Our interest in it was more of curiosity than political concern. On the morning after peace had been restored on the ship, we slowed up in the open roadstead of what was once the gay and populous city of Saint Pierre. It was early and somewhat misty, but glasses and cameras were speedily brought into action. Down the mountainsides we discerned the beds of great washouts draining various sides of the towering Mt. Pelée to the sea. So far away through sloping hills, forests and valleys did they extend that, but for the certainty of their coming from mountain heights, they might, by perverted perspective, be mistaken for muddy rivers. They were the courses of the molten streams that restless and superheated Nature had exuded from the mouth of the crater in August 1902, enacting the most destructive volcanic eruption in history. Smoke or mist (we afterwards learned it was smoke) hovered about Pelée, so that we were unable to see the summit. We passed the base of the mountain and drew near Saint Pierre, but at first no vestige of a building was to be seen. The site of a once hustling and strongly built city had been swept bare, and over the ruins a tropical growth of bushes had grown. A boat's crew was sent to build a temporary pier for the yawls, set up a tent for shelter and otherwise arrange for a landing when we should return in the afternoon. We then steamed away to Fort de France, which was to be our first stopping place. As we departed, the clearing of the atmosphere enabled us to see outlines of masonry, mostly cellars, and we caught glimpses of the walls of the Cathedral, the only ones that withstood for any considerable height above the ground, the tornadic blast from the mountain.

Fort de France, the capital of Martinique, is eleven miles sailing distance from Saint Pierre. It settles back prettily

from a land-locked harbor across from Trois Ilets, where Josephine, the wife of Napoleon, was born. We found that Josephine was the chief historical figure of the place. A handsome marble statue of her is the principal monument of Fort de France. Josephine was the daughter of a rich planter. She was born June 23, 1763, and in 1779 married the Viscount de Beauharnais, who died 1794. She became the wife of Napoleon, March 6, 1796, and

was crowned Empress of the French in 1804. Napoleon divorced her in 1809 and she died at Malmaison, near Paris, five years later. The Martinique statue is a fine work of art imported from France. It stands in the Savane-a large public square, with no other ornamentation except a circle of royal palms which rise to an immense height and present a striking picture silhouetted against a background of forestcovered mountains.

We had no sooner entered the harbor than divers flocked about our ship-the most daring and garrulous lot we had yet seen. They were also less considerate of appearance than those at the other islands. Black as coal, they did not take the trouble to wear tights, but appeared in all the glory of nature. While they were about, the ladies of the ship were obliged to retire from the rail and seek "the seclusion that the cabin grants." The French government has had a great deal to contend with in Martinique, and this may not be the time to add to the burden, but nevertheless it could not do a better service to tourists and to decency than to put some wholesome restraints (and clothes) on these divers.

Some beautiful views unfolded at Fort de France, including the old fort left by the English during one of their occupancies of the island, but one that struck our particular fancy was a brand-new American flag at the stern of a row-boat containing a gentleman attired in white who was pushing his way through the black bodies in the water. After much effort he succeeded in getting aboard and presenting himself to the Speaker. We found him to be the American Consul. He hailed from Michigan; had been in the island but six months, and labored under the disadvantage of speaking no French. With true Western breeziness, however, he had arranged for our reception by the Governor. A representative of the English cable company also presented himself to Speaker Cannon, and placed himself at the disposal of the Congressional party. This was another of the courtesies for which we had occasion to remember our friend, Morrell of St. Thomas.

Through a long line of chattering negroes with high soprano voices, and of various tones of color from light mulatto to shades of bronze and black, we were landed. It