But he deceived himself, for this time he had nothing to fear from the monster of the ocean.
A living man, an Indian, as black as ink, shot through the water, doubtless an early fisher for pearls.
The bottom of his canoe could be seen up above, a few feet beyond his head.
Arriving at the bottom, which was about five yards deep, he fell on his knees, let go the stone he had held between his feet to sink with more rapidity, and began to rake up the oysters from the bank with both hands.
A cord was around his waist, the other end being attached to his boat, and this he pulled at when he wanted to rise.
To his loins was attached a little bag, into which he put the oysters as fast as he could gather them.
The Indian did not see anyone, and if he had he would have been so alarmed at the strange spectacle of curious-looking beings walking at ease at the bottom of the sea that he would quickly have retired.
Several times he remounted and plunged again, not getting more than a dozen oysters at each dip.
It appeared as if he risked his life for very little return, as in a score of oysters he might not find a pearl worth having.
All at once, while on his knees, he made a gesture of terror, and seized his rope to ascend to the surface.