The crew bought eagerly, regardless of price.  Limes, oranges, mangoes, bananas, and pineapples came over the side in a steady stream, while an equally steady, though smaller, stream of silver went back to the boats.

It was a harvest day for the Montego Bay “bumboatmen.”

Though we bought the fruits without hesitation, we bit into them gingerly, for, to most of us, many of them were strange.

Tom LeValley brought me a mango and said that I could have it if I would sample it and tell what it was like.  I accepted, for I had not been lucky enough to get near a boat to buy for myself.

He handed me something that looked like a pear but was of the color of an orange.  I was just about to bite into it when I chanced to look up.  I saw that I was the target of all eyes.  Putting on a bold front, I sunk my teeth in the yellow rind.  I found it was pleasant to the taste, but unlike anything that I had ever put in my mouth before.  Still the fellows gazed at me.  Was it a trick mango I had tackled so recklessly?  I determined not to be stumped, and took a good big bite.  In a moment, I discovered why I was the “observed of all observers.”  The last bite loosened a good deal of the peel, and the thing began to ooze.  It oozed through my fingers and began to run down my sleeve; it dripped on my trousers and made an ineradicable stain; my face was smeared with it, my hands were sticky with it, my mouth was full of it, and still the blamed thing oozed.

Then the unfeeling crowd laughed.  Some one shouted “get under the hose.”  Another yelled “Swab ho,” whereupon a none too clean deck swab was brought and applied to my face and hands, protests being unavailing.

I afterwards remarked to Tom that he had better try experiments on himself, or present me with a bathtub along with the next mango, and I have since learned that a Distinguished Person came to the same conclusion when first introduced to this deceitful fruit.

We enjoyed our stay in this beautiful island port very much, and it was with great reluctance that we obeyed the order to “haul on the cat falls.”  As we were walking away with that heavy line, we saw a liberty party from the English warship start for shore in the ship’s cutters, and we envied them with all our hearts.

The town looked very attractive, set as it was on the side and at the base of a high hill, the red-tiled roofs of its houses showing against the graceful, green palm trees.  On our left, a grove of cocoanut palms flourished, and beneath grazed a herd of cattle.

Soon the ship began to back out, and then, as the bay grew wider, she turned slowly and headed for the open.

“Lash your mess chests,” said messenger “Kid” to the berth deck cooks.  “Orders from the officer of the deck,” he added.

He turned to us, who were standing by the open port.  “I guess we’ll have a lively time of it, for I heard ‘Cutlets’ say the barometer is dropping at a terrible rate.”