THE BIRTH OF A VOLCANO 123 



court and Douamont. Before this spell broke I 

 went quietly down to breakfast. 



When three miles off shore we sounded in a 

 mile and a quarter, and even when within a mile 

 of the coast we floated on a half mile of water. 

 In a fairly choppy sea three of us dropped into a 

 boat. As we approached the land we realized the 

 landing was going to be difficult. Heavy surf 

 dashed against the cliffs, or rushed madly over 

 half hidden reefs. Here and there were calm la- 

 goons backed by mangroves, but always guarded 

 by deadly giant waves. Up and down the shore 

 we chugged, vainly looking for an opening. Twice 

 I almost made up my mind to jump and let myself 

 be washed ashore, but decided on a final reconnais- 

 sance to the northward toward Cape Marshall. 

 We passed deep caverns cut out of black lava and 

 once a natural bridge stretched across a gap from 

 which four sea-lions leaped down to have a look at 

 us. A golden grouper snapped at our shining brass 

 propeller, sharks cut outer edges with their fins 

 about the boat, and once a baby devilfish as large 

 as the door of my cabin playfully flipped one of his 

 wings and drenched us with spray. 



As with all coasts, the capes and indentations 

 were visible only when we were opposite them and 

 hence we did not see a delightful little cove until 

 we had almost passed it. Turning sharply in, a 

 flock of noddy terns, pelicans, and some brown 

 boobies greeted us. As I was changing motor for 

 oars in shallow water a dozen big black groupers 

 rushed at us and bumped and bit at the oars and 



