CHAPTER XVIII 



SO we left our wreck, meditating on the ways of a 

 wicked world, and went on our own business to hunt 

 round the south coast of San Miguel or St Michael 

 (we call the island) to the eastwards. 



Parts of the coast we pass are very like Madeira, which is 

 said to be like a crumpled piece of paper lying on the sea. 

 You calculate how many hours it would take to ride a mile 

 as the crow flies, round the bays, over the tops and down 

 the sides of the glens or ribieras. 



What lovely places there are to ride or drive to on the 





island, between pine-trees, heath and hedges of hydrangea. 

 There is one road where you can drive continuously for 

 twenty-one miles, with hedges of hydrangeas in full bloom 

 on either side. 



Whilst we go whaling, keeping a bright look-out for sperm, 

 I must try to remember some of the inland charms and the 

 show places of the island, such as the Seven Cities, an 

 inexplicable name for two lakes and woods in a crater's 

 valley, and the Hot Volcanic Springs in another valley which 

 cure all ills. I would like to remember the low two-storeyed 

 houses and narrow sheets of Delgada pink and white or pale 

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