THE BAY OF BUTTERFLIES 271 



and settling without a moment's hesitation. It 

 was as though they had all been here many times 

 before, a rendezvous which brooked not an in- 

 stant's delay. From time to time some mass 

 spirit troubled them, and, as one butterfly, the 

 whole company took to wing. Close as they were 

 when resting, they fairly buffeted one another in 

 midair. Their wings, striking one another and 

 my camera and face, made a strange little rus- 

 tling, crisp and crackling whispers of sounds. 

 As if a pile of Northern autumn leaves, fallen to 

 earth, suddenly remembered days of greenness 

 and humming bees, and strove to raise themselves 

 again to the bare branches overhead. 



Down came the butterflies again, brushing 

 against my clothes and eyes and hands. All that 

 I captured later were males, and most were fresh 

 and newly emerged, with a scattering of dimmed 

 wings, frayed at edges, who flew more slowly, 

 with less vigor. Finally the lower patch was 

 washed out by the rising tide, but not until the 

 water actually reached them did the insects leave. 

 I could trace with accuracy the exact reach of 

 the last ripple to roll over the flat sand by the 

 contour of the remaining outermo c t rank of in- 

 sects. 



