CHAPTER III 



THE CEILING OF THE BAY 



Sand Cay was three miles out from the schooner, 

 and every time I dived there, I spent a full hour in 

 the jolly-boat going and coming. The bow of any 

 boat is always north to the needle of my mind, 

 and from the very first trip I sat Buddha-fashion 

 on the coiled painter, observing and capturing 

 what I could. It was interesting, day by day, to 

 see how one's eyesight and skill with the net 

 improved. In two weeks I had gained a hundred 

 per cent efficiency. 



No two trips were ever alike. There were days 

 of this and days of that, and Easter Sunday was a 

 day of creatures in millions. For two full miles of 

 our course the sea was filled with vibrating thimbles 

 — jellyfish of exactly the size and shape of these 

 homely articles, close to the surface, fairly bumping 

 against the ceiling of the bay. Sometimes they 

 were swimming a foot apart, and again for 

 hundreds of yards they were pressed against one 

 another. They were tawny-olive and they swam 

 in a curious way, an alternate opening and closing 

 of the umbrella, oppositely and at right angles, 

 not circularly as in the big aurelia moons. In a 



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