and helmeted men, the vision of an Indian prisoner, blood-
crimsoned, walking very steadily, very erect, with the solemnity
of a judge, the dry bright gaze of an idol....



XXXI.


... We steam very slowly into the harbor of St. George, Grenada,
in dead silence. No cannon-signal allowed here.... Some one
suggests that the violence of the echoes in this harbor renders
the firing of cannon dangerous; somebody else says the town is in
so ruinous a condition that the report of a gun would shake it
down.

... There are heavy damp smells in the warm air as of mould, or
of wet clay freshly upturned.

This harbor is a deep clear basin, surrounded and shadowed by
immense volcanic hills, all green. The opening by which we
entered is cut off from sight by a promontory, and hill shapes
beyond the promontory;--we seem to be in the innermost ring of a
double crater. There is a continuous shimmering and plashing of
leaping fish in the shadow of the loftiest height, which reaches
half across the water.

As it climbs up the base of the huge hill at a precipitous
angle, the city can be seen from the steamer's deck almost as in
a bird's-eye view. A senescent city; mostly antiquated Spanish