THE LAND OF A SINGLE TREE. 9 



crashes; all mysterious — unexplainablc. In time we became 

 so accustomed to them that we could distinguish repetitions 

 and details, but this hrst night brought only a confused 

 chorus of delightful mystery, now broken by a moment of 

 silence, now rising to an awe-inspiring climax. One sound 

 only remained clear in our memory, often repeated, now 

 uttered in lower, now in higher tones — a terrible choking 

 sigh. It might have been the last death gasp of some 

 great monkey, or the pitiful utterance of hopelessness of a 

 madman. 



With the turn of the tide we raised anchor and drifted 

 through the night — mile after mile for six hours, and then 

 anchored again. And thus it was that we came to our 

 wilderness. 



Not until we had been in the mangrove jungle for many 

 days did we begin to realize its vastness, its mystery, its 

 primeval character. Just four hundred and ten years ago 

 Christopher Columbus sailed through the gulf we had left 

 and gazed on the dark forest in the heart of which we 

 now were. Throughout the whole extent of the mangrove 

 wilderness we found no hint that conditions were not as 

 they were in 1498. 



One of the most astonishing things about the mangrove 

 forest is the apparent diversity of its plant life. Until one 

 actually comes within reach of trunk and leaves it is impos- 

 sible to believe that all this forest is composed of a single 

 species of plant. The foliage of some of the trees is light, of 

 others dark; here stands a clump of pale beechlike trunks, 

 there a dark, rough -barked individual is seen. The manner 

 of growth of the young and old trees is so different that a 

 confusion of mingled trees, shrubs, and vines seems to con- 

 front one. But everywhere the mangrove reigns supreme. 

 It is the only vegetable growth which can gain a footing in 



