JO CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. 



ders — this collection of craters within a crater long 

 aero inactive. My guides placed their loads upon 

 their heads, and we climbed the hills, keeping time 

 to the rhythmic pulsations of a steam-vent, which 

 ejected its vapor with regular puffs, the din of which 

 rang through the forest. 



I cannot but feel how poor and meagre is this 

 description of that w 7 onderful Boiling Lake, hid in 

 the bosom of those solitary mountains in that tropical 

 island. The time may come — and it will be better 

 for Americans if it were speedily to come — when the 

 great attractions of these islands will be better known, 

 and I may not be able to say, as I say now with truth, 

 I am the only American who has seen Dominica's 

 Boiling Lake. 



We reached Riviere Dejeuner just at dark. I was 

 ahead. And here let me explain how I acquired 

 a reputation as a pedestrian, and why, if you speak 

 of the writer to one of these mountaineers, he will 

 shrug his shoulders and exclaim, "Ah! Monsieur 

 Fred, he walk like ze debbil !" Here is a statement 

 of the reason ; and I leave it to any sane person if 

 he would not have done the same under similar cir- 

 stances : 



Each member of our party had a gun — my four men 

 and myself. In going up and down those cliffs, the 

 guns carried by my guides were sure to point at me, 

 no matter how I would try to dodge them. If I lagged 

 behind, I was confronted by a black muzzle ; if I went 

 ahead, two or more pointed at my exposed back. 

 Now, I have carried a gun ever since I could well use 

 one, and for two years have had one constantly by 

 my side ; but I never allow one to be pointed at me, 



