INDIAN HOME LIFE. 95 
None of the old writers mention the hospitality of 
the Carib, which at the present day is a virtue he 
possesses in perfection. I recall one of the many ex- 
cursions made through the environs of the hamlet into 
the forest in my search for birds. The day was hot, 
but a cool breeze from the ocean, which always blows 
from ten in the morning till ‘six in the evening, tem- 
pered the heat. Bordering the forest was a little 
open space, in the center of which, on a spur of the 
hills overlooking the sea, was a small thatched hut, 
inhabited by one of the few families of Caribs who 
have remained uncontaminated by negro blood. As 
I emerged from the forest I was met by a robust dam- 
sel with laughing eyes, who brought for me a wooden 
bench and placed it beneath the grateful shade of a 
mango. Then appeared her father, who welcomed 
me to his habitation, and then disappeared. AA little 
later, when he re-appeared, he was driving before 
him a flock of fowls, and singling out the largest ‘and 
plumpest, he requested me to shoot it. Thinking I 
had not understood him, I hesitated, but, at a repe- 
tition of the request,’ fired and tumbled the fowl in the 
dust. There was an instant scattering of the others, 
but the old man picked up the slain one and marched 
off with it to his wife. Then he knocked down a few 
cocoa-nuts, and, clipping off the end of one, brought 
it to me, with its ivory chamber full of cool and re- 
freshing water, apologizing that he could offer me no 
rum or gin, which it is customary to mix with it. 
In an hour or so I was invited to the hut, where, 
on a clean table, was spread a substantial meal of 
bread-fruit and yam, with the chicken I had so re- 
cently shot. This last was a luxury the Indian sel- 
