COCOS— THE ISLE OF PIRATES 225 



grouper made a rush for it. Smooth white sand 

 alternated with coral skyscrapers and volcanic vil- 

 lages, fathoms beneath the clear water. I did not 

 realize at that time that soon I would be walking 

 the streets of this submarine world, and making my 

 manners to their inhabitants. At the head of the 

 bay series after series of three great rollers curved 

 and broke, so I chose the eastern side where the 

 surge struck obliquely against a line of mighty lava 

 boulders. Rowing in stern first, I chose a moment 

 of equilibrium, and leaped out, bracing myself as a 

 waist-high surge swept past. Guns, nets and 

 cameras were passed along and our first day on 

 Cocos began. 



Wherever we went the way was barred by vege- 

 tation through which we had to force our way. 

 The only passable paths were up the center of the 

 rocky streams which leaped and swirled down from 

 the high interior. Four-fifths of the island is on 

 end, with slopes so steep that the trees are set in 

 at most acute angles. The rain which falls heavily 

 for many months of the year keeps the island as 

 saturated as a sponge, and the squashy yellow clay 

 and dripping vegetation seem seldom to become 

 even approximately dry. 



I walked along shore beneath groves of giant 

 tree-ferns whose lacey foliage fretted the sky over- 

 head. Every now and then a silver column of water 

 would appear, falling from high up on the moun- 

 tain, to spend itself in spray and a trickle over the 

 pebbly beach. The sun came out and the whole 

 island glistened like a jewel with a myriad facets. 



