A Day on the Pamico. 



297 



Pueblo Viejo (the old town), situated 

 at the junction of lake and river, facing 

 the west, is a characteristic little place. 

 Its long street parallel with the shore 

 of the lake; the bamboo and palm 

 houses on either side surrounded by 

 gardens and orchards of oranges, man- 

 goes and plantains ; its pair of country- 

 stores where everything from dried 

 shrimp to green bananas can be pur- 

 chased; the canoes drawn under the 

 sheds at the beach; the languid, lazy, 

 loafing Indians, the small boys, whose 

 black skin and white teeth showed to 

 advantage under their undress uniform 

 of broad straw hat and escapulario, 

 emphasises the fact that this whilom 

 hold of smugglers and beach combers 

 is fast becoming a " has been." We'll 

 pass a couple of hours here and then go 

 down with the tide and troll up to the 

 Tamesi bridge for tarpons. Let's go 

 up to that pleasant looking house with 

 wide verandah and adobe wall, and ask 

 permission to sit in the shade of their 

 trees for an hour or two. As we ap- 

 proached, the younger members of the 

 family gazed at us from the end of the 

 wall, the older sister retiring behind a 

 flower pot, while the brother, who was 

 acting as escort, directed a glance of 

 challenge, mingled with curiosity, at 

 our party. We soon made friends with 

 them, however, and found them quite 

 approachable, with no false prejudices 

 as to color or social distinctions. The 

 old folks were away from home and had 

 left them to keep house. 



Down the estero with the wind and 

 current to the mouth of the Tamesi, 

 into the river to paddle and sail for fish 

 for a few hours among the many tree- 

 covered islands that divide the river 

 into a labyrinth of water ways, will be 

 our afternoon's diversion, and then a 

 moonlight ride back again with the 



tide. So let's be going and get the 

 tarpon lines ready. It will take us but 

 a few minutes to run through the es- 

 tero with the wind and the current in 

 our favor. 



These fresh water sharks are gross 

 feeders, and bite at almost everything 

 that is moving. A white piece of cloth 

 on a hook, a heavy trolling spoon or a 

 small fish tied on the hook are good, 

 and we'll run two lines with a spoon on 

 one end and a fish on the other. Let 

 out about fifty yards and then coil 

 about fifty or sixty more in the bottom 

 of the boat for slack when the fish 

 strikes. These tarpon weigh from 

 forty to one hundred and twenty 

 pounds, and sometimes it is claimed 

 even more. They are wiry built and 

 look like a large herring. With this 

 wind in our favor, we'll put up a sail 

 and you'll see what fine sea craft 

 these canoes are. That schooner-rigged 

 affair that is overhauling us so fast 

 is loaded with a family, their goods and 

 chattels, homeward bound. You notice 

 they have hoisted a red blanket as a 

 foresail; the sheets from the same bed, 

 no doubt, make a very fair mainsail. 

 It has a "bone in its teeth," and at 

 that pace will soon reach the parental 

 roof tree. ' ' Judge, hold your line loose 

 in your hand, just tight enough to keep 

 it from slipping, and don't wind it 

 around your fingers. I have had mine 

 cut until the blood came by the unex- 

 pected strike of a big one, and you 

 know they always bite when one is not 

 expecting it. Just out from that grove 

 of palms ahead, where the farm-house 

 stands, I've had many a bite. The 

 Kid's got one. Look at him jump. I 

 mean the fish, not the boy. It's a 

 curel; there he goes again four feet, at 

 least, into the air. He can't keep that 

 up long. That's right, muchacho. 



