The Wind-Jammers

by T. Jenkins Hains

“‘Did they ever catch the ebony schooner?’ I ventured again.

“‘I don’t know,’ he replied, shortly, and, as I saw he would talk no more, I kept silent.

“After walking up and down the beach trying to get cool, we finally laid down under the trees and slept until daybreak. Then we started home. On the way back we were becalmed, and having drunk up all the water, we drifted along under a scorching sun with our mouths too dry to open. As I lay on my back in the bottom of the boat, I could not help thinking of the stories about this old man, and it suddenly flashed upon me that he had been seen near those same palmettoes before.

“I vaguely wondered if he had been a pirate and had buried his ill-gotten money under those trees on that lonely shore. There he sat in the stern-sheets, his grizzled hair shining in the bright sunlight under his old slouch hat, and his small gray eyes looking seaward for the first cat’s-paw of the coming morning breeze. His skin, tanned to leather from long exposure to the weather, made him as impervious to the sun’s rays as a negro. But in spite of this his features were as clearly cut and as strongly marked as those of a Don of bluest blood. Altogether he was not a bad looking old man, even with his slightly hooked nose and too firm mouth.

“I soon fell asleep and dreamed of rich galleons fighting huge canoes full of grizzled pirates, armed to the teeth, who squinted carefully along their old muskets and fired with loud yells. I suddenly awoke to find Alvarez calling to me to sit to windward, as we were heeling over and rushing along through the water before the sea-breeze only a few miles from town.

“The next day we started out bass-fishing in the surf on the outer beach. A rod and reel would have been considered strange instruments in those days down there. We used to take our hand-lines, which were very long, and, coiling them carefully, would wade out to our armpits. Then swinging the heavy sinkers about our heads until they acquired sufficient velocity, we would send them flying out beyond the first line of breakers, and paying out line, would wade back to the beach. Sharks abounded, and often we lost our gear when they took a fancy to our baits. We never feared their attacking us, as the waters abounded with fish, and in such places they seldom if ever attack a man.

“One day after some good sport Alvarez seemed tired, and instead of holding the end of his line in his hand he tied it around his waist. I noticed this and was about to call his attention to the danger of it, when I hooked a huge bass and was kept busy playing it for some time. The lines we used were about the size of the cod-lines used in the North, and capable of holding a strain of nearly two hundred pounds, while the hooks were like the drum hooks now used. While I was playing my fish my line, which was old, parted near the end, and I hauled it in to fit a new hook and sinker. During the time I was thus engaged Alvarez had waded out up to his shoulders in the surf and had cast his line into deep water. He then started to wade slowly back towards the shore. Before he had made a dozen steps I saw him suddenly reach for his line.

“Three heavy breakers had just rolled in, followed by a comparatively smooth spell that lasted for a few moments. I stopped working at my line and watched him, for I knew he must have had a good bite. Suddenly I saw him throw his whole weight on the line, but in spite of this go slowly forward. He was now in water so deep that he had to jump up every time the swell came to keep his head out of the foam. In a moment I turned, and as I caught the expression of his face I knew what had happened. That face I’ve often seen since in my dreams, and I will never forget the expression of sudden fear that filled it.

“He had gone out so far that he could not get a good foothold; a shark had seized his bait and was making slowly out to sea. He called my name and beckoned me to come and help him. With trembling fingers I finished knotting the sinker to my line and rushed headlong with it down the beach. Water is a yielding fluid, but all who have tried know what tremendous exertion is required to make speed through it when in above the knees. When I was close enough I swung my sinker over my head and sent it whizzing straight and true towards the old man, who was now out to the first line of breakers, and swimming, though steadily moving outward.

“I flung the lead towards him, and he would have caught the line, but at that instant a huge sea broke right over him and he disappeared in the smothering foam. When he reappeared he was beyond reach and going steadily seaward. With a sickening feeling I hauled in the line and plunged into the surf to swim out to him. I made good headway until I reached the first line of curling water, when a heavy breaker fell over me and swept me back a hundred feet from where I started. Standing there in the surf, with the bright sun shining, I saw old Alvarez passing slowly out to sea to disappear forever. I tried to think what to do. He evidently could not break the line. It was impossible to untie it with the strain on it, and he being only half dressed had left his knife ashore.