Far Tortuga

by Peter Matthiessen

Wodie? How you know dat turtle was gone to die?

  On the Captain’s foot is a dark blood crust, and on the deck beside his foot there is a fly. Wodie murmurs: the men strain to hear.

  I feelin it when he come aboard. I got de sign.

  Dese guts givin you some kind of sign?

  Raib flings the guts over the side. They float away downwind toward the coast, a blob of cruel colors in the sea.

  Speedy goes to the rail and watches the guts until they disappear.

  Don’t eat de guts?

  We don’t. In Jamaica dey eat it. In Jamaica, dey so poor down dere dat dey eat everything.

  We eats guts in Honduras, too. It okay to eat it. Hungry people ain’t too picky. Modern time, mon.

  Anything okay, I guess, if it don’t kill you.

  In Jamaica dey eat dem bird eggs dat dey rob at Bobel Cay. Taste like bad fish. And dey eats dem dragons.

  Eats dem in Caymans too, down to East End. Never eat iguana? Something good, mon.

  Don’t like dragons, mon—dey looks too scornful.

  Eatin hox-bill, now, you know you eat something. Put lead in your pencil, mon.

  Don’t need dat! (laughing) Ain’t like de old days.

  Yah, mon. All dat Indian squints. Y’see, Speedy, every turtler had he woman at home, and den he had he Indian at Miskita Cay. Copm Steadman kept dis Miskita woman—

  Raib is working on the catboat sail; his head appears over the rail.

  Never had no Miskita woman.

  Copm Steadman?

  No, mon. Copm Steadman had one dese Creoles, what we calls Wika. What is actually de Indians, with a very long bow nose, all dem fellers died out over dere. De ones dere at Miskita Cay, dey call dem Miskitas but dey Wika. Lot of colored blood. Dey talk English, and dey talk dere own language, too.

  Raib mumbles his idea of Indian language.

  Sound like dat—I never could cotch it. But dey born with it.

  Raib hoists the catboat sail, which he has patched with checkered sacking that reads GOLD RING FLOUR.

  Throw down a knife, till I trim dis patch!

  Let de mon borrow your knife dere, Vemon. Ain’t you de one so proud about his knife?

  Proud? De hilt of dat knife come from de famous pirate knife dat were found guardin de treasure dere by Meagre Bay! And de blade better’n any goddom knife aboard dis vessel!

  Will raises his eyebrows, then speaks mildly.

  You seen dat knife stuck above my bunk? You take a look at dat!

  You de mate? Well, you go fuck yourself!

  Throw de pirate knife down, den, or any goddom knife!

  Look above Vemon bunk, you find an old rum bottle, most likely.

  Athens passes down a big hickory-handled knife. Raib gazes at him.

  Dat is Copm Andrew’s knife.

  Dass right. Used it for butcherin.

  Raib climbs up out of the catboat; the men make a place for him by the galley.

  Course in dem days when Copm Steadman kept him a Wika woman at Miskita Cay, de old mon never cared a bit about goin home. Once he got his turtle crawled dere, and everything handy, he just as soon lay around dere a little while. But his son Autway, he a young feller at dat time, and he got anxious about goin home. Den a nice southeast wind come up, a fair slant for home, but de old mon say he wouldn’t go. So Autway look at de father and he look at de Wika woman, and den he say, Dis be a pussy wind, Autway say. (laughs) So Steadman sit straight up at dat and he say, What you said? And Autway say, Dis be a pussy wind, Autway say, I be a mon now and I say anything I want. Den he say dat last part again just so he can hear de words; I be a mon now, Autway say. But de poor fella got lost in de storm dere at Serrarers, long with de father. And dat were de end of a first-class turtler. Steadman Bodden were a first-class turtler.

  Wash of seas along the hull.

  Will? You gone to give us dat tale dis evenin?

  No, mon. Everybody know dat story, Copm Raib.

  No, Will, I ain’t heard it good in many long years gone, and dey’s men sittin here dat never heard it—Buddy, and den Speedy and dat engineer, and maybe Wodie. De news take quite a while to travel down to East End, ain’t dat so, Wodie? So you best tell it, just so’s we know you can talk good when you know what you talkin about.

  Will, seated on the deck, squirts a jet of tobacco juice between the rails. He wraps his arms around his knees and squeezes hard, rocking a little, so that his bare toes dangle, and as the ship swings, the twilight shadows play on his lumpy face.

  Well, we left Cayman on de thirteenth of June on de schooner Rembro. 1941. And we went to de northern cays, de high-sea cays. And a crowd of us rangers was put off on Coxcones. De boat put off rangers at de Hobbies, den from dere to Seal Cay, and from dere to Verellas; den she put us off at Coxcones, den from dere she went on to Logwood Cay, and from dere on to Alligator Cay. Now de other turtlin boat, de Majestic, were her sister ship, and she went down to Miskita Cay. And she corried her rangers out around Diamond Spot, Dead Man Mahagan, Dead Man Bar, and all dem places. But we stayed on de northern cays and fished for nurse and hox-bill and green turtle.

  What Will speakin about, Speedy, in de beginnin of de shark fishery, de nurse shark was de most valuable, but now dey found de tiger shark has a better skin. If you could get a hundred tigers, well done up, you’d have some money, mon! De hide is thicker. De white-tip and dem, dey is all right, too, but in de sand shark, de hammerhead shark, de hide is thin; de hammerhead, regardless of his size, de hide ain’t worth much. Desmond say—

  Let de mon tell his story, Byrum!

  Well, we was supposin to sail home around de twenty-second of September, round about de nineteenth to twenty-second of September. But de Rembro never come to us. She never left Cayman till about de twenty-second. So Copm Steadman went down to de Hobbies, picked up de rangers dere, and he went to Seal Cay and picked up de rangers dere, and he went to Verellas and picked up de rangers dere, and den he came on to Coxcones. Picked us up on a Thursday, which would have been de twenty-fifth of September, and we went on to Logwood Cay. On Friday, in de early evenin, we sailed for Alligator Cay to pick up de balance of de rangers, which were de last men we would have to pick up, and den we would sail for home. But unfortunately we had to make a stop at Serrarers to pick up some nets and so on, and by den we didn’t have enough sunlight to see anchorage in Alligator Cay, so Copm Steadman say, Well boys, we will abide here till de mornin.

  Now, when we had left Logwood Cay, de wind was to de northwest, eighteen to twenty, twenty-five knots of wind. Well, dat evenin round about six o’clock, it come up squally, and de wind pulled up to de north-northwest. Copm Steadman claim dat it was ordinary weather, and we gave him de benefit of de doubt because, y’know, he were an old sea coptin and well-experienced, and we put our trust in him; we figured everything must be all right. So Copm Steadman say, Go below and sleep, you ain’t got nothin to worry about—ain’t nothin but a common norther.

  Dat were near October! Every mon dat know something about de sea know about north wind in October!

  Byrum! Hush, mon.

  So all dat night it were squally weather. So we say, Copm, what you think about de weather; and he say, Well, he had knowed worse weather den dat, so he didn’t pay dis weather any mind. (sighs) Copm Steadman were de world’s best turtler, a goddom wonderful old mon. A very good old mon. (nodding) A very good old mon. But long toward daybreak his son Autway tell him, Father, I gone tell you something: we best get to Miskita Cay, or we gone drown right here today. And he tell Autway, Dat north wind don’t mean nothin, boy, dat ain’t no hurricane.

  On Sat’day mornin which was de twenty-seventh, I mean to tell you de schooner Majestic couldn’t corry a kerchief on her, much more a sail; it was bad. And we was anchored … well, by dat time she had dragged her moorins prob’ly fifty fathoms from where she was anchored. And de weather keep on gettin worse and worse and worse all of de time. Every time it come up squally, de weather got a little worse. So round about I would say
ten-thirty, one de sailors by de name Edilue Dixon say to de Coptin: Copm, what about de weather? De weather looks bad! And de Coptin tell him, You know what? De barometer has gone crazy. He say, De barometer has gone crazy. I can see now dat it’s a hurricane approachin, and it’s down on us. Den Edilue Dixon say, Well, what you gone do about it? In my opinion, Copm, we best try to go ashore, get on dat cay.

  Well, Copm Steadman say we not to leave de vessel, we must ride it out. So Edilue say, Very well, den, Copm, I ain’t stayin aboard de boat, I goin ashore. And Copm say, No, mon, you ain’t throwin no boat overboard off dis vessel! And Edilue say, Copm, I throwin dat boat overboard, and you stand in my way, I gone throw you overboard along with de boat, cause I goin ashore!

  So den Edilue Dixon look at Autway and dem other fellas in de crew. Dey all lookin pale dere, starin at one another, y’know, and den at Copm Steadman, watchin dem from dat chair dat he had settin dere on de deck. And not one of dem fellas would go up against him. So den Edilue look at us rangers, and for a moment dere, nobody moved, nobody said a word, dere was nothin but de wind tearin de riggin and de rush of sea and things bangin up and down de ship. And den it seem like a whole crowd of us young rangers jump forward at de same time. I was right dere in de front, like I was picked up by dat wind, cause I knew dat Edilue Dixon was de last chance dat we had. But I was in friendship with Autway Bodden, so I cross de deck again and grab his arm, and I yell into his ear, Come on, den, Autway! Cause it were Autway dat advised dat old sea coptin dat all dese men would drown dat very day dere at Serrarers. But Autway Bodden just look at me kind of sad, and shook my hand, and never said one word. De old mon yelled at me, Stay, den, Will Parchment! You belongs with us! But I shook my head and yelled, Goodbye, den, Copm Steadman! And I crossed dat deck again. So we took two boats and threw dem overboard into de sea.

  Now Copm Steadman say he gone report dat we had deserted his vessel on de high seas, he called it, dat he would call us deserters, which would mean a charge against us. Course de most of us dat wanted to go was rangers, but dere was one mon was a crew member, and dat was Edilue Dixon. And had it not been for him, dere wouldn’t been one soul saved dat day. He de only mon dat ever thought about goin ashore on Port Royal Cay.

  Well, den, dis young crewman by de name of Asher put his suitcase in de boat, and jumped in de boat. And Copm Steadman say, You put dat suitcase back on de deck, boy, cause dem dass goin ain’t gettin nothin out dis voyage. So Asher went back aboard. He was in de boat but he jumped back aboard at de Coptin’s orders. He were young, like de rest of us. He didn’t know nothin about sea rules, and he got frightened from de Coptin. His suitcase come home, but de boy got drowned.

  It were Asher and Autway dat cast us off, and stood dere together at de rail, and watched us go. Autway were wearin a red shirt dat he was proud about, I seein dat red now in my mind’s eye. And Asher, he wavin to us like a little boy: I carry dat wave with me to de grave. I were not at de oars, and I try to wave back, but Asher never saw dat, cause just den his cap blowed away aft. De poor fella had dat cap set down so tight dat his ears stuck out, but de wind took it all of de same, and he runned after it. And by dat time we were fallin away fast, and dat were de last I ever saw of him.

  Now we had to pull de catboats into de wind, cause we was around in de lee of de cay, and I tellin you it were terrible, cause I don’t think we had less den a sixty- sixty-five-knot wind. When we first leave dat vessel, at de end of de first four, five strokes of de oars, we had fell five fathoms astern of de Majestic, dass de way it were blowin, and I thought we were gone. And den dat wind (whispers) she died right down, just long enough, and we pulled and we pulled and we pulled and we pulled and we got ashore. We got ashore onto dat cay. Two boats. Den a sea caught us, we were on de south side of de cay, near a hell of a pile of rocks, and when dat sea hit us, it shoved de boats right up into de middle of dat cay.

  So dat is how we quit de boat; took two big boats and went ashore. We waited for de rest of de boys, but dey never come. Cause when de first sea hit us dat fling de boat into de bush, we was watchin de Majestic; we seen when she swung off. She parted her moorin and she fell to port. She swung her head right off—at dat time dey were choppin de masts out, and de masts fell. She didn’t go very far from where she were, she went down only about a quarter-mile from where she were anchored. All de Majestic ever did was turn around and go about de distance of her moorin. When she went out over de reef, dat anchor hook in behind de reef. Every time she rise and fall, de sea chuck her back into de reef, and punch her bottom out. And she lay right down on de lee side of de reef. She struck in dat piece of coral reef, and knock out her bottom, and dat is where dem fellas met dere fate. De wind and de sea covered her up, and we didn’t see her any more.

  Well, by Sat’day evenin de weather got so bad dat de cay started to overflow. We got de boats up dere between de mangroves, and when de rush of water come through from de outside of de cay, our boat stayed steady. We put de sail over de boat to cover us, but we was in water, sittin in water in de boat. De next day mornin, after dat hurricane had broke with us and de water had all gone out de cay, our boats were way up de mangrove roots, not less den six to eight feet above de ground. We had to cut sticks for skids and launch dem, to get dem down on de sand again.

  Well, den, dere weren’t much to do but look around us. Dere were still wind, but some way it were very very quiet. It were Sunday. One fella taken three breads along with him, and it come out round about one slice a man. We wanted water, and we knew we had left three drums of water at Logwood Cay. With a two-inch knife blade we cut mangrove trees for masts, and we went down to Logwood Cay. But when we got dere, all we see was some old turtle nets out in de sea, hook up in de pan shoal, and we find de bung for one drum, and no water. Nothin. All dere was left of Logwood Cay was reef: de land was gone.

  Dis was what hoppen in times gone back to Far Tortuga—

  Well, while we was talkin and thinkin and decidin, we saw a little object between de two cays at Serrarers. And dat were a ranger from West Bay, remember? Wee-Wee. Dey had saw de Majestic anchored, but Friday was so bad dat dey couldn’t get down to us. Well, Wee-Wee brought a little bit of water and a bread in case if he found some men alive. We had to mix dat little fresh water with salt water, and dat went around one little thimble a man—sot you cravin water.

  Well, Wee-Wee had water on Alligator Cay. So we put back out den for Serrarers dat Sunday afternoon, and slept dere till mornin, and we reach Alligator Cay about eleven, twelve on Monday. And he had dere about five, six gallons of flour—dass what twenty-eight men was eatin out of for four days. One meal a day.

  Dat day we saw a airplane pass, but dey didn’t see us, and dey reported to de people back home dat dere weren’t any sign of any life out on de cays.

  All dat day we lay quiet, hopin and hopin. And on Tuesday afternoon we sighted de Rembro, Copm McNeil Conally, who took us back down to Bobel. At Serrarers, we saw de Majestic’s spars out dere, but we never saw no sign of life—everything gone.

  Den dere came another boat, de Lydia Wilson, Copm Robert Ebanks, who had lost five rangers at Dead Man Mahagan and Dead Man Bar. So Copm Robert say he were goin home and would take all de men dat wanted to come. So we all went aboard de Wilson and left for home on Wednesday mornin, and Friday mornin we was bright and early in Cayman.

  it were twenty-two went down with de Majestic, and nineteen was saved. Oh, it were something! (laughs happily) People’s joy at de ones comin back home, and people sighin; you could hear de screamin way out in de harbor. When we landed at Georgetown, dey had to keep people from talkin to us, dey had to corry us away quietly—it were just we couldn’t stand it. We were too upset, and we were weak and everything. (licks his lips) One fella dere, he had took a swear, told de blessed Lord if He grant him one privilege of puttin his foot back on Grand Cayman, de only way dat he would ever go back turtlin in de cays would be if he couldn’t find anything else to make a penny to get on. Dat were one experie
nce he got enough of dat one time and for all.

  Oh, mon! I guess he meant dat, okay.

  Oh, he meant dat den, but he went back—been sailin down here to dese reefs all de days of his life.

  Were dat a fella dat dey calls Will Parchment?

  Will laughs, embarrassed. He is very excited.

  Copm Steadman tell us on dat trip dat he was seventy-seven years of age and old enough to die. And Edilue Dixon, sailor, were de only crewman saved. De remainder of de crew was Autway Bodden, sailor; Steadman was master; Copm Dilmore Conally from Gun Bay went as mate; a guy from Georgetown by de name of Woodly MacField was cook; another guy’s little brother by de name of Asher—his first trip out dere—he was lost on de boat as well. And all dem rangers too.

  Well, you fellas sayin how news takes so long to travel out to de east part of de island, but we knowed about Dilmore Conally dyin in de cays before dey knowed in Georgetown. Oh, yes! We got our own way of learnin about things.

  Dat so, Wodie?

  Y’see, Dilmore Conally of Gun Bay dat went down on de Majestic, he were a East Ender, but his uncle were old Tom McCoy, up at Old Man Bay. And on de day of dat storm, Tom McCoy were settin in his door watchin dem black clouds rushin by, and his daughter hear him say, I can’t go with you. You can go, but I am staying. Dere were no person dere. And later Tom McCoy informed his daughter dat he were speakin in dat manner to de ghost of Dilmore Conally. And by dat dey knew dat Dilmore had died down in de cays, and dey will tell you de same today.

  The men glance at Raib, who sits expressionless, eyes closed.

  How come dem fellas stayed onto de boat with dat old mon?

  Well, owin to Copm Steadman’s experience, all de days dat he had sailed de sea, dey listened to him. And he sat right down dere in his chair and let a hurricane come down on him, after knowin dat de barometer had fallen from Thursday; and knowin dat when you see de wind goin around to de northwest in de month of September …