4oO CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. 
ders —this collection of craters within a crater long 
ago inactive. My guides placed their loads upon 
their heads, and we climbed the hills, keeping time 
to the rhythmic pulsations of a steam-vent, which 
ejected its vapor with regular puffs, the din of which 
rang through the forest. 
I cannot but feel how poor and meagre is this 
description of that wonderful Boiling Lake, hid in 
the bosom of those solitary mountains in that tropical 
island. The time may come— and it will be better 
for Americans if it were speedily to come — when the 
great attractions of these islands will be better known, 
and I may not be able to say, as I say now with truth, 
I am the only American who has seen Dominica’s 
Boiling Lake. 
We reached Riviére Déjetiner just at dark. I was 
ahead. And here let me explain how I acquired 
a reputation as.a pedestrian, and why, if you speak 
of the writer to‘ one of these mountaineers, he will 
shrug his shoulders and exclaim, “Ah! Monsieur 
Fred, he walk like ze debbil!” Here is a statement 
of the reason; and I leave it to any sane person if, 
he would not have done the same under similar cir- 
stances: 
Each member of our party had a gun—my four men 
and myself. In going up and down those cliffs, the 
guns carried by my guides were sure to point at me, 
no matter how I would try to dodge them. If I lagged 
behind, I was confronted by a black muzzle; if I went 
ahead, two or more pointed at my exposed back. 
Now, I have carried a gun ever since I could well use 
one, and for two years have had one constantly by 
my side; but I never allow one to be pointed at me, © 
