Part 29 (1/2)

The curator shook his head.

”You'll find,” he said, ”that we can see almost as well with these as though you and I were a couple of angel fish, swimming in and out of the grottoes of the coral. The water--as you noticed when we were coming into the harbor--is as clear as crystal. There's nothing in coral sand to make it cloudy or muddy.”

”Are we going out this morning?” the boy queried eagerly, as he helped in the unpacking of the various instruments that the museum expert had brought.

”The boat is to be here at half-past eight,” was the reply, ”and we're going to find the most beautiful spot that there is in the submarine Garden of Eden. Our darky boatman, 'Early Bird,' they call him, says he knows a place quite far out on the reef where there are wonderful groves and parterres unspoiled by tourists because they lie so distant that it is not worth while for the excursion boats to make the trip.”

”I don't quite see,” said Colin, ”how the visit of tourists floating over a stretch of sea could harm the seaweeds and the coral growing on the bottom.”

”But it does, because a number of the gla.s.s-bottomed boats carry a diver who goes down and breaks off specimens of coral at the tourists'

request, selling them for a good sum. But the gardens to which we are going, I understand, are entirely out of the beaten track and are very much finer besides. Here is 'Early Bird' now.”

As he spoke, a white sailboat with a large spread of sail came skimming into the little bay, heading for the private wharf of the hotel at a rapid clip. Colin held his breath as the craft came rus.h.i.+ng in, for the inlet was not much wider than twice the length of the boat and it seemed certain that the vessel would crash full upon the rocks not twenty feet beyond the wharf. But at the very last second the tiller was put over, the sail jibed, and as gently as though she had crept up in a calm, the _Early Bird_ glided up beside the wharf, her bowsprit narrowly missing the bushes on the bank as she turned.

”You sure can handle a boat!” cried Colin admiringly.

The owner of the vessel, a young colored man, of good address and with a clever face, showed his white teeth in a gratified smile as he replied:

”Yas, sah, Ah've sailed a boat roun' the harbor quite a good deal.”

”It looked that time as though you were going to be smashed up, sure.”

”Ah nevah even sc.r.a.ped the paint of a boat in ten yeahs o' sailin', sah,” the colored boatman answered, ”an' thar's lots o' shoals, too.”

”It looks as if she were resting on the bottom now!” the boy said.

”No, sah,” was the confident reply, ”the tide's full in an' Ah knows this whahf right well. Thar's two feet of wateh under her, right now.”

Early Bird--for both boatman and boat answered to the same name--deftly took aboard the gla.s.ses and other special material that had been prepared, not forgetting a large lunch basket that had been sent down from the hotel, and then he pushed off into the clear and s.h.i.+ning water.

The early morning breeze laid the little craft over on her side but she had a good pair of heels and in a few minutes the party was well on its way across Gra.s.sy Bay.

”Where are we going?” asked Colin.

Early Bird pointed beyond a group of small islands to where there seemed to be a depression in the land.

”Thar's a channel, sah,” he said, ”right in between those two islands.

Thar's a swing bridge across, but the keepeh is always on the lookout and we can go right through.”

A half hour's sail brought them to the gap between the islands. Though the bridge was shut Early Bird steered confidently straight for the center, and it swung just in time, the boat shooting by with undiminished speed and rounding a point to the open water beyond. Before them stretched an unbroken vista of ocean.

”The next land south of you, Colin,” remarked the curator, ”is Antarctica.”

Colin thought for a moment, then said in a surprised voice:

”Why, yes. Bermuda is an isolated point, isn't it? I hadn't thought of that before. Nearly all islands are in chains, but this little bit of a place is set off all by itself. I wonder why that is?”

”Bermuda is the top of a submarine mountain,” was the reply, ”perhaps part of the lost Atlantis--who knows? This stupendous peak rises almost fifteen thousand feet sheer from the ocean bed and its rugged top forms the basis of the islands. Think what a magnificent sight it would be if we could see its whole height rising from the darkness of the ocean deep.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE _EARLY BIRD_ Pa.s.sING THE BERMUDA AQUARIUM, AGAR'S ISLAND.