BOILING LAKE OF DOMINICA. 53 



For two weeks I had been awaiting a change of 

 the moon that was expected to bring a drier season, and 

 one night my friend Jean Baptiste came to my hut with 

 the welcome news, "To-morrow make weddah." As 

 he predicted, the weather cleared. There came to me 

 the sons and nephews of Jean Baptiste (four in num- 

 ber), who were laden, and departed one after the 

 other. Francois had a large Carib pannier filled 

 with yams, coffee and eggs, a blanket, his never- 

 absent cutlass, and a gun ; Michael took my camera, 

 a bag of provisions, cutlass and gun ; Joseph, my dark 

 box with photographic chemicals, cutlass and gun; 

 Seeyohl, a large sack of yams and plantains, cut- 

 lass and gun. With my game-basket and humming- 

 bird gun, I followed immediately after my guides. 



We crossed the three streams hurrying from the 

 mountain to the precipice, where they are compressed 

 into two magnificent waterfalls, and climbed the hills 

 beyond, over a path of interlaced roots, from among 

 which the earth had been washed, leaving a perfect 

 ladder, which served us both in ascending and de- 

 scending. Past one of the little " provision grounds," 

 where, among fallen and decayed trees, were growing 

 lusty plantains, bananas, yams and tanniers ; across 

 another stream and up farther to the crown of the ridge, 

 where the path led through cool and open " high 

 woods," where the sun " can't come," and where ficr- 

 drtx, or mountain doves, sprang up from all about us, 

 and ramicrs, or wood-pigeons, dashed in and out of 

 the tall tree-crowns. At eleven o'clock we reached 

 "La Riviere Dejeuner," where we breakfasted upon 

 boiled eggs and yams, with clear cold water for drink. 



Our dogs (we had four curs trained to hunt the 



