Beche's Fishing
Beche,
The Carib Boy Part II.
By A. Hyatt Verrill
From Everyland magazine, Vol. VII, No. 4, March 1916. Digitized by
Doug Frizzle, Mar. 2012.
TO Beche the arrival of the
fishing-boats was always a delightful event. He loved to help pull the light dugout canoes upon the
smooth, black beach; he was filled with excitement over the
huge tuna, dolphins, and swordfish, and never tired of admiring the wonderful, gorgeous colors of the brilliant-hued tropical fish which filled the baskets in the
boats.
Sometimes, among the more common fish, Beche would find strange
things. Slimy, ugly octopuses, or devil-fishes, with their
eight sucker-covered arms, were often caught, for the
repulsive creatures are considered good eating by the
Caribs and after being pounded to a pulp between two stones are made into stew.
At other times great, clawless, red,
blue, and yellow lobsters, gigantic, scarlet crabs, or huge, eel-like morays
were among the sea denizens brought
in, and Beche never knew what queer creatures he might find when the fishermen arrived.
Ever since he could remember
Beche had been on hand to welcome the
fishing-boats, and once he had gone with his father
to the fishing-grounds far out to
sea. Beche could swim like a fish and had no fear of the
water or of boats; but when the
forest-covered mountains of his island home grew faint and hazy in the distance and a new and strange land loomed above
the eastern rim of the sea, he was filled with a strange dread lest the boat would be unable to return and he would be
carried to the other land. He wondered what it was like;—if the dim mountain peaks were that great country
called England
where the king lived. When he asked
about it his father laughed and told
him it was Martinique. Then Beche looked with
interest at the pearly land, for he
remembered a time when the day had
grown black as night and dust and ashes had fallen from the
sky and every one had trembled with deadly fear until word came that Pelee had
become angry and had devastated a place called Martinique.
At that time Beche had no idea where Martinique
was; but now he realized that it was in view across the
dancing waves and he grew frightened and begged his father
to take him home before the black
ashes should again rain down and hide the
sun. Throughout the day, while the boat bobbed about upon the
waves and the fishermen were busy
hauling in their lines, Beche had
kept his eyes glued upon the distant
land. At last the canoes were headed
toward the sinking sun, and the green forests of Beche's own home grew plainer
with each forward plunge of the
boat, until the keel grated upon the beach and the
Carib boy again felt safe beneath the
waving palm-trees.
Since then
Beche had never wished to go forth with the
fishermen, but often, as he helped unload the
canoe, he longed to catch fish himself. On the
day of which I am telling he determined to go fishing the
next day and as soon as the boats
had left the next morning he set
diligently at work to carry out his plans.
A short distance from the shore a number of tall, straight trees grew upon
a little hillside, their great, hand-like
leaves shining silvery-white as the trade-wind
waved them back and forth and exposed
their under sides. To these trees Beche made his way, for he knew that they were soft and easily cut and were as light and
buoyant as cork. With his machete the
Carib boy soon felled two of the
Trumpet Trees or "Pipiris," as he called them,
and by means of a tough, native vine he dragged them
down the hill to the shore.
It was slow, hard work, and
several times the little fellow
stopped to rest before he reached the
shore with the two tree trunks.
Soon the
logs were cut into several pieces, and placing these
side by side Beche laid light poles across them
and bound all firmly together with
tough vines. With little trouble he pushed the
affair into the water, where it
floated and rose and fell in the
little waves. Wading knee-deep into the
sea Beche clambered aboard the raft
and gave a glad little shout as he found it supported his weight without any
trouble.
Paddling the raft to the
beach he hauled it beyond reach of the
waves and prepared to make his fishing-tackle. A long coil of the same vine which he had used as a kite-string,
served for the fish-line, and a
short search above the sand of the beach soon disclosed a small lump of
"ironstone" which would serve for a sinker. To make a hook was far
more difficult and Beche longed for a real steel hook, such as the fishermen used. He knew his father had plenty, but he also knew that they were too highly prized to be given to boys for
play, and that it would be useless to ask for one until he had proved his
ability as a fisherman. But the
problem didn't trouble the Carib boy
for long. He remembered that near his hut there
was an empty box and that in this box were nails, and in a few moments he had
drawn two of the wire nails from the wood and was busily hammering them with the
back of his machete. The hooks that resulted from his work were rough and crude
but Beche felt greatly pleased with them
and hurried off to get the bait.
This was easy, for he had only to turn over a few stones to find some small
crabs which he dropped into an empty coconut-shell and then,
with the stem of a palm-leaf for a
paddle, the Indian boy shoved his
raft into the water, clambered on
board and paddled it into a quiet cove behind a little coral reef. Baiting his
hook he dropped the line into the water, and, squatting upon the edge of his queer craft, he peered down into the sea. The water was so clear and transparent that
Beche could see the bottom many feet
beneath and he became so interested in watching the
many strange objects upon the bed of
the sea that he quite forgot about
his fishing. Upon the rocks below
grew masses of bright yellow, red, and green coral; for corals are not white
when living, but are as bright-tinted as flowers. Among the
corals waved great purple sea-fans and black sea-rods. Giant, cup-shaped brown
sponges stood here and there; purple
and blue and scarlet sea-anemones waved their
delicate tentacles from crevices of the
reefs and bright-red crabs crawled slowly about, searching for bits of food. In
one spot a school of yellow and black coral-fish flitted back and forth like a
flock of butterflies; blue and purple angel-fish swept past like graceful birds,
and a big, red-spotted grunt nosed about in the
white sand searching for shell-fish. The sight of the
fish reminded Beche of his purpose, and carefully baiting his nail hook with a
crab he lowered it over the side of the raft close to the
grunt. He could see the line, the sinker, and the
baited hook quite plainly, and he dropped it so close to the
clumsy fish that the busy creature
was startled and darted back with fright. The crab smelled good, however, and
after a moment's hesitation the
grunt opened his great green and purple mouth and gulped down bait and hook
together. Beche gave a quick, hard
tug at the line and shouted with joy
as he felt the big fish pulling hard
at the other
end of the vine. The fish tried hard
to escape, but Beche's hand-made hook was caught fast, and very soon the boy had pulled the
flapping creature upon his raft and was gloating over his prize like any
civilized boy over his first fish.
When Beche again looked over the side of his raft he found a number of fish had
gathered, for the
struggles of the grunt had churned
up the mud and sand and many tiny
worms, shells, and crabs had been exposed and had attracted the hungry fish. Again baiting his hook Beche
lowered the line among the fishes, and watched them
eagerly as they flitted about and
nibbled at the bait. Time and again
he jerked at the line, thinking a
fish had bitten, but each time the
wary creatures darted to one side and the
hook swung harmlessly upwards. Several times the
bait was nibbled from the hook, and
over and over again the Carib boy
drew up the line, placed a fresh
crab on the hook, and again dropped
it into the sea. The sun beat down
upon his bare brown back, he was getting hungry, and yet only the single grunt had been the
reward of his work. He was beginning to think that it was useless to go on
fishing and that he would never catch anything more when suddenly a great,
gray, shadowy form moved slowly out from a crevice among the
corals. For an instant it hung motionless and then
rushed forward and Beche was almost jerked from his raft as the line came taut. With all his strength the boy pulled on the
vine, but the fish was almost as
strong as Beche and he panted and perspired as inch by inch he drew in the line while the
raft spun round and round, dragged by the
struggles of the huge fish.
Gradually the fish gave way, the line came up more readily, and Beche could see the silvery flash of his prize close to the surface of the
water. The boy wondered how he could haul the
big fellow over the edge of the raft and as he was very tired he fastened the line to one of the
cross-pieces to rest his hands and arms. Then, for the
first time, he looked about and as he did so he gave a wild cry of fright and
terror. He was no longer close to shore in the
quiet cove; but was rising and falling on the
ocean swell a mile from shore, and the
little huts where his people lived were mere specks against the greenery beyond the
distant thread of white surf. Beche was terribly frightened; he had never been
so far from home alone, and he could feel the
freshening breeze that was sweeping him farther
and farther from land. He turned to
pull in the anchor-line so he could
paddle toward home, but it was gone; and then
he knew that it must have slipped from the
raft as he struggled with the fish
and that the current and tide had
drifted him from the cove while he
had been so intent upon his catch that he had not noted his surroundings.
Seizing his rude paddle he tried to make headway and for an hour worked
diligently with tight lips and pounding heart. Still the
shore grew fainter and fainter, and Beche, realizing that he was being carried
farther from home every moment,
threw his tired body upon the raft
and sobbed and sobbed, until weary, hungry, and heartbroken he fell asleep.
Beche awoke with a start, and
gave a hoarse cry of surprise and delight as he glanced about. The sun had set
behind the mountains, but it wasn't
yet dark, and the raft was
motionless, grounded upon a pebbly point of land. Tall coconut-palms clashed their leaves softly in the
evening breeze, wooded hills rose steeply from the
shores, and under the palms Beche
caught sight of a little wattled hut. The dull glow of a fire threw rosy lights
among the trees, and before a pot
upon the coals squatted a woman. It
was all strange to the Carib boy; he
had never seen the spot before; but
from the direction of the hut came an appetizing odor of roasting
breadfruit and broiling fish, and
Beche, famished and tired, scrambled ashore and ran toward the woman.
"Eh,
eh!" she cried in soft Creole French, as she turned at the sound of his footsteps, "You make me
'fraid, yes." Then, catching sight of his features, she exclaimed,
"Ma
foi! You Ca'ib boy, yes. How you come here? You come by boat, no?"
"Ai!"
cried Beche, "I hungry; please give me to eat," and without waiting
for permission he seized a roasted plantain from the
ashes and devoured it ravenously.
The
stout, beturbaned colored woman looked at him in wonder as he gulped down the hot food.
"Oui
Papa!" she exclaimed as Beche helped himself to a huge piece of
breadfruit, "You hungry for true, yes! Where from you make to come,
Ca'ib?"
Between
mouthfuls Beche explained his plight, while the
sympathetic negress muttered little
cries of surprise or pity.
"Don't
to make 'fraid, Ca'ib," she said, when Beche had finished his story.
"Soon when Jean come with he canoe he take you safe to you home. You come
far for true. You at Pointe Bouchere. Soon like my man come he take you
back."
His
hunger satisfied Beche's head began to nod and his eyes closed, and lifting him
in her strong brown arms Matilde carried him to her hut and laid him tenderly
upon her bed.
Beche
did not wake up when big, laughing, black Jean came home. He did not feel
himself carried to the canoe and
placed gently upon a bed of palm leaves, and as Jean pulled with long, steady
strokes over the moonlit sea the Indian boy slept undisturbed.
He
was aroused by glad shouts, and opened his eyes to the
glare of flaring torches and to see his own mother
and father beside him.
Beche
leaped up and threw his arms about his parents with a shout of joy. Then he
remembered about his fishing. "Eh! Papa Moin," he cried proudly,
"I fisherman for true now. I build one little boat and make to catch two
big fish."
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