“Perhaps, if you’d radioed the skipper of the Dutch tramp or the red-bearded chap, they might have accommodated you and come here,” laughed Mr. Pauling who had approached. “But, joking aside, I’d like to see more of Dominica myself. It’s certainly a glorious sight.”
“What do they raise here?” asked Mr. Henderson, who had also joined the group.
“Limes mostly,” replied Rawlins. “The famous Rose lime juice all comes from Dominica. Father used to come here regularly for green limes and juice. It’s the biggest lime producing country in the world, I’ve heard him say.”
“Oh, I see the town!” cried Frank. “Right there at the mouth of that big valley!”
“Yes, that’s Roseau,” said Rawlins. “Not much of a town, but with a mighty fine botanic station. And you’ll find the natives interesting, too. Lots of them still wear the old creole dress and they all speak a queer Frenchy sort of lingo called Patois.”
“Why, I thought it was an English island,” exclaimed Tom.
“So ’tis,” the diver assured him. “But lots of the people don’t speak English. It’s been French and British by turn and it’s between two French islands--Guadeloupe and Martinique--and the country people and most of the town’s people are more French than British.”
The island was now in plain view and as the sun sank into the west, the great masses of clouds above the deep green mountains turned slowly to gold and then to rosy pink; the vast gorges and ravines took on shades of violet and deep purple; the sea appeared like a sheet of amethyst, and as the destroyer slowly lost headway and her anchor plunged overboard, a magnificent rainbow sprang as if by magic from mountain side to mountain side, spanning the valley with a multicolored bridge.
Even before the destroyer’s anchor had splashed into the sea and the rattle and roar of her chains echoed from the hills, she was surrounded by a flotilla of gayly painted small boats. Some were ordinary rowboats, but many were queer-looking little craft, like big canoes with projecting bows like the rams of old style warships and one and all were manned by pleasant-faced, brown-skinned natives who gabbled and chattered in a strange, utterly unintelligible jargon. But before the boys had more than a glimpse of the boats and their occupants, they were forced to scurry under cover, as from a clear sky rain poured down in torrents, blotting out the distant mountains and veiling the near-by quay and town with a white curtain.
“Golly!” exclaimed Tom. “It’s pouring cats and dogs and there wasn’t a cloud overhead.”