We spent an hour or more at
practice and were rowing leisurely back to the ship when the green boat
overhauled us, then slowed to her skipper's orders.
"How you vass, Cabtin Burke?" said Schenke, an enormous fair-headed
Teuton, powerful-looking, but run sadly to fat in his elder years.
"You t'ink you get a chanst now, _hein_? . . . Now de Yankee is goin'
avay!" He pointed over to the Presidio, where the _Flint_ lay at
anchor. We followed the line of his fat forefinger. At anchor, yes,
but the anchor nearly a-weigh. Her flags were hoisted, the blue peter
fluttering at the fore, and the _Active_ tug was passing a hawser
aboard, getting ready to tow her out. The smoke from the tugboat's
funnel was whirling and blowing over the low forts that guard the
Golden Gates. Good luck! A fine nor'-west breeze had come that would
lift our dreaded rival far to the south'ard on her way round Cape Horn!
Schenke saw the pleased look with which old Burke regarded the Yankee's
preparations for departure.
"Goot bizness, eh?" he said. "You t'ink you fly de flack on de _Hilda_
nex' _Sonndag_, Cabtin? Veil! Ah wish you goot look, but you dond't
got it all de same!"
"Oh, well, Captain Schenke, we can but thry," said the old man.
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