“SHELLING” TURTLES.
It was during the night, therefore, that Antonio and Frank, who kept themselves concealed in the bushes, rushed out upon the turtles, and with iron hooks turned them on their backs, when they became powerless and incapable of moving. The day following, they dragged them to the most distant part of the island, where they “shelled” them;—a cruel process, which it made my flesh creep to witness. Before describing it, however, I must explain that, although the habits of all varieties of the turtle are much the same, yet their uses are very different. The large, green turtle is best known; it frequently reaches our markets, and its flesh is esteemed, by epicures, as a great delicacy. The flesh of the smaller or hawk-bill variety is not so good, but its shell is most valuable, being both thicker and better-colored. What is called tortoise-shell is not, as is generally supposed, the bony covering or shield of the turtle, but only the scales which cover it. These are thirteen in number, eight of them flat, and five a little curved. Of the flat ones four are large, being sometimes a foot long and seven inches broad, semi-transparent, elegantly variegated with white, red, yellow, and dark brown clouds, which are fully brought out, when the shell is prepared and polished. These laminæ, as I have said, constitute the external coating of the solid or bony part of the shell; and a large turtle affords about eight pounds of them, the plates varying from an eighth to a quarter of an inch in thickness.
The fishers do not kill the turtles; did they do so, they would in a few years exterminate them. When the turtle is caught, they fasten him, and cover his back with dry leaves or grass, to which they set fire. The heat causes the plates to separate at their joints. A large knife is then carefully inserted horizontally beneath them, and the laminæ lifted from the back, care being taken not to injure the shell by too much heat, nor to force it off, until the heat has fully prepared it for separation. Many turtles die under this cruel operation, but instances are numerous in which they have been caught a second time, with the outer coating reproduced; but, in these cases, instead of thirteen pieces, it is a single piece. As I have already said, I could never bring myself to witness this cruelty more than once, and was glad that the process of “scaling” was carried on out of sight of the hut. Had the poor turtles the power of shrieking, they would have made that barren island a very hell, with their cries of torture.
A SAIL! A SAIL!
We had been nearly two weeks on the island, when we were one morning surprised by a sail on the edge of the horizon. We watched it eagerly, and as it grew more and more distinct, our spirits rose in proportion. Its approach was slow, but at noon Frank declared that it was a turtle schooner, from the island of Catarina or Providence, and that it was making for “El Roncador.” And the event proved that he was right; for, about the middle of the afternoon, she had passed an opening through the reef, and anchored in the still water inside. She had a crew of five men, in whom it was difficult to say if white, negro, or Indian blood predominated. They spoke a kind of patois, in which Spanish was the leading element. And although we were unqualifiedly glad to see them, yet they were clearly not pleased to see us. The patrón, or captain, no sooner put his foot on shore, than affecting to regard us as intruders, he demanded why we were there? and if we did not know that this island was the property of the people of Catarina? We replied by pointing to our shattered schooner, when the whole party started for it, and unceremoniously began to strip it of whatever article of use or value they could find, leaving us to the pleasant reflections which such conduct was likely to suggest.
While this was going on, I returned to the hut, and found that Antonio and Frank had already removed the shells which they had procured, as also some other valuables which we had recovered from the wreck, and had buried them in the sand—a prudent precaution, which no doubt saved us much trouble. A little before sundown, our new friends, having apparently exhausted the plunder, came trooping back to the hut, and without ceremony ordered us out. I thought, although the physical force was against us, that a little determination might make up for the odds, and firmly replied that they might have a part of it, if they wished, but that we were there, and intended to remain. The patron hereupon fell into a great passion, and told his men to bring up the machétes—ugly instruments, half knife, half cleaver. “He would see,” he said, in his mongrel tongue, “if this white villain would refuse to obey him.” Two of the men started to fulfill his order, while he stood scowling in the doorway. When they had got off a little distance, I unrolled a blanket in which I had wrapped our pistols, and giving one to Frank, and another to Antonio, I took my own revolver, and passed outside of the hut. The patron fell back, in evident alarm.
“Now, amigo,” said I, “if you want a fight, you shall have it; but you shall die first!” And I took deliberate aim at his breast, at a distance of less than five yards. “Mother of Mercy!” he exclaimed, and glanced round, as if for support, to his followers. But they had taken to their legs, without waiting for further proceedings. The patron attempted to follow, but I caught him by the arm, and pressed the cold muzzle of the pistol to his head. He trembled like an aspen, and sunk upon the ground, crying in most abject tones for mercy. I released him, but he did not attempt to stir. The circumstances were favorable for negotiation, and in a few minutes it was arranged that we should continue to occupy the hut, and that he should remain with us, while his crew should stay on board the vessel, when not engaged in catching turtles. He did not like the exception in his favor; but, fearing that he might pull up anchor and leave us to our fate, I insisted that I could not forego the pleasure of his company.
The reader may be sure that I had a vigilant eye on our patron, and at night either Antonio or Frank kept watch, that he should not give us the slip. He made one or two attempts, but finding us prepared, at the end of a couple of days, resigned himself to his fate. Contenting ourselves with our previous spoil, we allowed the new comers to pursue the fishery alone. At the end of a week I discovered, by various indications, that the season was nearly over, and, accordingly, making a careless display of my revolver, told the captain that I thought it would be more agreeable for us to go on board his schooner, than to remain on shore. I could see that the proposition was not acceptable, and therefore repeated it, in such a way that there was no alternative but assent left. He was a good deal surprised when he discovered the amount of shells which we had obtained; and when I told him that he should have half of it, for carrying us to Providence, and the whole if he took us to Bluefields, his good nature returned. He asked pardon for his rudeness, and, slapping his breast, proclaimed himself “un hombre bueno,” who would take us to the world’s end, if I would only put up my horrible pistol. That pistol, from the very first day, had had a kind of deadly fascination for the patron, who watched it, as if momentarily expecting it to discharge itself at his head. And even now, when he alluded to it, a perceptible shudder ran through his frame.
Two days after I had taken up my quarters on board of the little schooner, which, in age and accumulated filth, might have been twin-brother of the Prince Albert, we set sail from “El Roncador.” As it receded in the distance, it looked very beautiful—an opal in the sea—and I could hardly realize that it was nothing more than a reef-girt heap of desert sands.