Tall tales of Cape Cod

by Marillis Bittinger

Perhaps it was because they had lived so long in strangeness and uncertainty that they had become apathetic, or perhaps it was because they had found on this island Paradise the very essence of their hidden dream of peace and beauty—whatever the reason, the men who had been my companions and shipmates all through these amazing happenings, now seemed content to loll beneath the palm trees, swim in the clear, warm water, or fish from the canoes which they had fashioned. I heard no mention of returning to Cape Cod, nor saw any desire nor yearning for familiar faces and home land. We had established, in a small sheltered cove at the south of the island where we had first landed, our headquarters. Here we had everything necessary for living. A small stream was close at hand, the sea was at our doorstep, and the cove was abundant with the coconut trees, the tropical fruit bushes, and a plentiful amount of trees suitable for building and firewood. My mates seemed perfectly content to stay in this restricted area, and seemed to have no desire to explore further the island upon which we had landed. But, although I too felt that serenity, happiness, and contentment, I yearned to explore the rest of the island, for I felt that there were other mysteries and wonders yet to be seen.

The rest of the island, which I set out to explore on the sixth day of our stay, was much like the small part in which we had encamped, but seemed to grow increasingly more beautiful as I travelled inland. All through the morning, I tramped through the thick growth of the island, coming now and then upon small glades, where damp, fresh green moss surrounded little pools and silvery streams. These glades were dark and cool, and the air was pure and refreshing.

As I neared what I judged to be the centermost part of the island, I broke through a wall of the island greenery, and saw, like a blazing jewel in a setting of green, a lake, its waters of glowing, deep blue. This lake was surrounded by long-leaved trees, like the weeping willow I had seen at home, that trailed to the thick carpet of rich green moss below. Curling vine tendrils, dashed here and there with dots of red berries and exotic flowers, locked themselves around the giant cypress trees. The sun pointed shafts of dull gold through the trees that clasped their hands overhead, and the air was alive, vital, and refreshingly cool, a direct contrast to the pleasant, but heavy, sensuously sweet smell of the rest of the island.

The cool, secluded lakeside oasis was a perfect place to stop from my exploring, so I settled down on a soft knoll of moss, ate fruit from nearby trees, and drank the sweet coconut milk. I must have fallen into a deep and restful sleep, for I suddenly started up, arrested by sounds which I first attributed to dreams. The silence and serenity was still in the air, but there came to my ears, attuned by the deep silence to any small sound, a strange, melodic humming. I was aware through some instinct that I must not move. As I strained my ears, the humming became louder, and looking over the lake, I saw its smooth surface ripple as if a child had thrown a handful of pebbles onto it. The humming vibrations seemed to have their source directly in the lake.

I could sit still no longer, and crept slowly to the water’s edge. The ripples grew larger, and to my amazed eyes there appeared a hundred or so small fish, whose brilliantly colored bodies shimmered and vibrated. These fish were singing! The humming grew in intensity, and I was able to recognize several of the melodies; Scottish airs, South African chants, Southern Negro songs, Cape Cod sea chanties, Lullabies—all these came to my ear on a wave of the most beautiful harmony I have ever heard. My brain reeled with the phenomena and the beauty of the music. I could not believe what my own ears and eyes told me, and made a sudden movement toward the water. The humming ceased instantly, the fish vanished, and the water’s surface was as smooth as before. The great silence once more filled the atmosphere. I felt a strange exultation as I made my way back to the camp, and though I said nothing of this amazing discovery to my companions, I determined to return to the lake of the humming fish the next day.

Day after day I returned to the green, cool loveliness surrounding the lake of the humming fish. And each day I awoke wondering what I could find there. At times the fish would seem to greet me with their burst of humming, but upon other occasions they never appeared. It was on those days of silence that I began to think that I was fast approaching insanity. As the days passed, I became more hypnotized by the phenomena of these humming fish. Gradually they seemed to become accustomed to my presence, and two of the boldest allowed me to feed them small bits of berry and weed that I tossed to them. Several times these two came to the surface alone, and refused to hum until I had given them the food. I began to think of these two fish, which were bright silver in color, with gorgeous stripes of deepest blue, green, and yellow, as my own.

My strange rendezvous with the humming fish continued for several weeks, and when my mates at last came from their dream-world and began thinking of home and family, I determined to capture the two fish and carry them home with me. At length our ship, which we had all considered wrecked beyond repair, was mended enough to warrant an attempt to leave the island and the sea of currents.

On my last journey to the lake of the humming fish, which I had come to consider as my own piece of paradise and contentment, I lured the small humming fish into a wide-mouthed jug, filled with water from their own lake. I supplied myself also with three kegs of this same lake water, and prepared to carry the fish home with me.

I will not dwell on the voyage home, it suffices to say that we all arrived safely, and pledged ourselves to secrecy about the island and the sea we had visited. At home harbor, each man went his separate way, and I, with my humming fish, strode home through the darkness, taking the shortcut around Monomoy Point. The night was dark as ink, and I stumbled from weariness, dropping the precious keg of fish on the rocks at the water’s edge, and the two humming fish escaped. It seemed at that moment that all I had experienced was a dream, for in the vanishing of the fish, only the memory of my island paradise could remain.

For days I walked to the spot at Monomoy Point where the fish had escaped. I called to them as I had at the island lake, and left small bits of their favorite berry food at the water’s edge, but they could not, or would not, appear.