2 9 2 Life in the Open 



rushing down the rocks, one big bull charging me with 

 mouth open, thinking to drive me off ; but as I stood 

 my ground he sheared off, and plunged into the ocean 

 with the rest of the herd and swam off with wild bark- 

 ing roars. 



The opening of the Painted Cave, from the sea, 

 was an arch about fifty feet in height, leading into a 

 large room beautifully coloured red, pink, blue, green, 

 and yellow from the staining of the rocks by salts. 

 From this we rowed the boat into what was really an- 

 other room, thirty or forty feet high, the water being 

 ten or fifteen feet deep, as clear as crystal, the bottom a 

 mosaic of colour. We were rowing into a sea-cavern, 

 and when possibly about two hundred feet in we came 

 to a small opening about the size of our boat, there be- 

 ing just room enough to float in after a wave, from 

 which came roars, screams, and demoniac sounds suffi- 

 cient to raise the ancient dead of Santa Cruz. Every 

 few moments a wave would come rolling into the cave, 

 passing from room to room, and on reaching the small 

 orifice, or entrance, in front of which we drifted, would 

 close it completely and part of it go into the unknown 

 with a roar of sounds that was appalling. Waiting 

 until a wave had passed we pointed the boat in and 

 ran her into the den of lions, coming out into a room of 

 large size where absolutely nothing could be seen. 

 Lighting a flambeau only made the darkness more pro- 

 found. We struck two planks together, producing a 

 sound like thunder, the noise rolling away off into 



