St Vincent. 24 May 1891. Sandy bay with two bathing houses at the end of small jetty. One of the houses was dilapidated, and the other was locked and we had squabbling for the key, so we had to wander on to little jetty. The beach was of pure white sand, and it gradually shelved down so that one could walk along many without getting beyond two feet depth. The water was beautifully refreshing after an hour hot walk of three miles, and it was warm and buoyant. I had never before bathed in the sea in the West Indies, although I have lived out in them so many years. I was simply afraid of sharks and other voracious fish. But then we said to turn sharks at the villa, and so after a little hesitation to go out far, I forgot all about the monster of the deep and enjoyed myself immensely. We swam on our hearts, men trucks out on our sides. We paddled. We looked about. We dived for stones and generally enjoyed ourselves like children. After a long time in the water we came out, and looked for the boat we had sent on with cocktails and breakfast. But we saw nothing of the boat and so we rowed along, and fished for sea urchins and anemones amongst some enclosures further along. Reeve put on his helmet, and wore his towel round his loins, and Daley replenished the same, notwithstanding the rounds of chaff they got. At last the boat came along and we had a refreshing iced cocktail