AN INDIAN FISHERMAN. 355 



vigorous effort, but by this time the breeze had be- 

 come strong, and we were fain to come to anchor 

 under the lee of Point Frances, which was on the 

 same island with Point Moscheto. The island it- 

 self has no name, and is a mere sand-bank covered 

 with scrub bushes, having a passage between it 

 and the mainland, navigable for small canoas. Our 

 anchorage ground was in front of the rancho of a 

 fisherman, the only habitation on the island, built 

 like an Indian's wigwam, thatched with palm leaves 

 close down to the ground, and having both ends 

 open, giving free passage to a current of air, so that 

 while without, a step from the door, the heat was 

 burning, within there were coolness and comfort. 

 The fisherman was swinging in his hammock, and a 

 handsome Indian boy was making tortillas, the two 

 presenting a fine picture of youth and vigorous old 

 age. The former, as he told us, was sixty-five 

 years old, tall and erect, with his face burned black, 

 deep seams on his forehead, but without a single 

 gray hair or other symptom of decay. He had 

 been three months living on this desolate island, 

 and called it amusing himself. Our skipper said 

 he was the best fisherman from Yalahao, that he 

 always went alone, and always made more than 

 the rest, but in a week on shore his money was 

 all gone. He had no milpa, and said that, with his 

 canoa, and the sea, and the whole coast as a build- 

 ing spot for a rancho, he was independent of all 

 the world. The fishing on this coast was for tur- 



