save where the blackened and broken lips of craters
appear, over which clouds almost always hover.
A s one sails down the leeward coast, two sharp
peaks appear to the south above the verdant ridges,
like a donkey’s ears, as the vulgar seamen put it.
These are “ T h e Pitons ” at the south end of the
island. A ll sharp peaks are pitons in the lingo of
the French, but these are “ T he Pitons.” Viewed
from the south they rise sheer out of the sea at the
island’s verge, one 2680 and the other 2710 feet, like
misshapen towers of some vast submerged cathedral,
whose roof is the mountainous back of the island behind.
Between them a quiet bay charms the eye
with its verdant background, over which looms in
the distance the sombre form of the great Soufrière,
or Solfatara. This huge crater is not altogether
without life, though its inexhaustible sulphur deposits
are accessible to man. Within its gloomy
depths the lava boils and bubbles, acting in its state
of fusion, perhaps, as a safety-valve for imprisoned
forces; and at many a spot among the mountains
sulphurous vapours issue and thermal waters gush
out.
A s elsewhere in this marvellous range of tropic
islands, the mountains are cleft by wild gorges and
picturesque valleys, and on the slopes the soil,
made from ancient lava and decomposed vegetation,
is exceedingly rich. Here are all the trees and vines
and flowering plants and the profuse variety of fruits
that we have found in the other islands, but four
fifths of all the surface is still covered with unbroken
forest. Here, too, are the birds and tiny beasts,