208 CRUISING ALONG SHORE. 



bluffs near St. Sebastian have been selected as the site 

 for a hotel, but are not well suited for such a purpose. 

 Xear here is Barker s Bluff, named after a man who lost 

 his life there killed by the Indians, at the same time 

 my friend, Major Russell, lost an arm. A few miles 

 away is an island draped in white, its trees seemingly 

 covered with snow, a circling flight of birds hovering 

 over it, the water around dotted with hundreds of dusky 

 objects, and the same dusky forms coming and going 

 with no cessation in their flight. 



&quot;That s Pelican Island,&quot; said the captain. As we 

 approached, the dark objects grew more distinct, and 

 assumed definite shapes. The island of about two acres 

 was covered with mangroves, long since dead ; every 

 tree loaded down with nests great, bulky affairs, two 

 feet across and flat. Every tree and nest was completely 

 covered with the limy excrement of the birds, giving the 

 island its snowy appearance at a distance. Each nest 

 contained two nearly fledged young ones, all uniting in 

 giving utterance to the most diabolical and soul-rending 

 sounds, which, added to the cawing of fish, crows in 

 search of eggs, and the screaming of eagles overhead, 

 gave one as good an idea of pandemonium as mortal man 

 can conceive. Though standing close together, the cap 

 tain and I had to shout our loudest to be heard. The 

 ground was covered with young birds huddled together 

 in fright. The eagles and vultures had committed great 

 havoc, and from branches suspended and stretched upon 

 the ground, were the decomposing carcasses of old and 

 young, which, added to the decaying fish, filled the air 

 with odors not of A ruby. The old pelicans were flying 

 overhead in clouds, occasionally alighting on some remote 



