The southern parts of the island, broken
into rocks of fantastic shape, covered with
foliage and luxuriant verdure, and gladed
down to the bright sea in park-like beauty,
present a matchless picture to the eye. Were
it not for the heat of climate, fatal often to
the new-comer from Europe, and the living
things of tropical danger that haunt its waters
and its earth, St. Domingo would be an Eden.
I have still remembrance of Aux Cayes and
Isle de Vache on the south-western shore,
and a day's ramble there. The weather was
not oppressively hot, for it was early March;
but as I walked along the shore—sprinkled,
as it was, with "sunbeam shells"—the water
looked so clear and inviting, that I determined
on a plunge. I got into one of the deserted
boats, and pushed off into the calm and tideless
sea. There could be no danger in bathing
so close in, and I was getting ready for a
spring overboard in five feet water, when a
shark swam, fin up, between the boat's nose
and the beach, close under me. "Thank you,"
thought I, "for showing yourself. I think I
will not bathe to-day, my friend."

I landed again, and rejoined our party just
in time to witness a strange hubbub. They
were hauling in the seine, a great commotion
was inside—fish jumping in every direction,
and the water was lashed into foam by some
great fellow. An alligator was entangled in
the net. We happened to be near the mouth
of a small stream which these creatures
frequented. The net was landed, and the beast
dispatched by the third lieutenant, who struck
it on the head with the back of a hatchet,
fracturing its skull. It proved to be a young
one, of about nine feet long, and was afterwards
taken on board as a curiosity. We were then
new to the West Indies, or we certainly
should not have taken it on board. The
smell of musk emitted by the carcase was so
strong, that the abomination soon was slipped
into the water. After such experiences, we
learned to think of English parks and hills,
and little English trout-streams with respect;
they no longer seemed tame to us in contrast
with the richer beauties of the tropics.

I shall be spinning my yarn into a tangle if
I do not mind. With leave I will go back to
seven a.m., and be witnessing a grand parade
of the garrison of Cape Henry. The Prince
Royal commanded. He was a stout young
negro in general's uniform, a crimson coat
with gold embroidery, white leathers, and
military boots; all from top to toe—boots, face
and lace—shining in the bright morning sun.
It was a dismounted parade; for there were
three regiments of cavalry on the ground
(the Life Guards, probably) and half-a-dozen
of infantry of the line, besides part of the foot
household brigade. There was scarcely so
much glitter as there might have been. The
arms, not browned, were yet rusty—perhaps
from the night dew—and the cavalry appointments
were somewhat dim; in fact, there was
suggested to our minds a great scarcity in the
island of Bath-brick, rotten-stone, and heelball.
The dragoons were most ferocious-looking
fellows. "Dismal the rattle of their harness
grew," as they marched past at quick time.
They wore the brass helmet of the French
heavy horse, with its red hair hanging down
behind, and finished with a tuft in front;
high boots, green coats, and crimson breeches,
with black belts. They had muskets instead
of carbines, huge spurs, and the long straight
cavalry sword hooked up for marching.
Altogether they looked very unclean and
rusty; but fierce, dangerous, and service-like,
every man black as a cloud full of thunder.
An English officer of Highlanders near me,
whom we had brought up from Porte-au-
Prince, affirmed that the wheelings were
precise and well executed, the trumpet-calls
exact, each point of war beaten on the drums,
and the whole thing admirably done.

The troops seemed indeed to live under
strict martial law, and went through a
parade in mortal terror. Their adjutant and
instructor was a Prussian disciplinarian of
unbending severity.

The parade over, and still before breakfast,
we were summoned to be presented to their
Majesties. The transition from the noise of
war without, to the repose of grandeur within,
was very noticeable. No man could have
gone better through the whole ceremony of
the presence chamber than Sir Home. He
was a dignified as well as intelligent officer;
who, while he sacrificed nothing of position
or rank, yet conducted every circumstance of
his visit in such a manner as could not fail to
gratify the king, whose guest he was. He
may have had some little difficulty in keeping
so many sailors, most of them very young
men, in hand; but altogether, he had no
great reason to complain of us—and he did
not complain.

The Queen and the Princesses Améthyste
and Athénaïde stood in rank as at a St.
James's drawing-room, having dames d'atours
and maids of honour in attendance, pages,
and lords in waiting. For the satisfaction
of my fair readers, I have great pleasure in
stating that clear muslin over purple silk
or satin was the general wear. All were in
grand costume, and the men covered with
embroidery. The marvellous things that had been
done by the Court friseur that morning with
the negro hair made it impossible for us to
confine ourselves to silent wonder at the wigs
we saw. Christophe alone was plainly
dressed—that is, by comparison. There was
a quiet display of regal circumstance about
his Majesty that was a little striking. He
seemed to have taken Napoleon for his
model in attire, as in many other things;
wearing the dark green chasseur coat, white
kerseymere knee-breeches, and purple morocco
boots to meet them. He had the silver cross
of St. Henry, his own order, on his breast;
no other ornament; and he was carrying a
three-cornered hat under his arm.