296 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. 
the fields and through the forests about Morne Rouge, 
all my acquaintances of a day gathered about me, 
frantically expostulating, and I with difficulty secured 
a boy to pilot me. To satisfy these good people, to 
some extent, I drew on a pair of boots of alligator 
skin, old and grievously rent, which had accompanied 
me through flood and forest for full five years. Seven 
years had passed since these boots were sporting in 
saurian shape in the warm waters of the “Land of 
Flowers.” The skin composing them I had wrenched 
from the lifeless bodies of two alligators measuring 
respectively nine and ten feet. They had shown 
gallant fight, and it was to perpetuate their achieve- 
ments, and to protect my feet, that I had caused their 
skins to be tanned and made into boots. Impervious 
were they once, and gallant service had they per- 
formed; for they were fashioned and constructed by 
no less a cordwainer than Shadrach Fisk, a worthy 
knight of St. Crispin, Shadrach, and as honest a man 
as ever trod or manipulated shoe-leather. 
Much courage did these boots infuse into my heart, 
and I strode forth valiantly, trusting that any well-dis- 
posed snake would be magnanimous enough to strike 
at the hide and not at the holes. Not Roderick Dhu, 
with targe of “tough bull-hide,” felt better protected 
than I felt then. Let the short sequel show how vain 
are man’s pretences. We marched out into the fields, 
my little pilot trembling with fear, and so craven that 
he dared not retrieve my birds. We came to an im- 
mense tree, a silk-cotton, which covered a broad area 
with its shadow. In this tree was a little shrine, rudely 
made, and a plaster figure of the immaculate mother ; 
at her feet a candle burning, and humble offerings. It 
