semicircular sweep of the harbor, dominated by the eternally
veiled summit of the Montagne Pelee (misnamed, since it is green
to the very clouds), from which the land slopes down on either
hand to the sea by gigantic undulations, is one of the fairest
sights that human eye can gaze upon. Thus viewed, the whole
island shape is a mass of green, with purplish streaks and
shadowings here and there: glooms of forest-hollows, or moving
umbrages of cloud. The city of St. Pierre, on the edge of the
land, looks as if it had slided down the hill behind it, so
strangely do the streets come tumbling to the port in cascades of
masonry,--with a red billowing of tiled roofs over all, and
enormous palms poking up through it,--higher even than the creamy
white twin towers of its cathedral.

We anchor in limpid blue water; the cannon-shot is. answered by
a prolonged thunder-clapping of mountain echo.

Then from the shore a curious flotilla bears down upon us.
There is one boat, two or three canoes; but the bulk of the craft
are simply wooden frames,--flat-bottomed structures, made from
shipping-cases or lard-boxes, with triangular ends. In these sit
naked boys,--boys between ten and fourteen years of age,--varying
in color from a fine clear yellow to a deep reddish-brown or
chocolate tint. They row with two little square, flat pieces of
wood for paddles, clutched in each hand; and these lid-shaped
things are dipped into the water on either side with absolute
precision, in perfect time,--all the pairs of little naked arms
seeming moved by a single impulse. There is much unconscious
grace in this paddling, as well as skill. Then all about the
ship these ridiculous little boats begin to describe circles,