176 On the trail of vanishing birds 



lowering the glasses and offering them to the captain, "no barca, 

 no barca at all; it's only a great dead tree come aground on that 

 mudbank there." We were approaching one of the cayos that 

 abound in the gulf, and at its southerly end there was a long, nar- 

 row bank of sand and mud. The object that was causing so much 

 shouting appeared to me to be a huge dead tree that must have 

 floated down the Rio Cauto at flood time, and been cast up on 

 this bank by the tides. It was some distance off the cayo and, I 

 must admit, did look just the least bit like a small, two-masted 

 schooner under bare poles. The captain blinked and winked his 

 red-rimmed eyes and then fixed them at the optic end of the 

 binoculars. At the same time, the marine, his pistola in one 

 hand, was shouting to the boatman to speed up his engine. Regular 

 fire-eater. El capitdn kept on looking, shaking all over with ex- 

 citement or chill or a sudden fit of ague and saying nothing. 

 Finally Arturo, unable to endure any more of this inconclusiveness, 

 took the binoculars away from the captain, who probably couldn't 

 see anything through them but water anyway, and had a long 

 look. "I don' know! I don' know!" he kept saying. The boat was 

 now speeded up to its full 6 knots and as the fisherman had altered 

 the course, so as to head straight for the barca, we careened wildly 

 in the trough, shipping water and getting soaking wet all over 

 again. After a few more minutes of this, with the mariner o stand- 

 ing forward by the stubby mast, where each sea that broke over the 

 bow soon had him nearly drowned, the salt water running down 

 the barrel of his gun in a stream, we were close enough to see 

 that it was nothing but a harmless tree, even without benefit of 

 binoculars. 



The marinero registered utter disgust. He was so undone that 

 he even forgot to put his weapon away, but just slumped down 

 where he was, next to the mast, the gun in his hand, and stared 

 moodily at the deck. El capitdn, while still saying nothing, the 

 wise old fellow, was obviously relieved and unable to restrain a 

 deep sigh of thankfulness. The slow-witted fisherman, bringing 

 his craft around just in time to avoid crashing headlong onto the 

 bank, slowed the engine and asked the captain, in a plaintive 

 voice, where he should steer now. El capitdn, in high good spirits 



