112 TROPIC DAYS 



Whithersoever I gazed, the lone and lovely Isle denoted 

 a paradise of unkempt vegetation, unf eared birds. No 

 stump was there to betray the passing of the devasta- 

 ting axe. No footprint except that of birds — erratic, 

 rectangular, scribbling — dented the sand. No human 

 being had ever visited those groves perfumed by orchids, 

 gauzy as the wings of the butterflies which poised over 

 them and sipped the nectar stored in their slender 

 throats. 



Each bay and inlet and cove differed in delightsome- 

 ness. Unsoiled, weedless sand littered with shells 

 floored this deep and sheltered nook, w^here shadow and 

 substance blended to the complete deceit of the closest 

 scrutiny. The next was as a garden of shrubs with 

 living blossoms and fruit in strange shapes and gaudy 

 colours. Many of the subaqueous plants expanded and 

 retracted their blossoms harmoniously, as if to the 

 strains of music audible only to the mute denizens of 

 the sea — a measured, waving dance, fantastic and 

 wondrously beautiful. Crystalline clearness magnified 

 the detail of the next, the portals of which were coral, 

 dyed extravagantly and variously according to the 

 secret of the sea, with its inexhaustible chemicals. Fish 

 in unimaginable shapes, fantastic hues, and sea-things 

 harmless and educative to the sight, roamed the coral 

 gardens, retiring at will into sapphire-blue caverns or 

 flashing in the clearness with lightning speed and scarce 

 \isible effort. Cream and yellow, old gold, blue, pink 

 and lavender, the corals flourished in myriad shapes. 

 Anemones, large as plates, royal blue and greyish-green, 

 and each bristling with thousands of independent 

 activities, embossed snow-white blocks. 



Opening out into an oval basin, the inlet was again 

 constricted, the bottle-neck entrance to a perfect haven 

 being guarded by huge masses uf limestone, weathered 



