TRADITIONAL LORE. 211 



Sandy Bay takes its name from a beach of gray 

 sand guarded by volcanic rocks, lined with tropical 

 vegetation ; at its northern end was a single cocoa 

 palm leaning over a thatched hut used as a boat- 

 house. Beneath this hut I encountered some of my 

 Indian neighbors, dividing their spoils from the sea ; 

 there were fish of every color: "parrot fish," "butter 

 fish," and " silver fish," radiant with all the hues of the 

 rainbow. To each man Captain George laid aside 

 his portion, and from each little heap took a fish for 

 the stranger sojourning among them. This done, he 

 retired with me to a log beneath the thatch, and over- 

 hauled his store of traditional Indian lore. The seas 

 came up with white crests, reaching far up the strand ; 

 the sun was down behind the volcano, leaving a long, 

 cool twilight, to which the leeward shore is a stranger. 



Our conversation turned upon ghosts and those evil 

 spirits called by the negroes, and by the Indians, 

 jumbies, or jombies. "I have saw jumbie not more 

 than three times," said the old Indian. " Once time, 

 I runned away from Rabaca, an' when I reach de 

 dry ribah, walkin' along, swingin' my bundle, I see 

 man, high so, as a hoss, an' he point me back ; but I 

 keep on. When I come to cross de ribah I see big 

 bull-calf to come down de bank ; he tail up, an' he 

 come fo' me an' swing roun' an' roun' an' bawl, an' 

 then he run back. It to make my har stan' up, so ; 

 an' when I make to meet him at nex' ribah I was 

 want to cross, an' he came fo' me an' bawl, I say, 

 ' Oh, good Massa, keep jumbie away ; ' an' he no 

 come no mo'. 



" A young man, he courtin' he sweetheart ; he say, 

 r You lub me?' He sweetheart say, 'Yes.' He say, 



