ched up the glen.

Through the provision-ground we struggled up, among weeds as high as
our shoulders; so that it was difficult, as usual, to distinguish
garden from forest. But no matter to the black owner. The weeds
were probably of only six weeks' growth; and when they got so high
that he actually could not find his tanias {115b} among them, he
would take cutlass and hoe, and make a lazy raid upon them, or
rather upon a quarter of them, certain of two facts; that in six
weeks more they would be all as high as ever; and that if they were,
it did not matter; for so fertile is the soil, so genial the
climate, that he would get in spite of them more crop off the ground
than he needed. 'Pity the poor weeds. Is there not room enough in
the world for them and for us?' seems the Negro's motto. But he
knows his own business well enough, and can exert himself when he
really needs to do so; and if the weeds harmed him seriously he
would make short work with them. Still this soil, and this climate,
put a premium on bad farming, as they do on much else that is bad.

Up we pushed along the narrow path, past curious spiral flags {115c}
just throwing out their heads of delicate white or purple flower,
and under the shade of great Balisiers or wild plantains, {115d}
with leaves six or eight feet long; and many another curious plant
unknown to me; and then through a little copse, of which we had to
beware, for it was all black Roseau {115e}--a sort of dwarf palm
some fifteen feet high, whose stems are covered with black steel
needles, which, on being touched, run right through your finger, or
your hand, if you press hard enough, and then break off; on which
you cut them out if you can. If you cannot, they are apt, like
needles, to make voyages about among the muscles, and reappear at
some unexpected spot, causing serious harm. Of all the vegetable
pests of the forest, none, not even the croc-chien, is so ugly a
neighbour as certain varieties of black Roseau.

All this while--I fear I may be prolix: but one must write as one
walked, stopping every moment to seize something new, and longing
for as many pairs of eyes as a spider--all this while, I say, we
heard the roar of the trade-surf growing louder and louder in front;
and pushing cautiously through the Roseau, found ourselves on a
cliff thirty feet high, and on the other side of the island.

Now it was plain how the Bocas had been made;