The strange object is indeed a boat—a large canoe
with two banks of oars—one of those long and stately
barges in which the Caribbean was wont to
go forth for war or ceremonial. Its sides were
gaudily and richly painted. Its poop was raised with
a triumphal canopy of dyed cotton above it. Its prow
was lofty and sharp, and bore, for a figure-head, the
savage jaws of a cayman, or American crocodile.
The rowers of the boat were men, but all besides
were women. These were eight in number—seven
who sat forward, and near the prow, and one who sat
in the stern alone and under the canopy. The course
of the boat was regulated by the oarsmen. The
women at the prow were all richly clad in stained cotton
garments. Their heads were tressed with strands
of pearl—their necks, which were bare, were covered
with similar decorations. Each, in her hands, bore a
bunch of arrows and a basket. Beside them might be
seen other baskets of aromatic gums and bundles of wood
similarly aromatic. These females were all evidently
matrons, none of them being less than thirty years

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of age, and all of them wearing the experience of
look and bearing which is common to those who have
been mothers. But she, who sat alone at the stern,
was evidently none of these. She could not have
been more than fifteen years old, and looked wild and
startled as a young fawn, for the first time venturing
forth without its dam in company. She was quite as
beautiful as she was young; her skin less dark than was
usual among the Caribbean Indians—not much more
dark, indeed, than was that of the Spaniard—and the
red blood coursing at moments from her heart into
her cheeks, suffusing it with the most exquisite tints
of innocence and youth. She was well formed and
tall. Her hair streamed down over her back and
shoulders. Her bosom was quite bare, without pearl
or any other ornament. Her dress was of white cotton,
purely white, without any of those rich and
gaudy dyes, which were so freely used by her people.
Before her was a small earthen vessel half covered,
from which a slight smoke continued to ascend, as if
from a hidden fire below. Into this, at intervals, the
maiden might be seen to fling a fine powder, which she
scooped out of a gourd that lay beside her. Numerous
baskets of flowers and shells lay at her feet, and
a bunch of arrows rested upon her lap. The oarsmen
were all habited as warriors. Their brows were
grave. No words passed among them or among the women,
until, as they drew nigh the shore, the latter suddenly
broke out into a wild, and not unmusical chant,
which made our Maroon recoil within his vaulted chamber,
with an indefinite sense of terror. At this sound

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the rowers dropped their oars—the boat lay upon her
centre, and the women prepared to leave her, though
they were still more than thirty paces from the shore.
But the water was exceedingly shallow where the vessel
lay;—the beach which formed the esplanade of
the cave, stretching out boldly for some distance into
the sea. Availing themselves of their knowledge of
the bar, the women stepped forth upon a ridge, where
the ocean, disarmed of its billows, swept along gently
to the level of their knees. They brought forth their
billets of fragrant wood—their baskets of shell—
their sheaves of arrows—their vessels of odorous
gums and incense. Then, taking the damsel from
beneath the canopy at the stern, they bore her, with
anxious solicitude upon their shoulders from the
vessel to the shore—her feet and drapery being kept
sacred from the waves. One of their number seemed
to counsel and direct the rest, and it was with feelings
of new horror, that our Maroon beheld in her grasp,
as she led the way to the cavern, a sharp broad
instrument of stone, that greatly resembled a butcher's
cleaver. His apprehensions were not now for himself.
For what was the unhappy damsel destined? For
the sacrifice? For what crime—what penance—what
terrible superstition? To appease the malice of what
bloody god, was this poor child, so young, so beautiful—
so evidently innocent—to be made the victim? Her
sad and fearful looks—the tears which now gathered in
her eyes—the wild chant of the women, and the stern,
grave aspects of the men—these all seemed to denote
an occasion of woe and terror. The men did not leave

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the boat; they drew no nearer to the land. The shore
seemed to be a consecrated one, which the masculine
footstep was not allowed to pollute. The girl, still borne
upon the arms of the women, and following her who
seemed to be the officiating priestess, was carried into
the cavern; the wild chorus of the women being resumed
as they entered the gloomy portals, and reverberating
from the walls within, with a sound at once sweet,
awful, and inspiring.