156 On the trail of vanishing birds 



finally asked another resident to explain. "Officers of what?" I 

 inquired. This other gentleman looked at me in some surprise, 

 "Why/' he said, "in the British Army." And then, after a pause, 

 "You know, when you folks 'ad your Revolution." I couldn't be- 

 lieve my ears, for such long-cherished ties with the past seem 

 strange to an American. But, without a doubt, the active boat- 

 builder and pillar of his community, for whatever reason, was an 

 outstanding citizen. 



Long before daylight the next morning we were under way, 

 passing by Spanish Cay and around the north side of Little Abaco 

 Island to the Haulover. This is a narrow spit of rocky land that 

 joins the two extremes of Little Abaco near its middle. Years ago 

 keel boats were laboriously hauled across at high tide, but a 

 Captain Lowe had gone to work with dynamite and blasted a 

 narrow channel through the rock. When we arrived the ebb was 

 rushing through like a millrace, but by waiting for the slack we 

 were able to ease the Ramona through without difficulty, with 

 young Rodney's keel boat towing from ahead, on which we at- 

 tached a small outboard motor. Once on the other side we were 

 "west of Abaco" with clear sailing to the edge of The Marls as 

 far as Mastic Point Cay, where we proposed to begin our explora- 

 tions. It was on a Sunday when we cleared the Haulover, but 

 squalls, followed by dead calms, plus several stops to look for 

 fresh water, delayed us until Wednesday morning, when we finally 

 anchored at the appointed place. The first stop had been made at 

 the picturesque Negro settlement of Crown Haven, and it was 

 here we discovered that Montour, in addition to his other talents, 

 had a way with the ladies. No sooner had we come ashore, water 

 jugs in hand, than we were greeted by a veritable bevy of dark- 

 skinned beauties, decked in their Sunday best in fluffy white cot- 

 ton dresses and floppy hats. One young lady even wore long white 

 gloves, though her feet were bare. Ordinarily, on such occasions, 

 the feminine contingent in these settlements remains coyly in the 

 background, but church was just out and, strolling near the sea, 

 loath to go home and remove their finery, these happy belles had 

 recognized Montour in our party and were soon greeting him 

 with familiar shouts, wide displays of large white teeth, and a 



