chantey, chanty, anchors, port, sailor, sea, rigging, river, cabin, storm
Caribbean Cruise Discounts!
The Banks of the Sacramento
"And it's blow, ye winds, heigh-ho,
For there's plenty of gold so I've been told,
On the banks of the Sacramento!"
It was only a little boy, singing in a shrill treble the sea chantey which
seamen sing the wide world over when they man the capstan bars and break the
anchors out for "Frisco" port. It was only a little boy who had never seen the
sea, but two hundred feet beneath him rolled the Sacramento. "Young" Jerry he
was called, after "Old" Jerry, his father, from whom he had learned the song, as
well as received his shock of bright-red hair, his blue, dancing eyes, and his
fair and inevitably freckled skin.
For Old Jerry had been a sailor, and had followed the sea till middle life,
haunted always by the words of the ringing chantey. Then one day he had sung the
song in earnest, in an Asiatic port, swinging and thrilling round the
capstan-circle with twenty others. And at San Francisco he turned his back upon
his ship and upon the sea, and went to behold with his own eyes the banks of the
He beheld the gold, too, for he found employment at the Yellow Dream mine, and
proved of utmost usefulness in rigging the great ore-cables across the river and
two hundred feet above its surface.
After that he took charge of the cables and kept them in repair, and ran them
and loved them, and became himself an indispensable fixture of the Yellow Dream
mine. Then he loved pretty Margaret Kelly; but she had left him and Young Jerry,
the latter barely toddling, to take up her last long sleep in the little
graveyard among the great sober pines.
Old Jerry never went back to the sea. He remained by his cables, and lavished
upon them and Young Jerry all the love of his nature. When evil days came to the
Yellow Dream, he still remained in the employ of the company as watchman over
the all but abandoned property.
But this morning he was not visible. Young Jerry only was to be seen, sitting on
the cabin step and singing the ancient chantey. He had cooked and eaten his
breakfast all by himself, and had just come out to take a look at the world.
Twenty feet before him stood the steel drum round which the endless cable
worked. By the drum, snug and fast, was the ore-car. Following with his eyes the
dizzy flight of the cables to the farther bank, he could see the other drum and
the other car.
The contrivance was worked by gravity, the loaded car crossing the river by
virtue of its own weight, and at the same time dragging the empty car back. The
loaded car being emptied, and the empty car being loaded with more ore, the
performance could be repeated—a performance which had been repeated tens of
thousands of times since the day Old Jerry became the keeper of the cables.
Young Jerry broke off his song at the sound of approaching footsteps. A tall,
blue-shirted man, a rifle across the hollow of his arm, came out from the gloom
of the pine-trees. It was Hall, watchman of the Yellow Dragon mine, the cables
of which spanned the Sacramento a mile farther up.
"Yello, younker!" was his greeting. "What you doin' here by your lonesome?"
"Oh, bachin'," Jerry tried to answer unconcernedly, as if it were a very
ordinary sort of thing. "Dad's away, you see."
"Where's he gone?" the man asked.
"San Francisco. Went last night. His brother's dead in the old country, and he's
gone down to see the lawyers. Won't be back till tomorrow night."
So spoke Jerry, and with pride, because of the responsibility which had fallen
to him of keeping an eye on the property of the Yellow Dream, and the glorious
adventure of living alone on the cliff above the river and of cooking his own
"Well, take care of yourself," Hall said, "and don't monkey with the cables. I'm
goin' to see if I can pick up a deer in the Cripple Cow Cañon."
"It's goin' to rain, I think," Jerry said, with mature deliberation.
"And it's little I mind a wettin'," Hall laughed, as he strode away among the
Jerry's prediction concerning rain was more than fulfilled. By ten o'clock the
pines were swaying and moaning, the cabin windows rattling, and the rain driving
by in fierce squalls. At half past eleven he kindled a fire, and promptly at the
stroke of twelve sat down to his dinner.
No out-of-doors for him that day, he decided, when he had washed the few dishes
and put them neatly away; and he wondered how wet Hall was and whether he had
succeeded in picking up a deer.
At one o'clock there came a knock at the door, and when he opened it a man and a
woman staggered in on the breast of a great gust of wind. They were Mr. and Mrs.
Spillane, ranchers, who lived in a lonely valley a dozen miles back from the
"Where's Hall?" was Spillane's opening speech, and he spoke sharply and quickly.
Jerry noted that he was nervous and abrupt in his movements, and that Mrs.
Spillane seemed laboring under some strong anxiety. She was a thin, washed-out,
worked-out woman, whose life of dreary and unending toil had stamped itself
harshly upon her face. It was the same life that had bowed her husband's
shoulders and gnarled his hands and turned his hair to a dry and dusty gray.
"He's gone hunting up Cripple Cow," Jerry answered. "Did you want to cross?"
The woman began to weep quietly, while Spillane dropped a troubled exclamation
and strode to the window. Jerry joined him in gazing out to where the cables
lost themselves in the thick downpour.
It was the custom of the backwoods people in that section of country to cross
the Sacramento on the Yellow Dragon cable. For this service a small toll was
charged, which tolls the Yellow Dragon Company applied to the payment of Hall's
"We've got to get across, Jerry," Spillane said, at the same time jerking his
thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his wife. "Her father's hurt at the
Clover Leaf. Powder explosion. Not expected to live. We just got word."
Jerry felt himself fluttering inwardly. He knew that Spillane wanted to cross on
the Yellow Dream cable, and in the absence of his father he felt that he dared
not assume such a responsibility, for the cable had never been used for
passengers; in fact, had not been used at all for a long time.
"Maybe Hall will be back soon," he said.
Spillane shook his head, and demanded, "Where's your father?"
"San Francisco," Jerry answered, briefly.
Spillane groaned, and fiercely drove his clenched fist into the palm of the
other hand. His wife was crying more audibly, and Jerry could hear her
murmuring, "And daddy's dyin', dyin'!"
The tears welled up in his own eyes, and he stood irresolute, not knowing what
he should do. But the man decided for him.
"Look here, kid," he said, with determination, "the wife and me are goin' over
on this here cable of yours! Will you run it for us?"
Jerry backed slightly away. He did it unconsciously, as if recoiling
instinctively from something unwelcome.
"Better see if Hall's back," he suggested.
"And if he ain't?"
Again Jerry hesitated.
"I'll stand for the risk," Spillane added. "Don't you see, kid, we've simply got
Jerry nodded his head reluctantly.
"And there ain't no use waitin' for Hall," Spillane went on. "You know as well
as me he ain't back from Cripple Cow this time of day! So come along and let's
No wonder that Mrs. Spillane seemed terrified as they helped her into the
ore-car—so Jerry thought, as he gazed into the apparently fathomless gulf
beneath her. For it was so filled with rain and cloud, hurtling and curling in
the fierce blast, that the other shore, seven hundred feet away, was invisible,
while the cliff at their feet dropped sheer down and lost itself in the swirling
vapor. By all appearances it might be a mile to bottom instead of two hundred
"All ready?" he asked.
"Let her go!" Spillane shouted, to make himself heard above the roar of the
He had clambered in beside his wife, and was holding one of her hands in his.
Jerry looked upon this with disapproval. "You'll need all your hands for holdin'
on, the way the wind's yowlin'."
The man and the woman shifted their hands accordingly, tightly gripping the
sides of the car, and Jerry slowly and carefully released the brake. The drum
began to revolve as the endless cable passed round it, and the car slid slowly
out into the chasm, its trolley wheels rolling on the stationary cable overhead,
to which it was suspended.
It was not the first time Jerry had worked the cable, but it was the first time
he had done so away from the supervising eye of his father. By means of the
brake he regulated the speed of the car. It needed regulating, for at times,
caught by the stronger gusts of wind, it swayed violently back and forth; and
once, just before it was swallowed up in a rain squall, it seemed about to spill
out its human contents.
After that Jerry had no way of knowing where the car was except by means of the
cable. This he watched keenly as it glided around the drum. "Three hundred
feet," he breathed to himself, as the cable markings went by, "three hundred and
fifty, four hundred; four hundred and——"
The cable had stopped. Jerry threw off the brake, but it did not move. He caught
the cable with his hands and tried to start it by tugging smartly. Something had
gone wrong. What? He could not guess; he could not see. Looking up, he could
vaguely make out the empty car, which had been crossing from the opposite cliff
at a speed equal to that of the loaded car. It was about two hundred and fifty
feet away. That meant, he knew, that somewhere in the gray obscurity, two
hundred feet above the river and two hundred and fifty feet from the other bank,
Spillane and his wife were suspended and stationary.
Three times Jerry shouted with all the shrill force of his lungs, but no
answering cry came out of the storm. It was impossible for him to hear them or
to make himself heard. As he stood for a moment, thinking rapidly, the flying
clouds seemed to thin and lift. He caught a brief glimpse of the swollen
Sacramento beneath, and a briefer glimpse of the car and the man and woman. Then
the clouds descended thicker than ever.
The boy examined the drum closely, and found nothing the matter with it.
Evidently it was the drum on the other side that had gone wrong. He was appalled
at the thought of the man and woman out there in the midst of the storm, hanging
over the abyss, rocking back and forth in the frail car and ignorant of what was
taking place on shore. And he did not like to think of their hanging there while
he went round by the Yellow Dragon cable to the other drum.
But he remembered a block and tackle in the tool-house, and ran and brought it.
They were double blocks, and he murmured aloud, "A purchase of four," as he made
the tackle fast to the endless cable. Then he heaved upon it, heaved until it
seemed that his arms were being drawn out from their sockets and that his
shoulder muscles would be ripped asunder. Yet the cable did not budge. Nothing
remained but to cross over to the other side.
He was already soaking wet, so he did not mind the rain as he ran over the trail
to the Yellow Dragon. The storm was with him, and it was easy going, although
there was no Hall at the other end of it to man the brake for him and regulate
the speed of the car. This he did for himself, however, by means of a stout
rope, which he passed, with a turn, round the stationary cable.
As the full force of the wind struck him in mid-air, swaying the cable and
whistling and roaring past it, and rocking and careening the car, he appreciated
more fully what must be the condition of mind of Spillane and his wife. And this
appreciation gave strength to him, as, safely across, he fought his way up the
other bank, in the teeth of the gale, to the Yellow Dream cable.
To his consternation, he found the drum in thorough working order. Everything
was running smoothly at both ends. Where was the hitch? In the middle, without a
From this side, the car containing Spillane was only two hundred and fifty feet
away. He could make out the man and woman through the whirling vapor, crouching
in the bottom of the car and exposed to the pelting rain and the full fury of
the wind. In a lull between the squalls he shouted to Spillane to examine the
trolley of the car.
Spillane heard, for he saw him rise up cautiously on his knees, and with his
hands go over both trolley-wheels. Then he turned his face toward the bank.
"She's all right, kid!"
Jerry heard the words, faint and far, as from a remote distance. Then what was
the matter? Nothing remained but the other and empty car, which he could not
see, but which he knew to be there, somewhere in that terrible gulf two hundred
feet beyond Spillane's car.
His mind was made up on the instant. He was only fourteen years old, slightly
and wirily built; but his life had been lived among the mountains, his father
had taught him no small measure of "sailoring," and he was not particularly
afraid of heights.
In the tool-box by the drum he found an old monkey-wrench and a short bar of
iron, also a coil of fairly new Manila rope. He looked in vain for a piece of
board with which to rig a "boatswain's chair." There was nothing at hand but
large planks, which he had no means of sawing, so he was compelled to do without
the more comfortable form of saddle.
The saddle he rigged was very simple. With the rope he made merely a large loop
round the stationary cable, to which hung the empty car. When he sat in the loop
his hands could just reach the cable conveniently, and where the rope was likely
to fray against the cable he lashed his coat, in lieu of the old sack he would
have used had he been able to find one.
These preparations swiftly completed, he swung out over the chasm, sitting in
the rope saddle and pulling himself along the cable by his hands. With him he
carried the monkey-wrench and short iron bar and a few spare feet of rope. It
was a slightly up-hill pull, but this he did not mind so much as the wind. When
the furious gusts hurled him back and forth, sometimes half twisting him about,
and he gazed down into the gray depths, he was aware that he was afraid. It was
an old cable. What if it should break under his weight and the pressure of the
It was fear he was experiencing, honest fear, and he knew that there was a
"gone" feeling in the pit of his stomach, and a trembling of the knees which he
could not quell.
But he held himself bravely to the task. The cable was old and worn, sharp
pieces of wire projected from it, and his hands were cut and bleeding by the
time he took his first rest, and held a shouted conversation with Spillane. The
car was directly beneath him and only a few feet away, so he was able to explain
the condition of affairs and his errand.
"Wish I could help you," Spillane shouted at him as he started on, "but the
wife's gone all to pieces! Anyway, kid, take care of yourself! I got myself in
this fix, but it's up to you to get me out!"
"Oh, I'll do it!" Jerry shouted back. "Tell Mrs. Spillane that she'll be ashore
now in a jiffy!"
In the midst of pelting rain, which half-blinded him, swinging from side to side
like a rapid and erratic pendulum, his torn hands paining him severely and his
lungs panting from his exertions and panting from the very air which the wind
sometimes blew into his mouth with strangling force, he finally arrived at the
A single glance showed him that he had not made the dangerous journey in vain.
The front trolley-wheel, loose from long wear, had jumped the cable, and the
cable was now jammed tightly between the wheel and the sheave-block.
One thing was clear—the wheel must be removed from the block. A second thing was
equally clear—while the wheel was being removed the car would have to be
fastened to the cable by the rope he had brought.
At the end of a quarter of an hour, beyond making the car secure, he had
accomplished nothing. The key which bound the wheel on its axle was rusted and
jammed. He hammered at it with one hand and held on the best he could with the
other, but the wind persisted in swinging and twisting his body, and made his
blows miss more often than not. Nine-tenths of the strength he expended was in
trying to hold himself steady. For fear that he might drop the monkey-wrench he
made it fast to his wrist with his handkerchief.
At the end of half an hour Jerry had hammered the key clear, but he could not
draw it out. A dozen times it seemed that he must give up in despair, that all
the danger and toil he had gone through were for nothing. Then an idea came to
him, and he went through his pockets with feverish haste, and found what he
sought—a ten-penny nail.
But for that nail, put in his pocket he knew not when or why, he would have had
to make another trip over the cable and back. Thrusting the nail through the
looped head of the key, he at last had a grip, and in no time the key was out.
Then came punching and prying with the iron bar to get the wheel itself free
from where it was jammed by the cable against the side of the block. After that
Jerry replaced the wheel, and by means of the rope, heaved up on the car till
the trolley once more rested properly on the cable.
All this took time. More than an hour and a half had elapsed since his arrival
at the empty car. And now, for the first time, he dropped out of his saddle and
down into the car. He removed the detaining ropes, and the trolley-wheel began
slowly to revolve. The car was moving, and he knew that somewhere beyond,
although he could not see, the car of Spillane was likewise moving, and in the
There was no need for a brake, for his weight sufficiently counterbalanced the
weight in the other car; and soon he saw the cliff rising out of the cloud
depths and the old familiar drum going round and round.
Jerry climbed out and made the car securely fast. He did it deliberately and
carefully, and then, quite unhero-like, he sank down by the drum, regardless of
the pelting storm, and burst out sobbing.
There were many reasons why he sobbed—partly from the pain of his hand, which
was excruciating; partly from exhaustion; partly from relief and release from
the nerve-tension he had been under for so long; and in a large measure for
thankfulness that the man and woman were saved.
They were not there to thank him; but somewhere beyond that howling,
storm-driven gulf he knew they were hurrying over the trail toward the Clover
Jerry staggered to the cabin, and his hand left the white knob red with blood as
he opened the door, but he took no notice of it.
He was too proudly contented with himself, for he was certain that he had done
well, and he was honest enough to admit to himself that he had done well. But a
small regret arose and persisted in his thoughts—if his father had only been
there to see!
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