become the regular thing for the fishermen to assemble on Steamboat
Wharf to greet his arrival and to laugh at our discomfiture. He

lowered sail a couple of hundred yards out and set his customary
fifty feet of rotten net.

"I suppose this nonsense will keep up as long as his old net holds
out," Charley grumbled, with intention, in the hearing of several

of the Greeks.
"Den I give-a heem my old-a net-a," one of them spoke up, promptly

and maliciously,
"I don't care," Charley answered. "I've got some old net myself he

can have - if he'll come around and ask for it."
They all laughed at this, for they could afford to be sweet-

tempered with a man so badly outwitted as Charley was.
"Well, so long, lad," Charley called to me a moment later. "I

think I'll go up-town to Maloney's."
"Let me take the boat out?" I asked.

"If you want to," was his answer, as he turned on his heel and
walked slowly away.

Demetrios pulled two large salmon out of his net, and I jumped into
the boat. The fishermen crowded around in a spirit of fun, and

when I started to get up sail overwhelmed me with all sorts of
jocular advice. They even offered extravagant bets to one another

that I would surely catch Demetrios, and two of them, styling
themselves the committee of judges, gravely asked permission to

come along with me to see how I did it.
But I was in no hurry. I waited to give Charley all the time I

could, and I pretended dissatisfaction with the stretch of the sail
and slightly shifted the small tackle by which the huge sprit

forces up the peak. It was not until I was sure that Charley had
reached Dan Maloney's and was on the little mare's back, that I

cast off from the wharf and gave the big sail to the wind. A stout
puff filled it and suddenly pressed the lee gunwale down till a

couple of buckets of water came inboard. A little thing like this
will happen to the best small-boat sailors, and yet, though I

instantly let go the sheet and righted, I was cheered
sarcastically, as though I had been guilty of a very awkward

blunder.
When Demetrios saw only one person in the fish patrol boat, and

that one a boy, he proceeded to play with me. Making a short tack
out, with me not thirty feet behind, he returned, with his sheet a

little free, to Steamboat Wharf. And there he made short tacks,
and turned and twisted and ducked around, to the great delight of

his sympatheticaudience. I was right behind him all the time, and
I dared to do whatever he did, even when he squared away before the

wind and jibed his big sail over - a most dangerous trick with such
a sail in such a wind.

He depended upon the brisk sea breeze and the strong ebb-tide,
which together kicked up a nasty sea, to bring me to grief. But I

was on my mettle, and never in all my life did I sail a boat better
than on that day. I was keyed up to concert pitch, my brain was

workingsmoothly and quickly, my hands never fumbled once, and it
seemed that I almost divined the thousand little things which a

small-boat sailor must be taking into consideration every second.
It was Demetrios who came to grief instead. Something went wrong

with his centre-board, so that it jammed in the case and would not
go all the way down. In a moment's breathing space, which he had

gained from me by a clever trick, I saw him working impatiently
with the centre-board, trying to force it down. I gave him little

time, and he was compelled quickly to return to the tiller and
sheet.

The centre-board made him anxious. He gave over playing with me,
and started on the long beat to Vallejo. To my joy, on the first

long tack across, I found that I could eat into the wind just a
little bit closer than he. Here was where another man in the boat

would have been of value to him; for, with me but a few feet
astern, he did not dare let go the tiller and run amidships to try

to force down the centre-board.
Unable to hang on as close in the eye of the wind as formerly, he

proceeded to slack his sheet a trifle and to ease off a bit, in
order to outfoot me. This I permitted him to do till I had worked

to windward, when I bore down upon him. As I drew close, he
feinted at coming about. This led me to shoot into the wind to

forestall him. But it was only a feint, cleverly executed, and he
held back to his course while I hurried to make up lost ground.

He was undeniably smarter than I when it came to manoeuvring. Time
after time I all but had him, and each time he tricked me and

escaped. Besides, the wind was freshening, constantly, and each of
us had his hands full to avoid capsizing. As for my boat, it could

not have been kept afloat but for the extra ballast. I sat cocked
over the weather gunwale, tiller in one hand and sheet in the

other; and the sheet, with a single turn around a pin, I was very
often forced to let go in the severer puffs. This allowed the sail

to spill the wind, which was equivalent to taking off so much
driving power, and of course I lost ground. My consolation was

that Demetrios was as often compelled to do the same thing.
The strong ebb-tide, racing down the Straits in the teeth of the

wind, caused an unusually heavy and spiteful sea, which dashed
aboardcontinually. I was dripping wet, and even the sail was wet

half-way up the after leech. Once I did succeed in outmanoeuvring
Demetrios, so that my bow bumped into him amidships. Here was

where I should have had another man. Before I could run forward
and leap aboard, he shoved the boats apart with an oar, laughing

mockingly in my face as he did so.
We were now at the mouth of the Straits, in a bad stretch of water.

Here the Vallejo Straits and the Carquinez Straits rushed directly
at each other. Through the first flowed all the water of Napa

River and the great tide-lands; through the second flowed all the
water of Suisun Bay and the Sacramento and San Joaquin rivers. And

where such immense bodies of water, flowing swiftly, clashed
together, a terrible tide-rip was produced. To make it worse, the

wind howled up San Pablo Bay for fifteen miles and drove in a
tremendous sea upon the tide-rip.

Conflicting currents tore about in all directions, colliding,
forming whirlpools, sucks, and boils, and shooting up spitefully

into hollow waves which fell aboard as often from leeward as from
windward. And through it all, confused, driven into a madness of

motion, thundered the great smoking seas from San Pablo Bay.
I was as wildly excited as the water. The boat was behaving

splendidly, leaping and lurching through the welter like a race-
horse. I could hardly contain myself with the joy of it. The huge

sail, the howling wind, the driving seas, the plunging boat - I, a
pygmy, a mere speck in the midst of it, was mastering the elemental

strife, flying through it and over it, triumphant and victorious.
And just then, as I roared along like a conquering hero, the boat

received a frightful smash and came instantly to a dead stop. I
was flung forward and into the bottom. As I sprang up I caught a

fleeting glimpse of a greenish, barnacle-covered object, and knew
it at once for what it was, that terror of navigation, a sunken

pile. No man may guard against such a thing. Water-logged and
floating just beneath the surface, it was impossible to sight it in

the troubled water in time to escape.
The whole bow of the boat must have been crushed in, for in a few

seconds the boat was half full. Then a couple of seas filled it,
and it sank straight down, dragged to bottom by the heavy ballast.

So quickly did it all happen that I was entangled in the sail and
drawn under. When I fought my way to the surface, suffocating, my