“In other words, my girls, a place we cannot allow you to visit,” was Mrs. Courtney’s conclusive remark. So that settled all hope of visiting Hayti.
Long before the yacht reached Hayti, however, the younger members of the party were anxious to reach Kingston, where Jack described such alluring attractions. Little coaxing was necessary to persuade Mr. Dalken to anchor at Kingston for a few days in order to give the tourists ample time to visit all the places worth seeing.
Then, at last, the White Crest passed within a stone’s throw of Port-au-Prince, and leaving the Island of Hayti behind, made a straight course for Jamaica.
Skirting along the low-lying, palm-treed shores of this beautiful isle, the watching group on the yacht found it rather warm pastime on deck with the tropical sun burning blisters on the hand-rails of the boat, and reflecting in all its power the burning rays as they struck the smooth, mirror-like sea.
Suddenly, without warning of any kind, a darkness fell and the sun disappeared. Down came the rain in a regular deluge that sent everyone pell mell into the saloon for shelter. The waterfall continued for about ten minutes, then abated and suddenly, once more, the sun shone forth as hot as ever.
Exercise was intolerable in this climate, and the guests on board the White Crest found the only agreeable pastime to be a comfortable chair on deck where one could watch the flying fish, the pretty little nautilus gliding past, and the dolphin play and jump in the transparent depths of the sea. At times a hungry shark would follow the boat, looking for the garbage thrown out by the cook.
That night there was the last of the full moon, but what a different moon from that as seen in New York! A few hours after sighting the lighthouse on Morant Point, the watchers saw the first peaks of the Blue Mountains. The yacht sped past sugar plantations, low-roofed, silvery-white houses, glistening roads—glistening in the moonbeams—and wonderful groves of cocoanut or banana palms whose tall fronds waved a welcome to the girls.
Passing along six miles of the coral ridge one does not realize how near is Kingston, hidden by the strip of reef, until, quite suddenly, you discover the town. It is entirely hemmed in by its mountains, and on only one side approached by the beautiful lagoon through the waters of which the White Crest now danced to reach the mystical-looking place situated about six miles away, at the end of the harbor.
That night the yacht made fast to a wooden quay where black-faced, white-teethed men awaited the coming of the rich quarry. Not often did they have such a fine craft come to Kingston, and each and every son of the soil planned how to fleece the members of the party. But all were doomed to disappointment for that night, as the time being almost midnight, Mr. Dalken said no one would go ashore, until the morning.