244 I N A G U A 



gentlemen responsible for my temporary flight to heaven. 



Actually I was delighted at what had happened. Not every- 

 one has the good fortune to land on a tropical island in the 

 mode of two Greek deities. It had all been very surprising. 

 My steamer, a small freight and passenger vessel, filled to over- 

 flowing with vacationing shopkeepers and vacuous tourists off 

 on a West Indies cruise, dropped her anchor off the island a 

 little after midnight. There was no moon, nor could I see the 

 shore, but out of the east came the familiar nostalgic smell of 

 jasmine and lavender that is so characteristic of the island. 

 And with it came the roar of the breakers pulsing over the 

 rocks, bringing a flood of memories. 



I was glad to be back and impatiently waiting for a boat 

 to take me ashore. After a half hour, in which the captain 

 cursed and swore in voluble Dutch at the delay, for the only 

 excuse for stopping at Inagua was my getting off, a motor 

 boat came bouncing out of the dark bearing a stern-faced 

 white man and a younger chap who spoke with an unmistak- 

 able Georgia accent. They disappeared into the captain's cabin, 

 performed mysterious rites over the ship's papers and then 

 took me, after a brief inquiry as to my designs on the island, 

 down to the launch. I was reminded of the trial when I first 

 landed on Inagua. We had scarcely reached its deck when the 

 steamer, tourists and all, signaled full speed ahead, scarcely 

 waiting to pull up the anchor, and surged off leaving us in a 

 world of darkness. 



We rolled in close to shore and backwatered near the break- 

 ers. Suddenly to my amazement there was a fierce blaze of 

 electric lights and a whirr of machinery as a wooden platform 

 hung on rope slings plummeted out of the sky and slowed to a 

 halt beside the boat. Above my head towered an immense steel 

 crane which supported the sling. Hurriedly we clambered 

 aboard and clung to the ropes. 



