I had had no intention of stopping at Benicia.

The tide favoured, the wind was fair and howling--glorious sailing for a sailor.

Bull Head and Army Points showed ahead, marking the entrance to Suisun Bay which I knew was smoking.

And yet, when I laid eyes on those fishing arks lying in the water-front tules, without debate, on the instant, I put down my tiller, came in on the sheet, and headed for the shore.

On the instant, out of the profound of my brain-fag, I knew what I wanted.