WHEN NIGHT COMES TO WATER 



star of a pin-prick, up to where a great tropical 

 firefly was zooniing steadily over the water, giving 

 out a light as even and as brilliant as those borne 

 by the deep-sea fish, a half-mile below the water 

 of the open sea. With a last upward curve the 

 flying beetle vanished and left my eyes, almost 

 without a change of focus, fixed on the head of 

 Scorpio, outlined against the velvety blackness of 

 the sky. As I looked from Akrab to Antares and 

 back again, a startling flash of lightning stabbed 

 jaggedly across the stars from a rain cloud bearing 

 down on us from the black mouth of the Valley 

 of the Cul-de-Sac. And last of all, my eyes 

 dropped to the thin, nicely evened line of the con- 

 stellation of Port-au-Prince City along the distant 

 horizon. 



Never in my life have I seen such a succession 

 of glorious illuminants crowded into an equal num- 

 ber of minutes, — the phosphorescence of life itself 

 — the water for uncounted miles teeming with 

 swarming hosts — all swimming dull and unseen, 

 until some stimulus, bringing perhaps death to 

 thousands, stirs them to momentary glory; the 

 glowing body of the winged insect; the eternal 

 patterns of the tropic stars; the majesty of the 

 lightning; and the lights of the man-made city — 

 man's handiwork seen at its best, illumined and 

 at a distance. 



Light-in-Darkness is a very wonderful theme 

 and susceptible of endless elaboration. The fire 

 and sun worshippers of olden times have more 



77 



