I saw him working impatiently with the
centre-board, trying to force it down. I gave him little time, and he
was compelled quickly to return to the tiller and sheet.

The centre-board made him anxious. He gave over playing with me, and
started on the long beat to Vallejo. To my joy, on the first long tack
across, I found that I could eat into the wind just a little bit
closer than he. Here was where another man in the boat would have been
of value to him; for, with me but a few feet astern, he did not dare
let go the tiller and run amidships to try to force down the
centre-board.

Unable to hang on as close in the eye of the wind as formerly, he
proceeded to slack his sheet a trifle and to ease off a bit, in order
to outfoot me. This I permitted him to do till I had worked to
windward, when I bore down upon him. As I drew close, he feinted at
coming about. This led me to shoot into the wind to forestall him. But
it was only a feint, cleverly executed, and he held back to his course
while I hurried to make up lost ground.

He was undeniably smarter than I when it came to manoeuvring. Time
after time I all but had him, and each time he tricked me and escaped.
Besides, the wind was freshening constantly, and each of us had his
hands full to avoid capsizing. As for my boat, it could not have been
kept afloat but for the extra ballast. I sat cocked over the weather
gunwale, tiller in one hand and sheet in the other; and the sheet,
with a single turn around a pin, I was very often forced to let go in
the severer puffs. This allowed the sail to spill the wind, which was
equivalent to taking off so much driving power, and of course I lost
ground. My consolation was that Demetrios was as often compelled to do
the same thing.

The strong ebb-tide, racing down the Straits in the teeth of the wind,
caused an unusually heavy and spiteful sea, which dashed aboard
continually. I was dripping wet, and even the sail was wet half-way up
the after leech. Once I did succeed in outmanoeuvring Demetrios, so
that my bow bumped into him amidships. Here was where I should have
had another man. Before I could run forward and leap aboard, he shoved
the boats apart with an oar, laughing mockingly in my face as he did
so.

We were now at the mouth of the Straits, in a bad stretch of water.
Here the Vallejo Straits and the Carquinez Straits rushed directly at
each other. Through the first flowed all the water of Napa River and
the great tide