THE CHASE OF THE MANATEE.
Several hours' steady paddling brought the hunting party, ere the full
heat of the day, to a part of the river where the banks were densely
clothed with mangroves, broken here and there by bayous, whose shallow
bottoms were lush with rank vegetation.
"We get him there," said Raymon, pointing to one of these bayous.
"When sun going down. Plenty of manatee in dat place."
Donalblane was impatient to begin the hunt right away; but Raymon knew
his business better, and so they sought a landing in one of the cool,
dark recesses of the mangrove forest, and, after eating their lunch,
lay down for the inevitable siesta.
It was well on in the afternoon before Raymon pronounced it time to get
to work, and, thrilling with eagerness, Donalblane took his place in
the stern of the canoe, his musket ready for a quick shot, while Raymon
crouched in the bow, holding a harpoon to which was attached a long,
thin rope. Noiselessly the expert paddlers sent the canoe over the
bosom of the bayou, turning this way and that, in accordance with
whispered directions from Raymon, whose keen eyes searched the still
waters in front.
Several times Donalblane thought he saw ripples which suggested the
presence of their prey, but Raymon took no notice of them, and he was
beginning to grow impatient, when, at a signal from the Indian, the
paddlers suddenly plied their blades with tremendous energy, and the
light craft shot ahead at an amazing pace.
Donalblane could perceive nothing to explain this action, but rejoiced
at it nevertheless, and held his musket in readiness to fire.
On dashed the canoe, and presently Raymon rose in the bow, harpoon in
hand, and poised himself for a throw. Still Donalblane could make out
nothing, and he marvelled at the keenness of the Indian's vision, until
suddenly, not twenty yards in front of the canoe, the smooth surface of
the water was broken by the emergence of the hideous head and broad
shoulders of a monstrous manatee.
[Illustration: "PRESENTLY RAYMON ROSE IN THE BOW, HARPOON IN HAND."]
"Hurrah!" shouted the boy, quivering with excitement. "There he is;
and, my sakes, what a big fellow! Shall I fire at him, Raymon?"
But Raymon, without turning round, intimated by a warning gesture of
his free hand that Donalblane was to keep still, and the latter was
accordingly fain to curb his impatience.
In spite of his clumsy form, the manatee had a wonderful turn of speed,
and the sinewy paddlers strained every nerve to bring Raymon within
striking distance. The creature was evidently making for the deeper
waters, and if he succeeded in doing this before the harpoon struck
him, there was a good chance of his effecting his escape. For a few
minutes the issue of the race seemed much in doubt, and then, to
Donalblane's delight, the canoe began to gain. Yard by yard it drew
nearer, until at last, raising the harpoon as high as he could, Raymon,
with the whole strength of his arm, hurled it at the manatee.
It was a splendid throw, and the keen barb buried itself deep in the
thick, wrinkled grey hide, while at the same moment the stricken
creature sank out of sight, leaving a stain of blood upon the water.
"Grand!--grand!" cried Donalblane, putting down his gun for a moment
that he might clap his hands enthusiastically. "Ah! I wad like fine
to be able to do that."
Raymon's usually sombre countenance lit up with a pleased smile, as he
replied--
"We got him all right, if rope no break."
When, a moment later, the manatee, having recovered from the first
shock of the wound, set off through the water at a rapid pace, towing
the well-laden canoe as though it was a trifle, Donalblane began to
wonder if the rope, which was only a thin one, would stand the strain.
But Raymon did not appear at all anxious about it.
Straight out towards the deep water went the manatee, and as the canoe
ploughed through the water in its wake, Donalblane thought that this
must be something like the whale-hunting about which some of his sailor
friends at Leith had told him such thrilling tales.
For a full half-mile the powerful creature kept on, rising every now
and then to the surface for breath, and sinking again as soon as
relieved. But presently its speed began to slacken, and Raymon was
able to get a pull upon the rope, which brought the canoe nearer.
"Now, senor, you fire when I call," he said to Donalblane, who nodded
back at him joyfully, for he was burning to take part in the hunt,
instead of sitting idle.
Little by little the rope came back, until soon there were not more
than ten yards of it separating the canoe and the manatee.
"Next time he come up, you fire," was Raymon's next order; and
Donalblane, every nerve thrilling with excitement, braced himself in
the stern of the canoe for a careful shot.
With a swirl and splash the manatee appeared, and as Raymon excitedly
shouted, "Now, senor--now!" Donalblane pulled the trigger. But alas,
for the pride of youth! The prized musket, hitherto so trusty, played
him false. It flashed in the pan. There was no report, and its
intended victim sank out of sight unharmed.
Just how it happened Donalblane never understood. Perhaps either he or
Raymon, in their chagrin at the failure of the shot, made some sudden
movement; but, however it was, the next instant the canoe overturned,
and all the four of its occupants were tumbled into the water,
Donalblane holding on to his gun, although the additional weight helped
to deepen his involuntary dive into the turbid current.
Up he came, gasping and angry, to find that the Indians had happily
been quick enough to secure the canoe and to cut the harpoon line,
which otherwise would have torn it away from them. Still grasping his
gun, which he was determined to save if possible, Donalblane struck out
for the others, and when he neared Raymon, the latter said cheeringly,
"Me help you--they get canoe all right," and, taking the heavy firearm
from the boy, swam as easily with it as if it were a walking-stick.
Meanwhile the paddlers, with a skill that astonished Donalblane,
proceeded to right the canoe, free it of water, and clamber in, Raymon
following their example and then assisting the young Scotsman to do
likewise. Donalblane took it for granted that the untoward upset put
an end to the manatee hunt, but Raymon had no such notion.
"Manatee soon die--we go after him," he said, and, after a keen
scrutiny of the surrounding water, he gave directions to the paddlers,
who resumed their work as stolidly as if nothing had happened.
Donalblane thought it would be very much like hunting for a needle in a
hay-stack, but kept his own counsel while the canoe sped shoreward.
They were more than half-way thither when Raymon, who had fastened the
remainder of the rope on to a small spear, showed signs of excitement.
"Me see him!" he exclaimed in a stage whisper. "We get him this time."
Sure enough, just as he spoke, the ugly grey head of the manatee rose
above the water, and it was evident from the slowness of its movements
that its strength was fast failing.
Steadily the canoe gained, until once more it was within striking
distance, and Raymon hurled his spear with no less accuracy than he had
the harpoon. The poor manatee made one furious plunge forward as the
sharp steel reached a vital part, and then all motion ceased. The hunt
was ended.
One of the paddlers instantly sprang into the water and caught the end
of the severed harpoon line, which was at once secured to the canoe,
for otherwise the great body would sink and all the trouble be in vain.
Then the bulky prize was towed ashore, and Donalblane had the
satisfaction of having taken part in a successful manatee hunt, even if
he had been denied the privilege of getting a shot.
The Indians had good reason to be proud of their quarry, for he was a
monster of his kind, and would afford a fine supply of excellent meat.
As he would prove altogether too heavy a cargo for the light canoe, the
paddlers were dispatched to the settlement for assistance, while
Donalblane and Raymon remained on guard, the former taking the
opportunity to dry his dripping clothes, and feeling very well pleased
with the success of the hunt.
Indeed, he had enjoyed it so keenly that he went again and again in the
weeks that followed, Mr. Sutherland sometimes joining him, and many a
plump monster was thereby secured for the benefit of the colonists.
It was well for him that he could thus divert himself, as the state of
affairs at St. Andrews was rapidly growing worse. Not only were the
Scotsmen threatened with famine, but with disease also. The hot, damp
climate, so different from that to which they were accustomed, bred
deadly fever. Every day the number of the men who strove to complete
the fortifications and to till the ground for the harvest they were
destined never to reap grew less. Many of the pale, gaunt, but still
resolute labourers passed quickly from their work to the overcrowded
hospital, and thence with little delay to their graves, until the
burial-ground came to have more occupants than the huts.
And yet, despite their double danger, the colonists kept up their petty
strifes, their jealousies, their mutual antagonisms, and refused to
admit of any settled authority. Then came back the ship which had been
sent to Jamaica for provisions as empty as she had gone, and bringing
the astounding news that, by a royal edict obtained through the evil
influence of the rival companies, all the English colonies in America
and the West Indies were strictly forbidden to afford any assistance
whatever to the struggling Scotch colony at Darien, whose utter ruin
now seemed inevitable.