139 I learn of flamingos and hurricanes 



first moment I saw him, and my respect for him grew as our 

 voyage to Andros progressed. We eventually anchored in the 

 mouth of Grassy Creek, made famous a half century ago by 

 Frank M. Chapman as the natural gateway to the great flamingo 

 cities of South Andros. For several days we trudged over the wild 

 interior of that deserted region, finding the remains of old fla- 

 mingo nest mounds and much else of interest, but only twelve 

 rather sad-looking flamingos. McPhee proved to be an excellent 

 guide. We did a thorough job of scouting, and returned, finally, 

 to Mangrove Cay settlement. We reached the settlement at mid- 

 day on Sunday, May 13, chatted with Mr. Darville, the commis- 

 sioner, and with his permission sent a radiogram to Nassau, ad- 

 vising that we would be in the following day. With that we were 

 on our way. 



I have never supposed that the fact it was the thirteenth had 

 anything to do with it. Of more importance, perhaps, was the 

 deceptively fine weather, in which we were not undeceived by the 

 pleasant people at the government weather station and, above all, 

 by the knowledge that we were homeward bound. I have been a 

 homeward bounder many times, from long voyages and short 

 ones, and there is always an accompanying exhilaration that has 

 no counterpart for me, at least. It isn't that you are glad to see 

 the trip over and done with, or anything like that, it is simply 

 that you have another job under your belt, and you can look for- 

 ward to relating all the fantastic things that happened to you, 

 and to getting cleared away for the next one. In spite of our dis- 

 mal failure to find an active flamingo colony on Andros Island 

 (truthfully we had very little hope of finding one, to begin with), 

 I see that my notes little, unimportant paragraphs jotted down 

 hastily through all of that bright Sunday have a light tone that 

 seems hardly in keeping with the results of our expedition. 

 This I now put down merely to a touch of homeward-bound fever. 

 It was a few minutes past two in the afternoon when we came 

 back aboard the Alert, anchored off Mangrove Cay, picked up the 

 hook, and set out for Nassau, on the neighboring island of New 

 Providence. My notes relate that there was "a spanking breeze, 

 as the saying goes." The jubilant tone is unmistakable. 



