332 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. 
some fifteen hundred feet above the sea, is the sum- 
mer camp of the governor and the troops. Spacious 
buildings, including a hospital, barracks, and gov- 
ernor’s house, are almost hidden by trees, among 
which the palmiste towers conspicuous with its gray 
column and green coronet. Passing these, my road 
led me to a little hamlet on the mountain-side over- 
looking the Caribbean Sea, called Matouba. Nearly 
all its little thatched houses were full, as the people 
of Basse Terre, all who can afford it, come up here 
at this, the sickly season, to enjoy the baths and the 
cool air. Through the kindness of a friend I was able 
to hire a small room, one of two, in a little thatched 
hut eighteen feet by fourteen. The other half, sepa- 
rated by a partition, over which I could easily make a 
hand-spring, was occupied by the owner of the house, 
his wife, brother, and three children. Contentedly I 
swung my hammock from two corners of the room, 
thanking a good Providence that I could enjoy all by 
myself as much room as sufficed for the other six. 
For ten days I remained in Matouba, roaming over 
the coffee plantations and climbing the hills in quest 
of birds. Many streams dash hurriedly down from 
the mountain, and there are waterfalls and cascades, 
and high up the hill is the dazz chaud, a warm spring 
difficult of access. Tired of the continual rain, and 
wishing for the society of some one speaking my own 
language, I set off one morning, under guidance of 
my boy “Co-co,” to find the mayor of a neighboring 
commune — the commune of St. Claude —who could, 
I was told, speak English. Passing through the little 
village, I entered a higher region devoted to coffee 
plantations, and climbed to a spur of the Soufriére, 
