A thousand deaths by Jack London

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

TALES OF THE FISH PATROL

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