BENEATH TROPIC SEAS 



it. Instead, however, there were only horses 

 grazing on it. We had to circle three times and 

 almost clip the horses' ears before the crowd of 

 onlooking Haitians got it into their heads that we 

 would like to have the animals driven off. Finally 

 we landed, bumpily, and were slowing easily when 

 an oblique ditch materialized just ahead. My 

 hands went like a flash to the duplicate controls — 

 not from any lack of confidence but sheer reflex — 

 but my pilot did the only possible thing, turning 

 straight up the shallow ditch, and we anchored 

 safely with only the hint of a wing slide. 



The manager of the plantation near the caves 

 was waiting for me, and I made all arrangements 

 to come up the following week with shovels and 

 picks. This I never did, for when I returned to 

 Port-au-Prince I found that Dr. Wetmore had 

 arrived from Washington, and among other things 

 had planned to visit and study the caves, and as 

 no one in the world is better equipped for such 

 work than he, I gladly gave up my intention, and 

 concentrated on reef work. 



We had to take off down wind and rose heavily 

 but cleanly, slapping a branch as we soared, and 

 went northeast toward Gonaives where I was 

 ready to drop a mail pouch, but we were able to 

 land. 



While I had nothing to do but look down and 

 scribble in my note book I found it difiicult to 

 crystallize my thoughts. I have piloted so many 

 times, with the constant responsibility of being 



100 



