Assignats
When Ivan with the long surname walked down the beach at Novgorod he foundthree men. These men were sitting on their haunches staring out over the JapanSea. Ivan spoke to them in English.
“I have a ship,” he said.
The first man glanced at the second; the second stared at the third. Theyrose from their haunches and wrapped their rags around gaunt limbs.
“A ship in this accursed port?” asked one.
“A bloody lie!” exclaimed a second castaway.
“Ah hae me doots,” rasped a third derelict.
“It is a fact, gentlemen,” said Ivan with the long surname. “The ship isloading between here and Vladivostok. She wants but a master, a mate and anengineer.”
The three men grew sad. They had been broken on the rack of peace. They hadcome ashore at Novgorod in a leaking sampan. The government of Japan was atthat moment interested in their whereabouts.
“Our papers were lost in a great storm at sea,” said the leader of thetrio, whom men called “Micky” McMasters. “You mind the vast simoom?”
Ivan, the Russian, spread out his hands. His great spade-shaped beardfluttered in the warm Japanese breeze. He thumped a be-medaled chest.
“Come with me!” he said. “Papers or no papers—it is you three who shalltake the Shongpong out across the sea.”
“He talks like a poet writes,” whispered “Red” Landyard, a Yankee mate, toMike Monkey, the Scotch engineer.
“Ah hae noo doot he’s read a wee bit. How otherwise would he know we wereon the beach at Novgorod? There is a price on our heads.”
Micky McMasters edged the big Russian away from his whisperingcompanions.
“This ship,” asked the little skipper, “this boat you ’ave loading between’ere and Vladivostok—what flag does she fly?”
“Her home flag is Chinese. Her crew are loyal Russians. Her cargo, nowgoing aboard, is caravan tea. This tea must be taken to America where Victoriaon the Island of Vancouver is. Do you know the route?”
Micky felt his heart thump like a mallet inside a cask. He had sweated andtoiled and starved on the mud flats of Novgorod. He sensed the coming of abitter Winter. And here was a hard-eyed Russian offering him and his mates aship for the Pacific broadside, where white men walked and roses bloomed andshirts could be worn.
“I’ve steamed and sailed, man and boy,” he explained, “going on thirtyyears. I’m ’Umber born—at Great Grimsby on the North Sea. My mate, the tallman with the red face, is an American out of New Bedford. My first engineercame from Tyneside—where they build good ships. We take no back-slack fromnobody. Show me your ship, says I, and I’ll work ’er across the Japan Sea andeast by the line to Victoria.”
“That is settled,” said Ivan Alexandrovski. “You may come with me.”
Micky McMasters gathered the tattered collar of his dungaree coat aroundhis unshaven neck.
“One more question before it becomes a contract,” he said suspiciously.“Are you loyal Russian or are you Bolshevik?”
Ivan with the long surname smiled blandly. He stroked his straggling beard.He stared down at the little castaway.
“Loyal Russian,” he said. “I have a home in Vladivostok—where Alliedtroops are guarding.”
Micky turned, jerked his head toward his mates who stood shivering in theirrags, and shouted:
“The contract’s signed! A fair thing for all of us. We work the Shongpongacross the western Pacific.”
“Ye arranged about te