when the waves run high, and has been the scene of
many a wreck. There used to be tales of sunken
galleons hereabouts and of treasures hid in caves,
but nobody has been able to derive wealth from this
legendary source. Some of The Virgins received
from buccaneers and other profane navigators less
sanctimonious names than Columbus was wont to
bestow. Besides Jorst Van D y c k ’s Guano Isle,
here are Rum Island, Beef Island, Prickly Pear,
Camphor and Salt, Dutchman’ s Cap, Dead Man’s
Chest, and Broken Jerusalem. More than once the
whole dreary group has been lashed unmercifully by
hurricanes.
Near these English Virgins is an island with a
history. St. Thomas is known the world over as
a seaport, a port of call for all manner of craft going
and coming in those waters, while the real name of
the seaport town, Charlotte Amalia, is hardly known
at all. In fact, the port is pretty much all there is
to the island. St. Thomas is less than forty miles
east of Puerto Rico, and is thirteen miles long by
three wide, containing about thirty-five square miles
of area. A ridge runs through it lengthwise, attaining
its highest elevation of about 1500 feet in West
Mountain. On the southern slope there were sugar
plantations in the old slavery days, but latterly they
have been devoted mainly to growing maize, vegetables,
and fruit, and to pastures of guinea grass.
The island is still a place of trafific and shipping,
and nearly all its 15,000 people, of whom nine
tenths are blacks, o r “ coloured ’ ’ in various shades,
live in and about the port. T he bay on which the