Fishers -- Fiction; Fishing villages -- Fiction; Immigrants -- Fiction; San Francisco Bay Area (Calif.) -- Fiction; Short stories
Then we gave it up, completely routed, and hoisted sail and started on
the long wind-ward beat back to Benicia. A number of Sundays went by,
on each of which the law was persistently violated. Yet, short of an
armed force of soldiers, we could do nothing. The fishermen had hit
upon a new idea and were using it for all it was worth, while there
seemed no way by which we could get the better of them.
About this time Neil Partington happened along from the Lower Bay,
where he had been for a number of weeks. With him was Nicholas, the
Greek boy who had helped us in our raid on the oyster pirates, and
the pair of them took a hand. We made our arrangements carefully. It
was planned that while Charley and I tackled the nets, they were to be
hidden ashore so as to ambush the fishermen who landed to shoot at us.
It was a pretty plan. Even Charley said it was. But we reckoned not
half so well as the Greeks. They forestalled us by ambushing Neil and
Nicholas and taking them prisoners, while, as of old, bullets whistled
about our ears when Charley and I attempted to take possession of the
nets. When we were again beaten off, Neil Partington and Nicholas were
released. They were rather shamefaced when they put in an appearance,
and Charley chaffed them unmercifully. But Neil chaffed back,
demanding to know why Charley's imagination had not long since
overcome the difficulty.
"Just you wait; the idea'll come all right," Charley promised.
"Most probably," Neil agreed. "But I'm afraid the salmon will be
exterminated first, and then there will be no need for it when it does
come."
Neil Partington, highly disgusted with his adventure, departed for the
Lower Bay, taking Nicholas with him, and Charley and I were left to
our own resources. This meant that the Sunday fishing would be left to
itself, too, until such time as Charley's idea happened along. I
puzzled my head a good deal to find out some way of checkmating the
Greeks, as also did Charley, and we broached a thousand expedients
which on discussion proved worthless.
The fishermen, on the other hand, were in high feather, and their
boasts went up and down the river to add to our discomfiture. Among
all classes of them we became aware of a growing insubordination. We
were beaten, and they were losing respect for us. With the loss of
respect, contempt began to arise. Charley began to be spoken of as the
"olda woman," and I received my rating as the "pee-wee kid." The
situation was fast becoming unbearable, and we knew that we should
have to deliver a stunning stroke at the Greeks in order to regain the
old-time respect in which we had stood.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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