toteg esas es See ES ee =e = CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY FROM A FUND RECEIVED BY BEQUEST OF WILLARD FISKE 1831-1904 FIRST LIBRARIAN OF THIS UNIVERSITY : 1868-1883 maa olin Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021132562 TN : | i é 4 : ' : Gh = 4 Ke AX <= ° (2) fe) oN & ° a) a (4 ra n — @ a [oe CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES: THE ADVENTURES OF A NATURALIST IN THE LESSER ANTILLES. BY FREDERICK A. OBER. “To-morrow I sail for those cinnamon groves, Where nightly the ghost of the Caribbee roves.’” | EDINBURGH: DAVID DOUGLAS 1880 AS01955 TO NATHANIEL H. BISHOP, AUTHOR OF ‘“‘A THOUSAND MILES’ WALK,” ‘‘ VOYAGE OF THE PAPER CANOE,” ETC., This Book is Dedicuted BY HIS FRIEND, THE AUTHOR. PREFACE. —108{00——— TuHE islands to which reference is made in the fol- lowing chapters are those known as the Caribbees, or Lesser Antilles, extending over eight degrees of latitude, between Porto Rico and Trinidad, connect- ing the Greater Antilles with the continent of South America. This archipelago, containing the loveliest islands in the western hemisphere, with settlements ante-dating Jamestown and Plymouth, with structure and physi- cal features interesting to men of science the world over, has yet remained, as at the period of discovery, almost an unknown field to the naturalist. In 1876, under the auspices of the Smithsonian In- stitution, I undertook the exploration of these islands with the especial view of bringing to light their ornithological treasures. The investigation covered a space of nearly two years, during which time I visited mountains, forests, and people, that few, if any, tourists ever reached before. It was only by leaving the beaten path of travel, and taking to the woods, that I was enabled to accomplish what I did Vv v1 PREFACE. in the way of discovery ; for which the curious reader is referred to the Appendix, and to the various cat- alogues of new birds discovered, published by the National Museum. While around the borders of each island there is a cleared belt of fertile land, sometimes densely popu- lated, and on the coast are often large villages and even Cities, the interior is generally one vast forest, covering hills and mountains so wild and forbidding of aspect that few clearings are made in them save the “provision grounds” of the negroes and Indians. Many tourists and writers have visited these islands, have stopped a while in the towns, have interviewed the natives, and then have hastened off to England or the States, and written books about them. Several naturalists of note: have likewise visited the shores of these interesting isles, but, Jike the writers afore- mentioned, have never penetrated beyond the line of civilization. Conjecturing that the public have had enough of descriptions at second hand, from writers: who are more ears than eyes, I have hastened away from town and city, and sought an early opportunity for taking my readers to the forest, where everything reposes in nearly the same primitive simplicity and freshness as when discovered by Columbus, nearly four centuries ago. I took my camera with me, and whenever a new bit of scenery presented itself, a beautiful tree, or cas- PREFACE. vil cade, or a composition peculiarly tropical, I photo- graphed it; and my publishers have used as subjects for illustration’ only these photographs from nature, which have never been presented before. As with the illustrations, so with the sketches in type. I have but photographed the scenes I visited and the people I saw and lived among. Now and then, in follow- ing a thread of history that connects these islands and people with an almost forgotten past, I have availed myself of the language of the historian, but in rare instances. My only claim is, that these sketches are original, and fresh from new fields — new, yet old in American history, — and that they are accurate, so far as my power of description extends. They have not, like the engravings, had the benefit of touches from more skillful hands, and they may be crude and unfinished, and lack the delicate shadings and half- tones a more cunning artist could have given them; but they are, at least, true to nature. Though the voyage to and from these islands was fraught with incident, there was little that did not savor of the ordinary sea-voyage, hence it has been left out, and the narrative begins and ends in the Caribbees. Beside this, there yet remains much material which has not been drawn upon, comprising more of pure adventure, which, should public and publishers pass a favorable verdict upon this, may form a volume for another year. BEVERLY, Mass., October, 1879: CONTENTS. he CHAPTER I. DOMINICA. The Mysterious Ocean Current. — Dominica and Columbus. — Roseau and Anthony Trollope. — A West-Indian Town. — Introduction to Tropical Scenes. —The Mountains. — The First:Camp . 3 @ 6 = 8 @ HoH ee 8 oe wm Oe CHAPTER II. CAMP LIFE IN THE TROPICS. A March Morning. — Matin Music. —Jean Baptiste. — Sonny. —Breakfast in the Mountains. — Queer Customs. — De- lightful Temperature for March.— The Hunt for Birds. —A Day’s Duties. — Strange Birds and Scenery. — The “ Trem- bleur.”— A Precipice.— An Organ-Bird, the ‘‘ Mountain Whistler.” — Bird Notes. —My Chasseurs. — Land Crabs. — Ardent Assistants. — Twilight . wh ee aah ey ah CHAPTER III. IN AND ABOUT MY FIRST CAMP. The Caribbean Sea, its Deceptive Appearance and Placidity. — My Neighbors, the Mountaineers, their Sayings and Wise Saws. —A French Missionary needed. — The Iguana and its Flesh.— Glimpses of Mrs. Grundy. — A Work of Art. — Cruising for Crustaceans. — The ‘ Grives.” — Marie. — * Long-Tailed Decapods. —‘‘ Where Crabs grow.” — “‘ Wait 1X PAGE 12 x CONTENTS. there, Monsieur.” — Astonished.— Shocked. — The River. — Drenched. — A Naiad. —A Victim to Science. — Food for the Godsie~ ne i a! eee ee a ee UH Ea ers CHAPTER IV. THE SUNSET-BIRD. —HUMMING-BIRDS. The Crater-Tarn.— Temporary Camps. — The “Soleil Cou- cher.” — ‘Hear the Sunset.”— A Bird possessed of the Devil. — The Capture.— A Species New to the World. — Four Species of Humming-Birds. — The Garnet-Throat and Gilt-Crested. — Dan, the Hunter. — Catching Birds with Bread-Fruit Juice. —In Captivity. — Death. — Their Food. — Methods of Capture. — The Humming-Bird Gun. — The Aerial Dance. «6. 1 1 ee we ee ee ee CHAPTER V. THE BOILING LAKE OF DOMINICA. A Wild Cat.— Tree-Ferns.— Mountain Palms.—A Rare Hum- ming-Bird. — The Valley of Desolation. — Misled by a Bot- tle. — Boiling Springs. — Hot Streams. — Sulphur Baths. — The Solfatara. — Building the ie — Cooking Breakfast ina Boiling Spring. . .. . iS a aa BOS CHAPTER VI. AMONG THE CARIBS. Their Peaceful Life. — Fruits and Food. — The Second Voyage of Columbus. — Discovery of the Caribs. — Fierce Nature and Intelligence of the ‘‘ Cannibal Pagans.” — Unlike the Natives of the Greater Antilles. — The Carib Reservation in Dominica. —My Camp in Carib Country. — Two Sov- ereigns. — The Village. —The Houses. — Catching a Cook. —A Torchlight Procession. — Lighting a Room with Fire- Flies. — ‘‘ Look ze Cook.” — Labor. — Domestic Relations. — A Drunken Indian. — Wild Men and Naked Children. — Carib Panniers. — The only Art preserved from their An- cestors 2. 2 1 6 ee ew we te CONTENTS. X1 CHAPTER VII. SOCIAL LIFE, APPEARANCE, AND LANGUAGE OF THE CARIBS. Happy Children. — Cleanliness. — Primitive Innocence. —A Modest Maiden. — Dress. — Face and Figure. — Flattening the Forehead. — Ugly Men and Women. — Carib Hospital- ity. — The Basket-Weaver. — Tropic Noontide. — Religion. — The Dying Woman. — A Lost Skeleton. — Burial of the Dead. — The Wake. — St. Vincent Caribs. — Two Dialects. —The Arowaks. —An Agreeable Tongue. — Vocabulary. — Caliban a Carib, and Crusoe’s Man Friday. — Cru- soe’s Island. — Black Caribs. — Weapons and Utensils of Stone. — ‘* Thunderbolts.” — Carib Sculpture. — A Sacri- ficial Stone. —— Whence came They ? — Their Northern Limit. —A Southern Origin. —Their Lost Arts. —A Dying People . + 2 6 6 ee ee ee ee ee ee GO CHAPTER VIII. HOW I CAPTURED THE IMPERIAL PARROT. Meyong. — My Hut. — A Mixed-up Language. — Departure for the Forest. — Pannier and Cutlass. — Wood-Pigeons. — The Startled Savages. —The Bath. — A Gloomy Gorge. — ‘‘Palmiste Montagne.”—-In the Haunts of the Parrot. — Immense Trees. — Parasites and Lianes. — Wood for Canoes and Gum for Incense. — The ‘‘ Bois Diable.” — Construct- ing the Camp.— Palm-Spathes. — A Bonne Bouche, the Beetle Grub. — Nocturnal Noises. — Comical Frogs. — A Blacksmith in a Tree. — The First Shot. — The Humming- Bird’s Nest. — The Parrot. — An Excited Guide. — An Acci- dent. — Wild Hogs.— The ‘Little Devil”. - . + + + 112 CHAPTER IX. A DAY IN THE DEEP WOODS. The Bee-Tree. — Enveloped in Plants.— Ascending the Giant Tree. — Smoking Out the Bees. —Vegetable Ropes. — Honey ad libitum. — A Bite. — A Howl. — The Bee-Eaters. — Carib Xii CONTENTS. Perversity. — Sweet Content. — How to draw a Bee-Line. — The Palm Troughs. —A Bamboo Cup. —A Stroll and an ~Alarm. — The Carib Ghost. — Traditions. —The March re- sumed. — An Army of Crabs. — Crabs that Migrate. — Deli- cious Food. — The Mountain Peak. — Hunting the ‘“ Dia- blotin.” —Is it a Myth? — Caught in a Storm. — The Carib Castle. — The Captive’s Cave.— Vampires.— The Forest Spirit. © 6 0. 6 8 ee ee ee ee ee ee 130 CHAPTER X. A MIDNIGHT MARCH, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. The Apparition. — The Lost Chief. — A Forgotten Language. — The March by Torchlight. — Strange and Distorted Forms. — The Forest Wilderness. — A Mysterious Sound — ‘A Tree felled by God.” — Virgin, protect Us! — Cook- ing by Steam. —The Rosewood Cabin. — The Chief Dis- appears. —Is it Gold? —A Small Boa Constrictor.— A Carib Basilisk. — The Biggest Bug in the World. — It comes in Search of the Naturalist. — The Hercules Beetle. — Centipedes. — Scorpions. — An Unnamed Palm with Edi- ble Seeds. — A Priestess of Obeah. — African Witchcraft. — Its Stronghold. —Prostrated by the Heat.— Fever . . . 147 CHAPTER XI. A CRUISE IN THE HURRICANE SEASON. An Experiment in Coffee Culture.—The Pest of the Cof- fee Plant. — Disease. — Gathering in the Sick. — Down the Caribbean Coast. — The Flame-Tree. — The Orchard of Limes. — Profits of Lime Culture. — The Maroon Party. — The Stam- pede. — Farewell to Dominica. — Coral Islands. — An Im- mense Game Preserve. — ‘‘ The Doctor.” — The Jiggers. — New Birds. —A Weary Voyage. — Seasons of the Tropics. — Tempests. — Calms. — Provisions Exhausted. — Turkey or Jackass. — Shark. — Odors of Spices. — The Tornado. — Hurricane Birds. — Pitons of St. Lucia. — St. Vincent. — Palm Avenue. — The Spa. — Hospitable People. — Basaltic Cliffs. — Richmond Vale. — Falls of Balleine. — The Water- SPOUEs 6 8% 6 we ee ew ee ee Hw} o 162 CONTENTS. xili CHAPTER XII. A CAMP IN A CRATER. The Last of the Volcanoes. —The Soufriére of St. Vincent. — The ‘Invisible Bird.” — Ascending the Volcano. — The “Dry River.” — Bird's-Eye View of St. Vincent. — The Old Crater. — The New Crater. — The Lake in the Bowels of the Earth.—In the Cave. — Sunset. — Preparing for the Night. — Toby. — Five Days and Nights of Misery. — Fauna of a Mountain-Top. — Exploring the Crater-Brim. — Yuccas and Wild Pines. —Toby in the Cave’s Mouth. — A Terror- stricken African. —Jacob’s Well. — Snakes and Pitfalls. — Toby’s ‘Stock.”— The Soufriére-Bird.—A Mysterious Song- ster. — Unavailing Attempts to Procure it. —— Sought for a Century. — A Dream. — Nasal Blasts. — Searching for the Bird. — The Carib Bird-Call. — The Capture. — A New Bird. —A Plunge into Darkness. — Scared by a Snake. ~ Toby Desperate. — Departure for Carib Country . . . . . . 184 CHAPTER XIiIil. TRADITIONAL LORE.—A MISADVENTURE. Carib Country. —Sandy Bay. — Captain George. — Captain George’s Family. — His Superstitions. — A Carib Romance. —A Love Test. — Courtship and Marriage. — Preparing Cas- sava.— Farine.—An Indian Invention.— The Obeah Charm. — The Carib Wars. — A Brave Coward. — The Caribs Cap- tured.— Sent to Coast of Honduras.— The Survivors.— The Seminoles. — A Parallel. — Carib Song. — Captain George's Treasure. — A Misadventure. — Balliceaux. — A Search for Skulls. — Battowia. — The ‘‘Moses Boat.”— The Monster Iguana. — The Cave. — The Tortoise. — A Relic of a Fast Age. — Tropic Birds. — Our Boat Smashed. — A Night on the Beach. — The Southern Cross. — Paul and Virginia. — Church Island . . 2. 1 1 we we ee ee we ww 208 CHAPTER XIV. A MONTH ON A SUGAR ESTATE. Out of the Forest.— Into a Sick-Bed. —My Good Angel. — Convalescence. — Rutland Vale. — The Happy Valley. — Nocturnal Neighbors. —The Labor Question.—A Plant- XIV CONTENTS. er’s Trials. — Coolie: Immigration. — The Negro, returning to Savagery. — A Self-appointed Physician. —Government House. — Trees of the Tropics. — Bread-Fruit and Cocoa- Palm. — First Experience with Bread-Fruit. — Its Appear- ance. — Taste. — History of its Introduction. — Abundance in St. Vincent. — The Palms, their Great Beauty and Util- ity.— Cocoa-Palm, Palmiste, Groo-groo and Gris-gris, Areca and Mountain Palms. — The Vine with Perforated Leaves. —The Indian Maiden . . . ~~ 1. ee ee o + 2 229 CHAPTER XV. GRENADA AND THE GRENADINES. Bequia. — Contented Islanders. — The ‘ Bequia Sweet.” — Carib Anecdote. — Union Island. — Canouan. — An Ener- getic Patriarch. — Cariacou. — On the Ancient Contiguity of the Lesser Antilles. — The Fost Atlantis. — ‘‘ What if these Reefs were her Monument?” — A Glance at the Map. — An Isolated Geographical and Zo@logical Province. — Grenada. — St. George’s. — More Craters. — The Carenage. — The Forts. — The Lagoon. — The “ Eurydice.”— Iguanas. — Their Habits. — Iguana-Shooting. —Oysters growing on Trees. — Columbus and his Pearls. — Lizards. — A Mission- ary’s Grief. — Food of the Iguana. — The Mangrove. — Cacao. — Its Discovery. — Present Range. — Its Cultivation. — Cacao River. — Cocoa and Cacao. — The Tree. — The Fruit. — The Flower. — Idle Negroes. — Chocolate. — For- est Rats. — Monkeys. — Their Depredations.— An Insult . 245 CHAPTER XVI. A MONKEY HUNT IN THE MOUNTAINS. Zones of Vegetation. — Naked Negroes. — The Road to the Mountains. — The Grand Etang. — Quadrupeds of the Lesser Antilles, Extinct and Living. +The Alco. — Pec- cary. — Agouti. — Manacou. — Armadillo. — Raccoon. —A Visit to the ‘*Tatouay Traps.”— The Forest surrounding the Mountain Lake. — ‘‘ Haginamah”: Is it a Carib Word? — ‘*Hog-in-armor,” not a Carib Word. — ‘*Le Morne des Sauteurs.”— The Plantain Swamp. — Signs of Monkeys. — The Monkeys’ Ladder. — Habits of Wild Monkeys. — The CONTENTS. XV Mammie Apple. —In Ambush. — Feathered Companions. — The Bete Rouge. — An Aged Monkey. — His Caution. — Descending the Ladder.— Monkeys, giddy and graye.— , Counting his Flock.— The Monkey recognizes a Brother. — ‘Shoot! Shoot!”—A Free Circus.—A Man, and a Brother. — The Monkey-Mamma. — Her Terror. — An Im- politic. Tmpie 6: she we Gp wae we EF CHAPTER XVII. SOME SUMMER DAYS IN MARTINIQUE. From Crusoe’s Island, North. — Frowning Cliffs. — Golden Sands. — Birth of a Rainbow. — St. Pierre.— The Volcano. — Our Consul. — ‘‘Old Farmer’s Almanack,” good for any Latitude. — French Breakfasts. — ‘‘ Long Toms.” — The Widow and her Weed.— Patois. — Costumes.— Good Claret. — Poor Calico. — Market-Women and Washer-Women. — Gaudy Garments. — Profusion of Ornaments. — Jardin des Plantes. — The Shrine and the Traveler’s Tree. — Creole Dueling-Ground. — Palm Avenues. — The Cascade. — Sago and Areca Palins. — The Lake. — Land-Snails. — Lizards.— Tarantulas. — The Lance-Head Snake. — Venomous and Vengeful. — The Mountain, Region. — Hot Springs. — An Extinct Volcano. — A Holy City. — Sabbath in the Coun- try. — Warned of Snakes. — Have Alligator Boots. — The Humble Shrine.— A Shriek.— Narrow Escape.— The Crafty Serpent. 2 6 6 6 6 eee ew we we ee ww 280 CHAPTER XVIII. THE BIRTHPLACE OF THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE. Fort de France.— The Park. — Tamarinds and Mangos. — Statue of Josephine. — The Trois Pitons. — Historic Hills. — Coronation. — Inscription.— An Earthquake.— Terror. — Parents of Josephine. — Her Grandmother. — Alexander de Beauharnais. — A Valuable Document. — Marriage Register of Josephine’s Parents. — Bungling Biographers. — Musty Memoirs. — Fort Royal Bay.— The Passage-Boat ‘ John.”— Trois-Ilets. —The Boulanger. — A Festive Father. — A Din- ner in Jeopardy. — A Low Couch. — A High Bill. — Church in which Josephine was Baptized. — A Tablet to her Moth- Xvi CONTENTS. er’s Memory. — La Pagerie, Birthplace of Josephine. — The Hurricane. — The Roof that Sheltered an Empress. — - Ground her Feet had Pressed. — Youth of Josephine. — Another Shock. — The Negro Barracks. — The Empress’ Bath. — One Hundred Years ago!— The Sibyl. — The Humming-Bird. —In Peril from a Serpent. —A Peaceful Scene. — A Rude Awakening. —The River Comes Down. — Earthquake again. —Rags and Melancholy ... . . « 298 CHAPTER XIX. ASCENT OF THE GUADELOUPE SOUFRIERE. Point a Pitre. — The Rivitre Salée. — Usines. — Earthquake, Fire, and Hurricane. — A Living Bulwark. — The Caravels of Columbus. — Our Lady of Guadeloupe. — The Caribs. — Basse Terre. — Le Pére Labat. — Orphans. — The Cholera Plague. — A Permis de Chasse. — Mixed. — A Horse with Points. — Government Square. — The Convent. — A Sum- mer Retreat. — Matouba. — My Thatched Hut. — Doctor Colardeau. — The Coolie. — The Coffee Plantation. — First Coffee in the West Indies. — Its Cultivation. — Temperature of the Coffee Region. — Blossoms and Fruit. — Picking and Preparing. — The High-Woods. — Their Grandeur. — Giant Trees. — Huge Buttresses. — Lianas, Ropes, and Cables. ~ Epiphytes and Parasites. — Aerial Gardens. — The Sulphur Stream.— The Cone.— The Summit. — The Portal.— Blasts of Hot Air. — Nature’s Arcana. — Sulphur Crystals. — Erup- tions.—A Grand View.—Impenetrable Forests.—An Extinct Bird. —Juan Ponce de Leon. — The Fountain of Youth. — The Descent intoGloom. . . . . . «4 ee «ye 322 ILLUSTRATIONS, ———-0b9g00-—_ ENGRAVED BY JoHN ANDREW, FROM THE AUTHOR’S 0705 00—— THE IsLany oF Cocoa PALMS. . ROSEAU as Sus Bee & oe ee Tue First Camp ........ Marig£, THE NAIAD ...... HumMING-Birp HUNTERS .... Bortinc LAKE oF DomINICA . . Tue Tropic STREAM ...... Aw INDIAN KITCHEN ..... CARIB: GIRD 6 (505.050 6a) eR ANCIENT CARIBS ........ THe SACRIFICIAL STONE .... THe HuNTER’s BATH .....- AN ‘“ AJOUPA” «2 6 6 se ee An ARMY OF CRABS ...... LAND CRAB 4 6 6 Ge 6% a Tue BicGest BuG IN THE WoRLD A Group oF GAMINS...... PHOTOGRAPHS AND SKETCHES. PAGE -. . Frontispiece. ee ew we ee ew ~ 107 SS ee ae ee Seay Se ples Be eA) 3G) fd ee wwe Ree TA Bia eriswat Sa Go) ESS ao GD wl a ah ge ge ZS XVi11 ILLUSTRATIONS. Votcano AND Lava RIVER OF ST. VINCENT .... ++ «+ 184 SPOBM 1 Aiea Gay Gv ean a a ae GEL ee Sue eae FER ea SO A Famity Group OF INDIANS. . «6 6 6 6 ee ee ee ee QED THe INDIAN ZEMI 2.1 1 1 ee ee et et te et 223 BREAD-FRUIT AND COCOA-PALM .. - 6 e+ 6 6 © ee ee + 237 THE GrROO-GROO PALM .. 4. 6 ee te ee ee ww ww 242 Sarnt GEorGE’s, CAPITAL OF GRENADA... . «2. + + + 253 THe LAKE IN A CRATER «1 ee eee ee ee ee ee ee 265 PALMISTE — GLORY OF THE MOUNTAINS. .... - 6 e+ + 2979 CREOLE Costumes AND HEAD-DRESS ........-... 286 A Marxer WomaAN.... 2... eee ee ee ee 8 287 Tue WAYSIDE SHRINE . 6 ee eee ee et ee ee ee ee 289 Tue WipowW AND HER WEED .. 1. ee eee ee ee ee 295 BIRTHPLACE OF JOSEPHINE... 1 ee ee ee ee ee we 302 THe Earty Home of AN EMPRESS .......-..-.- + 313 Point A PITRE, GUADELOUPE .. ~~... ee ee ee ee 323 THE GUADELOUPE SOUFRIERE .. 1... ee ee ee ee ee B4L CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. —_<—_— CHAPTER I. DOMINICA. THE MYSTERIOUS OCEAN CURRENT. — DOMINICA AND COLUM- BUS.— ROSEAU AND ANTHONY TROLLOPE. — A WEST-INDIAN TOWN. — INTRODUCTION TO TROPICAL SCENES.— THE MOUN- TAINS. — THE FIRST CAMP. LONG the entire group of the Caribbee Isles, sweeping their western shores, flows a strange, mysterious current. Not subject, apparently, to the laws that govern the winds and tides of this region, it for years puzzled and baffled the ablest navigators and oldest sailors. Among the northernmost of these islands large ships were often sunk, carried by the force of this unseen and unsuspected stream upon sunken reefs or barren rocks. Even so long-ago as when Columbus was making his voyages, we have on record that he was detained by this very current among these same islands. It was not known until a comparatively recent period that it was the outflow of a mighty river—no less than the great Orinoco—that caused all this dis- turbance of waters, and that dependent upon its dif- 2 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. ferent stages was the force of this river through the sea. Though my first experience with this current was in January, when the Orinoco was at its lowest,. and the consequent marine flow at its weakest stage, I yet had sufficient proof of its strength to understand how it was that vessels of all sizes were sometimes many days in making ports but few miles apart. We left the port of St. Pierre, Martinique, for that of Roseau, Dominica, the distance being less than thirty- five miles, and the channel separating the islands but twenty in width. Late in the afternoon we hoisted sail, taking a fair land-breeze from the mountains and getting a fresh blow from the trade-winds draw- ing through the channel, and at midnight were close under the southern point of Doniinica, with a fair prospect, when I went below, of landing early in the morning. The captain, a good fellow, had given up to me,*as the only white man on board the sloop, the only berth the cabin afforded. Into that I crawled, with a lurk- ing fear of centipedes and scorpions, and fell asleep. Soon the wheezy pumps awoke me, and a stream of water trickling through the uncalked deck gave assurance that the water in the hold was being pumped out. As this process was repeated every. half-hour, my sleep was not so sound that I did not frequently visit the deck, and at each succeeding visit note with alarm that the land line grew dimmer. Daylight revealed that we were much farther away from shore than at midnight, surely drifting to the north-west, with sail flapping idly and rudder useless. The sun was late in showing himself, for he had to climb well up the heavens ere he could look over the DOMINICA. 3 crest of the mountain-ridge that showed in the dis- tance cool and misty; but as day advanced, and the hour of noon arrived, the cool hours of morning were more than compensated for by the intensity of the -heat radiated from the glassy sea, —a heat that made itself felt with a glare that caused every one on board to seek earnestly a shady spot. And this was the “tropic sea” on-which we were drifting, —the sea so often sung by the poet, the sea we had often contemplated in our fanciful dreaming in more northern climes. Like many afi object of the poet’s adoration, it is far pleasanter to look upon through his eyes than through visual rgans of your own. Though the sun and sea made it painful to look abroad, there was nothing offensively new and glaring about the little sloop, that wearied the eye with bright colors. The prevailing color, in fact, was that of the wood of which it was built, the native wood of the island. The knees were of the natural twist and bend of the native trees; the deck planking and sheathing were likewise of the native wood; the mast, the boom, and the bowsprit were of the native woods of the island; and captain and crew, doubt- less, also from the woods,— natives fresh from the native woods of Dominica. There were more than twenty people of color lounging in various attitudes about the deck. They seemed wholly indifferent to the fact that the vessel was drifting with them away from the island; and when I suggested to the cap- tain that he utilize this material at the oars, there was a general howl of indignation. The captain also gazed at me like one who had heard informa- tion of a character novel and startling, and informed 4 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. me that what I proposed was not only useless, but impossible. Struggle against the current of the mighty Orinoco ! Attempt to baffle the wiles of a power unseen, that always had acted in just such a manner, and had carried him over the same course every voyage he had made! It would be preposterous! At night, the land-breeze would come down from the mountains, and he would claw in-shore without any trouble what- ever. Late in the afternoon, however, we descried a speck dancing on the waves, which speck was, of course, a boat; and in that boat, when it reached us, I engaged passage for the shore, my unhappy companions drift- ing about until the next afternoon, sometimes in sight, sometimes lost to view for a long time. As we neared shore I had time to examine the character of the scenery of the western coast, as one object after another was unfolded, and the mass of green and blue resolved itself into wooded hills, narrow valleys, and misty mountain-tops that reached the clouds. A planter’s house gleamed white in a valley; a pebbly beach stretched between high bluffs, with a grove of cocoa palms half hiding a village of rude cabins along its border. I was approaching an island of historic interest and scenic beauty, of which the events of one and the elements of the other are little known to the world at large. It is the first island upon which Columbus landed on his second voyage. Having been first seen on Sunday, it was called by him Domznica, and this event dates from the 3d of November; 1493. Blest isle of the Sabbath day! Many changes has it known DOMINICA. 5 since the great navigator first saw its blue mountains and landed upon its fragrant strand. Does it not read like a fairy tale, this second voyage of Columbus? With three ships and fourteen cara- vels, containing fifteen hundred persons, he set sail from Cadiz, touched at the Canary Isles, and then shaped his course for the islands of the Caribs, of whose prowess and fierce nature he had heard many stories from the mild people of Hispaniola. “At the dawn of day, November 34d, a lofty island was descried to the west. As the ships moved gently onward, other islands rose to sight, one after another, covered with forests and enlivened by flights of parrots and other tropical birds, while the whole air was sweetened by the fragrance of the breezes which passed over them.” Dominica is but thirty miles in length by eleven in breadth, yet presents a greater surface and more ob- stacles to travel to the square mile than any island of similar size in the West Indies. Well did Columbus illustrate its crumpled and uneven surface, when, in answer to his queen’s inquiry regarding its appear- ance, he crushed a sheet of paper in his hand and threw it upon the table. In no other way could he better convey an idea of the furrowed hills and moun- tains, deeply cut and rent into ravines and hollowed into valleys. “To my mind,” says Anthony Trollope, “ Dominica, as seen from the sea, is by far the most picturesque of all these islands. Indeed, it would be hard to beat it either in color or grouping. It fills one with an ardent desire to be off and rambling among these mountains—as if one could ramble through such wild 6 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. bush country, or ramble at all with the thermometer at eighty-five degrees. But when one has only to think of such things, without any idea of doing them, neither the bushes nor the thermometer are consid- ered.” In this, as in all his sketches, Mr. Trollope is right so far as he goes; but he does not go far enough. “Filled with an ardent desire,” he should have given those woods and mountains the months of camp-life that I did; then would the world be richer in pictures of forest-life and mountain scenery that my poor pen so feebly tries to portray. As one writer, an intelligent geologist, once remarked: “No island in these seas is bolder in its general aspects, more picturesque and more beautiful in the detail of its scenery — indeed, one might be tempted to say, con- sidering .its fortunes, that it has the fatal gift of beauty !” At five o’clock, the gun in the fort starts off the bell in the cathedral spire. It 1s an hour before daylight, and even at six the mists of the valleys cover all, even to the mountain-tops. The sun climbs steadily, though it is eight o’clock before he has shown his face to Roseau, and darts over the mountain-tops to windward his scorching rays. It is interesting to watch the changes that come over the mountain sides and valleys as the sun dissipates the morning mists. Lake Mountain, four thousand feet in height, towers black against the sky; five miles it is from town, yet seems so close as to overshadow it. Its head is veiled more than half the time in mist. Stretching away. north and south is a long line of hills, an isolated peak jutting up at intervals. Their summits are blue and purple in the distance. Within this line is a cordon DOMINICA. 7 of hills, with valleys deep and dark behind, half en- circling the town. These hills are broken and ragged, seamed and furrowed and scarred, yet are covered with a luxuriant vegetation of every shade of green: purple of mango and cacao, golden of cane and lime, orange and citron. Palms crown their ridges, culti- vated grounds infrequently gleam golden-brown on their slopes, and dense clouds come pouring over their crests from the Atlantic. North and south this bulwark of hills ends in huge cliffs plunged into the sea. Roseau is seated at the mouth of a valley formed by a river. From the centre of this valley there rises a hill—a mountain it is called here— Morne Bruce. From its smoothly-turfed crown the view of town and sea is superb, especially at sunset, when the sun sinks beyond the Caribbean Sea, and the cool even- ing breeze plays through the trees. From it we look upon the town; many palm-trees, few houses, a rush- ing, roaring river that meets the sea in a surf-line like a northern snowdrift, a picturesque fort, the jail, the government house, and the Catholic cathedral—a building of stone, with arched windows and door- ways, short, though shapely spire — with a palm tall and slender, to lend grace and beauty; westward, beyond the shore-line, the Caribbean Sea, its bosom, which glowed so fierily in the sunlight, now cool and inviting in its stillness. Looking eastward, one can see far into the Roseau Valley, to the wall of mountains, from which dashes out a great waterfall, dwindled to a mere silver thread in the distance. The Roseau River emerges into a plain beneath, a valley filled with cane, containing in its centre a planter’s house and buildings palm-sur- 8 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. rounded, dashes over its rocky bed with a roar that reaches our ears even at this height of several hun- dred feet, and runs at the foot of a high white cliff across another plantation into the sea, peaceful enough at the end. The streets of Roseau are straight, paved with rough stone, and they never echo to the sound of wheels. They cross at right angles and dwindle down to three bridle-paths leading out of the town, one north and one south, along the coast, and one, narrow and tortuous, over the mountains to the eastward. Most of the houses are one-storied boxes of wood, with bonnet roofs, sixteen by twenty feet; many in a state of de- cay, with tattered sides, bald spaces without shingles, and dragging doors and shutters. Every street, how- ever, is highly picturesque with this rough architect- ure, and with cocoa palms Jining and terminating the vistas. The town is green with fruit-trees, and over broken roofs and garden walls of roughest masonry hang many strange fruits. Conspicuous are the mango, orange, lime, pawpaw, plantain, banana, and tamarind. Over all tower the cocoa palms, their long leaves quivering, their dense clusters of gold-green nuts drooping with their weight. From the mountains, from the “ Sweet River,” comes the purest of water, led in pipes through all the streets, and gushing out in never-ceasing flow from the sea wall on the shore. The market, near the south end of the town, a small square surrounded by stores, is the centre of attraction on Saturdays, when it is dense- ly packed with country people, black and yellow, who come, some of them, from points a dozen miles dis- tant, each with his bunch of plantains, or tray of DOMINICA. 9 bread-fruit. All are chattering, so that there is avery babel of sounds. Little stalls, temporarily erected, contain most villainous salt fish, ancient and vile- smelling, and every few feet is a table, presided over by a contented wench, who has for sale cakes and sweetmeats of her own manufacture. POSEAU. Near the market is the fort, a low stone structure, pierced with loopholes, commanding from its high bluff the roadstead, in which, save the trading-vessels and the weekly steamer, there are seldom any craft besides the sugar-vessels. Near the fort is the Eng- lish church, with a clock in its face, and four magnifi- cent palmistes to guard its entrance. Adjoining is the Io CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. government house in a garden of flowers; and near, the court-house, of stone, yellow and low. Opposite, on a bluff overlooking the sea, is the public garden, neatly enclosed, tastefully ornamented; a few large trees, many roses, humming-birds, butterflies, and a grand view of the sea. The road leads by a broad green savane, near which is a ruined cemetery, down between long rows of lowly cabins, its bed green and grassy, within a stone’s throw of the surf on the pebbly beach. i This is Roseau, which I left one March morning for the mountains. Early came the women, who were sent by a kind friend to carry my luggage: heavy boxes and bales they had engaged to carry to the mountains on their heads. It was all the way as- cending, but they faithfully performed their duties, nor once complained. Astride an island colt, the loan of another friend, and accompanied by still another, whom I had met a few days before, I left behind me the town, and set my face to the moun- tains. Down the street, past the jail, across the river over an excellent bridge, under the cliffs of St. Aromant, into the banana and citron groves that lie at the moun- tain’s base ; then up higher and higher, the path grow- ing rocky and slippery, past the lovely valley of Shawford, where the house of my friend Stedman, built upon a small plateau, surrounded by hills, em- bowered in limes and plantains, overlooks a tropical garden. A mile above, we entered a deep ravine, where are the first perfect tree-ferns on the trail; the gorge is filled with them, and the banks along the path are covered with smaller ones, infinitely beautiful. DOMINICA. II Here I first heard the melody of the “ solitaire.” Long since, the air of the town, hot and parching, had given place to cool and delicious breezes. We went out under the shade of trees, passing many a trickling stream, until an elevation of nearly two thousand feet was reached, when we heard voices, and suddenly came upon a party of mountaineers (half Carib, half negro), naked to the waist, hatless, and armed each with his machete, or “ cutlass,” over two feet in length. They saluted us politely, however, and we passed on until near the “high woods,” when we turned to the right and rode down a narrow trail under large trees, and reached finally a narrow gate of bars in a tall hedge of oleander. Descending rapidly from the forest was an open space of a hundred acres, perhaps, sloping westward, green as a sward of guinea-grass could make it. Over this were scattered volcanic rocks and clumps of trees. This slope terminated abruptly in a cliff so steep that the people living here could not descend except by a long detour. Over this cliff fell the water- fall we saw in coming up. Deep ravines seamed it at intervals, all trending toward the valley wall, and on all sides but this were nothing but forest and hills. From one of the mountaineers I secured a cabin, one of the seven comprising this little hamlet, and before nightfall had comfortably established myself. My companion then left me alone to what proved but , the first of many camps in tropical forests. 12 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. CHAPTER II. CAMP LIFE IN THE TROPICS. A MARCH MORNING. — MATIN MUSIC. — JEAN BAPTISTE. — SONNY. — BREAKFAST IN THE MOUNTAINS. — QUEER CUSTOMS. — DE- LIGHTFUL TEMPERATURE FOR MARCH. — THE HUNT FOR BIRDS, —A DAY’S DUTIES.—STRANGE BIRDS AND SCENERY.— THE ““TREMBLEUR.” — A PRECIPICE.— AN ORGAN-BIRD, THE “ MOUN- TAIN WHISTLER.” — BIRD NOTES.— MY. CHASSEURS.— LAND CRABS. — ARDENT ASSISTANTS. — TWILIGHT. T is a bright March morning. As I throw open the shutters of my shanty and let in the light of early day, J look out upon a scene of loveliness that it were worth many a day’s journey to enjoy. From beyond the mountains, east, the sun has climbed a little way until he peers through a defile in the hills, and a rift in the cloud masses, and floods only a narrow pathway down the surrounding hills, their northern slopes, a bit of the gloomy valley miles below, and bursts upon the calm Caribbean Sea with concentrated glory. A sail, floating on that sea, drifted hither and thither by strong, unaccountable currents, —which came, perchance, from Martinique or Bar- bados to the south, or from Guadeloupe or Montserrat to the north, —is ablaze with light, which gives it the appearance of being on fire. No sound comes up from the valley below, nor from the surrounding mountain sides; even the rain frogs and the nocturnal CAMP LIFE IN THE TROPICS. 13 cicade@ have closed their concerts and have left it to the birds to usher in the matin hour; and they are singing in low, sweet strains far down in the gloomy ravines below, and in the thickets bordering distant glades. My first duty is to examine my thermometer. It registers sixty-eight degrees. That recorded, I step out and refresh myself with such ablution as can be enjoyed from a small calabash of rain-water. Soon, a little colored maiden appears bearing a tray with my coffee, and perhaps a cup of milk — oftener without. A cup of coffee anda slice of bread or a couple of crackers, is my only refreshment until noon, when I return from my tramp in the forest. , When I first came to this mountain valley I brought with me a bright, colored boy as aid, fondly hop- ing he would be of much assistance in preparing my birds, as well as in the culinary line. But, alas! in either profession he was singularly deficient, and save in the preservation of cooked provisions, —in other words, “to keep food from spoiling,” — he was of no use whatever. After three days passed in his society, we parted. There was also a question between him and Jean Baptiste (the proprietor of my humble cot), relat- ing to a few small articles that one night disappeared. Now, he was highly incensed that such a thing should happen within the limits of his jurisdiction, and made such a row about it that I concluded that it were best that “ Sonny ” and I should part,,— with no regrets on my part, none expressed on his, — for the laboring class of the West Indies accept stoically whatever fate drops to them as their share. The salary I was pay- ing him was princely, being sixpencea day and “ found,” while the usual remuneration for such service as he 14 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. afforded me was three pence, and if “found,” it was usually after a long search. Baptiste accepted the ex- pression of confidence that this act of mine implied, and took me at once under his protection and care; hence it is that the little maiden aforesaid appears in the morning with my coffee; at noon, when IJ return weary from the hunt, with a dish of eggs fried in oil and yam sauvage, and at dusk with the same, varied with a plate of mountain-cabbage, or salad, from the little wattle-enclosed garden on the hillside. The cabin of Bap- tiste is not far from mine, and my wants are promptly supplied when the hour ar- rives for meals, even almost anticipated. But there are many things connected with the attendance of my little cook and waiter that, in the light of my early education in New England, seem, to say the least, queer. For instance, when the knives and forks require clean- ing, their surplus coating is removed Tus First Came, by being brought in close contact with the skirts of her garment. I say garment, and use the word in the singular advisedly. CAMP LIFE IN THE TROPICS. 15 The spoons also are cleaned in the same way, and were it not that my eyes had beheld the process of polishing, I should not believe, as they nestled inno- cently together on the rough table, but that they had been subjected to the treatment customary in more civil- ized communities. My tin camp-cup, which has accom- panied me in all my camp-life, was often the object of her attention, and at that time it was doubtful to me whether she was washing the cup with her fingers or rinsing her fingers in the cup. At any rate, it shows a laudable desire to have my table furniture in good order, and I do not murmur; but there is a cake of soap and a towel that I keep concealed from her sharp eyes, that, when not observed, I bring into frequent use on those same objects of her devotion. One day I was incautious enough to peer into the culinary department —a palm-thatched structure, black and grimy with smoke which escaped from the fire on the ground, as best it could, through the roof. Only once! I did not wish again to view those ancient pots and kettles, the refuse of preceding feasts, nor to fight my way through the drove of hogs that trooped about the open door. Occasionally the thought obtrudes itself, “They do not have things like this in the States.” This often makes me sad, but I raise my eyes, perhaps, and look out over the green slope, down upon the valley burst- ing with palms, and beyond the hills to the peaceful sea smiling in sunshine; and I exult in the thought that these enjoyments far outweigh the little annoy- ances that I have described. And I take down the thermometer and find that it records, if morning, six- ty-eight to seventy degrees; if noon, seventy-six de- grees; if evening, seventy degrees. And I again 16 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. reflect, “ They can’t show all these in the States —in March.” But effectually to escape the train of thought that these observations might give rise to, I take my gun, ammunition, game-basket and note-book, and plunge into one of the lateral ravines that feed the huge gorge below. Itis morning. The bread-fruit, mango, and limes that thickly stud the slope above are glistening with dew, and the low shrubs that line the ravine, as well as the taller trees that darken its recesses, are dropping copious showers. I am following the dry bed of a stream that shows, by huge rocks dislodged and excavated banks, what must have been its size and force in the rainy season. Ferns, lycopodiums, and matted and tangled roots conceal the earth and make every footstep a doubtful one, and the loose stones and rocks, with dark holes beneath and beside them, sug- gest most forcibly the possibility of the presence of snakes. But I am looking for birds (and snakes also, if they come in my way), and do not give them the attention that once I thought I should, when hear- ing tales of their abundance and venomous character in these islands. As this is a search for birds, the snakes shall be left for some future chapter. It is well known that each species of bird has its own peculiar haunt, where it feeds, sings, and sports itself. It has also a different haunt for different por- tions of the day, and the birds of the morning which we find in the ravine may be, in the evening, feeding or singing on the borders of open glades, or higher up the mountain sides. At mid-day you will find all under cover of the densest shade, and silent. It is in the morning that they may be found in localities char- CAMP LIFE IN THE TROPICS. 17 acteristic of them. The first bird that greets me on the edge of the ravine is the humming-bird, as he dashes here and there from flower to flower, scatter- ing the dew-drops in tiny showers, and reflecting al- most prismatic hues from breast and back. There are three kinds here in this mountain valley, the smallest of which has a lovely crest of metallic green; the largest, with a length of five inches, and stretch of wing of seven and a half, has a gorgeous garnet throat, purple back and wings, and tail of green, reflecting most delightful hues. The prevailing hue of the other species is green, with a throat sometimes green, some- times blue. I leave the humming-birds to my little chasseurs, who with bird-lime catch for me all I want. Of them more anon; let us plunge into the ravine. A move- ment in the branches of a tall, slender tree claims at- tention. I look up; see nothing. The broad, glossy leaves vibrate again, and I discern above the lower branches a bird the size and shape of our brown thrush ; he has a long, stout beak, a yellow eye, and a glossy, brown coat. He hops from twig to twig, feeding upon the coffee-like berries of this strange tree, silent, engaged in the gleaning of his morning meal. But however intent upon securing those white berries, the husks of which he drops almost upon my head, he does not forget to stop every few seconds and shake his wings and jerk his tail in a most comical manner. A hop, a quiver of wings and tail; a skip, with accompanying shake all over; a jump, with a convulsive shake, quivering and spasmodic twitching of head, wings, and tail. As I watch this inter- esting bird I am conscious of the presence of an- 2 18 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. other, and of several others also, which when they meet go through the most laughable series of bows, quivering of wings and caudatory vibrations. Well has this bird earned the title — universal, I believe, throughout the West Indies — of Zrembleur. And now, the trembleurs having been attended to, I push on till I reach the brink of a precipice. A little stream that falls musically over the rocks and stones suddenly loses itself over the brow of this wall of green, on the summit of which I stand. Cautiously clinging to the trunk of a tree, I look down into the . valley. The sight nearly makes me dizzy, for there, five hundred feet beneath me, I see tall trees as little shrubs, bananas and plantains as small plants, and huge boulders as pebbles. The roots I am standing on overhang the precipice, and the tree shoots out far over the dizzy height. Above the sighing of the wind in the tree-tops, and the music of the birds, and creak- ing of branches, is a roaring of water falling from im- mense height — a roar that drowns every other noise, and deafens the ear to every other sensation. Wend- ing my way along the brink, clinging to roots and trees, I soon reach a point where I can see, half-way down the perpendicular cliff, a sheet of foam; a hun- dred yards farther another, falling from a_ lesser height, yet neither less than one hundred and fifty feet — the higher over two hundred. They are lost in a sea of green, reappearing far- ther on as a united stream, which rushes and roars over rocks, through gorges and at the base of mountains, through gardens of figs and plantains, beneath tower- ing, feathery palms, through green fields of cane, at last to reach the sea. CAMP LIFE IN THE TROPICS. 19 It is while carefully balancing myself on my shak- ing support of matted roots, that a sound comes to my ear through the roar of a waterfall — a sound strange- ly sweet, solemn, and impressive; a mellow, organ- like note, clearer than any flute-tone, more thrilling than the solemn chant of sacred song in groined cathe- dral. Itis repeated. I stand entranced, listening to melody that had never fallen on my ears before. The cause I cannot at first ascertain, for the notes seem ventriloquial ; and indeed they are so, for I search high and low, the leafy branches above my head, the densely clustered ferns at my feet, and the shrubs at my back, for many minutes, before I find the source of this mysterious music. Balanced airily on a lance-like bamboo that shot twenty feet beyond the brink of the cliff, poised in mid-air, with half a thou- sand feet of space between him and solid earth, is a daintily-shaped bird, clad in sober drab, save a dash of rouge beneath his throat, and of white here and there. Unconscious of surrounding things, animate and inanimate, he was devoting his powers to the pro- duction of that wonderful music. In the short space I here allot to myself I cannot describe the different notes; surely no flute ever produced such mellow, liquid tones. It was music of unearthly sweetness, that, once heard, would never be forgotten — between the notes a long pause, that made them most im- pressive. It was not a song—though I discovered later that the little bird had a song— but simply the utterance of a few notes. Soon it ceased, and the bird flew into the near forest, where I soon discovered it 20 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. busily feeding upon the berries of a tall shrub, to the pendant branches of which it was clinging, now and then dashing at a fugitive bunch, apparently as ab- sorbed in this occupation as in his melodious lay of a few minutes before. Soon he ceased feeding, and commenced preening himself upon a naked limb; then, after smoothing himself out, as it were, and drawing in and stretching out his neck, he suddenly dashed at a single berry, swallowed it to clear his throat, and recommenced to trill. He had uttered but a few notes when he silently flew to a dead branch ; afew more and he winged his way to a swinging “liane,” where he hung suspended above a little ravine, in which is sunk a tiny stream, whose tinkling waters made music, though not so sweet and liquid as his. Then he disappeared in the dark recesses of the forest, where it would be useless to follow him, but whence came at intervals the ventriloquial music that seemed to float over my head and around me, though the bird was afar. This bird is called by my mountaineer friends, who have a name, and an applicable one, for everything in the forest, the “Szfleur Montagne,” or “ Mountain Whistler.” I afterwards had one in captivity for several weeks, and notes on his behavior, song, and food would fill a column that my readers might think could be put to better use, but which would be val- uable to the ornithologist as the first records of an intimate acquaintance with this species. But let us go on. I will leave the deep valley be- hind me, with the roar of the waterfall gradually fall- ing, first to a monotonous hum, then ceasing entirely, ‘and climb the bed of another water-course, now dry, CAMP LIFE IN THE TROPICS. 21 waiting for the summer rains. Soon I emerge into a grassy glade, surrounded by mango, coffee-trees, and trees resembling the live-oak. The mangos are bris- tling with spikes of blossoms — white with them — but not a bird nor a butterfly is hovering above them, though the surrounding trees and shrubs are alive with them. This is a fact I have long noticed, that the mango is ever deserted, though adjacent trees may be vocal with bird-music. But, flitting across this green glade, now bright under the rays of an ever-brightening sun, are many birds; that is, many for this island, for it is not abundant in species, nor in numbers either, save of the humming-bird. There is a tree full of warblers of strange species—of Sucrzer, or sugar-bird —a bird resembling our yellow warbler ; several of the more strictly fly-catching birds, and a few sparrows, grosbecs, and blackbirds. The three species of humming-bird are well represented, and dash hither and thither seeking their favorite food, indulging in mimic battles and amorous caresses. I push on, after an hour’s stop, perhaps, over a rugged trail made by the half-wild cattle as they travel from glade to glade, and crossing another stream, climbing a hill, and descending into a ravine, I climb the steep slopes of the hill on which my cabin is perched. Every- thing is as I left it five hours before. The door, which is merely kept fastened by a stick braced against it, has not been opened; but I find on the floor a clus- ter of oranges, a branch of fragrant lime-flowers for my humming-birds, and a tastefully arranged bunch of roses from 8ne of the girls. While I am putting the finishing touches to my bird- notes, the girl comes in with my lunch, and my little 22 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. chasseurs arrive with their collection of humming-birds. They only hunt at certain times of the day, when I can be near to attend to the little captives, according to my instructions, for they have a cruel way of tying them together if they keep them long. They are find- ing some new things every day, and as they have got the idea that I am collecting everything in shape of bird, beast, insect, and reptile, they bring me the result of each day’s “find.” Sometimes it is a snail, a fat caterpillar hideous in its slimy skin, a butterfly, a beetle, or a spider. At one time, from an incautious remark that I made to the effect that I would like a specimen of the curious land-crab which abounds in the ravines and rivulet banks, they conceived the idea of supplying me with the crustacean just mentioned. Each boy and girl on the place resolved to be the first to furnish me with the coveted crab. The consequence was that my place was soon overrun with shell-fish — ugly red and yellow crabs — as large as a man’s hand, and from that to the most diminutive. One of the girls in a mischievous mood brought in a crab with a family of little ones, over a hundred, just large enough to be seen, and let them loose on the floor. Through some open window, while I was absent, some giant crab would be dropped on the floor to await my arrival. This was not done in a spirit of mischief, but from an earnest desire to aid me in my labors. For a week after I could not stir without coming in contact with a shelly creature. I could not put my foot out of bed without a shudder of apprehension. Of nights I would be awakened by a rattlin§ of ale-bottles, and arising would discover that some crab had got thirsty during the night, and had inserted a claw which CAMP LIFE IN THE TROPICS. 23 had caught in the neck of a bottle. Or, as one other night, when my slumbers were broken by a mysterious rattling, and I awoke (thinking that, as Jean Baptiste had prophesied, the “jumbies ” had come for me, as they come for everybody who sleeps alone in a strange house), to find another crab vexing his soul in vain en- deavors to shin the broom-handle. It may be surmised that I soon informed my corps of naturalists that I could dispense with their services, and now. I am again a lone investigator dependent upon his sole endeavors. In the afternoon I sit down by the loophole that serves as window, (where by raising my eyes I can at any time look off upon the peaceful Caribbean Sea, ) gather my birds about me, and, after noting their measurements and other data necessary to aid in their identification, proceed to skin and preserve them pre- paratory to their long journey to the“ States.” It is near sunset when this is finished, and after supper I climb into my hammock, or sit on my threshold, watching the sun go down behind the mountains. If I were a little further to the north I could see him down clear to the sea; and, in fact, I often climb a spur of a near hill, where are buried the ancestors of the present res- idents of Laudat, and watch the sun as he dips below the sea, just gilding with his parting rays the rude crosses that mark the last resting-place of those buried beneath them. But what I have been most disappointed in as the sun sets, is the absence of that prolonged twilight, which makes our evenings of early summer in the north so delightful ; when, after the sun goes down, there re- mains that blissful lingering of day with night, when the softened light fades so gradually away that we 24 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. cannot tell at what precise moment, or how, it left us ; and when the song of the robin fills the air with mel- ody that many other of our birds keep up in the fields and orchards till late at night. There is none of that here. More than once I have said to myself, as the sun hid his face behind the dark ridge of mountain, leaving the trees sharply outlined against the clear sky — more than once I have repeated, “ Now I will sit in the doorway and enjoy the twilight.” But I had scarcely found and filled my pipe, and settled myself comfortably in doorway or hammock, when twilight was gone, and the fast-gathering darkness had hid the valleys, and was climbing the western slopes of the mountains. The stars, already out, shine with a liquid brilliancy that causes you to forget the absence of dusk, and you give yourself up to the contempla- tion of the lighted heavens, losing yourself in thought, wandering perhaps in meditation back to the land you have left, over which the same sky stretches and stars gleam ; but not with the clearness of the one, nor the soft brilliancy of the other — at least not at this present season. MY FIRST CAMP. 25 Oy CHAPTER III. IN AND ABOUT MY FIRST CAMP. THE CARIBBEAN SEA, ITS DECEPTIVE APPEARANCE AND PLA- CIDITY. — MY NEIGHBORS, THE MOUNTAINEERS, THEIR SAY- INGS AND WISE SAWS.—A FRENCH MISSIONARY NEEDED. — THE IGUANA AND ITS FLESH. — GLIMPSES OF MRS. GRUNDY. — A WORK OF ART.— CRUISING FOR CRUSTACEANS. — THE “GRIVES.” — MARIE. — LONG-TAILED DECAPODS. — ‘ WHERE CRABS GROW.” — “ WAIT THERE, MONSIEUR.” — ASTONISHED. — SHOCKED. — THE RIVER, — DRENCHED, —- A NAIAD. — A VIC- TIM TO SCIENCE. — FOOD FOR THE GODS. HE pictures seen from my cabin door are beau- tiful, but.all suggest alike the sea. Detached peaks rise to the eastward and southward, connected by a continuous chain of hills to the sea. Their line is irregular, and very shapely are those mountain- peaks, clothed with verdure to their summits. The broken slope in front of my cabin slants rapidly to the precipice that borders the valley containing the river which hastens to the sea. Outlined against its silvery surface are dark green mountains; a loosely branched tree stands out against it as against the sky ; palms, with gracefully spreading foliage, show dark against it. It spreads so far and wide, and seems to climb so high to meet the sky, that it is hardly pos- sible to tell where sea leaves off and sky begins. Every day I am puzzled to ascertain the horizon line. 26 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. Every day it blends into sky so softly that all seems sky, or all may be sea. Is the sky blue, so is the sea; is it smoky pearl, the sea is dim, and hides its face beneath a hazy cloud.