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 Dominica, 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 

 halt-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 napping 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 



