White and Yellow by Jack London
San Francisco Bay is so large that often its storms are more disastrous
to ocean-going craft than is the ocean itself in its violent moments.
The waters of the bay contain all manner of fish, wherefore its surface
is ploughed by the keels of all manner of fishing boats manned by all
manner of fishermen. To protect the fish from this motley floating
population many wise laws have been passed, and there is a fish patrol
to see that these laws are enforced. Exciting times are the lot
of the fish patrol: in its history more than one dead patrolman has
marked defeat, and more often dead fishermen across their illegal nets
have marked success.
Wildest among the fisher-folk may be accounted the Chinese shrimp-catchers.
It is the habit of the shrimp to crawl along the bottom in vast armies
till it reaches fresh water, when it turns about and crawls back again
to the salt. And where the tide ebbs and flows, the Chinese sink
great bag-nets to the bottom, with gaping mouths, into which the shrimp
crawls and from which it is transferred to the boiling-pot. This
in itself would not be bad, were it not for the small mesh of the nets,
so small that the tiniest fishes, little new-hatched things not a quarter
of an inch long, cannot pass through. The beautiful beaches of
Points Pedro and Pablo, where are the shrimp-catchers’ villages,
are made fearful by the stench from myriads of decaying fish, and against
this wasteful destruction it has ever been the duty of the fish patrol
When I was a youngster of sixteen, a good sloop-sailor and all-round
bay-waterman, my sloop, the Reindeer, was chartered by the Fish
Commission, and I became for the time being a deputy patrolman.
After a deal of work among the Greek fishermen of the Upper Bay and
rivers, where knives flashed at the beginning of trouble and men permitted
themselves to be made prisoners only after a revolver was thrust in
their faces, we hailed with delight an expedition to the Lower Bay against
the Chinese shrimp-catchers.
There were six of us, in two boats, and to avoid suspicion we ran
down after dark and dropped anchor under a projecting bluff of land
known as Point Pinole. As the east paled with the first light
of dawn we got under way again, and hauled close on the land breeze
as we slanted across the bay toward Point Pedro. The morning mists
curled and clung to the water so that we could see nothing, but we busied
ourselves driving the chill from our bodies with hot coffee. Also
we had to devote ourselves to the miserable task of bailing, for in
some incomprehensible way the Reindeer had sprung a generous
leak. Half the night had been spent in overhauling the ballast
and exploring the seams, but the labor had been without avail.
The water still poured in, and perforce we doubled up in the cockpit
and tossed it out again.
After coffee, three of the men withdrew to the other boat, a Columbia
River salmon boat, leaving three of us in the Reindeer.
Then the two craft proceeded in company till the sun showed over the
eastern sky-line. Its fiery rays dispelled the clinging vapors,
and there, before our eyes, like a picture, lay the shrimp fleet, spread
out in a great half-moon, the tips of the crescent fully three miles
apart, and each junk moored fast to the buoy of a shrimp-net.
But there was no stir, no sign of life.
The situation dawned upon us. While waiting for slack water,
in which to lift their heavy nets from the bed of the bay, the Chinese
had all gone to sleep below. We were elated, and our plan of battle
was swiftly formed.
“Throw each of your two men on to a junk,” whispered
Le Grant to me from the salmon boat. “And you make fast
to a third yourself. We’ll do the same, and there’s
no reason in the world why we shouldn’t capture six junks at the
Then we separated. I put the Reindeer about on the other
tack, ran up under the lee of a junk, shivered the mainsail into the
wind and lost headway, and forged past the stern of the junk so slowly
and so near that one of the patrolmen stepped lightly aboard.
Then I kept off, filled the mainsail, and bore away for a second junk.
Up to this time there had been no noise, but from the first junk
captured by the salmon boat an uproar now broke forth. There was
shrill Oriental yelling, a pistol shot, and more yelling.
“It’s all up. They’re warning the others,”
said George, the remaining patrolman, as he stood beside me in the cockpit.
By this time we were in the thick of the fleet, and the alarm was
spreading with incredible swiftness. The decks were beginning
to swarm with half-awakened and half-naked Chinese. Cries and
yells of warning and anger were flying over the quiet water, and somewhere
a conch shell was being blown with great success. To the right
of us I saw the captain of a junk chop away his mooring line with an
axe and spring to help his crew at the hoisting of the huge, outlandish
lug-sail. But to the left the first heads were popping up from
below on another junk, and I rounded up the Reindeer alongside
long enough for George to spring aboard.
The whole fleet was now under way. In addition to the sails
they had gotten out long sweeps, and the bay was being ploughed in every
direction by the fleeing junks. I was now alone in the Reindeer,
seeking feverishly to capture a third prize. The first junk I
took after was a clean miss, for it trimmed its sheets and shot away
surprisingly into the wind. By fully half a point it outpointed
the Reindeer, and I began to feel respect for the clumsy craft.
Realizing the hopelessness of the pursuit, I filled away, threw out
the main-sheet, and drove down before the wind upon the junks to leeward,
where I had them at a disadvantage.
The one I had selected wavered indecisively before me, and, as I
swung wide to make the boarding gentle, filled suddenly and darted away,
the smart Mongols shouting a wild rhythm as they bent to the sweeps.
But I had been ready for this. I luffed suddenly. Putting
the tiller hard down, and holding it down with my body, I brought the
main-sheet in, hand over hand, on the run, so as to retain all possible
striking force. The two starboard sweeps of the junk were crumpled
up, and then the two boats came together with a crash. The Reindeer’s
bowsprit, like a monstrous hand, reached over and ripped out the junk’s
chunky mast and towering sail.
This was met by a curdling yell of rage. A big Chinaman, remarkably
evil-looking, with his head swathed in a yellow silk handkerchief and
face badly pock-marked, planted a pike-pole on the Reindeer’s
bow and began to shove the entangled boats apart. Pausing long
enough to let go the jib halyards, and just as the Reindeer cleared
and began to drift astern, I leaped aboard the junk with a line and
made fast. He of the yellow handkerchief and pock-marked face
came toward me threateningly, but I put my hand into my hip pocket,
and he hesitated. I was unarmed, but the Chinese have learned
to be fastidiously careful of American hip pockets, and it was upon
this that I depended to keep him and his savage crew at a distance.
I ordered him to drop the anchor at the junk’s bow, to which
he replied, “No sabbe.” The crew responded in like
fashion, and though I made my meaning plain by signs, they refused to
understand. Realizing the inexpediency of discussing the matter,
I went forward myself, overran the line, and let the anchor go.
“Now get aboard, four of you,” I said in a loud voice,
indicating with my fingers that four of them were to go with me and
the fifth was to remain by the junk. The Yellow Handkerchief hesitated;
but I repeated the order fiercely (much more fiercely than I felt),
at the same time sending my hand to my hip. Again the Yellow Handkerchief
was overawed, and with surly looks he led three of his men aboard the
Reindeer. I cast off at once, and, leaving the jib down,
steered a course for George’s junk. Here it was easier,
for there were two of us, and George had a pistol to fall back on if
it came to the worst. And here, as with my junk, four Chinese
were transferred to the sloop and one left behind to take care of things.
Four more were added to our passenger list from the third junk.
By this time the salmon boat had collected its twelve prisoners and
came alongside, badly overloaded. To make matters worse, as it
was a small boat, the patrolmen were so jammed in with their prisoners
that they would have little chance in case of trouble.
“You’ll have to help us out,” said Le Grant.
I looked over my prisoners, who had crowded into the cabin and on
top of it. “I can take three,” I answered.
“Make it four,” he suggested, “and I’ll take
Bill with me.” (Bill was the third patrolman.) “We
haven’t elbow room here, and in case of a scuffle one white to
every two of them will be just about the right proportion.”
The exchange was made, and the salmon boat got up its spritsail and
headed down the bay toward the marshes off San Rafael. I ran up
the jib and followed with the Reindeer. San Rafael, where
we were to turn our catch over to the authorities, communicated with
the bay by way of a long and tortuous slough, or marshland creek, which
could be navigated only when the tide was in. Slack water had
come, and, as the ebb was commencing, there was need for hurry if we
cared to escape waiting half a day for the next tide.
But the land breeze had begun to die away with the rising sun, and
now came only in failing puffs. The salmon boat got out its oars
and soon left us far astern. Some of the Chinese stood in the
forward part of the cockpit, near the cabin doors, and once, as I leaned
over the cockpit rail to flatten down the jib-sheet a bit, I felt some
one brush against my hip pocket. I made no sign, but out of the
corner of my eye I saw that the Yellow Handkerchief had discovered the
emptiness of the pocket which had hitherto overawed him.
To make matters serious, during all the excitement of boarding the
junks the Reindeer had not been bailed, and the water was beginning
to slush over the cockpit floor. The shrimp-catchers pointed at
it and looked to me questioningly.
“Yes,” I said. “Bime by, allee same dlown,
velly quick, you no bail now. Sabbe?”
No, they did not “sabbe,” or at least they shook their
heads to that effect, though they chattered most comprehendingly to
one another in their own lingo. I pulled up three or four of the
bottom boards, got a couple of buckets from a locker, and by unmistakable
sign-language invited them to fall to. But they laughed, and some
crowded into the cabin and some climbed up on top.
Their laughter was not good laughter. There was a hint of menace
in it, a maliciousness which their black looks verified. The Yellow
Handkerchief, since his discovery of my empty pocket, had become most
insolent in his bearing, and he wormed about among the other prisoners,
talking to them with great earnestness.
Swallowing my chagrin, I stepped down into the cockpit and began
throwing out the water. But hardly had I begun, when the boom
swung overhead, the mainsail filled with a jerk, and the Reindeer
heeled over. The day wind was springing up. George was the
veriest of landlubbers, so I was forced to give over bailing and take
the tiller. The wind was blowing directly off Point Pedro and
the high mountains behind, and because of this was squally and uncertain,
half the time bellying the canvas out and the other half flapping it
George was about the most all-round helpless man I had ever met.
Among his other disabilities, he was a consumptive, and I knew that
if he attempted to bail, it might bring on a hemorrhage. Yet the
rising water warned me that something must be done. Again I ordered
the shrimp-catchers to lend a hand with the buckets. They laughed
defiantly, and those inside the cabin, the water up to their ankles,
shouted back and forth with those on top.
“You’d better get out your gun and make them bail,”
I said to George.
But he shook his head and showed all too plainly that he was afraid.
The Chinese could see the funk he was in as well as I could, and their
insolence became insufferable. Those in the cabin broke into the
food lockers, and those above scrambled down and joined them in a feast
on our crackers and canned goods.
“What do we care?” George said weakly.
I was fuming with helpless anger. “If they get out of
hand, it will be too late to care. The best thing you can do is
to get them in check right now.”
The water was rising higher and higher, and the gusts, forerunners
of a steady breeze, were growing stiffer and stiffer. And between
the gusts, the prisoners, having gotten away with a week’s grub,
took to crowding first to one side and then to the other till the Reindeer
rocked like a cockle-shell. Yellow Handkerchief approached me,
and, pointing out his village on the Point Pedro beach, gave me to understand
that if I turned the Reindeer in that direction and put them
ashore, they, in turn, would go to bailing. By now the water in
the cabin was up to the bunks, and the bed-clothes were sopping.
It was a foot deep on the cockpit floor. Nevertheless I refused,
and I could see by George’s face that he was disappointed.
“If you don’t show some nerve, they’ll rush us
and throw us overboard,” I said to him. “Better give
me your revolver, if you want to be safe.”
“The safest thing to do,” he chattered cravenly, “is
to put them ashore. I, for one, don’t want to be drowned
for the sake of a handful of dirty Chinamen.”
“And I, for another, don’t care to give in to a handful
of dirty Chinamen to escape drowning,” I answered hotly.
“You’ll sink the Reindeer under us all at this
rate,” he whined. “And what good that’ll do
I can’t see.”
“Every man to his taste,” I retorted.
He made no reply, but I could see he was trembling pitifully.
Between the threatening Chinese and the rising water he was beside himself
with fright; and, more than the Chinese and the water, I feared him
and what his fright might impel him to do. I could see him casting
longing glances at the small skiff towing astern, so in the next calm
I hauled the skiff alongside. As I did so his eyes brightened
with hope; but before he could guess my intention, I stove the frail
bottom through with a hand-axe, and the skiff filled to its gunwales.
“It’s sink or float together,” I said. “And
if you’ll give me your revolver, I’ll have the Reindeer
bailed out in a jiffy.”
“They’re too many for us,” he whimpered.
“We can’t fight them all.”
I turned my back on him in disgust. The salmon boat had long
since passed from sight behind a little archipelago known as the Marin
Islands, so no help could be looked for from that quarter. Yellow
Handkerchief came up to me in a familiar manner, the water in the cockpit
slushing against his legs. I did not like his looks. I felt
that beneath the pleasant smile he was trying to put on his face there
was an ill purpose. I ordered him back, and so sharply that he
“Now keep your distance,” I commanded, “and don’t
you come closer!”
“Wha’ fo’?” he demanded indignantly.
“I t’ink-um talkee talkee heap good.”
“Talkee talkee,” I answered bitterly, for I knew now
that he had understood all that passed between George and me.
“What for talkee talkee? You no sabbe talkee talkee.”
He grinned in a sickly fashion. “Yep, I sabbe velly much.
I honest Chinaman.”
“All right,” I answered. “You sabbe talkee
talkee, then you bail water plenty plenty. After that we talkee
He shook his head, at the same time pointing over his shoulder to
his comrades. “No can do. Velly bad Chinamen, heap
velly bad. I t’ink-um—”
“Stand back!” I shouted, for I had noticed his hand disappear
beneath his blouse and his body prepare for a spring.
Disconcerted, he went back into the cabin, to hold a council, apparently,
from the way the jabbering broke forth. The Reindeer was
very deep in the water, and her movements had grown quite loggy.
In a rough sea she would have inevitably swamped; but the wind, when
it did blow, was off the land, and scarcely a ripple disturbed the surface
of the bay.
“I think you’d better head for the beach,” George
said abruptly, in a manner that told me his fear had forced him to make
up his mind to some course of action.
“I think not,” I answered shortly.
“I command you,” he said in a bullying tone.
“I was commanded to bring these prisoners into San Rafael,”
was my reply.
Our voices were raised, and the sound of the altercation brought
the Chinese out of the cabin.
“Now will you head for the beach?”
This from George, and I found myself looking into the muzzle of his
revolver—of the revolver he dared to use on me, but was too cowardly
to use on the prisoners.
My brain seemed smitten with a dazzling brightness. The whole
situation, in all its bearings, was focussed sharply before me—the
shame of losing the prisoners, the worthlessness and cowardice of George,
the meeting with Le Grant and the other patrol men and the lame explanation;
and then there was the fight I had fought so hard, victory wrenched
from me just as I thought I had it within my grasp. And out of
the tail of my eye I could see the Chinese crowding together by the
cabin doors and leering triumphantly. It would never do.
I threw my hand up and my head down. The first act elevated
the muzzle, and the second removed my head from the path of the bullet
which went whistling past. One hand closed on George’s wrist,
the other on the revolver. Yellow Handkerchief and his gang sprang
toward me. It was now or never. Putting all my strength
into a sudden effort, I swung George’s body forward to meet them.
Then I pulled back with equal suddenness, ripping the revolver out of
his fingers and jerking him off his feet. He fell against Yellow
Handkerchief’s knees, who stumbled over him, and the pair wallowed
in the bailing hole where the cockpit floor was torn open. The
next instant I was covering them with my revolver, and the wild shrimp-catchers
were cowering and cringing away.
But I swiftly discovered that there was all the difference in the
world between shooting men who are attacking and men who are doing nothing
more than simply refusing to obey. For obey they would not when
I ordered them into the bailing hole. I threatened them with the
revolver, but they sat stolidly in the flooded cabin and on the roof
and would not move.
Fifteen minutes passed, the Reindeer sinking deeper and deeper,
her mainsail flapping in the calm. But from off the Point Pedro
shore I saw a dark line form on the water and travel toward us.
It was the steady breeze I had been expecting so long. I called
to the Chinese and pointed it out. They hailed it with exclamations.
Then I pointed to the sail and to the water in the Reindeer,
and indicated by signs that when the wind reached the sail, what of
the water aboard we would capsize. But they jeered defiantly,
for they knew it was in my power to luff the helm and let go the main-sheet,
so as to spill the wind and escape damage.
But my mind was made up. I hauled in the main-sheet a foot
or two, took a turn with it, and bracing my feet, put my back against
the tiller. This left me one hand for the sheet and one for the
revolver. The dark line drew nearer, and I could see them looking
from me to it and back again with an apprehension they could not successfully
conceal. My brain and will and endurance were pitted against theirs,
and the problem was which could stand the strain of imminent death the
longer and not give in.
Then the wind struck us. The main-sheet tautened with a brisk
rattling of the blocks, the boom uplifted, the sail bellied out, and
the Reindeer heeled over—over, and over, till the lee-rail
went under, the cabin windows went under, and the bay began to pour
in over the cockpit rail. So violently had she heeled over, that
the men in the cabin had been thrown on top of one another into the
lee bunk, where they squirmed and twisted and were washed about, those
underneath being perilously near to drowning.
The wind freshened a bit, and the Reindeer went over farther
than ever. For the moment I thought she was gone, and I knew that
another puff like that and she surely would go. While I pressed
her under and debated whether I should give up or not, the Chinese cried
for mercy. I think it was the sweetest sound I have ever heard.
And then, and not until then, did I luff up and ease out the main-sheet.
The Reindeer righted very slowly, and when she was on an even
keel was so much awash that I doubted if she could be saved.
But the Chinese scrambled madly into the cockpit and fell to bailing
with buckets, pots, pans, and everything they could lay hands on.
It was a beautiful sight to see that water flying over the side!
And when the Reindeer was high and proud on the water once more,
we dashed away with the breeze on our quarter, and at the last possible
moment crossed the mud flats and entered the slough.
The spirit of the Chinese was broken, and so docile did they become
that ere we made San Rafael they were out with the tow-rope, Yellow
Handkerchief at the head of the line. As for George, it was his
last trip with the fish patrol. He did not care for that sort
of thing, he explained, and he thought a clerkship ashore was good enough
for him. And we thought so too.