directions on a bootless
quest after the sloop. We also rejected the idea of returning to the
town. We laid in our oars, composed ourselves as comfortably as we could
beneath the thwarts, and with clear consciences resigned ourselves to
sleep.

We must have slept for hours when we were awakened by an unpleasant and
alarming noise. It was some minutes before we could recollect ourselves
and ascertain the cause of the hubbub. It proved to be the roaring of
the wind, the pattering of the rain, and the angry dash of the waves.
While we slept a severe squall had been gradually concocted among the
mountains, and now burst upon us in all its fury. How long the wind had
been blowing we did not know; but we did know we were some miles out to
sea in a cockle-shell of a boat, and rapidly drifting farther from the
land. No lights could be seen in any quarter; but all around was dark
and drear. We supposed that as a matter of course the wind blew from the
land, and therefore got out our oars and pulled dead to windward, thus
preventing further drift, and lessening our danger by laying the boat
head to the sea, which was now rapidly rising.

The squall continued for an hour after we were conscious of its
existence; we were thoroughly drenched, but exercise kept us warm; while
Bohun still maintained his snug position beneath the stern seats in a
happy state of unconsciousness of the jarring of the elements and the
peril to which he was exposed. The first streaks of dawn were hailed
with delight, and at broad daylight we beheld the sloop, which had been
driven to leeward during the night; and although eight or ten miles from
the land, she was not more than a couple of miles to windward of the
boat, and beating up towards the harbor. We awakened Bohun, whose
garments were saturated by the shower, and who seemed greatly amused
with our account of the night's adventure. The wind was fortunately
light, and by dint of hard rowing, we soon got near enough to the
Lapwing to make signals, and were recognized. The sloop then bore away
and ran down, and we were truly rejoiced, fatigued, wet, hungry as we
were, to stand again upon the deck.

Proceeding along to leeward of Martinico and St. Lucia, we came to St.
Vincent, an island about twenty miles in length from north to south,
which was chiefly remarkable at that time as being the only abiding
place of the once numerous and warlike tribe of the Caribs, who
inhabited the Windward Islands when