We had now reached a dividing of the ways. To the left was the
mouth of the Sacramento River, to the right the mouth of the San
Joaquin. The cheerful sailor crept forward and jibed over the
foresail as Charley put the helm to starboard and we swerved to the
right into the San Joaquin. The wind, from which we had been
running away on an even keel, now caught us on our beam, and the
Mary Rebecca was pressed down on her port side as if she were about
to capsize.

Still we dashed on, and still the fishermen dashed on behind. The
value of their nets was greater than the fines they would have to
pay for violating the fish laws; so to cast off from their nets and
escape, which they could easily do, would profit them nothing.
Further, they remained by their nets instinctively, as a sailor
remains by his ship. And still further, the desire for vengeance
was roused, and we could depend upon it that they would follow us
to the ends of the earth, if we undertook to tow them that far.

The rifle-firing had ceased, and we looked astern to see what our
prisoners were doing. The boats were strung along at unequal
distances apart, and we saw the four nearest ones bunching
together. This was done by the boat ahead trailing a small rope
astern to the one behind. When this was caught, they would cast
off from their net and heave in on the line till they were brought
up to the boat in front. So great was the speed at which we were
travelling, however, that this was very slow work. Sometimes the
men would strain to their utmost and fail to get in an inch of the
rope; at other times they came ahead more rapidly.