酷兔英语
    当前位置:
  1. 首页
  2. 文章
  3. 娱乐英语
  4. 原版小说
  5. 正文

Tales of the Fish Patrol-Part4_JACK LONDON(1876-1916)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

0 收藏 0 分享 0 赞

章节正文
文章总共2页


windward, and I trimmed the sheets while Charley took the wheel and

steered for it.



"These two men are old offenders," he explained to the angry owner;

"and they are most persistent violators of the fish and game laws.



You have seen them caught in the act, and you may expect to be

subpoenaed as witness for the state when the trial comes off."



As he spoke he rounded alongside the skiff. It had been torn from

the line, a section of which was dragging to it. He hauled in



forty or fifty feet with a young sturgeon still fast in a tangle of

barbless hooks, slashed that much of the line free with his knife,



and tossed it into the cockpit beside the prisoners.

"And there's the evidence, Exhibit A, for the people," Charley



continued. "Look it over carefully so that you may identify it in

the court-room with the time and place of capture."



And then, in triumph, with no more veering and yawing, we sailed

into Benicia, the King of the Greeks bound hard and fast in the



cockpit, and for the first time in his life a prisoner of the fish

patrol.



A RAID ON THE OYSTER PIRATES

Of the fish patrolmen under whom we served at various times,



Charley Le Grant and I were agreed, I think, that Neil Partington

was the best. He was neither dishonest nor cowardly; and while he



demanded strictobedience when we were under his orders, at the

same time our relations were those of easy comradeship, and he



permitted us a freedom to which we were ordinarily unaccustomed, as

the present story will show.



Neil's family lived in Oakland, which is on the Lower Bay, not more

than six miles across the water from San Francisco. One day, while



scouting among the Chinese shrimp-catchers of Point Pedro, he

received word that his wife was very ill; and within the hour the



Reindeer was bowling along for Oakland, with a stiff northwest

breeze astern. We ran up the Oakland Estuary and came to anchor,



and in the days that followed, while Neil was ashore, we tightened

up the Reindeer's rigging, overhauled the ballast, scraped down,



and put the sloop into thorough shape.

This done, time hung heavy on our hands. Neil's wife was



dangerously ill, and the outlook was a week's lie-over, awaiting

the crisis. Charley and I roamed the docks, wondering what we



should do, and so came upon the oyster fleet lying at the Oakland

City Wharf. In the main they were trim, natty boats, made for



speed and bad weather, and we sat down on the stringer-piece of the

dock to study them.



"A good catch, I guess," Charley said, pointing to the heaps of

oysters, assorted in three sizes, which lay upon their decks.



Pedlers were backing their wagons to the edge of the wharf, and

from the bargaining and chaffering that went on, I managed to learn



the selling price of the oysters.

"That boat must have at least two hundred dollars' worth aboard," I



calculated. "I wonder how long it took to get the load?"

"Three or four days," Charley answered. "Not bad wages for two men



- twenty-five dollars a day apiece."

The boat we were discussing, the Ghost, lay directly beneath us.



Two men composed its crew. One was a squat, broad-shouldered

fellow with remarkably long and gorilla-like arms, while the other



was tall and well proportioned, with clear blue eyes and a mat of

straight black hair. So unusual and striking was this combination



of hair and eyes that Charley and I remained somewhat longer than

we intended.



And it was well that we did. A stout, elderly man, with the dress

and carriage of a successful merchant, came up and stood beside us,



looking down upon the deck of the Ghost. He appeared angry, and

the longer he looked the angrier he grew.



"Those are my oysters," he said at last. "I know they are my

oysters. You raided my beds last night and robbed me of them."



The tall man and the short man on the Ghost looked up.

"Hello, Taft," the short man said, with insolent familiarity.



(Among the bayfarers he had gained the nickname of "The Centipede"

on account of his long arms.) "Hello, Taft," he repeated, with the



same touch of insolence. "Wot 'r you growling about now?"

"Those are my oysters - that's what I said. You've stolen them



from my beds."




文章总共2页
文章标签:名著  

章节正文
Copyright © 2023 Qeto All rights reserved.
商务合作 | 联系我们 | 关于我们 | 版权声明 | 隐私条款 | 如果智培

京ICP备05059198号-1 京公网安备 11011202003401号