

### Leaving For a New Life

Fogo (Fire) Island was burning and slowly being buried by creeping, molten lava.

St. Nicholas Island was desiccated and people were in excruciating agony, dying of thirst.

It was the 1950s and all ten of the islands in their archipelago were facing disasters as Cisco da Silva and Carlos Pires searched for a way to leave.

Their only way out was to sign on as crewmen aboard the last commercially operated three-masted schooner still making Atlantic crossings.

Misfortune eventually drove Cisco from the sea to a peaceful little island off the coast of Massachusetts.

...and that's when his troubles really began.

### -o-

### Jimmy Catfish:

### The Beginning and the End

### by Bill Russo

Jimmy Catfish is the prequel to a yarn told around a campfire in my book of short stories, **Swamp Tales**. This follow-up volume is presented in two parts.

**The Beginning** which is all new, narrates the story of events leading up to the birth of the unfortunate subject of the earlier tale; as well as his life as a young man.

The second part of the book, **The End** , is the complete original short story - a few thousand words about eerie Codfresh Lake, the area around it, and its oddest resident.

I've included the second part so that if you have been interested enough to finish The Beginning, you will not have to search around to find (and pay for), The End.

-o-

Bill Russo is retired on Cape Cod, U.S.A., and is the author of a number of books including:

### Crossing the Musical Color Line:

### and other stories of Singers and Players.

The artists featured, some famous and some not, are mostly friends or acquaintances of the author. Many of them, he met during his years as a disc jockey and newspaper editor.

Among his subjects are: the first man to cross the musical color line - in a Big Band during the 1940s. His entire career is covered including the time he spent as lead guitarist for Diana Ross.

Russo was the first radio disc jockey to play and promote one of the biggest truck driving songs in the history of Country Music. He tells of meeting the singer and details how the man literally peddled his music from the trunk of his car in Madawaska, Maine all the way to stardom in Nashville.

### The Creature From the Bridgewater Triangle and other stories from Massachusetts.

During a decade long stint as an Iron Worker, Bill Russo lived in a 'haunted' area of Massachusetts that stretches from Bridgewater and Raynham Southwards towards Fall River and New Bedford.

His late night meeting with a swamp creature prompted him to write a blog article, and that led to Russo being featured in "The Bridgewater Triangle" documentary film and later on national television discussing the hairy 'littlefoot' that he met; and then finally to his short book detailing his encounter, along with about a dozen more stories and articles. Most deal with legends and myths of New England, but he also adds a few observations and even some Cape Cod travel tips.

### -o-

### Cover Photograph by Bill Russo:

### A secluded lake in Harwich near

### the right of way of the original

### Cape Cod Central Railroad

# -o-

Smashwords Copyright Note

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

### Chapter listing Jimmy Catfish

Prologue - Cape Cod in the 21st. Century

Chapter One: Sao Nicolau (St. Nicholas)

Chapter Two: Finding the Captain

Chapter Three: Shipping off to Massachusetts

Chapter Four: The Last Voyage

Chapter Five: Healing Time

Chapter Six: The Gold Crown Tavern

Chapter Seven: Life on Codfresh Lake

Chapter Eight: The Summer Brings New Growth

Chapter Nine: Winter and Tragedy

Chapter Ten: In the Brack with the Catfish

Chapter Eleven: The Baby Arrives: February 15, 1958

Chapter Twelve: At the Water's Edge

Chapter Thirteen: A Visit from the Captains

Chapter Fourteen: The Reunion

Chapter Fifteen: The Doctor

Chapter Sixteen: Total Isolation: The Summer of 1959

Chapter Seventeen: Six Years Later, July 1965

Chapter Eighteen: The Return of Cisco

Chapter Nineteen: The Plan

Chapter Twenty: The Professor

Chapter Twenty-one: October 1, 1967

Chapter Twenty-two: They Come for Jimmy

Chapter Twenty-three: Mungo's Plan

Chapter Twenty-four: What of the Professor?

Chapter Twenty-five: Codfresh Fades Away

Chapter Twenty-six: Alone

Chapter Twenty-seven: Epilogue to The Beginning and Prologue to The End

Chapter Twenty-eight: Jimmy Catfish -The End

### Jimmy Catfish - the Beginning and the End

### by Bill Russo

### Book One: The Start

### (Book Two follows. It is, The End)

### Prologue - Cape Cod in the 21st. Century

The horse-shoe shaped highway that runs from one end of Cape Cod to the other, is 64 miles long. Halfway down, is the town of Harwich.

In the middle of Harwich, several miles past bumpy Bell's Neck Road, where a dense forest has morphed into a shallow, tree-stump pond; is a dirt road - really just a path - that leads to a small village called The Marsh.

There's only one business building in the tiny 'throwback' settlement. It's a creaky, wooden two-story structure with faded red paint, that houses a general store - with pickles, ice cream, common crackers in a barrel, and canned goods inside. On the porch, outside, framing the entry way, are two wooden park benches.

The one on the left is painted blue with white lettering on the slats of the backrest, saying "Democrats". On the right hand side, is a red bench, with the same white lettering saying, "Republicans".

Most of the villagers will sit in either one. They might call themselves G.O.P., but they like the Kennedys - especially the war hero, Johnny who became President.

Or they might be Democrats, but they like "Ike", the war hero who became President.

A few old timers are gathered at the store on a warm summer day to sit on a red bench or a blue bench, depending on their mood; or where the sun is hitting. They talk, drink sodas, and and gaze across the street at a crystal clear lake with a sandy bottom and generous beaches.

"That little kettle pond is nothing like Codfresh Lake," says the owner of the store, who has just walked out to chat with the only customers he's had for over an hour. He is an ancient, shrunken man who everyone calls 'AP'.

"What's Codfresh Lake?" one of his companions asks.

Using the question as an invitation; the wrinkled old man takes a pull from his Birch Beer in a glass bottle, and slowly eases into the Blue bench opposite his friends. He wears a faded Red Sox cap. With his old-fashioned handlebar mustache on top of a fluffy white beard, he looks like a skinny Santa Claus.

Setting his soda down, he stares for a moment at the faded paint of the bench. It's cracking and blistering. He picks off a few blue chips, as if he were stripping little flakes of skin from a sunburn. Peeking out of the corner of his eye, he waits until he is sure he has the group's full attention.

Satisfied that he does, "AP" begins to tell a tale of a body of water so strange as to defy description. A lake compounded of equal but separate sections of fresh water, sea water, and an unearthly brackish stretch, reportedly inhabited by man-eating catfish.

"Even stranger than that," he continues, "is that it was also home to a person who was more catfish than human. Few people know about Codfresh Lake, and even fewer about that fish-man, Jimmy Catfish. I saw him. I even knew him. The story ends here on Cape Cod but it starts out far across the ocean in a different cape, Cape Verde."

### Chapter One - Sao Nicolau (St. Nicholas)

Two men on horseback are riding to Tarrafal, the only seaport, and one of just two villages on the tiny island of St. Nicholas. After an interminable season of famine and drought they have abandoned their homes and are fighting through an angry windstorm on a September afternoon in 1949.

"This barren island of St. Nicholas has little of Christmas in it, other than its name. It is 150 square miles of naked mountain surrounded by a ragged coastline too wasted to even sprout weeds," said Francisco da Silva, the taller of the pair.

"That may be true Cisco, but it's our home."

"Not for long Carlos. Not for long. When we get to Tarrafal, we will find a ship to carry us out of here."

"Cisco, you sound just like your cousin the poet. He's always stirring up people, trying to get them to leave the islands and go to America."

"Yes Carlos. Last year when he wrote his book, he predicted that by the end of 1950 one out of four Cape Verdeans will be emigrating to the United States for a better life."

"And do you think we will be among them Cisco?"

"I do. There is nothing to hold us here. We have already left our houses. And what did we give up? A couple of shacks and a few acres of land that resembles over-baked bread."

Cisco started to say something else but was cut off as the wind suddenly picked up and pitched a load of desiccated earth into his throat.

The two friends, coughing from the biting onslaught, closed their eyes, covered their noses with their hands, and tucked their chins into their chests.

Though there were a handful of cars on St. Nicholas in the 1940s, most people still rode horses, as did Francisco da Silva and Carlos Pires on that Autumn day when they headed from the main village of Ribeira Bravo to the island's only other settlement, the fishing town of Tarrafal.

Plodding along, their horses slowly navigated the narrow cobblestone path that rimmed the island, running like a thread from the one town to the other. There was no place else to go; it was literally a 'one road' island. The way was bounded on either side, solely by mounds of parched earth. No trees. No brush. No Grass. No weeds.

So bare was the view from the rocky path that to one side there truly was nothing but the choppy blue Atlantic. The opposite side was merely a barren expanse of motley colored brownish earth supporting clusters of jagged gray rocks leading to Mount Gordo, (The Fat Mountain).

One time Carlos had called the roadside a desolate 'patchwork' and Cisco, who fancied himself a poet like his cousin who had published two books, said; "No Carlos: the dirt here is not a 'patchwork'. It is so dry and empty that we should call it a 'parch-work'." Both men laughed, as each was young, hopeful, and in possession of the resilient ability to sneer at ironic misfortune.

The raging wind got stronger, scooping up great chunks of earth; grinding and mixing them with the air until a thick brown dirt-fog was brewed that overspread the entire island. Visibility was reduced to near zero.

Dismounting, they took off their shirts to cover the heads and eyes of the nervous horses, while shouting calming words to them.

The bellowing storm finally hushed to a whisper, leaving Carlos and Cisco looking as though they had been flogged. Crimson rivers snaked down their backs from their shoulders to their waists, partly washing away hundreds of sharp dirt-spikes that had been hammered in.

They poured tepid water from their canteens into their cupped hands for the still frightened horses, saving scarcely a swallow for themselves before remounting.

Later, they wearily crested a ridge marking the final leg of their trip. The last bits of the dirt-fog drifted off towards the sun, which cast a golden path in the calm waters of Tarrafal Harbor.

Prodding their mounts to a gallop, they raced to a slim, fresh water stream near the harbor. In winter it had been a river but the endless drought had reduced the Rio Gordo (The Fat River) to barely a skinny stream.

Running and splashing like schoolboys on a picnic, the animals happily beat the water to a froth. The men let the mounts play for several minutes before hobbling them and setting them to graze in a yellowed field close by.

"Let us go to the beach and wash off the rest of the dirt from the ride," suggested Cisco.

"I think I'll also need a few minutes in the sand," Carlos added.

The tepid Tarrafal water was a salty balm; soothing their raw backs as well as massaging spent muscles. As their strength returned they left the ocean and headed for the steamy, black sand. The unusual shiny sepia sand, found only on St. Nicholas Island, is said to have healing properties due to a high content of titanium and iodine.

After a brief rest, buried up to their necks at the medicinal beach, they retrieved the horses and cantered to Joao Neves' bar for some food and grogo, the local rum. In high spirits, they had hopes of meeting sailors who could perhaps steer them to a job aboard a ship bound for North America.

### Chapter Two - Finding The Captain

With a bottle of grogo between them and two mugs in front of them, Carlos and Cisco sat in one of the four high-backed booths in Joao's small building. Hungrily, they speared chunks of food from a platter of bread, cheese and sausage that had been set upon a table made of rough, unfinished planks.

Six wooden stools with no cushions were in place in front of the bar but only one was occupied. It was a slow night in Neve's establishment, a fact which Joao lamented every time he poured a drink for his solitary bar stool occupant, a tall, spare white-skinned man who seemed to wince every time Joao complained about his sparse patronage.

"Hey mister, if you are sick of Joao's grousing, perhaps it's time to come and sit with us. Bring your mug and you can share our grogo," said Carlos to the white haired man, who appeared to be in his early fifties.

"I'll be happy to do that," he said, nimbly jumping off the stool and settling into the space offered by Carlos.

"I'm Carlos Pires and this is Francisco da Silva - call him Cisco. We've left our houses and our land and hope to leave this island. In the meantime we're going to spend the last of our money on some food and drink."

"Thanks gentlemen. I am Captain John Manderer. If you want to leave Cape Verde I have a ship and I need crew. Why do you want to go?"

"Well Captain, there are ten islands that make up Cape Verde," said Cisco slowly drafting down half a mug of grogo.

"There is ours called St. Nicholas or Christmas Island. There is Fogo, or Fire Island in English, and eight others. Each island has two morose companions - drought and starvation; the one following the other. There is no Christmas on St. Nicholas Island and on Fogo, there is nothing but fire. The Fogo Volcano is always active. Rivers of boiling lava constantly threaten the settlements. The creeping death, as we call it, regularly engulfs whole villages. Every island has trouble of one kind or another. Some people are resigned to living under these shadows, but not I, and not Carlos; we are leaving."

"Cisco's cousin, a poet and author, has written that 25 per cent of all Cape Verdeans will be leaving the homeland by the 1950s, so you should have had no trouble finding sailors for your ship in Fogo," Carlos noted. "Why've you come to St. Nicholas?"

"Yes Captain. Why have you come here?," Cisco added.

"Because I need 30 sailors at a minimum for the voyage to America and in Fogo, there were less than 20 men willing to sign on, so I decided to ......"

"Do not say anymore," Cisco interrupted, "Carlos and I will sign on right now if it means we can sail to the United States."

"You mightn't say that after you find out what kind of a ship it is," said Manderer.

"If it floats, we are in," Cisco told him.

"Wait a minute," Carlos held up his hand and motioned to Cisco to be silent. Squinting his eyes, he looked directly into those of the Captain. "I do want to know. What kind of a ship is it?"

"She's called the Lynette C and she's a beauty. She's a sailing ship - the last commercially operated three masted schooner in New Bedford, Massachusetts. Also the last of her kind in all of New England. I spent $7,000 refitting her after I bought her and she looks as pretty as a movie star."

"A sailing ship?" they wondered in unison.

"Yes. A sailing ship. I sailed her from New Bedford to Cape Verde in just 32 days. We had twenty paying passengers and a cargo of one piano, four automobiles, 10,000 board feet of pine lumber, 40 thousand pounds of cement, and various household goods and bundles of clothing sent from people in New Bedford to friends and relatives. It was a very profitable voyage for me since I did not have to pay for fuel. But, when I landed in Fogo most of my crew left me for modern ships and none of the new sailors that have joined the crew have ever worked on a sailing ship before. They won't go aloft to set the sails. If you can and you will, then I will take you on as First and Second Mates and I will pay you well."

"What cargo will we be carrying?" Carlos wondered.

"We will have 20 paying passengers and 250 tons of salt."

"Captain Manderer. Allow me to me pour us all another drink and I will ask you a further question or two. If Carlos and I like your answers, then I am pretty sure we will sign on and help you get a full crew."

Cisco extracted from the Captain a contract for permanent employment as well as his promise to help the two men gain citizenship in the U.S.

The next morning they saw the Lynette C for the first time. She was big and beautiful. Just a bit shorter than an American football field, the ship was 260 feet long with 29 cabins and 58 berths.

Sailors all their lives, though in much smaller vessels, Carlos and Cisco soon became familiar with the ship and within a few hours showed great speed and skill in furling and unfurling the sails on all three masts.

Captain Manderer came on board in late afternoon and was impressed by the innate skill of his two new mates. He shared the news that he had just that day signed a contract to transport 30 Cape Verdean cranberry bog workers to Cape Cod. This was in addition to the 20 people that had already booked passage. He reasoned that he could put 18 men into the nine cabins he still had vacant and place the other 12 men among the 58 crewmen's births.

Cisco said that he and Carlos would talk to the cranberry men and find out which ones had fishing or sailing experience. Those that did, could be recruited as supplemental crew. Along with the 18 men they already had, this would bring them up to the needed complement of 30.

Captain Manderer ticked off a list of the ship's needs. The jobs of Captain and Quartermaster, who handles the operation of the ship on a day to day basis, were filled by Manderer himself and old Josiah Spant, who had been Quartermaster on the voyage from the States and had served well. Carlos and Cisco occupied the First and Second Mates' slots.

When they spoke with the cranberry workers they found that many of them were also able seamen who had worked in the packet trade between the islands. They were easily able to muster as many more crewmen as was needed.

Pedro Andrade was appointed as the Bosin because he had held that position on small ships that ran between Fogo and some of the other islands. The Bosin's job is supervision of the ship's supplies and maintenance of the vessel.

Jorge Fonseca had been a navigator in government service so he was selected for that job. Similarly they found men who had worked as carpenters and slotted them as carpenter and carpenter's mate.

Because he had been an orderly in a hospital, Artur Bernardo was named ship's surgeon, though he would be expected to do little more than dispense aspirins and perform first aid.

The tasks of cooking & running the galley fell to the Coelho brothers who in better times had owned a restaurant.

Lastly, they found Johnny Gomes a local hunter and fisherman who would act as their Striker. The Striker needs no nautical skills. His job is to supplement the food stocks by fishing, shooting sea birds, or hunting when they are ashore.

The rest of the crew would be trained as deckhands and would learn to set the sails, as well as clean and maintain the craft.

### Chapter Three - Shipping off to Massachusetts

The Lynette C began her voyage to New Bedford at nine a.m. on October 3, 1949 in bright sunshine and a favorable wind. She was 32 feet across and her mainmast was 145 feet high. Under full sail, powered by more than 7,700 feet of canvas, she quickly reached 16 knots in calm seas.

Most of the people watching from shore as she left, felt uncertain that the old schooner would safely make it to the United States.

Those on board were much more sure of themselves. The infectious optimism of the Captain and crew buoyed their spirits.

When they were four hours out to sea, the cook; assisted by the assistant cook, a cabin boy, and the carpenters, began hauling planks and wooden sawhorses to the deck. They fashioned a banquet table, twenty feet long, and covered it with white linen; before bringing out a special celebratory feast.

The Captain sat at the head of the table, eating with the first of three shifts. Tony Coelho, the twinkly eyed chief cook, began passing out steaming bowls of a stew that had been simmering since even before the ship was launched.

"What is this food? It's delicious," asked Manderer.

"Captain, this is Catchupa," Tony replied, "It is our favored food on the islands. It has beef and beans and hominy. When my brother and I ran the restaurant on Fogo, this was our best seller. On the side, in the smaller dish, is what we call Xerem, another feast staple made of dried corn."

The Captain was well pleased with his cook, for like an army, a ship does indeed travel on its stomach. As the breeze ruffled his thin white hair, he looked up at the wind-stuffed sail on the mizzenmast, the shortest of the three masts, and felt good about the chances of the great profitability of sailing vessels, even into the 1950s.

Manderer had built his reputation and his company during a long career at sea in which he had served with competence as a deckhand, mate and finally Captain. When he was in his late 30s he bought his first fishing vessel and plied the waters from New Bedford to Cape Cod. Many days his ship had the top catch at the docks and soon he had enough money saved for a second ship. Within five years his fleet numbered six fishing and four cargo vessels.

His business was number one in the port of New Bedford, which was the number one port in the entire United States in terms of dollar value of the catch.

( **Author's note to readers** : Many people think of historic New Bedford as the capital of the ancient whaling industry, which is was; but even since the end of whaling, New Bedford has been the highest grossing fishing port of the U.S.A. nearly every year for many decades. As of 2013, New Bedford had been the Number One port in the entire United States (including Alaska and Hawaii) for 15 straight years. The value of the catch in 2013 was just under $400 million. **End of Author's note**.)

By the 1940s, all of Captain Manderer's boats were motorized, modern, and had the latest safety equipment. He never intended to add a sailing ship to his roster, but one day he heard that the historic schooner, the Lynette C was for sale at a bargain price. She had a storied history in the packet trade and had made dozens of transatlantic crossings. He was intrigued by the thought of going from Cape Cod or New Bedford to Cape Verde under sail and not having the expense of fuel.

Upon learning that the owners only wanted $5,000 for her, he went to them with cash and bought the boat the very next day.

Captain Manderer began the difficult job of recruiting his first crew after refitting the ship and securing a cargo. Warned by friends and business associates that he was making a grave error, he had decided that he not only wanted to own a sailing vessel, but to captain it himself.

After making the decision to personally go on the voyage, Manderer pressed hard to complete the crew selection. Many of the men he hired were Cape Verdeans anxious to go back for a visit to their homeland. They were smart and they were eager, but none had actually ever crewed a three-masted sailing ship and this bothered him some.

The solution to the problem came one night over Dawson's Ale at the Gold Crown Tavern on Acushnet Avenue in New Bedford. Captain Manderer was drinking the locally brewed ale in the company of some of his crew when one of the men pointed to a rail thin, weather beaten man in a pea coat and sailor's cap seated by himself in a booth in the back of the room.

"That's the man you should get to run the ship. That's old Captain Josiah Spant from Cape Cod. He ran packet ships all around the world for fifty years."

Taking a fresh pitcher of Dawson's Ale, Manderer walked towards the old salt's booth. Wispy white hair fringed his mostly bald head and a hard, pinched look was drawn on his wizened face, but he smiled a broad, toothy grin when offered the Dawson's in exchange for a seat.

Manderer introduced himself and extended his hand.

"Don't think me rude, Captain," said the aged seaman, "but I have no hand to shake with. At least not a right hand."

Without being asked, Spant began the tale of his life in a resonant voice that seemed to emanate from a much bigger and younger man.

"It was in nineteen and twenty-nine, when I was first mate on the Johnny B out of Fall River, that my troubles began.

The Captain was an idiot. He had plenty of money but no sailing experience when he bought the ship. The Quartermaster was a drunkard who was pukin' in the scuppers when we encountered the worst storm I had ever seen.

Naturally with the Quartermaster out of commission and the Captain an ass, I ordered the sails down. But the Captain came on deck and started screaming that we needed to keep the sails up to complete the trip on time so he could make his money. He overruled me and forced the men to reset the sails. In less than five minutes they were in shreds and it took us over a week to repair them.

Well, we finally got to Cape Verde and were going to island hop for a while, dropping off and picking up goods, before heading back to the States. We were late in casting off from Brava Island for Fogo.

Because we had a fool for a Captain and a rum soaked sot for the second in command, the crew was always careless and somebody failed to release the shore line in time. When it snapped, it took my right hand with it.

I was in bloody agony for more than 24 hours until we finally reached Fogo, where they had to amputate my arm. The Johnny B sailed three days later, without me. I was in no shape for the sea, but even if I was able, I wouldn't have gone on that cursed ship again for any amount of money."

Spant paused and pulled off his captain's hat, placing it on the table next to the frosty pitcher of Dawson's Ale. He drained his glass and then leaned as far forward as he could to get closer to Manderer and whispered as if telling high secrets:

"The boat sank two weeks later in a minor storm. Twenty-eight passengers and twenty-two crew went to the bottom - including the rotten Captain and his addled Quartermaster."

Over the years, Spant rose to the rank of Captain and he made more than three dozen crossings in Three-masted and even Four and Five masted ships.

Impressed with the ancient sailor's knowledge and experience, Manderer hired him on the spot, sealing the bargain with a final glass of Dawson's Ale. Manderer told Spant that he would be his Quartermaster and would have complete and unquestioned command of the day to day operation of the vessel.

Blessed with excellent weather and luck that made for smooth sailing, they landed at Fogo and completed that first crossing in just over a month.

The return trip to the United States with Carlos and Cisco as mates which had started so well, began to take an ominous turn on the tenth day. A pounding gale roared in from the North and smashed the rudder, causing the mizzenmast to crash down on the deck. Last in line and at about 100 feet, it is the shortest of the three masts.

Mr. Spant came to the rescue. With nimble movements that belied his age and infirmity, the Quartermaster rigged an improvised series of wires that allowed the damaged rudder to operate as good as new. Carlos and Cisco were constantly at the old man's side, helping him in any way they could, and helping themselves by absorbing his encyclopedic sailing knowledge.

As October became November in the 22nd day of the voyage, hurricane season began and the ship was blasted by a second storm that drove them back some 300 miles.

When the torment subsided they were becalmed. The ocean was as flat as an immense pane of glass. There was no wind, no waves, and no current. For five long days and nights The Lynette C made no forward progress. Foodstocks began to dwindle dangerously, but once again the ship was rescued by a veteran crew member.

Johnny Gomes, the Striker, fetched a coil of rope and lowered a dory to the water. Spreading buckets of chum on the surface, he stood up in the little boat as it bobbed alongside the ship, and built a noose on the end of the rope. To the amazement of his 67 shipmates, he began twirling the rope in long circles above his head and lassoed sharks as they broke the surface while churning through the bait. His long, crimson beard danced like a raging fire when he pulled on the straining line and dragged the beasts into the dory.

"It tastes just like chicken boys," he shouted as he hauled in ten of the beasts in a single afternoon. Setting out bits of the sharks in traps that he put in empty lifeboats, he caught dozens of sea birds. He even snared large, meaty sea turtles. He thus provided thousands of pounds of meat, fish and fowl for the passengers and crew at a time when it was most needed.

Johnny taught the Coelho brothers how to prepare the sharks and how to conserve fresh water by steam cooking food with sea water.

Working with the carpenters and using pots and pans and such from the Coelhos, Gomes even rigged up a still - not to make grogo or whiskey, but to distill the ocean water to augment the stock of fresh water. As a by product, he had several pounds of pure sea salt.

"You never have to bring salt aboard," he told them, "because you get almost a half cup from every gallon that you boil away."

Everyone agreed that the Striker, Johnny Gomes, earned his entire pay and more during those five wind-less days.

Once the breezes came back, the remainder of the trip went smoothly and the ship docked at the State Pier in New Bedford in a respectable 35 days.

### Chapter Four - The Last Voyage

Over the next two years Carlos and Cisco provided great service to the Manderer fishing and shipping companies. Carlos became captain of the most modern fishing vessel in the fleet and regularly boated record catches.

Cisco, with his poet's soul and love of sail, decided to remain with the Lynette C. He was made Captain and he crisscrossed the Atlantic several times with lucrative cargos and full complements of passengers. Whenever he could persuade him to come along, he signed on Josiah Spant as his second in command. He learned more about the sea and ships from the wily veteran captain than he could have from a whole library of books.

Both Carlos and Cisco became American citizens and each dreamed of one day owning his own boat.

By the mid 1950s the success of Manderer's firm had made it the largest of its type in New England as well as the entire East Coast from Portland to the tip of Florida. He also branched out into the construction, warehouse, and trucking industries. His fishing and cargo ship operations remained the Captain's favorite division of the conglomerate because they were his roots.

In the autumn of 1955 the Lynette C limped into New Bedford with only her mainmast carrying sail. The other two had broken off in an angry Northeast gale. The voyage from Cape Verde had taken many months. Extra wages and unscheduled stops for costly replacements of food and supplies had melted the profits. Captain Manderer summoned Cisco into his office and told him that rising wages, uncertain trip lengths and other factors had rendered the Lynette C obsolete. He informed his disheartened captain that he would be scrapping the old schooner; but that Cisco's job was secure as he would be given command of his own diesel vessel.

"I see the disappointment in your face. I love this business Cisco. You know I do. We've sailed together. Side by side we braved the worst that the old blue Atlantic could throw at us. I want you to stay with me. Why sometime, you might even come into management. I'm going to need good and trusted souls on the inside. People in the capital are talking to me about making a run for Governor. I might do it and if I do, it will be for one reason only."

"What reason would that be Captain Manderer?"

"It would be for the people of New Bedford, Fall River, Taunton and Brockton - the cities of Southeastern Massachusetts and the towns around them. The Boston politicians up North, think that the Southern boundary of Massachusetts is the city of Quincy - where the Adams presidents came from. They don't care about the hundreds and hundreds of thousands of us on the South Coast."

"You would be a great choice for Governor sir. I know for sure that all the seamen from Cape Cod even up to Cape Ann by Gloucester, would vote for you."

"Thanks, Cisco. Now what about my offer?"

"I do not want to leave the Lynette C, sir. Sell her to me. I do not have much money to put down, but I will make her profitable somehow and I will split the profits with you until she is paid off."

"If I can't persuade you to leave the Lynette C, then you shall have her....but I will never sell her to you. She's yours my friend - as a gift. I truly doubt you will see any profits but I see that you must try. Take her, she's yours."

Cisco happily took ownership of the beloved old vessel and over the next twelve months, he managed to make two successful round trips; pocketing a tidy profit on both voyages.

On his third Atlantic crossing, in late December, he coaxed his old pal Captain Spant into coming along. Josiah was well past 80 years old by then but was still sound of mind, if not of body. Happily, he also found Johnny Gomes and induced him to sign on as the Striker.

The Coelhos had become the proprietors of the popular

Q & C Club (Quahog and Clam) in Dennis Port on Cape Cod and could not be lured away from their profitable restaurant to join the voyage, but they did send two of their personally trained nephews to sign on as cooks.

Captain da Silva was convinced that his third voyage would be successful despite the counsel of many of the members of the New Bedford fishing and shipping industry who warned him against trying another winter crossing. Cisco reasoned that he had done it before and had always beaten the odds.

To increase business and quickly get a full complement of passengers, he offered cheap rates for the cabins and sold out all 29 of them. A reduction in cargo rates also got him a full hold, consisting of six automobiles, seven pianos, and scores of large crates full of tools and machinery to support a fledgling Cape Verde manufacturing industry. Much of the freight was not especially time sensitive so there was no urgency to rush the voyage.

For the first time, he hired a small musical band to entertain the passengers on the long nights at sea. He even added a card and recreation salon that he expected would be popular.

Under cloudy skies, with a mix of rain and snow, the Lynette C cast off on the third of January for the 3400 mile sail to Cape Verde. Brisk winds overcame the wet sails and pushed the 260 foot ship quickly along at better than 10 knots for the first two days, allowing them to cover nearly 500 miles.

Captain da Silva optimistically talked with his crew about the rapid progress. Though he knew they would not be able to maintain it, he pointed out that if they could, they'd shatter the old speed record. They would be able to make the crossing in about 15 days. Such a trip would be the fastest ever by a sailing ship.

( **Author's note** : Captain Henry da Rosa, legendary skipper of the 1920s, once claimed that he had made the crossing from the Cape Verde islands to New Bedford in 12 days, and he may well have done it; but the record given most credence is his documented 1922 voyage of 19 days. Source, Ray Almeida's Harvard.edu article on Cape Verde/U.S. Packet Trade.)

Cisco's luck held until he was less than a hundred miles from Cape Verde. A gale of historic proportions hit during the midnight watch. In total darkness, whipped by 60 mile per hour gusts; the crew was forced to heave to, and haul in the sails and try to ride out the monumental storm.

Suddenly, an alarm was sounded from the hold. A rope securing a large crate broke, toppling the heavy wooden box into a second crate. All the crates in the hold began to sway and slide back and forth, threatening to fall like dominoes. Cisco knew that even if the crates didn't tumble over, the ship could be lost if they started banging against the hull.

Desperately, with coils of new rope, he tried to secure the boxes, which were nearly as long as an automobile and twice as tall. He got a line around the crate closest to the side of the ship and then began working on the next one when the first box suddenly burst open splaying heavy machine parts in all directions. A surge of the rigid metal objects engulfed Cisco, burying him to his neck in sharp pieces of steel.

His life was spared when the storm stopped as suddenly as it started and the crew was able to strip away the debris and pull him from the wreckage.

With so much blood soaking his clothes they feared he would not survive. Bandaging and cleaning him as best they could, they set him in his bunk. He was not conscious but he was breathing normally and appeared to have been seriously injured only in his legs, where razor like metal struts had sliced through the skin deep into his bones.

In a short time he opened his eyes and spoke. "What of the ship?"

"The Lynette C is in finer shape than you my friend," replied old Josiah Spant, who himself was totally unscathed despite working as hard as any other crewman during the torment. "We lost only the one box that fell on you. We're under full sail and scarcely five hours out of Fogo. But what of you? How are you feeling?"

Relieved that the ship was safe, Captain Cisco da Silva said he was fine and that he would get up and resume his duties. He propped himself up with his arms and then made a grim discovery.

"I can not move my legs! Josiah what is wrong with me? Why are my legs not moving?"

### Chapter Five - Healing Time

The doctors in Fogo succeeded in patching up Cisco but they were unable to save his legs and were forced to amputate them above the knee.

Cisco began the slow recorvery process and regained the use of what was left of his legs. Josiah Spant readied the Lynette C for the return to the United States. He supervised the repair of the ship, secured a cargo and booked 20 passengers. Under Captain Spant's steady hand the Lynette C was able to get back to Massachusetts in a swift 23 days. During the entire return trip, Cisco stayed in his cabin and drank himself senseless with grogo. The accident had sent him into a deep depression. He rarely talked and seemed not to care whether he lived or died.

After docking at the State Pier in New Bedford, Cisco was admitted to St. Luke's hospital where he fully regained his strength and health, but not his spirit. His friends noted with sadness that Cisco had lost more than his legs. His smile was gone. His sunny disposition. His optimism. His joy. All had left him. He was now sullen, silent, and morose.

"Time will heal him," said the venerable Josiah Spant.

"I'm not so sure," said Carlos Pires. "I've known him since we were both children on St. Nicholas and I will tell you this. That man who lies in the bed in that hospital room, is not the person I knew."

"Captain Spant is right Carlos," said Captain Manderer, "Time will make all the difference. He will be fine."

"No he won't," Carlos protested. "I'm telling you guys that he lost something more than his limbs during that storm. A part of his brain, or maybe his heart, died that day. The man I knew is gone - forever."

Manderer and Spant gave voice to the contrary, but to themselves, they had to admit that Carlos was right. The transformation in their old shipmate was much more than the removal of flesh and bone. It was as if the doctors had amputated his soul as well as his legs.

His friends still visited daily, but they began to ignore Cisco during the visits, talking to themselves almost as though there were no patient in the bed. They did it because of da Silva himself. He rarely acknowledged them; lying silently, staring at the ceiling, saying neither hello nor goodbye as they came and went.

One day as the three friends were about to enter Cisco's room, they were pulled aside by the Doctor.

"He is not going to get any better. We have done all we can for Captain da Silva. The rest is up to him. He must leave St. Luke's Hospital within a week."

"If it's a question of money, I will pay........."

"No that's not it," the Doctor interrupted Captain Manderer before he could finish. "You have already paid all his bills. There is no more money owed. I need the bed for other patients and he needs to get back to a more normal life."

The men retired to the hospital's coffee shop to talk things over.

Captain Spant opened the conversation.

"John," he said to Captain Manderer, "Do you remember where you first met me?"

"Of course, it was right here in New Bedford. We were drinking Dawson's Ale at the Gold Crown Tavern on Acushnet Avenue."

"Yes, that's right. I've spent a lot of time there when I wasn't at sea and I know the owners very well. There's a small apartment in the rear of the building. I think that they would make it available for our friend. Perhaps being there near the sea and among the sailors, might help to bring him around."

That very night back on Achushnet Avenue at the Gold Crown; over frosty mugs of Dawson's Ale, the deal was made. The owners not only agreed to let da Silva have the apartment, they also volunteered to provide meals, which would be served to him by one of their barmaids.

( **Author's note** : Achushnet Avenue, 'The Ave', as the locals call it, has fallen on hard times in the 21st Century. On the internet site, Trip Advisor, a reviewer with the 'handle' KT, rates 'The Ave' with Two Stars out of a possible five, saying : "Avoid the street if possible, yes there are a lot of odd and end shops, but it is always busy. Filled with traffic and double sided parking which makes it hard to navigate. Good bars though."

That lukewarm review is actually one of the better comments about 'The Ave'. Another review says. "It's a major hotspot for crimes of all nature and an apparent haven for the homeless or otherwise insane. I will give it Two Stars instead of one, because if you are not afraid to navigate it...New Bedford has some amazing ethnic food. But you might witness a murder getting it! Good luck."

While New Bedford probably has seen better days, it never was Newport, Rhode Island or Chestnut Hill, Boston. It always was a tough and tussle seaport city. It was the number one whaling port in the entire world for many years. And as such, it saw more than its share of young men clubbed on the head and dragged onto ships - shanghaied into forced labor at sea.

The city was home to numerous taverns and untold thousands of bar brawls.

New Bedford even has the distinction of having a 17 foot long torpedo fired on one of its main streets.

Patrick Cunningham was a local inventor who patented a successful whaling gun in the late 1800s; but he had much less luck with his radical torpedo design.

His weapon was innovative in that the torpedo had no propellers or screws. Instead it had spirals, like rifling on the inside of a gun barrel, to make it spin towards its target; much like a football thrown by Tom Brady of the New England Patriots. It had a copper clad warhead that was loaded with 125 pounds of explosives.

Cunningham demonstrated his invention in 1892 for the U.S. Government, but war department officials declined to adopt it due to range deficiency and poor trajectory. The weapon was supposed to achieve 50 feet a second over a distance of one mile.

Four years after his rejection by the Pentagon, Mr. Cunningham (who apparently had spent several hours in one or more of the local taverns) was angered about a pre-election parade for Republican Presidential candidate William McKinley. Complete with brass bands and floats of all descriptions, the parade was moving down busy High Street.

Cunningham, a supporter of Democrat William Jennings Bryan, was livid that his city would allow a campaign event for the opposing candidate, McKinley.

When the parade was in full swing, in view of thousands of people, he fired off his fully charged torpedo. It careened down the roadway, hissing as it went along, scorching two horse-drawn carriages and scattering hundreds of people in its path; until it rammed a shop building. The torpedo's charge detonated, flattening the store and touching off major damage to a number of surrounding structures. No one was killed but many people were injured.

Despite having the firm backing of Mr. Cunningham and his weapons, William Bryan lost the 1896 election to the other William - McKinley.

As for Cunningham, he was arrested on various charges. He did a little time but was soon released and he began fabricating new torpedo designs.

In 1898, he bought a ship to use for launching his weapons. His first shot went well but the second torpedo exploded before launching and sunk the ship. Nobody was killed, but that was the last of Pat Cunningham's torpedo adventures. ( **End of Author's Note)**

### Chapter Six - The Gold Crown Tavern

In early November of 1956 on a sunny morning with the temperature a comfortable 50 degrees, the Captains Manderer, Spant, and Pires loaded their friend, Cisco da Silva and his belongings into a pair of Ford pick-up trucks and drove from St. Luke's Hospital to The Gold Crown Tavern at 1400 Acushnet Avenue.

The tavern occupied about one third of the bottom floor of a sprawling two story brick building. The remainder of the structure was given over to a large and well appointed movie house, the Capitol Theater. The trucks parked at the sidewalk in front of the tavern, just to the right of the Capitol's marqee.

Cisco, who had said not a word for weeks, suddenly started screaming.

"Well look at that boys. Look up there at the frigging movie marqee! You had to bring me to this!

GOD DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL. I WILL NOT STAY HERE ONE MINUTE. TAKE ME BACK TO THE HOSPITAL!"

Cisco's face was as pale as ice and he was shaking uncontrollably while screaming at his friends, who had not known that the Capitol Theater was one of three downtown New Bedford venues selected for the world-wide premiere that very day, of Moby Dick. The film is the story of Captain Ahab who relentlessly seeks revenge on the white whale who had wrecked his ship and severed his right leg at the knee.

Later, that very afternoon, Gregory Peck, the star of the movie, would lead a parade through the city, with some 50,000 onlookers queued on the sides of the streets.

"AHAB ONLY LOST ONE LEG. BOTH OF MINE HAVE BEEN TAKEN FROM ME. IS THIS YOUR IDEA OF A JOKE, FORCING ME TO LOOK UPON THIS? WHO CAN I KILL? I HAVE NO WHITE WHALE TO CHASE. HOW CAN I LIVE WITH THIS?"

Cisco ranted himself to exhaustion and after a time they convinced him that they did not know that the film was opening that day, or that he would react so adversely to seeing the movie marquee for Moby Dick. They finally calmed him down and went into the Gold Crown where it was hoped a few mugs of Dawson's Ale would improve his spirits.

Settling into one of the booths with Cisco's wheelchair at the edge of the table, they were greeted by a small, dark haired woman named Amanda Morningstar.

"Hello captains. I've been waiting for you. I shall bring all of you some of our great local Dawson's Ale, it's made on Purchase Street, just two miles from here.

As good as the ale is, I have none for you, Captain da Silva. For the famous skipper of the last of the wooden sailing ships, I have some fine sugar cane grogo! It's not from St. Nicholas, but I think you will find it's almost as good."

"I would like to have some." Cisco almost smiled at the tiny woman with straight onyx hair and hypnotic, flashing eyes.

The other captains were amazed. Except for his shouting rant when he saw the Moby Dick marquee, that was the most they had heard from their friend in more than a month.

Amanda brought their beverages and told Cisco that she would be serving him his meals every day and that if he needed anything else she would gladly run the errands for him.

While the other three men finished their ale, she wheeled Cisco into his new quarters. There was a bedroom, complete with a full sized four poster bed, a large oak dresser, a comfortable chair, a night table, and a spacious closet. The bed was neatly made and topped with a bright patchwork quilt, fashioned by Amanda herself. The rest of the apartment consisted of a living room with worn but serviceable furniture, a clean kitchen, and a bathroom.

Cisco watched Amanda as she led him through his new rooms. A somewhat plain woman, she was however, happy and pleasant with an ample figure. He felt at ease in her conmpany and decided that he would be at least comfortable, if not happy, in this new place.

Over the next several months, Amanda was constantly at his side. She did not seem to mind when his mood fouled and he did not speak. She always maintained her smile and was ever helpful, even when he occasionally tried to ram her with his wheelchair. Ducking out of the way, she would laugh, and tell him to keep on practicing his moves.

Serving his food three times a day, she frequently added her own personal touches - deserts and such, or fresh fruits. She brought him grogo; and a glass or two with his meal, helped to moderate his sour moods.

The captain began to depend more and more on Amanda and for the first time since his accident, he was thinking of someone other than himself and his missing limbs.

As a couple, they started taking strolls in the afternoons and evenings; Cisco nimbly speeding his chair along with strong thrusts from heavily muscled arms, and Amanda walking rapidly to keep up.

The State Pier at the end of Union Street, was da Silva's preferred destination. It was there, at one of the greatest hubs of cargo and passenger operations in America, that Cisco was happiest. The great steel and stone wharf was where he had so often docked his beloved three-masted ship, the Lynette C.

One sunny afternoon, they sat at a bench on the pier and watched a boat parade honoring the whaling days. A formation of more than 50 great ships passed through the harbor, before thousands of onlookers.

Moving along in single file at a swift six knots, whaling ships led the queue, followed by rowing shells, recreational boats, commercial fishing vessels, and public safety ships. Like cabooses on a train, a line of tugboats made up the rear section of the elaborate nautical show.

Cisco asked Amanda about her family. At first she seemed reluctant to speak. Finally, she stated that all her relatives had passed on. She said that she was a full blooded Wampanoag - a descendant of Chief Massasoit himself, who was the Sagem (King) when the Europeans first landed in the new world in the 1600s.

"It was Massasoit who taught the Europeans how to grow corn and how to survive the bitter New England winter," she told Cisco. "Massasoit was responsible for the very first Thanksgiving and it was also he who sold the land now called New Bedford to the European newcomers," she continued, as long buried emotions began to surface.

"Without the great Chief's help, it's certain that the Europeans never would have survived that first winter here. Without the aid of Massasoit, there would be no Massachusetts." she added with some bitterness.

"Without Massasoit and the mighty Wampanoag Nation, no one would ever have heard of Captain John Smith and Myles Standish - or the Mayflower or even the Plymouth Colony. They were murderers, not Pilgrims! Enough about that. I shall not speak of it again" she said. Capping off her boiling anger, she quickly reverted to her usual quiet, smiling self.

She declined to reveal to da Silva that she was probably the last living descendant of Massasoit's son, Metacomet, who had been brutally slain during the King Phillip War that nearly wiped out her family, and almost exterminated the entire Wampanoag people.

They called it a war, Amanda thought to herself. But with 50,000 Europeans armed with rifles against just 5,000 Wampanoags - it was a not a war, but a massacre.

Cisco gazed critically at the proud Wampanoag woman. He was not sure how he felt about her, but he was certain that he did not want her to stop helping him.

Amanda's hair was coarse, shiny, and jet black; cut to a fraction above the shoulders. It was ramrod straight, yet somehow curved in like a bowl, framing her face. The darkness of her tresses made her face seem light by contrast, though her skin was actually ruddy. Thick, dark eyebrows arched like curved arrows pointing to eyes that blazed hot white. Her face, if not pretty, was striking and memorable. Her cheeks and nose were sharp like a knife and many a drunken customer in the Gold Crown Tavern would swear that she could stop a man's heart with her cold gaze if she looked at him hard enough.

Though barely five feet tall, she was well proportioned and had a frame that men said would be good for child bearing. In the tavern she was a fast, efficient worker who made above average tips from men not especially prone to giving gratuities of any size.

She remained by Cisco's side and became his friend and gradually his bed companion. He could not say that it was love, but he was fond of her.

After some six months at the Inn, da Silva had recovered physically more than the doctors expected he ever would. Not able to walk, he had compensated by developing amazing upper body strength.

He had been attempting unsuccessfully to walk on his hands like a circus performer. He fell a thousand times, but got up 1,001 times and after that last time he got up, amazingly he was able to do it on his next try. From that day on he was able walk on his hands as fast as he could move in his wheelchair.

It was April. Flowers were beginning to push their way up through the moist earth and the air was heating up. The veteran sailor began to ponder what he would do with the remainder of his life.

At the same time, one of John Manderer's boats docked in New Bedford with a rich cargo. It was captained by da Silva's boyhood pal, Carlos Pires, who had been at sea for several months and was anxious to see if his friend's situation had improved.

He was happily surprised when he walked into the Gold Crown and found Cisco in his chair at a booth chatting with a group of young sailors.

Cisco invited Carlos back to his rooms where they shared some grogo and tales of the sea. Laughing and joking about the good old days on the Lynette C, he seemed like his old self.

"Carlos, I can not stay here forever. Though I like the company of Amanda Morningstar and she takes good care of me, I must do something. I am not able to sail, but I have to be active somehow."

Carlos had been thinking the same thing and he had a plan.

"I have an idea old friend. A while ago, I bought a small house and a few acres of land next to Codfresh Lake in Cape Cod. I don't have the time to work it. You could take it. You would be doing me a favor. Between raising chickens, fishing in the lake, and a small cranberry bog operation; you can be self sufficient and probably turn a decent profit.

Cisco was very interested in the proposition. Carlos immediately produced a deed and signed the property over to him. For the first time in many months Cisco was excited and decided to leave for Cape Cod as soon as practical.

That night he told Amanda the news. Tearfully, she listened then rose and left the apartment without a word.

"Why did you leave me last night when I was telling you about the Cape Cod land?" he asked when she brought him breakfast the next morning.

"Because I do not want you to leave, of course."

"Well girl, I am going to take you with me."

"No, you are not."

"But Amanda, don't you want to come with me?"

"I want to go where you go, but not as a squaw or a servant or a barmaid. I wish to go with you as a wife."

When Cisco did not reply, she took that as an answer, spun on her heels and once again strode out of the apartment.

Alone in his rooms, he weighed his options. By himself, in an unfamiliar place, with no help to run the household or start a little farming operation, things would be difficult, if not impossible. With Amanda's help everything would be easier.

Then too, there was the matter of her nocturnal skills, which were not inconsiderable and which he found more than pleasant.

Also, the young woman had begun to change. Where before she was somewhat sharp-faced and slightly angular; now she was turning into a rare beauty. The knife-like cheekbones were receding and her visage was becoming softer and fuller.

As he pondered what to do, he likened Amanda to an apple pie. At first she was just a plain pie baked in an ordinary oven. Nothing special, but edible and filling. Yet, over time the new apple pie had come to be baked with cinnamon and other spices inside and waves of whipped cream on the top. It was still apple pie, but the enhancements made it special.

When she brought his lunch a few hours later, he tersely said he would marry her and she accepted. The proud young woman was disappointed at the brusque proposal; but decided it was good enough. She made all the arrangements and they were quickly married and busily began preparing to depart for the Cape.

The Cape house, not much more than a shack, was already furnished so they needed to bring little other than their clothing.

They began their journey at the New Bedford railroad station, boarding a train that took them to Middleboro where they transferred to the Cape Cod Flyer. The Flyer dropped them off at the whistle stop of a remote, tiny village called The Marsh.

By prearrangement they were met by Anse Peckins, the owner of the only store in Codtown, an even more isolated hamlet near the East end of Codfresh lake.

"Howdy folks. There's no passable roads for automobiles between here and Codfresh Lake but don't worry, Jenny and Josie, my old twin mares will pull the wagon and get us there in no time. I'll just put your bags in the back and then we can get going."

Anse talked pretty much non-stop over the next hour as they covered nearly five bumpy miles through thick forest to get to his store. A wiry man, he was perhaps an inch or two shorter than Amanda's five feet. He had a long gray beard that grew to the fifth button at the bottom of his shirt. It was topped with a bulky handlebar mustache that bobbed like it was on a spring when he talked.

"You are probably going to hear a lot of stories about the lake," Anse informed them. "Some of them are true and some are not; but don't worry you'll be fine here. Now your place is right at the joining of Freshlake and the Brack. By the way, it's best if you stay out of the Brack."

"What's the Brack?" Amanda asked.

"The short of it is, that it's a long story. But we're going to be on this wagon for a while, so I guess I got time to tell it. Codfresh Lake is like no other body of water in the world. It was formed sometime in the 1930s. The old timers say the lake was created by the great New England Hurricane of 1938.

During that massive storm, whole forests of giant Maple trees were uprooted and tossed around like autumn leaves. Raindrops as big as baseballs fell upon the land, swelling the rivers and forcing them over their banks.

Until the great hurricane, the Swan River in Dennis Port was a lazy little salt water stream that ran from Nantucket Sound for about three miles before it emptied into Swan Pond. During the storm, the river swelled a hundred fold and burst all the dams on the pond, sending torrents of icy salt water towards the town of Harwich. At the same time, in the opposite direction, a tiny fresh water stream from Chatham headed West toward Harwich and kept doubling in size every few hundred feet. The river charged into three or four different ponds and lakes, one after another; exploding their banks, as it careened towards a crowded forest called 'Six Mile Hollow' in Middle Harwich.

The pair of opposing rivers surged towards each other like two trains on the same track. They barreled into the hollow, snapping long pines and uprooting fat Maples. Pushing aside huge boulders like they were made of paper; the rivers crushed the few Oaks in the hollow and splintered the many birches.

When the two mammoth water trains finally met and grappled head on; a frothy foam shot a thousand feet into the air, and people swore that from as far as fourteen miles in either direction, they heard the waters scream like tortured, feral cats.

Those bulging rivers swallowed 'Six Mile Hollow' whole, flooding a swath of land six miles long and one mile wide. A strange thing happened though - or actually didn't happen. The waters met head on but they never merged. The salt water did not mix with the fresh water and the fresh water remained separate from the salt.

Near the contact point in the middle, the waters partially combined; but at either end they kept their original constitutions. It ended up that the water divided itself into three separate lakes within a lake.

We call the whole thing Codfresh Lake; but we have names for each section.

The part to the West, closest to Hyannis is Sea Lake. It has salty blue water with choppy little waves. It is a mini ocean running for two miles and it is bursting with cod, flounder, fluke, and scallops.

At the east end, closest to Provincetown, is a two mile section of calm, fresh water - that's called Freshlake. It's brownish in color and looks dirty, but the water is good and it's chock full of some of the finest fishing in the country. You'll get plump trout, chubby bass, and pickerels longer than a yard stick.

The eerie and forbidding middle section is called The Brack. The constant wind roils the water and the sediment that's tossed around makes the lake take on the gray color of a World War Two battleship. The composition of The Brack is about half salt, half fresh, and all mean.

There's some weird things in it. Nobody fishes in The Brack anymore since Marty Johnson lost an arm there."

"How could he lose an arm while fishing?" Amanda asked.

Reining in his twin horses, Anse slowed the wagon to a halt. He lifted his Red Sox hat and scratched his bald head with all four fingers of a cupped hand. The wind tugged at the wispy fringe of gray hair that was revealed when he removed the hat.

Plugging the ball cap back into place, he tugged it down tight and looked furtively around.

Whispering as if he were telling State secrets, he said:

"The fish Marty hooked got away. It escaped by biting his arm clean off."

"That is crazy," said Cisco who up to that point had not said a single word during the ride, either to Amanda or to Peckins. "Fish can not bite off an arm, leastwise not lake fish."

"You're right about that Mr. da Silva. Regular fish can't. But the fish in the Brack are not ordinary fish. They look like catfish but they act like sharks and alligators. They will eat anything. You'll see. Your house is right near it. If you spot a deer or a wolf walking at the edge of the Brack, there's a good chance one of those giant catfish will strike at it just like a gator. I've seen 'em. They can jump eight to ten feet right out of the water. They are big; five or six feet long and probably weigh a hundred pounds or more. I don't think there's enough food on the bottom of the lake to sustain them, so they have become killers."

A short time later, Jennie and Josie pulled the wagon in to Codtown - a village with just two streets, arranged like a printed plus sign. Peckins' store anchored the main corner. The rest of the community consisted of about two dozen houses and barns. Anse said that the town had a population of over 200 people counting what he called the 'downtown' and a smattering of outlying homes and farms.

"At the other end of the lake, is Seatown. It's smaller than our city. They have about a hundred people. There's no store, so once a week, I run a motor boat up to the Seatown public dock and sell canned goods and such right out of my boat. I also stop at the docks of the other homes that ring the lake. There are not many. Only six - now there will be seven counting you folks. Wednesday is my motor boat day. I'll stop at your place about noontime. I'll bring you the newspapers and have supplies on board if you need them. After a while, when you know what you want, you'll just make me a list and I'll bring whatever you require."

"Thanks Mr. Peckins. That will be wonderful. Can you take my husband and me to our home now?"

### Chapter Seven - Life on Codfresh Lake

Under bright, late afternoon sunshine, in early May of 1957 they reached the cottage and got their first look at their new home. Just a small four room affair of logs, with chipped and faded paint. The building was set back about 30 feet from the lake's edge.

At the front doorstep, before they entered the dwelling, Cisco and Amanda looked out at the bizarre, contrasting waters in disbelief.

To their left was the slate gray turbid water of The Brack. The quiet, brown waters of Freshlake were on the starboard side of the house.

Oddest of all, was where the waters met, there was no merging or mixing - either of color or substance. It was just as though there were a massive wall keeping the gray and the brown sections apart, as two separate lakes.

As if by an invisible pane of glass, the restless waves of The Brack were stopped short when they reached the merge. Even the splashes of choppy little whitecaps were pushed backwards and not a drop was able to slip into the muddy, calmer waters of Freshlake.

A gravel path lined with rough stones marked the way from the doorstep to a rickety wooden dock. An old, but sturdy, double-ended 13 foot rowboat was secured to the dock. The boat had no transom and couldn't carry a motor but that suited Cisco just fine. Since childhood he had rowed a hundred different boats and now with his increased upper body strength he was eager to explore the lake - especially the supposedly dangerous Brack.

The spindly dock was set in the fresh water. Forty feet to its left, was a long, uprooted Maple tree trunk that sloped like a bridge from the yard into the slate gray water. Age had stripped the bark from the fallen log, leaving a smooth sun-bleached, sand-colored surface. The trunk spanned forty feet before it submerged itself and dove deep into the murky waters of The Brack.

The house had two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room. The bathroom was outside - a moldy, wooden outhouse forty steps to the rear of the dwelling, with the well known half-moon shape cut into the door. The crescent opening provided the only light for the privy as well as the sole ventilation.

On the floor was a foot-high, covered metal tin that contained a stack of newspapers and Sears Roebuck catalogs, which for decades had the dual purpose of being used for reading as well as personal clean up. These items would soon be replaced by one of the popular brands of toilet paper - "Statler" or "Waldorf", either one of which the thrifty Amanda thought gave the most coverage while using the fewest squares.

In the kitchen alongside a soapstone sink, water was drawn from an old fashioned pump with a handle. A pipe ran from the pump underground, into the lake at a spot where it would pull water from a depth of ten feet.

Being that there was no electricity, kerosene lamps were looped on hooks at various places along the walls and placed on tables.

There were no candles so Amanda made a mental note to have Anse Peckins bring her some as soon as possible. The lamps gave a stronger light, but she felt that candles would bring a 'homier' atmosphere to the cabin. She wanted at least a few, especially for the dinner table and one for the nightstand in their bedroom.

The bare windows lacked curtains. She had brought none, never expecting that the cottage would have such a deficiency. Realizing now that she would need many things to make the shack a 'home', Amanda fetched pencil and paper, to fashion a list of items to be obtained from the AP General Store as soon as possible.

A wooden ice-box sat in a corner to the right of the sink. Empty when Amanda first saw it, it would soon be filled with a 50 pound block of ice - with a new one brought every Wednesday when the enterprising and energetic Mr. Peckins made his deliveries.

In addition to the house, the outbuilding, and a small barn, the property came with fourteen acres of land. Almost three of which had been cleared leaving the rest as dense woodland. When Carlos bought the property, he had planned to use most of it for cranberry bogs. Since a good bog takes about one acre, he figured on eventually putting in between ten and twelve.

Two bogs of one acre each, were already started. Carlos had hoped for a profit of about $5,000 to $8000 per bog - based on an average yield of about 120 barrels per acre and a price between $30 and $50 per barrel.

Cisco decided to follow Carlos' plan. Along with Amanda's help, he fully planted the two acres before the first of June. Using a flat bottomed boat in the flooded bogs, he was able to do much of the work himself, despite his handicap. It looked like they would get an excellent yield in September and he was pretty sure that he could have two more bogs ready by the following summer.

The sandy land of the island was ideal for growing cranberries and was just a few miles from the Town of Dennis, the site of the first, and the best, cultivated cranberries in the entire world.

Cisco was proud when he learned that a seaman such as himself, retired captain Henry Hall, made the discovery in 1816 that cranberries could be made to grow far better if sand were spread on them. Hall's bogs set the standard for what would become a four billion dollar industry.

Cisco was able to save a great deal of time and money because his bogs already had sand in them and his soil was innately perfect, needing no extra nutrients or fertilizers.

"Why do the bogs need to be flooded?" Amanda wondered.

"They require one inch of water every week to grow. The water also keeps away the insects, birds, and other pests who would damage the vines. Further, the water protects the berries from too much heat or cold."

"How do you know all these things?" She wondered.

"When you are under sail on a voyage across the Atlantic that can take several months, you have much time to talk. Numerous times my ships brought seasonal cranberry workers from Cape Verde to Cape Cod. I was fascinated by their descriptions of the work and was interested to hear them speak of it, but never thought that I would end up being a grower of cranberries."

"The most wonderful thing about this property is how perfect it is for growing them."

"Yes Amanda," Cisco said, pausing a moment to remove his Red Sox cap and wipe the perspiration from his brow, while the gentle wind off the lake tousled his curly dark hair.

"Other people have to spend up to $25,000 getting a single bog ready to plant, what with clearing the land, bringing in sand, and piping in the water."

"We already have the sand and all you had to do to fill the bogs was open the gates on the little dams from Freshlake and let the water flow in. That was pretty smart Captain da Silva. I just have one more question."

"Yes, my wife, what would that be?" He smiled showing straight white teeth.

"Why do they call them cranberries? The name should be bogberries."

"I can not argue the point. Bogberries would be more appropriate. Most people think they are named for the cranes - the long legged birds that traipse through the bogs apparently devouring thousands of berries."

"But they are not named for the birds?"

"They are, and they are not. When the Europeans who came to America, saw them ducking their long necks into the bog waters, they wrongly assumed the birds were eating the berries. Sometimes they did eat a few, but most of the time the birds were just after fish, rodents, or even frogs."

"So if they were not named after the Cranes, what were they named after?"

"Well they actually were not named for the cranes, but because they look like them. At the end of June when the vines have buds, you will see for yourself why they were originally called _Crane-berries_."

"How can berries look like a crane?"

"It is not the berries, but the blossoms. They will begin appearing at the end of the month and as you will note, they bear an astounding resemblance to a crane bird. The delicate, rounded white flower looks like the head and bill of a crane and the stem is a perfect representation of the crane's sloped neck. It was for this reason they were named 'Crane-berries'. Some time after the 1700s, the letter 'e' was dropped and since then they have been known as 'Cranberries'."

The peaceful atmosphere of the lake house did wonders for Carlos. He began to smile again and take a renewed interest in life. From his wheelchair he tended a vegetable garden and began landscaping the front yard. Adding flowers and shrubs, he and Amanda transformed the cottage from rundown and eerie to airy and pretty.

Anse Peckins stopped by every week as he said he would, and brought the house-paint they ordered as well as the curtains and other items Amanda had selected for the inside of the dwelling.

Using a glossy white shade, Cisco painted the lower portions of the house, while Amanda worked the higher sections. The shutters and the trim were done in a soft blue.

They worked happily together and were pleased with the result. Celebrating the completion of the work, the normally stoic Cisco broke out two bottles of champagne. Eagerly, they sipped the beverage during a delightful meal featuring savory trout caught at the end of their very own dock. His pleasant mood growing, Cisco charmed his lady with sea shanties, some bawdy and some not.

Her favorite was "Cape Cod Girls".

Cisco sang, and Amanda joined in on the chorus:

Well Cape Cod girls ain't got no combs

Haul away, row away

They comb their hair with the codfish bones

Haul away, haul away

So heave her up me bully bully boys

haul away, haul away

Heave her up and don't you make a noise

and we're bound away for Cape Verde

and Cape Cod kids don't have no sleds

Haul away, haul away

yah, they slide down the sand dunes on codfish heads

Haul away, haul away

So heave her up me bully bully boys

haul away haul away

Heave her up and don't you make a noise

and we're bound away for Cape Verde

and Cape Cod cats don't have no tails

haul away, haul away

Cause they lost em all in the Northeast gales

Haul away, haul away

So row her out me bully bully boys

heave away, row away

Keep a rowin' and don't you make a noise

and we're bound away for Cape Verde

and Cape Cod Mamas don't bake no pies

Haul away, row away

cause they feed their children just codfish eyes

Haul away, row away

So row her out me bully bully boys

heave away, row away

Keep a rowin' and don't you make a noise

and we're bound away for Cape Verde

and Cape Cod Ladies don't have no frills

heave away, row away

They're plain and skinny as the codfish gills

Haul away, row away

So row her out me bully bully boys

heave away, row away

Keep a rowin' and don't you make a noise

and we're bound away for Cape Verde

The song had been used for hundreds of years to spur on half starved sailors who had to furl or unfurl sail in the foulest weather conditions imaginable. The shanty made the work a little easier.

Rougher than setting the sails, in fact the hardest job any seaman ever had was during the frightening time when a ship was becalmed - and there was not even a hint of a wind to push the sails. The crew would have to board tiny lifeboats and row out in front of the ship. Ropes were stretched from the mini crafts back to the mother ship and the sailors in the dories, had to try to row the big boat out of the becalmed waters.

Imagine if you can, four or five rowboats manned by 16 to 20 sailors trying to pull a three masted vessel laden with 300 to 400 tons of cargo across a wind-less ocean in hopes of finding a breeze to puff up the canvas.

Sea shanties had the magical power to boost their spirits and help the shipmates row on, even when their arms felt as if they were falling off.

On this particular evening, the sea shanty helped Cisco to more appreciate the woman he usually regarded as merely a cook and a worker.

The night was warm and still. Outside, the occasional croak of a bullfrog was supplemented by the far off call of a coyote. But mostly, the night was silent, even the wind did not speak above a whisper.

Amanda, smiling and clad in her prettiest nightgown, stood in front of the hearth in the glow of a blazing fire. The pale, diaphanous garment flattered her ample features. It had been some time since the couple had been intimate, but the mood that night was charged with high voltage electricity and they celebrated long and hard.

"We can make a go of this place," Cisco said the next morning as they lay in bed with the first rays of the sun shining upon the silky, onyx hair of his sleeping wife."

"We will make a go of this place," she said, opening her eyes and throwing back the warm, brightly colored patchwork quilt she had made for Cisco when she first met him at the tavern in New Bedford.

Using eggs from their own chubby chickens, she soon had a hot breakfast laid on the table; complete with buttered biscuits as light as air, thick slabs of ham, perfectly browned home fries, steaming coffee, and a bowl of honey-sweetened mixed fruit.

"Amanda," Carlos said as he speared a fork full of ham, that had been cooked with brown sugar and pineapple slices. "I know that I have not been much of a husband in the past. But the past is the past and the future is what is ahead and in this future I will be a true husband."

No Casanova speech ever melted a heart faster than Cisco's declaration to Amanda. Smiling, Amanda was thrilled and supercharged by the positive change. For the first time, she began to feel a sense of security in her marriage. Carlos was starting to show the poet's soul that his friends assured her he once possessed.

### Chapter Eight - Summer Brings New Growth

By the end of June the vines in the bogs were as thick as snakes and sprouted thousands of delicate crane shaped blossoms. The garden of 20,000 square feet behind the house lacked only a few more sunny days before beginning deliveries of a steady supply of corn, tomatoes, green beans, onions, potatoes and more.

Amanda's flower beds exploded with Native American plantings that she had selected for their love of sun as well as an inborn ability to renew themselves each Spring.

Daylilies, coneflowers, sunflowers, and Black-eyed Susans in pillowy masses covered the front yard, augmented by shrubs and a cluster of rose bushes.

Something else was growing. Inside Amanda. By her calculation, the family would expand by one person come late February or early March.

Cisco's mood continued its sometimes troubled trek back to happiness and optimism - still, she dared not yet to convey her news to him.

One Wednesday, a sweltering day in the first week of July, Anse Peckins tied up at the dock for his customary delivery of supplies and newspapers. In addition, he had several extra packages.

"Howdy Amanda. I got your newspapers, your ice, and all your other stuff," he shouted, gingerly placing a fair size mound of goods on the weathered boards of the dock.

"You're looking just as pretty as those flowers you got planted everywhere. I'm thinking that life here at Codfresh Lake agrees with you and Mr. da Silva."

"Hi Anse. It sure does. The cranberries are doing great and so is the vegetable patch."

"And so are you. You know, in just about three months, I'll have my boys hitch up the wagon and come over here to haul your berries to the whistle stop and get 'em on the freight train."

"Thanks. And thanks for telling us about that co-operative. Cisco joined up."

"Ocean Spray?"

"Yes. They are right close by in Middleboro and the company is actually owned by the growers so we will get the best price. Cisco is working over at the bogs right now, come on inside and I will get you your money and a cup of coffee, if you got the time."

"I'll take the cash, but it'll have to be next week on the coffee. I'm running late today and I have to rush over to Seatown to deliver perishables. They're all iced up, but in this heat, they shouldn't set in the boat any longer than they have to."

"Okay, next time it is then. By the way what's in all those extra packages you brought?"

"Oh that's some fishing stuff for Mr. da Silva. Last week he said to me that he wants to start rowing over to Sea Lake for some salt water fishing."

"Well Anse, you know he was a sea captain and one of the best. For years he sailed the Lynette C across the Atlantic and back. She was the last three-masted commercial sailing ship in all of New England."

"Aye, and it was on her that he lost his legs."

"That's true Anse. That was the last voyage of the Lynette C and the last also for her captain. I guess he misses the sea. Perhaps that little mini-ocean at the other end of the lake might be just the thing he needs to really feel like his old self."

"That's what I figured too," Anse said, his fluffy gray mustache jumping like twin caterpillars on strings when he talked, "that he wanted to fish in the salt water." The storekeeper wiped his hands on his dungarees and then stroked his long beard while gazing toward The Brack.

"But there is the matter of those gaffs and spears," he added.

"What do you mean Anse? Gaffs and spears?"

"Gaffs Amanda. You know, metal hooks for landing large fish. He ordered a dozen of 'em - huge ones. And ten spears with ropes tied to their ends. They're just like what the sailors used to throw at the whales to get lines sunk into them"

"But there's nothing that big in Sea Lake is there?"

"Well, in the Atlantic itself, Codfish and Tuna can be six or seven feet long and weigh over 200 pounds but in our little two mile ocean you won't find one over 20 or 30 pounds. In The Brack though, those Catfishes might be a hundred pounds or maybe more. I told your husband to stay out of The Brack. When I have to cross it to get to Seatown, I run the motor as fast as I can. The only time I ever stop while I am in The Brack is if I have spoiled food. I dump it for those catfishes. They are not fussy, in fact I think they like the rotting food a little better than fresh meat. I sure hope your husband is not planning on fishing there."

"Well Anse, that makes two of us."

The summer was typical for the island of Cape Cod. There were those few days early on, when the temperature rose to almost 90 but by the third week of July it rarely got above 75 or 80 by the time of the highest sun; and the nights generally were a comfortable 60 to 65.

Amanda and Cisco spent most days working together, side by side, either in the bogs or in the large half-acre of vegetables. The good soil, strong sun, and more than ample supply of nutrient-filled water from Freshlake promised to deliver bumper crops of everything, especially the corn.

Cisco had directed Anse to get him the finest butter and sugar seed corn in New England and old 'AP' had done just that. By mid summer, the couple was picking two or three bushels per day of sweet, colorful, perfect corn on the cob and shipping it to Anse's store in Codtown. Peckins kept some for his own stock while the rest was sent on to the A & P Supermarkets in the big villages of South Dennis and Harwich.

Things were going so well that Cisco purchased a pair of horses, two mules, and a wagon so that he could haul his produce and fish to Anse's store daily, if needed. The da Silvas still had no electricity, but their produce, fish, and meat stocks could be kept at the AP Store because Anse had power as well as both refrigeration and freezer facilities.

Cisco had taken to fishing in Sea Lake two days a week and always came back with a boatload of scallops, flounder and scup as well as several pecks of quahogs - in three sizes - Littlenecks, Cherrystones, and Chowder. The Littlenecks & Cherrystones are pretty small - six to 12 to a pound while it takes only two or three of the larger Chowder clams to make a pound.

Amanda used an old method that she learned from her people to get all the sand out of their catch. She set them in buckets of water laced with black pepper. By employing this tribal trick, she was able to get the clams to sneeze out all of the sand in less than one hour.

The Quahogs that were sent to market by the da Silvas soon became the freshest and most sought after seafood in Cape Cod stores, commanding the highest prices.

They were making about $50 a week from their corn sales and three times that much from seafood. With that money and with what the cranberry harvest was promising to produce, their financial picture was looking rosy.

In August Cisco decided to get a dog to help with the burgeoning little farming operation. He wondered what breed he should buy and went one day to Peckins' store to learn what Anse, who seemed to know a lot about everything, knew about farm dogs.

They sat at a table near the wood stove in the center of the "A-P General Store" drinking Chock Full of Nuts Coffee from New York, and eating common crackers out of the ever present wooden barrel that was next to the equally prominent open container of dill pickles.

"There are no nuts in this coffee are there?" joked Cisco.

AP laughed and was pleased to see his neighbor coming more out of his hard shell as each week passed.

"Nope Mr. da Silva, there are no nuts in 'Chock Full of Nuts' - just beans....coffee beans!"

"Please call me Cisco, AP. You have been a good friend, much more than just a storekeeper and I do appreciate it. As a sea captain, I always had the ability to know whose counsel to take, and I think you are a man who is worth listening to - even if it sometimes takes you a mile or two to tell about fifty feet of story!"

"Thanks Cisco," laughed Anse. "I'll consider that a high compliment. What do you want to know about dogs?"

"What kind should I get to help me on the farm?"

"Well Cisco, it needs to be a working dog. There are two kinds of working dogs. You got your herders and you got your guarders. Obviously the guarders live in the house with you and protect you and your family. Those are dogs like the Rottweilers, German Shepherds and Dobermans. They are loveable, big, strong and will die for you but they are not very smart.

The herders: They're the most intelligent of canines. They will boss your herd; watch over your sheep, your mules, your cows, your horses and even your chickens. To anybody who knows anything about herding dogs, it begins and it ends with Border Collies. They're acrobatic, faithful, obedient, and the most intelligent and rational dogs in nature."

"Well Anse, I think I need me a pretty big dog. What kind of size do they have?"

"You know very well that it is not the size of the dog in the fight. It's the size of the fight in the dog that counts. They are about half as big as a Rottweiler. They are actually the perfect size, about 40 pounds for the male and a little less for the girls."

Anse Peckins took da Silva to a breeder in 'old' Orleans, on the outer tip of Cape Cod where they found a spectacular pup just over a year old, who had a thick coat that was almost all black, with a large splash of white at the throat. The most striking feature of the energetic youngster was his big blue eyes that shined like blazing opals.

Cisco immediately fell in love with the blue-eyed ball of energy, who reached his full growth rapidly and became a valuable asset to the farm. He'd move the chickens where ever Cisco wanted them. Bouncing like a prize fighter, he'd scamper to and fro and round up the horses, mules, and cows that comprised the growing herd.

The young collie could even open the barn door when it was time to let the animals out to graze, and then close it later after he had wrangled them back inside.

By actual count, Cisco said that "Blue" as he now called his collie, understood over 1,000 English words and responded correctly to them every single time.

In the bogs, Blue flooded or drained the cranberry vines by grasping the handles of the dam valves with his mouth and opening or closing them as needed.

The dog was even able to save the cost of a hired man at harvest time. Cisco brought a long, thick rope to the back end of the bog and ran it from one side to the other. Blue grabbed one end of the rope in his mouth while Cisco tied his section to his wheel-chair. Placing the rope on the surface of the water, they dragged it to the opposite end of the flooded bog, capturing the floating cranberries as they went along. Blue scampered up and down as if on springs as he pulled his side, and Cisco's muscled arms easily moved the wheel chair and his end of the rope. They wrestled the ripe, floating berries to a corner for easy retrieval. The work went so well and swiftly that the unlikely pair finished far ahead of schedule.

Since he had little left to do, and it would be three days before Anse Peckins was scheduled to arrive to take the harvest to market, Cisco decided to reward Blue for his excellent service.

He resolved to take the collie on the train to Hyannis, for an outing of fast food hamburgers. The capital of Cape Cod was the site of the only McDonald's on the entire 64 mile long island. They drove their team to the A-P General Store and one of Anse's men took them to the whistle stop at Marsh Village.

The Cape Cod Flyer came proudly into view with its brand new diesel locomotive pulling a 'consist' of three passenger cars and one mixed car; hauling newspapers, U.S. mail, and freight for Railway Express Agency, (the railroad's package-truck delivery service). There were nearly two dozen people waiting trackside in a tight queue.

With its bells sonorously cracking the silence of the sleepy village, the gleaming hulk slowed to a halt. The conductor glided down the three metal steps to the ground where he placed a four legged stool to make it easier for the people to reach the lofty first step of the rail car.

After the passengers were boarded, the conductor saw that there was another person waiting for the train, whose recumbent form had been obscured behind the crowd.

It was a man in a wheel-chair. He was attired in the 'service' uniform of the Merchant Marine: a black suit coat with four yellow sleeve stripes signifying his rank, black pants, white shirt and a black tie. A white captain's hat partially covered a thatch of curly, black hair. The man's olive skinned face was set in a look that might have been a grimace or a threat; the conductor was not sure which.

Beside the Captain, seated on his back legs, was a magnificent blue-eyed Border Collie with a shiny black coat and fluffy white fur around his face and throat.

"We don't allow dogs on board the train," murmured the conductor in a tone more apologetic than authoritative.

"I am Francisco da Silva, former Captain of the S.S. Lynette C," Cisco said, "and we do not allow dogs on board ships either. And yet there are dogs on nearly every good sailing vessel or powered ship in the Atlantic. A good Captain knows when to bend a rule. I assume a good Train Conductor has the same knowledge. Permission to come aboard?"

As he spoke his last words, Cisco's bulging arms pushed on the sides of his chair and he flipped himself out. Bursting from his seat, he landed on his hands and immediately began to walk on on those strong, calloused mitts towards the train, with Blue following close behind.

The conductor viewed the unlikely hand-walking feat with awe as Cisco nimbly scaled the steps and made straight for a pair of vacant seats.

"Welcome aboard Captain, I'll bring your wheelchair!"

Blue tucked himself in beside Cisco, who opened the window to draw the salty aroma from nearby Nantucket Sound. They were soon speeding along at 45 miles per hour in a westerly direction heading past the rural landscape of Harwich towards the capital of Cape Cod.

There were well trimmed bogs every thousand yards or so on either side of the tracks, as well as numerous tiny, blue kettle ponds with soft bottoms and white beaches.

Cisco loved the sandy bottomed kettle ponds, carved out of the soft, sandy soil by glaciers at the end of the last ice age, about 15,000 years ago. Cape Cod has more than a hundred of them. Most are small and hidden from public view with limited access. He remembered reading in the New Bedford/Cape Cod Times that what makes the ponds unique is that they have no inlets or outlets, being pure and clean because they are fed solely by underground sources. On his 14 acres, there were four kettle ponds. Each was about the size of an American football field.

After going by the last of the ponds, the train neared South Dennis. As they got to Bell's Neck Road, the 'Flyer' went through a living tunnel, formed by towering Oaks that reached across the tracks to touch each other; arboreal arches that tinted the train and the landscape a bright green as the sun shone through their thin, delicate leaves.

At South Dennis they slowed down while crossing over Herring Run river which played host to hundreds of graceful, white swans gliding on the calm surface, their heads bobbing frequently under water in search of food.

A few people got off at the Dennis station and about a half dozen more got on.

At the Yarmouth station, the train stopped for two minutes to take on mail, newspapers, a few pieces of freight for Railway Express, as well as 25 more passengers bound for Hyannis.

During the 30 minute ride, people were eager to talk with the unlikely pair of Dog and Captain; and Cisco was polite, but not overly chatty. He did inform a few of them that he was on a special little holiday for Blue because the collie had done great work on the farm. He was rewarding him with a McDonalds trip, for a couple burgers.

Blue was excited as he was very familiar with the word 'hamburger' and he looked forward to the end of the line with dancing eyes and an open mouth that showed his dazzling white teeth. He shook paws with a dozen or more people who admired his shiny black and white coat, his gentle manner, and most of all, his arresting blue eyes.

When they got to the restaurant, Cisco was happy to see there was a drive up window, because he still did not feel particularly social and preferred the anonymity of 'take-out' rather than actually facing an order taker and sitting inside. So, though they had no car, Cisco wheeled himself in his chair while Blue walked, and they got in the Drive-Thru line behind a brand new, two-toned pink and white 1957 Oldsmobile that was expelling a little too much black smoke out of its exhaust pipes. They strolled up to the window when it was their turn.

"Welcome to McDonald's, how may I help you?" asked a young lady with freckles and pigtails. "Oh what a cute doggie. What's her name?"

"His name is Blue and he would like a couple of hamburgers please and a water. I will have a cheeseburger with fries and a Dr. Pepper."

"We don't have Dr. Pepper sir."

"I will make do with a root beer," he said curtly.

The order came to 65 cents. Three hamburgers were 15 cents each and the fries and soda were ten cents each. The water, in a McDonald's cup, was free.

Cisco wondered how they could sell a hamburger, even a small one for 15 cents. Five or ten years before, when there were no 'fast food' places, even the cheapest hamburger joints in Fall River and New Bedford charged at least 75 cents.

They got their order in less than two minutes. Cisco wheeled over to a picnic table set in a pleasant wooded area behind the restaurant, with a salty tidal river running by. Four white and two brown swans rested motionless in a wide spot of the river. It was a typical, mild Cape Cod November day. A brisk breeze was offset by clear skies and bright sunshine.

He set out Blue's two burgers on paper napkins in the grass next to the table. The noble farm hand advanced warily on the lunch. With his right front paw, he pulled away the top bun of each burger, nudging them off to the side. Afterwards, employing first his nose, then his paw, he slid off all the pickles, onions and such; and spread them in a neat line at the edges of the napkins.

Finally, daintily using just the edge of his front teeth, and barely touching them; Blue withdrew the burger patties one by one, from the bottom buns and carefully set them down on the napkin.

Cisco watched in amusement. "Are you going to eat any of it?" he said, just as Blue snapped up the first burger and dispatched it in two gulps. The second little slab of meat quickly met the same fate.

"I get it old pal, you just wanted to eat the best part first. Kind of like having desert and then eating the meal."

Blue looked at him and seemed to nod his head in agreement before progressively downing the top and bottom rolls of the burgers.

Inquisitively, the dog nosed around the remains - the piles of pickles, onions, and such; and rejected them entirely.

"Okay Blue. I get it. The next time we come here, we will get just plain burgers for you."

Cisco took pride in Blue's dainty picking and choosing of only what he wanted to consume.

"Some old dogs just would have wolfed down the whole thing like a pig, but not you old pal. You are plenty smart enough to know exactly what you want."

Cisco was beaming with happiness when he arrived back at his house that night. He glowingly told Amanda how Blue had been the hit of the train and that he ate his food more like a gourmet diner than a dog.

This pleasant situation finally gave Amanda the push to tell Cisco about the baby. With little emotion, he allowed that he was happy for her. He said that she would love being a mother. He didn't say so in words; but it was painfully obvious that he was nowhere near as happy about parenthood as she was.

Cisco spoke little, if at all, about the baby. He stuck to his normal routine of at least two days of fishing per week. In his double-ended red boat, he'd dig the oars deeply into the brown waters of Freshlake and rapidly row out about halfway across the lake and look around.

He brought gear for all three sections of the lake. If he chose to, he could fish in Freshlake right near his house. He had his freshwater pole as well as a container of worms and a selection of lures.

If he decided to plow through The Brack to get to Sea Lake, he could go shell fishing because he had bought a full set of gear from the A-P General Store.

He had fished either end of Codfresh Lake; the salt lake at the one end and the fresh lake at the other; but he had never angled in the eerie middle section of the lake - The Brack.

Rumors and legends of strange happenings scared most people into staying out of the slate gray waters that formed the two mile buffer between Sea Lake and Freshlake.

Villagers in both of the lake's settlements, Codtown and Seatown; said that airplanes almost never flew over Codfresh Lake because their motors would start to sputter when they were over The Brack. The only thing that saved them from plunging into the depths was that The Brack is only two miles long and the planes were able to get back into safe air space before the engines fully quit.

With his massive arms pulling him rapidly through the choppy Brack waters on a cloudy and chilly morning, Cisco headed for Seatown.

By habit, he tied up at the left side of the dock, put his wheelchair on it, and hefted himself out of his boat \- always refusing help if it was offered. He spoke with a few of the people of the town. After a while, he found a couple of old sailors like himself, and with these kindred souls he formed a tentative bond.

After a bit of dockside chat and a few beers, Cisco, by custom, would cast off and head for the best shellfish beds - the locations of which had been shared by his new mates.

From Anse Peckins he had bought a Quahog rake \- a long handled affair with short metal fingers and a basket that traps the shellfish as the rake is dragged through the mud. Leaning over the side of his rowboat, he was able to sift through the muck and quickly fill his peck basket (a wire container that floats and holds the catch).

### Chapter Nine: Winter and Tragedy

The cranberry bogs had been flooded a few times during the summer for irrigation, but mostly were left dry as the vines gave birth to pink and white blossoms. November saw the berries mature from snowy white to the distinctive bright red color of ripe fruit.

To facilitate the picking of the berries, Cisco and Blue had pulled back the gates from his little dams and flooded the two acres with water to a depth of about six inches above the vines.

Anse Peckins and his men arrived on schedule, two days after Blue and Cisco's hamburger run, with a harvester especially designed to be driven through the bog to dislodge the berries with little damage to the parental vines. The berries, when fully ripened, float in the water and create a shimmering crimson surface that resembles a huge strawberry shortcake made for a giant.

In the short time since they had cornered the ripe berries, thousands more had pulled themselves free of the mother vines and floated to the surface.

"Watch this Anse," Cisco said happily. "We do not need to use the harvester to get the berries. Blue and I will show you how we team up to get the fruit."

Knowing what was expected of him, Blue gave a spirited bark and dragged his end of the corral rope into position. Cisco, from his chair, and Blue using his strong teeth; held onto their opposite ends of the long harvest rope and started corralling the berries into a corner of the bog near where Anse had set up his equipment. In just a few minutes they had pushed the new berries into the shiny red mass with the others."

"That's the most amazing piece of work I ever saw a dog do Cisco. It was great and you two did save yourselves a lot of time. But I still need to run the harvester through the bogs, because probably only about half of the ripe berries float up to the top on their own. We'll just ramble through carefully with the harvester and get the rest. Don't worry, we are not going to hurt the plants."

"Okay Anse, you are the expert," Cisco allowed. "You have never steered me wrong yet. So start her up and get harvesting!"

Anse and his men prodded the remaining ripe berries to the surface and Blue and Cisco wrangled them into the rest of the harvest. The berries were then pumped into barrels and hauled off to the Marshtown whistle stop of the Cape Cod Railroad; to be sold to Ocean Spray for juices and sauce.

The yield was a robust 160 barrels per acre, resulting in a net profit of $10,000 after all expenses were deducted. For the late 1950s, that was a good bit of money.

The autumn came quickly and just as rapidly changed into winter. The da Silvas spent their first Christmas on Cape Cod. January was unusually mild and with nothing to do around the house, Cisco began fishing every day, weather permitting. He stayed mostly in Sea Lake, spending time with the former sailors there who had become his new friends.

Rowing home one day, his creels bursting with fluke (a type of flounder), he left Sea Lake and entered The Brack. Spotting one of the saw-toothed catfish, he watched it jump clear of the water and soar eight feet straight up into the air. Catfish are bottom feeders and are not supposed to be able to break the surface, but the Cape Cod Catfish were unlike any others. As he stopped to watch the cat jump a second time, a group of them pushed their ugly whiskered heads out of the water and focused their blazing yellow eyes on Cisco.

They began to make an odd noise. It was eerie, yet musical - like the sound of a finger running up and down the teeth of a comb. Some of the catfish began to make a more ominous sound - a rhythmic thumping like a drum. It seemed as if they were talking to each other.

Cisco was more fascinated by the big fish than fearful. Slowly the group began to tighten ranks, advancing methodically and encircling the boat.

The pitch of the comb sound grew intense; the drumming grew so loud it hurt his ears. The hair on the back of his neck stiffened and felt as though it were crawling down his back. Cisco became increasingly uneasy.

Stepping up his pace, he rowed towards home, heading straight for a large cat who was in his way. Nearing it, he took his spear, much like one used in the whaling days, and sunk it into side of the catfish which screamed in pain and dove for the bottom, leaving a bloody trail in its wake. Cisco rowed as fast as he could; all the while being followed by the angry cats. As he sighted his dock, he passed from the battleship gray Brack waters into the brown freshwater section.

The beasts submerged and gave up the chase. The catfish had never been seen in any waters except The Brack. Whenever they reached the merge of the disparate waters, they stopped, as if confronted by a solid wall. Cisco reasoned that they were not able leave The Brack, even to chase an enemy.

Back at home thinking about the encounter, he was reminded of his old sailing days when Johnny Gomes lassoed sharks. He wondered if he could do the same thing to the catfish. He wanted to try.

But whether he could or not, he had decided to slaughter as many of them as he was able. For no reason he could name, he had developed an intense hatred of the fish. Later, he would have a reason to despise them.

The following morning he outfitted his little red boat with his shotgun, gaffs, spears, a bucket of chum, and a length of rope. He rowed into The Brack about a mile out and off to the left, hidden from the sight of his house.

Cisco cut up bits of fish and cast them into the murky waters. He rowed slowly toward shore, leaving a trail of chum. Even on a clear day the sharpest eye could not penetrate more than a foot or two into the cloudy depths of The Brack. Twenty or more of the shark-like Catfish could be within five feet of the boat and Cisco would never know it unless they came to the surface.

He pitched more chum into the water, wondering where the devils were hiding. Close by, to the port side, he saw the face of a catfish. It appeared to be fairly small yet seemed ferocious, with a cavernous saw-toothed mouth as wide as the fish itself. Six long whiskers trailed out from its monstrous head \- one under each tiny eye and four more draping beard-like from the middle of its vast mouth.

The Catfish pushed more of itself above the surface of the water. Cisco could see the deadly dorsal fin with its sharp

foot-long spike that could be locked into position to administer a fatal sting to a deer or a man. The pectoral fins on either side of the beast also contained twelve inch, locking spikes. Even a simple scratch from the knife-like spine would be enough to seriously injure a human.

Cisco threw chum high into the air and the creature launched itself at the food, gulping it down while executing a neat swan dive as it plunged back into the water.

Swinging his rope with one hand, Cisco cast the chum with the other. High into the air he hurled the bait and the beast leaped for it. As it did, Cisco flung his lariat but the fish was safely back in the water before the rope got within five feet of it.

Losing patience with the lariat after a few tries, Cisco took a spear instead and once again lobbed a fistful of chum skyward. This time when the catfish exploded from the water Cisco heaved his spear with all his might and watched happily as it sunk deep into the ogre's side.

An unearthly wail like a finger running through the teeth of a comb pierced the air followed by intense drumming noises. Cisco pulled in the rope attached to the spear and dragged the catfish on board. Young and not full grown, it was less than forty pounds. The Catfish was still uttering the combing and drumming sounds when Cisco cut off its head and tossed it into the water.

As he did so, he saw that several other ugly fish heads had emerged. Some of them were large, a hundred pounds or more, he guessed. Cisco had four more spears and a few gaffs in the boat.

He chucked all the remaining chum in the water and the ravenous fish began churning rapidly through it. Just as quickly Cisco unleashed his remaining spears and gaffs and killed a few more of the silver-black horrors.

Suddenly the air around him throbbed with the din of a hundred finny drummers banging out a battle cry. Clamping his hands to his head, he tried to shield his ears. The tumult built to an earsplitting level.

A Catfish so massive as to make two of many of the others, emerged from the dismal waters and came within three feet of his boat. Leaping into the sky, the devil fish began rubbing his fin across his shoulder bones, producing an eerie tonal dirge that sounded like the monstrosity was chanting "KILL HIM."

Swimming into a triangular formation, dozens of smaller catfish queued in behind the giant. Eventually the leader, over seven feet long and weighing perhaps 150 pounds, barked a combing/croaking shout that silenced all the others.

Slithering along the surface toward the 13 foot double-ended rowboat, the monster catfish made a loud screaming sound that Cisco heard as the command - " **Charge!** ".

Following the order from their leader, the formation rushed the boat; gliding slowly at Cisco as one - like a poison arrow, forged from saw-toothed catfish.

The wedge of croaking, combing beasts was within inches of the boat when Cisco desperately chucked a spear straight into the face of the lead villain. The razor sharp spear-head exploded through the creature's left eye, spewing out torrents of blood as it knifed through the tough flesh of the brute, stopping just short of its tiny brain. The catfish formation broke apart as its members scuttled away in fear.

Before the giant brute even had a chance to scream, Cisco plunged two gaffs in its side and used the great strength of his huge arms to haul the wounded monster in. He pulled his spear from the beast's bloody face. Still alive, it glared at him; the remaining eye, now blood red, reflected pure hatred.

The cat flailed and flopped for several minutes, opening its bulldozer mouth to reveal rows of sharp saw-like teeth. It gasped for breath. Cisco retreated as far back in his boat as he could, fully aware that the gaping mouth was nearly large enough to swallow a man whole.

As Cisco rowed out of The Brack and got within a few hundred feet of his dock in Freshlake, the fish was finally still.

When the swift, double-ended rowboat neared the dock, Amanda, heavy with child, came to greet him. She was due in four weeks, toward the beginning of March.

The rowboat slid to the dock and Amanda extended a hand to Cisco. The catfish leader, thought to be dead; bounded up as if jumping from the sea. As it lept from the boat with two gaffs still in it side, it stiffened and locked into place one of its poisonous spines. Lashing out, it struck Amanda who dropped to the dock like a stone.

Cisco got in his wheelchair and lifted his wife to his lap, speedily wheeling off toward the house. Amanda partially regained her senses as they neared the front door of the cottage. She remembered the attack of the beast but was in shock from the spreading pain of the poisonous attack.

She recalled the catfish springing at her. She felt an intense hurting in her arm when the hard spine of the fish's pectoral fin punctured her skin as easily as a knife to butter.

The most severe pain she had ever felt or imagined was the blinding agony when the steel-like fin first pierced her skin.

But, it got worse after that. As the venom from the puncture caused the wound to swell and turn an angry red color, a delayed secondary attack from an insidious poison; did its horrible duty of increasing the blood loss far out of proportion to the size of the puncture.

### Chapter Ten: In The Brack with the Catfish

As to the fate of her attacker: suffering intensely and bleeding from the spear wound and the gaffs, the big fish escaped from the boat and desperately swam through the brown fresh water, where no catfish had ever swum before. Somehow, it made it back to the more hospitable environs of The Brack.

In agony, the huge fish struggled to reach the deepest part of the choppy waters. The catfish began to slowly rotate his fin across the grooves of his shoulder. The intense cat-speak that emerged was heard all the way through the cloudy boundaries of The Brack and even halfway through the adjoining waters on either end of Codfresh Lake.

Like the sound a finger makes running through the teeth of a comb, it varied in pitch from low to high and kept getting louder. After a moment, the wounded catfish leader heard an answer to his frantic cry.

Steady, rhythmic drumming sounds radiated from all directions toward the giant creature. The drumming intensified as scores of catfish answered the frenzied summons. Swimming to his side, they formed a circle around him.

Among the human population of Codfresh Lake, the catfish leader was highly feared by the small number of locals who had seen him. Anse Peckins and a few hunters and fishermen had witnessed the massive cat stalk and take down full grown stags. They had named him "Mungo."

Cunning and highly intelligent, the assembled catfish of Codfresh Lake knew full well that some of their number had died in the day's battle and more were badly wounded. They vowed that they would kill Cisco, who they thought of as 'the monster in the boat'.

Mungo's second in command, a young catfish the others thought of as 'Sky' for his ability to jump the furthest above the water's surface; was in fear for the leader's life. Blood wept from a jagged hole where his eye used to be. Two long metal gaffs protruded from his side.

Sky was aware that a gaff has a barbed end that when pulled out makes the wound even worse. Yet instinctively he also realized the horrible shafts could not be left in.

He resolved to pull them out. Just as if they could understand Sky's comb-speak, four of the bigger cats crowded around Mungo to hold him steady.

Grasping the end of one of the gaffs with his rows of jagged teeth, Sky pulled as hard as he could. Slowly the steel spine inched out of Mungo's flesh, the barbed hook painfully tearing up the leader's insides. Even with his superior strength and size, Mungo was not able to remain conscious during the brutal extraction.

With one last gallant wrenching of his body, Sky finally tore away the dreaded hooked pole and tossed it into the sediment. Mercifully, Mungo remained senseless and the second gaff was yanked out more quickly.

The leader of the catfish lay still, more dead than alive. He was breathing, but it was forced and labored. Four elders surrounded him, pushing their lifeless Chief to the very bottom of The Brack. They burrowed out an indentation and placed him into it. Heaping a cocoon of sediment and sand over his body, they left only his head exposed.

For the entire night he remained comatose. At dawn, a sliver of light forced its way through the murky pond and touched the mound that was Mungo's healing blanket. The big cat opened his remaining eye and made a weak combing sound. Sky who had been sleeping nearby rushed over and initiated an intense drum beating call that quickly summoned every cat to the meeting place.

Mungo spoke, clicking out a faint comb-speak message that seemed to tell the cats that they needed time to heal their wounds; but when they got back to full strength, they would find a way to attack the monster in the boat and kill him.

The entire catfish population, close to a hundred beings, gathered that morning to listen to their leader. After his brief speech, they began slowly rubbing their fins across their bones, producing a solemn comb-speak musical sound that to a human ear might have been perceived as a hymn or an anthem. One by one, and then in pairs, they snaked away to their homes leaving Mungo alone, save for his Lieutenant, Sky.

His food brought to him by his friends, Mungo stayed in his sandy bed for a fortnight. At the end of the 14th day he shook off the cocoon of sediment around him and shot up to the surface where he made a loud drumming scream that could be heard all the way to Codtown.

"KILL!" "KILL!," was the meaning of the scream of the Chief. It was a single word in the comb-speak language of the catfish - one word that stood for three things: a promise, a challenge, and a sign that he was healed and ready to fight.

Sky reminded Mungo that the land dwellers far outnumber the catfish and that they have powerful weapons. He cautioned his Chief that it was best for them to destroy only the monster man; but to not attack any of the other land dwellers.

"The man of the supply boat that crosses The Brack every week has never troubled us. He has often thrown chum over the side for us. We should not harm him. The hunters and the fishers, they also do not attempt to harm or catch us and only rarely do they cross our homeland to get to the other lakes. The monster in the boat is the only creature who has tried to destroy us."

Mungo knew that Sky though young, having barely five years, was very wise and he agreed with him. Loudly, he clicked out a decree to all the population, that after his death Sky would assume the position of commander of the catfish.

At nearly 30 years old, Mungo had defied old age for a decade, but both he and Sky knew that the leader had few summers left to him.

Mungo's single red eye peered over at his young protege and suddenly it seemed to both of them that they each could feel the thoughts of the other, without having to speak.

"I will not leave you Sky. Not yet. Not until we destroy the monster in the boat."

Mungo did not rub his fin across his shoulders to speak these words. Instead, he cast them by thought.

For his part, Sky understood perfectly; and telegraphed his own sentiments right back to the Chief, - "If the monster's life is the price of keeping you with us; then I hope it takes forever for us to catch him."

Mungo opened his bulldozer mouth. His giant maw with its shiny white knife-teeth, seemed to be curved into the shape of a smile.

### Chapter 11: The Baby Arrives

February 15, 1958:

During Mungo's recovery, much happened in the tiny cottage at the edge of Freshlake. Cisco had managed to put Amanda in bed. She was suffering badly from the venomous wound. Worse than that, in the middle of her pain, she screamed, "Get the Doctor. The baby is coming!"

Cisco wheeled to the barn and hitched his team to the heavy duty wagon that he had bought for hauling produce and seafood.

Using the phone in Anse's store, he called the Harwich Medical Center and explained to the physician on duty that his wife was not only suffering from the attack of a giant catfish but had also gone into premature labor. The doctor drove his car to Anse's store where Cisco informed him that to get to the house they would have to ride in a horse drawn wagon. The doctor had heard of Codfresh Lake and its two little villages but he had never been to it and was surprised that such a remote place could still exist on Cape Cod in the late 1950s.

When they arrived at the cottage the doctor went right to work. He steered Cisco out of the bedroom so that he could make an examination unfettered by questions or concerns.

After less than a quarter hour he went to the living room with a list of written instructions for Cisco, chief of which was to journey to the Medical Center and bring back a nurse as well as certain pieces of equipment and instruments.

Cisco did not know it, but the physician that he had brought to the lake house was no ordinary country General Practitioner. He was Doctor Lawrence Greene of the world famous Mount Sinai Hospital, overlooking the eastern edge of Central Park in Manhattan.

During his vacations, and in the summer, Doctor Greene stayed at his ocean house in Wellfleet on the tip of Cape Cod. Despite being on holiday, he always offered assistance to the overworked local doctors. They were thrilled to get the aid of a medical man who was almost as famous as the institution he worked for. And as for Dr. Greene, he was an unusual man who truly felt an obligation to use his skills to help people in need. Further, as he was fond of telling his colleagues, part of having a medical practice is to actually 'practice' your skills. That was why, no matter how nice the weather or how inviting the beaches and the golf courses, Dr. Greene was to be found three or four days a week assisting other medical people from the Dennis villages all the way to Provincetown.

The skill of the New York doctor was so great that he was able to deliver the da Silva baby alive despite the precarious health of Amanda and a number of complications involving the infant.

When Cisco got back with the nurse the baby had already been born. It was a troubled birth due to Amanda's Catfish wounds as well as the difficulties associated with the baby \- which had major abnormalities.

"Nurse, please tell Mrs. da Silva that because of her injuries, she can't see the baby for a while. Let her know that I will bring him to her a little later. I'll be back in a few minutes but right now I need to speak with Mr. da Silva outside of the house."

"Doctor, Is something wrong?"

"Mr. da Silva, please walk with me by the water's edge. Your wife is going to be fine, but you cannot see her or the baby for a while. The child seems to be in good health but there are things we need to talk about."

They walked towards the boat dock and the doctor noticed for the first time that the lake seemed to actually be two separate lakes, one gray and the other brown. He asked da Silva about the differences.

"I do not know how this strange lake came to be, Doctor. It is actually split into three different bodies of water. From my yard here you can see two of them. By my boat dock that brown water that you see is fresh water. That section is two miles long. To the left, the gray water is called The Brack. It is neither fresh nor salt water. It is something in between. It runs towards Hyannis for two miles where it butts up against a mini ocean that is also two miles long. Taken as a whole, the lake is six miles long and one mile across. That battleship gray section in the middle is cursed. There are giant man-eating catfish in it. It was one of them that stabbed Amanda when she came down to meet me as I was docking my boat."

"Well, the sting of a large catfish would explain the injuries your wife had. I don't mind telling you that she nearly died from those wounds. Catfish, even small ones, can deliver a strong venom through their spines. Worse than that, it deals double damage."

"What do you mean Doctor?"

"The sting administers a potent concoction that does two things. First it spreads a poison into the blood stream. The area around the sting swells and reddens. Secondly, the venom contains a kind of blood thinner so that the wound bleeds out a far greater quantity of blood than normal. Since the clotting of the blood is inhibited, in some cases people can die from from a puncture not much bigger than a quarter. Don't worry though, I have stabilized your wife. I don't know what to say about the boy though."

"She had a boy then?"

"Yes she did, but there were complications."

"What kind of complications?"

"I will tell you straight out Mr. da Silva. The boy has major deformities. In a while you can see him and then we can discuss treatment options. I'm going to send the nurse out to speak with you. Please stay here while I check on your wife and the baby. You will be able to come inside and see them shortly."

The doctor went in to speak with Amanda and told the nurse to keep the husband occupied for a few minutes.

"Hello Amanda. Do you remember me? I am Dr. Greene. You've had a very rough time. Are you in pain?"

"No Doctor, just tired. I want to see my baby. The nurse said that he baby was having some problems and that I could not hold him yet."

"He does have some severe issues, but I think that his health is going to be fine. There are things we have to talk about, Amanda."

"What things?"

"The baby has a number of abnormalities. Deformities. Often in cases such as this, the parents find it best to put the infant in an institution where it can be......"

"What deformities?," she interrupted. "I want to see my baby now."

"I will bring him to you Amanda. I am afraid you need to prepare yourself for a shock."

The doctor gently lifted the infant from a cradle and walked across the room to hand it to its Mother.

"Here's your child. I'm going to go outside now and tell your husband to come in.

Amanda took it, looked at the child and said, "This is my baby. I am the Mommy and I love him. He is beautiful to me."

She kissed the misshapen little form and put it to her breast where it noisily suckled.

"Mr. da Silva, your wife is much improved and she is holding her baby. As I told you, the child has multiple abnormalities but is in good physical condition. It's too soon to say if the infant has any mental impairment. You may go in now and see them. I'll go with you because you are going to have questions for me."

Cisco entered the bedroom and saw Amanda. She had a blanket pulled up nearly to her chin. She held the baby close to her body, with the blanket hiding the child from view.

Wheeling his chair to the bedside, Cisco asked Amanda how she was feeling and spoke with her for a bit before demanding to see the newborn.

Amanda slowly pulled the blanket back.

"It is a monstrosity! Get rid of it Doctor. We never want to see it again. Take it out of here now," came his peremptory order.

Without another word, he spun his chair in a one-eighty and went back to the boat dock while cursing his luck and the horrible lake that spawned the catfish creatures.

"Have you gotten rid of that monster yet?," he asked a few minutes later when the doctor reappeared.

"It is not a monster Mr. da Silva. It is a malformed child but it is a human being."

"It is not a human being. Did you look at it? It has no forehead. It has no chin. His giant fish mouth runs from one ear to the other. And those horrible eyes. Two tiny yellow dots. One on each side of the head. Not in the middle of the face like a person: but on the side just like a fish. The lips; big ugly lips that look like fat worms or maybe wax candy. And the hands. Did you see them? Webs. The hands are webbed and so are the feet. That horrible thing looks just like the catfish that almost killed Amanda. Get rid of it now!"

"I don't think your wife will go along with that Mr. da Silva. Children such as your boy, are often institutionalized, but I don't think your wife will agree to it. She loves the child just as much as if it were a 'calendar kid'."

"She has nothing to say about it. I say that it has to go. You must take it with you now or I will throw it into The Brack where it belongs."

"Hold on a minute. The child's appearance may improve as he gets older. Surgery in the future may be an option. I think we have to wait a while to see if the boy has any mental impairments. If he does, your wife may be more sympathetic to your position. In three or four weeks I'll be able to determine if the infant has normal intelligence. If it does not, I will support you and strongly recommend to your wife that an institution is the proper place for the boy."

Reluctantly Cisco agreed that the "monster" could stay for a few weeks pending the physician's further study. He was certain that the baby would prove to be mentally deficient and that the doctor would form an alliance with him to have the creature put away.

As the days went by, Amanda's love for her unfortunate offspring only grew. After the first week she failed to notice any abnormalities in the boy and in her eyes he was beautiful.

She named him Jimmy, after her younger brother who had died long ago.

Unhappily for Cisco, the doctor quickly concluded that mentally the boy was fine and possessed above average intelligence. The doctor refused to even consider putting the child away.

"To institutionalize a person with his brain would be criminal," Doctor Greene said.

The more Amanda doted on Jimmy the more Cisco hated him. He no longer slept in their bedroom. Many nights he didn't even stay in the house, opting to remain in the barn where he converted one of the stalls into a sleeping area. He spent less and less time at home. Two or three days a week, provided there was no ice on the lake, he filled his rowboat with gaffs, spears, and guns and tried to kill as many catfish as he could. When spring arrived, he failed to plant the bogs. He lost all interest in the garden that had been so profitable during the summer. Not even the insistence of the intelligent, hard working Blue could induce the former sea captain to get back to his duties. Amanda toiled by herself in the half-acre. Abandoned by his master and eager for work and exercise, Blue clung to Amanda and did his best to help her plow the furrows and plant the seed.

### Chapter 12: At the Water's Edge

Jimmy was growing normally and by July when he was five months old he was 16 pounds, double his birth weight. A happy child, he loved playing in the dirt while his Mother tended the garden.

Though there would be no money from the inactive bogs, Amanda's effort in the half-acre was rewarded by early July with softball sized tomatoes, tender green beans, and sweet onions.

Three times a week she picked and shipped produce to Anse's store and the A & P markets in South Dennis and Harwich. They took all she could grow and paid top dollar.

Using Native American methods of horticulture, Amanda was able to get an astounding yield from her 20,000 square foot plot. One of her techniques effectively doubled large sections of her space.

Wherever she planted a high crop like pole beans she would also plant other vegetables onions, carrots, potatoes, and such - at the base.

Living in isolation in a sparsely populated section of Cape Cod with almost no access to the outside world, Amanda had no idea that sweeping changes were underway in America in 1958.

In baseball, The Brooklyn Dodgers unthinkably had left New York in favor of a West Coast locale. The New York Giants also deserted their fans and also went to another far off place where the clocks are always three hours off.

The Boston Braves separated themselves from the Hub in favor of Milwaukee, the city that beer made famous. The other Boston team, the Red Sox were still playing in ancient Fenway Park, where Ted Williams and Jackie Jensen were leading the team to another third place finish in the American League, behind the New York Yankees and the Chicago White Sox.

World War Two hero, General Dwight D. Eisenhower was President and the intense, but brilliant Dick Nixon was his Vice President. Nixon showed great courage in April in Venezuela when his car was attacked by Anti American rioters in Caracas.

The "Cold War" was getting hotter. The United States sent the first 5,000 combat troops to the Middle East.

These events, though noteworthy, would have no direct effect on Amanda. What could alter her life drastically was the fate of railroads - the lifeblood of the backwoods Cape Cod economy.

In January of 1958, railroad magnate, Robert Ralph Young had to suspend dividends on the New York Central. A few weeks later he killed himself.

In April, passenger service was halted on the Maine Central Railroad. The Pennsylvania Railroad ended the once popular afternoon "Steeler" run between Pittsburgh and Cleveland.

Railway Express Agency (the forerunner of package delivery services like DHL, U.P.S. and Fed-ex) was threatening to cut train service due to declining revenues.

But in that summer of 1958 Amanda was concerned only about her immediate troubles. She had a husband who was becoming increasingly distant and who still refused to accept their baby. He had given up working the profitable cranberry bogs, the garden, and his fishing business. Further, he spent almost no time with her.

The weather that summer was typical for a Cape Cod July. The temperature was in the upper 70's and brisk winds were blowing in from Nantucket Sound. They scraped their way across the narrow island to Cape Cod Bay on the other side, just six miles distant. The sky was generally half filled with billowing white clouds that always seemed to get tinted gray at the edges by late afternoon when they threatened to unleash violent thunder and lightning storms.

Amanda, assisted by the energetic and faithful Blue, began picking her prize winning vegetables one morning just after breakfast and by lunchtime had filled a dozen, bushel baskets. She set them on board the horse-drawn wagon for transport to Codtown.

A temporary change in wind direction sent a cooling mist from Freshlake towards the wagon just as she was about to begin the trip to market. It carried the aroma of the pillowy masses of daylillies, coneflowers, sunflowers and Black-eyed Susans that she had planted by the water's edge.

Deciding to rest a few moments in the sunshine, she set out a blanket near the boat dock. Blue quickly captured a corner, stretched himself out and closed his eyes. Amanda put the baby down and watched Jimmy crawl over to Blue and cuddle next to his forty pound furry friend.

"Blue, keep an eye on Jimmy for a minute, I'm going to the well to get some water to put on the wagon for when we go to Codtown. I'll be right back."

As Jimmy and Blue began to drift off in sun-washed slumber, the dog's ears suddenly twitched to attention. Jimmy also roused himself, as he too, heard a noise.

Crawling nimbly despite the webbing on his little hands

and feet, Jimmy moved towards the sound, with Blue close behind. To an adult, the noise would be reminiscent of what one hears when running a finger up and down the teeth of a comb. To Jimmy the combing notes were like the pull of a magnet.

Closer and closer the baby inched toward the water, laughing out loud and trying to echo the 'combing' sound. It was coming from The Brack, some 300 feet to the left of the dock. Several silver-black shapes broke the surface.

Mungo, the leader of the catfish and Sky, his second in command leaped from the water, spun around in mid air like corkscrews and then noiselessly slipped back into the gray water. While they were spinning in the air, the sun struck them and the contrast between their silver-black backs and white underbellies made them look like giant flashlights winking on and off.

When swimming, the scale-less creatures appeared to be more like serpents than fish. They pushed their way through the water, not by movement of their tails like many fish, but snake-like; by the motion of their long bodies gliding along in a shape like the letter 'S'.

Amanda put four jugs of water on board the wagon and returned to the blanket just in time to see her baby slip into the water beside the dock.

A scream started to build in her throat but before it could be constructed, she realized that her tiny five month old baby was swimming as skillfully and effortlessly as a dolphin.

Jimmy, with his webbed hands and feet, was able to churn along faster than a sprinter can run. She had expected Blue to jump in after Jimmy and rescue him, but even the dog was awestruck by the incredible skill of the infant.

Amanda walked out on the dock to watch. It was then that she realized that the air was filled with a strange 'combing' sound. Her eyes moved to the source of the noise and saw the group of Catfish. They had moved right up to the invisible line where The Brack touches Freshlake.

Instinctively she knew that they could not cross into Freshlake, but to her horror she realized that her son was swimming to them.

Cisco's boat was tied to the dock. She looked in it and saw that it was fully loaded with his hunting and fishing gear. Quickly she snatched his twelve gauge shotgun and fired both barrels in the air.

The catfish ducked under the surface and Jimmy turned around and swam back to the dock, where Amanda plucked him from the water and brought him into the house.

From that day forward little Jimmy cared for nothing except swimming. He wanted to be in the water every waking minute. Amanda took a long coil of rope and tied it to a harness that she put on him when he was in the water.

She designed it so that the boy wore it like a vest. He could swim freely, but if he headed toward the Brack and the Catfish, Amanda could simply reel him back. The device worked well. It allowed Jimmy frequent access to the water and it gave Amanda peace of mind.

As the summer wore on Amanda continued to sell her produce to the A & P Stores, Jimmy improved on his already considerable swimming skills, and Cisco continued his downward spiral.

He was frequently gone for days and even weeks. When he was home he was gruff and threatening to Amanda and Jimmy. He even lost his affection for his dog Blue. He considered that Blue was a traitor to him because the dog liked "the little monstrosity."

### Chapter 13: A Visit From the Captain

Anse Peckins was at the Marsh whistle-stop on a Monday in the last week of August with a full load of produce and seafood to be put on the train for shipment to Dennis, Yarmouth, and as far away as Hyannis.

Flagging down the noontime train from Provincetown, he began to unload his baskets and boxes. There usually weren't many passengers getting off at the Marsh except on weekends, but on this day a small group of men in seafaring attire stepped down from the passenger car.

Walking towards him, one of the uniformed men called out, "Mr. Peckins? Anse Peckins. Anse, it's Carlos Pires. I have some friends with me and we need a ride."

"Hello Captain Pires. It's nice to see you again. I remember you very well from when you owned Captain da Silva's cottage. Is that where you are going today?"

Carlos introduced his companions - Captain Manderer, Captain Spant, and Striker Johnny Gomes. He explained that they were indeed going to the da Silva cottage for a visit with their old shipmate Cisco.

To Anse it seemed that Carlos Pires had gotten younger. His hair was still black and shiny and his 5'9" frame barely carried 160 pounds. Despite many years at sea, his face and skin still looked like that of a 25 year old and Peckins was pretty sure that Captain Pires still retained the ability to climb a mizzenmast in less than a minute.

Captain Josiah Spant was a different matter. Tall and spare with a wisp of long white hair underneath his captain's hat; and a face that looked like a large ball of twine, the old sailor could easily have passed for the King of the Centenarian's Ball. His uniform was crisp and clean. Due to his missing arm, the right sleeve was folded up and pinned to just under the golden epaulet on his shoulder. He spoke little, but when he did say something the others seemed to consider anything he uttered to be heraldic and almost sacred.

"Looking at Johnny Gomes was like gazing at a dancing campfire in human form," Anse would later tell friends.

"Full of electric energy, he seemed to be constantly in motion, his long red hair and swaying beard reminded me of the tips of flames soaring up from blazing logs. I had heard stories of him throwing ropes around sharks and pulling them into boats but I never believed it until I saw the man."

As for Captain Manderer, Anse did not know him; but had seen his photograph a number of times in the newspapers. Long and lean, Manderer was graceful in speech and appearance and it was easy to see why so many people were eager to see him enter the race for Governor. He had the look of a person who could easily navigate through the worst of storms, even the political hurricanes on Boston's Beacon Hill.

As Anse Peckins was surveying his passengers, they too regarded him. Each man though that Anse would make a perfect cover for Yankee Magazine. He looked just like people would picture an old time New England farmer. A short, rail thin man with a flowing beard and a perpetual smile, his droopy mustache bobbed like it was on springs when he talked. And when Anse talked, there wasn't much space for anyone else to get a word in.

During the five mile trip from the railroad tracks to the da Silva household, Anse filled the air with a nonstop chatter on everything from the formation of Codfresh Lake and the killer catfish, to the lineage of his ancient twin mares Jennie and Josie.

"Mr. Peckins, I will speak now!" an exasperated Josiah Spant finally said in a command, not a statement. With a booming voice that seemed to well up from a man five times the size of the old, one-armed sea captain; he stopped Anse Peckin's babble in mid syllable.

"You are a nice gentleman," he continued, lowering the volume of his voice until it was barely audible. "Now I know and have worked with people that have a talent for using vulgarity to express themselves and who swear in ways that really expand the use of the language, and I am perfectly capable of doing so but I don't want to offend you. So, I will simply say that we used to get letters from Captain da Silva, but it's been eight or nine months since any of us have heard from him. We have come a long way to learn about the condition of our friend. And you have spoken of everything but."

"You are right Captain Spant. I haven't said a word about him. Several months ago he told me to call him Cisco. We became friends. When I last saw him two weeks ago, he threatened to kill me with a twelve gauge shotgun. He blames me, everybody else, and everything around here for what has happened to him."

"Well," Spant prompted, "what has happened to him?"

"He had a baby Captain. The rest you will have to see for yourself."

Not a word was spoken by anyone the remainder of the way to Cisco's house, save for when Anse gave instructions to Jennie and Josie. When they arrived, Captain Manderer paid Anse and asked him to return later in the day in time for them to catch the 6 p.m. train to Hyannis.

Amanda heard the approach of of the wagon and upon seeing that it was her old friends she ran from the house to greet them.

"Amanda, you look beautiful. This farming life certainly has agreed with you," said Carlos.

It was true. Never a beauty, but always shapely and smiling, Amanda had blossomed as finely as any of her Black-eyed Susans or coneflowers. Her figure had been sculpted by the work in the garden and her face had been smoothed. The sharp knife-like features that used to fascinate and intimidate the sailors in the Gold Crown Cafe in New Bedford, had softened and fine tuned her face to that of a classic beauty.

"She looks like somebody I saw in a movie a couple of weeks ago in Fall River," agreed Captain Manderer. "It was called Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and it starred Elizabeth Taylor, but it could just as easily have been our Amanda. Why they look like twins now, her and Elizabeth Taylor!"

For a moment Amanda stood with her old friends and then told them to wait as she would be right back with her baby.

A man gets strong working under sail. He sees things at sea that people shouldn't - arms being ripped off, men splatting on deck after falling from the rigging, fights that leave gouged out eyes and severed ears scattered about the deck after a particulary fierce battle.

That and more had the four old salts seen and borne up to. But the sight of little Jimmy when Amanda brought him out, was nearly more than they could take.

They tried to react as if they were viewing a normal child. Amanda, for her part, seemed not to notice any defects on the infant as she offered to let the captains hold it. They declined, using the excuse of being bachelors and not being able to properly hold an infant.

Jimmy looked up at the captains and rotated his left shoulder. As he did so an inhuman croaking sound came from his mouth. The sound moderated and became almost musical, like the sound of a finger running up and down the teeth of a comb.

"He likes you," Amanda beamed, "That's the purring sound he makes when he's happy."

"He's a catfish," each man thought to himself. "He's maybe part human, but that thing is mostly catfish."

Sensing that their reaction would hurt Amanda, Captain Spant spoke. "Amanda, your boy seems healthy and smart and I think he's going to grow up just fine."

Taking the cue from their mentor, the other men chimed in; awkwardly attempting to speak complimentary words about the child.

Jimmy was six months old and the truth is, he was looking increasingly less human. His skin had begun to take on the silver-black hue of the catfish, but his little belly remained as white as paper, just like the cats.

He was 20 pounds and 25 inches long. When swimming he used his webbed hands and feet, but he also snaked his way through the water in exactly the same manner as the catfish.

The baby was hairless and seemed to have no forehead and no chin. His face was that of a fish, with barely a trace of humanity. His eyes were small, round and unblinking. They were yellow and set wide apart on his head. His nose was scarcely more than a bump with two slits on a greasy face. Worst of all was the mouth. It was so wide that it stretched from one tiny ear to the other with thick garish lips that resembled stretched-out Halloween candy lips made of wax.

The captains stiffened their resolve and played with the baby like doting uncles until finally bringing up the subject of Cisco.

"He hasn't been home for three nights. He loaded up his boat and rowed off. He's probably at a little village called Seatown at the West end of the lake. He knows a few old sailors there.

"I'll go back to Codtown and get a boat from Anse Peckins and then I'll go and fetch him," volunteered Johnny Gomes.

As he said it, Amanda saw a small boat appear, coming towards the dock. As it neared she could see that it was Cisco.

"You and the baby go inside Amanda. We walk to speak with him alone," said Captain Spant.

### Chapter 14: The Reunion

Laughing and slapping him on the back as they helped him out of his boat, his former shipmates greeted Cisco heartily.

The warm welcome was not returned.

"We've seen the boy and we have spoken with Amanda. What can we do to help you Cisco? The child has got some problems and I know that's weighing on you, but he looks strong and healthy. In a few years he will be a big help to you with the stock and in the bogs." said Josiah Spant.

"That monstrosity will do nothing in the bogs but swim like the fish it is," spat Cisco. "I will say no more about it. If you would like to stay for a few mugs of grogo for old time sake, you are welcome. If you say one more word about the monstrosity you will have to leave and I will use my twelve gauge shotgun to enforce my wishes if I must."

"Cisco why do you treat us as enemies? We have been through much together and we are here to help you now. At the very least you can sit with us and have a civil talk," said Captain Spant.

The words of his old friend and mentor somewhat calmed Cisco. He invited the men to sit at the picnic table near the dock and he yelled for Amanda to bring drinks. They spent the afternoon together but his mood never really brightened. He didn't even warm up when the talk turned to the glory days on the Lynette C.

Cisco said little, sometimes grunting a yes or a no when asked a question. Offers of help only drew angry, reproachful stares.

Just before Anse Peckins and his wagon arrived to take his friends back to the train, he seemed like his old self for a fleeting moment.

"You four are the greatest friends a man could have. Each of you has saved my soul and my life more than once and I am deeply grateful. Carlos, you and I were boys together and almost died together on the desiccated island of St. Nicholas. You gave me this home. Josiah, on the ocean I learned from you much more than is written in a thousand books. Captain Manderer, after I lost the use of my legs, I wanted to die and you brought me back to life. Johnny, you taught me to find food where there is none, how to persevere and how to survive. The four of you are responsible for me meeting Amanda. She has been a fine wife and has become a beauty to rival any woman in New England. But she is the MOTHER OF A MONSTER! I AM THE FATHER of a monster and I cannot accept it! I will never accept it. I reject the beast."

"My friends, I have one more thing to say. One favor to ask, and then I wish you to go. If you would help me - help me by taking the monstrosity away. Chain it up on a ship. Maybe you could let it clean the scuppers, but don't let the thing stay here. I beg you. Take the ogre with you today."

Johnny Gomes spoke. "Cisco, if it were just you, we might agree. But Amanda loves that child just as if it were a little Frank Sinatra. We could never take him from her."

"Over time," old Captain Spant added, "you will learn to accept the boy. When he gets a little bigger he'll start helping you around your property and you will see his good qualities and forget that he's missing an arm."

"He is not missing an arm Josiah! He is a fish-boy. He is a freak!"

"Cisco, with your poet's soul, how is it that you cannot recognize a metaphor? I was making a point to you my friend. I'm missing an arm and in a sense, I too am a freak. Why do you not shun me as you shun your own child?"

"Captain Spant you are perhaps the greatest seaman that ever lived. Being short one arm never stopped you from anything," Cisco said.

"I'm still a freak Cisco. Abnormal. Different from everyone else. And yet you accepted and embraced me. In future you will......"

"Stop Captain Spant! STOP!," Cisco interrupted. "No more talk of the monstrosity. If you will not take it from me then I wish you to leave now and do not ever come back. GET OUT!!!!!"

With hugs for Amanda and even little Jimmy, but not another word to Cisco, the three seamen silently and reluctantly left. They had seen Cisco's moods before and knew that he was unlikely to change his mind.

### Chapter 15: The Doctor

After Captain Spant and the others left, Cisco stayed around the property for a few days and then told Amanda he was leaving for New Bedford for a while. He said that he wanted to visit his old friends and make amends for the shabby way he treated them when they came for their visit.

Supporting the idea because she thought that the trip might somehow restore him to normal, Amanda helped him pack his bags. She went with him to the train stop and saw him off. On the way Cisco drove the team and she and Jimmy sat in the back of the wagon, at his request. He still would not even look at the child. When they got to the tracks, she set up his wheelchair for him. He got in it and wheeled it to the boarding area. When the train came the conductor carried his chair on board and Cisco, using his immense upper body strength, hand-walked up the steps and went into the passenger car without looking back.

Since the birth of the baby, Cisco had been harsh, cruel and even violent to Amanda; but his leaving without even saying goodbye or looking at her, was the worst hurt of all.

After the Cape Cod Flyer left, she gave some water to the horses and a bit to Jimmy and then sadly drove the team back to the lake house.

Weeks went by and she had not heard from her husband. She began to believe that he had abandoned her. In some ways she hoped that he had. The intense love that she had felt for him was gradually being displaced by mistrust, anger, and perhaps even hatred.

Amanda did not let her melancholy mood slow her work down. She still was growing and picking the best produce on the Cape. Blue was assigned the task of watching Jimmy and he did a good job except when the boy went swimming, which was often.

Blue liked the water but rarely went in it. He had seen too many animals get swallowed up by the giant catfish to be comfortable in it.

No so Jimmy. Just six months old in August and barely able to crawl on land, he swam as well as the adult catfishes. While Amanda was working the half-acre garden, she often left Jimmy on a blanket next to the stone lined path leading to the boat dock.

With Blue watching close by, Jimmy would crawl from the blanket to his favorite spot - the thick, sun bleached log that dipped into The Brack. It was an uprooted Maple, about 40 feet to the left of the dock, that sloped like a bridge deep into the gray Brack waters. Age had sanded the bark from the fallen log, leaving a smooth sand-colored surface. Jimmy would crawl to the middle of the log and stretch out on it.

After a while he would begin to rotate his shoulder in a rapid clockwise direction. The resulting grinding of bone against bone produced a sound that was an exact replica of the catfish talk.

Starting as a muted drumming, it was magnified many times when the baby stretched open his cavernous mouth. The thumping evolved into a musical sound with notes ranging from high to low and back again - like the sound a fingernail makes when run up and down the teeth of a comb.

First one, then another, then dozens of slate gray heads with tiny yellow eyes broke the surface of the choppy water. Opening their huge maws, the catfish echoed the sound of the 20 pound half-fish.

Jimmy crawled to the end of the log and slipped in the water. Turning on his side, with his webs churning, he flashed through the water and in an instant was in the middle of the school of catfish.

The cats and the baby dove for the bottom. Able to hold his breath for more than three minutes, Jimmy plowed through the sediment and muck, playing fish games in the submerged houses of his finny friends.

The leader of the Catfish, One eyed Mungo, joined the group and all playing stopped. With Mungo in the lead, the other catfish got behind him, in order of their position in the community. Sky was in the second rank directly behind the leader and the rest of the group filled in the remaining spots of what looked like a wedge or an arrow.

Jimmy was a few feet in front of Mungo looking straight at him. The leader of the catfish shrugged his pectoral fin. A croaking sound was heard, magnified many times when Mungo opened his mouth, which looked as big as the gap-toothed steel maw of a front end loader.

Little Jimmy Catfish answered with a croak of his own, formed when he shrugged his shoulder and opened his own large mouth.

If a scuba diver had wandered by, he would have been amazed at the sight of the half-fish infant facing a phalanx of giant razor teethed catfish. The scuba diver would think the baby was just a few seconds away from being eaten up. The diver would not realize that the fish and the fish boy were exchanging pleasantries much in the manner of a group of friends meeting for coffee at the Hole In One Donut Shop in Eastham.

After seeing Jimmy swim a few times, Amanda instinctively knew he was safer in the water with the catfish than he would ever be on land. She abandoned the use of the harness and made no further attempts to stop him from swimming whenever or where ever he wished.

One afternoon in mid August while she was weeding the half-acre garden and Jimmy was swimming with his cat friends, she had a visitor.

"Hello Amanda, I've come to visit you and Jimmy. Where are you?"

"Hello? Oh Doctor Greene. It's nice to see you. Sit down at the picnic bench and I will bring out some tea."

In short order Amanda returned with tea and corn cakes that she had baked, using her own prize winning Butter and Sugar corn.

Doctor Greene quickly ate four of the cakes, washed down with excellent Lipton Tea, made with the recently developed flow-through tea bags. Amanda seeing how much he liked the corn cakes, promised to send him off with a sackful.

"Amanda, I've got the full results back of the tests I made on Jimmy. I checked the data and also had my colleagues in New York pore over them."

"What did you find out Doctor?"

"The good news is, as I told you some time ago, Jimmy's brain is normal. Actually it's more than normal. It has features not usually found in human brains."

"I am not surprised Doctor. Jimmy is probably the most unusual boy in the world. Do you know where he is right now?"

"I would assume he's in the house taking his afternoon nap."

"He's not. He's out with his friends. The catfish. Come outside with me and you will see something remarkable."

Amanda and the doctor walked down the stone lined path to the boat dock. In a few minutes the doctor saw what he thought was a was a fish or perhaps even an alligator gliding out of the water and onto the end of a fallen log.

"That's Jimmy," Amanda told him. "He can swim as well as any fish and he can hold his breath and stay underwater for three minutes."

Doctor Greene was astonished when he saw young Jimmy's abilities and before he left, he told Amanda that she could be paid a great deal of money if she would allow the baby to come to New York and be a research subject.

Amanda angrily told him that Jimmy would stay with her always and he never would be poked and prodded and examined by scientists.

"He will stay here with me and Blue and the Catfish. I don't expect Cisco will ever return for anything more than occasional visits and that's okay. We will do just fine without him."

The doctor fervently wanted the opportunity to study the boy marvel, but he respected Amanda's wishes and promised that he would never bring up the subject again.

"Anse Peckins will be here soon to bring me back to my car in the Marsh, so I guess this is goodbye. But if you change your mind or if you need me, you can call me anytime."

"I need you right now," Amanda smiled. "You can save me a trip. I was going to bring twelve bushels of vegetables to the railroad stop. Maybe you and Anse can take them for me."

Doctor Greene looked at the beautiful woman before him and wondered how da Silva, or any man in his right mind, could give her up simply because she had the misfortune to be the mother of a deformed baby.

### Chapter 16 - Total Isolation:

The Summer of 1959

By the first week of July, Amanda's toil in her half-acre had once again produced an early crop of prize winning vegetables. She was stuffing bushel baskets with ripe red tomatoes when she saw a pair of pinto horses pulling a wagon into her yard. It was Josie and Jennie, Anse's twin mares and they were hauling a load of cardboard boxes piled up six high.

"I have news Amanda. We have to talk."

"Well I've got fresh coffee and a batch of cornbread Anse. If you have time."

"I always do if it's your coffee and cornbread," Anse replied, his handlebar mustache dancing on every syllable."

"Sit down at the picnic table and chat with your old friend Blue. I will bring out the coffee in a minute."

Blue, who had been enjoying the sun while stretched out on the dock, dashed right over to Anse as soon as he saw him. Anse fished in his pocket and extracted a large dog cookie which Blue ate in two bites and then got ready for another.

"What's in all those boxes?" Amanda wondered as she set the coffee and corn bread on the table.

"They are Mason Jars which I am going to sell you at wholesale."

"I don't need any Mason Jars."

"Yes you do Amanda. You certainly do. I said I had some news and that's why I brought the jars. The Old Colony Line is shutting down the Cape Cod Flyer."

"What?"

"It's true. They announced it today. The last trains will run on Friday. By the week after that they'll be tearing up the tracks all the way to Hyannis. By this time next year the whole rail bed will be swallowed up by weeds and brush. In a couple years, it will look like there never was a rail line running through Marshtown."

"What does it mean?"

"It means the finish of Codtown and Seatown. The Marsh will survive because of the paved road they built last year; but Codtown and Seatown will be ghost towns within twelve months. The railroad was the lifeline of the Freshlake economy. It might not be too bad for you. If most everybody moves out of here, you and Jimmy will have the whole place to yourself. That's why I brought the Mason Jars. You won't be able to sell your produce because there will be no way to get it to market. Just put up everything you've got in the Mason Jars, so that you will have enough food to make it through the winter."

"Well I can still bring my vegetables to your store, Anse."

"I wish it were so, but I am closing the store next month. There will be no commerce here. The few people that do stay won't have any money. I am moving my business to a house in the Marsh. Once everyone has left here, all the trails will get overgrown. Between that and the swamps, a horse or a person will be able to walk through, but there's not a wagon on earth that could be dragged through ten miles of overgrown Cape Cod swampland."

"Jimmy and I will be fine. Cisco shows up every week or so now. He might help me cut some wood. He's still mean and depressed, but I think he misses my cooking. I'm pretty sure that's why he comes around once in a while. You know Anse, this might actually cheer him up. He doesn't want anyone to see Jimmy, or even know about him. So if there's no one around, maybe he will be more tolerant of him."

"Amanda, be sure to come to the store next week. I'm going to be starting to move my stock to the new place, but I want you to get whatever you need first."

There was no reprieve. The railroad stopped service on the appointed day and just as Anse Peckins had predicted, there was an immediate mass exodus from the little villages of Codtown and Seatown. From a combined population of nearly 400, by November of 1959, just a few months after the trains stopped, there were less than 20 people left.

A few families remained in Codtown. Seatown was fully abandoned. A small group of hunters and fishermen remained in a couple of cottages around the banks of Freshlake.

The entire area surrounding Codfresh Lake; when shown on maps, was listed as 'swamp land - unbuildable'. Each year the lake became more forgotten and more isolated. Those who remained had to rely almost totally on themselves for their food and most other needs. Amanda never left her home or her yard. As Jimmy grew he spent more and more time among the catfish. Sometimes he would be gone at dawn and not come back until sunset.

For weeks on end, Cisco stayed in New Bedford. He did not tell Amanda, but he had taken his old rooms at the Gold Crown Tavern, sleeping there nights and roaming the city during the days. He was forming a plan and only needed to find the right person to implement it.

### Chapter 17: Six Years Later - July 1967

Anse Peckins had been correct about the fate of the area surrounding Codfresh Lake. Without the railroad connecting them to the rest of Cape Cod, one by one the families and individuals moved away until finally there was only a handful of people left.

In Codtown, there were the Smiths; James, his wife Martha, and their two teenage sons. The boys, 19 and 18, had recently come back from a trip to Hyannis and announced that they had met an army recruiter on Main Street and they had signed up.

The Smiths got by with some farming, fishing, and hunting. They had moved into Anse's store after he left to go to the Marsh. They lived in the upstairs apartment over the store and used the bottom floor for storage and for tanning hides. Except for when the sons had gone off to Hyannis, none of the family ever left Codtown. When the boys departed for the army in October, there would be only eight people remaining.

The Jamison brothers, Joel and Jake took over the whole of Seatown. They were filthy creatures, drunkenly living in a house until it was trashed, then moving on to the next one. Even before it became a ghost town, there were scarcely more than a dozen homes in the village. The Smiths feared that after the Jamisons had ruined the last dwelling in Seatown, they might decide to take over Codtown; so James and Martha had made up their minds to leave for Hyannis just as soon as the boys went off for basic training.

The only other folks in the area besides Jimmy and his Mom, were Charley Tate and Freddie Woods, two hunters who had a cabin on the opposite shore of Freshlake.

Jimmy was eight years old. He was two inches over four feet tall and he weighed 57 pounds. His appearance became more like a fish with each passing month. The color of his skin had become a perfect match to Mungo's - the leader of the catfish. His, face, head, and back were silver/black and his stomach was as white as paper. Even his cylindrical body shape mimicked the fish. Jimmy's head, chest, stomach, and legs all seemed to be the same dimensions, so that seen from afar, he would much more closely resemble a catfish standing on its tail, than a human being.

The boy was now able to remain underwater for 30 minutes without having to take a breath. Doctor Greene had once told Amanda that he theorized that Jimmy's chest cavity had a capacity at least double that of the average person of his size.

As July drew to a close, Amanda had managed to can hundreds of jars of cukes, onions, pickles, tomatoes, strawberries, raspberries and grapes. Her half-acre was still as vibrant as ever.

The same could not be said for Amanda herself. Hard work and depression had begun to take a dreary toll. In 1959 she had looked like a movie star. Eight short years had turned her hair an unflattering gray. The full rounded look that had made her a stunning beauty was no more. The sharpness had returned to her face giving it a stern, sour look.

Her disposition too, had become gloomy. She had no one to talk to. Her son was still her reason for living, but he did not provide the comfort she expected. Due to the odd construction of his face and vocal chords, speech was difficult for him. The words came out garbled and croaking. Even Amanda, could only understand about half of what he said. He was smart enough; able to read and write with ease, but had almost no interest in helping in the garden or working around the house.

He liked Blue and the two remained close friends; but more than anything else, Jimmy loved swimming in The Brack with the catfish. He spent every possible moment with them. He had moved up to the third position in the catfish community. In the hierarchy of the catfish world, he was now behind only Mungo and Sky.

In the water, when the cats formed their ceremonial triangle, Mungo was alone and supreme in the front, Sky and Jimmy formed the second rank directly behind him, followed by the three next most important fish, then the next four most important fish; and so on to the last line of the wedge.

From a population of just 100 fish when Cisco took Mungo's eye, eight years before, the community had doubled in size. The Chief and Sky had feared that the monster in the boat might get more weapons and be able to annihilate their small number, so he ordered all able bodied followers to breed as many fry as possible.

Every catfish family unit in Codfresh Lake was made up of three males and two females. It was the job of the dads to dig out the homes where the females would place their eggs. The mothers left the nests after depositing the eggs and the males took responsibility for guarding the dens and fanning the eggs for up to two weeks. After hatching, the fathers were required to stay with the babies until they grew large enough to disperse.

Sky and Mungo were pleased with the results of the breeding program, and were certain that the larger population would make it easier to finally catch and kill the brute in the red boat.

Jimmy's role in the growth of the community was significant. The Brack by itself wasn't large enough to sustain more than a hundred fish, so Jimmy began supplementing the food stocks in various ways, including using his skills in hunting and fishing.

### Chapter 18: The Return of Cisco

In September, in full, dress uniform, Captain Francisco da Silva returned to Codfresh Lake. He was driven by automobile from New Bedford to Marshtown by Professor Charles Wagner whom he had recently met. Cisco told the Professor that he would be at the lake house for one week and would then reunite with him in Marshtown. Wagner agreed that he would be back to pick him up in seven days time so they could continue their recent discussions when they got back to New Bedford.

"Anse. Anse Peckins, where are you!" Cisco shouted after the professor left and he wheeled his chair into the new AP General Store in The Marsh.

"He's working in his office," said a young clerk from behind a cash register nearly taller than he was, "I will get him for you."

Cisco was impressed with what Anse had done with his business since moving from Codtown. The retail space occupied the ground floor of a rambling, two story building.

He had a good sized grocery section, a hardware and toy aisle, and a magazine and newspaper rack that covered part of one wall from floor to ceiling. Copies of the New Bedford/Cape Cod Times and the Boston Post were stuffed into wooden sections alongside the Boston Globe, the Boston Herald and the New York World Tribune. All the popular magazines of the day, such as Life, and the Saturday Evening Post were on display. There were scores of ten cent funnybooks with titles like "Superman", "Archie", "Little Lulu", and "Donald Duck".

Anse even had a soda fountain serving Root Beer Floats, shakes, frappes, hot coffee and fountain colas. There were a few tables for customers to sit and chat over their beverages.

Outside, there was a decent sized large parking lot, with space enough for more than a dozen cars, and the store was was right on a newly paved road that led to Main Street in Harwich. Across the street was a sandy bottomed kettle pond.

On the front porch of the store, Anse had placed two wooden park benches with backrests. One was painted blue and the other was red. Anse had painted "Republican" in large white block letters on the back slats of one the red one and "Democrat" on the other.

Cisco drew a Doctor Pepper out of the soda cooler and went over to one of the inside tables. The old storekeeper emerged from the back room. Scooping up a Simpson Springs Birch Beer as he passed the cooler, he joined him at the table.

"Hey Anse. Your place looks great. I guess business must be good. You've done an excellent job with the new store."

"The store has been here eight years now, I would hardly call it a new store Captain da Silva, it's been.........."

"What is this Captain da Silva business? Am I not still Cisco? Did you not once call me The Cisco Kid?"

"You became Captain da Silva that day you threatened to shoot me."

"Anse. I am so sorry. That was a long time ago. You know it's been eight years since my son was born and I only recently have been able to call him my son. I was buried in grief and shame. But I am over it. Please let us be friends again."

"I'm only to happy to welcome my old friend Cisco back, because I don't much like that Captain da Silva," Anse laughed, speaking in his rapid fire fashion that caused his long white handle bar mustache to jump up and down like a pogo stick.

"Anse, I am ready to become a dad to Jimmy. It has taken me almost eight years but I have stopped being angry over what I am not able to control, and I am now able to control what I am angry about. Do you follow me?"

.

"I do Cisco and I'm glad to hear it. Your wife and boy have had a rough time of it and I'm not sure how much more Amanda can take."

"It is all in the past now. Well, I have a hard ten miles to travel to get back home and I sure can not get there by wheelchair. Do you have a horse you can rent to me for a while?"

"You can take Danny Barry. He's three years old and though he is as strong as one of those Budweiser horses, he's as gentle as his old mama, Josie. You can leave your chair here and pick it up when you come back."

Anse sent one of his workers to get DB, as he was nicknamed by the stable hands. A large black and white pinto, the versatile stallion would be equally at home behind a plow or at a racetrack.

Cisco bound himself to the saddle by rope and on the calm and intelligent Danny Barry, he began the trek back to his cottage. The once clear trail to Codtown had been completely obliterated in the years since the railroad deserted Cape Cod. Trees, brush, and weeds blocked part of it. Other sections had turned to swamp as beavers and otters conspired to change the courses of waterways, small and large. Massive tree trunks blocked the way in spots, felled by the frequent Northeast gales that swept in from Nantucket Sound.

When the route was still passable back in 1959 with his wagon pulling a full load, Cisco could get from the Marsh to Codtown in one hour. In 1967, it took even a valiant mount like DB, almost three hours to cover the five miles.

From Codtown to his cottage was another five miles of even rougher terrain. After three more hours the weary horse and rider came to a stop at the well at the side of Cisco's house.

Blue loudly announced that someone was coming. Barking from the front step of the cottage, the sleek collie did not run out to greet Cisco. Amanda did. She went to the well where Cisco was sitting on the stone sidewall rubbing down DB after watering him.

"Hello Amanda. I am back from New Bedford and I have come to apologize to you for my bad behavior these last eight years. I know now how wrong I have been and I promise you that I am going to make things up to you and to my son."

Amanda was speechless, and incredulous, when she heard the unexpected speech of regret. She was even more surprised when Cisco actually called Jimmy his son. It was the first time he had deemed the youth anything other than a "monstrosity."

As the afternoon wore on, Cisco tried to rekindle his friendship with Blue. The dog, aloof at first, soon warmed up and was happily playing fetch when Jimmy came home from playing with his catfish friends.

Jimmy glided smoothly towards the dock. He loved being in the water where he could move swiftly and effortlessly. He didn't feel nearly as comfortable on land. As he pulled himself onto the flimsy dock, he saw his Mother and a man sitting at the picnic table.

When he got closer he realized it was his father and he steeled himself for the usual rejection. He sensed that something was different. His mom was smiling. Usually when she was with his father, she was either shouting or crying.

"Hi Jimmy come on over. Your dad is here and he wants to say hello."

"Do not be afraid Jimmy," Cisco said. "We are going to be friends from now on. Well you certainly are growing tall. It is good to see you."

"Arrrrgm noarrggtt haaaarrggpy to see yoarrrrgu," Jimmy croaked in his garbled speech, trying hard to force his malformed voice box to allow him to speak clearly. He waved a webbed hand toward his father that Cisco thought was a gesture of hello, but was really a dismissive flip off.

"He can read and write very well, but he's still having some speech problems Cisco. He said he's happy to see you."

That was not what Jimmy said, but he did not want to make trouble for his mom so he decided not to clarify what he had really spoken, which was "I'm not happy to see you."

Though for the first time his father was actually being civil to him, Jimmy did not warm to him. For his mother's sake he remained at the picnic table for a few more minutes before going back into Freshlake.

"Watch him in the water Cisco. He is the most amazing swimmer you have ever seen."

"That is astonishing," marveled Cisco as he observed Jimmy swim hundreds of yards towards the middle of the lake in just a few seconds.

"Keep going Jimmy. I'm proud of you son," shouted Cisco.

After supper, Jimmy went to bed early. He was worn out; partly because he spent most of the day swimming and playing, but also because he had some trouble over at Seatown.

In the morning, he had raced and romped with the catfish at the bottom of The Brack for hours. Afterwards he swam over to Sea-lake. He spent some time lounging on the sand at Seatown Beach and later explored the deserted village. When the Jamison brothers returned from a hunt they saw Jimmy and screamed at him.

"Ged outta our town catfish boy or we'll put yer on the grill and hev you for supper."

"Learrrrrrggggve me arrrrrrglone," croaked Jimmy.

"Lookit that Jake," Joel marveled, the little freak kin talk!"

"Yah Joel, eggscept I gudda axe you. Kin you unnastand a freakin' word the monster sez? I'm gonna ketch us that catfish boy."

Jake started chasing Jimmy and was within a foot of grabbing him when Jimmy reached the safety of Sea-lake. Jake jumped in right afterwards but by the time he was up to his knees in the chilly salt water, Jimmy had already swum 50 yards straight out towards the middle.

"Joel lookit that monster swim. Jevah see anything like it?"

"Nah, I nevah did bud it's no surprise. He's haf fish."

"Yah Jake. You right, he's haf catfish and all ugly."

After Jimmy went to sleep that night, Cisco and Amanda talked quietly, sharing a bottle of red wine. Cisco was still acting happy and was pleasantly charming to Amanda who was starting to be convinced that he really had changed.

They united as man and wife for the first time in more than two years. Afterwards, they lay in bed and just before falling asleep Cisco told Amanda that he had a wonderful idea.

"Tell me Cisco. What is this idea?"

"Go to sleep now Mandy. I will tell you in the morning after breakfast. I think you will like it."

### Chapter 19 - The Plan

Jimmy got up early and was doggedly practicing his cursive writing when his parents woke up. His mother praised him for his efforts and his father lauded Amanda for teaching him to write.

"Education is important Amanda, especially for Jim now that he's eight years old," said Cisco, as he finished shaving. With a recent haircut, and dressed in his uniform, he looked just as he had in the early 1950s when he was master of the last sailing ship in New England. The salt and pepper that his curly hair had acquired only served to better highlight a face that looked as though it were carved by a master's hand. His visage was a magnet of brightness when he illuminated it with his blazing eyes and broad smile.

Looking over at Amanda, Cisco noted that he had her full attention. Her cheeks were tinted crimson and she was still glowing from their nocturnal union. He smiled. Amanda blushed, thinking it was for her. In reality he was grinning because he knew that he once again had her in his full control.

"You know, with his handicaps, it is very important for Jim to have the ability to read and write well. You have done a fantastic job teaching him so far."

"Thanks honey. I'm glad you appreciate it," Amanda beamed. "You always sound so smart. That was one of the things I loved about you from the start. I noticed immediately that you were much brighter than the other sailors in New Bedford. It was the way that you spoke. You cursed very little. You never said words like "I'm" or "You've" you always said "I am" or "You have" - you always spoke slowly and used the full words and it sounds so much better. Where did you learn that?"

"My cousin lived with us for a while when I was a child. He was older and educated. He was a poet and an activist - the author of four books back in Cape Verde. He was well known and respected. He taught me to say 'will not' instead of 'won't' and 'have not' instead of of 'haven't'. He instructed me not to pollute my speech with swear words. He said that if you do not use foul language and you do not use contractions, people will think you are smart. And if people think you are smart, you will always get better jobs and better treatment, even if you are not really that smart."

"Well I think you are that smart, Cisco."

"How about Jimmy, Amanda? Do you want people to think that he is smart?"

"Of course I do and I wish I could teach him to speak better, but I don't think he is able to."

"That's the surprise Amanda. While I was in New Bedford I found a person who can really help our son. Professor Charles Wagner: he has experience with people like Jimmy and has changed their lives. Why I have seen some of the unfortunate creatures that he has worked with and I can vouch to you that he has taken folks who were considered stupid and untrainable and transformed them into successful and well known members of society. Since our Jimmy is neither stupid nor untrainable I think the school will truly morph him into a young man who will be able to stand up and speak before any crowd."

"And this professor is willing to help Jimmy?"

"He is eager to take Jimmy into the fold. When I told him about our boy, he could barely control his excitement. He said he had a similar case and worked wonders with the lad. Of course Jimmy will have to attend classes at his school."

"But he's only eight years old. I don't want him to be away from home. I am not sure...."

"Do not worry about a thing Amanda. He will be home for vacations and holidays. He will be at school for seven months and will be at home for five months every year. He will be with other students and will have a chance to have relationships with other people. Do you want him to remain here forever with only Blue and the catfish for friends? To never see a city? To never go to a Boston Red Sox game? To never see Hyannis harbor and the great ships?"

"I do not wish this. You might be right Cisco. The school could be a good thing. But I'm not sure that I want him to go. He's safe here in Codfresh Lake."

"And he will be safe at school too. Look, Professor Wagner is going to be in Marshtown next week. I will bring him here. You can speak with him and ask him anything you like. After that, you can make the decision and I will support you no matter which way you decide."

Cisco knew that Amanda was nearly convinced to go along with his plan. All that remained was to have Wagner speak with her. He would soon win her over and take the half-fish away.

All week long he played the part of the doting husband and father. He was tender and loving with Amanda and supportive and enthusiastic of everything Jimmy did.

Noticing that Jimmy had a fondness for the pinto horse, Dan Barry, Cisco bought him from Anse Peckins and gave it to his son as a present.

Jimmy was still suspicious of his father, but was happy to have DB. He was familiar with the horse, having seen Anse Peckins ride it a number of times.

Amanda told her son that she was thinking of sending him to school. He reacted angrily when told that the institution was in Boston and he might have to be away from home seven months a year.

"But Jimmy, all little boys have to go to school. And there is no such school near us. So although you would have to live there when school is in session, you will be home with me for almost half the year. Jim, you will be with other boys and girls and get a better education than I can give you. And they might be able to help you with your speech. The head of the school is going to visit us in a few days and we both will talk to him. After you meet him you might like him and want to go to his campus."

Jimmy was dead set against the whole idea but remained mute, because he deeply loved his mom and did not want to make trouble for her. He decided that, at least until they had met with the man from the school, he would remain silent on the subject.

It was almost the end of September and Amanda wanted to finish harvesting her half acre, fearing an early frost would kill off her crop. She was surprised when Cisco offered to help and shocked when Jimmy announced, "I arrrggm goooarrrging to haarrrgelp too Mommy."

Jimmy almost never offered to work in the garden, much preferring to be off on a dash with Blue or to swim in the lake. As for Cisco, he had not lifted a finger to any work for more than five years.

The three da Silvas went to the half acre and for the first time ever, toiled in the field together as one, quickly finishing the picking of Amanda's remaining produce.

The rest of the day was spent in filling the Mason jars with tomatoes, cucumbers, green beans, and the remainder of her other crops. Corn was picked and stored in containers in the barn. The stalks were piled high in a compost pile with other greens to form nutrients for the next year's crop. Potatoes were heaped in covered bins to keep out the light and air and preserve them through the long winter.

"Mandy," Cisco purred, using the nickname he called his wife only in their most intimate moments, "I have another surprise for you. Next year I am going to work the bogs again!"

Amanda squealed with delight; then wondered - "There's no more railroad. How will you get the berries to market."

"Helicopters! I have it all figured out. We will clear an area for the choppers to land and they will haul out our whole crop. I have already spoke with Ocean Spray about it. There are a number of other growers who are going to do the same thing. We are back in the berry business and during school breaks Jimmy will help Blue and me in the bogs. Am I right son?"

Jimmy looked at his father and smiled, his mouth opening wide in a leering grin that literally did go from from ear to ear, causing his father some concern when he noticed that some of Jimmy's gleaming white teeth appeared to end in sharp points.

Cisco also noticed that Jimmy had the beginnings of a beard. But the hair was growing in clumps in six places. Two were on the side of the bulldozer-like mouth and the other four clumps were under his chin. The shiny black hairs were growing almost like the tendrils of a catfish!

Cisco fought off the image and forced a smile."Am I right son? Will you help me in the bogs?"

"I wiaarrrgll be in the boaaaarrrrgs," Jimmy said in his choked, croaking voice.

Cisco didn't understand all of the words but took it to mean that Jimmy had said yes. At the same time, the veteran sea captain felt the first twinges of an emotion that he rarely felt. Fear. It was not full blown. But there were traces. Cisco was beginning to be intimidated by his tiny four foot, 57 pound catfish-like son.

Jimmy thought about the helicopters. He's lying, the boy said to himself. Nothing flies over Codfresh Lake. Engines start to cough and sputter when they try to go over it. Jimmy had never seen a helicopter but he had seen a few planes attempt to fly over the Brack and they almost crash landed when their motors failed. Luckily for them, they veered away quickly and the motors started again.

Supper was one of Amanda's best ever. Chicken and dumplings, in a large serving bowl at the center of the table anchored the feast; surrounded by heaping plates of flaky buttered biscuits. Sweet yellow corn on the cob was stacked six high on a green serving plate. The vegetables included bowls of carrots as soft as the raisins that were cooked with them; asparagus, string beans, and peas. Filling another platter were mounds of home grown potatoes with gravy, mashed to creamy perfection. Garden fresh lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and cucumbers were melded into a crisp, cool salad. Dessert was Amanda's own shortcake sweetened with strawberries as big as plums.

Cisco delighted in the meal. He liked it so much that he decided to tell Professor Wagner that their business was done. Then he looked at Jimmy. The tendrils growing on the side of his face and under his chin, danced as he hungrily speared his food. A croaking noise escaped his throat every time he swallowed. As quickly as he thought of abandoning his plan, the glance at the fish-boy, just as rapidly firmed up his determination to see his scheme through.

### Chapter 20 - The Professor

On Monday of the last week in September, Cisco; bound to the saddle of the gentle pinto, Dan Barry; and trailing another mount, met up with the professor at the paved road in the Marsh.

"There are no roads between here and the lake Professor. You will be on horseback for ten miles through the thickest swamp on the entire coast."

The portly professor looked dubious but made no complaint as he struggled up on a blue roan that was half of the team that hauled Cisco's wagon. They made good time as the well trained steeds picked their way through brush, bramble, stream and swamp.

Amanda had prepared a lunch of battered cod, clams, shrimp and fried potatoes. The aroma of the meal greeted Cisco and his companion before Amanda walked out to meet them.

Introductions were quickly made.

The professor, who was in his late 50s, was not too old to gaze with admiration at the woman before him. Long graying hair swept like a shiny shawl across her shoulders. Piercing eyes, highlighted a face that was just starting to show lines at the corners of her lips which were parted into a broad smile, over even white teeth. Sharp, high cheekbones hinted at a royal Native-American bloodline. Her body was slightly too thin, yet was still very attractive.

Amanda furtively sized up the white haired professor. A Fedora hat was plugged into a hairy thatch as unruly as a haystack. He had a round face with red bubbles for cheeks and a mouth that had a large lower lip but almost no top lip. A vast, protruding stomach lent an air of indolence to his appearance although he was dressed richly in a tan suit with a beautifully matched dark brown tie.

Thoughts that Amanda had of the man's laziness almost disappeared when she saw the Professor fairly sprint to the table after being invited to sit down for luncheon.

As they dug into the excellent seafood, Cisco said little, leaving it to his companion to lay out their plan for Amanda.

"My dear," said Professor Wagner, "If I were you, I don't think I would ever let my boy go away to school."

"I really want to keep him at home," Amanda agreed.

"Of course you do, and with food like this I'm sure that he doesn't want to leave," the Professor said after greedily swallowing a mouthful of fried clams and shrimp. He patted his prodigious belly and continued.

"But the thing is, and I do not like to mention it. You will not be around forever. What will happen to Jimmy after you are gone? The only thing to do Amanda, is to have him become as educated as possible. Give him the skills he needs to overcome his handicaps and to be able to deal with people on an even-handed platform.

Now I know Amanda, that you and your husband think that young James is different and he is! But, and I stress this, "HE IS NOT UNIQUE!. Why I have taught children who were far more handicapped than he. And I have trained them to speak so well that they can give speeches before large crowds. They have the ability to market themselves. Some even publish instructional books about their disabilities, thus making money for themselves and educating the general public in the woes of those less fortunate than themselves.

My school provides what I like to call the "Full Educational Triangle". I educate the student's mind while nourishing his body with good food; not quite as good as this I am afraid, but nearly so. The third part of the triangle after the mind and the body, is the soul. Our faculty and curriculum are non denominational, but we teach all the boys and girls that there is a High Power - a Great Spirit, if you will - that is above all of us and who has laid out one tenet that is the total theme of life.

Some call it the "Law of One"; others term it "Reciprocity", or the "Great Share". The Dahlai Lama told me when I met him in Tibet, that it is simply "Caring for others".

When I teach it to my students I call it the "Golden Rule: Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you."

So I think you can see Amanda, that I have the total welfare of my students as my main, my secondary, and my thribble concerns."

"I will admit that you speak very reassuringly Professor Wagner."

"And as sure as my name is Professor Charles D. Wagner, I am speaking in your best interest and that of young James.

Why I can't wait for the others to see him. Captain da Silva has told me of his great skill as a swimmer. We have a large, heated swimming pool right on campus. Also I know that the aquatic skills can be transferred to terrestrial skills. Leave it to me. I will have James as fleet a-foot as he is 'a-fin'; if you will pardon my little joke."

"If I let him go, when will he have to leave?"

"Oh not for a whole week Amanda. Classes begin in early October. Let's not talk of that now. I do not want to get too technical - but let me share some information with you that I have already related to your husband. Forgive me if this is too detailed, but you need to understand what it is that makes your son what he is.

First off: James is a human being - just as human as anyone else. Don't fret for one moment that he is anything but. Yet he does have a condition called 'Atavism'. There is no cure for it but I have developed treatments that greatly improve the richness of a person's life, and that of his or her family.

What is Atavism?, you might well ask. It relates to evolutionary throwbacks, Amanda. Human beings evolved from tiny creatures in the water. Our genes still harbor traces of other animals, such as fish, apes, and birds. These genes have been carried in people for thousands of years. Generally they remain inactive, but on very rare occasions they recur and show up in a newborn.

Did you know that in every batch of a million babies there are a few born with tiny tails - technically the tails are called "coccygeal projections".

In the animal kindom, snakes with legs have appeared. There have been horses with extra toes, hind fins on dolphins, and even legs on whales.

People have been born with extra-ordinary teeth, like those of tigers. There are cases of humans born with reptile hearts.

Among the human race, there have been at least two dozen people born just like James. Sadly, in days gone by, most were killed at birth by parents or members of the community fearing that somehow the condition would spread into the general population. This infanticide was actually permitted until recent times.

So in conclusion - at no cost to you and your husband - I will transform James into a young man who will speak clearly and get a rounded education. He will be able to not only live with his disabilities, but to actually make use of them in dealing successfully with the 'normal' world."

The forceful and logical speech of the professor dispelled most of the doubts that Amanda had. The few remaining crumbs of disbelief were brushed away when she saw how the Professor spoke with Jimmy.

He showed understanding and sympathy for the boy. Amanda agreed that her son should attend the Wagner school. It was settled that the Professor would return the first day of October to bring Jimmy to the Boston campus.

### Chapter 21 - October 1, 1967

It was sunny and near 60 degrees the morning of the day Professor Wagner was to come for the boy. Cisco had been the perfect husband and father during the week-long wait.

But his eagerness at being finally rid of the child caused him to blunder on the last night. He consumed more grogo than he had since he almost drank himself to death in the early days after losing his legs.

While drunkenly trying to strip off Amanda's night clothes, he passed out in the living room. Amanda wheeled him into their room and put him to bed. She removed his clothing. As she went to hang up the uniform jacket he had been wearing, a folded up document fell from an inside pocket and fluttered to the floor.

Picking it up, she noticed that it was a Bill of Sale. Curious, she wanted to know what Cisco had sold. Furious, she vowed revenge when she saw that it was her son!

The document revealed that Jimmy had been sold for a thousand dollars and had become the property of Professor Charles D. Wagner. The professor was listed as proprietor of "Wagner's Wonders", a side show with a museum of human curiosities near Boston's Scollay Square. The square was a notorious district in the Hub that was home to illegal tattoo parlors, burlesque houses, and other lurid entertainment venues.

( **Author's Note** : Scollay Square joined a long list of things "Banned in Boston", beginning around 1960, when officials of the city decided to erase the entire neighborhood from the map. Armed with $40 million in federal funds, the censors and the wrecking balls razed more than 1000 buildings and displaced over 20,000 citizens.

Theaters where 'Sally the Shape - 45 by the tape' and Lili St. Cyr, had performed were exchanged for dreary municipal buildings in a new place called 'Government Center'. The great show business emporiums where Rocky Marciano, The Marx Brothers, and Abbott and Costello, all plied their trades disappeared; to be succeeded by a Skyscraper called "The Prudential Building". Austin and Stone's Dime Museum, the real life incarnation of Wagner's Wonders, was forced to shutter its windows and close its doors. **End of Author's note:** )

Amanda re-folded the paper, put it back in the pocket, and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. Her mind was racing and her blood was raging. She needed to keep busy, so she worked hard at making her best morning meal; all the while thinking about what she should do.

The smell of ham and eggs frying in the kitchen woke Cisco. He washed, shaved and went to the breakfast table confident that within a few hours, Jimmy and the Professor would be on their way to Boston.

Jimmy said little during the meal and Amanda said nothing. Cisco glibly talked about the school and how nice it would be at Christmas time when he and Amanda would go to visit Jimmy and take a room at the Statler hotel in Boston, the eighth largest hotel in the world. They would spend time with Jimmy and all three of them would walk to nearby Boston Common, look at the window displays downtown, eat at the almost 300 year Durgin Park restaurant, and finally take in a show at the Colonial Theater.

"There is a new musical play that opened in Connecticut and it is going to be at the Colonial in December before going on to Broadway. It is a musical version of the story of Don Quixote. The producers are calling it The Man of La Mancha. Every body in New Bedford and Fall River is talking about it. They say it is going to be a big hit. I think that the three of us will like it."

During the scrumptious meal, Jimmy just stared at Cisco, while Amanda kept her eyes on her plate and her mouth shut.

Slightly disconcerted by the silent treatment, Cisco decided it was merely last minute jitters and put it out of his mind as he got ready to go to the Marsh to fetch Professor Wagner.

After breakfast, with the temperature rapidly rising towards 70, Jimmy and Blue decided to take advantage of the unusual October warmth and stretch out on the fallen Maple tree trunk that sloped like a bridge from the yard into the gray waters of the Brack.

Slowly rotating his shoulder, Jimmy sent a hushed comb-speak message to his underwater friends. Within minutes a wedge of catfish heads broke the surface, with Mungo in the front and Sky right behind in the second row.

After exchanging whispered comb-speak messages for a short time, the heads of the catfish slowly submerged and Jimmy and Blue were again alone, reclining on the fallen log that time had worn as smooth as a finished floor.

Back at the house, Cisco had the spirited Dan Barry and the blue roan saddled and ready for the 20 mile trip to the Marsh and back.

Stepping inside the kitchen, he informed his wife:

" I will be back with the Professor in time for supper."

"Don't bother coming back Cisco. Don't ever come back! I saw your Bill of Sale. I know that the Professor runs a freak show and you sold our son to him. Jimmy's not going to go but you are. Get out and don't come back."

Instantly enraged, Cisco screamed that he alone would decide what to do with the monstrosity. Flipping out of his chair, he landed on his powerful mitts and hand-walked over to his wife. Flipping again, he landed upright on the stumps of his legs and stood directly in front of Amanda - reaching a height just a bit above her waist.

His left hand flashed up and grabbed Amanda by her hair, painfully pulling her down level to his face. With his right hand he slapped her hard on her cheek. A crimson welt began swelling even before his back swing got her on the other

cheek.

Releasing his grip on her hair, he simultaneously launched a straight right fist to her chin that sent her flying across the room, stopping only when she crashed into the wall.

"I say what happens to the half-fish and I say what happens to you. Any questions?"

Amanda crumpled to the floor, blood streaming from her bruised face. She was dazed but managed to get to her feet. Afraid that da Silva would grab Jimmy and take him to the Freak Show, she raced outside to tell her son to swim away to safety.

Cisco saw her dash out of the house and after a moment, said calmly. "I will be back with the Professor at suppertime Amanda. Please make sure you have a nice meal ready. The Professor will want to have a good dinner before we take Jimmy to school."

Cisco bounded up on the big Pinto, Dan Barry, and tied himself to the saddle. Picking up the reins, he gave them some slack and then shouted, "Let's go boys. We want to get to the Marsh by noon." The gentle stallion trotted off toward Marshtown, with the tan and black roan in tow.

Relieved that he had not tried to take Jimmy right away, Amanda went back into the house to tend her wounds. Later, she told Jimmy about Cisco's deception.

"Swim away when they come for you Jimmy. Don't let them catch you."

"He huaaarrgrt you, Mommy. Yoaarggur face ...."

"Don't worry about me Jimmy. I don't think he will dare to do anything to me with the Professor around. Just make sure you swim away when you see them come in the yard."

### Chapter 22 - They Come for Jimmy

At Anse's store in the Marsh, Cisco guided his horses into a parking space next to a brand new 1965 Nash Rambler Station Wagon. Fixing the reins to the porch, he went inside where he found the Professor playing chess with Anse.

"Sorry to break up the game Anse, but the Professor and I are on a tight schedule."

As soon as they were out of earshot of the store, Cisco informed Wagner that Amanda knew everything.

"So when we get there, if she tries to stop us, I will just grab the kid and we will leave."

"Okay Cisco, but don't hurt the boy or your wife. It's going to be hard enough on him to adjust to life at the museum."

"I will not hurt anyone. I am simply going to drag him out. He'll ride double with me on top of Dan Barry. I may have to tie him up, but I will not do any damage. His mother perhaps has come to her senses and will give him up without a fuss. I told her to have a good supper ready for us."

They arrived at the cottage shortly after five p.m. and saw Amanda seated outside at the picnic table gazing over at Jimmy. He was reclining on his beloved fallen Maple tree and dipping his feet into the cool Brack waters. Blue was not in sight, having been locked in the barn because Amanda feared that he might be hurt trying to defend her if Cisco became violent.

Jimmy had been instructed to swim out of sight, if either of the men came after him. Amanda did not know what she would do after Jimmy got away. She only knew that she would not give him up without a fight.

"Put the food on the table Amanda. We are in a hurry, we will have dinner and then we will be off with the boy."

"There'll be no dinner and there'll be no leaving with Jimmy. My son isn't going to be a freak in a sideshow."

"He will be a freak where ever he is Amanda, because he is a freak! He might as well be one in a circus, because I will not allow him to be one here."

Professor Wagner tried his best to calm both Amanda and Cisco, but the argument escalated.

"Get out of here. Get out of here now," Amanda screamed as she stomped up towards the men.

Cisco became enraged. As Amanda got to within a foot of him, his flexed his steel-like arms launched himself at her. Flying through the air with fists flailing, he struck Amanda with sickening force as they crashed to the ground.

As quickly as he was able, the professor pulled Cisco off Amanda who had been battered unconscious.

Jimmy, from his perch on the log saw what happened and the hatred for his father that had been simmering inside him, rose to a rolling boil.

Just like the catfish he resembled, he began rotating his shoulder so that the bones inside rubbed together. At first there were clicking sounds like the cracking of knuckles. Increasing the speed of his movements, Jimmy made the volume grow louder and more musical, like the sound a fingernail makes running up and down the teeth of a comb. From bass to tenor and back again, the notes of Jimmy's comb-speak traveled through the air and radiated in the turbid waters of the mini lake called the Brack.

"Leave Amanda alone. Let's just take Jimmy and go," pleaded Professor Wagner as he dragged Cisco away from Amanda. Still knocked out, she was sprawled on the ground less than two feet away from the nervous horses.

"I will go get the half-fish," said Cisco flipping himself and landing on his hands.

As he watched him speed walk on his hands to retrieve Jimmy, the Professor thought that the father should be in "Wagner's Wonders" instead of the boy - 'You may not have started out as one Cisco, but your twisted brain makes you more of a freak than your boy could ever be', he thought to himself. Only his concern for the welfare of Amanda and Jimmy stopped him from immediately leaving the wretched scene.

Jimmy's mouth opened to its widest and his cry became more piercing than the wail of an air raid siren. Answering cries came bubbling up from underwater. The entire lake throbbed with the combing sounds of 200 shark-toothed catfish.

Their heads split the surface. A triangle-like formation of silver-black heads with beady yellow eyes, assembled itself close to the fallen Maple tree where Jimmy sat, his shoulder jack hammering wildly to produce the eerie combing cry. At the head of the phalanx was Mungo, the largest catfish of all. He pushed his head higher and focused his single red eye on the approaching figure of a legless man walking upside down on his hands.

The lone crimson eye seemed to get bigger for a moment, as the leader of the catfish opened his bulldozer sized mouth as wide as he could. The wind whipped his whisker like tendrils back and forth. Mungo screamed. It was an earsplitting cry, louder than the roar of a lion and coarser than a thousand fat bullfrogs. A scream of anger and well seasoned hatred that would have frightened away even the bravest soldier.

Cisco, still enraged beyond reason, either did not hear Mungo's scream and the combing cries of the other catfish, or he chose to ignore them. He continued his torrid hand-march toward Jimmy.

### Chapter 23 - Mungo's Plan

Cisco reached the old log, and hauled himself to within a foot of where it merged into The Brack. Jimmy, now standing partly in the water, opened his mouth so wide that the rest of his head and all of his neck disappeared behind it.

The unearthly noise that came from the catfish boy had no trace of humanity. It was at once a deafening, thumping bass drum; and a cry mixed with hundreds of comb-like musical notes splayed across three octaves. Musical notes so powerful that they forced everything within a hundred yards to vibrate like tuning forks.

The Maple log began shaking. Cisco himself was vibrating so vigorously that he was unable to clamp on to Jimmy.

To his left Cisco saw the massive head of Mungo break the surface. On the right, another massive, slime encrusted head burst out of the water. Only slightly smaller than Mungo, it was Sky. Other catfish heads popped up all around. All their mouths were open and all were echoing Jimmy's unearthly combing screams.

The skittering, earsplitting cries of the catfish suddenly stopped. The wind disappeared, blowing off towards Provincetown. Thick, gray clouds covered the sun. The choppy waves of The Brack ceased and the lake became a pane of glass. Even the birds and the bugs stopped chirping and clicking. The silence was instant and total.

For an interim of three or four seconds which seemed much, much longer; nothing happened.

A splashing sound broke the stillness when Sky leaped into the air aiming straight for Cisco. The 100 pound catfish hit like a speeding train and bumped Cisco into the water where the waiting Mungo clamped on to the collar of his jacket and slowly dragged him under the surface.

With powerful snake-like strokes, Mungo stayed underwater, swimming toward the middle of the Brack, with Cisco's lungs pleading for air.

By wriggling his arms, Cisco was able to shrug off the jacket and gain his freedom. He made straight for the surface and had time for one breath of air before he was recaptured by Sky.

Cisco felt certain that he would be killed instantly, but strangely, Sky didn't bite him or impale with a spiny fin.

Instead, the great beast clamped on to the leg of Cisco's pants and dragged him underwater toward the center of the Brack in the same manner as Mungo.

With his lungs ready to burst, Cisco managed to unfasten his belt buckle and snake out of his pants, making good on a second escape from the angry band of killer catfish.

Once again his freedom was barely long enough to steal a breath. Mungo glided up to him, his lone red eye inches away from Cisco, who tried to gouge out the monster's remaining eye by jabbing his thumb into it. Mungo saw the move coming and quickly edged back a few feet.

Cisco started windmilling his arms in a desperate attempt to swim to shore, with Mungo trailing along behind. Suddenly, the leader of the catfish leaped high into the air. Just before gliding back into the water, he twisted his body and slammed his arm-like pectoral fin with a surgeon's precision into Cisco's right eye. The knife-like spine went just deep enough to slice out the eye, without hitting the brain.

Shrieks of pain and panic turned to bubbly gurgles as Mungo sunk his teeth into the stump of one leg and resumed hauling his enemy towards the Catfish lair in the middle of the lake. Mungo swam on the surface, allowing his captive to breathe; for he wanted the victim to remain alive for a few more minutes.

( **Author's note** : As human beings, we like to think we are the only sentient species. That other creatures are not able to think, to reason, or to plan ahead.

If a person were able to read the mind of Mungo, at the moment he sliced out his enemy's eye; he or she might expect to find only blind, reactionary rage. Indeed, there was much rage in the fish's thoughts, but his mind was clear and orderly. He had a plan and it involved a scheme of premeditated, methodical retribution. **End of author's note** )

As soon as he got to the lake's mid-point, the red eyed catfish dove straight for the bottom; to an indented area where he had spent a fortnight recovering from wounds given him by the struggling man he now held by a bloody leg stump.

Mungo remembered the pain of the spear that took his eye and the gaffs that were hurled deep into his side.

The catfish recalled in minute detail, the agonizing horror of being left to die in the bottom of the rowboat, gasping for breath.

He glided to the shallow depression and pushed Cisco into the scooped out hole. To hold him down, Mungo slid a heavy rock on top of the monster from the boat - and left him to die on the bottom of the lake, gasping for breath.

For his part, at the last moment da Silva seemed to understand the Karma of his predicament, and perhaps even in some way respect his enemy. As he lay among the sediment on the lake floor, he ceased fighting: stopped trying to prolong the inevitable. With his remaining eye he looked over at Mungo and then opened his mouth wide to let the strangling water come inside and take him.

Instantly, Mungo's hatred and anger lifted. His gaping mouth seemed to form a smile as he contemplated what he had done.

He had taken an eye for the eye that was taken from him. He had taken the life of the creature that had tried to take his life.

### Chapter 24 - What of the Professor?

After Cisco disappeared beneath the surface of The Brack for the final time, Jimmy walked to the picnic table where his mother and the professor sat. He wanted to make sure that Amanda was not seriously hurt.

For a minute or two, nobody spoke. The shock of watching the attack of the catfish had numbed both Amanda and the Professor. Jimmy was feeling relief that his father was gone, but was fearful that his mother would be angry at him.

Professor Wagner, whom Amanda had expected to flee during the struggle, was the first to regain composure.

"Jimmy, you are a good boy. What happened was not your fault. Your father hurt your mother and he was going to abduct you. Your catfish friends did nothing wrong. They merely acted in your defense," the professor said in a low, calming voice.

"Of course it's not Jimmy's fault. It's your fault. Everything is your fault Professor. It's your freak show that's the cause of this. You lied to me. Your 'Bill of Sale' fell out of Cisco's pocket and I found out that you're nothing but a ...."

"Side show operator. Yes Amanda, I lied to you. I did not tell you the truth because your husband would not let me. He was certain that if you knew that Jimmy was going to be a performer, you would never agree to let him go."

"He was right. Jimmy is never going to be in a freak show."

"Amanda, I run a museum of human curiosities. I do not call it a freak show, either with my people or in my advertising. The people that work in my company are my friends.

The 'Seal Boy' is married to the 'Snake Girl'. 'Lydia the Tatooed Jady' found love with 'Lanny the Legless Wonder'. Born without arms or legs, he is able to use just his mouth to shave himself. He can even put on his own shirt and pants. He can tie the laces of a pair of shoes, though he himself cannot wear them. In my show he demonstrates these amazing abilities to the appreciation and admiration of an enthralled audience.

I have more than a dozen such people in my troupe and all of them have stories as sad or sadder than Jimmy, or his father. My performers earn a good salary and they make additional money selling little booklets about themselves.

I love all my people, In fact I married one of them, the fat lady. So you see Amanda, Jimmy would be surrounded by people who would understand and admire him.

He would have gainful employment, he would learn to speak better, and there's a fine chance that if he is with me long enough, he will find a woman who will love him for himself, marry him, and even bear him children."

"Children? What kind of children could poor Jimmy have?"

"Amanda, due to the quirky nature of the genes that produced him, there is every chance that Jimmy could have healthy and normal children. In a few years you could be a grandmother. Now after hearing me, what do you say? Will you let him become a performer?"

"You'd still take him?"

"Of course I would. Jimmy did nothing more than help to protect his Mother. The catfish too did only what is in their nature. They cannot be blamed."

"But it was Jimmy that called them. Jimmy knew what would happen if they got hold of Cisco. He may have deserved it, but Jimmy killed his father. The Bible says that when the High Power found out that Cain murdered his brother Abel, Cain was judged a killer. He was 'marked' as such and sent from the community of men and women and cast out into the wilderness to live with the animals.

His children were the products of beasts and I am beginning to think that the real people of God, must live somewhere else, maybe on another planet. Perhaps all of the people on earth are the descendants of Cain. Part human, part beast. Most of them look human, but some are born in the image of ....."

"Stop Amanda!" commanded the Professor. "You are talking nonsense. You're in a state of shock. What with being beaten senseless by your husband, then having to watch the catfish drag him off, you really don't know what you are saying or doing. You need to take a bit of that grogo you've made and calm down."

Amanda went to the house and came back with a bottle of her homemade grogo and took the advice. After a few moments the spirits warmed her and she became calm.

"Amanda. I have been thinking. You and Jimmy can both come to Boston with me. You can stay with him. We have motorized trailers for the units of our traveling show. I will give you your own trailer with a comfortable little bedroom and a sitting room. You will see Jimmy gain confidence and make great speeches before the crowds. He will have a stack of booklets about himself and will sell them to the audience for a dollar each. Jimmy will get to keep every penny of those sales. Why Amanda, in as little as ten years, he could make enough money for the both of you to retire to Florida or anywhere you want. What do you say?"

Amanda thought very seriously about Professor Wagner's proposition and much of what he said made sense to her.

"It is a kind offer and I do believe what you say Professor. But I want to stay here and I want to keep Jimmy with me.

I think we are better off away from people. We don't need much. Between farming, fishing, and a bit of trapping, we will have everything that we require."

She looked over at her son and Jimmy nodded in agreement.

"I will leave now. You have my address. I want you to write me if you ever change your mind. The offer to you both will always be open."

### Chapter 25 - Codfresh Lake Fades Away

The 1970s came and saw much growth on Cape Cod. In addition to blossoming residential and commercial construction; the year round population grew.

Tourism swelled as more and more day trippers and visitors from out of state were drawn to the area which many consider to have the best seafood and some of the finest beaches in the entire United States.

( **Author's note** : Coast Guard Beach in Eastham, not far from the site of Codfresh Lake, is constantly rated the equal of any of the beaches of Florida and Hawaii. Year after year it is listed as one of the top ten beaches in the United States. Yet, in truth, there are at least two dozen other Cape Cod beaches, just as inviting as Coast Guard Beach - the fabulous mile-long West Dennis Beach, just to name one. **End of Author's note**.)

Of all the sections of Cape Cod, only the area surrounding Codfresh Lake was left out of the population and building boom. It became even more remote as the swamps and rivers expanded; trees, brush and brambles filled in nearly every gap where horse or man would dare to go.

Maps, Conservation commissions, Town Selectmen, and common sense declared all the lands around the eerie lake, unbuildable.

Since Cisco's death Amanda ceased to care about the condition of the cottage, letting it fall into disrepair. Young Jimmy had no desire to keep up the dwelling, being much more at home in the water than he was on land.

For a year or so there had been an occasional visitor, but as the area succumbed to the spread of swamp and forest; and the population shrank to less than a half dozen people within five miles of the lake and there was no one anywhere near the cottage other than Jimmy and Amanda.

Though Jimmy cared little for maintenance of the house and property he respected and liked the land. He took over Amanda's half-acre after she lost interest in it and his crops were the equal of his Mom's.

By 1972 he had grown to nearly five and a half feet tall and weighed about 130 pounds. At 14, he was big enough to do everything around the property that he had to.

Amanda, at this point, pretty much did nothing but sit inside the house in the cold weather and outside the house at the picnic table when it was warm.

Though still a young woman, she had lost interest in life and when she took sick in January of 1973, she didn't fight it. She told Jimmy she'd be fine and he believed her. Within a week of contracting an insidious flu, she died quietly in her sleep.

Jimmy let the fireplace burn out. Likewise he did not replenish the wood in the cook stove. He wept for days on end, sitting at the foot of her bed. Blue finally succeeded in dragging the boy away from the corpse.

He left his mother in the house for another week, preserved by the sub freezing temperatures, before finally wrapping her in a sheet. He carried her to the barn. Her grave would be located near the picnic table. Jimmy would bury her after the ground softened up during the Spring thaw.

That winter was one of the coldest ever. Freshlake was frozen over the whole season. Jimmy walked to the edge of the ice to The Brack, which was only partially iced over due to its high salt content. He visited with his catfish friends nearly every day. That, and the companionship of Blue, was how he made it through the terrible season.

When summer came, Blue died at sixteen, shrunken with age and infirmity. Jimmy, just a year younger than Blue, was alone as he approached manhood - truly alone, except for the catfish.

When ancient Mungo died shortly after Blue, Jimmy reached the lowest point of a life that was mostly one low point followed by another.

He thought about Professor Wagner. He remembered the Professor telling his Mom how he could learn to speak before a big crowd at the Museum. He would meet people. He would have money. He would have friends, maybe even a girl friend.

Though he had the appearance of a catfish, Jimmy's human side prompted him to wonder about girls.

Jimmy resolved to go to Boston to be with Professor Wagner and join Wagner's Wonders. Yet, in his entire life, he had never been more than five miles away from his cottage.

How could he ever find his way to Boston when he didn't even know how to get to Hyannis? He knew only how to get to the abandoned hamlets of Seatown and Codtown.

He knew that Anse Peckins had moved his store to The Marsh, but he had never been further than Anse's old store. Finally, he devised a plan to go to Codtown and ask his old enemies, the Jamison brothers, to help him get to The Marsh. Once there, he was certain that Mr. Peckins would help him to get to Hyannis, where the trains were still running. He could take the train to Boston.

It had been seven long years since he encountered the Jamisons while he was exploring the abandoned villages and they chased him away. He was eight years old then. Now at 15, he was just two inches shy of six feet and he weighed a solid 170 pounds, larger than either Jamison brother. He had a massive chest; with arms and legs that had grown as strong as tree trunks from endless hours of swimming as well as hard work in the half-acre garden.

He was no longer afraid of the brothers, but he wanted their help, not a confrontation. Since his speech was still garbled, he decided to write them a note.

Sitting at the picnic table on a warm day in early July, he began writing:

"Joel and Jake,

My Mother died in the winter, so I am leaving Codfresh Lake. If you will help me get to Anse Peckins' new store in The Marsh, in return I will give you my cottage and all that goes with it. I have some stock, dozens of chickens, three horses, two mules, a wagon, plus a barn and everything in it. All you have to do is help me get to Anse's as I do not know the way. You can consider this letter to be a bill of sale.

Signed,

James da Silva, known to you as The Catfish Boy.

Jimmy finished the note and put it into an envelope. Packing a few things into a sack, he mounted DB, and headed for Codtown.

Dan Barry was still one of the swiftest horses on Cape Cod. The big pinto picked his way through the muddy swamps and overgrown trails as if he had radar.

When they reached Codtown, Jimmy was feeling confident that the brothers would help him. As he looked around at what remained of the village, he felt less so. A few of the houses were little more than charred skeletons, apparently burned down by the careless brothers during alcohol fueled binges.

The remaining structures weren't in much better shape. There were broken windows everywhere. Piles of garbage and trash were heaped on porches, carelessly tossed in the yards, and left to rot in the street.

Dan Barry trotted up and down the village's two dusty streets, swiftly carrying Jimmy as he searched for the brothers, but they were nowhere to be seen.

There was a skiff tied to a dock at the river across the road from Anse's old store. Jimmy secured Dan Barry's reins to a fence post and walked on the decaying dock. In the water, he spied a trout-line full of fish. The brothers must be close by, he thought.

Just then, Joel staggered from the front door of one of the hovels and spying Jimmy, shouted, "Jake, c'mon out heah! Thet Catfish boy is in our yahd and he's stealin' our fish."

Jake joined his brother and the pair drunkenly advanced on Jimmy, all the while screaming that he had stolen their catch.

Jimmy tried to respond but was struck in the face by Jake before he could get a word out. The bottled up anger from years ago took over and Jimmy fired a straight left jab to Joel's nose. It exploded like an over ripe tomato and Joel flopped to his knees, his hands cupped against his bloody face.

Jake tried to run, but Jimmy lashed out with a roundhouse kick that sent him sprawling to the dirt. When he got up, Jimmy slammed a left to his stomach and followed it up with a stiff right uppercut that lifted Jake off his feet and slammed him down hard on the ground.

That was it. The skirmish was over in three quick, surgical punches and one kick; though when they later replayed the fight in their minds, the evil Jamisons saw themselves being brutally beaten to near death by the monstrous catfish boy.

Reluctantly, Jimmy gave up his hope of going to Boston. He climbed on board 'DB' and slowly headed back to his house.

As the summer wore on, the memory of his mother dimmed and he became totally reclusive, hiding from the Jamisons and the few others who still lived around Codfresh Lake.

They left him alone, those five or six hunters, trappers and fishermen who inhabited the desolate area within a few miles of Jimmy's cottage.

Except for old Anse Peckins in the Marsh, almost no one even knew jimmy existed. Captain Spant was long dead. Captain Manderer was in declining health. He had retired after serving two terms as Lieutenant Governor of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

Carlos Pires had returned to Cape Verde to live, when he learned that the Fogo volcanos were threatening to swallow the entire island. He had become one of the nation's leading benefactors. St. Nicholas had abundant fresh water for the first time after Carlos funded a desalination plant. He ran packet ships between the islands and built low cost homes on the very land where he and Cisco spent their early years.

So it was that Captain Cisco da Silva's shipmates were scattered about the globe. The Gold Crown Tavern in New Bedford had closed its doors for good. Dawson's Ale and Dawson's Bock Beer had been bought up by some larger brand and then phased out.

Nobody on "The Ave" remembered the striking native-american woman with the knife-like cheekbones and the eyes that could stare down the toughest drunks in Southeastern Massachusetts. Only Anse Peckins recalled and thought about Codfresh Lake and its catfish boy.

### Chapter 26 - Alone

As autumn came, Jimmy stopped thinking about Boston and his chance for a 'normal' life. He had forged a friendship with Sky that was as strong as the one he had with Mungo. Jimmy now stayed with the cats for days on end. Once or twice during the week, his human side would call him and he'd spend a night or two in the ramshackle cottage he once shared with his mother. He never thought about his father.

He didn't bother to harvest his crops in the half-acre. By this time, his food usually was the same as that consumed by his catfish friends.

Perhaps once every week or two, he would put wood in his mom's old cook stove and light it. Frying up some human food, Jimmy would sit at the table to eat it and try to remember his mother's face. He had trouble now remembering what human faces look like. In his entire life, he had seen less than 20 people faces but he had viewed more than 200 catfish faces. Between the two (except for that of his mother), Jimmy decided he preferred fish faces.

After his meal, Jimmy opened the last remaining bottle of grogo that Amanda had made. He had slowly acquired a taste for the strong drink and was sorry that he had only the one bottle left. At the same time, he was happy to be rid of one of the last things that tied him to human beings.

Jimmy walked to his beloved Maple log that arched from the edge of his land in a graceful loop before disappearing in the depths of the brack. He spent a leisurely hour draining the remaining grogo.

The October sun seemed as strong as July as Jimmy set down the empty bottle and lay back on his log. He stretched-out, closed his eyes and fell asleep. He dreamed.

### Chapter 27 - Epilogue to The Beginning and Prologue to The End

( **Author's note to readers** : That is the end of the beginning of Jimmy Catfish. The next chapter (28) is the end of the story - it is the original short story as it appears in the short Kindle book, **Swamp Tales: Horrors from the Hockomock Swamp and the Marshes of Cape Cod**. If you want to get right back to the story, just skip this section and go directly to Chapter 28.

The tale of Jimmy Catfish is based on the writings of a few early 19th. and 20th. century authors and in the first story, I tried to stick to their style, which was very long on descriptive prose but a bit short on action. For the new work, I attempted a more modern approach, less flowery and hopefully with more action.

My reason for writing the fictional Swamp Tales book was because of a very unsettling real life sighting of a swamp creature. Years ago, while living in a section of Massachusetts that is part of what has been called 'The Bridgewater Triangle'; I was on a midnight walk with my dog, Samantha who suddenly became very frightened. We heard strange, inhuman cries. Soon we saw a three to four foot tall hairy being that may have been a demonic creature called a Puckwudgie.

Years later, I wrote about the event in a blog that was read by movie producer Aaron Cadieux. My story eventually became part of the award winning feature length film, The Bridgewater Triangle Documentary.

Discovery Channels in the United States and Sky TV in the UK, also featured my account in Season Two, Episode One of Monsters and Mysteries in America.

Though I was eager to participate in those projects, I really am not comfortable talking about the scary little thing I saw. I have written a very brief account of it in my Kindle book, The Creature from the Bridgewater Triangle and other odd tales from New England. I thought about expanding on my brief story, but there really is not much more to tell.

Anything more would be just padding. To my short book, I added a few other stories about Massachusetts and New England, and also included some personal observations and travel tips about Cape Cod, where I now live. Some people who have purchased the booklet ( it is just 99 cents ) have been disappointed that it is not longer - but as I said, my written account as well as my filmed and television recollections, pretty much tell the whole story.

I do like a good scary yarn as much as the next person, and it is for that reason that I decided to write the Jimmy Catfish tales. I am much more comfortable in the fictional world of the catfish boy than I am in the real world where I saw a thing that defies description.

To this day, some 25 years after my 1990 encounter, I think about the odd creature that summoned me in the early morning stillness.

I do believe I handled it wrong. I should have been braver. I should have walked right up to the thing. Perhaps I should have captured it.

I think this, and I believe this, but then I remember the sight of my dog. Samantha was fearless. One time, she and I had a dangerous brush with a buffalo in a zoo. It charged at us. There was a chain link fence separating us from the beast. When it slammed into that fence, it left a permanent gaping bulge in it. Sammy tried to get into the enclosure to attack the buffalo. She wanted to tear the 2,000 pound behemoth from limb to limb. I had to drag her away from it.

And yet, when she saw the little three foot swamp thing that beckoned us in the darkness, she was terrified.

I think, ultimately, what prevented me from more interaction with the creature, was the power it had to turn my brave rotweiller-shepherd mix into a whimpering, quivering wreck.

Thank you for reading this book. If you also have read The Creature from The Bridgewater Triangle and my Swamp Tales and felt they were too short, I am sorry. I hope that perhaps the fictional Jimmy Catfish will make up for it. **End of Author's notes** )

### Chapter 28 - Jimmy Catfish (The End)

Codfresh Lake

It is hardly possible to describe this strange lake to you; so you will get a picture of it in your head as I have it in mine.

Codfresh Lake is like no other body of water that I, or anyone else, has ever seen. Some say it was created by the great New England Hurricane of 1938. Others vow that it never really was created at all, but is simply some sort of a cosmic joke. It is only called a lake because there is no word in English for what it really is.

In the middle of Cape Cod sometime in the early 1900s; from Nantucket Sound Northwards, a salt river snaked its tidal way from Dennis Port towards Brewster, then veered sharply East in the direction of Provincetown - but it never got there.

In the opposite direction, A rogue stream from Long Pond in Harwich, began a trip West towards Hyannis. It took on girth when it married a rivulet from Hinckley's Pond. The conjoined rivers expanded further when they ran through Seymour Pond, about three miles from Route six. The newly enlarged raging fresh-water river set a course for Dennis Port - but it never got there.

From the West, the Salt River rushed on to meet the Fresh River combination from the East. The mingle of these entities did not bring forth a marriage of the headwaters; only an uneasy truce that created an odd body of water six miles long and one mile wide.

Divided into three sections; it consisted of a tiny sea of salt water two miles long on the West end; a small fresh-water lake of two miles in length on the East end; and in the middle, was a two mile area of unearthly water that the locals called 'The Brack'.

The three sections of the Codfresh were as different in color as in composition. The salty part was a bright, inviting blue, while at the opposite end of the lake, the freshwater portion had a brownish/black hue. In the middle; The Brack took on the gray pall of a World War Two battleship.

Airplanes generally avoided Codfresh Lake. Some pilots reported feeling queasy as they flew over the motley waters. Other fliers said their engines sputtered as they crossed The Brack.

Codfish were known to swim in the West and Trout basked near the Eastern shore; but in the middle it was said that strange fish existed. Fish that were neither salt nor fresh; but simply 'Brackfish'.

The six miles of land that was filled by the uneasy entrenchment of the salt and fresh rivers, had contained high points and low. It was both forested and bare, as well as rocky and sandy.

As it was being formed during the wrestling match of the rivers, the Codfresh waters took down trees, hills and hollows. The result was the largest lake on the island of Cape Cod, lying mostly in Harwich but partly in Dennis. Oddly enough, the shape of the lake mirrored the shape of Cape Cod - resembling a flexed human arm.

During the run of the raildroad, Codfresh Lake was accessible. The train tracks ran within a few miles of it. After train service was stopped in the 1959, the body of water could only be reached on foot. The tracks were pulled up and the railroad right of way quickly turned into a nearly impassable swamp. The nearest paved road was five miles distant. Tourists and even most Summer residents have never heard of the Codfresh. With a few exceptions, the handful of locals who know the secrets of the lake, are reluctant to speak of it.

There was neither electricity nor municipal services in the area and very few homes.

Codfresh Lake is, and has always been, a lake of mystery.

In places it is bottomless. Other places the skeletons of the Pine trees that went down when the earth sank, still stand upright so that if the sun shines from the right quarter, and the water is less muddy than usual, a man, peering face downward into its depths, sees, or thinks he sees, down below him the bare top-limbs stretching up like the fingers of drowned men, all coated with the mud and green slime of many years.

In still other places the lake is shallow for long stretches, no deeper than chest high, but dangerous because of the weed growths and the sunken drifts which entangle a swimmer's legs.

The banks of Codfresh are mainly mud, its West waters are muddy too, being a rich coffee color in the spring and a copperish yellow in the summer. The trees along its shore are mud colored too; right up to their lower limbs after the spring floods, when the dried sediment covers their trunks with a thick, scruffy-looking coat.

There are stretches of unbroken forest around it, and runs where the rangy pines rise like tombstones above the dead trunks that rot in the soft ooze.

There are long, dismal flats where in the Spring the Leopard Frog spawn cling like patches of white mucus among the weed-stalks, and at night the turtles crawl out to lay batches of perfectly round, white eggs with tough, rubbery shells in the sand.

Codfresh lies there, flat in the bottoms, freezing over in the winter, steaming torridly in the summer, swollen in the spring when the woods have turned a vivid green and the flies and gnats by the millions fill the flooded hollows with their pestilential buzzing, and in the fall, ringed about gloriously with all the colors which the first frost brings - gold of Maple, yellow-russet of Oak, and Red of the Burning Bush.

The countryside around Codfresh lake was the best game and fish country, natural or artificial, in New England.

In their appointed seasons the duck and the geese flock in by the thousands. Snow white Swans glide on the fresh water to the West, while Seagulls patrol the East. Most birds wisely avoid the Brack.

Hundred pound wild turkeys as big as sheep and almost as colorful as peacocks range the ridges. When the males fan their tales to impress the 80 pound hens, they look as big as a Volkswagen bug.

By night the bullfrogs, inconceivably big and tremendously vocal, bellow under the banks.

It is a wonderful place for fish - Fluke and Blues abound in the West and there are Trout and Bass in the East. Odd, crusty creatures with knives for teeth swim in The Brack.

On every stranded log the huge snapping turtles lie on sunny days in groups of four and six, baking their shells black in the sun, with their little snaky heads raised watchfully, ready to slip noiselessly off at the first sound of oars grating in the row-locks.

The biggest creatures in Codfresh Lake are the catfish in the Brack! Found only in the lake's gray waters, they are a kind of Catfish seen nowhere else. Their ferocity is unmatched by any fish or mammal, save the Homo Sapiens.

They are monstrous creatures, these catfish - scaleless,slick things, with dead eyes, lips like giant worms, and poisonous fins, like javelins, and huge whiskers dangling from the sides of their cavernous heads.

Three and four and even five feet long they grow to be, and weigh 50 to 100 pounds or more, and they have mouths wide enough to take in a man's foot or a man's fist, and strong enough to break any hook save the strongest, and greedy enough to eat anything, living or dead or putrid, that their horny jaws can master. They are the only extant breed of catfish to have teeth. The catfish of the Brack have a mouth like an armory. Twin rows of sharp knife-like teeth line the gaping orifice. The catfish live in the slime of the bottom of the Brack, wallowing in sediment and waste, but their teeth are as clean and white as the keys of a new piano.

The cats are vile things, and the few locals brave or foolish enough to have fished The Brack, tell wicked tales of them down there. They call them man-eaters, and compare them, in certain of their habits, to sharks.

Jimmy Catfish was one of the few people who lived on the shores of Codfresh Lake. He had been born there to a sea captain and a Native-American woman. Both were long dead.

A youth of perhaps 20 years, Jimmy was deformed and the story that ran around the back woods villages of Cape Cod was that his Mother had been frightened by one of the monster Catfish just before giving birth, so that's why the baby was born deformed. There was little support for one born 'different' back in the 1960's, the time of this story.

Jimmy Catfish was considered a human monstrosity, the veritable embodiment of nightmare!

He had the body of a man--a short, stocky sinewy body. He wore no shoes on his webbed feet. His hands were also webbed but the fingers served well enough for fishing and farming. His face was the worst: it was as near to being the face of a great fish as any face could be and still have some trace of humanity.

His skull sloped back so sharply that he could hardly be said to have a have a forehead at all; his chin slanted off right into nothing. His eyes were small and round with shallow, glazed, pale-yellow pupils, and they were set wide apart in his head, and they were unblinking and staring - like fish eyes.

His nose was little more than a bump with two slits on an oily face. His mouth was the worst of all. It was the awful maw of a catfish, almost inconceivably wide, stretching from side to side. It ran from one tiny ear to the other and had fat lips like giant worms or like stretched out Halloween wax candy.

Worst of all, when Jimmy entered his teen aged years, his likeness to a fish increased, for the hair upon his face grew out into two tightly kinked slender pendants that drooped down either side of the mouth like the beards of a catfish!

He was often called simply "Catfish", and he answered to it. He knew the waters and the woods of the area better than any other man there; but he kept to himself, fishing the lake, and trapping a little. His neighbors left him to himself.

Indeed, for the most part they had a superstitious fear of him. So he lived alone, with no friends or visitors.

His cabin stood just at the merge of the Brack and the fresh-water. Once a pretty cottage, it had deteriorated into a tumbledown shack of decaying logs. It was the only human habitation for miles in any direction.

Behind it, where once had been cranberry bogs, run long ago by his parents; the thick timber had marched right up to the edge of his small garden, enclosing it in thick shade except when the sun stood just overhead.

When he ate people food, he cooked it in a primitive fashion, outdoors, over a hole in the soggy earth or upon the rusted red ruin of an old cookstove, and he drank the brown water of Freshlake out of a dipper made of a gourd, faring and fending for himself, a master hand at fishing and netting, competent with his father's old twelve gauge shotgun, as well as gaffs and spears.

He was a creature of affliction and loneliness, part savage, virtually amphibious, and set apart from his fellows, silent and suspicious.

In front of his cabin, in the gray waters of the Brack to the left of his dock, jutted out the trunk of a long fallen Maple, lying half in and half out of the water, its top side made sand colored by the sun and worn smooth by the friction of Jimmy's webbed feet until it showed countless patterns of tiny scrolled lines, its underside black and rotted, and lapped at unceasingly by little waves like tiny licking tongues.

Its farther end reached deep water. And it was a part of Jimmy Catfish, for no matter how far his fishing and trapping might take him in the daytime, sunset would find him back there, his father's old red row boat drawn up on the bank, and he on the other end of this log.

From a distance men had seen him there many times, sometimes squatted as motionless as the big turtles that would crawl upon its dipping tip in his absence, sometimes erect and motionless, his misshapen form outlined against the yellow sun, the brown water, and the muddy banks.

If the few locals in the area shunned Catfish by day; they feared him by night and avoided him as a plague, dreading even the chance of a casual meeting.

There were ugly stories about Jimmy. They said that a cry which had been heard just before dusk and just after, skittering across the darkened waters, was his calling cry to the big catfish, and at his bidding they came trooping in, and that in their company he swam in The Brack on moonlight nights - diving with them, even feeding with them on whatever manner of unclean things they fed.

The cry was sometimes like the thumping of a bass drum. It could also be a croak, as if made from a giant bullfrog. At other times it was eerily musical; like the sound of a fingernail running up and down the teeth of a comb - but much louder.

The cry had been heard many times, that much was certain, and it was certain also that the big fish were noticeably thick at the mouth of Catfish's slough (the wet muddy area near the fallen Maple log).

Here Jimmy Catfish had lived his whole life without ever having been anywhere else, and here he was going to die. The Jamison brothers were going to kill him, and this day in late summer was to be the time of the killing.

The two Jamisons, Jake and Joel, were coming in their dugout to do it!

The murder had been planned for a long time. The Jamisons had to brew their hate over a slow fire for months before it reached the pitch of action.

They were poor, jobless backwoods locals. Poor in everything, repute, and worldly goods, and standing; a pair of fever-ridden squatters who lived on whiskey and tobacco when they could get it, and on fish and cornbread when they couldn't.

The feud itself was long standing. Encountering Jimmy Catfish one day, on a spindly dock in an abandoned village, and being themselves far overtaken in liquor and with a bogus alcoholic substitute for courage, the brothers had accused him, wantonly and without proof, of running their trout-line and stripping it of the hooked catch--an unforgivable sin among Cape Cod fishermen.

Seeing that he bore this accusation in silence, only eyeing them steadfastly, they had been emboldened then to slap his face, whereupon he turned and gave them both the beating of their lives - bloodying their noses and bruising their lips with hard blows against their front teeth, and finally leaving them, mauled and prone, in the dirt.

The whole thing had been planned out amply. They were going to kill him on his log at sundown. There would be no witnesses to see it, no retribution to follow after it. The very ease of the undertaking made them forget even their inborn fear of Catfish's house.

For more than an hour they had been coming stealthily from their shack across a deeply indented arm of the lake.

Their dugout, fashioned by fire and axe and knife, moved through the water as noiselessly as a swimming mallard, leaving behind it a long, wavy trail on the stilled waters.

Jake, the better oarsman, sat flat in the stern of the round-bottomed craft, paddling with quick, splashless strokes. Joel, the better shot, was squatted forward. There was a heavy, rusted duck gun between his knees.

Though their spying upon the victim had made them certain he would not be about the shore for hours, a doubled sense of caution led them to hug closely to the weedy banks. They slid along the shore like shadows, moving so swiftly and in such silence that the watchful mud turtles barely turned their snaky heads as they passed.

So, a full hour before the time, they came slipping around the mouth of the slough and made for a natural ambush point which Catfish had left within a stone's throw of his cottage.

Where the slough's flow joined deeper water a partly uprooted tree was stretched, prone from shore, at the top still thick and green with leaves that drew nourishment from the earth in which the half uncovered roots yet held, and twined about with an exuberance of trumpet vines. All about was a huddle of drift--last year's cornstalks, shreddy strips of bark, chunks of rotted weed, all the silt and refuse of a quiet eddy.

Straight into this green clump glided the dugout and swung, broadside on, against the protecting trunk of the tree, hidden from the inner side by the intervening curtains of rank growth, just as the Jamisons had intended it should be hidden when days before in their scouting they marked this masked place of waiting and included it, then and there, in the scope of their plans.

There had been no hitch or mishap. No one had been abroad in the late afternoon to mark their movements--and in a little while Catfish ought to be due. Jake's woodman's eye followed the downward swing of the sun speculatively.

The shadows, thrown shoreward, lengthened and slithered on the small ripples. The small noises of the day died out; the small noises of the coming night began to multiply.

The green-bodied flies went away and big mosquitoes with speckled gray legs, came to take the places of the flies.

The sleepy lake sucked at the mud banks with small mouthing sounds, as though it found the taste of the raw mud agreeable.

Bats began to flit back and forth, above the tops of the trees. A pudgy muskrat, swimming with head up, was moved to sidle off briskly as he met a water snake, so fat and swollen that it looked almost like a legless lizard as it moved along the surface of the water in a series of slow torpid S's. Directly above the head of either of the waiting assassins a compact little swarm of 'biting' midges hung, holding to a sort of kite-shaped formation.

A little more time passed and Jimmy came out of the woods at the back, walking swiftly, with a sack over his shoulder.

For a few seconds he stood in the clearing, then the black inside of the cabin swallowed him up.

By now the sun was almost down. Only the red nub of it showed above the timber line across the lake, and the shadows lay inland a long way. Out beyond, the big cats were stirring, and the great smacking sounds as their twisting bodies leaped clear and fell back in the water, came shoreward in a chorus.

But the two brothers, in their green cover, gave heed to nothing except the one thing upon which their hearts were set and their nerves tensed. Joel gently shoved his gun barrels across the log, cuddling the stock to his shoulder and slipping two fingers caressingly back and forth upon the triggers. Jake held the narrow dugout steady by a gripping a fist full of the trumpet vines.

A little wait and then the finish came!

Jimmy Catfish emerged from the cabin door and came down the narrow footpath to the water and out upon the water on his log.

He was bareheaded, his cotton shirt open down the front to show his neck and chest, his dungarees held about his waist by a twisted tow rope.

His broad feet, with their webbed prehensile toes outspread, gripped the polished curve of the log as he moved along its swaying, dipping surface until he came to its outer end, and stood there erect, his chest filling, his chinless face lifted up, and something of the master and of dominion in his poise.

And then--his eye caught what another's eyes might have missed - the round, twin ends of the gun barrels, the fixed gleam of Joel's eyes, aimed at him through the green!

In that swift passage of time, too swift almost to be measured by seconds, realization flashed all through him, and he threw his head still higher, and began violently rotating his left shoulder. The grinding of one bone against another created a noise that became deafening when he let it out by opening wide his shapeless mouth. Out across the lake he sent his skittering, rolling, and vibrating cry.

It began with the deep thumping of a drum. The sound changed in pitch and intensity and morphed into the roll of a marching snare drum before giving way to the odd sound of a fingernail running up and down the teeth of a comb. The cry was musical and ghostly.

In his combing cry was the laugh of a loon, and the croaking bellow of a frog, and the bay of a hound, all the compounded night noises of the lake. And in it, too, was a farewell, and a defiance, and an appeal!

The heavy roar of the duck gun overpowered all the other sounds on the lake!

At twenty yards the double charge tore out Jimmy's throat. He came down, face forward, upon the log and clung there, his trunk twisting in spasms, his legs twitching and kicking like the legs of a speared frog; his shoulders hunching and lifting spasmodically as the life ran out of him all in one swift coursing flow.

His head canted up between the heaving shoulders, his eyes looked full on the staring face of his murderer, and then the blood came out of his mouth, and Jimmy Catfish, in death still as much fish as man, slid, flopping, head first, off the end of the log, and sank, face downward slowly, his limbs all extended out.

One after another a string of big bubbles came up to burst in the middle of a widening reddish stain on the gray water.

The brothers watched this, held by the horror of the thing they had done, and the cranky dugout, having been tipped far over by the recoil of the gun, took water steadily across its gunwale; and now there was a sudden stroke from below upon its careening bottom and it went over and they were in the lake.

But shore was only twenty feet away, the trunk of the uprooted tree only five. Joel, still holding fast to his shot gun, made for the log, gaining it with one stroke. He threw his free arm over it and clung there, treading water, as he shook his eyes free.

Something gripped him--some great, sinewy, unseen thing gripped him fast by the thigh, crushing down on his flesh!

He uttered no cry, but his eyes popped out, and his mouth set in a square shape of agony, and his fingers gripped into the bark of the tree like grapples. He was pulled down and down, by steady jerks, not rapidly but steadily, so steadily, and as he went his fingernails tore four little white strips in the tree-bark. His mouth went under, next his popping eyes, then his erect hair, and finally his clawing, clutching hand, and that was the end of him.

Jake's fate was harder still, for he lived longer--long enough to see Joel's finish. He saw it through the water that ran down his face, and with a great surge of his whole body, he literally flung himself across the log and jerked his legs up high into the air to save them. He flung himself too far, though, for his face and chest hit the water on the far side.

And out of this water rose the head of a great fish, with the lake slime of years on its flat, black head, its whiskers bristling, its fixed eyes alight. Its boney jaws closed and clamped in the front of Jake's flannel shirt. His hand struck out wildly and was speared on a poisoned fin, and, unlike Joel, he went from sight with a great yell, and a whirling and churning of the water that made the cornstalks circle on the edges of a small whirlpool.

But the whirlpool soon thinned away, into widening rings of ripples, and the corn stalks quit circling and became still again, and only the multiplying night noises sounded about the mouth of the slough.

The bodies of all three came ashore on the same day near the same place. Except for the gaping gunshot wound where the neck met the chest, Jimmy Catfish's body was unmarked.

The bodies of the two Jamisons were so marred and mauled that the locals buried them together on the bank without ever knowing which might be Jake's and which might be Joel's.

Jimmy Catfish - The End
