Fishers -- Fiction; Fishing villages -- Fiction; Immigrants -- Fiction; San Francisco Bay Area (Calif.) -- Fiction; Short stories
It was Saturday, and Charley had need to hurry. We headed for the
shipyard blacksmith shop, where, under Charley's directions, a most
generously curved hook of heavy steel was made. Back we hastened to
the _Mary Rebecca_. Aft of the great centre-board case, through what
was properly her keel, a hole was bored. The end of the hook was
inserted from the outside, and Charley, on the inside, screwed the nut
on tightly. As it stood complete, the hook projected over a foot
beneath the bottom of the schooner. Its curve was something like the
curve of a sickle, but deeper.
In the late afternoon the _Mary Rebecca_ was launched, and
preparations were finished for the start up-river next morning.
Charley and Ole intently studied the evening sky for signs of wind,
for without a good breeze our project was doomed to failure. They
agreed that there were all the signs of a stiff westerly wind--not the
ordinary afternoon sea-breeze, but a half-gale, which even then was
springing up.
Next morning found their predictions verified. The sun was shining
brightly, but something more than a half-gale was shrieking up the
Carquinez Straits, and the _Mary Rebecca_ got under way with two reefs
in her mainsail and one in her foresail. We found it quite rough in
the Straits and in Suisun Bay; but as the water grew more land-locked
it became calm, though without let-up in the wind.
Off Ship Island Light the reefs were shaken out, and at Charley's
suggestion a big fisherman's staysail was made all ready for hoisting,
and the main-topsail, bunched into a cap at the masthead, was
overhauled so that it could be set on an instant's notice.
We were tearing along, wing-and-wing, before the wind, foresail to
starboard and mainsail to port, as we came upon the salmon fleet.
There they were, boats and nets, as on that first Sunday when they had
bested us, strung out evenly over the river as far as we could see. A
narrow space on the right-hand side of the channel was left clear for
steam-boats, but the rest of the river was covered with the
wide-stretching nets. The narrow space was our logical course, but
Charley, at the wheel, steered the _Mary Rebecca_ straight for the
nets.
This did not cause any alarm among the fishermen, because up-river
sailing craft are always provided with "shoes" on the ends of their
keels, which permit them to slip over the nets without fouling them.
"Now she takes it!" Charley cried, as we dashed across the middle of a
line of floats which marked a net. At one end of this line was a small
barrel buoy, at the other the two fishermen in their boat. Buoy and
boat at once began to draw together, and the fishermen to cry out, as
they were jerked after us. A couple of minutes later we hooked a
second net, and then a third, and in this fashion we tore straight up
through the centre of the fleet.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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