200 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. 
with the heavenly song.” Naturalists have sought for 
it, and residents of the island have tried to capture 
it, but without success. Misled by its ventriloquial 
music and ‘deterred by the character of its rough re- 
treats, they have returned bootless to the coast, almost 
believing, with the negro, that it was indeed invisible. 
The Indians avoided its haunts, and regarded with 
veneration this bird that filled the air with unearthly 
melody; for generations they have preserved the tra- 
dition of its existence, and vaguely associated it with 
the tutelar deity of the volcano. 
The third night passed wearily. My blankets, ham- 
mock, and garments were saturated by the mist, and 
the air was so charged with sulphur fumes that it 
seemed difficult to breathe. Toby rested uneasily ; 
his uncomfortable couch and his anxiéty regarding 
his “stock” interfered with perfect repose. By the 
aid of a line fastened to a stake, I managed to keep 
my hammock moving, and thus rocked myself to 
sleep; but my naps were short and fitful, and fre- 
quently interrupted. Toward the small hours I was 
asleep and dreaming. The events of the preceding 
days, and the constant reminder before me of that 
catastrophe of sixty years before, when this mountain 
was shaken and rent and.the fire in its bosom let loose, 
gave shape to my dreams. I was living through that 
terrible week in April, when the volcano vomited forth 
the volume of ashes and fire that desolated the island; 
nay, more, I was camped upon its very summit. I 
felt the heaving of the earth beneath, but could not 
move; I heard the gathering of those internal forces 
preparatory to the bursting forth of flame and steam; 
the rumbling roar that came up from that subterranean 
