THE POMEROON TRAIL 85 



coolies usually live in long, communal, barrack- 

 like structures, the negroes in half -open huts. 



This first part of the Pomeroon road was one 

 long ribbon of variegated color: Hundreds of 

 tiny huts, with picturesque groups of coolies 

 and negroes and a smaller number of Chinese, 

 all the huts dilapidated, some leaning over, 

 others so perforated that they looked like the 

 ruins of European farmhouses after being 

 shelled. Patched, propped up, tied together, 

 it was difficult to believe that they were habi- 

 table. All were embowered in masses of color 

 and shadowed by the graceful curves of cocoa- 

 nut palms and bananas. The sheets of bou- 

 gainvillea blossoms, of yellow allamandas, and 

 the white frangipani temple flowers of the 

 East, brought joy to the eye and the nostril; 

 the scarlet lilies growing rank as weeds — all 

 these emphasized the ruinous character of the 

 huts. Along the front ran a trench, doubling 

 all the glorious color in reflection, except where 

 it was filled with lotus blossoms and Victoria 

 regia. 



As we passed swiftly, the natives rushed out 

 on the shaky board-and-log bridges, staring in 

 wonder, the women with babies astride of their 



