The Tacoma times. [volume] (Tacoma, Wash.) 1903-1949, 1915-02-15
BY JACK LONDON
CHAPTER I

place the cause of IL all to Charley
Furuseth's credit. He kept 8
summer cottage in Mill Valley
under the shadow of Mount Ia
malpais. and never occupied II
except when he loafed through
the winter months and read Metz
sche and Schopenhauer to rest
his brain. When summer came
on, he elected to sweat out a hot
and dusty existence In the city
and to toll necessarily. Had ii
not been my custom to run up to
see him every Saturday afternoon
and to stop over till Monday
morning, this particular January
Monday morning would not have
found me afloat ON San Francisco
Bay.
Not but that I was afloat in a
safe craft, for the Martinez was
new ferry-steamer, making her
fourth or fifth trip on the run be-
tween Sausalito and San Fran
cisco. The danger lay In the
heavy fog which blanketed the
bay, and of which, as a landsman,
Il had little apprehension. In
fact, l remember the placid ex-
altation with which I took up my
position on the forward upper
deck, directly beneath the pilot
house, and allowed the mystery of
the fog to lay hold of my imagin-
alton. A fresh breeze was blow
ing, and for a time | was alone in
the moist obscurity-yet not
alone, for / was dimly conscious
of the presence of the pilot, and
of what ! took to be the captain,
in the glass house above my head.
l remember thinking how COM
Portable it was, this division of
labor which made 1t unnecessary
for me to study fogs, winds, tides,
and navigation, inNorder to visit
my friend who lived across an
arm of the sea. 1t was good that
men should be specialists,
unused. The peculiar knowledge
of the pilot and captain sufficed
for many thousands'of people who
knew no more of the sea and navi-
cation than / knew. On the
other hand, instead of having to
devote my energy to the learning
of a multitude of things, con-
centrated it upon a few particular
things, such as, for instance, the
analysis of Poe's place in Ameri.
can literature-an essay of mine
by the way, in the current At
lantic. Coming aboard, as pass
ed through the cabin, l had no.
ticed with greedy eyes a stout
gentleman reading the Atlantic,
which was open at my very essay.
And there 1t was again, the diyi-
sion of labor, the special knowl.
edge of the pilot and captain
which permitted the stout gentle.
man to read my special knowledge
on Poe while they carried him
safely from Sausalito to San Fran
cisco.
A red-faced man, slamming the
cabin door behind him and stump
ing out on the deck, interrupted
my reflections, though / made a
mental note of the topic for use
in a projected essay which l had
thought of calling THE Necessity
for Freedom: A Plea for the
Artist" The red-faced man shot
glance up at the pilot-house,
gazed around at the fog, stumped
across the deck and back Che
evidently had artificial legs), and
stood still by my side, legs wide
apart, and with an expression of
keen enjoyment on his face. |
was not wrong when | decided
that his days had been spent on
the sea.
Its nasty weather like this
here that turns heads gray before
their time he said, with a nod
toward the pilot-house.
Il had not thought there was
any particular strain" an
swered. ut seems as simple as
A, B, C. They know the direction
by compass, the distance, and the
speed. l should not call 1t any
thing more than mathematical
certainty"
Strain" he snorted. Simple
as A, b, G.! Mathematical GER
tainty!"
He seemed to brace himself up
and lean backward against the air
as he stared at me. How about
this here tide that's rushin' out
through the Golden Cater" he
demanded, or beloved, rather.
"How fast is she ebbin'? What's
the drift, Ell? Listen to that, will
you? A bell-buoy, and we're
atop of it! See 'em alterin' the
counsel"
From out Of the fog came the
mournful tolling of a bell, and |
could see the pilot turning the
wheel with great rapidity.. The
bell which had seemed straight
ahead, was now sounding from
the side. Our own whistle was
blowing hoarsely, and from time
to time the sound of other whis-
ties came to US from out of the
fog.
That's a ferry-boat of some
sort" the newcomer said, indicat-
ing a whistle off to the right
And there! Dye hear that?
Blown by mouth. Some scow
schooner, most likely. Better
watch out, Mr.. Schooner-man
All, / thought SO. Now hell's
a-poppin' for somebody"
The unseen ferry-boat was
blowing blast after blast, and the