282 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. 



tion, combine to produce a feeling of revulsion. But 

 viewed from a vessel lying in the harbor, sufficiently 

 remote to hide its incongruous elements, St. Pierre 

 again appears charming, picturesque. 



Aside from the hills which embrace the town and 

 come down to the sea in bold spurs, forming an arc 

 with a chord three miles in length, there is the noble 

 Montague PelSe, above four thousand feet in height, 

 a mass of dark green with jagged outline, cleft into 

 ravines and black gorges, down which run rivers in- 

 numerable, gushing from the internal fountains of 

 this great volcano. 



The streets are narrow but well-flagged, and every 

 few squares is a fountain ; and adown the gutters 

 through them all run swift streams, carrying to the sea 

 the refuse of the city. St. Pierre is the commercial 

 port of the island, and there are many stores filled 

 with the wines and wares of France. There are a fine 

 cathedral ; a theatre of large capacity, to which for 

 three months each winter a troupe from Paris draws 

 crowded houses ; a bishop's palace and governor's 

 residence, with large and handsome barracks for 

 the troops. 



Landing, I went, as a matter of course, to the con- 

 sulate, where a picture of an eagle, grasping the red 

 man's arrows, and digging his claws into a prostrate 

 shield, smiled serenely above an open doorway. The 

 consul, a Massachusetts man, extended to me a warm 

 welcome. He had been in the naval service, retir- 

 ing wounded, and being connected with influential 

 politicians, had secured this mission to Martinique. 

 It is well known with what liberal hand our government 

 rewards its wounded heroes, giving the more importu- 



