The Siege of the "Lancashire Queen"
Possibly our most exasperating experience on the fish patrol waswhen Charley Le Grant and I laid a two weeks' siege to a big four-masted English ship. Before we had finished with the affair, itbecame a pretty mathematical problem, and it was by the merestchance that we came into possession of the instrument that broughtit to a successful termination.After our raid on the oyster pirates we had returned to Oakland,where two more weeks passed before Neil Partington's wife was outof danger and on the highroad to recovery. So it was after anabsence of a month, all told, that we turned the Reindeer's nosetoward Benicia. When the cat's away the mice will play, and inthese four weeks the fishermen had become very bold in violatingthe law. When we passed Point Pedro we noticed many signs ofactivity among the shrimp-catchers, and, well into San Pablo Bay,we observed a widely scattered fleet of Upper Bay fishing-boatshastily pulling in their nets and getting up sail.This was suspicious enough to warrant investigation, and the firstand only boat we succeeded in boarding proved to have an illegalnet. The law permitted no smaller mesh for catching shad than onethat measured seven and one-half inches inside the knots, while themesh of this particular net measured only three inches. It was aflagrant breach of the rules, and the two fishermen were forthwithput under arrest. Neil Partington took one of them with him tohelp manage the Reindeer, while Charley and I went on ahead withthe other in the captured boat.But the shad fleet had headed over toward the Petaluma shore inwild flight, and for the rest of the run through San Pablo Bay wesaw no more fishermen at all. Our prisoner, a bronzed and beardedGreek, sat sullenly on his net while we sailed his craft. It was anew Columbia River salmon boat, evidently on its first trip, and ithandled splendidly. Even when Charley praised it, our prisonerrefused to speak or to notice us, and we soon gave him up as a mostunsociable fellow.We ran up the Carquinez Straits and edged into the bight atTurner's Shipyard for smoother water. Here were lying severalEnglish steel sailing ships, waiting for the wheat harvest; andhere, most unexpectedly, in the precise place where we had capturedBig Alec, we came upon two Italians in a skiff that was loaded witha complete "Chinese" sturgeon line. The surprise was mutual, andwe were on top of them before either they or we were aware.Charley had barely time to luff into the wind and run up to them.I ran forward and tossed them a line with orders to make it fast.One of the Italians took a turn with it over a cleat, while Ihastened to lower our big spritsail. This accomplished, the salmonboat dropped astern, dragging heavily on the skiff.Charley came forward to board the prize, but when I proceeded tohaul alongside by means of the line, the Italians cast it off. Weat once began drifting to leeward, while they got out two pairs ofoars and rowed their light craft directly into the wind. Thismanoeuvre for the moment disconcerted us, for in our large andheavily loaded boat we could not hope to catch them with the oars.But our prisoner came unexpectedly to our aid. His black eyes wereflashing eagerly, and his face was flushed with suppressedexcitement, as he dropped the centre-board, sprang forward with asingle leap, and put up the sail."I've always heard that Greeks don't like Italians," Charleylaughed, as he ran aft to the tiller.And never in my experience have I seen a man so anxious for thecapture of another as was our prisoner in the chase that followed.His eyes fairly snapped, and his nostrils quivered and dilated in amost extraordinary way. Charley steered while he tended the sheet;and though Charley was as quick and alert as a cat, the Greek couldhardly control his impatience.The Italians were cut off from the shore, which was fully a mileaway at its nearest point. Did they attempt to make it, we couldhaul after them with the wind abeam, and overtake them before theyhad covered an eighth of the distance. But they were too wise toattempt it, contenting themselves with rowing lustily to windwardalong the starboard side of a big ship, the Lancashire Queen. Butbeyond the ship lay an open stretch of fully two miles to the shorein that direction. This, also, they dared not attempt, for we werebound to catch them before they could cover it. So, when theyreached the bow of the Lancashire Queen, nothing remained but topass around and row down her port side toward the stern, whichmeant rowing to leeward and giving us the advantage.We in the salmon boat, sailing close on the wind, tacked about andcrossed the ship's bow. Then Charley put up the tiller and headeddown the port side of the ship, the Greek letting out the sheet andgrinning with delight. The Italians were already half-way down theship's length; but the stiff breeze at our back drove us after themfar faster than they could row. Closer and closer we came, and I,lying down forward, was just reaching out to grasp the skiff, whenit ducked under the great stern of the Lancashire Queen.The chase was virtually where it had begun. The Italians wererowing up the starboard side of the ship, and we were hauled closeon the wind and slowly edging out from the ship as we worked towindward. Then they darted around her bow and began the row downher port side, and we tacked about, crossed her bow, and wentplunging down the wind hot after them. And again, just as I wasreaching for the skiff, it ducked under the ship's stern and out ofdanger. And so it went, around and around, the skiff each timejust barely ducking into safety.By this time the ship's crew had become aware of what was takingplace, and we could see their heads in a long row as they looked atus over the bulwarks. Each time we missed the skiff at the stern,they set up a wild cheer and dashed across to the other side of theLancashire Queen to see the chase to wind-ward. They showered usand the Italians with jokes and advice, and made our Greek so angrythat at least once on each circuit he raised his fist and shook itat them in a rage. They came to look for this, and at each displaygreeted it with uproarious mirth."Wot a circus!" cried one."Tork about yer marine hippodromes, - if this ain't one, I'd liketo know!" affirmed another."Six-days-go-as-yer-please," announced a third. "Who says thedagoes won't win?"On the next tack to windward the Greek offered to change placeswith Charley."Let-a me sail-a de boat," he demanded. "I fix-a them, I catch-athem, sure."This was a stroke at Charley's professional pride, for pridehimself he did upon his boat-sailing abilities; but he yielded thetiller to the prisoner and took his place at the sheet. Threetimes again we made the circuit, and the Greek found that he couldget no more speed out of the salmon boat than Charley had."Better give it up," one of the sailors advised from above.The Greek scowled ferociously and shook his fist in his customaryfashion. In the meanwhile my mind had not been idle, and I hadfinally evolved an idea."Keep going, Charley, one time more," I said.And as we laid out on the next tack to wind-ward, I bent a piece ofline to a small grappling hook I had seen lying in the bail-hole.The end of the line I made fast to the ring-bolt in the bow, andwith the hook out of sight I waited for the next opportunity to useit. Once more they made their leeward pull down the port side ofthe Lancashire Queen, and once more we churned down after thembefore the wind. Nearer and nearer we drew, and I was makingbelieve to reach for them as before. The stern of the skiff wasnot six feet away, and they were laughing at me derisively as theyducked under the ship's stern. At that instant I suddenly aroseand threw the grappling iron. It caught fairly and squarely on therail of the skiff, which was jerked backward out of safety as therope tautened and the salmon boat ploughed on.A groan went up from the row of sailors above, which quicklychanged to a cheer as one of the Italians whipped out a longsheath-knife and cut the rope. But we had drawn them out ofsafety, and Charley, from his place in the stern-sheets, reachedover and clutched the stern of the skiff. The whole thing happenedin a second of time, for the first Italian was cutting the rope andCharley was clutching the skiff when the second Italian dealt him arap over the head with an oar, Charley released his hold andcollapsed, stunned, into the bottom of the salmon boat, and theItalians bent to their oars and escaped back under the ship'sstern.The Greek took both tiller and sheet and continued the chase aroundthe Lancashire Queen, while I attended to Charley, on whose head anasty lump was rapidly rising. Our sailor audience was wild withdelight, and to a man encouraged the fleeing Italians. Charley satup, with one hand on his head, and gazed about him sheepishly."It will never do to let them escape now," he said, at the sametime drawing his revolver.On our next circuit, he threatened the Italians with the weapon;but they rowed on stolidly, keeping splendid stroke and utterlydisregarding him."If you don't stop, I'll shoot," Charley said menacingly.But this had no effect, nor were they to be frightened intosurrendering even when he fired several shots dangerously close tothem. It was too much to expect him to shoot unarmed men, and thisthey knew as well as we did; so they continued to pull doggedlyround and round the ship."We'll run them down, then!" Charley exclaimed. "We'll wear themout and wind them!"So the chase continued. Twenty times more we ran them around theLancashire Queen, and at last we could see that even their ironmuscles were giving out. They were nearly exhausted, and it wasonly a matter of a few more circuits, when the game took on a newfeature. On the row to windward they always gained on us, so thatthey were half-way down the ship's side on the row to leeward whenwe were passing the bow. But this last time, as we passed the bow,we saw them escaping up the ship's gangway, which had been suddenlylowered. It was an organized move on the part of the sailors,evidently countenanced by the captain; for by the time we arrivedwhere the gangway had been, it was being hoisted up, and the skiff,slung in the ship's davits, was likewise flying aloft out of reach.The parley that followed with the captain was short and snappy. Heabsolutely forbade us to board the Lancashire Queen, and asabsolutely refused to give up the two men. By this time Charleywas as enraged as the Greek. Not only had he been foiled in a longand ridiculous chase, but he had been knocked senseless into thebottom of his boat by the men who had escaped him."Knock off my head with little apples," he declared emphatically,striking the fist of one hand into the palm of the other, "if thosetwo men ever escape me! I'll stay here to get them if it takes therest of my natural life, and if I don't get them, then I promiseyou I'll live unnaturally long or until I do get them, or my name'snot Charley Le Grant!"And then began the siege of the Lancashire Queen, a siege memorablein the annals of both fishermen and fish patrol. When the Reindeercame along, after a fruitless pursuit of the shad fleet, Charleyinstructed Neil Partington to send out his own salmon boat, withblankets, provisions, and a fisherman's charcoal stove. By sunsetthis exchange of boats was made, and we said good-by to our Greek,who perforce had to go into Benicia and be locked up for his ownviolation of the law. After supper, Charley and I kept alternatefour-hour watches till day-light. The fishermen made no attempt toescape that night, though the ship sent out a boat for scoutingpurposes to find if the coast were clear.By the next day we saw that a steady siege was in order, and weperfected our plans with an eye to our own comfort. A dock, knownas the Solano Wharf, which ran out from the Benicia shore, helpedus in this. It happened that the Lancashire Queen, the shore atTurner's Shipyard, and the Solano Wharf were the corners of a bigequilateral triangle. From ship to shore, the side of the trianglealong which the Italians had to escape, was a distance equal tothat from the Solano Wharf to the shore, the side of the trianglealong which we had to travel to get to the shore before theItalians. But as we could sail much faster than they could row, wecould permit them to travel about half their side of the trianglebefore we darted out along our side. If we allowed them to getmore than half-way, they were certain to beat us to shore; while ifwe started before they were half-way, they were equally certain tobeat us back to the ship.We found that an imaginary line, drawn from the end of the wharf toa windmill farther along the shore, cut precisely in half the lineof the triangle along which the Italians must escape to reach theland. This line made it easy for us to determine how far to letthem run away before we bestirred ourselves in pursuit. Day afterday we would watch them through our glasses as they rowed leisurelyalong toward the half-way point; and as they drew close into linewith the windmill, we would leap into the boat and get up sail. Atsight of our preparation, they would turn and row slowly back tothe Lancashire Queen, secure in the knowledge that we could notovertake them.To guard against calms - when our salmon boat would be useless - wealso had in readiness a light rowing skiff equipped with spoon-oars. But at such times, when the wind failed us, we were forcedto row out from the wharf as soon as they rowed from the ship. Inthe night-time, on the other hand, we were compelled to patrol theimmediate vicinity of the ship; which we did, Charley and Istanding four-hour watches turn and turn about. The Italians,however, preferred the daytime in which to escape, and so our longnight vigils were without result."What makes me mad," said Charley, "is our being kept from ourhonest beds while those rascally lawbreakers are sleeping soundlyevery night. But much good may it do them," he threatened. "I'llkeep them on that ship till the captain charges them board, as sureas a sturgeon's not a catfish!"It was a tantalizing problem that confronted us. As long as wewere vigilant, they could not escape; and as long as they werecareful, we would be unable to catch them. Charley cudgelled hisbrains continually, but for once his imagination failed him. Itwas a problem apparently without other solution than that ofpatience. It was a waiting game, and whichever waited the longerwas bound to win. To add to our irritation, friends of theItalians established a code of signals with them from the shore, sothat we never dared relax the siege for a moment. And besidesthis, there were always one or two suspicious-looking fishermenhanging around the Solano Wharf and keeping watch on our actions.We could do nothing but "grin and bear it," as Charley said, whileit took up all our time and prevented us from doing other work.The days went by, and there was no change in the situation. Notthat no attempts were made to change it. One night friends fromthe shore came out in a skiff and attempted to confuse us while thetwo Italians escaped. That they did not succeed was due to thelack of a little oil on the ship's davits. For we were drawn backfrom the pursuit of the strange boat by the creaking of the davits,and arrived at the Lancashire Queen just as the Italians werelowering their skiff. Another night, fully half a dozen skiffsrowed around us in the darkness, but we held on like a leech to theside of the ship and frustrated their plan till they grew angry andshowered us with abuse. Charley laughed to himself in the bottomof the boat."It's a good sign, lad," he said to me. "When men begin to abuse,make sure they're losing patience; and shortly after they losepatience, they lose their heads. Mark my words, if we only holdout, they'll get careless some fine day, and then we'll get them."But they did not grow careless, and Charley confessed that this wasone of the times when all signs failed. Their patience seemedequal to ours, and the second week of the siege draggedmonotonously along. Then Charley's lagging imagination quickenedsufficiently to suggest a ruse. Peter Boyelen, a new patrolman andone unknown to the fisher-folk, happened to arrive in Benicia andwe took him into our plan. We were as secret as possible about it,but in some unfathomable way the friends ashore got word to thebeleaguered Italians to keep their eyes open.On the night we were to put our ruse into effect, Charley and Itook up our usual station in our rowing skiff alongside theLancashire Queen. After it was thoroughly dark, Peter Boyelen cameout in a crazy duck boat, the kind you can pick up and carry awayunder one arm. When we heard him coming along, paddling noisily,we slipped away a short distance into the darkness, and rested onour oars. Opposite the gangway, having jovially hailed the anchor-watch of the Lancashire Queen and asked the direction of theScottish Chiefs, another wheat ship, he awkwardly capsized himself.The man who was standing the anchor-watch ran down the gangway andhauled him out of the water. This was what he wanted, to getaboard the ship; and the next thing he expected was to be taken ondeck and then below to warm up and dry out. But the captaininhospitably kept him perched on the lowest gang-way step,shivering miserably and with his feet dangling in the water, tillwe, out of very pity, rowed in from the darkness and took him off.The jokes and gibes of the awakened crew sounded anything but sweetin our ears, and even the two Italians climbed up on the rail andlaughed down at us long and maliciously."That's all right," Charley said in a low voice, which I only couldhear. "I'm mighty glad it's not us that's laughing first. We'llsave our laugh to the end, eh, lad?"He clapped a hand on my shoulder as he finished, but it seemed tome that there was more determination than hope in his voice.It would have been possible for us to secure the aid of UnitedStates marshals and board the English ship, backed by Governmentauthority. But the instructions of the Fish Commission were to theeffect that the patrolmen should avoid complications, and this one,did we call on the higher powers, might well end in a prettyinternational tangle.The second week of the siege drew to its close, and there was nosign of change in the situation. On the morning of the fourteenthday the change came, and it came in a guise as unexpected andstartling to us as it was to the men we were striving to capture.Charley and I, after our customary night vigil by the side of theLancashire Queen, rowed into the Solana Wharf."Hello!" cried Charley, in surprise. "In the name of reason andcommon sense, what is that? Of all unmannerly craft did you eversee the like?"Well might he exclaim, for there, tied up to the dock, lay thestrangest looking launch I had ever seen. Not that it could becalled a launch, either, but it seemed to resemble a launch morethan any other kind of boat. It was seventy feet long, but sonarrow was it, and so bare of superstructure, that it appeared muchsmaller than it really was. It was built wholly of steel, and waspainted black. Three smokestacks, a good distance apart and rakingwell aft, arose in single file amidships; while the bow, long andlean and sharp as a knife, plainly advertised that the boat wasmade for speed. Passing under the stern, we read Streak, paintedin small white letters.Charley and I were consumed with curiosity. In a few minutes wewere on board and talking with an engineer who was watching thesunrise from the deck. He was quite willing to satisfy ourcuriosity, and in a few minutes we learned that the Streak had comein after dark from San Francisco; that this was what might becalled the trial trip; and that she was the property of Silas Tate,a young mining millionaire of California, whose fad was high-speedyachts. There was some talk about turbine engines, directapplication of steam, and the absence of pistons, rods, and cranks,- all of which was beyond me, for I was familiar only with sailingcraft; but I did understand the last words of the engineer."Four thousand horse-power and forty-five miles an hour, though youwouldn't think it," he concluded proudly."Say it again, man! Say it again!" Charley exclaimed in an excitedvoice."Four thousand horse-power and forty-five miles an hour," theengineer repeated, grinning good-naturedly."Where's the owner?" was Charley's next question. "Is there anyway I can speak to him?"The engineer shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. He's asleep,you see."At that moment a young man in blue uniform came on deck farther aftand stood regarding the sunrise."There he is, that's him, that's Mr. Tate," said the engineer.Charley walked aft and spoke to him, and while he talked earnestlythe young man listened with an amused expression on his face. Hemust have inquired about the depth of water close in to the shoreat Turner's Shipyard, for I could see Charley making gestures andexplaining. A few minutes later he came back in high glee."Come on lad," he said. "On to the dock with you. We've gotthem!"It was our good fortune to leave the Streak when we did, for alittle later one of the spy fishermen appeared. Charley and I tookup our accustomed places, on the stringer-piece, a little ahead ofthe Streak and over our own boat, where we could comfortably watchthe Lancashire Queen. Nothing occurred till about nine o'clock,when we saw the two Italians leave the ship and pull along theirside of the triangle toward the shore. Charley looked asunconcerned as could be, but before they had covered a quarter ofthe distance, he whispered to me:"Forty-five miles an hour . . . nothing can save them . . . theyare ours!"Slowly the two men rowed along till they were nearly in line withthe windmill. This was the point where we always jumped into oursalmon boat and got up the sail, and the two men, evidentlyexpecting it, seemed surprised when we gave no sign.When they were directly in line with the windmill, as near to theshore as to the ship, and nearer the shore than we had ever allowedthem before, they grew suspicious. We followed them through theglasses, and saw them standing up in the skiff and trying to findout what we were doing. The spy fisherman, sitting beside us onthe stringer-piece was likewise puzzled. He could not understandour inactivity. The men in the skiff rowed nearer the shore, butstood up again and scanned it, as if they thought we might be inhiding there. But a man came out on the beach and waved ahandkerchief to indicate that the coast was clear. That settledthem. They bent to the oars to make a dash for it. Still Charleywaited. Not until they had covered three-quarters of the distancefrom the Lancashire Queen, which left them hardly more than aquarter of a mile to gain the shore, did Charley slap me on theshoulder and cry:"They're ours! They're ours!"We ran the few steps to the side of the Streak and jumped aboard.Stern and bow lines were cast off in a jiffy. The Streak shotahead and away from the wharf. The spy fisherman we had leftbehind on the stringer-piece pulled out a revolver and fired fiveshots into the air in rapid succession. The men in the skiff gaveinstant heed to the warning, for we could see them pulling awaylike mad.But if they pulled like mad, I wonder how our progress can bedescribed? We fairly flew. So frightful was the speed with whichwe displaced the water, that a wave rose up on either side our bowand foamed aft in a series of three stiff, up-standing waves, whileastern a great crested billow pursued us hungrily, as though ateach moment it would fall aboard and destroy us. The Streak waspulsing and vibrating and roaring like a thing alive. The wind ofour progress was like a gale - a forty-five-mile gale. We couldnot face it and draw breath without choking and strangling. Itblew the smoke straight back from the mouths of the smoke-stacks ata direct right angle to the perpendicular. In fact, we weretravelling as fast as an express train. "We just streaked it," wasthe way Charley told it afterward, and I think his descriptioncomes nearer than any I can give.As for the Italians in the skiff - hardly had we started, it seemedto me, when we were on top of them. Naturally, we had to slow downlong before we got to them; but even then we shot past like awhirlwind and were compelled to circle back between them and theshore. They had rowed steadily, rising from the thwarts at everystroke, up to the moment we passed them, when they recognizedCharley and me. That took the last bit of fight out of them. Theyhauled in their oars, and sullenly submitted to arrest."Well, Charley," Neil Partington said, as we discussed it on thewharf afterward, "I fail to see where your boasted imagination cameinto play this time."But Charley was true to his hobby. "Imagination?" he demanded,pointing to the Streak. "Look at that! just look at it! If theinvention of that isn't imagination, I should like to know whatis.""Of course," he added, "it's the other fellow's imagination, but itdid the work all the same."
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