I N A G U A 



table, that portion closest to the stern, as was evidenced by a 

 set of charts securely clipped in position and by a chronometer 

 which ticked steadily in a padded plush case. Next to the chro- 

 nometer was another case containing a sextant and a set of night 

 glasses. 



Opposite the laboratory table and forward near the hold, 

 partitioned oif so the heat would not be oppressive, was the 

 galley from which Coleman had conjured up the oysters, 

 brown biscuits and coffee. Aft of this, one on each side of 

 the ship, were our bunks tucked in roomy spaces beneath the 

 deck beams. It was about these that we expressed our individu- 

 alities, the only private space we had, for all beyond was com- 

 mon territory. 



Coleman had a comfortable rack for pipes, easily reached 

 by the turn of a hand. They were an amazing and considerable 

 collection, for he was an inveterate smoker, and close by in a 

 securely fastened humidor was a mound of yellow tobacco. 

 Above his bunk and tightly screwed to the wall were three 

 pictures— Franz Hals' "The Laughing Cavalier," a Japanese 

 print showing a delicately limned egret poised daintily on 

 one foot, and another more vigorous painting called "The Gulf 

 Stream." This last, a work by Winslow Homer, showed a dis- 

 masted vessel, not much smaller than ours, rolling in an angry 

 sea with a lone man reclining wearily on the deck, sullenly 

 watching a great blue shark that was slowly circling the hull. 

 Coleman had admired and purchased the picture long ago 

 when we had first contemplated this voyage. For some reason 

 it had struck his fancy and he had hung it in his room at home 

 and then later on our ship as a taunt against the sea. 



I liked the picture, too, but somehow the spirit in which it 

 was hung stirred me to uneasiness. I felt that the sea should not 

 be mocked with lightness, for I had seen it in anger too many 



