The poorer people on these islands often go by the name of "conchs." As we went up through the town we found that the darkeys were nearly as thick as the conch-shells, but they were much more lively.

I never saw such jolly, dont-care-y people as the colored folks that were scattered about everywhere.

Some of the young ones, as joyful skippers, could have tired out a shrimp.
There is one big hotel in the town, and pretty nearly all our passengers went there.

The house is calcareous, and as solid as a rock.

Rectus and I liked it very much, because it reminded us of pictures we had seen of Algiers, or Portugal, or some country where they have arches instead of doors; but Mr.Chipperton wasn't at all satisfied when he found that there was not a fireplace in the whole house.
"This is coming the semi-tropical a little too strong," he said to me; but he soon found, I think, that gathering around the hearth-stone could never become a popular amusement in this warm little town.
Every day, for a week, Mr.Chipperton hired a one-horse barouche, and he and his wife and daughter rode over the island.