CHAPTER X.
THE CHASE OF THE MANATEE.
Several hours' steady paddling brought the hunting party, ere the full heat of the day, to a part of the river where the banks were densely clothed with mangroves, broken here and there by bayous, whose shallow bottoms were lush with rank vegetation.
"We get him there," said Raymon, pointing to one of these bayous. "When sun going down. Plenty of manatee in dat place."
Donalblane was impatient to begin the hunt right away; but Raymon knew his business better, and so they sought a landing in one of the cool, dark recesses of the mangrove forest, and, after eating their lunch, lay down for the inevitable siesta.
It was well on in the afternoon before Raymon pronounced it time to get to work, and, thrilling with eagerness, Donalblane took his place in the stern of the canoe, his musket ready for a quick shot, while Raymon crouched in the bow, holding a harpoon to which was attached a long, thin rope. Noiselessly the expert paddlers sent the canoe over the bosom of the bayou, turning this way and that, in accordance with whispered directions from Raymon, whose keen eyes searched the still waters in front.
Several times Donalblane thought he saw ripples which suggested the presence of their prey, but Raymon took no notice of them, and he was beginning to grow impatient, when, at a signal from the Indian, the paddlers suddenly plied their blades with tremendous energy, and the light craft shot ahead at an amazing pace.
Donalblane could perceive nothing to explain this action, but rejoiced at it nevertheless, and held his musket in readiness to fire.
On dashed the canoe, and presently Raymon rose in the bow, harpoon in hand, and poised himself for a throw. Still Donalblane could make out nothing, and he marvelled at the keenness of the Indian's vision, until suddenly, not twenty yards in front of the canoe, the smooth surface of the water was broken by the emergence of the hideous head and broad shoulders of a monstrous manatee.
"PRESENTLY RAYMON ROSE IN THE BOW, HARPOON IN HAND."
"Hurrah!" shouted the boy, quivering with excitement. "There he is; and, my sakes, what a big fellow! Shall I fire at him, Raymon?"
But Raymon, without turning round, intimated by a warning gesture of his free hand that Donalblane was to keep still, and the latter was accordingly fain to curb his impatience.
In spite of his clumsy form, the manatee had a wonderful turn of speed, and the sinewy paddlers strained every nerve to bring Raymon within striking distance. The creature was evidently making for the deeper waters, and if he succeeded in doing this before the harpoon struck him, there was a good chance of his effecting his escape. For a few minutes the issue of the race seemed much in doubt, and then, to Donalblane's delight, the canoe began to gain. Yard by yard it drew nearer, until at last, raising the harpoon as high as he could, Raymon, with the whole strength of his arm, hurled it at the manatee.
It was a splendid throw, and the keen barb buried itself deep in the thick, wrinkled grey hide, while at the same moment the stricken creature sank out of sight, leaving a stain of blood upon the water.
"Grand!—grand!" cried Donalblane, putting down his gun for a moment that he might clap his hands enthusiastically. "Ah! I wad like fine to be able to do that."
Raymon's usually sombre countenance lit up with a pleased smile, as he replied—
"We got him all right, if rope no break."
When, a moment later, the manatee, having recovered from the first shock of the wound, set off through the water at a rapid pace, towing the well-laden canoe as though it was a trifle, Donalblane began to wonder if the rope, which was only a thin one, would stand the strain. But Raymon did not appear at all anxious about it.
Straight out towards the deep water went the manatee, and as the canoe ploughed through the water in its wake, Donalblane thought that this must be something like the whale-hunting about which some of his sailor friends at Leith had told him such thrilling tales.
For a full half-mile the powerful creature kept on, rising every now and then to the surface for breath, and sinking again as soon as relieved. But presently its speed began to slacken, and Raymon was able to get a pull upon the rope, which brought the canoe nearer.
"Now, senor, you fire when I call," he said to Donalblane, who nodded back at him joyfully, for he was burning to take part in the hunt, instead of sitting idle.
Little by little the rope came back, until soon there were not more than ten yards of it separating the canoe and the manatee.
"Next time he come up, you fire," was Raymon's next order; and Donalblane, every nerve thrilling with excitement, braced himself in the stern of the canoe for a careful shot.
With a swirl and splash the manatee appeared, and as Raymon excitedly shouted, "Now, señor—now!" Donalblane pulled the trigger. But alas, for the pride of youth! The prized musket, hitherto so trusty, played him false. It flashed in the pan. There was no report, and its intended victim sank out of sight unharmed.
Just how it happened Donalblane never understood. Perhaps either he or Raymon, in their chagrin at the failure of the shot, made some sudden movement; but, however it was, the next instant the canoe overturned, and all the four of its occupants were tumbled into the water, Donalblane holding on to his gun, although the additional weight helped to deepen his involuntary dive into the turbid current.
Up he came, gasping and angry, to find that the Indians had happily been quick enough to secure the canoe and to cut the harpoon line, which otherwise would have torn it away from them. Still grasping his gun, which he was determined to save if possible, Donalblane struck out for the others, and when he neared Raymon, the latter said cheeringly, "Me help you—they get canoe all right," and, taking the heavy firearm from the boy, swam as easily with it as if it were a walking-stick.
Meanwhile the paddlers, with a skill that astonished Donalblane, proceeded to right the canoe, free it of water, and clamber in, Raymon following their example and then assisting the young Scotsman to do likewise. Donalblane took it for granted that the untoward upset put an end to the manatee hunt, but Raymon had no such notion.
"Manatee soon die—we go after him," he said, and, after a keen scrutiny of the surrounding water, he gave directions to the paddlers, who resumed their work as stolidly as if nothing had happened. Donalblane thought it would be very much like hunting for a needle in a hay-stack, but kept his own counsel while the canoe sped shoreward.
They were more than half-way thither when Raymon, who had fastened the remainder of the rope on to a small spear, showed signs of excitement.
"Me see him!" he exclaimed in a stage whisper. "We get him this time."
Sure enough, just as he spoke, the ugly grey head of the manatee rose above the water, and it was evident from the slowness of its movements that its strength was fast failing.
Steadily the canoe gained, until once more it was within striking distance, and Raymon hurled his spear with no less accuracy than he had the harpoon. The poor manatee made one furious plunge forward as the sharp steel reached a vital part, and then all motion ceased. The hunt was ended.
One of the paddlers instantly sprang into the water and caught the end of the severed harpoon line, which was at once secured to the canoe, for otherwise the great body would sink and all the trouble be in vain. Then the bulky prize was towed ashore, and Donalblane had the satisfaction of having taken part in a successful manatee hunt, even if he had been denied the privilege of getting a shot.
The Indians had good reason to be proud of their quarry, for he was a monster of his kind, and would afford a fine supply of excellent meat. As he would prove altogether too heavy a cargo for the light canoe, the paddlers were dispatched to the settlement for assistance, while Donalblane and Raymon remained on guard, the former taking the opportunity to dry his dripping clothes, and feeling very well pleased with the success of the hunt.
Indeed, he had enjoyed it so keenly that he went again and again in the weeks that followed, Mr. Sutherland sometimes joining him, and many a plump monster was thereby secured for the benefit of the colonists.
It was well for him that he could thus divert himself, as the state of affairs at St. Andrews was rapidly growing worse. Not only were the Scotsmen threatened with famine, but with disease also. The hot, damp climate, so different from that to which they were accustomed, bred deadly fever. Every day the number of the men who strove to complete the fortifications and to till the ground for the harvest they were destined never to reap grew less. Many of the pale, gaunt, but still resolute labourers passed quickly from their work to the overcrowded hospital, and thence with little delay to their graves, until the burial-ground came to have more occupants than the huts.
And yet, despite their double danger, the colonists kept up their petty strifes, their jealousies, their mutual antagonisms, and refused to admit of any settled authority. Then came back the ship which had been sent to Jamaica for provisions as empty as she had gone, and bringing the astounding news that, by a royal edict obtained through the evil influence of the rival companies, all the English colonies in America and the West Indies were strictly forbidden to afford any assistance whatever to the struggling Scotch colony at Darien, whose utter ruin now seemed inevitable.