I N A G U A 



As far back as I could remember I had dreamed of owning 

 a sailing ship, a sleek thing of tall masts, of taut gleaming can- 

 vas and smooth white hull. It is a dream common to many men. 

 But as the years passed my hope grew in intensity and was fed 

 by an increasing restlessness that is still with me and which I 

 find difficult to explain, even to myself. Some dreams come of 

 themselves, come unexpectedly and pass as quickly. Others 

 and the more enduring ones grow slowly, gaining in stature 

 with the years like children, spreading out, acquiring purpose 

 and going on to realization. It was thus with this dream. From 

 visions of mere adventure these fancies gave way to an object 

 of serious intent. But there was first an interlude that shaped 

 the ends of the dream so that it acquired dignity and became 

 more fitting. 



The interlude began in the strange little Republic of Haiti 

 where I was engaged in biological research for the American 

 Museum of Natural History. Prior to this time the pressure of 

 financial and social obligations had forced me, like nearly every- 

 one else, into business; and for a few years I was submerged in 

 a welter of mercantile activity. My lifelong friend, Wally 

 Coleman, with whom I had often discussed the ship of dreams 

 and with whom I had planned long voyages, had drifted into 

 medical work and it seemed that our much planned adventures 

 would never mature. But then an opportunity came for a 

 vacation in Flaiti with the privilege of doing for the American 

 Museum some research which had been my hobby for several 

 years. 



In Haiti I began to become keenly aware that I was leading 

 a very pleasant life. As an amateur biologist I found ample 

 excuse to indulge my hobby— to seek new places, new species, 

 new habits of those species, and above all to have an opportu- 

 nity to satisfy an inordinate curiosity about what lay in the next 

 valley, over the curve of the mountain or beyond the turn of 



