CHAPTER XIII 



The Great Reef 



There are two sights on this earth that are so unusual that 

 they do not seem credible. One of these is the flamingos; the 

 other the fantastic and exquisite world of the undersea barrier 

 reef viewed from the point where the ocean bottom falls 

 away into the great depths off the coast of Inagua. It is a 

 strange paradox that the island of Inagua, which is so drab 

 and forlorn in many respects, should harbor in its few square 

 miles two of the earth's most magnificent spectacles. While 

 I am writing these words I am trying to think of something 

 with which to compare them— and I fail completely. The awe- 

 inspiring display of the aurora borealis comes to mind, but 

 this is too pastel and ghostly; and I also think of the beau- 

 tiful bay of Samana in the Dominican Republic with its royal 

 palm forests and curving bays of indigo blue water, where 

 there is lovelier scenery per square mile than any place I have 

 ever visited— but this, also, lacks the final touch of sheer 

 splendor that is an integral part of the great reef. 



Many hours have I spent beneath the sea, in helmets and in 

 diving suits, in massive steel cylinders with thick glass win- 

 dows, in the dark green water of the Chesapeake Bay and in 

 the limpid waters off the coast of Florida, but I was wholly 

 unprepared for the sublime vista which spread before my eyes 

 when I descended from the deck of a dirty Inaguan sailboat 

 anchored on the outer edge of the reef some miles from the 

 settlement. From the deck there was no hint of what lay 

 beneath, though I should have suspected something unusual 

 for the top of the reef was magnificent in its own right. On 



267 



