subdue.

It was in 1595, nearly a century after Columbus discovered the
island, that 'Sir Robert Duddeley in the Bear, with Captain Munck,
in the Beare's Whelpe, with two small pinnesses, called the Frisking
and the Earwig,' ran across from Cape Blanco in Africa, straight for
Trinidad, and anchored in Cedros Bay, which he calls Curiapan,
inside Punta Icacque and Los Gallos--a bay which was then, as now,
'very full of pelicans.' The existence of the island was known to
the English: but I am not aware that any Englishman had explored
it. Two years before, an English ship, whose exploits are written
in Hakluyt by one Henry May, had run in, probably to San Fernando,
'to get refreshing; but could not, by reason the Spaniards had taken
it. So that for want of victuals the company would have forsaken
the ship.' How different might have been the history of Trinidad,
if at that early period, while the Indians were still powerful, a
little colony of English had joined them, and intermarried with
them. But it was not to be. The ship got away through the Boca
Drago. The year after, seemingly, Captain Whiddon, Raleigh's
faithful follower, lost eight men in the island in a Spanish ambush.
But Duddeley was the first Englishman, as far as I am aware, who
marched, 'for his experience and pleasure, four long marches through
the island; the last fifty miles going and coming through a most
monstrous thicke wood, for so is most part of the island; and
lodging myself in Indian townes.' Poor Sir Robert--'larding the
lean earth as he stalked along'--in ruff and trunk hose, possibly
too in burning steel breastplate, most probably along the old Indian
path from San Fernando past Savannah Grande, and down the Ortoire to
Mayaro on the east coast. How hot he must have been. How often, we
will hope, he must have bathed on the journey in those crystal
brooks, beneath the balisiers and the bamboos. He found 'a fine-
shaped and a gentle people, all naked and painted red' (with
roucou), 'their commanders wearing crowns of feathers,' and a
country 'fertile and full of fruits, strange beasts and fowls,
whereof munkeis, babions, and parats were in great abundance.' His
'munkeis' were, of course, the little Sapajous; his 'babions' no
true Baboons; for America disdains that degraded and dog-like form;
but the great red Howlers. He was much delighted with the island;
and 'inskonced himself'--i.e. built a for