60 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. 
basin was covered with rocks and earth, white and 
yellow, perforated like the bottom of a colander, 
whence issued steam and vapor and sulphur fumes, 
hot air and fetid gases. There was a full head 
of steam on, puffing through these vents with the 
noise of a dozen engines. There were spouting 
springs of hot water; some were boiling over the 
surface, some sending up a hot spray, some puffing 
like high-pressure steamers. Clouds of steam drifted 
across this small valley, now obscuring every rock and 
hole, now lifting a few feet, only to settle again. The 
silver in my pockets and the brass mountings of my 
camera were soon discolored to a blue-black hue. 
Several streams ran out and down, uniting in a com- 
mon torrent: streams hot, impregnated with sulphur ; 
streams cold, clear and sparkling, only a yard apart; 
water of ail colors, from blue and green to yellow and 
milk-white. 
The heat of a West Indian noon was made tenfold 
oppressive by the hot, moisture-laden atmosphere. My 
foot sipped, as we groped our way through the clouds 
of vapor, and got slightly scalded by breaking through 
the thin crust that covered the boiling caldron beneath. 
We descended between huge white rocks and bleached 
and dying trees to a stream of marvelous beauty, pick- 
ing our way among volcanic bowlders. At once the 
scene changed; we entered a ravine through which 
flowed the streams from above, now mingled in one 
tepid torrent, along whose banks grew, rank and lux- 
uriant, plants of such tropic loveliness as made me 
hold my breath in delight and surprise. Everywhere 
plashed and tinkled musical waterfalls and cascades ; 
from all sides little streams came pouring in their trib- 
