bags, baskets, and bedding of mat, and other articles
showing some contact with civilisation ; large Pegu
jars, Chinese bowls and plates, a knife or two, an old
beer bottle full of wild Toney, a couple of wooden
boxes—that is all. I he spectacle that spreads beyond
is of a purple lake, studded on its circumference with
blue islands. The sunlight dances on, the water,
the sea hurtles very gently against the white sand,
bees hum in the motionless air, and a bird pipes in the
brake. From the deep recesses of the woods comes,
faintly the voice of the sea-cunny, calling to the!
trembling hidden people, without avail. It is a dreamy,
soft, and beautiful corner of the world, oceans away
from this morning’s bay and the Scotchman with his
divers at w7ork. The Marguerite lying at anchor in the
offing, and puffing clouds of white steam against the
purple seascape, looks like the denizen of another
world. The shimmering heat plays a fugue before my
drowsy eyes . . . I turn with an effort to the realities!
about me.
The white sand is marked with the footprints of
the colony. Its only representative stands half-cowed
with fear, a deep, dull suspicion lingering in his eyes.
He is a short, strong, black-skinned man, with a sparse
moustache and no beard, a loin-cloth and bandana,
both red. He tells the sea-cunny that they came here
yesterday, and that they will leave as soon as they
have collected enough of a palm with which to renew
the upper portions of their boats. It is fiercely
hot, and the sea-cunny says the heads of the Salon
S3«
THE ONLY INHABITANT