tales of the fish patrol-第12章

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Scottish　Chiefs；　another　wheat　ship；　he　awkwardly　capsized　himself。

The　man　who　was　standing　the　anchor…watch　ran　down　the　gangway　and

hauled　him　out　of　the　water。　　This　was　what　he　wanted；　to　get

aboard　the　ship；　and　the　next　thing　he　expected　was　to　be　taken　on

deck　and　then　below　to　warm　up　and　dry　out。　　But　the　captain

inhospitably　kept　him　perched　on　the　lowest　gang…way　step；

shivering　miserably　and　with　his　feet　dangling　in　the　water；　till

we；　out　of　very　pity；　rowed　in　from　the　darkness　and　took　him　off。

The　jokes　and　gibes　of　the　awakened　crew　sounded　anything　but　sweet

in　our　ears；　and　even　the　two　Italians　climbed　up　on　the　rail　and

laughed　down　at　us　long　and　maliciously。



〃That's　all　right；〃　Charley　said　in　a　low　voice；　which　I　only　could

hear。　　〃I'm　mighty　glad　it's　not　us　that's　laughing　first。　　We'll

save　our　laugh　to　the　end；　eh；　lad？〃



He　clapped　a　hand　on　my　shoulder　as　he　finished；　but　it　seemed　to

me　that　there　was　more　determination　than　hope　in　his　voice。



It　would　have　been　possible　for　us　to　secure　the　aid　of　United

States　marshals　and　board　the　English　ship；　backed　by　Government

authority。　　But　the　instructions　of　the　Fish　Commission　were　to　the

effect　that　the　patrolmen　should　avoid　complications；　and　this　one；

did　we　call　on　the　higher　powers；　might　well　end　in　a　pretty

international　tangle。



The　second　week　of　the　siege　drew　to　its　close；　and　there　was　no

sign　of　change　in　the　situation。　　On　the　morning　of　the　fourteenth

day　the　change　came；　and　it　came　in　a　guise　as　unexpected　and

startling　to　us　as　it　was　to　the　men　we　were　striving　to　capture。



Charley　and　I；　after　our　customary　night　vigil　by　the　side　of　the

Lancashire　Queen；　rowed　into　the　Solana　Wharf。



〃Hello！〃　cried　Charley；　in　surprise。　　〃In　the　name　of　reason　and

common　sense；　what　is　that？　　Of　all　unmannerly　craft　did　you　ever

see　the　like？〃



Well　might　he　exclaim；　for　there；　tied　up　to　the　dock；　lay　the

strangest　looking　launch　I　had　ever　seen。　　Not　that　it　could　be

called　a　launch；　either；　but　it　seemed　to　resemble　a　launch　more

than　any　other　kind　of　boat。　　It　was　seventy　feet　long；　but　so

narrow　was　it；　and　so　bare　of　superstructure；　that　it　appeared　much

smaller　than　it　really　was。　　It　was　built　wholly　of　steel；　and　was

painted　black。　　Three　smokestacks；　a　good　distance　apart　and　raking

well　aft；　arose　in　single　file　amidships；　while　the　bow；　long　and

lean　and　sharp　as　a　knife；　plainly　advertised　that　the　boat　was

made　for　speed。　　Passing　under　the　stern；　we　read　Streak；　painted

in　small　white　letters。



Charley　and　I　were　consumed　with　curiosity。　　In　a　few　minutes　we

were　on　board　and　talking　with　an　engineer　who　was　watching　the

sunrise　from　the　deck。　　He　was　quite　willing　to　satisfy　our

curiosity；　and　in　a　few　minutes　we　learned　that　the　Streak　had　come

in　after　dark　from　San　Francisco；　that　this　was　what　might　be

called　the　trial　trip；　and　that　she　was　the　property　of　Silas　Tate；

a　young　mining　millionaire　of　California；　whose　fad　was　high…speed

yachts。　　There　was　some　talk　about　turbine　engines；　direct

application　of　steam；　and　the　absence　of　pistons；　rods；　and　cranks；

…　all　of　which　was　beyond　me；　for　I　was　familiar　only　with　sailing

craft；　but　I　did　understand　the　last　words　of　the　engineer。



〃Four　thousand　horse…power　and　forty…five　miles　an　hour；　though　you

wouldn't　think　it；〃　he　concluded　proudly。



〃Say　it　again；　man！　　Say　it　again！〃　Charley　exclaimed　in　an　excited

voice。



〃Four　thousand　horse…power　and　forty…five　miles　an　hour；〃　the

engineer　repeated；　grinning　good…naturedly。



〃Where's　the　owner？〃　was　Charley's　next　question。　　〃Is　there　any

way　I　can　speak　to　him？〃



The　engineer　shook　his　head。　　〃No；　I'm　afraid　not。　　He's　asleep；

you　see。〃



At　that　moment　a　young　man　in　blue　uniform　came　on　deck　farther　aft

and　stood　regarding　the　sunrise。



〃There　he　is；　that's　him；　that's　Mr。　Tate；〃　said　the　engineer。



Charley　walked　aft　and　spoke　to　him；　and　while　he　talked　earnestly

the　young　man　listened　with　an　amused　expression　on　his　face。　　He

must　have　inquired　about　the　depth　of　water　close　in　to　the　shore

at　Turner's　Shipyard；　for　I　could　see　Charley　making　gestures　and

explaining。　　A　few　minutes　later　he　came　back　in　high　glee。



〃Come　on　lad；〃　he　said。　　〃On　to　the　dock　with　you。　　We've　got

them！〃



It　was　our　good　fortune　to　leave　the　Streak　when　we　did；　for　a

little　later　one　of　the　spy　fishermen　appeared。　　Charley　and　I　took

up　our　accustomed　places；　on　the　stringer…piece；　a　little　ahead　of

the　Streak　and　over　our　own　boat；　where　we　could　comfortably　watch

the　Lancashire　Queen。　　Nothing　occurred　till　about　nine　o'clock；

when　we　saw　the　two　Italians　leave　the　ship　and　pull　along　their

side　of　the　triangle　toward　the　shore。　　Charley　looked　as

unconcerned　as　could　be；　but　before　they　had　covered　a　quarter　of

the　distance；　he　whispered　to　me：



〃Forty…five　miles　an　hour　。　。　。　nothing　can　save　them　。　。　。　they

are　ours！〃



Slowly　the　two　men　rowed　along　till　they　were　nearly　in　line　with

the　windmill。　　This　was　the　point　where　we　always　jumped　into　our

salmon　boat　and　got　up　the　sail；　and　the　two　men；　evidently

expecting　it；　seemed　surprised　when　we　gave　no　sign。



When　they　were　directly　in　line　with　the　windmill；　as　near　to　the

shore　as　to　the　ship；　and　nearer　the　shore　than　we　had　ever　allowed

them　before；　they　grew　suspicious。　　We　followed　them　through　the

glasses；　and　saw　them　standing　up　in　the　skiff　and　trying　to　find

out　what　we　were　doing。　　The　spy　fisherman；　sitting　beside　us　on

the　stringer…piece　was　likewise　puzzled。　　He　could　not　understand

our　inactivity。　　The　men　in　the　skiff　rowed　nearer　the　shore；　but

stood　up　again　and　scanned　it；　as　if　they　thought　we　might　be　in

hiding　there。　　But　a　man　came　out　on　the　beach　and　waved　a

handkerchief　to　indicate　that　the　coast　was　clear。　　That　settled

them。　　They　bent　to　the　oars　to　make　a　dash　for　it。　　Still　Charley

waited。　　Not　until　they　had　covered　three…quarters　of　the　distance

from　the　Lancashire　Queen；　which　left　them　hardly　more　than　a

quarter　of　a　mile　to　gain　the　shore；　did　Charley　slap　me　on　the

shoulder　and　cry：



〃They're　ours！　　They're　ours！〃



We　ran　the　few　steps　to　the　side　of　the　Streak　and　jumped　aboard。

Stern　and　bow　lines　were　cast　off　in　a　jiffy。　　The　Streak　shot

ahead　and　away　from　the　wharf。　　The　spy　fisherman　we　had　left

behind　on　the　stringer…piece　pulled　out　a　revolver　and　fired　five

shots　into　the　air　in　rapid　succession。　　The　men　in　the　skiff　gave

instant　heed　to　the　warning；　for　we　could　see　them　pulling　away

like　mad。



But　if　they　pulled　like　mad；　I　wonder　how　our　progress　can　be

described？　　We　fairly　flew。　　So　frightful　was　the　speed　with　which

we　displaced　the　water；　that　a　wave　rose　up　on　either　side　our　bow

and　foamed　aft　in　a　series　of　three　stiff；　up…standing　waves；　while

astern　a　great　crested　billow　pursued　us　hungrily；　as　though　at

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

Charley　and　me。　　That　took　the　last