36 JUNGLE PEACE 



into shades, and slowly into colors — gray vol- 

 canic rocks, dry yellow turf and green patches 

 of trees. Then contours became traceable, 

 smooth rounded shoulders of hills frayed out 

 into jagged strata, with the close-shaven fur of 

 bushes and shrubs, and occasional tall slender 

 palms reminding one of single hydroids on the 

 sargasso fronds. A thread of smoke drifting 

 free from a palm grove was the first sign of 

 life, and after a few minutes of twisting and 

 turning, the steamer nosed out her circuitous 

 channel, and from the very heart of the island 

 the great crater harbor opened before us. 



The beautiful hills rolled up and upward, and 

 to their feet Charlotte Amalie, crowned with 

 Bluebeard's castle, clung obliquely, her streets 

 climbing with astonishing steepness. The Uttle 

 town was newly roofed, all the picturesque old 

 red ones having been ripped off in the last hur- 

 ricane. The houses were as flat, quite as like 

 cardboard theatrical scenery as ever. 



At the sight of a distant flag I endeavored 

 to thrill patriotically at the thought that this 

 island was now a part of the United States. I 

 would have been more successful, however, if I 

 could have recalled the vision of some fellow 



