"INAGUA IS A QUEER LITTLE ISLAND" 6$ 



that won't let people sleep," and then heard him crawl to the 

 hatch. Together we pulled ourselves to the deck. It was still 

 dark and a faint mist hung over the water hiding the shore from 

 which we could faintly hear the surge of surf. Daxon was at 

 the tiller again, but the relatives were still snoring in a tangled 

 heap on the deck. 



"Where are we?" I asked Daxon. 



"Man-of-War Bay," he grunted. "We be Mathewtown by 

 sunrise." 



We looked bleary-eyed at the vague defines of the shore- 

 line and once at the star-spangled profusion of the sky above. 

 There was little else to be seen except the white outlines of 

 the little breakers as they lisped along the rail. I lay down near 

 the mast and Coleman slumped in a heap near the tiller. There 

 we must have drowsed for when I again opened my eyes it was 

 to see a faint glimmer of dayHght in the east. 



About a hundred yards inshore I could make out a high 

 gray line of beetling cliff against which the surf rose and fell 

 in lazy fashion as though tired from the night's calm. As I 

 watched we gently turned a point of land and headed toward 

 the south. "Mathewtown," Daxon grunted and nodded in the 

 direction of the Southern Cross which was hanging lopsided on 

 the horizon. At first we could see nothing. But then through 

 the gray there began to loom the nearly intangible bulk of sev- 

 eral buildings. Presently the light grew stronger and we could 

 distinguish the scene more clearly. Near the beach rose a large 

 square building with red shutters and back of that stood several 

 other structures with tall flagpoles beside them looking like 

 the masts of some gaunt ship that had been wrecked and lost 

 its rigging. Dimly we could See some tall lanky trees that we 

 recognized by their grotesque shape as cashurinas and clus- 

 tered between them an assortment of other buildings grading 

 in size down to little one room huts with thatched roofs. 



