CHAPTER XII.
_The Queen of the Antilles_.
It was a lovely morning, not a cloud in the sky; the harbour was as smooth as a mirror, and bright with the rays of a sun which had reached that height at which--in tropical climates--it gilds and gladdens the scene without scorching the spectator; the quay was lined with ships loading and unloading; small boats were flying about in every direction; all around was gay and fresh, but the filthy steamer was still beneath me.

I lost no time in calling a skiff alongside; then, shaking the dust from off my feet, I was soon pulling away for the shore.
As a matter of course, the Custom-house is the landing-place, and the great object of search seems to be for Filibustero papers, or books which advocate that cause.

Having passed this ordeal, you take your first drive in the national vehicle of the island, which rejoices in the appellation of a "Volante," a name given it, I suppose, in bitter sarcasm; a "Tortugante" would have been far more appropriate, inasmuch as the pace resembles that of a tortoise far more than that of a bird.

I may here as well describe one of the best, of which, in spite of its gay appearance, I feel sure the bare sight would have broken the heart of "Humanity Dick of Galway." From the point of the shaft to the axle of the wheel measures fifteen feet, and as the wheel varies in diameter from six to seven feet, it of course extends three feet beyond the axle.

The body is something like a swell private cab, the leather at the back being moveable, so as to admit air, and a curtain is fitted in front joining the head of the cab and the splash-board, for the sake of shade, if needed; this body is suspended on strong leather springs, attached to the axle at one end, and to a strengthening-piece across the shafts, seven and a half feet distance from the axle, at the other.