that we were getting into water too shallow for our four- 

 foot draft. Conch and other shells could be seen scattered 

 over the bottom alongside large, fat starfish, very different 

 from those I had seen in the Florida keys. 



We felt our way cautiously in to the dock at West 

 End. Now to find the man who would lead us to the brass 

 cannon. If only we could get to the cannon site before this 

 magic surface was broken up into rippling facets once 

 more. 



Webby went ashore and soon came back to tell us 

 he had found his man. His name was Ceffy, and he owned 

 a small bar ashore. Ceffy had insisted upon bringing along 

 a companion. It would take about two hours for them to 

 make arrangements, and they would be aboard at eleven 

 thirty. 



We waited impatiently. The glassy surface continued 

 to hold. There wasn't even a stir of wind. I almost held 

 my breath for fear I would break the charm. 



At last the two black men arrived. Clad in ragged 

 pants and undershirts and broken shoes, they were not 

 very prepossessing, Ceffy was tail, with angular features 

 and crooked yellow teeth. He talked in a peculiar singing 

 nasal tone which was quite difiBcult to understand. I later 

 found his speech to be typical of the island. His compan- 

 ion spoke scarcely at all. 



We showed Ceffy our chart, asking him the approxi- 

 mate location of the cannon. The chart meant nothing to 

 him. He could neither read nor write. He explained 

 vaguely that the cannon lay somewhere north of us, across 

 the shallow banks and well in from the line of reefs 

 which mark their outer edge. Then he pointed to the 

 northeast, where, he said, lay Mangrove key. We found it 

 on our chart, thirty miles away, and set our course ac- 

 cordingly. 



We were about to have our first lesson in bottom 



The Florida Keys 43 



