112 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. 



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 CA- 

 NOES AND GUM FOR INCENSE. THE " BOIS DIABLE." CON- 

 STRUCTING 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." 



"It was a land of rills 

 And birds, and giant hills 

 Rose westward ; eastward thundered the broad main." 



WALLS of reeds and roof of flags, a small hole 

 looking eastward for a window, a larger one 

 for a door. Leaning against the door-post is a Carib 

 youth of eighteen, a gun resting in the hollow of his 

 arm, a coarse cotton shirt and trowsers his habili- 

 ments. Upright, in a hammock swung from two cor- 

 ners of the hut, sits a sleepy American, thrusting his 

 fingers through his long hair; he is the only white 

 man in that region. Reader, consider yourself intro- 

 duced to my Indian guide, to my hut, and to myself. 

 Meyong, my faithful servant and henchman, was 

 christened Simeon in the little chapel over the hill ; 



