We landed at St. Thomas in front of a little square overhung by palm and mango trees and shaded by lofty ferns, and were at once among a strange population. The children were all dressed in black, as nature made them, with eyes that shone like glass beads. Some of the native women were carrying trays of vegetables, fruit, bread, or small wares upon their heads; others were squatting upon their heels, while in front of them were little piles of sweet potatoes, peppers, limes, or a few sticks of sugar-cane; others were hawking strings of shells and shining beans called “Job’s tears.” If one climbs to the hill above the town of Charlotte Amalie, he obtains a charming picture: high-colored vill…
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