CHAPTER VII 



The Sea and the Cave 



s 



*OME of the most delightful incidents of my life have 

 happened at sea. I recall a still, calm morning off the west 

 coast of Nicaragua. There was hterally not a breath of 

 air to stir the surface of the water. And far and wide, scat- 

 tered to the horizon, were the images of white birds. They 

 appeared miraged up so that they looked about twice as 

 big as gulls should be. The answer was soon to see, for 

 each gull was standing on the back of a basking sea turtle 

 floating or swimming slowly upon the surface of the ocean. 

 The effect was extraordinarily lovely, and I have always re- 

 called it with the greatest pleasure. 



A few days later, with the same good weather, we passed 

 through great swarms of coral-red crabs swimming busily 

 along the surface of the ocean, as if all bound upon an 

 important errand. 



I often think of the emotion and excitement, which I 

 suppose has occurred for years and will occur until time 

 ends, when a naturalist sees an albatross for the first time. 

 On the wing — and you mighty seldom see them swim- 

 ming on the surface of the sea — they look entirely unlike 

 any other bird. Their wings are so long and so sharply 

 pointed that you hardly see the body at all; you simply 

 see this great, straight, unbending pair of wings. To see 

 them at their best the sea should be stormy. 



They don't sail the billows as peHcans do, rising and 



