most reckless performance in such weather, and had hurried to the
wharf-ends in little groups to find out what was the matter.
Straight down the water front we boomed, Charley edging in till a
man could almost leap ashore. When he gave the signal I tossed the
marlinspike. It struck the planking of the wharf a resounding
smash, bounced along fifteen or twenty feet, and was pounced upon
by the amazed onlookers.
It all happened in a flash, for the next minute Antioch was behind
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54
and we were heeling it up the San Joaquin toward Merryweather, six
miles away. The river straightened out here into its general
easterly course, and we squared away before the wind, wing-and-wing
once more, the foresail bellying out to starboard.
Ole Ericsen seemed sunk into a state of stolid despair. Charley
and the two sailors were looking hopeful, as they had good reason
to be. Merryweather was a coal-mining town, and, it being Sunday,
it was reasonable to expect the men to be in town. Further, the
coal-miners had never lost any love for the Greek fishermen, and
were pretty certain to render us hearty assistance.
We strained our eyes for a glimpse of the town, and the first sight
we caught of it gave us immense relief. The wharves were black
with men. As we came closer, we could see them still arriving,
stringing down the main street, guns in their hands and on the run.
Charley glanced astern at the fishermen with a look of ownership in
his eye which till then had been missing. The Greeks were plainly
overawed by the display of armed strength and were putting their
own rifles away.
We took in topsail and staysail, dropped the main peak, and as we
got abreast of the principal wharf jibed the mainsail. The Mary
Rebecca shot around into the wind, the captive fishermen describing
a great arc behind her, and forged ahead till she lost way, when
lines we’re flung ashore and she was made fast. This was
accomplished under a hurricane of cheers from the delighted miners.
Ole Ericsen heaved a great sigh. “Ay never tank Ay see my wife
never again,” he confessed.
“Why, we were never in any danger,” said Charley.
Ole looked at him incredulously.
“Sure, I mean it,” Charley went on. “All we had to do, any time,
was to let go our end – as I am going to do now, so that those
Greeks can untangle their nets.”
He went below with a monkey-wrench, unscrewed the nut, and let the
hook drop off. When the Greeks had hauled their nets into their
boats and made everything shipshape, a posse of citizens took them
off our hands and led them away to jail.
“Ay tank Ay ban a great big fool,” said Ole Ericsen. But he
changed his mind when the admiring townspeople crowded aboard to
TALES OF THE FISH PATROL
55
shake hands with him, and a couple of enterprising newspaper men
took photographs of the Mary Rebecca and her captain.
DEMETRIOS CONTOS
It must not be thought, from what I have told of the Greek
fishermen, that they were altogether bad. Far from it. But they
were rough men, gathered together in isolated communities and
fighting with the elements for a livelihood. They lived far away
from the law and its workings, did not understand it, and thought
it tyranny. Especially did the fish laws seem tyrannical. And
because of this, they looked upon the men of the fish patrol as
their natural enemies.
We menaced their lives, or their living, which is the same thing,
in many ways. We confiscated illegal traps and nets, the materials
of which had cost them considerable sums and the making of which
required weeks of labor. We prevented them from catching fish at
many times and seasons, which was equivalent to preventing them
from making as good a living as they might have made had we not
been in existence. And when we captured them, they were brought
into the courts of law, where heavy cash fines were collected from
them. As a result, they hated us vindictively. As the dog is the
natural enemy of the cat, the snake of man, so were we of the fish
patrol the natural enemies of the fishermen.
But it is to show that they could act generously as well as hate
bitterly that this story of Demetrios Contos is told. Demetrios
Contos lived in Vallejo. Next to Big Alec, he was the largest,
bravest, and most influential man among the Greeks. He had given
us no trouble, and I doubt if he would ever have clashed with us
had he not invested in a new salmon boat. This boat was the cause
of all the trouble. He had had it built upon his own model, in
which the lines of the general salmon boat were somewhat modified.
To his high elation he found his new boat very fast – in fact,
faster than any other boat on the bay or rivers. Forthwith he grew
proud and boastful: and, our raid with the Mary Rebecca on the
Sunday salmon fishers having wrought fear in their hearts, he sent
a challenge up to Benicia. One of the local fishermen conveyed it
to us; it was to the effect that Demetrios Contos would sail up
from Vallejo on the following Sunday, and in the plain sight of
TALES OF THE FISH PATROL
56
Benicia set his net and catch salmon, and that Charley Le Grant,
patrolman, might come and get him if he could. Of course Charley
and I had heard nothing of the new boat. Our own boat was pretty
fast, and we were not afraid to have a brush with any other that
happened along.
Sunday came. The challenge had been bruited abroad, and the
fishermen and seafaring folk of Benicia turned out to a man,
crowding Steamboat Wharf till it looked like the grand stand at a
football match. Charley and I had been sceptical, but the fact of
the crowd convinced us that there was something in Demetrios
Contos’s dare.
In the afternoon, when the sea-breeze had picked up in strength,
his sail hove into view as he bowled along before the wind. He
tacked a score of feet from the wharf, waved his hand theatrically,
like a knight about to enter the lists, received a hearty cheer in
return, and stood away into the Straits for a couple of hundred
yards. Then he lowered sail, and, drifting the boat sidewise by
means of the wind, proceeded to set his net. He did not set much
of it, possibly fifty feet; yet Charley and I were thunderstruck at
the man’s effrontery. We did not know at the time, but we learned
afterward, that the net he used was old and worthless. It could
catch fish, true; but a catch of any size would have torn it to
pieces.
Charley shook his head and said:
“I confess, it puzzles me. What if he has out only fifty feet? He
could never get it in if we once started for him. And why does he
come here anyway, flaunting his law-breaking in our faces? Right
in our home town, too.”
Charley’s voice took on an aggrieved tone, and he continued for
some minutes to inveigh against the brazenness of Demetrios Contos.
In the meantime, the man in question was lolling in the stern of
his boat and watching the net floats. When a large fish is meshed
in a gill-net, the floats by their agitation advertise the fact.
And they evidently advertised it to Demetrios, for he pulled in
about a dozen feet of net, and held aloft for a moment, before he
flung it into the bottom of the boat, a big, glistening salmon. It
was greeted by the audience on the wharf with round after round of
cheers. This was more than Charley could stand.
“Come on, lad,” he called to me; and we lost no time jumping into
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57
our salmon boat and getting up sail.
The crowd shouted warning to Demetrios, and as we darted out from
the wharf we saw him slash his worthless net clear with a long
knife. His sail was all ready to go up, and a moment later it
fluttered in the sunshine. He ran aft, drew in the sheet, and
filled on the long tack toward the Contra Costa Hills.
By this time we were not more than thirty feet astern. Charley was
jubilant. He knew our boat was fast, and he knew, further, that in
fine sailing few men were his equals. He was confident that we
should surely catch Demetrios, and I shared his confidence. But
somehow we did not seem to gain.
It was a pretty sailing breeze. We were gliding sleekly through
the water, but Demetrios was slowly sliding away from us. And not