Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
de maan! ' Rain, falling through patches in the marquee, added verisimilitude to the constant drizzle in
which, on the screen, all the duels and love scenes were taking place, and at last one whole side of the
tent, owing to the weight of the water in a hollow of the roof, or the snapping of a guide-rope, collapsed,
and we were suddenly precipitated from the banqueting-hall of a baroque castle in central Europe into a
pitch dark rain-storm in the French West Indies. But it was almost the end, and we were able to crawl
back under the sodden débris for the finale. As we extricated ourselves and headed for shelter, many of
the ticket-holders seemed, by their conversation, to be displeased with the final upshot of the film, and
countless arguments about the plot grew fainter through the rain as I regained the hotel.
On our fifth morning on the island, a signal came from the Virgin Islands, saying a plane would call for
us at midday. Our jubilation at the thought of escaping from this horrible island buoyed us up all through
the morning. It was a cloudless, perfect flying day. We drove out to the aerodrome at a quarter to twelve,
and found the KLM agent waiting with two men and a mobile petrol tank to fill the plane with fuel when
it arrived, and a Dutch policeman to go through the papers.
We waited an hour, and still no plane came, and, in spite of our remonstrances, the policeman, agent
and workmen went away and the offices were locked up. They promised to return if a plane appeared. We
were left alone on the aerodrome. Our spirits were fast ebbing, but none of us dared to put our gloom into
words. Costa and Joan bathed and I lay down on the asphalt, hiding from the sun under the big Guade-
loupean hat. The hours passed, and nothing happened.
The whole of this stay had been rock bottom, the nadir of our fortunes on our journey, and these torrid
hours, with our hope draining away drop by drop after our almost feverish joy at the idea of departure,
was the worst of all. We strained our faculties to detect the approach of a plane; but nothing came. And
after a long time gazing at the expanse of blue, it seemed impossible that anything ever should come. At
last, after we had given up hope, a tiny speck appeared to the south, and the faint buzz of a plane's pro-
peller, and in a few minutes a very small scarlet amphibian plane landed and taxied towards us. The pilot
was a tall, cheerful young American. He had been held up in Martinique, he said, by the slowness of the
staff in producing petrol. The policeman arrived on his bicycle, and the papers were put in order. But no
KLM agent or workmen came to fill the plane up, so we sat down to wait. The policeman pedalled away.
After waiting three-quarters of an hour, the pilot began to be disturbed about the light, as it was very dan-
gerous landing at St. Thomas after dark. Finally, in despair, I got a lift on the step of a passing bicycle,
and wobbled into Phillipsburg, where the policeman told me the agent refused to come out because he
had no guarantee that the car journey to the aerodrome—about a mile—would be paid for. By producing
cash, this loathsome brute—a comatose Billy Bunter whose heavy lids were half closed over two minute,
lack-lustre eyes—was lured into his own motor with his two attendants and away to the aerodrome. The
moment the plane was filled he pocketed the money and they drove away again without a word.
We packed ourselves into the little scarlet plane, and plodded up into the air, heading north-westward.
We watched Statia and the cone of Saba, St. Barthélémy, Anguilla and the odious St. Martin draw slowly
behind us. The lonely island of Sombrero followed them, looking, appropriately enough, exactly like the
floating Spanish Hat which has been for centuries its unofficial name. It was here that Robert Jeffreys,
the armourer's mate of the brig Recruit , was marooned by the captain of his ship in 1807. Then the sea,
for over a hundred miles, was quite empty, for the first time since our arrival in the Caribbean: a circle
of blue, gleaming and creased with currents and freakishly bare, enclosed in a globe of sky, in which for
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