In short, did we know of any sailors who
would bring the yacht into Benicia?
Charley looked at me. The Reindeer was lying in a snug place. We
had nothing on hand in the way of patrol work till midnight. With
the wind then blowing, we could sail the yacht into Benicia in a
couple of hours, have several more hours ashore, and come back to
the smelter on the evening train.
"All right, captain," Charley said to the disconsolate yachtsman,
who smiled in sickly fashion at the title.
"I'm only the owner," he explained.
We rowed him aboard in much better style than he had come ashore,
and saw for ourselves the helplessness of the passengers. There
were a dozen men and women, and all of them too sick even to appear
grateful at our coming. The yacht was rolling savagely, broad on,
and no sooner had the owner's feet touched the deck than he
collapsed and joined, the others. Not one was able to bear a hand,
so Charley and I between us cleared the badly tangled running gear,
got up sail, and hoisted anchor.
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