298
Martinique
Sketches.
Guayra was yet moving slowly, it was a severe strain to follow her, and there was no time to be lost. The captain of the little band—black Maximilien, ten years old, and his comrade Stéphane — nicknamed Ti Chabin, because of his bright hair,—a slim little yellow boy of eleven—led the pursuit, crying always, " E n c b , Missié,—encb
!"
. . .
The La Guayra had gained fully two hundred yards when the handsome passenger made his final largess,— proving himself quite an expert in flinging coin. T h e piece fell far short of the boys, but near enough to distinctly betray a yellow shimmer as it twirled to the water. That was gold ! In another minute the leading canoe had reached the spot, the other canotiers voluntarily abandoning the quest,—for it was little use to contend against Maximilien and Stéphane, who had won all the canoe contests last 14th of July. Stéphane, who was the better diver, plunged. He was much longer below than usual, came up at quite a distance, panted as he regained the canoe, and rested his arms upon it. The water was so deep there, he could not reach the coin the first time, though he could see it : he was going to try again,—it was gold, sure enough. —"Fouinq ! ça fond içitt !" he gasped. Maximilien felt all at once uneasy. Very deep water, and perhaps sharks. And sunset not far off ! The La Guayra was diminishing in the offing. —"Boug-là
'lé fai
nou
néyé !—laissé
y,
Stéphane!"
he
cried. (The fellow wants to drown us. Laissé—leave it alone.) But Stéphane had recovered breath, and was evidently resolved to try again. It was gold ! —"
Mais
ça c'est
—"Assez, 'neb,
moin
non !" ka
di ou !
lb!"
screamed Maximilien. Ah
! foute!"
. . .
"Pa
plongé