Chapter V.
Off the mouth of Pearl-Cay Lagoon are numerous cays, which, in fact, give their name to the lagoon. They are celebrated for the number and variety of turtles found on and around them. I was so much delighted with our torch-light fishing, that I became eager to witness the sport of turtle-hunting, which is regarded by the Mosquitos as their noblest art, and in which they have acquired proverbial expertness. Drummer required only a little persuasion and a taste of rum, to undertake an expedition to the cays. As this involved going out in the open sea, he selected four of the largest pitpans, to each of which he assigned the requisite number of able-bodied and expert men. The women and remaining men were left to continue their fishing in the lagoon. My canoe was much too small to venture off, and accordingly was left in charge of the Poyer boy, who, armed with my double-barreled gun, felt himself a host. With Antonio, I was given a place in the largest pitpan, commanded by Harris, Captain Drummer’s “quarter-master,” who was much the finest specimen of physical beauty that I had seen among the Sambos.
I was quite concerned on finding how little provisions were taken in the boats, since bad weather often keeps the fishermen out for two or three weeks. But Drummer insisted that we should find plenty to eat, and we embarked. We caught the land-breeze as soon as we got from under the lee of the shore, and drove rapidly on our course. Although the sea was comparatively smooth, yet the boats all carried such an amount of sail as to keep me in a state of constant nervousness. One would scarcely believe that the Mosquito men venture out in their pitpans, in the roughest weather with impunity, riding the waves like sea-gulls. If upset, they right their boats in a moment, and with their broad paddle-blades clear them of water in an incredibly short space of time.
We went, literally, with the wind; and in four hours after leaving the shore, were among the cays. These are very numerous, surrounded by reefs, through which wind intricate channels, all well known to the fishers. Some of the cays are mere heaps of sand, and half-disintegrated coral-rock, others are larger, and a few have bushes, and an occasional palm-tree upon them, much resembling “El Roncador.” It was on one of the latter, where there were the ruins of a rude hut, and a place scooped in the sand, containing brackish water, that we landed, and made our encampment. No sooner was this done than Harris started out with his boat after turtle, leaving the rest to repair the hut, and arrange matters for the night. Of course I accompanied Harris.
The apparatus for striking the turtle is exceedingly simple, corresponding exactly with the waisko-dusa, which I have described, except that instead of being barbed, the point is an ordinary triangular file, ground exceedingly sharp. This, it has been found, is the only thing which will pierce the thick armor of the turtle; and, moreover, it makes so small a hole, that it seldom kills the green turtle, and very slightly injures the scales of the hawk-bill variety, which furnishes the shell of commerce.
Harris stood in the bow of the pitpan, keeping a sharp look out, holding his spear in his right hand, with his left hand behind him, where it answered the purpose of a telegraph to the two men who paddled. They kept their eyes fixed on the signal, and regulated their strokes, and the course and speed of the boat, accordingly. Not a word was said, as it is supposed that the turtle is sharp of hearing. In this manner we paddled among the cays for half an hour, when, on a slight motion of Harris’ hand, the men altered their course a little, and worked their paddles so slowly and quietly as scarcely to cause a ripple. I peered ahead, but saw only what I supposed was a rock, projecting above the water. It was, nevertheless, a turtle, floating lazily on the surface, as turtles are wont to do. Notwithstanding the caution of our approach, he either heard us, or caught sight of the boat, and sank while we were yet fifty yards distant. There was a quick motion of Harris’ manual telegraph, and the men began to paddle with the utmost rapidity, striking their paddles deep in the water. In an instant the boat had darted over the spot where the turtle had disappeared, and I caught a hurried glimpse of him, making his way with a speed which quite upset my notions of the ability of turtles in that line, predicated upon their unwieldiness on land. He literally seemed to slide through the water.
And now commenced a novel and exciting chase. Harris had his eyes on the turtle, and the men theirs on Harris’ telegraphic hand. Now we darted this way, then that; slow one moment, rapid the next, and anon stock still. The water was not so deep as to permit our scaly friend to get entirely out of reach of Harris’ practiced eye, although to me the bottom appeared to be a hopeless maze. As the turtle must rise to the surface sooner or later to breathe, the object of the pursuer is to keep near enough to transfix him when he appears. Finally, after half an hour of dodging about, the boat was stopped with a jerk, and down darted the spear. As the whole of the shaft did not go under, I saw it had not failed of its object. A moment more, and Harris had hold of the line. After a few struggles and spasmodic attempts to get away, his spirit gave in, and the tired turtle tamely allowed himself to be conducted to the shore. A few sharp strokes disengaged the file, and he was turned over on his back on the sand, the very picture of utter helplessness, to await our return. I have a fancy that the expression of a turtle’s head, and half-closed eyes, under such circumstances, is the superlative of saintly resignation; to which a few depreciatory movements of his flippers come in as a sanctimonious accessory, like the upraised palms of a well-fed parson.
STRIKING TURTLE.