Fishers -- Fiction; Fishing villages -- Fiction; Immigrants -- Fiction; San Francisco Bay Area (Calif.) -- Fiction; Short stories
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
clam-shells, 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 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 shore
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 myself over its surface
by means of my hands. Still keeping the trail made by the Chinese in
going from and to the junk, I held on until I had reached the water.
Into this I waded to a depth of three feet, and then I turned off to
the side on a line parallel with the beach.
The thought came to me of going toward Yellow Handkerchief's skiff and
escaping in it, but at that very moment he returned to the beach, and,
as though fearing the very thing I had in mind, he slushed out through
the mud to assure himself that the skiff was safe. This turned me in
the opposite direction. Half swimming, half wading, with my head just
out of water and avoiding splashing. I succeeded in putting about a
hundred feet between myself and the spot ashore where the Chinese had
begun to wade ashore from the junk. I drew myself out on the mud and
remained lying flat.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account