University of Virginia Library

II.

… IT was five o'clock in the afternoon: the horizon beyond the harbor was turning lemon-color;—and a thin warm wind began to come in weak puffs from the south-west,—the first breaths to break the immobility of the tropical air. Sails of vessels becalmed at the entrance of the bay commenced to flap lazily: they might belly after sundown.

The La Guayra was in port, lying well out: her mountainous iron mass rising high above the modest sailing craft moored in her vicinity,—barks and brigantines and brigs and schooners and barkentines. She had lain before the town the whole afternoon, surrounded by the entire squadron of 'ti canots; and the boys were still circling about her flanks, although she had got up steam and was lifting her anchor. They had been very lucky, indeed, that afternoon,—all the little canotiers;—and even many yellow lads, not fortunate enough to own canoes, had swum out to her in hope of sharing the silver shower falling from her saloon-deck. Some of these, tired out, were resting themselves by sitting on the slanting cables of neighboring ships. Perched naked thus,—balancing in the sun, against the blue of sky or water, their slender bodies took such orange from the mellowing light as to seem made of some self-luminous substance,—flesh of sea-fairies. …

Suddenly the La Guayra opened her steam-throat and uttered such a moo that all the mornes cried out for at least a minute after; —and the little fellows perched on the cables of the sailing craft tumbled into the sea at the sound and struck out for shore. Then the water all at once burst backward in immense frothing swirls from beneath the stern of the steamer; and there arose such a heaving as made all the little canoes dance. The La Guayra was moving. She moved slowly at first, making a great fuss as she turned round: then she began to settle down to her journey very majestically,—just making the water pitch a little behind her, as the hem of a woman's robe tosses lightly at her heels while she walks.

And, contrary to custom, some of the canoes followed after her. A dark handsome man, wearing an immense Panama hat, and jewelled rings upon his hands, was still throwing money; and still the boys dived for it. But only one of each crew now plunged; for, though the La

Guayra was yet moving slowly, it was a severe strain to follow her, and there was no time to be lost.

The captain of the little band—black Maximilien, ten years old, and his comrade Stéphane—nicknamed Ti Chabin, because of his bright hair,—a slim little yellow boy of eleven—led the pursuit, crying always, "Encó, Missié,—encó!" …

The La Guayra had gained fully two hundred yards when the handsome passenger made his final largess,—proving himself quite an expert in flinging coin. The piece fell far short of the boys, but near enough to distinctly betray a yellow shimmer as it twirled to the water. That was gold!

In another minute the leading canoe had reached the spot, the other canotiers voluntarily abandoning the quest,—for it was little use to contend against Maximilien and Stéphane, who had won all the canoe contests last 14th of July. Stéphane, who was the better diver, plunged.

He was much longer below than usual, came up at quite a distance, panted as he regained the canoe, and rested his arms upon it. The water was so deep there, he could not reach the coin the first time, though he could see it: he was going to try again,—it was gold, sure enough.

—"Fouinq! ça fond içitt!" he gasped.

Maximilien felt all at once uneasy. Very deep water, and perhaps sharks. And sunset not far off! The La Guayra was diminishing in the offing.

—"Boug-là 'lé fai nou néyé!—laissé y, Stéphane!" he cried. (The fellow wants to drown us. Laissé—leave it alone.)

But Stéphane had recovered breath, and was evidently resolved to try again. It was gold!

—"Mais ça c'est ló!"

—"Assez, non!" screamed Maximilien. "Pa plongé 'ncó, moin ka di ou! Ah! foute!" …

Stéphane had dived again!

… And where were the others? "Bon-Dié, gadé oti yo yé!" They were almost out of sight,—tiny specks moving shoreward. … The La Guayra now seemed no bigger than the little packet running between St. Pierre and Fort-de-France.

Up came Stéphane again, at a still greater distance than before,—holding high the yellow coin in one hand. He made for the canoe, and Maximilien paddled towards him and helped him in. Blood was streaming from the little diver's nostrils, and blood colored the water he spat from his mouth.

—"Ah! moin té ka di ou laissé y!" cried Maximilien, in anger and alarm. … "Gàdé, gàdé sang-à ka coulé nans nez ou,-nans bouche ou! … Mi oti Iézautt!"

Lèzautt, the rest, were no longer visible.

—"Et mi oti nou yé!" cried Maximilien again. They had never ventured so far from shore.

But Stéphane answered only, "C'est ló!" For the first time in his life he held a piece of gold in his fingers. He tied it up in a little rag attached to the string fastened about his waist,—a purse of his own invention,—and took up his paddles, coughing the while and spitting crimson.

—"Mi! mi!—mi oti nou yé!" reiterated Maximilien. "Bon-Dié! look where we are!"

The Place had become indistinct;—the light-house, directly behind half an hour earlier, now lay well south: the red light had just been kindled. Seaward, in advance of the sinking orange disk of the sun, was the La Guayra, passing to the horizon. There was no sound from the shore: about them a great silence had gathered,—the Silence of seas, which is a fear. Panic seized them: they began to paddle furiously.

But St. Pierre did not appear to draw any nearer. Was it only an effect of the dying light, or were they

actually moving towards the semicircular cliffs of Fond Corré? … Maximilien began to cry. The little chabin paddled on,—though the blood was still trickling over his breast.

Maximilien screamed out to him:—

—"Ou pa ka pagayé,—anh?—ou ni bousoin dómi?" (Thou dost not paddle, eh?—thou wouldst go to sleep?)

—"Si! moin ka pagayé,—epi fó!" (I am paddling, and hard, too!) responded Stéphane. …

—"Ou ka pagayé!—ou ka menti!" (Thou art paddling!—thou liest!) vociferated Maximilien. … "And the fault is all thine. I cannot, all by myself, make the canoe to go in water like this! The fault is all thine: I told thee not to dive, thou stupid!"

—"Ou fou!" cried Stéphane, becoming angry. "Moin ka pagayé!" (I am paddling.)

—"Beast! never may we get home so! Paddle, thou lazy!—paddle, thou nasty!"

—"Macaque thou!—monkey!"

—"Chabin!—must be chabin, for to be stupid so!"

—"Thou black monkey!—thou species of ouistiti!"

—"Thou tortoise-of-the-land!—thou slothful more than molocoye!"

—"Why, thou cursed monkey, if thou sayest I do not paddle, thou dost not know how to paddle!" …

… But Maximilien's whole expression changed: he suddenly stopped paddling, and stared before him and behind him at a great violet band broadening across the sea northward out of sight; and his eyes were big with terror as he cried out:—

—"Mais ni qui chose qui douôle içitt! … There is something queer, Stéphane; there is something queer." …

—"Ah! you begin to see now, Maximilien!-it is the current!"

—"A devil-current, Stéphane. … We are drifting: we will go to the horizon!" …

To the horizon—"nou kallé lhorizon!"—a phrase of terrible picturesqueness. … In the creole tongue, "to the horizon" signifies to the Great Open—into the measureless sea.

—"C'est pa lapeine pagayé atouèlement" (It is no use to paddle now), sobbed Maximilien, laying down his palettes.

—"Si! si!" said Stéphane, reversing the motion: "paddle with the current."

—"With the current! It runs to La Dominique!"

—"Pouloss," phlegmatically returned Stéphane,—"ennou!—let us make for La Dominique!"

—"Thou fool!—it is more than past forty kilometres. … Stéphane, mi! gadé!—mi quz" gouôs requ'em!"

A long black fin cut the water almost beside them, passed, and vanished,—a requin indeed! But, in his patois, the boy almost re-echoed the name as uttered by quaint Père Dutertre, who, writing of strange fishes more than two hundred years ago, says it is called REQUIEM, because for the man who findeth himself alone with it in the midst of the sea, surely a requiem must be sung.

—"Do not paddle, Stéphane!—do not put thy hand in the water again!"