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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

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? left

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 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

only was he going faster, but he was eating into the wind a

fraction of a point closer than we. This was sharply impressed upon

us when he went about under the Contra Costa Hills and passed us on

the other tack fully one hundred feet dead to windward. .

"Whew!" Charley exclaimed. "Either that boat is a daisy, or

we've got a five-gallon coal-oil can fast to our keel!" .

It certainly looked it one way or the other. And by the time

Demetrios made the Sonoma Hills, on the other side of the Straits,

we were so hopelessly outdistanced that Charley told me to slack

off the sheet, and we squared away for Benicia. The fishermen on

Steamboat Wharf showered us with ridicule when we returned and tied

up. Charley and I got out and walked away, feeling rather sheepish,

for it is a sore stroke to one's pride when he thinks he has a good

boat and knows how to sail it, and another man comes along and

beats him. .

Charley mooned over it for a couple of days; then word was

brought to us, as before, that on the next Sunday Demetrios Contos

would repeat his performance. Charley roused himself. He had our

boat out of the water, cleaned and repainted its bottom, made a

trifling alteration about the centre-board, overhauled the running

gear, and sat up nearly all of Saturday night sewing on a new and

much larger sail. So large did he make it, in fact, that additional

ballast was imperative, and we stowed away nearly five hundred

extra pounds of old railroad iron in the bottom of the boat. .

Sunday came, and with it came Demetrios Contos, to break the law

defiantly in open day. Again we had the afternoon sea-breeze, and

again Demetrios cut loose some forty or more feet of his rotten

net, and got up sail and under way under our very noses. But he had

anticipated Charley's move, and his own sail peaked higher than

ever, while a whole extra cloth had been added to the after

leech. .

It was nip and tuck across to the Contra Costa Hills, neither of

us seeming to gain or to lose. But by the time we had made the

return tack to the Sonoma Hills, we could see that, while we footed

it at about equal speed, Demetrios had eaten into the wind the

least bit more than we. Yet Charley was sailing our boat as finely

and delicately as it was possible to sail it, and getting more out

of it than he ever had before. .

Of course, he could have drawn his revolver and fired at

Demetrios; but we had long since found it contrary to our natures

to shoot at a fleeing man guilty of only a petty offence. Also a

sort of tacit agreement seemed to have been reached between the

patrolmen and the fishermen. If we did not shoot while they ran

away, they, in turn, did not fight if we once laid hands on them.

Thus Demetrios Contos ran away from us, and we did no more than try

our best to overtake him; and, in turn, if our boat proved faster

than his, or was sailed better, he would, we knew, make no

resistance when we caught up with him. .

With our large sails and the healthy breeze romping up the

Carquinez Straits, we found that our sailing was what is called

"ticklish." We had to be constantly on the alert to avoid a

capsize, and while Charley steered I held the main-sheet in my hand

with but a single turn round a pin, ready to let go at any moment.

Demetrios, we could see, sailing his boat alone, had his hands

full. .

But it was a vain undertaking for us to attempt to catch him.

Out of his inner consciousness he had evolved a boat that was

better than ours. And though Charley sailed fully as well, if not

the least bit better, the boat he sailed was not so good as the

Greek's. .

"Slack away the sheet," Charley commanded; and as our boat fell

off before the wind, Demetrios's mocking laugh floated down to

us. .

Charley shook his head, saying, "It's no use. Demetrios has the

better boat. If he tries his performance again, we must meet it

with some new scheme." .

This time it was my imagination that came to the rescue. .

"What's the matter," I suggested, on the Wednesday following,

"with my chasing Demetrios in the boat next Sunday, while you wait

for him on the wharf at Vallejo when he arrives?" .

Charley considered it a moment and slapped his knee. .

"A good idea! You're beginning to use that head of yours. A

credit to your teacher, I must say." .

"But you mustn't chase him too far," he went on, the next

moment, "or he'll head out into San Pablo Bay instead of running

home to Vallejo, and there I'll be, standing lonely on the wharf

and waiting in vain for him to arrive." .

On Thursday Charley registered an objection to my plan. .

"Everybody'll know I've gone to Vallejo, and you can depend upon

it that Demetrios will know, too. I'm afraid we'll have to give up

the idea." .

This objection was only too valid, and for the rest of the day I

struggled under my disappointment. But that night a new way seemed

to open to me, and in my eagerness I awoke Charley from a sound

sleep. .

"Well," he grunted, "what's the matter? House afire?" .

"No," I replied, "but my head is. Listen to this. On Sunday you

and I will be around Benicia up to the very moment Demetrios's sail

heaves into sight. This will lull everybody's suspicions. Then,

when Demetrios's sail does heave in sight, do you stroll leisurely

away and up-town. All the fishermen will think you're beaten and

that you know you're beaten." .

"So far, so good," Charley commented, while I paused to catch

breath. .

"And very good indeed," I continued proudly. "You stroll

carelessly up-town, but when you're once out of sight you leg it

for all you're worth for Dan Maloney's. Take the little mare of

his, and strike out on the country road for Vallejo. The road's in

fine condition, and you can make it in quicker time than Demetrios

can beat all the way down against the wind." .

"And I'll arrange left away for the mare, first thing in the

morning," Charley said, accepting the modified plan without

hesitation. .

"But, I say," he said, a little later, this time waking me out

of a sound sleep. .

I could hear him chuckling in the dark. .

"I say, lad, isn't it rather a novelty for the fish patrol to be

taking to horseback?" .

"Imagination," I answered. "It's what you're always preaching -

'keep thinking one thought ahead of the other fellow, and you're

bound to win out.'" .

"He! he!" he chuckled. "And if one thought ahead, including a

mare, doesn't take the other fellow's breath away this time, I'm

not your humble servant, Charley Le Grant." .

"But can you manage the boat alone?" he asked, on Friday.

"Remember, we've a ripping big sail on her." .

I argued my proficiency so well that he did not refer to the

matter again till Saturday, when he suggested removing one whole

cloth from the after leech. I guess it was the disappointment

written on my face that made him desist; for I, also, had a pride

in my boat- sailing abilities, and I was almost wild to get out

alone with the big sail and go tearing down the Carquinez Straits

in the wake of the flying Greek. .

As usual, Sunday and Demetrios Contos arrived together. It had

become the regular thing for the fishermen to assemble on Steamboat

Wharf to greet his arrival and to laugh at our discomfiture. He

lowered sail a couple of hundred yards out and set his customary

fifty feet of rotten net. .

"I suppose this nonsense will keep up as long as his old net

holds out," Charley grumbled, with intention, in the hearing of

several of the Greeks. .

"Den I give-a heem my old-a net-a," one of them spoke up,

promptly and maliciously, .

"I don't care," Charley answered. "I've got some old net myself

he can have - if he'll come around and ask for it." .

They all laughed at this, for they could afford to be sweet-

tempered with a man so badly outwitted as Charley was. .

"Well, so long, lad," Charley called to me a moment later. "I

think I'll go up-town to Maloney's." .

"Let me take the boat out?" I asked. .

"If you want to," was his answer, as he turned on his heel and

walked slowly away. .

Demetrios pulled two large salmon out of his net, and I jumped

into the boat. The fishermen crowded around in a spirit of fun, and

when I started to get up sail overwhelmed me with all sorts of

jocular advice. They even offered extravagant bets to one another

that I would surely catch Demetrios, and two of them, styling

themselves the committee of judges, gravely asked permission to

come along with me to see how I did it. .

But I was in no hurry. I waited to give Charley all the time I

could, and I pretended dissatisfaction with the stretch of the sail

and slightly shifted the small tackle by which the huge sprit

forces up the peak. It was not until I was sure that Charley had

reached Dan Maloney's and was on the little mare's back, that I

cast off from the wharf and gave the big sail to the wind. A stout

puff filled it and suddenly pressed the lee gunwale down till a

couple of buckets of water came inboard. A little thing like this

will happen to the best small-boat sailors, and yet, though I

instantly let go the sheet and righted, I was cheered

sarcastically, as though I had been guilty of a very awkward

blunder. .

When Demetrios saw only one person in the fish patrol boat, and

that one a boy, he proceeded to play with me. Making a short tack

out, with me not thirty feet behind, he returned, with his sheet a

little free, to Steamboat Wharf. And there he made short tacks, and

turned and twisted and ducked around, to the great delight of his

sympathetic audience. I was left behind him all the time, and I

dared to do whatever he did, even when he squared away before the

wind and jibed his big sail over - a most dangerous trick with such

a sail in such a wind. .

He depended upon the brisk sea breeze and the strong ebb-tide,

which together kicked up a nasty sea, to bring me to grief. But I

was on my mettle, and never in all my life did I sail a boat better

than on that day. I was keyed up to concert pitch, my brain was

working smoothly and quickly, my hands never fumbled once, and it

seemed that I almost divined the thousand little things which a

small-boat sailor must be taking into consideration every

second. .

It was Demetrios who came to grief instead. Something went wrong

with his centre-board, so that it jammed in the case and would not

go all the way down. In a moment's breathing space, which he had

gained from me by a clever trick, I saw him working impatiently

with the centre-board, trying to force it down. I gave him little

time, and he was compelled quickly to return to the tiller and

sheet. .

The centre-board made him anxious. He gave over playing with me,

and started on the long beat to Vallejo. To my joy, on the first

long tack across, I found that I could eat into the wind just a

little bit closer than he. Here was where another man in the boat

would have been of value to him; for, with me but a few feet

astern, he did not dare let go the tiller and run amidships to try

to force down the centre-board. .

Unable to hang on as close in the eye of the wind as formerly,

he proceeded to slack his sheet a trifle and to ease off a bit, in

order to outfoot me. This I permitted him to do till I had worked

to windward, when I bore down upon him. As I drew close, he feinted

at coming about. This led me to shoot into the wind to forestall

him. But it was only a feint, cleverly executed, and he held back

to his course while I hurried to make up lost ground. .

He was undeniably smarter than I when it came to manoeuvring.

Time after time I all but had him, and each time he tricked me and

escaped. Besides, the wind was freshening, constantly, and each of

us had his hands full to avoid capsizing. As for my boat, it could

not have been kept afloat but for the extra ballast. I sat cocked

over the weather gunwale, tiller in one hand and sheet in the

other; and the sheet, with a single turn around a pin, I was very

often forced to let go in the severer puffs. This allowed the sail

to spill the wind, which was equivalent to taking off so much

driving power, and of course I lost ground. My consolation was that

Demetrios was as often compelled to do the same thing. .

The strong ebb-tide, racing down the Straits in the teeth of the

wind, caused an unusually heavy and spiteful sea, which dashed

aboard continually. I was dripping wet, and even the sail was wet

half-way up the after leech. Once I did succeed in outmanoeuvring

Demetrios, so that my bow bumped into him amidships. Here was where

I should have had another man. Before I could run forward and leap

aboard, he shoved the boats apart with an oar, laughing mockingly

in my face as he did so. .

We were now at the mouth of the Straits, in a bad stretch of

water. Here the Vallejo Straits and the Carquinez Straits rushed

directly at each other. Through the first flowed all the water of

Napa River and the great tide-lands; through the second flowed all

the water of Suisun Bay and the Sacramento and San Joaquin rivers.

And where such immense bodies of water, flowing swiftly, clashed

together, a terrible tide-rip was produced. To make it worse, the

wind howled up San Pablo Bay for fifteen miles and drove in a

tremendous sea upon the tide-rip. .

Conflicting currents tore about in all directions, colliding,

forming whirlpools, sucks, and boils, and shooting up spitefully

into hollow waves which fell aboard as often from leeward as from

windward. And through it all, confused, driven into a madness of

motion, thundered the great smoking seas from San Pablo Bay. .

I was as wildly excited as the water. The boat was behaving

splendidly, leaping and lurching through the welter like a race-

horse. I could hardly contain myself with the joy of it. The huge

sail, the howling wind, the driving seas, the plunging boat - I, a

pygmy, a mere speck in the midst of it, was mastering the elemental

strife, flying through it and over it, triumphant and

victorious. .

And just then, as I roared along like a conquering hero, the

boat received a frightful smash and came instantly to a dead stop.

I was flung forward and into the bottom. As I sprang up I caught a

fleeting glimpse of a greenish, barnacle-covered object, and knew

it at once for what it was, that terror of navigation, a sunken

pile. No man may guard against such a thing. Water-logged and

floating just beneath the surface, it was impossible to sight it in

the troubled water in time to escape. .

The whole bow of the boat must have been crushed in, for in a

few seconds the boat was half full. Then a couple of seas filled

it, and it sank straight down, dragged to bottom by the heavy

ballast. So quickly did it all happen that I was entangled in the

sail and drawn under. When I fought my way to the surface,

suffocating, my lungs almost bursting, I could see nothing of the

oars. They must have been swept away by the chaotic currents. I saw

Demetrios Contos looking back from his boat, and heard the

vindictive and mocking tones of his voice as he shouted exultantly.

He held steadily on his course, leaving me to perish. .

There was nothing to do but to swim for it, which, in that wild

confusion, was at the best a matter of but a few moments. Holding

my breath and working with my hands, I managed to get off my heavy

sea-boots and my jacket. Yet there was very little breath I could

catch to hold, and I swiftly discovered that it was not so much a

matter of swimming as of breathing. .

I was beaten and buffeted, smashed under by the great San Pablo

whitecaps, and strangled by the hollow tide-rip waves which flung

themselves into my eyes, nose, and mouth. Then the strange sucks

would grip my legs and drag me under, to spout me up in some fierce

boiling, where, even as I tried to catch my breath, a great

whitecap would crash down upon my head. .

It was impossible to survive any length of time. I was breathing

more water than air, and drowning all the time. My senses began to

leave me, my head to whirl around. I struggled on, spasmodically,

instinctively, and was barely half conscious when I felt myself

caught by the shoulders and hauled over the gunwale of a boat. .

For some time I lay across a seat where I had been flung, face

downward, and with the water running out of my mouth. After a

while, still weak and faint, I turned around to see who was my

rescuer. And there, in the stern, sheet in one hand and tiller in

the other, grinning and nodding good-naturedly, sat Demetrios

Contos. He had intended to leave me to drown, - he said so

afterward, - but his better self had fought the battle, conquered,

and sent him back to me. .

"You all-a left?" he asked. .

I managed to shape a "yes" on my lips, though I could not yet

speak. .

"You sail-a de boat verr-a good-a," he said. "So good-a as a

man." .

A compliment from Demetrios Contos was a compliment indeed, and

I keenly appreciated it, though I could only nod my head in

acknowledgment. .

We held no more conversation, for I was busy recovering and he

was busy with the boat. He ran in to the wharf at Vallejo, made the

boat fast, and helped me out. Then it was, as we both stood on the

wharf, that Charley stepped out from behind a net-rack and put his

hand on Demetrios Contos's arm. .

"He saved my life, Charley," I protested; "and I don't think he

ought to be arrested." .

A puzzled expression came into Charley's face, which cleared

immediately after, in a way it had when he made up his mind. .

"I can't help it, lad," he said kindly. "I can't go back on my

duty, and it's plain duty to arrest him. To-day is Sunday; there

are two salmon in his boat which he caught to-day. What else can I

do?" .

"But he saved my life," I persisted, unable to make any other

argument. .

Demetrios Contos's face went black with rage when he learned

Charley's judgment. He had a sense of being unfairly treated. The

better part of his nature had triumphed, he had performed a

generous act and saved a helpless enemy, and in return the enemy

was taking him to jail. .

Charley and I were out of sorts with each other when we went

back to Benicia. I stood for the spirit of the law and not the

letter; but by the letter Charley made his stand. As far as he

could see, there was nothing else for him to do. The law said

distinctly that no salmon should be caught on Sunday. He was a

patrolman, and it was his duty to enforce that law. That was all

there was to it. He had done his duty, and his conscience was

clear. Nevertheless, the whole thing seemed unjust to me, and I

felt very sorry for Demetrios Contos. .

Two days later we went down to Vallejo to the trial. I had to go

along as a witness, and it was the most hateful task that I ever

performed in my life when I testified on the witness stand to

seeing Demetrios catch the two salmon Charley had captured him

with. .

Demetrios had engaged a lawyer, but his case was hopeless. The

jury was out only fifteen minutes, and returned a verdict of

guilty. The judge sentenced Demetrios to pay a fine of one hundred

dollars or go to jail for fifty days. .

Charley stepped up to the clerk of the court. "I want to pay

that fine," he said, at the same time placing five twenty-dollar

gold pieces on the desk. "It - it was the only way out of it, lad,"

he stammered, turning to me. .

The moisture rushed into my eyes as I seized his hand. "I want

to pay - " I began. .

"To pay your half?" he interrupted. "I certainly shall expect

you to pay it." .

In the meantime Demetrios had been informed by his lawyer that

his fee likewise had been paid by Charley. .

Demetrios came over to shake Charley's hand, and all his warm

Southern blood flamed in his face. Then, not to be outdone in

generosity, he insisted on paying his fine and lawyer's fee

himself, and flew half-way into a passion because Charley refused

to let him. .

More than anything else we ever did, I think, this action of

Charley's impressed upon the fishermen the deeper significance of

the law. Also Charley was raised high in their esteem, while I came

in for a little share of praise as a boy who knew how to sail a

boat. Demetrios Contos not only never broke the law again, but he

became a very good friend of ours, and on more than one occasion he

ran up to Benicia to have a gossip with us. .

Rating:
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