"INAGUA IS A QUEER LITTLE ISLAND" 59 



heads. The other Negroes disposed themselves Hkewise, sleep- 

 ing like so many crocodiles on the bare sand. 



For a time Coleman and I made a brave effort at slumber, for 

 we both v^ere near exhaustion. But the mosquitoes and sand 

 flies would not have it. From out of the mangroves and from 

 the ground beneath they came in swarming myriads to sing 

 into our ears and burrow into our hides. We tried pulling the 

 blankets over our heads like the Inaguans but it was too hot. 

 We looked at the prostrate forms on the sand. The mosquitoes 

 and sand flies might have been in Mars for all they cared. Finally 

 we could stand it no longer. 



"Let's get out of here," exclaimed Coleman and jumped to 

 his feet. 



In the dark we lugged our cots to the bluff overlooking the 

 wreck. At last we had peace, for there the trade winds were 

 blowing from off the ocean in a steady cool current driving the 

 distracting hordes before them. 



Early in the morning Ophelia came up the bluff to tell us 

 that breakfast was ready. She appeared as fresh as a daisy. We 

 asked her how she stood the mosquitoes. 



She replied, "Oh, dem tings— dey don like black folk." And 

 she grinned, "Dey's no skeeter now, wait till de rains come." 



Some days later we had all our wreckage piled in one spot on 

 the shore of the lagoon Christophe. It was a considerable jum- 

 ble. A vast pile of tins glittering in the sunlight assured us of 

 food for some time to come though we lost many in the heat 

 of the sun which caused the cans to burst. At times the burst- 

 ings sounded like miniature cannonades as can after can ex- 

 ploded, squirting jets of vegetable in the air. We remedied the 

 situation by covering them vv^ith the leaves of palmetto. Our 

 precious books, stained with water and gritty with sand, lay 

 in piles where we had dropped them, and under spare canvas 

 was the remainder of our instruments. 



