XIX.

THE FISHING PARTY.

The stars were yet brilliant in the sapphire vault, and in the branches the birds were still asleep when a merry party went through the streets of the pueblo, toward the lake, lighted by the glimmer of the pitch torches here called huepes.

There were five young girls, walking rapidly, holding each other by the hand or waist, followed by several elderly ladies, and servants bearing gracefully on their heads baskets of provisions. To see these girls' faces, laughing with youth, to judge by their abundant black hair flying free in the wind, and the ample folds of their garments, we might take them for divinities of the night fleeing at the approach of day; but they were Maria Clara and her four friends, the merry Sinang, her cousin, the calm Victoria, beautiful Iday, and pensive Neneng. They talked with animation, pinched each other, whispered in each other's ears, and pealed out merry rounds of laughter.

After a while there came to meet the party a group of young men, carrying torches of reeds. They were walking, silent, to the sound of a guitar.

When the two groups met, the girls became serious and grave. The men, on the contrary, talked, laughed, and asked six questions to get half a reply.

"Is the lake smooth? Do you think we shall have a fine day?" demanded the mamas.

"Don't be disturbed, senoras, I'm a splendid swimmer," said a tall, slim fellow, a merry-looking rascal with an air of mock gravity.

But they were already at the borders of the lake, and cries of delight escaped the lips of the women. They saw two great barks, bound together, picturesquely decked with garlands of flowers and various-colored festoons of fluffy drapery. Little paper lanterns hung alternating with roses, pinks, pineapples, bananas, and guavas. Rudders and oars were decorated too, and there were mats, rugs, and cushions to make comfortable seats for the ladies. In the boat, most beautifully trimmed, were a harp, guitars, accordeons, and a carabao's horn; in the other burned a ship's fire; and tea, coffee and salabat--a tea of ginger sweetened with honey--were making for the first breakfast.

"The women here, the men there," said the mamas, embarking; "move carefully, don't stir the boat or we shall capsize!"

"And we're to be in here all alone?" pouted Sinang.

Slowly the boats left the beach, reflecting in the mirror of the lake the many lights of their lanterns. In the east were the first streaks of dawn.

Comparative silence reigned. The separation established by the ladies seemed to have dedicated youth to meditation. The water was perfectly tranquil, the fishing-grounds were near; it was soon decided to abandon the oars, and breakfast. Day had come, and the lanterns were put out.

It was a beautiful morning. The light falling from the sky and reflected from the water made radiant the surface of the lake, and bathed everything in an atmosphere of clearness saturated with color, such as some marines suggest. Everybody, even the mamas, laughed and grew merry. "Do you remember, when we were girls--" they began to each other; and Maria and her young companions exchanged smiling glances.

One man alone remained a stranger to this gayety--it was the helmsman. Young, of athletic build, his melancholy eyes and the severe lines of his lips gave an interest to his face, and this was heightened by his long black hair falling naturally about his muscular neck. His wrists of steel managed like a feather the large and heavy oar which served as rudder to guide the two barks.

Maria Clara had several times met his eyes, but he quickly turned them away to the shores or the mountains. Pitying his solitude, she offered him some cakes. With a certain surprise he took one, refusing the others, and thanked her in a voice scarcely audible. No one else seemed to think of him.

The early breakfast done, the party moved off toward the fishing enclosures. There were two, a little distance apart, both the property of Captain Tiago. In advance, a flock of white herons could be seen, some moving among the reeds, some flying here and there, skimming the water with their wings, and filling the air with their strident cries. Maria Clara followed them with her eyes, as, at the approach of the two barks, they flew away from the shore.

"Do these birds have their nests in the mountains?" she asked the helmsman, less perhaps from the wish to know than to make the silent fellow talk.

"Probably, senora," he replied, "but no one has ever yet seen them."

"They have no nests, then?"

"I suppose they must have; if not, they are unhappy indeed."

Maria Clara did not catch the note of sadness in his voice.

"Well?"

"They say, senora, that the nests of these birds are invisible, and have the power to render invisible whoever holds them; that as the soul can be seen only in the mirror of the eyes, so these nests can be seen only in the mirror of the water."

Maria Clara became pensive. But they had come to the first baklad, as the enclosures are called. The old sailor in charge attached the boats to the reeds, while his son prepared to mount with lines and nets.

"Wait a moment," cried Aunt Isabel, "the fish must come directly out of the water into the pan."

"What, good Aunt Isabel!" said Albino reproachfully, "won't you give the poor things a moment in the air?"

Andeng, Maria's foster-sister, was a famous cook. She began to prepare rice water, the tomatoes, and the camias; the young men, perhaps to win her good graces, aided her, while the other girls arranged the melons, and cut paayap into cigarette-like strips.

To while away the time Iday took up the harp, the instrument most often played in this part of the islands. She played well, and was much applauded. Maria thanked her with a kiss.

"Sing, Victoria, sing the 'Marriage Song,'" demanded the ladies. This is a beautiful Tagal elegy of married life, but sad, painting its miseries rather than its joys. The men clamored for it too, and Victoria had a lovely voice; but she was hoarse. So Maria Clara was begged to sing.

"All my songs are sad," she said.

"Never mind," said her companions, and without more urging she took the harp and sang in a rich and vibrant voice, full of feeling.

The chant ceased, the harp became mute; yet no one applauded; they seemed listening still. The young girls felt their eyes fill with tears; Ibarra seemed disturbed; the helmsman, motionless, was gazing far away.

Suddenly there came a crash like thunder. The women cried out and stopped their ears. It was Albino, filling with all the force of his lungs the carabao's horn. There needed nothing more to bring back laughter, and dry tears.

"Do you wish to make us deaf, pagan?" cried Aunt Isabel.

"Senora," he replied, "I've heard of a poor trumpeter who, from simply playing on his instrument, became the husband of a rich and noble lady."

"So he did--the Trumpeter of Saeckingen!" laughed Ibarra.

"Well," said Albino, "we shall see if I am as happy!" and he began to blow again with still more force. There was a panic: the mamas attacked him hand and foot.

"Ouch! ouch!" he cried, rubbing his hurts; "the Philippines are far from the borders of the Rhine! For the same deed one is knighted, another put in the san-benito!"

At last Andeng announced the kettle ready for the fish.

The fisherman's son now climbed the weir or "purse" of the enclosure. It was almost circular, a yard across, so arranged that a man could stand on top to draw out the fish with a little net or with a line.

All watched him, some thinking they saw already the quiver of the little fishes and the shimmer of their silver scales.

The net was drawn up; nothing in it; the line, no fish adorned it. The water fell back in a shower of drops, and laughed a silvery laugh. A cry of disappointment escaped from every mouth.

"You don't understand your business," said Albino, climbing up by the young man; and he took the net. "Look now! Ready, Andeng!"

But Albino was no better fisherman. Everybody laughed.

"Don't make a noise, you'll drive away the fish. The net must be broken." But every mesh was intact.

"Let me try," said Leon, the fiancee of Iday. "Are you sure no one has been here for five days?"

"Absolutely sure."

"Then either the lake is enchanted or I draw out something."

He cast the line, looked annoyed, dragged the hook along in the water and murmured:

"A crocodile!"

"A crocodile!"

The word passed from mouth to mouth amid general stupefaction.

"What's to be done?"

"Capture him!"

But nobody offered to go down. The water was deep.

"We ought to drag him in triumph at our stern," said Sinang; "he has eaten our fish!"

"I've never seen a crocodile alive," mused Maria Clara.

The helmsman got up, took a rope, lithely climbed the little platform, and in spite of warning cries dived into the weir. The water, troubled an instant, became smooth; the abyss closed mysteriously.

"Heaven!" cried the women, "we are going to have a catastrophe!"

The water was agitated: a combat seemed to be going on below. Above, there was absolute silence. Ibarra held his blade in a convulsive grasp. Then the struggle seemed to end, and the young man's head appeared. He was saluted with joyous cries. He climbed the platform, holding in one hand an end of the rope. Then he pulled with all his strength, and the monster came in view. The rope was round its neck and the fore part of its body; it was large, and on its back could be seen green moss--to a crocodile what white hair is to man. It bellowed like an ox, beat the reeds with its tail, crouched, and opened its jaws, black and terrifying, showing its long and saw-like teeth. No one thought of aiding the helmsman. When he had drawn the reptile out of the water he put his foot on it, closed with his robust hand the redoubtable jaws, and tried to tie the muzzle. The creature made a last effort, arched its body, beat about with its powerful tail, and escaping, plunged outside the enclosure into the lake, dragging its vanquisher after it. The helmsman was a dead man. A cry of horror escaped from every mouth.

Like a flash, another body disappeared in the water. There scarce was time to see it was Ibarra's. If Maria Clara did not faint, it was that the natives of the Philippines do not yet know how.

The waters grew red. Then the young fisherman leaped in, his father followed him. But they had scarcely disappeared, when Ibarra and the helmsman came to the surface, clinging to the crocodile's body. Its white belly was lacerated, Ibarra's knife was in the gorge.

Many arms stretched out to help the two young men from the water. The mamas, hysterical, wept, laughed, and prayed. Ibarra was unharmed. The helmsman had a slight scratch on the arm.

"I owe you my life," said he to Ibarra, who was being wrapped in mantles and rugs.

"You are too intrepid," said Ibarra. "Another time do not tempt God."

"If you had not come back!" murmured Maria Clara, pale and trembling.

The ladies did not approve of going to the second baklad; to their minds the day had begun ill; there could not fail to be other misfortunes; it were better to go home.

"But what misfortune have we had?" said Ibarra. "The crocodile alone has the right to complain."

At length the mamas were persuaded, and the barks took their course toward the second baklad.