“Goddamn heathen Chinamen!” a man shouted fiercely.
“Bastard coolies!” a second man bellowed.
Errin heard a hundred voices take up the call, a bedlam of angry curses and threats. The cries came from the throng of white men completely blocking The Embarcadero at the shoreward end of a long pier extending into San Francisco Bay. The mob seemed ready to pounce upon somebody that he couldn’t see. He hastened his step toward the crowd, mostly men wearing the coarse clothing of laborers.
Errin had come to the waterfront to contract newly arriving immigrants for his pool of skilled workers. He had heard of two ships arriving and wanted to catch the men coming directly off them so that he had his choice of those who were true journeyman level craftsmen. This tactic had proved very successful and he was pleased with the caliber of workmen on the roster for his hiring hall.
He pushed through the press of men to the front. Hundreds of Chinese men, carrying their skimpy possessions in their arms, were filing down the gangway of a steamship and hurrying on along the pier toward the shore. The Chinamen were small men, gaunt and bony. They appeared quite alien with their foreheads shaved for a third of the distance back across the tops of their heads and long queues hanging down their backs. Their eyes rolled with apprehension as they watched the large white men shouting and cursing them.
“Send the heathens back to China,” a man near Errin shouted. “Cut off their pigtails for a starter.” He pulled his jackknife and ran forward and grabbed the queue of one of the Chinamen trotting past. Before the white man could wield his knife, the frightened Chinaman tore free and darted ahead out of reach.
At the shoreward end of the pier, two American port officials sat at a table under a portable shelter. A Chinaman, an interpreter, and a pair of policemen stood beside the officials. The policemen uneasily eyed the noisy, threatening swarm of white men.
The interpreter called to the arriving Chinamen and they formed up in two lines in front of the table and facing the port officials. The small men answered a series of questions put to each of them through the interpreter. Then the policemen searched them with rough hands.
“What are they looking for?” Errin asked a man standing beside him.
“Opium,” answered the man. “The heathens are all dope addicts.”
The man turned back to the Chinamen and yelled out, “Send all the yellow bastards back to China so they won’t take American jobs.” He lifted a half brick he had hidden beside his leg, cocked his arm and hurled the missile at the Chinamen.
As the man heaved the brick, Errin struck his arm and the object flew wild, sailing over the heads of the Chinamen. The brick struck the wooden decking of the street and bounced into the crowd on the far side. A man, hit by the brick, cursed and shook his fist across the street.
The man who had thrown the brick wheeled around on Errin. “What the hell are you doing? You made me miss.”
“You could kill a man with something like that,” Errin replied.
“Then you did it on purpose. Why you damn, Chinaman lover, I’ll smash your face.”
Errin didn’t want a fistfight with one of the swarm of white men. He moved swiftly upon the angry man and caught him by the points of his shoulders, and dug his fingers viciously into the muscles. The man winced.
“You’re not man enough to smash my face,” Errin said in a flinty voice.
The man swallowed and his Adam’s apple pumped up and down. He pulled back trying to break free. Errin let him go.
“You’re still a Goddamned Chinaman lover,” yelled the man as he retreated hurriedly into the crowd.
Errin pushed his way closer to the inspection station and listened to the questions and watched the prying hands of the lawmen check the bodies and clothing of the Chinamen. The small, brown men answered the queries in the briefest of words. They remained stoic and unmoving to the prodding fingers. Yet Errin saw the doubt and uncertainty in their eyes. They were brave men to have undertaken such a dangerous journey across the stormy ocean. Many would die in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, called the Gum Shan—the Golden Hills—by the Chinamen.
Errin walked away along the docks. He had gone but a short distance when an uproar of shouts erupted behind him. He twisted to look. The first of the Chinamen had left the inspection station and were moving up the hill street toward Portsmouth Square where most of their countrymen lived on eight to ten blocks straddling Dupont Street. They were now out from under the protective eyes of the policemen. With nothing to curb them, the white men had given vent to their anger and were hurling horse turds and pieces of wood they had scooped up from the street at the foreign men.
One of the flying objects struck a Chinaman in the head with a sodden crunch. He fell to his knees. Two of his comrades quickly grabbed him by the arms and carried him onward with them.
The local guide, a Chinaman in white men’s clothing, began to shout and motion with his arms for the new arrivals to move more swiftly after him. The Chinamen broke into a trot and drew away from the abusive Americans.
* * *
Errin gave no sign that he was aware of being followed. A young Chinaman wearing a black brocaded jacket and black pants and hat had sauntered along trailing Errin for the past half hour as he went about the city bidding on jobs for his workmen. However the sun was down now with the streets full of shadows and the Chinaman was closing the distance that separated them.
Errin continued on toward an alley between tall brick buildings. Reaching the alley, he stepped quickly into the opening, halted, and pulled his pistol. The Chinaman’s presence meant trouble. The tongs must have discovered that Chun was with Levi and Errin.
The seconds dragged by as Errin waited. Yet the Chinaman did not appear in the mouth of the alley. Errin waited patiently, holding his weapon.
“Mr. Scanlan, my name is Ke,” a voice sounded from a location just out of sight around the corner of the building on the street. “I mean you no harm. I simply want to talk with you. Do you hear me?”
“I hear you. Come out where I can see you.”
Ke stepped into the alley. His hands were open with the palms showing. He glanced down at the pistol Errin held.
“You don’t need your barking dog.”
“Barking dog?”
“Your pistol.”
“Maybe I do. Why in hell are you following me?”
“Honorable Lip wishes to speak with you. He has asked me to extend his humble invitation to come and talk with him about things that are important to both of you. You have heard of Scom Lip?”
Errin examined Ke closely. He would be one of the tong fighters, a boo hao doy, or hatchetmen as Louden had called them. He seemed very young. His eyes were steady and sure, a man who knew his own strength.
“Yes, I’ve heard of him. Why doesn’t he come and see me? He must know where my office is.”
“He knows. But Honorable Scom Lip believes it would be so much wiser if you and he hold this conversation in some private place where there are no other white men to see or hear.”
“What would this talk be about?”
“I don’t know. Honorable Scom Lip will inform you himself.”
“And if I don’t want to talk with your Honorable boss, what then?”
Ke shrugged his shoulders. “You may decide not to speak with my boss.” Ke’s eyes narrowed as he said the word boss. “But I think that would be stupid.”
Errin did not let the use of the word “stupid” bother him. He watched the tong warrior, trying to read him. This was the second day since Celeste had been shot and he had planned to have dinner with her. But that would have to be delayed for he had no choice except to go with Ke. He must find out how much danger Chun and Levi and even he himself were in.
“I’ll go with you,” Errin said and shoved the pistol back into its holster. “How is it that you speak English so well?”
Ke was silent for several seconds as if in doubt whether or not to answer Errin’s question. “I came to California several years ago as a boy, a stowaway. I studied your language, for I knew it was important to be able to talk with Americans. Because I can, now I have a treasured position with a very important man. Are you ready to go now?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“It’s best that we’re not seen together. Follow me some distance behind. It’s not very far.”
Ke left the alley. Errin waited a half minute and then went out to the street. He saw Ke was heading for Dupont Street.
On Beale Street they came to a huge, high-roofed building, a factory of some sort Errin thought. He saw not one sign of activity, not a crack of light in any of the windows. Midway the length of the structure, Ke descended a flight of steps leading down from the sidewalk and did not re-emerge.
Errin reached the stairwell and looked into the murky pit. It was empty so he went down. He put his hand on his pistol and knocked on the wooden door in the sunken wall of the building.
The door jerked open. A man stood framed by a weak light emanating from some distant source behind him. He held a big-bore shotgun pointed at Errin’s stomach.
“You’re Scanlan?” the man asked.
“Yes.” Errin didn’t like the gun pointed at him and he shoved the barrel aside.
“The Chinaman Ke said to let you in. Go straight ahead to the auction room.” The man stepped aside.
Errin moved down a stone-walled passageway. The overhead was the floor of the building above. He could smell the sour dampness of the subterranean depths of the building. From ahead came voices distorted and undecipherable by their journey along the passageway. He came out into a lighted room of a very large size.
The floor of the room was of wood and the walls and ceiling paneled with the same material. Four chandeliers with several gaslights on each brightly illuminated the space. A low, half circular stage took up one end of the room. A black curtain was drawn closed, hiding whatever might be on the stage behind. Two dozen or so chairs were arranged facing and close to the stage. Nearly every chair was occupied by a well-dressed man. Ke sat on the extreme left side.
Errin continued on into the room just as the black curtain swept open. A young Chinese girl, thin and delicate and very beautiful stood with downcast eyes on a raised dais in the center of the stage. She was clothed in a sleeveless, green gown that clung to the young female contours of her body. Her pale ivory skin, contrasted against the green of the gown, seemed almost luminescent.
An older Chinaman with a sparse goatee was at the girl’s side. He bowed to the seated men below the stage. With their eyes locked on the girl, not one of them saw his bow.
“I am Quan Ing, gentlemen,” said the Chinaman. “You know the rules of the sale, but I will repeat them. There should be no noise or signals except from those men bidding. The initial bid must be at least one thousand dollars. The minimum bid thereafter is one hundred dollars. Of course, there is no upper limit.” He smiled.
“Now look closely at this lovely girl. She is fifteen years old and perfect in every way. She is a virgin. I have a doctor’s statement to that effect.” The auctioneer extended his hand and raised the chin of the girl. The light played upon the exquisite curves and planes of her beautiful face, the flawless skin, the lustrous, long black hair.
The girl cast one swift glance out over the assemblage of men. Her eyes touched Errin’s for a brief moment. He felt the fear that she tried to hide behind her innocent face, and sensed her drawing away from the lusting men and deeply within herself. He was sad for the little slave girl. How had she come to this secret auction ground in faraway America? Had she been taken by force or trickery and transported to this place with all the rewards for her sale going to her abductors? He hoped whoever bought her, would treat her gently.
“Who will begin the bidding at one thousand?” said the Chinaman.
A hand rose.
“I have a bid,” said the auctioneer. “Do I have one for eleven hundred?”
“Fifteen hundred,” a second man called.
The bidding went swiftly. The girl sold for thirty-three hundred dollars. The purchaser, a big, burly white man, climbed upon the stage and took the girl by the arm in a possessive manner. With Quan Ing leading, the white man took the girl out through a door on the side of the stage.
Errin looked at Ke. The Chinaman nodded with the barest of movement of his head and climbed to his feet. Errin followed slowly after the tong fighter through some curtains on the side of the room. Ke waited for him out of sight of the men in the auction room.
“Why did you bring me here?” Errin asked.
“In case someone saw us, he would think I was merely guiding you to the auction. Now we shall hurry to our true destination?”
You lie, Errin thought. You wanted me to know what was in store for Chun should you take her from Levi.
The two men walked along Market Street for a few minutes and then veered right onto Dupont Street. Shortly they came to a two-story building occupying half a square block. A sign, extending out over the sidewalk from the building, read Chinese Foods, Scom Lip, Proprietor.
The structure was surrounded by buildings of like age and character. All were badly in need of paint. Errin had heard the exteriors of Chinese-owned buildings were deliberately left in a run-down condition so that the white people of the city would not become jealous of the foreigner’s growing wealth. A bell tinkled as Ke and Errin entered the door.
A young Chinaman was behind a counter that ran nearly across the room. A second Chinaman seated at a table on the right near the wall, sprang to his feet as Ke and Errin entered. He was dressed in black clothing similar to Ke’s. A clerk and a hatchetman, Errin judged. Behind them was a series of shelving extending rearward into the dark recesses of the building. Every square inch of the shelves was chock-full of a wide variety of drygoods and foodstuffs.
“Hello, Ke,” the hatchetman said.
Ke nodded a return greeting and continued along one of the aisles between the shelving and out a door in the rear. The new room was very deep. Four men were at desks and transferring numbers from sheets of paper onto abacus boards and recording sums in ledgers. Beyond them three men were unpacking mining tools from large wooden crates and repackaging various portions of the contents into heavy burlap bags of a size a man could carry.
“Honorable Scom Lip outfits our newly arriving countrymen for their journey into the mountains to search for gold,” Ke explained and gestured at the burlap sacks.
Two men in the customary black clothing of the tong sat at a table near a door and played dominoes. They immediately came to their feet when they saw Ke.
More tong fighters, thought Errin. By the way they had acted toward Ke, he must be their superior, probably a lieutenant of Scom Lip. But why so many guards?
He followed Ke through the door and into a room splendidly decorated with long silk drapes on the walls. Thick mohair carpets covered the floor. The finest wooden furniture, delicately and ornately carved was arranged in a most pleasing pattern.
A middle-aged Chinaman, thick chested and with a deep scar across his right cheek, rose from an overstuffed chair. He wore a richly embroidered black silk Mandarin pants and blouse. His step was strong and elastic as he came forward.
“Welcome, Mr. Scanlan, I am Scom Lip,” the man said. He watched Errin with quick, alert eyes sunk deeply under a broad forehead.
“Hello, Scom Lip,” Errin replied. He measured the leader of the most vicious tong in San Francisco. The man stood half a head shorter than Errin. Yet there was something about him that made him appear a big man. Errin decided he was a fighting leader. The scar must be a souvenir of some tong battle.
“Please be seated.” Scom lip indicated a chair. “Ke, have some hot tea brought for Mr. Scanlan.”
Ke hesitated, frowning, glancing at Errin.
“I know, Ke, Mr. Scanlan will be armed. But he and I have no arguments. This is a business discussion. Now see to the tea. And bring something sweet. Have Ging serve us.”
“Yes, Honorable sir.”
“What do you want to talk to me about?” Errin asked.
Lip reseated himself. His eyes swung to again fix on Errin. “You and your friend Mr. Coffin came to my attention a few days past and I’ve been watching the growth of your business. It is unique, this contracting of skilled workmen and I think it would be very profitable.”
“We’re making an honest living.”
“Part of your workmen are black. Does their color create a problem for you?”
“Only a little. They’re good workers and earn their pay.”
“I’m sure they do.”
Ke came into the room with a hurried step. He glanced at Errin and Scom Lip. Satisfied with the situation, he backed away against the wall and became motionless.
A young, very beautiful Chinese girl came into view with a whisper of felt slippers. She carried a tray holding a pot of tea, two small cups, and a plate of rice cookies which she placed on a low table before the men.
“This is Ging Ti,” Lip said, inclining his head at the girl. “She has only recently arrived in San Francisco from Canton. She came on the same ship as Chun Quang. You know Chun, don’t you?”
Errin kept his eyes upon the girl. She had been tense before, but now at the mentioning of Chun, she started, almost spilling the tea that she was pouring.
“Yes,” Errin replied, glad the real reason for him being here was out in the open. “And I imagine you have known of her whereabouts since she bought food in Portsmouth Square,” he countered.
Lip smiled, the scar pulling his face into a menacing scowl. “Exactly so. And since then, I’ve been wondering what to do with the knowledge. I would judge that she is no longer a virgin and thus she would only have value as a whore. That is not much as compared to her worth before you took her. In fact, Mr. Scanlan, there are some associates of mine who believe her head should be severed from her body as a warning to other young women who may think of running away instead of honoring their contracts.”
Errin took the cup of tea Ging handed to him. “Chun had no contract to break,” he said. “She was on the waterfront in Canton when a buyer of girls was loading several aboard ship to bring to California. Some of the girls tried to run away. Those girls were caught, but the man also caught Chun and forced her aboard the ship too.”
For a moment Scom Lip silently considered what Errin had said. “That may be true. However she would then owe me for passage to California since I am the actual owner of the ship that brought her to America. That is the same as a contract.”
“That’s not the same at all for she was forced to come here. But I don’t want to fight with you so I’ll pay for her passage.”
Errin wouldn’t allow Lip to kill Chun without a fight. He was deep within this tong chiefs stronghold and the man could but raise his hand and the hatchetman, Ke, would try to kill Errin. Still Errin thought Scorn Lip would appreciate bravery and not attack after inviting him to come.
“Would you fight me?” The scar on the Chinaman’s face turned red with a rush of blood. Then a thin smile stretched his mouth. “Your suggestion to pay would be one solution, or I could forget her passage fee and give her to you.”
So this is only partly about Chun. Scom Lip was after something more valuable. “What do you want from me?” Errin asked. He must be very wary for the tong chief would prove to be a trickster, and a deadly foe.
“You have shown skill at contracting employment for workmen. I want you to put some of my countrymen to work for wages, two hundred, three hundred if possible. These are men who have failed to find golden riches in the mountains and now want to return to China. They need to earn the passage money.”
“I don’t think that would be possible. Just a few hours ago, I saw a group of your people cursed and hit by a mob of white men afraid of losing their jobs to Chinamen.”
“I know my people are not liked by the white workers of the city. However if anybody can find them employment, that person is you.”
“Simply trying to do that could hurt my business.”
“They will work for a dollar a day,” Scom Lip pressed on. “You could get a dollar and a half a day. Thus one-half dollar for each man would be yours. You could earn much money in a short time. When someone questioned you about why you worked Chinamen, you could tell them they worked only long enough to earn the passage to leave America and go home to China. Please do not reject my request until you have given it full thought.”
Lip was asking too much. White businessmen would be afraid to employ the Chinamen even if they believed the foreigners would shortly leave California, yet Errin dared not flatly refuse the tong leader. Chun’s life might then be forfeit, for no matter how diligently Levi and he guarded her, she could still be killed.
“Maybe there is some type of work that your people could do and the white men would not cause trouble because of it. I’ll think on it.”
“I knew we could reach an understanding. If we succeed, Chun may stay with you without fear of harm from any Chinaman.” Scom Lip pointed at Ging. “In addition, I will give you pretty Ging. Until then I shall keep her pure for you.”
Errin saw that the girl seemed to understand Lip’s words. She peered at Errin from under her bowed head. She didn’t appear displeased at the proposition.
“You’re generous,” Errin said. Ging was indeed beautiful. He would accept her if it came to that. Or maybe he would win the lovely Celeste. He laughed behind his face. His sights were high for a highwayman. But a troubling thought worried him, for Scom Lip to give such a valuable property, he must intend to take a major portion of the dollar-a-day wage remaining to each Chinaman after Errin took his cut. Even that would not pay for the girl. Scom Lip was after something even more important to him. At the moment, Errin could not fathom what that was.
“Have another rice cake and some more tea, Mr. Scanlan,” Scom Lip said and smiled his crooked smile.
“I must go,” Errin said and climbed to his feet.
“There is one more thing that I wish to say, something of importance to you.”
“What’s that?”
“Someone else searches for Chun. A white man named Mattoon.”
“Brol Mattoon, the banker?”
“A banker among other things. It was his men who were guarding the girls when Chun escaped. Because of her, he has lost face. He is powerful on the waterfront, and has many men to obey his orders. Should he find the girl, he would surely kill her, and your friend Mr. Coffin. And even you, Mr. Scanlan, for hiding her. Watch carefully for him.”