The Turtlers

I

‘LOOK a’ dat! Prins Artur—dere goes! Dash dat boat in der sea. Please Gawd das hawksbill big as barrel er flour. Ebery mans look out! Down hellum’.’

As the huge Negro grunted out these disjointed orders, there was instant confusion among the turtlers. Prince Arthur grabbed an oar and leaped to the stern of Ephraim’s boat, and while the others fought and scrambled for grains, water-glasses, and bullys,¹ they were gliding rapidly in the direction indicated by their captain.

The cause of all this commotion was a tiny column of water which Ephraim’s keen eyes had detected as it rose a couple of inches or so above the sea level. An untrained observer would not have seen it at all, but to the turtler it meant a turtle. A turtle spouts like a whale, but the spout is seldom thicker than a ruling pencil and never over two inches high.

All day they had followed the brown belt of thimbles that floated like huge percussion caps on the surface of the sea. Turtles delight to feed upon them.

The ocean for acres around was a smudge of umber where thousands, millions, of thimbles expanded and shrank ceaselessly. Coming out of the invisible and infinite source of things they voyaged the waters from yon to thither, brown, cap-shaped, tirelessly opening and closing their empty valves, thus making speed. Thimbles are the tidbits of the turtle epicure. Shutting eyes fast, for contact with a ‘thimble’ is fatal to sight, he floats in the brown stream and luxuriously munches the soft luscious morsels.

All day Ephraim had held with the drift, slipping along under easy sail, hoping that he would find a few hawksbills feeding, which would repay for the time lost on his irregular course.

The boats, six in number, formed in lines of three on each side of the fish, which, blindly browsing in the marine meadows, were unaware of danger. Cautiously Prince Arthur edged Ephraim toward their prey: the oar revolved noiselessly and the bows of the boat merely wrinkled the tide in front of her, so quiet was their approach. Suddenly Ephraim held up his hand. The oar grew quiet as, bending forward, he grabbed at the turtle.

Fastening one hand firmly beneath the nape of its neck, he wrenched the creature swiftly forward. Before it could gain headway his other hand had grasped the tail piece, and instantly his prey, a big mottled hawksbill, lay snorting and floundering in the boat.

‘Le’s spansel him,’ ordered Ephraim, and Prince Arthur produced a large sail-needle threaded with sieve twine, while Ephraim felt for the soft spot which Nature seems to have provided for this emergency. Setting one knee upon the turtle’s belly, Ephraim bent the fore fins forward until they met; then Prince Arthur thrust the needle into the fins, drawing the twine after it in such a way as to flatten the fins on the calipee. Then it was tied and the turtle was helpless.

Ephraim was gloating over his capture as he adjusted it, calipee up, on the boat’s bottom, when Prince Arthur tugged at his sleeve. Following his directing digit with his eye, Ephraim saw a purple bulb floating near by.

‘Das Portugee,’ he whispered. ‘Pull ter yer. Hawksbill got ’im.’

Outside the belt of thimbles, a beautiful nautilus was floating, his sails set and his purple striped balloon inflated. The nautilus is another morsel of which the turtle is fond. He has, however, to attack it blindfold, as, like the thimbles, contact with it ruins the turtle’s eyes. The turtle was biting the nautilus under water, endeavoring to puncture his air-bulb and thus place the creature entirely at his mercy.

Ephraim crept stealthily forward, but as he was within an inch of success, his first capture made a violent motion, perilously rocking the little skiff. Ephraim kept his balance, but Prince Arthur was pitched headlong from his station in the stern. The noise of the fall and the clattering of the oar alarmed the turtle. Quitting his prey, he sank slowly into the sea.

There was no time for reproof. Ephraim signaled wildly to the five boats that were questing in the thimbles, and as they lined toward him gave brief jerky orders.

‘ Youna make ring — dis way. Pull ter yer; let er go; git yer grains ready.’

The boats made a large ring around the spot where the turtle had disappeared, and a battery of water-glasses was directed upon it. The creature was sighted in a few moments.

Turtles have to breathe, they cannot remain long under water. The hunters knew this, and waited. They kept strict watch, and the expert scullers were ready to make a lightning dash in any direction.

Much depended upon the condition of the game. If he were not tired or winded, he might stay under long enough to defy capture, but if he had been spent when he was routed, there was every hope of his breaking water near-by, and to cover him and drive the grains through his back would be easy work. But the sponger dislikes to use the grains. It is the last resort, as they are sure to ruin one, perhaps two, of the valuable plates of armor which alone make the hawksbill one of the most coveted of marine animals.

‘Look out, dere he go! ’ a man in one of the boats yelled, and pointed with a frantic hand. Instantly the fleet gave chase. Spreading fanwise, the scullers drove their skiffs into foaming ruts, while the others hung over the bows with water-glasses, searching the deep. The run was not a long one, for the turtle was blown; he paused and began making spirals in the water, each spiral growing sharper and sharper until the last one drew to a point formed by the curved beak of the reptile, which sprouted suddenly above the sea. Instantly the sharp grains crashed through his armor and held him captive, and in a few moments he was groaning in dismal chorus with his mate in the bottom of the dingy.

The little flotilla made its way back to the schooner in high good humor. Here was fresh meat, sweet and nourishing, and also a fair day’s wages in the mottled backs of their captives.

‘Gawd will provide, my brudders,’ the Exumean exclaimed unctuously, as he fleshed his knife in the soft stomach and carefully ripped the calipee from its frame. As the snowy flakes fell into the pan, they were cleaned by Prince, who afterwards handed them to Ephraim to be stowed away in a locker.

‘Looker dem calipee! Dey white as flour an’ dey t’ick. Dey fesh fifteen dollars a pun’, please Lawd, an’ dis back, looker!’ he held up a scale that was burning with claret and amber, ‘dis Gawd wuk — an’ he gin it we for lib ’pon — Praise Him! Praise Him! ’

Ephraim separated the thirteen sections of the back armor and handed them to Prince Arthur; then came the chimes and the hoop. The two turtles were soon reduced to a heap of white and polychrome shell, and chunks of green and gray and wine-colored meat, the latter the chief object of interest to the crew, as it would soon be supplied to them steaming and savory, and would minister its peace and plenty to their souls.

II

The banks are more hazardous for the turtle-hunters than the open sea, but they are more profitable as well. Ocean fishing cannot be depended upon, as the thimble drift may lie too near the gulf for small craft to follow, or the turtle may be always fresh and elude capture; but by the banks, where the water is not so deep as to prohibit diving, where the long burrowed reefs are fertile with succulent mosses and soft mussels, and where every shell affords a meal for the greedy turtle, they can be found in shoals. The ledges provide shelter from prowling sharks, and the wide beaches comfortable perches for nests. Hawksbills with radiant scales, green turtles with opulent adipose, and lumbering loggerheads, the poor relations of the chelonian family, will all be sporting and hunting on the rich reefs.

Ephraim had a strong contempt for competition, nevertheless he was both discouraged and annoyed when he discovered that his brother Nego was also on the Banks.

‘Wot dat chillum foller me fer?’ he muttered to himself on hearing this bit of family news. ‘He too fool fer turkle. He jest wan’ bodder me dis minnit.’

He was fretful and ill at ease when he loosed his painter from the schooner. Superstition was troubling him. He had always had bad luck when Nego was around. He was carefully equipped for his work—a water-glass, a pair of grains, and a bully lay in the skiff.

The turtle fisheries were in every way different from the sponging grounds. The water was nowhere more than four fathoms deep, and the bottom presented a very different spectacle from the dull depressing mud. The coral pockets swarmed with gay fish, and the green mosses, sable sea-rods, and streaked fans grew in veritable forests, tinting the olive sands with luminous hues.

It was peaceful springtime and the sea was enjoying a rest from winter’s turmoil. The long graceful ground swells, sweeping slowly in from the ocean, made the water look like a huge carpet shaken by giant hands.

Ephraim did not hold his water-glass in one position as on the ‘Mud,’ but swept it from side to side, focusing every object, every likely pocket or tangle of sea growth. Whenever he held up his hand, Prince would stop sculling, when he lowered it, the boy would resume the oar, not, however, with the noisy careless motion which he was wont to make on the ‘Mud.’ He made slow, stealthy strokes that were as silent as the swing of the fins of the fishes beneath them.

‘Das one,’ muttered Ephraim at last. ‘He sleepin’ like det’.'

He signaled to Prince, who swung the dingy broadside to the sea. At a depth of three fathoms a huge hawksbill lay sprawled on the bar. Ephraim raised his bully and straightened the tangled lines carefully, then he slipped it over the side of the boat and into the sea. Slowly he lowered it until it hung just over the doomed but unconscious reptile. Then Ephraim slacked the rope, and the bully fell with a rush. The roused fish aware of danger, scuttled to the sides of the bully and was at once entangled in the net. The operation was simple and complete, and when Ephraim hauled up the bully the turtle was quite helpless, his fins wrapped round and round with the fish line. To release him and to spansel his fins was the work of a moment.

Elated by his luck Ephraim started off at a good pace, and presently another turtle was sighted. This one was wide-awake, however, and the shadow of the boat sent him racing down the Bank at a tremendous speed, so that all that could be seen of him was a streak of silver with yellow and brown tarnishing. Ephraim in hot chase tracked him to a mossy corner in the cliff. There the turtle dodged and evidently meant to hide until his enemies were gone.

‘ Le’s wait ’pun ’im,’ suggested Prince Arthur, who, with the true spirit of the Negro, was quite content to drone the day away. More than idleness, however, would have served as an excuse for not venturing to dive for the turtle. The face of the cliff was black with hedgehogs. Clustered and scattered, they presented a barrier of long gleaming spears against the intruder upon their domains; even to touch one of them meant pain, but to fall upon a battery of this kind would be worse torture than the Spanish Inquisition could have contrived.

Ephraim saw the dismay in Prince’s face when he turned on him with a curt, ‘Chance him.’ He laughed, however, as Prince obediently slipped off his scanty costume and stood, gaunt and straight, ready for the plunge.

‘You wan’ dibe in sea-egg nes’?’ he asked good humoredly.

‘Wha’ fer I kin do?’ cried Prince glumly. ‘Ain’ yer say dibe? an’ I goin’ dibe, please Gawd!’

Ephraim grinned.

‘Looker! watch dem damn ting flee like bud.’

He drew a box filled with a white granulated substance from under the stern seat, and dipping his hand in the crystals threw them broadcast on the water. As the grains sank to the level of the hedgehogs, they tumbled from their perches in wild disorder. In a moment the face of the cliff was bare, not one of the terrifying crowd remained.

‘Gawd!’ ejaculated Prince Arthur. ‘I nebber see ting like dis befo’ — das witch, enty?’

Ephraim grinned again.

‘Chance him,’ he repeated.

Prince waited for no further word, but plunged into the sea. It was a perilous task he had undertaken; many less desirable creatures than turtles haunt the reefs. Sharks hide motionless in the shadows, waiting for passing prey; green morays, with triple rows of teeth like steel saws, wrap their sinuous bodies in the narrowest cracks; barracoudas roam about like devils seeking what they may devour; vindictive rays and the frightful scuttlefish cuddle in the stones or burrow in the sands at its base; and then there is the turtle himself to consider. Mismanagement at a time when every moment is of the utmost importance may spell disaster and death.

Prince Arthur could just reach the turtle’s tail-piece, for in its fear the creature had crowded to the limit of its hold, but though he could grasp one of the hind fins, the boy’s strength was not sufficient to dislodge it, and winded and ashamed he was forced to rise and spit out salt water and excuses to his unsympathetic captain.

‘I misdoubt you ketch him,’ remarked Ephraim, who had removed his garments in anticipation of his understudy’s failure. As soon as Prince was able to handle the oar the older man shot down like a bolt into the water.

The plunge that Prince had made had served to raise the thin mud at the bottom, but in spite of this, Ephraim would have noticed, had he not been so intent upon his prey, the fine puffs of mud which floated just beneath the hollow in which the turtle was hiding. Prince Arthur, watching the operations of his chief, saw the disturbance, but his horrified shriek of warning could not reach Ephraim fathoms beneath him.

In his terror Prince grabbed the grains and poised it for a cast; but it was useless to strike; not even Ephraim could have reached so far through the water. Realizing this, Prince flung the grains from him in despair.

Ephraim had reached the hole safely and had grasped the turtle’s hinder fin with one hand while he braced himself against the sides of the cliff with the other, summoning all his strength for a mighty effort, when he caught sight of the flat slate-colored bulk of the sting ray rising slowly from the sand.

The great brute was angry at being disturbed; and his tail, armed with the vicious prong that was as venomous as a snake’s fang and as hard as chilled steel, was bristling with rage.

Retreat was impossible. The slow, circling advance of the monster would change to lightning velocity at Ephraim’s slightest motion. His safety lay in quiet.

Ephraim stiffened his body against the cliff, as immobile as a black statue. Round and round, the great ray circled, each circle growing wider and wider as he neared the miserable man. Ephraim could hear the muffled pulsing of his fins and feel the faint ripples which they made. His ears drummed, his eyes grew dark and it was only by the supremest effort that he kept his tense grip on the rocks.

Nearer and nearer came the ray. He seemed to be gloating over his victim with terrible, spectral eyes and to be selecting at his leisure the right spot to strike. Ephraim gave himself up for lost and was fast reaching that point where he would cease to care what happened, when the fish paused as a white sediment rained down past him and settled squarely on his table-like back. The next moment he was fleeing like a scalded dog and Ephraim was free.

His ascent to the surface was rapid. He found Prince Arthur dancing in glee on the gunwale of the dingy and flourishing the empty box in his hand.

‘Gawd, he run,’ shrieked Prince, overbalancing and tumbling into the sea. ‘Gawd, he run,’ he spluttered as he rose to the surface. ‘It scal’ ’im like hot water. Gawd, he run!’

‘Good fer yer,’ grinned Ephraim gratefully. ‘ I did n’t know salt good for stingree too—good fer yer! We gotter get mo’ salt, dough,’ he said, a moment later, as he inflated his lungs for another plunge. ‘ Plenty sea egg on dis reef, an’ we mus’ clear dem out befo’ we goin’ get turtle.’

Ephraim had no intention of relinquishing his prey, and as soon as he had recovered his wind, dove again, and reaching the crevasse thrust in his arm. When he found that he could not get the purchase to use his strength, he quickly decided upon another plan of attack. Coming close to the hole, he pushed his hand over the turtle’s back and dug his fingers in the nape of the creature’s neck. This is a most dangerous method of capture, for if the hunter is weak-winded, he may lose his life, as the turtle’s neck-shell has a pocket in which his head fits snugly. Whenever he is thus attacked he draws in his head forcing the fingers of his assailant against the horny scales of this pocket. A giant is helpless in such a strait. The bold hunter, however, allows the turtle to execute this manœuvre, as it gives him a firmer grip than he could otherwise get. Then, when the turtle by his own act is held fast, the fisherman proceeds to draw him out of his lair backwards. It is an extremely hazardous experiment, however, and this Ephraim soon proved. He could not tilt the turtle, the hole was too shallow, and as Ephraim, who was now desperate, wrenched the creature forward, it fanned furiously, blinding the struggling man with a mist of bubbles and mud.

Ephraim was enraged. Releasing his grip on the rocks, he secured a fin and gave a tremendous pull. There was scraping and rasping, and then amid a volley of sand, pebbles, and moss the turtle shot out of its lair backwards. It was easy work after that to point him upward, whereupon he rose to the surface dragging his captor with him.

III

Meanwhile the Banks were being searched by a little navy. The crews, in their frolicsome way of work, were chasing and bellowing, routing the turtle to crazy flight over the stained floor of the reef. A boat shot alongside Ephraim’s and he recognized Nego as one of the crew. He was bare to the waist, and was issuing orders with a definite air. He gazed enviously at the reward of his brother’s toil.

‘You ketch two ’ready?’ he shouted. ‘I dunno wat make me hab bad luck like dis. We ain’ see scale yet. Dey mus’ weigh forty poun’ ’piece. I wish I had dem to speculate wid.’

‘Wuk den.’

Ephraim grunted out this advice, and was about to follow with more in the same vein, when a scream from Nego drew the attention of every one.

‘Looker! — Looker!’ he shrieked, overbalancing in his excitement and tumbling across the thwarts. ‘Looker! My Gawd! ’t is wite turtle — true ter Gawd he wite as flour an’ he pure lantern back.’

All eyes turned in the direction in which he pointed, and there, feeding leisurely among the undulating mosses and chrome-colored anemones, was a huge white lantern-back — the most valuable and coveted of all turtle, the blue ribbon of the species.

Ephraim’s mouth watered and every muscle was taut as he jerked himself to his knees and grabbed his bully. He ordered Prince Arthur to ‘let her dribe,’ but Nego was not willing to leave the prize to his brother. Instead of obeying Ephraim’s cautious counsel and allowing the bully to be used, he dashed down into the sea. Diving in the open is the last resource of the turtle-trapper, for while not so dangerous as pocket-work, one must use consummate skill. The diver must be swift, noiseless, and, above all, strong. In a hole a turtle can offer only a dead resistance, but in the open he can fight. To pounce upon a turtle in the depths, and battle with him until he reaches the surface is a Herculean task.

Nego knew little about turtling. His one idea was to secure the pot of gold that lay so temptingly before him. Just as Ephraim was poising the bully for a cast, he shot down on the quiet creature. He reached him safely, but made the mistake of seizing him by the neck piece, instead of by the fin, and the next moment he was being dragged along to certain death.

For the fraction of a second Ephraim was motionless. There came to him the thought that thus he might be free from his incubus and win Titie as his own. But the next instant, with a shout to Prince Arthur to bring the boat along, he sprang into the sea. He was a trifle ahead of the flying pair at the bottom and the momentum of his plunge sent him farther still, so that when his unhappy brother passed him, he caught one of his writhing feet in his powerful grip. Hauling himself forward, hand over hand, he reached the turtle and with savage force beat the creature’s head upward. It was a fierce, brief struggle, but Ephraim was victorious, and soon the three were at the surface, beating the water to a smother of foam. The turtle fanned vigorously and belabored Ephraim with his flat fore fins, but Ephraim held on to his prize.

Prince Arthur, though hysterical with excitement, was ready with the boat.

’Ketch Nego,’ bawled Ephraim with water-choked voice. ‘Take de boy — lef’ de turkle wid me.’

Nego’s mouth and nose were draining blood and it was a question whether he was alive or not; but fiercer than fraternal feeling was the lure of the chase, and it was not until after the fight was over (and a stubborn fight it was, for the turtle’s fore flippers were as hard and broad as shingles, and he used them with all the courage of despair), that Ephraim bethought himself of his brother.

He was sprawling over the side of his dingy, vomiting salt water and blood,

‘Yer all right, Nego?’

‘Yes,’ he admitted sullenly. ‘I’se all right, but wot ’bout de turkle?’

‘Wot ’bout de turkle?’ cried Ephraim, all his right of possession flaring in his speech, ‘ I doan’ see wot you got fer say ’bout dat turkle.’

‘We ketch it — ’t is ourn,’ piped Prince Arthur blithely, ‘an’ yer better praise Gawd, Nego, yer ain’ dead drownded.’

‘Bes’ fer drown,’ wailed Nego, ‘bes’ fer drown wen yer own brudder wan’ rob yer outen yer hard labors.’

Ephraim’s face worked solemnly. Was he to be called a thief by Nego? It was a turn in the tide of affairs which he could not comprehend. The comedy of it was beyond his appreciation. He battled with his rising rage, and having conquered it spoke to the boy kindly.

‘Nego — you wan’ say dat turkle yourn ? ’

‘I ketch it,’ insisted Nego. ‘I bleed for dat turkle.’

‘Yes, yer bleed,’ parried Ephraim, ‘ but wot yer blood show? — det’, das all.’

‘Bes’ fer dead — I wan’ dat turkle to speculate wid furnitur’ an’ ’ting. I goin’ married soon, an’ how I goin’ married ef I doan hab nutten to married wid?’

‘Das fool talk fer true, bul Nego,’ put in Prince, to whom such sentiment made no appeal. ‘Yer doan’ married on dis turkle, please Lawd.’

Nego began to sniff and whine again, and Ephraim, who was holding the boats together, turned fiercely on Prince.

‘Shet yer mout’, an’ mine yer ’oos. Ef yer skin yer teet’ in dis ting agen, I goin’ broke yer lim’ fer yer. Mine yer mout’.’

Prince, unaccustomed to such threats from Ephraim, slunk trembling to the stern and dropped out of the argument.

‘’T ain’ fair,’ he sniffed to himself. He could detect a weakening in Ephraim’s manner. ‘’T ain’ fair, an’ I say so ter der las’.’

‘Cos’ Ephum bigger an’ stronger, he tink de wul’ mek fer him, enty? Dis turkle b’long ter me.’ Nego’s tone was hopeful. He shared Prince Arthur’s keen perception. ‘’Sides, ’t is Gawd gimme dis turkle,’ he went on. ‘He know wot I wan’ do wid it. Please Gawd dat turkle ’nough to speculate wid furnitur’ fer me an’ Titie. Now cos Ephum big he wan’ take it.’

His disappointment howled in his speech.

‘Nego,’ Ephraim was wrenching his soul from the capture. ‘Nego — take it an’ Gawd go wid yer. But long as yer lib’ nebber scull boat ’long wid me agen, now hear me.’

He lifted the miserable turtle and half hurled it into Nego’s boat . Then he loosed her and they were soon rods apart. Prince Arthur was wisely silent, but his expression as he sculled Ephraim back to the schooner, was one that would have tantalized the skill of the most dexterous artist.

The news of the gift was received with utmost dissatisfaction by Ephraim’s crew. Fear of their captain prevented any serious outbreak, but sullen looks and exasperating hints were on every face and in every mouth. Ephraim’s experiences were very bitter.

‘Vite turkle skase as gole dus’, an’ for gin dat one ter lazy good-fer-nuttin’ Nego, I doan’ know wot Ephum tinkin’ ’pun.’

‘Das ’ooman,’ counseled Prince Arthur from the folds of the mainsail, ‘das ’ooman. Ephum ’witch wid ’ooman, an’ ’tain’ no use ’t all, ’t all fer talk ter ’im. When man got ’ooman’s on de mine, he fool —Gawd! he fool.’

‘Dat is disrespectabilities you ’dulgin’ in,’ rebuked the Exumean. ‘’T is ’tain’ proper fer chillun like yer to criticize mans like Ephum. Yer should er shame. ’Member wot de Book say — Respec’ due ter old pepil, an’ he wot does it is wise.’

‘’Tain’ disrespec’,’ retorted one of the crew. ‘Der lad mus’ talk; ain’ he got mout’? We all got fer talk wen man’s stribin’ in wet an’ cole to make v’y’ge an’ der captin gin erway we labor so, so.’

‘I ain’ disrespec’bul’, Zekel,’ pleaded Prince. ‘I’se just talkin’ so ’bout ’ooman. Ain’ I know wot ’ooman is? Ain’ I got ma an’ Titie — ain’ dey ’ooman? Ain’ I know dem? Gawd, befo’ I let ’ooman fool ’roun’ me — I drownded fus’. Deys pure distemper to man, an’ dat ’s de truth’.’

‘Wot yer talkin’ ’bout ’ooman? Dey’s Gawd creetur, enty ? Ain’ Gawd make um?’

‘Dunno ’bout dat,’ grumbled Prince heretically. ‘All I know is dat man is man till he meet ’ooman; den dorg better ’an him. Now looker bul Ephum, he der bestest man in de hull wul, — but Titie jes’ tun ’e head till he so fool he dunno — he dunno—’ Prince was once more adrift on his rhetorical sea, and foundered as usual, winding up with his irrepressible, ‘Gawd, he dunno.’

‘Breddren,’ a religious expostulator repeated solemnly, ‘lef’ it ter Gawd. Ephum cotch der turtle, he gin it ter Nego, — de Book say de Lord lub de cheerful gibber, so lef’ it ter Gawd, I tell yer — you wan’ rowdy Ephum for generousness — dat ain’ nice. Lef’ it ter Gawd an’ do you likewise.’

He moved off humming a tune, and ran into John Fulin who was holding an empty pipe.

‘Brudder,’ pleaded John, ‘I right outer terbaccer, gin me one smoke. I dat longing, my tongue loose in my head.’

‘I ’se sorry, brudder,’ replied the exhorter, ’I ’se real sorry, but I ain’ got nuff as ’t is. I short er terbaccer now. I doan’ see why,’ he went on in aggrieved tones, ‘youna mans doan’ outfit right. De Book say, de prudent man forsee de evil, an’ flee derefrom. De careless pass on an’ punish — an’ dat’s de clear trut’ from Gawd. I jest got nuff terbaccer fer de v’y’ge an’ I ’se sorry, brudder — but yer see fer yerse’f, ef I gin yer my terbaccer wot I goan’ do fer mese’f? De Book say he dat caret’ not fer his own is wus dan infidel.’