170 I N A G U A 



country might change character. This did not seem likely but 

 there was always the possibility. 



Instead the thorn scrub became more wild than ever. A maze 

 of tough prickly branches denied entry in a solid front all along 

 the edge of the valley. Gradually the inner wall became steeper 

 and eventually developed into a concave recessed cliff that 

 stretched out mile after mile in the heat waves. There was a 

 peculiar character to this wall that excited my curiosity. In some 

 manner it had a vaguely familiar look, some idiosyncrasy of 

 construction that set it apart from all other rock ledges that 

 I had seen. I searched my memory for a long time before a 

 recollection flashed into mind. This wall was exactly like the 

 cliff wall which towered over my bathing pool at Mathewtown. 

 The odd construction was caused by the scooping action of 

 surf; the signs were unmistakable. It was as hard as flint. 



The wall itself offered further proof. Half cemented to its 

 base and frozen by the chemical action of decaying lime were 

 the remnants of dozens of varieties of sea creatures; the shells of 

 ancient whelks, faded to chalk white; crushed and broken 

 conchs; pieces of old coral, bleached by the sun and half melted 

 by the elements; the curved pieces of the armor plates of chitons; 

 broken fragments of mussels, piled deep; the calcareous remains 

 of echinoderms and the worn spirals of a dozen varieties of 

 gastropods. This was an old sea cliff where the surf once 

 thundered and foamed. I looked out to the present sea front. 

 It was about fourteen feet lower down and nearly four hundred 

 feet distant. At no very remote period, geologically speaking, 

 Inagua had been a dozen feet lower down in the sea. Much of 

 what is now dry land must have been shallow lagoon and rolling 

 water. The Bahamas are considered to be in a period of geologi- 

 cal submergence, they are slowly slipping into the ocean from 

 which they came; there is much evidence, however, of local 

 uplift; mother earth breathes deeply at times; a mile down in the 



