lightning, dizzy with the drive of the boat, and drenched by the
torrents and washings from above and below, we were not a little
pleased to feel the storm-wind slowly lulling, as it had cooled
the heated regions ahead, and to see the sky steadily clearing up
behind, as the blackness of the cloud, rushing with racer speed,
passed over and beyond us. The increasing stillness of the sea
raised our spirits;

"For nature, only loud when she destroys,
Is silent when she fashions."

But the storm-demon's name is "Tornado" (Cyclone): it will
probably veer round to the south, where, meeting the dry clouds
that are gathering and massing there, it will involve us in
another fray. Meanwhile we are safe, and as the mist clears off
we sight the southern shore. The humbler elevation, notably
different from the northern bank, is dotted with villages and
clearings. The Peninsula de Marie-Amelie, alias "Round Corner,"
the innermost southern point visible from the mouth, projects to
the north-north-east in a line of scattered islets at high tides,
ending in Le bois Fetiche, a clump of tall trees somewhat
extensively used for picnics. It has served for worse purposes,
as the name shows.

A total of two hours landed me from the Comte de Paris Roads upon
the open sandy strip that supports Denistown; the single broad
street runs at right angles from the river, the better to catch
the sea-breeze, and most of the huts have open gables, a practice
strongly to be recommended. Le Roi would not expose himself to
the damp air; the consul was not so particular. His majesty's