112 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. 
CHAPTER VIII. 
HOW I CAPTURED THE IMPERIAL PARROT. 
MEYONG. —MY HUT.—A MIXED-UP LANGUAGE. — DEPARTURE 
FOR THE FOREST.—PANNIER AND CUTLASS.—WOOD-PIGEONS.— 
THE STARTLED SAVAGES. — THE BATH. — A GLOOMY GORGE. — 
“PALMISTE MONTAGNE.’’—IN THE HAUNTS OF THE PARROT. — 
IMMENSE TREES. — PARASITES AND LIANES.— WOOD FOR CA- 
NOES AND GUM FOR INCENSE.— THE “BOIS DIABLE.” —CON- 
STRUCTING THE CAMP.—PALM-SPATHES.—A BONNE BOUCHE, 
THE BEETLE GRUB. — NOCTURNAL NOISES.—— COMICAL FROGS. — 
A BLACKSMITH IN A TREE. — THE FIRST SHOT.— THE HUMMING- 
BIRD’S NEST.-- THE PARROT.— AN EXCITED GUIDE.— AN ACCI- 
DENT. — WILD HOGS. — THE “LITTLE DEVIL.” 
“Tt was a land of rills 
And birds, and giant hills 
Rose westward ; eastward thundered the broad main.” 
ALLS of reeds and roof of flags, a small hole 
looking eastward for a window, a larger one 
fora door. Leaning against the door-post is a Carib 
youth of eighteen, a gun resting in the hollow of his 
arm, a coarse cotton shirt and trowsers his habili- 
ments. Upright, in a hammock swung from two cor- 
ners of the hut, sits a sleepy American, thrusting his 
fingers through his long hair; he is the only white 
man in that region. Reader, consider yourself intro- 
duced to my*Indian guide, to my hut, and to myself. 
Meyong, my faithful servant and henchman, was 
christened Simeon in the little chapel over the hill; 
