new Columbia River salmon boat, evidently on its first trip, and it
handled splendidly. Even when Charley praised it, our prisoner
refused to speak or to notice us, and we soon gave him up as a most
unsociable fellow.

We ran up the Carquinez Straits and edged into the bight at
Turner's Shipyard for smoother water. Here were lying several
English steel sailing ships, waiting for the wheat harvest; and
here, most unexpectedly, in the precise place where we had captured
Big Alec, we came upon two Italians in a skiff that was loaded with
a complete "Chinese" sturgeon line. The surprise was mutual, and
we 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 I
hastened to lower our big spritsail. This accomplished, the salmon
boat dropped astern, dragging heavily on the skiff.

Charley came forward to board the prize, but when I proceeded to
haul alongside by means of the line, the Italians cast it off. We
at once began drifting to leeward, while they got out two pairs of
oars and rowed their light craft directly into the wind. This
manoeuvre for the moment disconcerted us, for in our large and
heavily loaded boat we could not hope to catch them with the oars.
But our prisoner came unexpectedly to our aid. His black eyes were
flashing eagerly, and his face was flushed with suppressed
excitement, as he dropped the centre-board, sprang forward with a
single leap, and put up the sail.

"I've always heard that Greeks don't like Italians," Charley