Yellow Handkerchief
"I'm not wanting to dictate to you, lad," Charley said; "but I'mvery much against your making a last raid. You've gone safelythrough rough times with rough men, and it would be a shame to havesomething happen to you at the very end.""But how can I get out of making a last raid?" I demanded, with thecocksureness of youth. "There always has to be a last, you know,to anything."Charley crossed his legs, leaned back, and considered the problem."Very true. But why not call the capture of Demetrios Contos thelast? You're back from it safe and sound and hearty, for all yourgood wetting, and - and - " His voice broke and he could not speakfor a moment. "And I could never forgive myself if anythinghappened to you now."I laughed at Charley's fears while I gave in to the claims of hisaffection, and agreed to consider the last raid already performed.We had been together for two years, and now I was leaving the fishpatrol in order to go back and finish my education. I had earnedand saved money to put me through three years at the high school,and though the beginning of the term was several months away, Iintended doing a lot of studying for the entrance examinations.My belongings were packed snugly in a sea-chest, and I was allready to buy my ticket and ride down on the train to Oakland, whenNeil Partington arrived in Benicia. The Reindeer was neededimmediately for work far down on the Lower Bay, and Neil said heintended to run straight for Oakland. As that was his home and asI was to live with his family while going to school, he saw noreason, he said, why I should not put my chest aboard and comealong.So the chest went aboard, and in the middle of the afternoon wehoisted the Reindeer's big mainsail and cast off. It wastantalizing fall weather. The sea-breeze, which had blown steadilyall summer, was gone, and in its place were capricious winds andmurky skies which made the time of arriving anywhere extremelyproblematical. We started on the first of the ebb, and as weslipped down the Carquinez Straits, I looked my last for some timeupon Benicia and the bight at Turner's Shipyard, where we hadbesieged the Lancashire Queen, and had captured Big Alec, the Kingof the Greeks. And at the mouth of the Straits I looked with not alittle interest upon the spot where a few days before I should havedrowned but for the good that was in the nature of DemetriosContos.A great wall of fog advanced across San Pablo Bay to meet us, andin a few minutes the Reindeer was running blindly through the dampobscurity. Charley, who was steering, seemed to have an instinctfor that kind of work. How he did it, he himself confessed that hedid not know; but he had a way of calculating winds, currents,distance, time, drift, and sailing speed that was truly marvellous."It looks as though it were lifting," Neil Partington said, acouple of hours after we had entered the fog. "Where do you say weare, Charley?"Charley looked at his watch, "Six o'clock, and three hours more ofebb," he remarked casually."But where do you say we are?" Neil insisted.Charley pondered a moment, and then answered, "The tide has edgedus over a bit out of our course, but if the fog lifts right now, asit is going to lift, you'll find we're not more than a thousandmiles off McNear's Landing.""You might be a little more definite by a few miles, anyway," Neilgrumbled, showing by his tone that he disagreed."All right, then," Charley said, conclusively, "not less than aquarter of a mile, not more than a half."The wind freshened with a couple of little puffs, and the fogthinned perceptibly."McNear's is right off there," Charley said, pointing directly intothe fog on our weather beam.The three of us were peering intently in that direction, when theReindeer struck with a dull crash and came to a standstill. We ranforward, and found her bowsprit entangled in the tanned rigging ofa short, chunky mast. She had collided, head on, with a Chinesejunk lying at anchor.At the moment we arrived forward, five Chinese, like so many bees,came swarming out of the little 'tween-decks cabin, the sleep stillin their eyes.Leading them came a big, muscular man, conspicuous for his pock-marked face and the yellow silk handkerchief swathed about hishead. It was Yellow Handkerchief, the Chinaman whom we hadarrested for illegal shrimp-fishing the year before, and who, atthat time, had nearly sunk the Reindeer, as he had nearly sunk itnow by violating the rules of navigation."What d'ye mean, you yellow-faced heathen, lying here in a fairwaywithout a horn a-going?" Charley cried hotly."Mean?" Neil calmly answered. "Just take a look - that's what hemeans."Our eyes followed the direction indicated by Neil's finger, and wesaw the open amidships of the junk, half filled, as we found oncloser examination, with fresh-caught shrimps. Mingled with theshrimps were myriads of small fish, from a quarter of an inchupward in size.Yellow Handkerchief had lifted the trap-net at high-water slack,and, taking advantage of the concealment offered by the fog, hadboldly been lying by, waiting to lift the net again at low-waterslack."Well," Neil hummed and hawed, "in all my varied and extensiveexperience as a fish patrolman, I must say this is the easiestcapture I ever made. What'll we do with them, Charley?""Tow the junk into San Rafael, of course," came the answer.Charley turned to me. "You stand by the junk, lad, and I'll passyou a towing line. If the wind doesn't fail us, we'll make thecreek before the tide gets too low, sleep at San Rafael, and arrivein Oakland to-morrow by midday."So saying, Charley and Neil returned to the Reindeer and got underway, the junk towing astern. I went aft and took charge of theprize, steering by means of an antiquated tiller and a rudder withlarge, diamond-shaped holes, through which the water rushed backand forth.By now the last of the fog had vanished, and Charley's estimate ofour position was confirmed by the sight of McNear's Landing a shorthalf-mile away. Following along the west shore, we rounded PointPedro in plain view of the Chinese shrimp villages, and a great to-do was raised when they saw one of their junks towing behind thefamiliar fish patrol sloop.The wind, coming off the land, was rather puffy and uncertain, andit would have been more to our advantage had it been stronger. SanRafael Creek, up which we had to go to reach the town and turn overour prisoners to the authorities, ran through wide-stretchingmarshes, and was difficult to navigate on a falling tide, while atlow tide it was impossible to navigate at all. So, with the tidealready half-ebbed, it was necessary for us to make time. This theheavy junk prevented, lumbering along behind and holding theReindeer back by just so much dead weight."Tell those coolies to get up that sail," Charley finally called tome. "We don't want to hang up on the mud flats for the rest of thenight."I repeated the order to Yellow Handkerchief, who mumbled it huskilyto his men. He was suffering from a bad cold, which doubled him upin convulsive coughing spells and made his eyes heavy andbloodshot. This made him more evil-looking than ever, and when heglared viciously at me I remembered with a shiver the close shave Ihad had with him at the time of his previous arrest.His crew sullenly tailed on to the halyards, and the strange,outlandish sail, lateen in rig and dyed a warm brown, rose in theair. We were sailing on the wind, and when Yellow Handkerchiefflattened down the sheet the junk forged ahead and the tow-linewent slack. Fast as the Reindeer could sail, the junk outsailedher; and to avoid running her down I hauled a little closer on thewind. But the junk likewise outpointed, and in a couple of minutesI was abreast of the Reindeer and to windward. The tow-line hadnow tautened, at right angles to the two boats, and the predicamentwas laughable."Cast off!" I shouted.Charley hesitated."It's all right," I added. "Nothing can happen. We'll make thecreek on this tack, and you'll be right behind me all the way up toSan Rafael."At this Charley cast off, and Yellow Handkerchief sent one of hismen forward to haul in the line. In the gathering darkness I couldjust make out the mouth of San Rafael Creek, and by the time weentered it I could barely see its banks. The Reindeer was fullyfive minutes astern, and we continued to leave her astern as webeat up the narrow, winding channel. With Charley behind us, itseemed I had little to fear from my five prisoners; but thedarkness prevented my keeping a sharp eye on them, so I transferredmy revolver from my trousers pocket to the side pocket of my coat,where I could more quickly put my hand on it.Yellow Handkerchief was the one I feared, and that he knew it andmade use of it, subsequent events will show. He was sitting a fewfeet away from me, on what then happened to be the weather side ofthe junk. I could scarcely see the outlines of his form, but Isoon became convinced that he was slowly, very slowly, edgingcloser to me. I watched him carefully. Steering with my lefthand, I slipped my right into my pocket and got hold of therevolver.I saw him shift along for a couple of inches, and I was just aboutto order him back - the words were trembling on the tip of mytongue - when I was struck with great force by a heavy figure thathad leaped through the air upon me from the lee side. It was oneof the crew. He pinioned my right arm so that I could not withdrawmy hand from my pocket, and at the same time clapped his other handover my mouth. Of course, I could have struggled away from him andfreed my hand or gotten my mouth clear so that I might cry analarm, but in a trice Yellow Handkerchief was on top of me.I struggled around to no purpose in the bottom of the junk, whilemy legs and arms were tied and my mouth securely bound in what Iafterward found to be a cotton shirt. Then I was left lying in thebottom. Yellow Handkerchief took the tiller, issuing his orders inwhispers; and from our position at the time, and from thealteration of the sail, which I could dimly make out above me as ablot against the stars, I knew the junk was being headed into themouth of a small slough which emptied at that point into San RafaelCreek.In a couple of minutes we ran softly alongside the bank, and thesail was silently lowered. The Chinese kept very quiet. YellowHandkerchief sat down in the bottom alongside of me, and I couldfeel him straining to repress his raspy, hacking cough. Possiblyseven or eight minutes later I heard Charley's voice as theReindeer went past the mouth of the slough."I can't tell you how relieved I am," I could plainly hear himsaying to Neil, "that the lad has finished with the fish patrolwithout accident."Here Neil said something which I could not catch, and thenCharley's voice went on:"The youngster takes naturally to the water, and if, when hefinishes high school, he takes a course in navigation and goes deepsea, I see no reason why he shouldn't rise to be master of thefinest and biggest ship afloat."It was all very flattering to me, but lying there, bound and gaggedby my own prisoners, with the voices growing faint and fainter asthe Reindeer slipped on through the darkness toward San Rafael, Imust say I was not in quite the proper situation to enjoy mysmiling future. With the Reindeer went my last hope. What was tohappen next I could not imagine, for the Chinese were a differentrace from mine, and from what I knew I was confident that fair playwas no part of their make-up.After waiting a few minutes longer, the crew hoisted the lateensail, and Yellow Handkerchief steered down toward the mouth of SanRafael Creek. The tide was getting lower, and he had difficulty inescaping the mud-banks. I was hoping he would run aground, but hesucceeded in making the Bay without accident.As we passed out of the creek a noisy discussion arose, which Iknew related to me. Yellow Handkerchief was vehement, but theother four as vehemently opposed him. It was very evident that headvocated doing away with me and that they were afraid of theconsequences. I was familiar enough with the Chinese character toknow that fear alone restrained them. But what plan they offeredin place of Yellow Handkerchief's murderous one, I could not makeout.My feelings, as my fate hung in the balance, may be guessed. Thediscussion developed into a quarrel, in the midst of which YellowHandkerchief unshipped the heavy tiller and sprang toward me. Buthis four companions threw themselves between, and a clumsy struggletook place for possession of the tiller. In the end YellowHandkerchief was overcome, and sullenly returned to the steering,while they soundly berated him for his rashness.Not long after, the sail was run down and the junk slowly urgedforward by means of the sweeps. I felt it ground gently on thesoft mud. Three of the Chinese - they all wore long sea-boots -got over the side, and the other two passed me across the rail.With Yellow Handkerchief at my legs and his two companions at myshoulders, they began to flounder along through the mud. Aftersome time their feet struck firmer footing, and I knew they werecarrying me up some beach. The location of this beach was notdoubtful in my mind. It could be none other than one of the MarinIslands, a group of rocky islets which lay off the Marin Countyshore.When they reached the firm sand that marked high tide, I wasdropped, and none too gently. Yellow Handkerchief kicked mespitefully in the ribs, and then the trio floundered back throughthe mud to the junk. A moment later I heard the sail go up andslat in the wind as they drew in the sheet. Then silence fell, andI was left to my own devices for getting free.I remembered having seen tricksters writhe and squirm out of ropeswith which they were bound, but though I writhed and squirmed likea good fellow, the knots remained as hard as ever, and there was noappreciable slack. In the course of my squirming, however, Irolled over upon a heap of clam-shells - the remains, evidently, ofsome yachting party's clam-bake. This gave me an idea. My handswere tied behind my back; and, clutching a shell in them, I rolledover and over, up the beach, till I came to the rocks I knew to bethere.Rolling around and searching, I finally discovered a narrowcrevice, into which I shoved the shell. The edge of it was sharp,and across the sharp edge I proceeded to saw the rope that bound mywrists. The edge of the shell was also brittle, and I broke it bybearing too heavily upon it. Then I rolled back to the heap andreturned with as many shells as I could carry in both hands. Ibroke many shells, cut my hands a number of times, and got crampsin my legs from my strained position and my exertions.While I was suffering from the cramps, and resting, I heard afamiliar halloo drift across the water. It was Charley, searchingfor me. The gag in my mouth prevented me from replying, and Icould only lie there, helplessly fuming, while he rowed past theisland and his voice slowly lost itself in the distance.I returned to the sawing process, and at the end of half an hoursucceeded in severing the rope. The rest was easy. My hands oncefree, it was a matter of minutes to loosen my legs and to take thegag out of my mouth. I ran around the island to make sure it wasan island and not by any chance a portion of the mainland. Anisland it certainly was, one of the Marin group, fringed with asandy beach and surrounded by a sea of mud. Nothing remained butto wait till daylight and to keep warm; for it was a cold, rawnight for California, with just enough wind to pierce the skin andcause one to shiver.To keep up the circulation, I ran around the island a dozen timesor so, and clambered across its rocky backbone as many times more -all of which was of greater service to me, as I afterwarddiscovered, than merely to warm me up. In the midst of thisexercise I wondered if I had lost anything out of my pockets whilerolling over and over in the sand. A search showed the absence ofmy revolver and pocket-knife. The first Yellow Handkerchief hadtaken; but the knife had been lost in the sand.I was hunting for it when the sound of rowlocks came to my ears.At first, of course, I thought of Charley; but on second thought Iknew Charley would be calling out as he rowed along. A suddenpremonition of danger seized me. The Marin Islands are lonelyplaces; chance visitors in the dead of night are hardly to beexpected. What if it were Yellow Handkerchief? The sound made bythe rowlocks grew more distinct. I crouched in the sand andlistened intently. The boat, which I judged a small skiff from thequick stroke of the oars, was landing in the mud about fifty yardsup the beach. I heard a raspy, hacking cough, and my heart stoodstill. It was Yellow Handkerchief. Not to be robbed of hisrevenge by his more cautious companions, he had stolen away fromthe village and come back alone.I did some swift thinking. I was unarmed and helpless on a tinyislet, and a yellow barbarian, whom I had reason to fear, wascoming after me. Any place was safer than the island, and I turnedinstinctively to the water, or rather to the mud. As he began toflounder ashore through the mud, I started to flounder out into it,going over the same course which the Chinese had taken in landingme and in returning to the junk.Yellow Handkerchief, believing me to be lying tightly bound,exercised no care, but came ashore noisily. This helped me, for,under the shield of his noise and making no more myself thannecessary, I managed to cover fifty feet by the time he had madethe beach. Here I lay down in the mud. It was cold and clammy,and made me shiver, but I did not care to stand up and run the riskof being discovered by his sharp eyes.He walked down the beach straight to where he had left me lying,and I had a fleeting feeling of regret at not being able to see hissurprise when he did not find me. But it was a very fleetingregret, for my teeth were chattering with the cold.What his movements were after that I had largely to deduce from thefacts of the situation, for I could scarcely see him in the dimstarlight. But I was sure that the first thing he did was to makethe circuit of the beach to learn if landings had been made byother boats. This he would have known at once by the tracksthrough the mud.Convinced that no boat had removed me from the island, he nextstarted to find out what had become of me. Beginning at the pileof clamshells, he lighted matches to trace my tracks in the sand.At such times I could see his villanous face plainly, and, when thesulphur from the matches irritated his lungs, between the raspycough that followed and the clammy mud in which I was lying, Iconfess I shivered harder than ever.The multiplicity of my footprints puzzled him. Then the idea thatI might be out in the mud must have struck him, for he waded out afew yards in my direction, and, stooping, with his eyes searchedthe dim surface long and carefully. He could not have been morethan fifteen feet from me, and had he lighted a match he wouldsurely have discovered me.He returned to the beach and clambered about, over the rockybackbone, again hunting for me with lighted matches, The closenessof the shave impelled me to further flight. Not daring to wadeupright, on account of the noise made by floundering and by thesuck of the mud, I remained lying down in the mud and propelledmyself over its surface by means of my hands. Still keeping thetrail made by the Chinese in going from and to the junk, I held onuntil I reached the water. Into this I waded to a depth of threefeet, and then I turned off to the side on a line parallel with thebeach.The thought came to me of going toward Yellow Handkerchief's skiffand escaping in it, but at that very moment he returned to thebeach, and, as though fearing the very thing I had in mind, heslushed out through the mud to assure himself that the skiff wassafe. 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 thespot where the Chinese had begun to wade ashore from the junk. Idrew myself out on the mud and remained lying flat.Again Yellow Handkerchief returned to the beach and made a searchof the island, and again he returned to the heap of clam-shells. Iknew what was running in his mind as well as he did himself. Noone could leave or land without making tracks in the mud. The onlytracks to be seen were those leading from his skiff and from wherethe junk had been. I was not on the island. I must have left itby one or the other of those two tracks. He had just been over theone to his skiff, and was certain I had not left that way.Therefore I could have left the island only by going over thetracks of the junk landing. This he proceeded to verify by wadingout over them himself, lighting matches as he came along.When he arrived at the point where I had first lain, I knew, by thematches he burned and the time he took, that he had discovered themarks left by my body. These he followed straight to the water andinto it, but in three feet of water he could no longer see them.On the other hand, as the tide was still falling, he could easilymake out the impression made by the junk's bow, and could havelikewise made out the impression of any other boat if it had landedat that particular spot. But there was no such mark; and I knewthat he was absolutely convinced that I was hiding somewhere in themud.But to hunt on a dark night for a boy in a sea of mud would be likehunting for a needle in a haystack, and he did not attempt it.Instead he went back to the beach and prowled around for some time.I was hoping he would give me up and go, for by this time I wassuffering severely from the cold. At last he waded out to hisskiff and rowed away. What if this departure of YellowHandkerchief's were a sham? What if he had done it merely toentice me ashore?The more I thought of it the more certain I became that he had madea little too much noise with his oars as he rowed away. So Iremained, lying in the mud and shivering. I shivered till themuscles of the small of my back ached and pained me as badly as thecold, and I had need of all my self-control to force myself toremain in my miserable situation.It was well that I did, however, for, possibly an hour later, Ithought I could make out something moving on the beach. I watchedintently, but my ears were rewarded first, by a raspy cough I knewonly too well. Yellow Handkerchief had sneaked back, landed on theother side of the island, and crept around to surprise me if I hadreturned.After that, though hours passed without sign of him, I was afraidto return to the island at all. On the other hand, I was almostequally afraid that I should die of the exposure I was undergoing.I had never dreamed one could suffer so. I grew so cold and numb,finally, that I ceased to shiver. But my muscles and bones beganto ache in a way that was agony. The tide had long since begun torise, and, foot by foot, it drove me in toward the beach. Highwater came at three o'clock, and at three o'clock I drew myself upon the beach, more dead than alive, and too helpless to haveoffered any resistance had Yellow Handkerchief swooped down uponme.But no Yellow Handkerchief appeared. He had given me up and goneback to Point Pedro. Nevertheless, I was in a deplorable, not tosay dangerous, condition. I could not stand upon my feet, muchless walk. My clammy, muddy garments clung to me like sheets ofice. I thought I should never get them off. So numb and lifelesswere my fingers, and so weak was I, that it seemed to take an hourto get off my shoes. I had not the strength to break the porpoise-hide laces, and the knots defied me. I repeatedly beat my handsupon the rocks to get some sort of life into them. Sometimes Ifelt sure I was going to die.But in the end, - after several centuries, it seemed to me, - I gotoff the last of my clothes. The water was now close at hand, and Icrawled painfully into it and washed the mud from my naked body.Still, I could not get on my feet and walk and I was afraid to liestill. Nothing remained but to crawl weakly, like a snail, and atthe cost of constant pain, up and down the sand. I kept this up aslong as possible, but as the east paled with the coming of dawn Ibegan to succumb. The sky grew rosy-red, and the golden rim of thesun, showing above the horizon, found me lying helpless andmotionless among the clam-shells.As in a dream, I saw the familiar mainsail of the Reindeer as sheslipped out of San Rafael Creek on a light puff of morning air.This dream was very much broken. There are intervals I can neverrecollect on looking back over it. Three things, however, Idistinctly remember: the first sight of the Reindeer's mainsail;her lying at anchor a few hundred feet away and a small boatleaving her side; and the cabin stove roaring red-hot, myselfswathed all over with blankets, except on the chest and shoulders,which Charley was pounding and mauling unmercifully, and my mouthand throat burning with the coffee which Neil Partington waspouring down a trifle too hot.But burn or no burn, I tell you it felt good. By the time wearrived in Oakland I was as limber and strong as ever, - thoughCharlie and Neil Partington were afraid I was going to havepneumonia, and Mrs. Partington, for my first six months of school,kept an anxious eye upon me to discover the first symptoms ofconsumption.Time flies. It seems but yesterday that I was a lad of sixteen onthe fish patrol. Yet I know that I arrived this very morning fromChina, with a quick passage to my credit, and master of thebarkentine Harvester. And I know that to-morrow morning I shallrun over to Oakland to see Neil Partington and his wife and family,and later on up to Benicia to see Charley Le Grant and talk overold times. No; I shall not go to Benicia, now that I think aboutit. I expect to be a highly interested party to a wedding, shortlyto take place. Her name is Alice Partington, and, since Charleyhas promised to be best man, he will have to come down to Oaklandinstead.
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