306 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. 
dez! Fort vent! Coup de vent!” —“ Look out! 
Strong wind! A squall.” And when the wind 
struck the boat, instead of luffing, they had three 
negroes swinging at the ends of three ropes attached 
a little more than half-way up the mast, who, with 
feet braced against the rail, would sway their bodies. 
out over the water, and thus restore the equilibrium 
when she heeled. It was a novel and interesting 
sight, but one calculated to excite reflection, when 
wind should prove stronger than African, with the 
sheets made fast, a stubborn helmsman hanging to the 
tiller for dear life, and the water pouring in over 
the lee rail. 
We rounded the point and opened up the view 
of Trois-Ilets just after dark. A low church, with 
straggling tile-covered houses about it, backed by 
purple hills, with a cane field stretching to the east, in 
its center the presbytery surrounded by trees. The 
stars were gleaming in the sky as we landed and 
walked up to the house of the owner of the boat, a 
boulanger, who also kept a shop. There was no 
other place likely to afford me shelter, so I went to the 
baker’s shop; but the first square look I had at the 
owner convinced me that he was not a man prone to 
hospitable acts. Subsequent events, 1 am happy to 
say, proved conclusively that I was right. He said he 
could give me a dinner, but no bed, so I went out with 
a cobbler who could speak a little English, in search 
of the curé, the parish priest, to whom I had a letter. 
We arrived at the presbytery at about half past 
seven, knocked, and after some delay were bidden 
to enter by the housekeeper, a comely woman. The 
curé entered the room; short, corpulent, with sensual 
