A thousand deaths by Jack London

each moment it would fall aboard and destroy us. The Streak was

pulsing and vibrating and roaring like a thing alive. The wind of

our progress was like a gale – a forty-five-mile gale. We could

not face it and draw breath without choking and strangling. It

blew the smoke straight back from the mouths of the smoke-stacks at

a direct right angle to the perpendicular. In fact, we were

travelling as fast as an express train. “We just streaked it,” was

the way Charley told it afterward, and I think his description

comes nearer than any I can give.

As for the Italians in the skiff – hardly had we started, it seemed

to me, when we were on top of them. Naturally, we had to slow down

long before we got to them; but even then we shot past like a

whirlwind and were compelled to circle back between them and the

shore. They had rowed steadily, rising from the thwarts at every

stroke, up to the moment we passed them, when they recognized

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43

Charley and me. That took the last bit of fight out of them. They

hauled in their oars, and sullenly submitted to arrest.

“Well, Charley,” Neil Partington said, as we discussed it on the

wharf afterward, “I fail to see where your boasted imagination came

into play this time.”

But Charley was true to his hobby. “Imagination?” he demanded,

pointing to the Streak. “Look at that! just look at it! If the

invention of that isn’t imagination, I should like to know what

is.”

“Of course,” he added, “it’s the other fellow’s imagination, but it

did the work all the same.”

CHARLEY’S COUP

Perhaps our most laughable exploit on the fish patrol, and at the

same time our most dangerous one, was when we rounded in, at a

single haul, an even score of wrathful fishermen. Charley called

it a “coop,” having heard Neil Partington use the term; but I think

he misunderstood the word, and thought it meant “coop,” to catch,

to trap. The fishermen, however, coup or coop, must have called it

a Waterloo, for it was the severest stroke ever dealt them by the

fish patrol, while they had invited it by open and impudent

defiance of the law.

During what is called the “open season” the fishermen might catch

as many salmon as their luck allowed and their boats could hold.

But there was one important restriction. From sun-down Saturday

night to sun-up Monday morning, they were not permitted to set a

net. This was a wise provision on the part of the Fish Commission,

for it was necessary to give the spawning salmon some opportunity

to ascend the river and lay their eggs. And this law, with only an

occasional violation, had been obediently observed by the Greek

fishermen who caught salmon for the canneries and the market.

One Sunday morning, Charley received a telephone call from a friend

in Collinsville, who told him that the full force of fishermen was

out with its nets. Charley and I jumped into our salmon boat and

started for the scene of the trouble. With a light favoring wind

at our back we went through the Carquinez Straits, crossed Suisun

TALES OF THE FISH PATROL

44

Bay, passed the Ship Island Light, and came upon the whole fleet at

work.

But first let me describe the method by which they worked. The net

used is what is known as a gill-net. It has a simple diamond-

shaped mesh which measures at least seven and one-half inches

between the knots. From five to seven and even eight hundred feet

in length, these nets are only a few feet wide. They are not

stationary, but float with the current, the upper edge supported on

the surface by floats, the lower edge sunk by means of leaden

weights,

This arrangement keeps the net upright in the current and

effectually prevents all but the smaller fish from ascending the

river. The salmon, swimming near the surface, as is their custom,

run their heads through these meshes, and are prevented from going

on through by their larger girth of body, and from going back

because of their gills, which catch in the mesh. It requires two

fishermen to set such a net, – one to row the boat, while the

other, standing in the stern, carefully pays out the net. When it

is all out, stretching directly across the stream, the men make

their boat fast to one end of the net and drift along with it.

As we came upon the fleet of law-breaking fishermen, each boat two

or three hundred yards from its neighbors, and boats and nets

dotting the river as far as we could see, Charley said:

“I’ve only one regret, lad, and that is that I have’nt a thousand

arms so as to be able to catch them all. As it is, we’ll only be

able to catch one boat, for while we are tackling that one it will

be up nets and away with the rest.”

As we drew closer, we observed none of the usual flurry and

excitement which our appearance invariably produced. Instead, each

boat lay quietly by its net, while the fishermen favored us with

not the slightest attention.

“It’s curious,” Charley muttered. “Can it be they don’t recognize

us?”

I said that it was impossible, and Charley agreed; yet there was a

whole fleet, manned by men who knew us only too well, and who took

no more notice of us than if we were a hay scow or a pleasure

yacht.

This did not continue to be the case, however, for as we bore down

TALES OF THE FISH PATROL

45

upon the nearest net, the men to whom it belonged detached their

boat and rowed slowly toward the shore. The rest of the boats

showed no, sign of uneasiness.

“That’s funny,” was Charley’s remark. “But we can confiscate the

net, at any rate.”

We lowered sail, picked up one end of the net, and began to heave

it into the boat. But at the first heave we heard a bullet zip-

zipping past us on the water, followed by the faint report of a

rifle. The men who had rowed ashore were shooting at us. At the

next heave a second bullet went zipping past, perilously near.

Charley took a turn around a pin and sat down. There were no more

shots. But as soon as he began to heave in, the shooting

recommenced.

“That settles it,” he said, flinging the end of the net overboard.

“You fellows want it worse than we do, and you can have it.”

We rowed over toward the next net, for Charley was intent on

finding out whether or not we were face to face with an organized

defiance. As we approached, the two fishermen proceeded to cast

off from their net and row ashore, while the first two rowed back

and made fast to the net we had abandoned. And at the second net

we were greeted by rifle shots till we desisted and went on to the

third, where the manoeuvre was again repeated.

Then we gave it up, completely routed, and hoisted sail and started

on the long windward beat back to Benicia. A number of Sundays

went by, on each of which the law was persistently violated. Yet,

short of an armed force of soldiers, we could do nothing. The

fishermen had hit upon a new idea and were using it for all it was

worth, while there seemed no way by which we could get the better

of them.

About this time Neil Partington happened along from the Lower Bay,

where he had been for a number of weeks. With him was Nicholas,

the Greek boy who had helped us in our raid on the oyster pirates,

and the pair of them took a hand. We made our arrangements

carefully. It was planned that while Charley and I tackled the

nets, they were to be hidden ashore so as to ambush the fishermen

who landed to shoot at us.

It was a pretty plan. Even Charley said it was. But we reckoned

not half so well as the Greeks. They forestalled us by ambushing

Neil and Nicholas and taking them prisoners, while, as of old,

TALES OF THE FISH PATROL

46

bullets whistled about our ears when Charley and I attempted to

take possession of the nets. When we were again beaten off, Neil

Partington and Nicholas were released. They were rather shamefaced

when they put in an appearance, and Charley chaffed them

unmercifully. But Neil chaffed back, demanding to know why

Charley’s imagination had not long since overcome the difficulty.

“Just you wait; the idea’ll come all right,” Charley promised.

“Most probably,” Neil agreed. “But I’m afraid the salmon will be

exterminated first, and then there will be no need for it when it

does come.”

Neil Partington, highly disgusted with his adventure, departed for