20 JUNGLE PEACE 



so teeming with the hope of life, all doomed 

 by the current which is at once their support, 

 their breath and their kismet. 



But all these creatures, interesting as they 

 are, form but a tithe of the life existing around 

 and beneath the ship. Night after night I lean 

 over the bow and watch the phosphorescence flare 

 and flash beneath the surface, the disturbance 

 of the steamer's approach springing a myriad 

 of these floating mines, whose explosions, gentler 

 than those of human make, merely vibrate into 

 a splendor of visibility. How to capture these 

 tiny beings which the eye can scarcely resolve is a 

 matter far more difficult than the netting of the 

 seaweed. I try to plan, then give it up. I walk 

 restlessly over the vessel, seeking some method. 

 But, as is often the case, nature had fairly to force 

 the solution upon me. Thoreau says somewhere, 

 " A trout in the milk is pretty good circum- 

 stantial evidence," and in similar guise I saw the 

 light. Early one morning I was paddling in my 

 salt-water bath, thinking of the coming week 

 when I should be able to dive into island harbors 

 from the deck, when I sat up suddenly at the 

 sight of a tiny fish disporting himself with me 

 in the tub. At least I needed no further hint, 



