462 



THE AMEEICAX MUSEUM JOUUXAL 



for the vegetable gardens at the beach 

 top than for the waters of their fore- 

 fathers. They had degenerated into 

 mere commuters from their holes to the 

 nearest melon patch. The lower part 

 of the beach was that ever-changing 

 zone— that altar upon which each tide 

 deposited some offering from the depths 

 of the sea. This will some day have a 

 worthy interpreter, a sympathetic re- 

 corder and commentator who will make 

 a marvelous volume of this intermit- 

 tent thread of the earth's surface, puls- 

 ing, changing — now showing as water, 

 now as land— but always vital with ex- 

 citing happenings. 



I sat for an hour on the upper beach 

 and watched the little native folk, au- 

 tochthons which for innumerable gen- 

 erations had been so loyal to their arena- 

 ceous home that the sheltering mantle 

 of its pale hue had fallen upon their 

 wings and bodies. Here were tiny, 

 grayish-white crabs, here were spiders, 

 which, until they moved, were not s])i- 

 ders but sand. And when they did 

 move, recognition usually came too late 

 to some fly, which had trespassed on 

 this littoral hunting ground. Tiger 

 beetles drifted about like sand-grain 

 wraiths, whose life wanderings lay be- 

 tween low tide and the highest dune, 

 veriest ghosts of their brilliant green 

 brethren farther inland. Ashen wasps 

 buzzed past, with compass and maps in 

 their heads, enabling them to circle 

 about once or twice, alight, take a step 

 or two and, kicking down their diminu- 

 tive front door, enter the slanting 

 sandy tube which for them fulfilled all 

 the requirements of home. 



From an aeroplane, Barbados would 

 appear like a circular expanse of patch- 

 work, or a wild futurist painting set in 

 deepest ultramarine — a maze of rect- 

 angles or squares of sugar cane, with a 

 scattering of sweet potatoes and sea 

 island cotton. I got a hint of this when 

 I motored to the highest point of land, 

 and then climbed the . steeple of the 

 loftiest church. At mv feet was the 



Atlantic with great breakers, reduced 

 by distance to tiny wavelets twinkling 

 among the black boulders and feathery 

 palms scattered along shore. For more 

 than two hundred and seventy-five 

 years the church had stood here, and 

 the graveyard, not to be outdone by the 

 strangeness of the little beach people, 

 boasted the remains of a descendant of 

 a Greek emperor, who long ago had 

 been warden. 



But again our steamer summoned us 

 and we left the dusky natives with their 

 weird legends and the tiny island which 

 they love, and were rowed steadily out 

 beyond the two miles of shallow coast. 



AVhen we steamed away from shore 

 that night, no lights except those of the 

 dining saloon were allowed. Yet the 

 path of the vessel made a mockery of 

 this concealment. The world did not 

 exist a hundred feet away from the ship 

 and yet there was no mist or fog. The 

 outward curve of the water from the 

 bow was a long slender scimitar of 

 phosphorescence, and from its cutting 

 edge and tip flashed bits of flame and 

 In'illiant steely sparks, apparently sus- 

 pended above the Jet-black water. 

 Alongside was a steady ribbon of dull 

 green luminescence, while, rolling and 

 drifting along through this path of 

 light, came now and then great balls of 

 clear, pure fire touched with emerald 

 flames, some huge jellyfish, or fish per- 

 chance, or sargasso weed incrusted with 

 Noctiluca. Everywhere within the nar- 

 row zone of visibility were flickering 

 constellations, suns and planets of 

 momentary life, dying within the sec- 

 ond in which they flashed into sight. 

 Once Orion left a distinct memory on 

 the retina — instantly to die forever. 

 Perhaps to some unimaginably distant 

 and unknown god, our world system 

 may appear as fleeting. To my eyes it 

 seemed as if I looked at the reflections 

 of constellations which no longer swung 

 across the heavens — shadows of shadows. 



Then four bells struck — silveryly — 

 and I knew that time still existed. 



