“Cannot we all go in the boat together? I have never yet seen a turtle captured, and should greatly like to witness the operation.”
“No, señor; I am sorry, but it is out of the question,” answered Dominguez hastily. “The boat is but small, and I am very doubtful whether she will be capable of carrying three of us and that great brute—if we are so fortunate as to catch him. I would send Miguel and Luis only, but that I know they would not be able to secure him unaided. We shall not be gone long, señor, and the felucca cannot drift far in this light breeze and with so little swell running.”
“N–o, I suppose not,” I answered, with just the slightest imaginable show of reluctance. “All right, señor,” I continued, “away with you, by all means; I should be sorry to spoil your sport for you. Shall I lower the sail?”
“Not just for a moment, señor,” answered Dominguez; “we must creep far enough away that the flapping of the canvas may not wake our friend yonder, or we shall lose him.” Then, poking his head through the open skylight, he called softly, in Spanish—
“Miguel! Miguel! come on deck at once, friend; there is a large turtle out here floating, fast asleep, and I want to catch him.”
Miguel mumbled a reply of some sort,—what it was I could not tell,—and Dominguez briskly withdrew his head from the skylight and sprang upon the rail, looking away out on the weather quarter for the turtle. It was still visible, at intervals, but fully a quarter of a mile astern now.
“There, that will do; we are far enough away now, I think,” he muttered, stepping lightly off the felucca’s low rail to the deck. “Here, Miguel,” as that worthy emerged from the companion, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, “help me to lower the sail, quick! And you, Señor Courtenay, will you do me the favour to haul taut the sheet as the sail comes down, so that it may not flap about and make more noise than we can help?”
“Certainly,” I answered cheerfully, letting go the tiller rope and seizing the fall of the sheet. “Lower away whenever you like.”
The single lateen sail, stretched upon its long, heavy, tapering yard, came sliding down the mast, rustling heavily, despite all that I could do to prevent it; and presently it lay quiescent, stretched along the deck, with the after yardarm projecting far over the taffrail. I sprang up on the companion slide to see whether the turtle was still visible, and was rejoiced to find that he was,—floating, an unconspicuous and unrecognisable object by this time,—nearly half a mile away, apparently quite undisturbed by the rustling sounds of the canvas.
“Is he still there, señor?” demanded Dominguez, in an eager half-whisper.