CHAPTER VII.

WHAT HAPPENED AT HANNAMANOO

ON the other side of the island was the large and populous bay of
Hannamanoo, where the men sought might yet be found. But as the sun
was setting by the time the boat came alongside, we got our offshore
tacks aboard and stood away for an offing. About daybreak we wore,
and ran in, and by the time the sun was well up, entered the long,
narrow channel dividing the islands of La Dominica and St. Christina.

On one hand was a range of steep green bluffs hundreds of feet high,
the white huts of the natives here and there nestling like birds'
nests in deep clefts gushing with verdure. Across the water, the
land rolled away in bright hillsides, so warm and undulating that
they seemed almost to palpitate in the sun. On we swept, past bluff
and grove, wooded glen and valley, and dark ravines lighted up far
inland with wild falls of water. A fresh land-breeze filled our
sails, the embayed waters were gentle as a lake, and every wave broke
with a tinkle against our coppered prow.

On gaining the end of the channel we rounded a point, and came full
upon the bay of Hannamanoo. This is the only harbour of any note
about the island, though as far as a safe anchorage is concerned it
hardly deserves the title.

Before we held any communication with the shore, an incident occurred
which may convey some further idea of the character of our crew.