Some years ago I made a tramping trip around the world for my own pleasure. Friends coaxed me to set it down on paper and new friends were kind enough to read it. Since then they have demanded more—at least so the publishers say—but always specifying that it shall be on foot. Now, I refuse to be dictated to as to how I shall travel; I will not be bullied into tramping when I wish to ride. The journey herewith set forth is, therefore, among other things, a physical protest against that attempted coercion, a proof that I do not need to walk unless I choose to do so. To make broken resolutions impossible, I picked out a trip that could not be done on foot. It would be difficult indeed to walk through the West Indies. Then, to make doubly sure, I took with me a newly acquired wife—and we brought back a newly acquired son, though that has nothing to do with the present story.

I will not go so far as to say that I abjured footing it entirely. As a further proof of personal liberty I walked when and where the spirit moved me—and the element underfoot was willing. But I wish it distinctly understood from the outset that this is no “walking trip.” Once having broken the friends who flatter me with their attention of expecting me to confine myself to the prehistoric form of locomotion—I shall probably take to the road again to relieve a chronic foot-itch.

The following pages do not pretend to “cover” the West Indies. They are made up of the random pickings of an eight-months’ tour of the Antilles, during which every island of importance was visited, but they are put together rather for the entertainment of the armchair traveler than for the information of the traveler in the flesh. While the latter may find in them some points to jot down in his itinerary, he should depend rather on the several thorough and orderly books that have been written for his special benefit.