Alas for them! that fatal present of gold brought down on them enemies far more ruthless than the Caribs of the northern islands, who had a habit of coming down in their canoes and carrying off the gentle Arrawaks, to eat them at their leisure—after the fashion which Defoe, always accurate, has immortalised in “Robinson Crusoe.” Crusoe’s island has been thought by many to be meant for Tobago; Man Friday having been stolen in Trinidad. No scenery can be more picturesque than that afforded by the entrance to Port of Spain, the chief town in the colony of Trinidad, itself an island lying outside the delta of the great Orinoco River. “On the mainland,” wrote Anthony Trollope,(110) “that is, the land of the main island, the coast is precipitous, but clothed to the very top with the thickest and most magnificent foliage. With an opera-glass, one can distinctly see the trees coming forth from the sides of the rocks, as though no soil were necessary for them, and not even a shelf of stone needed for their support. And these are not shrubs, but forest trees, with grand spreading branches, huge trunks, and brilliant-coloured foliage. The small island on the other side is almost equally wooded, but is less precipitous.” There, and on the main island itself, are nooks and open glades where one would not be badly off with straw hats and muslin, pigeon-pies and champagne. One narrow shady valley, into which a creek of the sea ran, made Trollope think that it must have been intended for “the less noisy joys of some Paul of Trinidad with his Creole Virginia.” The same writer, after describing the Savannah, which includes a park and race-course, speaks of the Government House, then under repairs. The governor was living in a cottage, hard by. “Were I that great man,” said he, “I should be tempted to wish that my great house might always be under repair, for I never saw a more perfect specimen of a pretty spacious cottage, opening, as a cottage should do, on all sides and in every direction.... And then the necessary freedom from boredom, etiquette, and governors’ grandeur, so hated by governors themselves, which must necessarily be brought about by such a residence! I could almost wish to be a governor myself, if I might be allowed to live in such a cottage.” The buildings of Port of Spain are almost invariably surrounded by handsome flowering trees. A later writer tells us that the governors since have stuck to the cottage, and the gardens of the older building have been given to the city as a public pleasure-ground. Kingsley speaks of it as a paradise.