58 JUNGLE PEACE 



were beyond words, almost beyond our appre- 

 ciation. Tiny villages, fronted by canoes and 

 swathed in feathery cocoanut fronds, snuggled 

 at the foot of great volcanic and coral cliffs. 



But the crowning glory was reserved for the 

 last, when we surged past the Trois Pitons, rear- 

 ing their majestic heads above all the island, 

 hundreds and hundreds of feet into the sky. 

 Even the moon could not top one, and after 

 cutting into sharp, silver silhouette every leaf 

 and branch of a moon-wide swath of trees, it 

 buried itself behind the peak and framed the 

 whole mountain. 



A small wandering rain storm drifted against 

 the tallest piton and split in two, one half going 

 away down the coast and the rest passing close 

 enough to us to shower the decks with drops. 

 As it fell astern, it spread out fanwise and in 

 its heart developed a ghostly lunar rainbow — 

 the spectrum cleansed and denuded of all the 

 garish colors of day. At first we could only 

 sense which was the warm, which the cold side 

 of the bow, then it strengthened and the red 

 appeared as dull copper or amber buff, and the 

 violet as a deeper, colder blue, cloud hue. All 

 the time, even when the rain was falling heavi- 



