Tales of the Fish Patrol(巡鱼的故事)

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Tales of the Fish Patrol

WHITE AND YELLOW

San Francisco Bay is so large that often its storms are more disastrous

to ocean-going craft than is the ocean itself in its violent moments. The

waters of the bay contain all manner of fish, wherefore its surface is

ploughed by the keels of all manner of fishing boats manned by all manner

of fishermen. To protect the fish from this motley floating population

many wise laws have been passed, and there is a fish patrol to see that

these laws are enforced. Exciting times are the lot of the fish patrol: in

its history more than one dead patrolman has marked defeat, and more

often dead fishermen across their illegal nets have marked success.

Wildest among the fisher-folk may be accounted the Chinese shrimp-

catchers. It is the habit of the shrimp to crawl along the bottom in vast

armies till it reaches fresh water, when it turns about and crawls back

again to the salt. And where the tide ebbs and flows, the Chinese sink

great bag-nets to the bottom, with gaping mouths, into which the shrimp

crawls and from which it is transferred to the boiling-pot. This in itself

would not be bad, were it not for the small mesh of the nets, so small that

the tiniest fishes, little new-hatched things not a quarter of an inch long,

cannot pass through. The beautiful beaches of Points Pedro and Pablo,

where are the shrimp-catchers' villages, are made fearful by the stench

from myriads of decaying fish, and against this wasteful destruction it has

ever been the duty of the fish patrol to act.

When I was a youngster of sixteen, a good sloop-sailor and all- round

bay-waterman, my sloop, the Reindeer, was chartered by the Fish

Commission, and I became for the time being a deputy patrolman. After

a deal of work among the Greek fishermen of the Upper Bay and rivers,

where knives flashed at the beginning of trouble and men permitted

themselves to be made prisoners only after a revolver was thrust in their

faces, we hailed with delight an expedition to the Lower Bay against the

Chinese shrimp-catchers.

There were six of us, in two boats, and to avoid suspicion we ran down

after dark and dropped anchor under a projecting bluff of land known as

Tales of the Fish Patrol

Point Pinole. As the east paled with the first light of dawn we got under

way again, and hauled close on the land breeze as we slanted across the

bay toward Point Pedro. The morning mists curled and clung to the

water so that we could see nothing, but we busied ourselves driving the

chill from our bodies with hot coffee. Also we had to devote ourselves to

the miserable task of bailing, for in some incomprehensible way the

Reindeer had sprung a generous leak. Half the night had been spent in

overhauling the ballast and exploring the seams, but the labor had been

without avail. The water still poured in, and perforce we doubled up in

the cockpit and tossed it out again.

After coffee, three of the men withdrew to the other boat, a Columbia

River salmon boat, leaving three of us in the Reindeer. Then the two craft

proceeded in company till the sun showed over the eastern sky-line. Its

fiery rays dispelled the clinging vapors, and there, before our eyes, like a

picture, lay the shrimp fleet, spread out in a great half-moon, the tips of

the crescent fully three miles apart, and each junk moored fast to the buoy

of a shrimp-net. But there was no stir, no sign of life. The situation

dawned upon us. While waiting for slack water, in which to lift their

heavy nets from the bed of the bay, the Chinese had all gone to sleep

below. We were elated, and our plan of battle was swiftly formed.

"Throw each of your two men on to a junk," whispered Le Grant to me

from the salmon boat. "And you make fast to a third yourself. We'll do

the same, and there's no reason in the world why we shouldn't capture six

junks at the least."

Then we separated. I put the Reindeer about on the other tack, ran up

under the lee of a junk, shivered the mainsail into the wind and lost

headway, and forged past the stern of the junk so slowly and so near that

one of the patrolmen stepped lightly aboard. Then I kept off, filled the

mainsail, and bore away for a second junk.

Up to this time there had been no noise, but from the first junk

captured by the salmon boat an uproar now broke forth. There was shrill

Oriental yelling, a pistol shot, and more yelling.

"It's all up. They're warning the others," said George, the remaining

patrolman, as he stood beside me in the cockpit.

Tales of the Fish Patrol

By this time we were in the thick of the fleet, and the alarm was

spreading with incredible swiftness. The decks were beginning to swarm

with half-awakened and half-naked Chinese. Cries and yells of warning

and anger were flying over the quiet water, and somewhere a conch shell

was being blown with great success. To the right of us I saw the captain

of a junk chop away his mooring line with an axe and spring to help his

crew at the hoisting of the huge, outlandish lug-sail. But to the left the

first heads were popping up from below on another junk, and I rounded up

the Reindeer alongside long enough for George to spring aboard.

The whole fleet was now under way. In addition to the sails they had

gotten out long sweeps, and the bay was being ploughed in every direction

by the fleeing junks. I was now alone in the Reindeer, seeking feverishly

to capture a third prize. The first junk I took after was a clean miss, for it

trimmed its sheets and shot away surprisingly into the wind. By fully

half a point it outpointed the Reindeer, and I began to feel respect for the

clumsy craft. Realizing the hopelessness of the pursuit, I filled away,

threw out the main-sheet, and drove down before the wind upon the junks

to leeward, where I had them at a disadvantage.

The one I had selected wavered indecisively before me, and, as I

swung wide to make the boarding gentle, filled suddenly and darted away,

the smart Mongols shouting a wild rhythm as they bent to the sweeps.

But I had been ready for this. I luffed suddenly. Putting the tiller hard

down, and holding it down with my body, I brought the main-sheet in,

hand over hand, on the run, so as to retain all possible striking force. The

two starboard sweeps of the junk were crumpled up, and then the two

boats came together with a crash. The Reindeer's bowsprit, like a

monstrous hand, reached over and ripped out the junk's chunky mast and

towering sail.

This was met by a curdling yell of rage. A big Chinaman, remarkably

evil-looking, with his head swathed in a yellow silk handkerchief and face

badly pock-marked, planted a pike-pole on the Reindeer's bow and began

to shove the entangled boats apart. Pausing long enough to let go the jib

halyards, and just as the Reindeer cleared and began to drift astern, I

leaped aboard the junk with a line and made fast. He of the yellow

Tales of the Fish Patrol

handkerchief and pock-marked face came toward me threateningly, but I

put my hand into my hip pocket, and he hesitated. I was unarmed, but

the Chinese have learned to be fastidiously careful of American hip

pockets, and it was upon this that I depended to keep him and his savage

crew at a distance.

I ordered him to drop the anchor at the junk's bow, to which he replied,

"No sabbe." The crew responded in like fashion, and though I made my

meaning plain by signs, they refused to understand. Realizing the

inexpediency of discussing the matter, I went forward myself, overran the

line, and let the anchor go.

"Now get aboard, four of you," I said in a loud voice, indicating with

my fingers that four of them were to go with me and the fifth was to

remain by the junk. The Yellow Handkerchief hesitated; but I repeated

the order fiercely (much more fiercely than I felt), at the same time

sending my hand to my hip. Again the Yellow Handkerchief was

overawed, and with surly looks he led three of his men aboard the

Reindeer. I cast off at once, and, leaving the jib down, steered a course

for George's junk. Here it was easier, for there were two of us, and

George had a pistol to fall back on if it came to the worst. And here, as

with my junk, four Chinese were transferred to the sloop and one left

behind to take care of things.

Four more were added to our passenger list from the third junk. By

this time the salmon boat had collected its twelve prisoners and came

alongside, badly overloaded. To make matters worse, as it was a small

boat, the patrolmen were so jammed in with their prisoners that they

would have little chance in case of trouble.

"You'll have to help us out," said Le Grant.

I looked over my prisoners, who had crowded into the cabin and on

top of it. "I can take three," I answered.

"Make it four," he suggested, "and I'll take Bill with me." (Bill was

the third patrolman.) "We haven't elbow room here, and in case of a

scuffle one white to every two of them will be just about the right

proportion."

The exchange was made, and the salmon boat got up its spritsail and

Tales of the Fish Patrol

headed down the bay toward the marshes off San Rafael. I ran up the jib

and followed with the Reindeer. San Rafael, where we were to turn our

catch over to the authorities, communicated with the bay by way of a long

and tortuous slough, or marshland creek, which could be navigated only

when the tide was in. Slack water had come, and, as the ebb was

commencing, there was need for hurry if we cared to escape waiting half a

day for the next tide.

But the land breeze had begun to die away with the rising sun, and

now came only in failing puffs. The salmon boat got out its oars and

soon left us far astern. Some of the Chinese stood in the forward part of

the cockpit, near the cabin doors, and once, as I leaned over the cockpit

rail to flatten down the jib-sheet a bit, I felt some one brush against my hip

pocket. I made no sign, but out of the corner of my eye I saw that the

Yellow Handkerchief had discovered the emptiness of the pocket which

had hitherto overawed him.

To make matters serious, during all the excitement of boarding the

junks the Reindeer had not been bailed, and the water was beginning to

slush over the cockpit floor. The shrimp-catchers pointed at it and

looked to me questioningly.

"Yes," I said. "Bime by, allee same dlown, velly quick, you no bail

now. Sabbe?"

No, they did not "sabbe," or at least they shook their heads to that

effect, though they chattered most comprehendingly to one another in their

own lingo. I pulled up three or four of the bottom boards, got a couple of

buckets from a locker, and by unmistakable sign-language invited them to

fall to. But they laughed, and some crowded into the cabin and some

climbed up on top.

Their laughter was not good laughter. There was a hint of menace in

it, a maliciousness which their black looks verified. The Yellow

Handkerchief, since his discovery of my empty pocket, had become most

insolent in his bearing, and he wormed about among the other prisoners,

talking to them with great earnestness.

Swallowing my chagrin, I stepped down into the cockpit and began

throwing out the water. But hardly had I begun, when the boom swung

Tales of the Fish Patrol

overhead, the mainsail filled with a jerk, and the Reindeer heeled over.

The day wind was springing up. George was the veriest of landlubbers,

so I was forced to give over bailing and take the tiller. The wind was

blowing directly off Point Pedro and the high mountains behind, and

because of this was squally and uncertain, half the time bellying the

canvas out and the other half flapping it idly.

George was about the most all-round helpless man I had ever met.

Among his other disabilities, he was a consumptive, and I knew that if he

attempted to bail, it might bring on a hemorrhage. Yet the rising water

warned me that something must be done. Again I ordered the shrimp-

catchers to lend a hand with the buckets. They laughed defiantly, and

those inside the cabin, the water up to their ankles, shouted back and forth

with those on top.

"You'd better get out your gun and make them bail," I said to George.

But he shook his head and showed all too plainly that he was afraid.

The Chinese could see the funk he was in as well as I could, and their

insolence became insufferable. Those in the cabin broke into the food

lockers, and those above scrambled down and joined them in a feast on

our crackers and canned goods.

"What do we care?" George said weakly.

I was fuming with helpless anger. "If they get out of hand, it will be

too late to care. The best thing you can do is to get them in check right

now."

The water was rising higher and higher, and the gusts, forerunners of a

steady breeze, were growing stiffer and stiffer. And between the gusts,

the prisoners, having gotten away with a week's grub, took to crowding

first to one side and then to the other till the Reindeer rocked like a cockle-

shell. Yellow Handkerchief approached me, and, pointing out his village

on the Point Pedro beach, gave me to understand that if I turned the

Reindeer in that direction and put them ashore, they, in turn, would go to

bailing. By now the water in the cabin was up to the bunks, and the bed-

clothes were sopping. It was a foot deep on the cockpit floor.

Nevertheless I refused, and I could see by George's face that he was

disappointed.

Tales of the Fish Patrol

"If you don't show some nerve, they'll rush us and throw us

overboard," I said to him. "Better give me your revolver, if you want to

be safe."

"The safest thing to do," he chattered cravenly, "is to put them ashore.

I, for one, don't want to be drowned for the sake of a handful of dirty

Chinamen."

"And I, for another, don't care to give in to a handful of dirty

Chinamen to escape drowning," I answered hotly.

"You'll sink the Reindeer under us all at this rate," he whined. "And

what good that'll do I can't see."

"Every man to his taste," I retorted.

He made no reply, but I could see he was trembling pitifully. Between

the threatening Chinese and the rising water he was beside himself with

fright; and, more than the Chinese and the water, I feared him and what his

fright might impel him to do. I could see him casting longing glances at

the small skiff towing astern, so in the next calm I hauled the skiff

alongside. As I did so his eyes brightened with hope; but before he could

guess my intention, I stove the frail bottom through with a hand-axe, and

the skiff filled to its gunwales.

"It's sink or float together," I said. "And if you'll give me your

revolver, I'll have the Reindeer bailed out in a jiffy."

"They're too many for us," he whimpered. "We can't fight them all."

I turned my back on him in disgust. The salmon boat had long since

passed from sight behind a little archipelago known as the Marin Islands,

so no help could be looked for from that quarter. Yellow Handkerchief

came up to me in a familiar manner, the water in the cockpit slushing

against his legs. I did not like his looks. I felt that beneath the pleasant

smile he was trying to put on his face there was an ill purpose. I ordered

him back, and so sharply that he obeyed.

"Now keep your distance," I commanded, "and don't you come

closer!"

"Wha' fo'?" he demanded indignantly. "I t'ink-um talkee talkee heap

good."

"Talkee talkee," I answered bitterly, for I knew now that he had

Tales of the Fish Patrol

understood all that passed between George and me. "What for talkee

talkee? You no sabbe talkee talkee."

He grinned in a sickly fashion. "Yep, I sabbe velly much. I honest

Chinaman."

"All right," I answered. "You sabbe talkee talkee, then you bail water

plenty plenty. After that we talkee talkee."

He shook his head, at the same time pointing over his shoulder to his

comrades. "No can do. Velly bad Chinamen, heap velly bad. I t'ink-

um - "

"Stand back!" I shouted, for I had noticed his hand disappear beneath

his blouse and his body prepare for a spring.

Disconcerted, he went back into the cabin, to hold a council,

apparently, from the way the jabbering broke forth. The Reindeer was

very deep in the water, and her movements had grown quite loggy. In a

rough sea she would have inevitably swamped; but the wind, when it did

blow, was off the land, and scarcely a ripple disturbed the surface of the

bay.

"I think you'd better head for the beach," George said abruptly, in a

manner that told me his fear had forced him to make up his mind to some

course of action.

"I think not," I answered shortly.

"I command you," he said in a bullying tone.

"I was commanded to bring these prisoners into San Rafael," was my

reply.

Our voices were raised, and the sound of the altercation brought the

Chinese out of the cabin.

"Now will you head for the beach?"

This from George, and I found myself looking into the muzzle of his

revolver - of the revolver he dared to use on me, but was too cowardly to

use on the prisoners.

My brain seemed smitten with a dazzling brightness. The whole

situation, in all its bearings, was focussed sharply before me - the shame

of losing the prisoners, the worthlessness and cowardice of George, the

meeting with Le Grant and the other patrol men and the lame explanation;

Tales of the Fish Patrol

and then there was the fight I had fought so hard, victory wrenched from

me just as I thought I had it within my grasp. And out of the tail of my

eye I could see the Chinese crowding together by the cabin doors and

leering triumphantly. It would never do.

I threw my hand up and my head down. The first act elevated the

muzzle, and the second removed my head from the path of the bullet

which went whistling past. One hand closed on George's wrist, the other

on the revolver. Yellow Handkerchief and his gang sprang toward me.

It was now or never. Putting all my strength into a sudden effort, I

swung George's body forward to meet them. Then I pulled back with

equal suddenness, ripping the revolver out of his fingers and jerking him

off his feet. He fell against Yellow Handkerchief's knees, who stumbled

over him, and the pair wallowed in the bailing hole where the cockpit floor

was torn open. The next instant I was covering them with my revolver,

and the wild shrimp-catchers were cowering and cringing away.

But I swiftly discovered that there was all the difference in the world

between shooting men who are attacking and men who are doing nothing

more than simply refusing to obey. For obey they would not when I

ordered them into the bailing hole. I threatened them with the revolver,

but they sat stolidly in the flooded cabin and on the roof and would not

move.

Fifteen minutes passed, the Reindeer sinking deeper and deeper, her

mainsail flapping in the calm. But from off the Point Pedro shore I saw a

dark line form on the water and travel toward us. It was the steady

breeze I had been expecting so long. I called to the Chinese and pointed

it out. They hailed it with exclamations. Then I pointed to the sail and to

the water in the Reindeer, and indicated by signs that when the wind

reached the sail, what of the water aboard we would capsize. But they

jeered defiantly, for they knew it was in my power to luff the helm and let

go the main-sheet, so as to spill the wind and escape damage.

But my mind was made up. I hauled in the main-sheet a foot or two,

took a turn with it, and bracing my feet, put my back against the tiller.

This left me one hand for the sheet and one for the revolver. The dark

line drew nearer, and I could see them looking from me to it and back

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