A thousand deaths by Jack London

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 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.

TALES OF THE FISH PATROL

7

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.

“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

TALES OF THE FISH PATROL

8

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

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

TALES OF THE FISH PATROL

9

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; 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.

TALES OF THE FISH PATROL

10

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

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