“Oh, I’m not worrying over that, Sam,” I replied. “But it’s a good plan to know just where we are, in case of trouble—if a storm should come up and blow us off our course, or anything should happen to you.”
“Tha’s right, Chief,” he agreed. “But Ah reckon Ah’d mek some islan’ ’gardless o’ all that. Ah don’t need to know where we is for to get where we’s goin’.”
“Well, how on earth do you do it, Sam?” I asked. [[167]]
“Lordy! Ah don’ can’ say,” he declared. “Ah jus’ knows where’bouts th’ lan’ is, an’ Ah steers for he.”
I had to let it go at that, for the Bahaman’s sense of direction was as inexplicable to himself as to me; but, after all, while this ability to head directly for a definite speck of land in a waste of waters is staggering to a landsman, is it really any more remarkable than a woodsman’s ability to head across country through forests or over trackless plains and unerringly come to his destination? Perhaps it is the same instinct that guides the carrier-pigeon, the migrating birds, the cat and the dog, and even the lowly toad, across long distances of unknown territory. And if we accept the latest scientific theory that all of these are unconsciously following vibratory waves or flows of electrons, then possibly big Sam was being led across the Caribbean by means of nature’s radio, to which the ordinary mortal’s intellect is not attuned.
As we tore along, reeling off a good eight knots, Joe strolled aft, armed with heavy lines and baited hooks, and, making them fast to the rail, paid them out rapidly astern. Hardly had the first whipping line run out for fifty feet in the creaming wake when there was a flash of silver and gold and Joe began hauling in. But his catch was more [[168]]than he could handle alone, and I hurried to help him. A moment later we had a magnificent twenty-five-pound albacore flapping on deck, and for the next half-hour the fun was fast and furious. I verily believe we could easily have filled the Vigilant’s hold with fish had we kept on, but when enough Spanish mackerel, albacore, dolphin, and bonito had been secured to provide a fish diet for all on board for the next twenty-four hours, Joe rolled up his lines and betook himself to the galley, carrying the particular specimen he intended for my meal and calling to the men to bring their own.
Sam grinned widely at Joseph’s superior manner.
“Tha’ Turk’ Islan’ boy act like he ain’ th’ same specie wi’ other niggers,” he chuckled. “On’y he Bahaman like mahsel’ Ah guess he don’ ’sociate long o’ me. But, Lordy, Chief, he cert’n’y can cook! Ya-umm!”
“Yep,” I replied; “Joe is inclined to be a bit of a snob, but, as you say, he’s a fine cook—and a mighty faithful boy, too. Are all the Turks Island boys his kind?”
“Not zactly, Chief,” responded Sam. “But the’ does mek to be a bit bumpt’ous. You see, Chief, the’ says as how Gran’ Turk was the islan’ what [[169]]Columbus foun’ first, n’ the’ argufies as how tha’ meks they th’ firs’ qual’ty niggers in th’ islan’s, Chief.”