30 A NATURALIST ON DESERT ISLANDS. 



talked to him of treasure, hidden here in the sand beneath 

 the breastworks, treasure whioh for one good reason or 

 another, often associated in some queer way with yard- 

 arms, they never had the chance to come back and dig up. 

 Perhaps they yarned and boasted to him of their ghastly, 

 bloodthii-sty deeds, brave as some of them must have been ; 

 perhaps sung a ghostly song or two — "Yo ho ho! and a 

 bottle of rum," — or made disparaging remarks about the 

 degenerate milksop ways of the twentieth centurj-. 

 Perhaps Mansveldt himself, or Swan, or any of those 

 other valiant souls who had such a short and merry life 

 in the Caribbean, occasionally sneaks ashore of a night 

 in this httle secluded bay, so cunningly hidden from the 

 prying eyes of passing vessels. 



Perhaps they do, or perhaps they don't ; who can say ? 

 But, at any rate, I do not think I should fancy sleeping of 

 a night in that ramshackle hut beneath the ghostly 

 rustle of the palms — it looked too creepy. 



