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Updated: May 11, 2025
Dusk had begun to settle over the harbor of Christianstad, or Bassin, as the capital of St. Croix is locally known, when the anchor of the Tartar was dropped into the mud. The boat had threaded its way through a rather treacherous channel, caused by the then shallow parts of the basin, and had come to rest not far from shore. "What's the program?" asked Walter, as the motor ceased its throbbing.
They found no traces, however, and what few natives they were able to converse with had heard of no refugees coming ashore. "Where next?" asked Walter, when they Had completed the circuit of St. Croix, and come to anchor once more off Christianstad, to lay aboard some supplies. "St. Kitts," decided Jack, who was again able to take his part in the councils.
They were not able to keep up that seriousness any longer, but began to send merry calls over the neighbourhood. When they flew over the big potato patches, which are so plentiful in the country around Christianstad and which still lay bare and black they screamed: "Wake up and be useful! Here comes something that will awaken you. You have idled long enough now."
Joe would stay aboard the Tartar. The travelers found Christianstad to be a picturesque town, and in certain parts of it there were many old buildings. The Danish governor was "in residence" then, and affairs were rather more lively than usual. "What's that queer smell?" asked Cora, as they were on their way to the best hotel in the place, for there they intended making their inquiries.
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