WHALING AND BEAR-HUNTING 145 



space, and it was so rough that we did not blow any powder 

 better luck next time. 



Two and a half miles off shore we heave to, lash the wheel, 

 and drift slowly out to sea and close our eyes for a little, 

 they are sore with gazing across the blue in salt spray, 

 wind and glare of sun. 



Three little white and pink towns above a coast of cliff 

 are to windward, and a little more to the south-west there 

 is the volcanic mountain of the Seven Cities, with the lakes 

 in its crater, a place of great beauty but suggestive of 

 Martinique, especially so to-night, as there is an off-shore wind 

 blowing from the south and an immense pall of cloud flowing 

 over it and us, shadowing the little towns at its base, Ribiera 

 Grande, Calhetas Morro des Capellas, and our little selves 

 out at sea. 



