A MISADVENTURE. 219 
to infer that it might be gold, or might be of value only 
to the archeologist. To this latter opinion I was in- 
clined when told that it belonged to the oldest Indian 
of the nation, who, rather than allow it to be taken 
by the English, buried it in the cave. I inferred from 
this that it must be of the nature of a charm or token, 
such as the Indians, when living in primitive simplic- 
ity, carried about them. 
Nearly three months later I visited the island 
where the Caribs had been incarcerated previous to 
their transportation, and as my discovery there strong- 
ly verifies my Indian friend’s story, it may be as well 
in this connection to relate my adventures during that 
short trip. 
The island of Balliceaux, the scene of Carib cap- 
tivity, is about twelve miles from St. Vincent, and is 
one of the northernmost of the chain of islands and 
islets known as the Grenadines. It is about a mile in 
length and perhaps an eighth in breadth, rocky and 
dry, covered for the most part with a sparse growth « 
of trees. Itis owned entirely by one of the largest 
land proprietors in St. Vincent, Mr. Cheesman, who 
has stocked it with goats, guinea-fowl, and deer, in- 
tending it as a preserve, to which he occasionally 
resorts for sport with some friends. . 
As his guest, in company with a dozen more valiant 
Scotchmen and Creoles, I left the blue hills of St. 
Vincent, one morning in February, for Balliceaux. 
We landed from the drogher on a sandy beach, above 
which drooped a solitary palm, and wended our way 
to the comfortable house, where we were met by the 
manager, and to which, later, our store of provender 
was transported. Our generous host understood well 
