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 to act.

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