It appeared in the guise of a helpless
yacht loaded with seasick people, so we could hardly be expected to
recognize it as the opportunity. It was a large sloop-yacht, and
it was helpless inasmuch as the trade-wind was blowing half a gale
and there were no capable sailors aboard.
From the wharf at Selby's we watched with careless interest the
lubberly manoeuvre performed of bringing the yacht to anchor, and
the equally lubberly manoeuvre of sending the small boat ashore. A
very miserable-looking man in draggled ducks, after nearly swamping
the boat in the heavy seas, passed us the painter and climbed out.
He staggered about as though the wharf were rolling, and told us
his troubles, which were the troubles of the yacht. The only
rough-weather sailor aboard, the man on whom they all depended, had
been called back to San Francisco by a telegram, and they had
attempted to continue the cruise alone. The high wind and big seas
of San Pablo Bay had been too much for them; all hands were sick,
nobody knew anything or could do anything; and so they had run in
to the smelter either to desert the yacht or to get somebody to
bring it to Benicia.
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