151 I learn of flamingos and hurricanes 



of dried fish and conchs were suspended, swaying like ex- 

 traordinary pendulums, and the fulsome emanations from these, 

 mingled with the sweet scent of several bunches of overripe 

 bananas, had me feeling uncomfortably dizzy before we were out 

 of the harbor. Forsyth, an old campaigner in his native Bahamas, 

 was quite used to such surroundings and was taking it all in stride, 

 but he made no objections to joining me on deck, where the air 

 and the view were a decided improvement. 



Once clear of Nassau and on our course for the southern tip 

 of Great Abaco, 50 miles to the north across the deep waters of 

 New Providence Channel, the supper bell was heard. One look 

 below decks showed us that others, more familiar with procedure 

 aboard this particular boat, had anticipated the call. The two 

 long tables were lined solidly with people who, from the way they 

 were digging in, must have been counting on the announcement 

 of this meal since breakfast. Others stood about, waiting for an 

 empty place. The cook, a red-faced gentleman wearing a large, 

 once white apron and a cheap felt hat pulled down over his ears, 

 pointed a large cooking spoon in our direction and, in the high- 

 pitched, singsong, slightly Cockney speech of the true Abaconian, 

 said, "Ga-on deck Tyou like, A'll call you fer nex' servinY' To- 

 gether with a few of the others who were unseated, we gratefully 

 retreated to the deck. 



We were now well at sea and chugging along at full clip, the 

 smell from the diesel engine swirling around us in the brisk 

 easterly breeze before flying off to leeward and losing itself over 

 the sea. Finding a bench not too far from the companionway, we 

 made ourselves comfortable and sat there talking and smoking. 

 Once the red face of the cook, hat still in place, appeared out 

 of the gloom below. With a negative nod in answer to our no 

 doubt expectant glances, he mumbled something like "A few 

 women is still at it, wa-ont be long na-ow," and ducked out of 

 sight. After a while it began to grow dark and finally, in the middle 

 of one of Forsyth's delightful yarns about Andros Island, I sud- 

 denly remembered that we still hadn't had our suppers. Excusing 

 myself, I popped down the ladder and was astounded to find the 

 tables empty. In the galley the cook was wiping his large fisher- 



