The Savannah morning news. (Savannah, Ga.) 1900-current, 1902-03-23

to reappear, shyly, as a rabbit is tempt
ed towards a bit of lettuce
There are some two hundred half
breeds living with them, whose negro
blood renders them less sensitive, but
your pure-blooded Carib mas learned,
through generations of cruel conquest,
to know that new word, fear, and in
the present terror all past memories are
blotetd out.
Though it is but twenty miles from
the English town of Roseau to the
Cairb village of Saliba, yet so rough
and wild is the trail that it is a good
two days journey, we'll worth the trou-
BILE, however, so wonderful is the wild
riot of emerald vegetation. Tree ferns,
those last SurVivalS of the old car
boniferous period, forty feet in hight;
begonias growing like weeds; hundreds
of unknown brilliant flowers, with here
and there an orchid, seeming the air
with strange perfume; soft clouds, roll
ing down from the mountains, cover
ing everything with a warm mist; gor-
geous rainbows arching the green val
leys, seemingly close enough to touch;
cool streams gurgling unseen amid the
foliage, three hundred feet below;s the
Carib town itself has but a collection OF
a few grass huts and a queer little
shanty, whose cross at the apex of its
roof proclaims it to be the Catholic
mission. They are all good Catholics,
these Caribs, so the priests say, but it
is to be feared that is so mainly be-
cause it is easier to be converted than
not. What the real religion of this
strange people was no one really
knows. Spirits of wood and air, a
terrible devil, Mabanya, requiring hu-
man offerings for his appeasement,
oh of
there were part it is guessed,
of their belief. However deep their
present faith may be, it does not sink
deep enough to dull the logged per-
sistence with which they hold every
inch of the little land now left them.
A flourishing settlement was started,
called La Bote, but one day the news
came that the land where the chapel
stood had been presented to the priests.
That night all save five deserted their
huts forever as a silent protest against
the granting of their territory. There
is something indescribably pathetic in
this fragment of a nation clinging to
the fragment of its country. When the
reservation was surveyed last year a
little farm they claimed as theirs was
found to belong to a neighobring es-
tate. Word was sent to the surveyor
that if he returned he would be killed,
if they were all hanged for it.
If you are lucky you will find the
chief, Auguste Francois, chief by de-
scent and in name only, for he has lit
tie authority over his people. The last
real chief was old Joseph Francois,
dead then thirty years, ignorant let
us trust, of the downfall of his peo-
pie. There must have been a good deal
of the old lion look about Joseph for
those who remember him agree with
one accord that they were always
afraid to meet him. In proper state
he stalked through the forest, his three
wives always trotting obediently be-
hind him in single file. These wives
were a constant source of grief to the
parish priest being rather uncanoni-
cal, but Joseph cunningly kept out of
the Reverend Fathers way until, one
day, they Unexpectedly met face to
face.
Good morning, Joseph" said the
priest.
Good morning" replied the chief
Joseph" said the good man, plung-
ing into the heart of the matter with
out delay, who are those women back
of your
Them my wives" replied Joseph,
briefly.
but, Joseph. don't you know that is
wrong? You must pick out one OF
them, and 1 will marry you, and the
others you must give up
There was moments awkward ST.