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Rafael Creek. The tide was getting lower, and he had difficulty in
escaping the mud-banks. I was hoping he would run aground, but he
succeeded in making the Bay without accident.
As we passed out of the creek a noisy discussion arose, which I
knew related to me. Yellow Handkerchief was vehement, but the
other four as vehemently opposed him. It was very evident that he
advocated doing away with me and that they were afraid of the
consequences. I was familiar enough with the Chinese character to
know that fear alone restrained them. But what plan they offered
in place of Yellow Handkerchief’s murderous one, I could not make
out.
My feelings, as my fate hung in the balance, may be guessed. The
discussion developed into a quarrel, in the midst of which Yellow
Handkerchief unshipped the heavy tiller and sprang toward me. But
his four companions threw themselves between, and a clumsy struggle
took place for possession of the tiller. In the end Yellow
Handkerchief was overcome, and sullenly returned to the steering,
while they soundly berated him for his rashness.
Not long after, the sail was run down and the junk slowly urged
forward by means of the sweeps. I felt it ground gently on the
soft mud. Three of the Chinese – they all wore long sea-boots –
got over the side, and the other two passed me across the rail.
With Yellow Handkerchief at my legs and his two companions at my
shoulders, they began to flounder along through the mud. After
some time their feet struck firmer footing, and I knew they were
carrying me up some beach. The location of this beach was not
doubtful in my mind. It could be none other than one of the Marin
Islands, a group of rocky islets which lay off the Marin County
shore.
When they reached the firm sand that marked high tide, I was
dropped, and none too gently. Yellow Handkerchief kicked me
spitefully in the ribs, and then the trio floundered back through
the mud to the junk. A moment later I heard the sail go up and
slat in the wind as they drew in the sheet. Then silence fell, and
I was left to my own devices for getting free.
I remembered having seen tricksters writhe and squirm out of ropes
with which they were bound, but though I writhed and squirmed like
a good fellow, the knots remained as hard as ever, and there was no
appreciable slack. In the course of my squirming, however, I
rolled over upon a heap of clam-shells – the remains, evidently, of
some yachting party’s clam-bake. This gave me an idea. My hands
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73
were tied behind my back; and, clutching a shell in them, I rolled
over and over, up the beach, till I came to the rocks I knew to be
there.
Rolling around and searching, I finally discovered a narrow
crevice, into which I shoved the shell. The edge of it was sharp,
and across the sharp edge I proceeded to saw the rope that bound my
wrists. The edge of the shell was also brittle, and I broke it by
bearing too heavily upon it. Then I rolled back to the heap and
returned with as many shells as I could carry in both hands. I
broke many shells, cut my hands a number of times, and got cramps
in my legs from my strained position and my exertions.
While I was suffering from the cramps, and resting, I heard a
familiar halloo drift across the water. It was Charley, searching
for me. The gag in my mouth prevented me from replying, and I
could only lie there, helplessly fuming, while he rowed past the
island and his voice slowly lost itself in the distance.
I returned to the sawing process, and at the end of half an hour
succeeded in severing the rope. The rest was easy. My hands once
free, it was a matter of minutes to loosen my legs and to take the
gag out of my mouth. I ran around the island to make sure it was
an island and not by any chance a portion of the mainland. An
island it certainly was, one of the Marin group, fringed with a
sandy beach and surrounded by a sea of mud. Nothing remained but
to wait till daylight and to keep warm; for it was a cold, raw
night for California, with just enough wind to pierce the skin and
cause one to shiver.
To keep up the circulation, I ran around the island a dozen times
or so, and clambered across its rocky backbone as many times more –
all of which was of greater service to me, as I afterward
discovered, than merely to warm me up. In the midst of this
exercise I wondered if I had lost anything out of my pockets while
rolling over and over in the sand. A search showed the absence of
my revolver and pocket-knife. The first Yellow Handkerchief had
taken; but the knife had been lost in the sand.
I was hunting for it when the sound of rowlocks came to my ears.
At first, of course, I thought of Charley; but on second thought I
knew Charley would be calling out as he rowed along. A sudden
premonition of danger seized me. The Marin Islands are lonely
places; chance visitors in the dead of night are hardly to be
expected. What if it were Yellow Handkerchief? The sound made by
the rowlocks grew more distinct. I crouched in the sand and
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74
listened intently. The boat, which I judged a small skiff from the
quick stroke of the oars, was landing in the mud about fifty yards
up the beach. I heard a raspy, hacking cough, and my heart stood
still. It was Yellow Handkerchief. Not to be robbed of his
revenge by his more cautious companions, he had stolen away from
the village and come back alone.
I did some swift thinking. I was unarmed and helpless on a tiny
islet, and a yellow barbarian, whom I had reason to fear, was
coming after me. Any place was safer than the island, and I turned
instinctively to the water, or rather to the mud. As he began to
flounder ashore through the mud, I started to flounder out into it,
going over the same course which the Chinese had taken in landing
me and in returning to the junk.
Yellow Handkerchief, believing me to be lying tightly bound,
exercised no care, but came ashore noisily. This helped me, for,
under the shield of his noise and making no more myself than
necessary, I managed to cover fifty feet by the time he had made
the beach. Here I lay down in the mud. It was cold and clammy,
and made me shiver, but I did not care to stand up and run the risk
of being discovered by his sharp eyes.
He walked down the beach straight to where he had left me lying,
and I had a fleeting feeling of regret at not being able to see his
surprise when he did not find me. But it was a very fleeting
regret, for my teeth were chattering with the cold.
What his movements were after that I had largely to deduce from the
facts of the situation, for I could scarcely see him in the dim
starlight. But I was sure that the first thing he did was to make
the circuit of the beach to learn if landings had been made by
other boats. This he would have known at once by the tracks
through the mud.
Convinced that no boat had removed me from the island, he next
started to find out what had become of me. Beginning at the pile
of clamshells, he lighted matches to trace my tracks in the sand.
At such times I could see his villanous face plainly, and, when the
sulphur from the matches irritated his lungs, between the raspy
cough that followed and the clammy mud in which I was lying, I
confess I shivered harder than ever.
The multiplicity of my footprints puzzled him. Then the idea that
I might be out in the mud must have struck him, for he waded out a
few yards in my direction, and, stooping, with his eyes searched
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75
the dim surface long and carefully. He could not have been more
than fifteen feet from me, and had he lighted a match he would
surely have discovered me.
He returned to the beach and clambered about, over the rocky
backbone, again hunting for me with lighted matches, The closeness
of the shave impelled me to further flight. Not daring to wade
upright, on account of the noise made by floundering and by the
suck of the mud, I remained lying down in the mud and propelled