I have seen a conjurer make himself a halo out of naked swords.

For in this spot, over a neck of low land at the foot of the

mountains, the trade-wind streams into Anaho Bay in a flood of

almost constant volume and velocity, and of a heavenly coolness.

It chanced one day that I was ashore in the cove, with Mrs.

Stevenson and the ship's cook. Except for the Casco lying outside,

and a crane or two, and the ever-busy wind and sea, the face of the

world was of a prehistoric emptiness; life appeared to stand stock-

still, and the sense of isolation was profound and refreshing. On

a sudden, the trade-wind, coming in a gust over the isthmus, struck

and scattered the fans of the palms above the den; and, behold! in

two of the tops there sat a native, motionless as an idol and

watching us, you would have said, without a wink. The next moment

the tree closed, and the glimpse was gone. This discovery of human

presences latent overhead in a place where we had supposed

ourselves alone, the immobility of our tree-top spies, and the

thought that perhaps at all hours we were similarly supervised,

struck us with a chill. Talk languished on the beach. As for the

cook (whose conscience was not clear), he never afterwards set foot

on shore, and twice, when the Casco appeared to be driving on the

rocks, it was amusing to observe that man's alacrity; death, he was

persuaded, awaiting him upon the beach. It was more than a year

later, in the Gilberts, that the explanation dawned upon myself.

The natives were drawing palm-tree wine, a thing forbidden by law;

and when the wind thus suddenly revealed them, they were doubtless

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