ut I suppose I did it in too bungling a way for him
to comprehend, and he stood out for his own opinion till he saw, some
weeks later, a magnificent specimen of a snow-capped mountain, at which
he stared in amazement; and even then he was obstinate enough to declare
that, after all, the dazzling whiteness might be due to the clear
transparency of crystal rock.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

FEEDING THE SHARKS.

It was a wonderful change from the stormy, tossing Atlantic, with its
bitter winds and chilling cold, to the calm transparency of the
brilliantly-blue tropic waters, where everything looked so unclouded and
so bright. When we neared one or other of the islands, everything
seemed so fresh that we began to forget the perils and troubles of our
long, uneventful, but sufficiently troubled voyage. For there were
golden or dazzlingly white sands, upon which the calm sea softly
rippled, while close down to the water's edge we could see what Tom
called spike plants and sweep's-brush trees--these being his names for
plants of the Yucca family and lovely slender-tufted palms.

When we gazed down into the clear waters from the deck of our
comparatively small steamer, we could see fish in plenty, for the
brilliant sun seemed to light up the sea beneath the vessel's keel,
while as the screw churned up the water and the steamer rushed on, the
scaly occupants of the deep flashed away to right and left, darting out
of sight like so many shafts of silver through the sunny depths.

It was a wonderful change from cold and chill to a delicious atmosphere,
where the soft sea-breeze fanned our cheeks, though we soon became aware
of the fact that the sun possessed power such as we had never
experienced before.

"Why, it's like as if it came through a burning glass, Mas'r Harry,"
said Tom; "and, I say, just you try to touch that copper hood thing that
goes over the compass. I did, and it burned my hand just as if it had
come out of a hot fire."

"Well, I don't want to burn my hands, Tom," I replied. "I can see how
hot it is by the pitch standing up in beads all along the ropes."

"And it's making black icicles outside some of the boards, Mas'r Harry,
only they're soft instead of hard. I say, isn't it jolly?"

The next day it was a great deal hotter, for there was not a breath of
air, and Tom came to me as I was hanging listlessly over the side, for I
was too hot to stir.

"Say, Mas'r Harry," he said, "isn't this what they call be