Hadley,and the young oyster pirate,and the whiskered wharf-rat,all with glasses in their hands.Was I a milk-and-water sop?No;a thousand times no,and a thousand glasses no.I downed the tumblerful like a man.
French Frank was elated by the sale,which I had bound with a twenty-dollar goldpiece.He poured more wine.I had learned my strong head and stomach,and I was certain I could drink with them in a temperate way and not poison myself for a week to come.Icould stand as much as they;and besides,they had already been drinking for some time.
We got to singing.Spider sang "The Boston Burglar"and "Black Lulu."The Queen sang "Then I Wisht I Were a Little Bird."And her sister Tess sang "Oh,Treat My Daughter Kindily."The fun grew fast and furious.I found myself able to miss drinks without being noticed or called to account.Also,standing in the companionway,head and shoulders out and glass in hand,I could fling the wine overboard.
I reasoned something like this:It is a queerness of these people that they like this vile-tasting wine.Well,let them.I cannot quarrel with their tastes.My manhood,according to their queer notions,must compel me to appear to like this wine.Very well.
I shall so appear.But I shall drink no more than is unavoidable.
And the Queen began to make love to me,the latest recruit to the oyster pirate fleet,and no mere hand,but a master and owner.
She went upon deck to take the air,and took me with her.She knew,of course,but I never dreamed,how French Frank was raging down below.Then Tess joined us,sitting on the cabin;and Spider,and Bob;and at the last,Mrs.Hadley and French Frank.
And we sat there,glasses in hand,and sang,while the big demijohn went around;and I was the only strictly sober one.
And I enjoyed it as no one of them was able to enjoy it.Here,in this atmosphere of bohemianism,I could not but contrast the scene with my scene of the day before,sitting at my machine,in the stifling,shut-in air,repeating,endlessly repeating,at top speed,my series of mechanical motions.And here I sat now,glass in hand,in warm-glowing camaraderie,with the oyster pirates,adventurers who refused to be slaves to petty routine,who flouted restrictions and the law,who carried their lives and their liberty in their hands.And it was through John Barleycorn that Icame to join this glorious company of free souls,unashamed and unafraid.
And the afternoon seabreeze blew its tang into my lungs,and curled the waves in mid-channel.Before it came the scow schooners,wing-and-wing,blowing their horns for the drawbridges to open.Red-stacked tugs tore by,rocking the Razzle Dazzle in the waves of their wake.A sugar barque towed from the "boneyard"to sea.The sun-wash was on the crisping water,and life was big.
And Spider sang:
"Oh,it's Lulu,black Lulu,my darling,Oh,it's where have you been so long?
Been layin'in jail,A-waitin'for bail,Till my bully comes rollin'along."There it was,the smack and slap of the spirit of revolt,of adventure,of romance,of the things forbidden and done defiantly and grandly.And I knew that on the morrow I would not go back to my machine at the cannery.To-morrow I would be an oyster pirate,as free a freebooter as the century and the waters of San Francisco Bay would permit.Spider had already agreed to sail with me as my crew of one,and,also,as cook while I did the deck work.We would outfit our grub and water in the morning,hoist the big mainsail (which was a bigger piece of canvas than any Ihad ever sailed under),and beat our way out the estuary on the first of the seabreeze and the last of the ebb.Then we would slack sheets,and on the first of the flood run down the bay to the Asparagus Islands,where we would anchor miles off shore.And at last my dream would be realised:I would sleep upon the water.
And next morning I would wake upon the water;and thereafter all my days and nights would be on the water.
And the Queen asked me to row her ashore in my skiff,when at sunset French Frank prepared to take his guests ashore.Nor did Icatch the significance of his abrupt change of plan when he turned the task of rowing his skiff over to Whisky Bob,himself remaining on board the sloop.Nor did I understand Spider's grinning side-remark to me:"Gee!There's nothin'slow about YOU."How could it possibly enter my boy's head that a grizzled man of fifty should be jealous of me?
