lay in the rear of these stores.
"Want a guide to Chinatown? Show ye everything, boss, for two dollars. Show ye every real sight in Chinatown," appealed a seedy, dirty, young white man who now held Tom by one sleeve.
"Anything really worth seeing?" asked Halstead, smilingly.
"Oh, everything worth seeing," responded the seedy guide, with a wide wave of one arm. "Best two dollars' worth you ever had. Most curious sights you ever saw in any part of the world. Sailor, ain't ye?"
"Yes."
"Sailors are my specialty," declared the seedy guide, grimly. "Come, ye'd better haul up the two dollars and let me take you about."
"What about opium joints, for instance?" asked Tom Halstead, speaking as though he had not enthused much as yet.
"I know 'em all," asserted the seedy guide, eagerly. "Want to smoke the opium pipe?"
"Can't say," replied Tom, vaguely. "Yet, if I do go around with you, you've got to take me to the really swell opium places."
"Oh, I can do it—better'n any other guide in Chinatown," promised the fellow, quickly. "Come, just hand over the two dollars, and see what I can show you."
With a great pretense of reluctance Captain Tom produced four half dollars, which he handed to the guide.
"Remember, now," he said, "I want what you might call the aristocratic places."
"If ye ain't satisfied," promised the guide, glibly, "then ye'll get your money back."
"Go ahead, then, but mind what I told you."
Through dark alleyways, or through stores into rear apartments, Halstead followed his conductor. In rapid succession he passed in and out of half a dozen opium joints. One was as much like another as two kernels of wheat resemble each other.
In each place there was the same outer room, then the same bunk-room, an apartment fitted up with bunks at the sides. It was in these rooms that the smoking was done. The intending smoker stretched himself out in a bunk, while a Chinese attendant brought lamp and kit. A tiny ball of opium was quickly lighted—"cooked"—at the lamp's flame. Then this glowing pellet of opium was thrust into the bowl of an opium pipe, and the latter handed to the smoker in the bunk. The smoker consumed his pellet after two or three whiffs. After smoking three or four pipes, most of the smokers succumbed, falling back in a torpid sleep.
The air was heavy, disgusting in these places. Degraded white men and women were occasionally to be seen, though most of the smokers were Orientals, generally Chinese.
Heart-sick and dizzy, Tom Halstead still kept on, though, whenever he reached outer air, he took pains to inflate his lungs several times before again entering one of the wretched, squalid "joints."
Off the bunk-rooms several of these dens had "private" sleeping apartments, for white smokers who desired more privacy. Wherever he noted doors to such private rooms Tom Halstead thrust them open, glancing inside. Nor was his conduct resented. The opium smokers were too far gone to show or feel anger.
"You haven't shown me any very swell places yet," protested the young skipper, after leaving the seventh place.
The guide, a thin, undersized, slovenly man in his early thirties, turned to look the motor boat boy over keenly.
Tom noticed that the fellow's eyes had a look in them much like the look in the eyes of several of the smokers they had just seen.
"This fellow is an opium-user himself," decided Tom Halstead.
"Say, young feller," remarked the guide, in a cautious undertone, "you're looking for someone."
"Perhaps I am," the young skipper half admitted.
"Who is he?"
"No matter. But do you know any of the men who come here to Chinatown often to use the pipe?"
"Say, if there's any white hop-fiend that I don't know, then he's a brand-new one," rejoined the guide.
"Do you know a young man of twenty-four or five, about five-eight tall, dark, slim, rather fine-looking, smooth faced and with a slight scar under his right ear?"
"I guess that must be young Doc Gaston," whispered the guide.
Gaston? That was Giddings's first name. Tom Halstead started, though he strove to conceal his excitement.
"Where does Doc Gaston go?" he demanded.
"What'll you pay to find out?" insisted the guide, cunningly.
"Ten dollars."
"Make it fifty, and I'll do it for you."
Tom, however, stuck to his original price, though three or four minutes were lost in haggling.
"Ten dollars is the highest price," Tom declared, flatly. "That pays you for standing by me until I get Doc Gaston—if he's the one I'm looking for—outside of Chinatown."
"Well, gimme the money now, then," demanded the guide.
"Oh, no," retorted the young skipper, tartly. "You get the money after we're through and on the edge of Chinatown in a cab. Now, don't haggle any more, or I'll drop the matter altogether. Are you going to take my offer, or not?"
"Say, you'll sure pay the ten, will ye?" whined the fellow.
"As sure as there's a sky above us."
"Then come along."
"Where's the place?" questioned Tom Halstead.
"Around the next corner."
"Do you know where Yum Kee's restaurant is?"
"O' course. They call Yum Kee the Chinatown Delmonico."
"Lead me back there, then, and we'll get the carriage."
Tom Halstead had been around so many corners in this crowded, complex quarter of San Francisco that he had lost his bearings. The guide, however, piloted him back to the waiting cab within two minutes.
First of all, however, the young skipper peered in at the restaurant. Messrs. Baldwin and Ross were at one of the rear tables, eating.
"Tell the driver where to go, now, and we'll make the start," Tom instructed the guide. Soon afterwards they alighted before a brightly-lighted Chinese grocery store. Besides the proprietor, there were three or four clerks and a dozen yellow-skinned, pig-tailed customers in the place. The guide, with an air of being at home here, led the way straight back, pushing ajar a door at the rear. The instant they entered this rear compartment the sickening odor of sizzling opium greeted Captain Tom's nostrils. This proved to be the inevitable outer room, but the guide led into the adjoining bunk-room. In this latter apartment were half a dozen doors.
"Just look through 'em," whispered the guide. "Don't talk to me none. Remember, if there's a row here, I've got to make up a yarn that will square things for me."
Two of the private rooms into which Halstead boldly intruded proved to be empty.
In the third room a weazened little old Chinaman crouched over a lamp and a tray holding an outfit. He was preparing to remove these things. In the bunk, sprawled out, with glassy eyes, was a young man whom Tom Halstead recognized in a flash—weak, vice-ridden Gaston Giddings!
"Maybe what you likee here?" demanded the little old Chinaman, looking up with a snarl.
"Looking around," retorted Tom, grimly.
"Allee same—git!"
The guide had approached, taking a swift, shifty look in at the bunk.
"That's Doc Gaston, isn't it?" whispered Tom, over his shoulder.
"Don't ye know him?" queried the guide, suspiciously.
"He looks strange, with that glassy look in his eyes."
"That's Doc Gaston, all right. 'Least, that's what he calls himself in Chinatown."
"You allee same git—chop-chop," snarled the Chinaman, savagely. He had put the smoking outfit on the floor once more, and now pushed against the motor boat boy with both hands, trying to force him from the room. Tom, however, coolly and gravely picked the short Chinaman up off his feet, wheeled and put him down again on the floor of the bunkroom beyond.
"Now, shove off!" ordered Halstead, half gruffly. "Don't bother me again."
After flashing an ugly look at the motor boat boy, the Chinaman fled in the direction of the store.
"Now, whatcher going to do?" demanded the guide, nervously.
"If I can't get young Gaston to walking on his own feet, then I'm going to pick him up in my arms and carry him out to the carriage," answered Tom Halstead, firmly.
"Smoking joss-house!" gasped the guide. "D'ye know what'll happen? There'll be a house-full of them chinks down on us! Hatchet men—gun men—say, young feller, dontcher know that these here hop-joints are protected by the highbinders?"
Tom Halstead had heard of the Chinese highbinders in New York. He knew of them as a desperate crowd of yellow-skinned thugs. The guide's own terror was too real to be feigned.
"If you're afraid of this kind of a job, what did you come here for?" asked the young skipper, quickly, gruffly.
"Why, I thought ye was goin' to try to coax the young Doc out. But, say—taking him out by force—lemme get outer this on the jump!"
"No, you don't," roared Tom Halstead, with swift and quite unlooked-for energy. "Stand by, now!"
He gripped the guide by the arm, fairly forcing him over to the bunk in which the young opium smoker lay. Giddings, if it was really he, lay open-eyed, yet unheeding.
"Come, get up!" ordered the boy, reaching with both hands under the opium smoker's shoulders and raising him. "Out on your feet!"
A drowsy, unintelligible protest came from the stranger. But Tom fairly lifted him out onto his feet, then threw a strong, supporting arm about him.
"Now, walk! Come along!" ordered Halstead, briskly, taking hold of the young man with his other hand.
"Sufferin' joss-sticks!" wailed the guide. "Here come the chinks—number-one man and all!"
The door of the bunkroom burst open. Through the doorway rapidly advanced the gorgeously-dressed Chinaman whom Tom had supposed to be the proprietor of the store beyond. Back of him came four plainly-attired Chinamen with as hard-looking, evil faces as could be found in all Chinatown's quagmire of vice.
"This ain't my doings, Ling!" wailed the guide, quailing before the stern glances of the yellow leader—the "number-one man." "I told this young fellow he'd have to quit. Let us out."
"Yes; let us out!" repeated Tom Halstead, staring undauntedly into the eyes of Ling.
"Put him down," ordered Ling, nodding scowlingly at the stranger whom Halstead supported. "Then, maybe, we see what we do with you."
The air was full of danger of the most awesome kind. Though not a weapon showed, as yet, each of the four Chinese behind the proprietor stood with his hands thrust up into his sleeves. A Chinaman always carries his weapons up his sleeves, whence he can bring them down, into action, with incredible rapidity.
"Now, don't think you've got me frightened," uttered Tom Halstead, sturdily, gazing undauntedly at the Chinese. "There isn't any scare in me when I'm dealing with people like you. If you make one single false move you'll be the ones who'll be sorry for it. Ling, I'm going to take this young man out of here. His friends know where he is, and they've sent me here to get him. I'm going to take him out of here, chop-chop. If I'm not out of here in another minute or so, then this young man's friends will bring down police enough on you to clean the place out."
Ling laughed contemptuously.
"Oh, you may think you have money enough, and 'pull' enough, to keep the police from troubling you," jeered young Halstead. "But, if this young man's friends get after you, it'll make a noise that the police can't shut their ears to."
Two of the men behind Ling stood blocking the doorway. The other two, by now, were edging around to get on either side of the unflinching boy.
"You yellow scoundrels, get back, and stay back!" commanded Tom, glaring at them sternly.
There comes into notice, now and then, a man who has enough of the magnetic quality of bravery to hold a mob back. Tom Halstead was possessed of the grit needed for such an undertaking.
"Get out of the way, Ling—you and your heathen hatchet men," commanded the young skipper, resolutely. "I'm going past you. If I find any fellow in my way I'll knock him down. If you fight back, it'll be the finish of you and of this place. Gangway, you yellow idiots!"
"Gangway, You Yellow Idiots."
Still supporting, half dragging, the dazed young banker, Tom Halstead grittily pressed his way to the doorway and through it. One of Ling's henchmen attempted to stand immovable, but Halstead, with a quick blow of his open hand, sent the fellow stumbling backward.
"If you're thinking of creeping up behind me, don't try it," advised Halstead, as coolly as ever, as he started across the outer room.
He gained the closed door connecting with the outer store. Pausing here, a moment, he beheld two of Ling's yellow-visaged fellows creeping toward him.
"Back for yours—that'll keep you out of trouble," barked the young skipper, coolly, without raising a hand to defend himself. Then he threw the door open, calling backward over his shoulder:
"Don't you dare let this young man in here again, Ling. If you do, it'll wind you up."
With that the motor boat boy contrived to pilot his charge swiftly through the store. He was not safe until he had passed the last of these yellow men, and the young skipper knew it. Yet, at last, he had the stranger out on the sidewalk, one hand up to signal the driver of the cab.
The guide, keeping close to the motor boat boy, had managed to get out with him. But the little fellow was shaking as though seized with the ague.
"Get into the cab, and help me take the young man in," ordered Tom, and the guide was glad, indeed, to dive inside the carriage. In another moment they were driving away.
"Say, but you've got the nerve!" chattered the guide, his teeth knocking together.
"Maybe you'd have some nerve if you'd learn to leave hop alone," rejoined Halstead. "Hop" is the Chinatown name for opium.
Halstead sat on the rear seat, supporting the young banker beside him. In a little while the cab again halted in front of Yum Kee's restaurant.
"Here," said Halstead, producing a ten-dollar bill. "Take this. Skip as soon as you like."
"You oughter gimme more," whined the guide.
"I've given you all I agreed. No use trying to get any more."
The guide, thereupon, sprang out, vanishing within a few seconds. Going to the doorway of the restaurant, yet standing where he could keep a close watch on the cab, Tom uttered a long, low whistle. Messrs. Baldwin and Ross saw him instantly, and came hastening out. By the time they reached the cab the young skipper was inside again.
"Is this your young man?" asked Halstead, almost in a whisper.
"Yes," nodded Baldwin, a jubilant gleam showing in his eyes.
"Better jump in, then, sir, so we can get away quickly."
Gaston Giddings now leaned against Tom's shoulder, sleeping the sleep of drugged stupefaction.
"How on earth did you find him so soon?" questioned Joseph Baldwin, leaning forward when the cab had gone beyond the confines of Chinatown. Tom told the whole story, simply and modestly.
"Young man," uttered Jason Ross, solemnly, "I don't believe you have any idea, yet, of how huge a risk you ran yourself into. The Chinese criminal is desperate at all times, but ten-fold more so when he's on his own ground, surrounded only by his own crowd."
"Well, I got out, didn't I?" smiled the young skipper, coolly.
"Yes; but I marvel at it."
"I understand more and more why Delavan recommended these youngsters to me," breathed Joseph Baldwin, gleefully. "'Ready for anything,' he told me, was the motto of the Motor Boat Club boys."
When the cab rolled out onto the dock Jeff Randolph was found pacing back and forth on the landing stage. No other member of the crew was in sight, and Jeff stated that none of the others of Mr. Baldwin's party of guests had yet returned.
Gaston Giddings, still unaware of his surroundings, was helped aboard the tender. A swift trip was made to the "Panther," and the unfortunate young man was immediately carried below to be put to bed in one of the stateroom berths.
Half an hour later Mr. Baldwin's other guests returned from dinner. Jeff, who had gone back to meet them, brought them on board, next going back to await the arrival of Third Officer Costigan and the crew. Dr. Gray hastened below, to attend to Giddings, and to keep him quiet, also, after the crew should come on board.
As for Captain Tom, after receiving Ab Perkins's report that all was well aboard, he went to his own cabin, calling Joe Dawson, through the speaking tube, to join him. Here Joseph Baldwin found both youngsters.
"Captain Halstead, how much did you spend on my account, to-night?" asked the owner.
"Altogether, sir, twelve dollars on the guide."
"Never mind about any change, then," rejoined Mr. Baldwin, passing over a bank note.
"I think I can make change for that, sir," retorted Skipper Tom, his color rising. "I'm not out after 'tips,' you know, sir," he added, with a smile.
Producing a roll of money from an inner pocket, Halstead counted out eighty-eight dollars, which he handed to the owner.
"You may refuse, now, but I shall be even with you later," remarked Joseph Baldwin. "And now, Captain, as soon as you can, after the crew comes aboard, I want you to put out to sea. I'll give you more explicit orders as soon as we're seven or eight miles west of the coast."
"Very good, sir," replied Captain Tom, saluting as the owner turned to leave the captain's cabin.
"You've been running into a bit more excitement, have you?" queried Joe, smiling.
"A bit," laughed Halstead. Dawson asked no further questions.
At a few minutes after midnight Mr. Costigan returned with his shore party.
"It's your watch below, Mr. Costigan, until eight o'clock in the morning," First Officer Ab Perkins informed the third officer. "When you are called to turn out we'll be at sea."
"Very good, sir," replied Costigan, and went below to seek his berth. Neither the third officer nor any of the crew had any suspicion that anything unusual had happened this evening.
"Where's Mr. Costigan?" inquired Captain Halstead, coming forward.
"Gone below to sleep, sir," Ab replied.
"Then I'm afraid you'll have to rout him out. He'll have to stay on deck until he has piloted us through the Golden Gate. I want to be under way within five minutes."
Somewhat chagrined, Ab Perkins sent one of the crew below for the third officer. Costigan was speedily in evidence.
Now, one of the motors began to chug briskly below, and the two bow anchors came speedily up, being stowed by the watch. Joe was in the engine room with Jed Prentiss, while Captain Tom Halstead, feeling prouder and happier than ever in his life before, climbed to the bridge up behind the pilot house. After him went Dick Davis, whose watch it was to stand. Mr. Costigan, after seeing the anchors stowed, started for the bridge also.
"Give the engine room slow speed ahead, Mr. Davis," directed Tom.
Dick gave the bell-pull at the bridge rail the required jerk. The "Panther" began to move gracefully ahead, while Mr. Costigan, with the pilot-house speaking tube in his hand, called down the helmsman's orders.
"Dick, this is the real thing!" whispered Tom Halstead, jubilantly, in his comrade's ear while Costigan was busy at the speaking tube.
"It's as fine as bossing a liner," rejoined Dick Davis, enthusiastically.
"Better!" declared Halstead.
Dick presently signaled the engineer for more speed. The "Panther" ploughed through the waters of the bay, toward the Golden Gate.
As Tom Halstead peered through the night ahead he felt another ecstatic thrill. It was all so fine, so glorious! No doubt it was better for him, at this moment, that he could not foresee all that lay ahead of him.
It wasn't long before First Officer Ab Perkins also climbed the stairs to the bridge.
"If this craft runs on the rocks, it won't be for want of officers at their post," laughed Skipper Tom, gleefully.
"I couldn't keep away," confessed Ab. "It's the first time in my life I've ever stood on a real bridge by right. Oh, but this is a different thing altogether from the tiny bridge-deck of a fifty-foot boat!"
Third Officer Costigan paid no heed to the motor boat boys. Though Costigan had never held higher rank than he now enjoyed, standing watch on a bridge was no new sensation for him. The young Irishman thought, mainly, of the time when he would have the "Panther" through the Gate and well off the coast. Then he could turn in below.
Presently a fifth person joined the little squad on the bridge. It was Joseph Baldwin.
"You've a clear night and an easy sea, Captain," smiled the owner. "It's a fortunate sort of start for you."
"Yes, sir."
"When you're well clear of the Gate, Captain, look in on me down in the main cabin, and I'll give you your sailing orders for the night."
"Yes, sir."
Halstead knew his own dignity on the bridge. He was on duty, and did not attempt to engage the owner in any conversation other than that which concerned his present duties. Mr. Baldwin went below just after the "Panther's" prow was turned into the beginning of the Golden Gate, that magnificent approach to San Francisco harbor. The Gate is some two miles long, and nearly a mile wide, with an abundance of deep water for the passage of the largest craft afloat.
"What speed, sir?" asked Dick Davis.
"Ten miles is fast enough in this channel, isn't it, Mr. Costigan?" inquired the young captain.
"About as much as is best, sir."
Dick, at a sign from Halstead, communicated the order to the engine room. Twelve minutes later the "Panther" was clearing the Gate, leaving a track of foam behind her as Davis signaled for increased speed.
Joe, leaving his first assistant below at the motors, now joined the bridge squad.
"If there's nothing more, Captain," suggested Dawson, "I'll turn in below for the night."
Captain Halstead nodded. Soon afterwards he went below, to the main cabin.
"I've come to report for orders, Mr. Baldwin," he announced.
"They're simple enough," replied the owner. "Clear the coast by some twenty miles; then cruise south, at not too great speed—say, about twelve miles an hour."
"Do these orders hold until changed, sir?"
"Yes, Captain."
Tom saluted, then turned as though to leave the cabin, but Mr. Baldwin called him back.
"You're not needed on the bridge yet, Captain. Remain with us a little while, if you feel like it. You can see that Dr. Gray is keeping his own watch down here in the main cabin."
At that moment the physician, an elderly man, stepped out of a stateroom, closing the door after him.
"There! My patient will sleep for some hours, I think. I'll take the upper berth in his room to-night, so that I can hear him and attend to him if he wakes. Ah, good evening, Captain. Or is it good morning? I have been told of your fine work—on land, at that."
"Is Giddings going to be in anything like his right mind when he wakes?" asked Mr. Baldwin.
"Oh, in a general way, I think he'll know what he's saying," replied the physician. "But he won't be at all bright before thirty-six hours have passed. Even then I can't guarantee him. Opium drives him to the verge of mania."
When several of the others had engaged in conversation, and the doctor had taken a seat near the young captain, Tom asked:
"Is opium smoking a very great evil in San Francisco, Doctor? That is, do very many take to it?"
"Not a very large proportion of the white population, I am glad to say," responded the physician. "Still, when the hop habit does get hold of our white people it works fearful havoc with them. Opium and morphine streak all the crime in San Francisco. These habits are the horrible revenge that the Chinaman has taken upon the city for the persecution the Chinaman once suffered at the hands of our hoodlums."
"Then opium and morphine are largely responsible for the crime and vice in the big city we have just left?" asked Halstead.
"No; I won't say they're responsible," replied Dr. Gray. "But they color the wickedness of San Francisco in their own way. There's a heap of wickedness in every large city, but the crimes and vices here take on aspects that are tremendously due to the use of opium and morphine by the criminal classes. A very large percentage of our San Francisco jailbirds use either opium or morphine. These drugs give them a lower order of intelligence, and make them more cowardly, though often more desperate when they find themselves driven into a corner. Captain Halstead, be sure you never allow yourself to be tempted to use either of those drugs."
"Thank you; I don't believe I shall," smiled the young skipper. "Especially, after what I've seen to-night."
"Great as the curse of alcohol is," added Dr. Gray, "the bane of opium is ten-fold greater. In two or three generations it would ruin any race."
"Then why isn't the Chinese nation destroyed?" asked Halstead.
"Because, although we have imported these dread habits from China, only a small proportion of the Chinese people use the drugs. Those who do are the outcasts of China."
It was growing late, so the young skipper rose, inquiring whether the owner had any further orders for him.
"None, thank you, Captain," replied Mr. Baldwin.
Tom thereupon took his leave, returning to deck. The "Panther" was now miles westward of the coast.
"Ugh!" shivered young Halstead, as he stepped out on deck. Though it was February, the air had been all but balmy in town. Out on the bay there had been a little more chill in the air. But now, out on the wide expanse of the ocean, there was a cold, damp wind blowing that seemed to bite to the marrow after the bright warmth of the main cabin.
Tom promptly stepped into his own cabin, taking down his deck ulster and donning it. Then he made his way to the bridge, where Dick Davis was pacing from side to side.
"No; I don't want any ice cream, thank you," grinned Dick, as his captain joined him. Davis, who wore a reefer, was beating his arms against his sides as though to keep warm. "I've been wishing, Captain, I could get below for my ulster."
"Go ahead," nodded Halstead. "I'll walk the bridge until you return." Dick needed no urging, but made speed for his stateroom below. When he came back he looked more contented.
"Queer climate, this," he remarked.
"Yes," agreed the young skipper. "I'm told the thermometer never shows a very low marking, but that the night air chills one down to the marrow of his bones."
For five minutes more young Halstead remained on the bridge, then went below, after having left the customary instructions to call him to the bridge in case he was needed.
"Well, it's great to walk the bridge of as fine a craft as puts out of San Francisco," Dick told himself, later on in the night. "But at night it's mighty lonesome. I almost wish I could call one of the deckhands up here to talk to."
Of the seven seamen of the crew, one was assigned to work under the first officer's orders during the daytime. The remaining six were divided between the two watches. Of the three now at Davis's orders, one was in the pilot house, for the purpose of relieving the quartermaster whenever required. A second seaman, at night, stood out far forward as bow-watch. The third made regular trips of inspection around the yacht, unless ordered to some other duty.
Jed Prentiss, sitting all alone down in the motor room, made the sixth of those who were now awake on board the "Panther." At starboard and port the colored running lights gleamed; a third light, white, twinkled from the foremast-head. On the bridge stood a powerful searchlight whose rays could be turned on at will.
Thus manned, the "Panther" swept on steadily over the ocean, now headed south. The solitary, boyish figure pacing the bridge, represented in the night the brains and the present master-hand of this yacht, which, equipped with a single three-inch cannon at the bow, could have outrun or destroyed all the navies, combined, of ancient times.
Through the night the sea roughened a good deal. The wind blew more freshly, coming down off the land from the northeast. Still, the yacht was in no labor in the sea, and the sky remained bright overhead. So the second officer did not feel it necessary to disturb the rest of the captain.
At a quarter of eight in the morning, however, with the sun hidden behind a haze, Dick pressed the button that sounded the electric vibrating bell over Tom Halstead's berth. Then Davis picked up the mouthpiece of the speaking tube to the pilot house.
"Call the port watch," directed Dick, when the seaman had answered.
Captain Tom came up on the bridge, pulling on his ulster as he came. He greeted Dick, then stood looking about at the sky.
"It has freshened up a good deal in the night," remarked the young skipper.
"Yes; I thought, sir, you'd want to see the weather while the watch was changing."
Third Officer Costigan was not long in appearing, greeting his two superior officers as he reached the bridge.
"Does this weather spell trouble coming on this coast, Mr. Costigan?" questioned Halstead.
"It'll most likely turn rougher, sir. Sometimes we get a gale out of the northeast in February, though not as often as you do on the Atlantic. That's all I can say, sir. How's the glass? The barometer, you see, sir, is behaving like a gentleman at present."
As Dick left the bridge at the changing of the watch, Tom followed him. Halstead went to his own cabin, where he ordered his breakfast served. This meal eaten, the young skipper, who still felt the fatigue of late hours the night before, threw himself down on a divan. Though he had not intended to sleep, in less than five minutes Tom Halstead had traveled all the way to the land of Nod.
Nor did the increased rolling and pitching of the "Panther" disturb him; if anything, it lulled the young skipper into sounder slumber.
By ten o'clock the gale was going more than forty miles an hour. At eleven Ab Perkins turned the knob of the door, stepping inside. As Ab stood there looking at the occupant of the divan, moisture dripped from the ulster of the first officer.
"I guess we need you on deck, sir," roared Ab, shaking the young captain's shoulder. In a twinkling, Halstead was awake. In another instant he was on his feet.
"Weather is booming a bit, eh?" cried Captain Tom, eagerly.
"Nothing near as much, sir, as this craft can stand with comfort," Ab responded. "But we're coming up with a schooner under bare poles and wallowing badly. Foretop-mast blown away, too, and some of the bowsprit missing."
"Then you did right to call me," rejoined Halstead, pulling on his shoes swiftly, and standing up to don his cap and reefer. "I'll go on the bridge at once."
Baldwin and three of the passengers were on deck as Captain Tom appeared. Halstead nodded their way, then hurriedly climbed the bridge stairs. Now, he turned to take a look at the schooner. She lay dead ahead, for Costigan had ordered the "Panther's" course altered so as to speak the craft in distress. She was still about a mile distant, but for a keen-eyed sailor it needed no glass to make out the fact that the three-master was in utter distress.
"Hard luck, that, in only a forty-mile blow," muttered Tom.
"Wind-gauge shows forty-eight, sir," replied Mr. Costigan.
"Anyway, someone must have been dozing on that schooner, to let her canvas be blown away in such a wind," contended the young skipper.
Then Tom picked up the marine glasses, for a good look at the craft.
"Why, confound it, she has nothing left but a dinghy at the stern davits," muttered Captain Halstead. "I'm afraid, Mr. Costigan, we've got to get out our own boat."
"I'm afraid so, sir."
"Then tumble out the starboard watch."
The order was given through the pilot house speaking tube. The sailor down there with the quartermaster went below at lively speed, routing out the sleeping watch.
By the time they were on deck Tom Halstead was manœuvring the motor yacht around to leeward of the wreck.
"Schooner, ahoy!" he bellowed through a megaphone, from the bridge end.
"Yacht ahoy!" came back the faint answer on the breeze. "This is the schooner 'Alert,' Seattle; Jordrey, master."
"What help do you want, 'Alert'?"
"We're ready to abandon our vessel. Send us a boat, if you can."
"Boat it is, then, Captain," Tom bawled back, lustily. "Stand by to help our boat make fast alongside your lee quarter!"
Then, turning, glancing down at the deck, Tom called:
"Mr. Davis, the rescue boat is the second officer's trick!"
"Glad of it, sir," retorted Dick, his eyes glistening.
"Lower the port life-boat. Take four men at the oars and one for the bow. You'll have to row. The power tender would be worthless in this sea. Mr. Perkins will take the bridge. Mr. Costigan and the quartermasters will help you off, Mr. Davis."
Officers and men all moved with perfect discipline. With a merry roar they lowered the life-boat. A boarding gangway was lowered at the side, and down this the crew of the life-boat scrambled. Dick Davis took his place at the tiller.
"Cast off," he commanded. "Shove off. Let fall oars. Now, then—at it, hearties!"
From owner and passengers a cheer went up as the boat put off in such famous style. In another instant, however, the boat tossed like a cork on a high, rolling wave. Then it went down in the hollow between two billows. It was up in sight, an instant later. The men at the oars were doing their work with a will. Over the water struggled the life-boat, and then turned to come up under the lee quarter of the schooner.
Suddenly Captain Tom Halstead clutched desperately at the bridge rail, his face going deathly white.
"Merciful heaven!" he quivered, staring hard. For, near the crest of a wave, the life-boat heeled. Another big wave caught her.
Dick Davis and the boat's crew had been hurled from the overturning boat!
The young skipper of the "Panther" brushed his hand past his eyes.
It was no dream, no trick of the vision. The life-boat was overturned, riding keel upward, while two of its crew clung desperately to the keel. A third head could be seen bobbing on the water. What had become of the other three human beings?
"Mr. Perkins, take command of the 'Panther,'" ordered Tom, hoarsely. "Mr. Dawson, you and Mr. Prentiss, with two of the quartermasters and the remaining seaman, stand by the starboard life-boat. I'll go in charge."
All those ordered sprang to their posts. Like a flash the davits were swung around outward, other hands loosening the lowering tackle.
"Captain, this is madness," remonstrated Mr. Baldwin. "If that boat couldn't ride the water, this one can't."
"This one must," retorted Captain Tom. "They're our own shipmates in the water over there. Stand by to lower!"
"Captain, I protest!" cried Baldwin.
"Get out of the way, then, sir, and do your protesting in private," came, sternly, from the young skipper.
Before those flashing eyes Mr. Baldwin took a step backward. At sea the captain, not the owner, commands, and Joseph Baldwin quickly realized it.
"Captain!" roared down Ab Perkins's voice from the bridge.
On the point of giving the lowering-away order, Tom turned to look where the first officer pointed.
In another second Captain Halstead commanded, hoarsely:
"Stand by your posts at the davits!"
Then he darted forward along the rail, taking in the inspiring sight that greeted his eyes.
Though Dick Davis had met with bad luck, he did not mean to let it turn into disaster.
Seeing two of his boat's crew safe for the moment, Dick succeeded in helping two more sailors to gain the boat. Still another was making stubborn headway over the waves toward the side of the schooner, where one of the crew of the wreck stood ready to cast a rope.
And now the master of the "Alert" made a splendid cast with a line that shot far out, uncoiling until it lay across the overturned boat.
"Good old Dick!" breathed young Halstead, as he saw his second officer catch the rope and pass the end quickly back past the others who clung to the keel of the overturned life-boat.
The swimmer had now succeeded in reaching the rope, and was being helped up to the schooner's deck. Dick and the remaining men, besides holding onto the overturned boat, were slowly aiding those at the schooner's rail to haul them to greater safety.
When Halstead saw the overturned boat made fast along under the schooner's lee he turned to shout back:
"Swing in the davits, but stand by. We may need our boat yet."
Dick Davis, however, aided by his own men and those on the derelict, was working hard to right the life-boat. When they succeeded a great cheer went up from the watchers on the "Panther."
"Shall I go in closer, sir?" The question came from Parkinson, the chief steward, who, when Captain Tom made such a draft for a second crew, had been sent to the wheel house.
"Get your orders from the bridge," Tom called back to him.
Though Davis had lost his oars in the upset, the master of the "Alert" was able to supply others. Now the loading of the life boat began. On the return trip Dick was able to have six oarsmen. All hands stowed themselves away in the life-boat, Captain Jordrey coming last of all, with his log, papers and instruments. Then Davis gave the order to shove off.
"Our friend is taking a big passenger contract, on such a rough sea," Tom muttered, uneasily, to Joe Dawson, who had joined him. "But Dick will pull it through, if anyone can."
The life-boat, which was not of the largest size, lay low in the water as she set out on her return. Every now and then one of the waves broke with a choppy crest, to be succeeded by a long, rolling mass of water that threatened to fill and overwhelm the boat. Dick Davis, however, standing up, with one hand on the tiller and one knee against it, handled his little craft with a master's skill.
"Your friend is a wonderfully good officer, Captain," cried Joseph Baldwin, enthusiastically.
"Any of my other officers could do as well, sir," Tom replied, calmly. "It's the way of the Motor Boat Club training, and its effect on boys of sea-roving stock."
Yet there were half a dozen times, on that perilous return trip, when those on the deck of the "Panther" held their breath, their pulses moving faster.
At just the right moment Ab Perkins swung the craft around somewhat to starboard, then headed in so that Dick Davis was able more quickly to have the life-boat up under the yacht's broad lee.
Then, in a moment of relief, falls and tackle were made fast to the boat, and the rescued men began coming up over the side like so many squirrels.
"Where's your captain?" demanded Master Jordrey, as he came over the side. "I want to tell him that that boy officer of his is worth a dozen of some kinds of men I've seen."
"I'm captain here, at your service, sir," Tom announced, with a smile. Jordrey stared hard, for Tom was plainly much younger than Davis.
"What is this?" gasped the master of the "Alert." "A juvenile orphan asylum afloat, without the teachers? But no matter who you are, you know how to handle boats, large and small. My respects, Captain."
The two mates, cook and crew of the schooner were pressing forward. Costigan returned to the bridge, while Ab came down to the deck again, attending to the hoisting and stowing of the life-boat. Halstead grasped the hand of Dick Davis as he came over the side, looking at him with a gaze full of appreciation.
"Where are you bound, Captain Halstead?" inquired Captain Jordrey, a man of some forty years.
"Cruising," Tom replied. "According to the owner's whim or orders. But we can stow your people away somewhere on the boat until we make port, or pass some other craft in smoother water. There's an extra stateroom forward, below, Captain Jordrey, that you can have."
There were also three berths, not in use, in the forecastle. For the rest mattresses were laid, at need, on the forecastle floor.
"It serves my owners right to lose the schooner," grumbled Jordrey. "The canvas was worn out. I put in a requisition for new sets of sails before leaving port, but they wouldn't let me have them."
Joseph Baldwin approached Davis while he and Tom were talking on the deck.
"All I want to say, Mr. Davis," explained the owner, "is that, every time I see you Motor Boat Club boys do anything new it only makes me more and more glad that you're on my craft."