Near one of these arboreal cemeteries, I observed a high pole, and dangling from it a head, fresh, bloody, and ghastly; the scalp had been removed, and a rope, passing through the under-jaw, served to suspend it. Horribly revolting as the face appeared, still I could not help going close to it. Never had I seen so singular a head; it looked in shape like a sugarloaf, the apex of the skull terminating in a sharp point. On returning to the fort, I inquired if they could tell me anything about this mysterious head. It appeared that, a day or so before our arrival, a war-party of the Qua-kars had returned from a raid on the mainland coast, and brought with them a number of slaves. (Prisoners taken in war, or in any other manner, are invariably used as slaves, bought and sold, whipped or killed, as best befits the whim or caprice of their owner.) Amongst the wretched captives, was a chief. Soon after landing, he was made fast to a temporary cross erected on the beach, shot, scalped, and beheaded, and it was his head I had seen in my rambles. On hearing further that the tribe to which he belonged was one that elongate instead of flatten the head, I determined at any risk to have the skull.[4] Extreme caution was needed, or a like fate would probably be mine; a white chief’s hairless head might possibly adorn the same pole as that of the painted savage. I made several attempts, but each time signally failed to accomplish my purpose. The night preceding our departure, all hopes of obtaining the coveted head were nearly abandoned. Fortune at last smiled upon me; unobserved, I upset the pole, and _bagged_ the head; and pushing it into my game-bag, got safely into the fort. Still in terror of being seen, I hid it in the bastion, and eventually headed it into a pork barrel, with stones and sand; then had it rolled boldly out, and put on board the steamer. On our departure the following morning, I was rejoiced to find the head had not been missed, but somewhat frightened, on learning I was to be paddled to the steamer, in the state-canoe of the chief to whom the trophy belonged. In grand procession, we marched from the fort to the canoe, marshalled by the dingy dignitary, who, in happy ignorance of the wrong I had done him, was all smiles and grins; the final hand-shaking being accomplished, I was lifted into the canoe in the same fashion as I had been previously lifted out, and rapidly reached the steamer.