272 THE STORY OF A BIRD LOVER 



in all their varieties. Even in February, when 

 I visited this spot, though a stiff easterly breeze 

 was blowing all the time, going ashore was some- 

 thing to be dreaded, and once upon the land the 

 conditions were well nigh unbearable. There 

 was no fresh water to be obtained for miles, the 

 nearest being on the other side of Cape Sable, 

 that is, to the west of it. It was a most desolate 

 and forbidding country, either on the sea, if this 

 shallow water might be termed sea, or on land, if 

 these damp mangrove swamps with their muddy 

 bottoms could be so designated. But it was pos- 

 sible to make a headquarters upon the schooner 

 in which I was cruising, some ten miles from the 

 mouth of the first of these bays. 



After a long search, being well nigh discour- 

 aged, and having at last found the flock, I deter- 

 mined to remain for a time to observe the 

 flamingoes. Rounding the point of the first or 

 more westerly of the three bays, it was found to 

 be a mile and a half in width, and it extended two 

 miles into the land, with a decided bend or curve 

 to the westward. No birds were observed until 

 the extreme end of the bay was opened, and 

 there, perhaps a mile away, was presented a novel 

 and wonderful sight. Stretching out for fully 

 three-quarters of a mile and about three hundred 

 yards from the mainland shore was a band of rosy, 

 firelike color. This band was unbroken, and 



