8o THE KINGDOM OF THE HELMET 



and foot-tangling algae, and the reason for brevity of 

 reef-traveling is evident. 



After considerable blood-letting from striking against 

 coral and crag, I climbed up and shifted the Skink to the 

 edge of a new reef. We backed to the middle of an area 

 of white sand, then let go the anchor, and, paying out 

 as we went, worked ahead until we were directly over 

 a cavern in mid-reef. Here we threw out the killik and 

 watched it sink into the heart of the coral. This valuable 

 bit of gear is nothing but a good-sized coral rock wired 

 to a long cedar stick. It slips easily into a crevice and 

 wedges fast, so that we can pull up on it until the lines on 

 the killik ahead and the anchor astern are taut, and we 

 can dive without danger of the ladder drifting out of 

 reach. When we are ready to leave, the anchor is heaved 

 in, and then the launch maneuvered over the killik, and 

 either by playing it from side to side, or by sheer, direct 

 pull of engine, it is freed. Even if it breaks off the loss is 

 negligible. Our anchor could never be freed from the 

 reef except by my sliding down the rope in the helmet 

 and liberating it, which, as I well know, is less amusing 

 and easy than it sounds. 



There are rare days in life when time seems speeded up, 

 when everything moves swiftly, and experiences, emotions, 

 and adventures come hurtling along, one on top of the 

 other. I never think of this in connection with sorrowful 

 or evil things. "Troubles never come singly" was never in 

 my copy-book, for as these are almost invariably one's 



