284 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. 
bananas, oranges, and sapadillos, or sour-sops, came 
a decanter of rum, a little cup of black coffee with 
sugar, and cigarettes. My vis-a-vis at these delight- 
ful repasts was the Commissaire of Police, an ex- 
officer of the navy of France, and a Chevalier of the 
Legion of Honor. It need not be added that he was 
courteous and agreeable. 
The creoles of Martinique, as well as the inhabi- 
tants coming from France, have but few vices, the 
chief of which is that they will smoke the vilest, rank- 
est, most disgusting of cigars. These obnoxious 
fabrications are of American tobacco, twisted by the 
hand of the negress, or mulattress, into a long cigar, 
called by the sailors “long-toms,” and sold at a sou 
apiece. The better classés smoke cigarettes of im- 
ported French tobacco, and are as expert in rolling 
them when wanted as any Cuban; but the negroes 
all, male and female, smoke the “long-toms.” In 
enumerating the good qualities of my ancient cook, I 
overlooked the fact that from morn to night, while at- 
tending to her domestic duties, anxiously bending over 
the pots and kettles, she never once relinquished the 
comforting weed. 
Through the kindness of the photographer of St. 
Pierre, Monsieur Hartmann, an amiable and accom- 
plished gentleman, I was introduced into the cercle, 
or club, where French in its purity is spoken. The 
universal language, however, is that of the common 
people, the patozs, or provincial dialect; and even the 
cultivated speak, colloquially, the French tongue in 
this rude form. The prejudice against everything not 
exclusively French is exceedingly bitter, though the 
increasing amount of foreign imports is bringing 
