diameter,
growing, too, to a great height.

Nor was the scenery only wild.

About half a mile up a steep ravine, a drove of wild hogs rushed by us,
nearly knocking Hiram down, he being in advance of the exploring party.

"Jehosophat, mate!" he exclaimed to Tom, laughing as he stumbled over
him; "thaar's y'r black man's ghost, I guess."

"Carry on," replied Tom grinning; "we ain't come to him yet. You just
wait and see!"

Further up, we came to a beautiful plain of some extent between the
hills, which had been at some former time planted for cultivation, for
bananas, sweet potatoes, yucca palms, and many other sorts of tropical
fruits were growing about in the wildest profusion.

There were the remains, too, of old buildings and broken mill machinery,
such as used in the West Indies for crushing the sugar cane, a lot of
which was planted in the vicinity; but these were of giant proportions
from not having been cut possibly for years, for, stump sprang up on top
of stump, until the root clusters covered many square yards--the canes
themselves being over twenty-five feet in height and more than fifteen
inches in circumference, of a size that would have made a
sugar-planter's mouth water.

"Guess some cuss hez ben a-cultivatin' hyar," observed Hiram, looking
critically round. "When I wer to hum down Chicopee way--"

"Stow that, bo," said Tom Bullover, interrupting him, being always
afraid of letting the other sail off on the tack of his home
recollections, as he was doomed ever to hear the same old yarn, so that
he was sick of its repetition. "I don't think you'll find your cave
here; them old buccaneers wouldn't be sich fools to lug all their booty
up this long way, when they could bury it more comf'able near the shore,
and likewise come upon it the easier again when they wanted it."

"Specs ye air about right, bo," answered Hiram, taking the interruption
kindly, and no ways hurt at having his Chicopee remembrances once more
nipped in the bud. "What shall we dew?"

"Why, go down again," replied Tom. "Here's a fresh track down to the
beach on this side which leads to another bay, I fancy. Let's make for
it and see where it leads to."

"Fire away; I'm arter ye, bo," said the other, the two now changing
places, and Tom Bullover showing the way. "`Foller my leader'--thet's
the game, I reckon!"

All of us laughed at this, stepping gingerly in single file after Tom,
who found some difficulty at first in pu