The air was exquisitely soft and balmy, the moon so brilliant that every fleeting cloud was reflected in the clear water of Dolores Bay, while the white sand of the shore glittered under our feet as we sauntered along enjoying the beauty of the scene. In this peaceful bay, six miles from the eastern coast of Yucatan, the Spanish ships anchored nearly four hundred years ago. The principal industry of the villagers is fishing, and from the month of April to August, all their attention is given to turtle-catching. So, on that moon-lit night, as we strolled along the beach, men, women, and children also wended their way to the north end of the island, where all was silent as the white tombstones in the village grave-yard by which we passed. A few hastened their steps as if they feared a departed friend might stalk forth in winding-sheet.
Reaching a place where thick shrubs grew, not far from the water's edge, all concealed themselves
- ↑ Published in "Harpers' Bazar."
