rail of the skiff, which was jerked backward out of safety as the
rope tautened and the salmon boat ploughed on.
A groan went up from the row of sailors above, which quickly
changed to a cheer as one of the Italians whipped out a long
sheath-knife and cut the rope. But we had drawn them out of
TALES OF THE FISH PATROL
36
safety, and Charley, from his place in the stern-sheets, reached
over and clutched the stern of the skiff. The whole thing happened
in a second of time, for the first Italian was cutting the rope and
Charley was clutching the skiff when the second Italian dealt him a
rap over the head with an oar, Charley released his hold and
collapsed, stunned, into the bottom of the salmon boat, and the
Italians bent to their oars and escaped back under the ship’s
stern.
The Greek took both tiller and sheet and continued the chase around
the Lancashire Queen, while I attended to Charley, on whose head a
nasty lump was rapidly rising. Our sailor audience was wild with
delight, and to a man encouraged the fleeing Italians. Charley sat
up, with one hand on his head, and gazed about him sheepishly.
“It will never do to let them escape now,” he said, at the same
time drawing his revolver.
On our next circuit, he threatened the Italians with the weapon;
but they rowed on stolidly, keeping splendid stroke and utterly
disregarding him.
“If you don’t stop, I’ll shoot,” Charley said menacingly.
But this had no effect, nor were they to be frightened into
surrendering even when he fired several shots dangerously close to
them. It was too much to expect him to shoot unarmed men, and this
they knew as well as we did; so they continued to pull doggedly
round and round the ship.
“We’ll run them down, then!” Charley exclaimed. “We’ll wear them
out and wind them!”
So the chase continued. Twenty times more we ran them around the
Lancashire Queen, and at last we could see that even their iron
muscles were giving out. They were nearly exhausted, and it was
only a matter of a few more circuits, when the game took on a new
feature. On the row to windward they always gained on us, so that
they were half-way down the ship’s side on the row to leeward when
we were passing the bow. But this last time, as we passed the bow,
we saw them escaping up the ship’s gangway, which had been suddenly
lowered. It was an organized move on the part of the sailors,
evidently countenanced by the captain; for by the time we arrived
where the gangway had been, it was being hoisted up, and the skiff,
slung in the ship’s davits, was likewise flying aloft out of reach.
TALES OF THE FISH PATROL
37
The parley that followed with the captain was short and snappy. He
absolutely forbade us to board the Lancashire Queen, and as
absolutely refused to give up the two men. By this time Charley
was as enraged as the Greek. Not only had he been foiled in a long
and ridiculous chase, but he had been knocked senseless into the
bottom of his boat by the men who had escaped him.
“Knock off my head with little apples,” he declared emphatically,
striking the fist of one hand into the palm of the other, “if those
two men ever escape me! I’ll stay here to get them if it takes the
rest of my natural life, and if I don’t get them, then I promise
you I’ll live unnaturally long or until I do get them, or my name’s
not Charley Le Grant!”
And then began the siege of the Lancashire Queen, a siege memorable
in the annals of both fishermen and fish patrol. When the Reindeer
came along, after a fruitless pursuit of the shad fleet, Charley
instructed Neil Partington to send out his own salmon boat, with
blankets, provisions, and a fisherman’s charcoal stove. By sunset
this exchange of boats was made, and we said good-by to our Greek,
who perforce had to go into Benicia and be locked up for his own
violation of the law. After supper, Charley and I kept alternate
four-hour watches till day-light. The fishermen made no attempt to
escape that night, though the ship sent out a boat for scouting
purposes to find if the coast were clear.
By the next day we saw that a steady siege was in order, and we
perfected our plans with an eye to our own comfort. A dock, known
as the Solano Wharf, which ran out from the Benicia shore, helped
us in this. It happened that the Lancashire Queen, the shore at
Turner’s Shipyard, and the Solano Wharf were the corners of a big
equilateral triangle. From ship to shore, the side of the triangle
along which the Italians had to escape, was a distance equal to
that from the Solano Wharf to the shore, the side of the triangle
along which we had to travel to get to the shore before the
Italians. But as we could sail much faster than they could row, we
could permit them to travel about half their side of the triangle
before we darted out along our side. If we allowed them to get
more than half-way, they were certain to beat us to shore; while if
we started before they were half-way, they were equally certain to
beat us back to the ship.
We found that an imaginary line, drawn from the end of the wharf to
a windmill farther along the shore, cut precisely in half the line
of the triangle along which the Italians must escape to reach the
land. This line made it easy for us to determine how far to let
TALES OF THE FISH PATROL
38
them run away before we bestirred ourselves in pursuit. Day after
day we would watch them through our glasses as they rowed leisurely
along toward the half-way point; and as they drew close into line
with the windmill, we would leap into the boat and get up sail. At
sight of our preparation, they would turn and row slowly back to
the Lancashire Queen, secure in the knowledge that we could not
overtake them.
To guard against calms – when our salmon boat would be useless – we
also had in readiness a light rowing skiff equipped with spoon-
oars. But at such times, when the wind failed us, we were forced
to row out from the wharf as soon as they rowed from the ship. In
the night-time, on the other hand, we were compelled to patrol the
immediate vicinity of the ship; which we did, Charley and I
standing four-hour watches turn and turn about. The Italians,
however, preferred the daytime in which to escape, and so our long
night vigils were without result.
“What makes me mad,” said Charley, “is our being kept from our
honest beds while those rascally lawbreakers are sleeping soundly
every night. But much good may it do them,” he threatened. “I’ll
keep them on that ship till the captain charges them board, as sure
as a sturgeon’s not a catfish!”
It was a tantalizing problem that confronted us. As long as we
were vigilant, they could not escape; and as long as they were
careful, we would be unable to catch them. Charley cudgelled his
brains continually, but for once his imagination failed him. It
was a problem apparently without other solution than that of
patience. It was a waiting game, and whichever waited the longer
was bound to win. To add to our irritation, friends of the
Italians established a code of signals with them from the shore, so
that we never dared relax the siege for a moment. And besides
this, there were always one or two suspicious-looking fishermen
hanging around the Solano Wharf and keeping watch on our actions.
We could do nothing but “grin and bear it,” as Charley said, while
it took up all our time and prevented us from doing other work.
The days went by, and there was no change in the situation. Not
that no attempts were made to change it. One night friends from
the shore came out in a skiff and attempted to confuse us while the
two Italians escaped. That they did not succeed was due to the
lack of a little oil on the ship’s davits. For we were drawn back
from the pursuit of the strange boat by the creaking of the davits,
and arrived at the Lancashire Queen just as the Italians were
lowering their skiff. Another night, fully half a dozen skiffs
TALES OF THE FISH PATROL
39
rowed around us in the darkness, but we held on like a leech to the
side of the ship and frustrated their plan till they grew angry and
showered us with abuse. Charley laughed to himself in the bottom