FISHERIES OF THE PACIFIC COAST. 
135 
The boats that go up aud down the coast, or off to the fishing grounds, 
around the Farallones, some 35 to 40 miles distant, are generally absent 
from 2 to 4 days; but those that fish in the bays make shorter trips, 
usually marketing the catch of one day on the following morning. 
As soon as the fishing is over, the huge lateen sail is hoisted, the boat is 
headed homeward, and if there is a good breeze all the canvas that she 
will stagger under is kept upon her; or, if it is calm or the wind light, 
the swarthy crew toil away incessantly at the oars hour after hour 
until it seems they must fall down from utter weariness. No effort is 
spared to reach the market at the earliest moment, for any delay will 
result in the deterioration of the fish or loss of opportunity for selling 
them. No ice is used, and fish taken on distant grounds are too often 
not in good condition when they arrive. The start for market is com- 
monly so timed that the boat may arrive about midnight, or early in the 
morning. Most boats reach their docks between midnight and sunrise, 
but generally a few belated ones come straggling in during the day. 
It is an interesting and unique experience to stand on the pier in the 
midnight hours and watch the arrival of the market boats. Nothing 
disturbs the stillness except the ripple of the miniature waves caused 
by the brisk breeze and the lapping of the water upon the piling of 
the piers. Even the snort and puff of the steam tug, which is always 
so persistently nosing around in all coiners of the harbor looking 
for a job, is no longer heard, and only the shadowy figures of u fish- 
hawkers,” moving about near the head of the dock on the lookout for 
arriving boats and bargains in fish, give indications of life and wake- 
fulness. Suddenly, in the hazy indistinctness of the night, we note, in 
the shadows cast by the hills that border the Golden Gate, a swiftly 
approaching object, dimly outlined and resembling the wing of a giant 
sea bird sweeping in from the ocean. Soon it looms into plainer view, and 
beneath the great breadths of canvas that stand out hard and unyielding 
in the stiff breeze, we see the dark hull of a fishing felucca, buried to her 
gunwale on the lee side, and rushing swiftly along through the water. 
How proudly she sails! Not a halyard or sheet is touched ; not a move 
on board indicates preparation for shortening sail. We wonder what 
will happen as she comes tearing along for the pier-head; and now 
she is so close that disaster seems inevitable. But at this instant the 
hoarse-toned orders of the skipper ring out in quick succession and 
startling distinctness on the quiet night. Men run swiftly about the 
boat’s deck ; we hear the sharp rattle of sheaves, the rush of cordage; 
her long yard descends quickly to the deck, the lateen sail falls in grace- 
ful folds, while the jib disappears as if by magic; the dexterous hand 
of the helmsman moves the tiller at the right moment, and on comes 
the boat, sweeping gracefully into the narrow entrance to the dock, and 
a moment later she lies quietly alongside the pier, where her crew has 
placed her in a berth to land her cargo. 
