CHAPTER III. 



A TALK ABOUT BUCCANEERS. 



One afternoon, after stowing away in the refrigerator* 

 the birds which we had shot during a ramble in the morn- 

 ing, I went ashore again ; walking over from the little 

 bay on the south side of the island, where the yacht 

 was then anchored, to have a chat with the " laird.'' 



I found him on the verandah of his bungalow. Here, 

 he could generally be fovind towards the cool of the day, 

 smoking and reading, or gazing dreamily across the sea 

 in the direction of far distant Honduras or Yucatan. 

 The verandah faced due west, and from it one's eye 

 could travel over the wide piece of level turf which swept 

 down to the head of the bay, where we first anchored, 

 and take in the bold sweep of the palm-strewn headland 

 forming its northern limb. 



This afternoon, the long-backed rollers, relics of last 

 night's swell, were smashing themselves into clouds of 

 spray among the massive blocks of coral limestone at 

 its far extremity. Upon the grass in front of us, some 

 turkeys, and as nice a lot of poultry as one could wish 

 to see, were free to wander at their own sweet will. A 

 little way off, a donkey nibbled at the short grass ; while 

 almost on the edge of the beach some Aldemey cows were 



* Birds put into this refrigerator came out weeks afterwards as fresh 

 and unspoiled as when they went in. After one of Sir Frederic's 

 cruises to the West Indies, I skinned a canvas-back duck on June 5th, 

 which had been shot in Mexico on February 26th. 



