A MISADVENTURE. 219 



to infer that it might be gold, or might be of value only 

 to the archaeologist. To this latter opinion I was in- 

 clined when told that it belonged to the oldest Indian 

 of the nation, who, rather than allow it to be taken 

 by the English, buried it in the cave. I inferred from 

 this that it must be of the nature of a charm or token, 

 such as the Indians, when living in primitive simplic- 

 ity, carried about them. 



Nearly three months later I visited the island 

 where the Caribs had been incarcerated previous to 

 their transportation, and as my discovery there strong- 

 ly verifies my Indian friend's story, it may be as well 

 in this connection to relate my adventures during that 

 short trip. 



The island of Balliceaux, the scene of Carib cap- 

 tivity, is about twelve miles from St. Vincent, and is 

 one of the northernmost of the chain of islands and 

 islets known as the Grenadines. It is about a mile in 

 length and perhaps an eighth in breadth, rocky and 

 dry, covered for the most part with a sparse growth 

 of trees. It is owned entirely by one of the largest 

 land proprietors in St. Vincent, Mr. Cheesman, who 

 has stocked it with goats, guinea-fowl, and deer, in- 

 tending it as a preserve, to which he occasionally 

 resorts for sport with some friends. 



As his guest, in company with a dozen more valiant 

 Scotchmen and Creoles, I left the blue hills of St. 

 Vincent, one morning in February, for Balliceaux. 

 We landed from the drogher on a sandy beach, above 

 which drooped a solitary palm, and wended our way 

 to the comfortable house, where we were met by the 

 manager, and to which, later, our store of provender 

 was transported. Our generous host understood well 



