CHAPTER XI
DR GRAY ON YELLOW FEVER—MONT PELÉE—THE RED CARIBS OF DOMINICA
Since my object in putting pen to paper is to recount my Jamaican experiences of the winter of 1902-3, it will not be fitting, and it might be monotonous, to describe each island as we came to it. Suffice it to say that as Trinidad is the best off of the British possessions in the Caribbean Sea, so Antigua is the poorest; it has even been necessary to cut down the official salaries. The failure of sugar is the reason of its poverty. The Governor of the Leeward Islands resides at Antigua. We stood 4 miles out from St John’s, the chief town of that island, where heavy seas made the landing most difficult. There was a good deal of cargo to be left at this place, and as we came up the companion after dinner that evening, it was quite a sight to see the tall masts and sails of the lighters alongside, rolling in the dim light, as well as to see huge cases roped together poised in the air, waiting for the right moment when the lighter rose on a high wave to drop as gently as circumstances permitted. On the other side passengers were also waiting for the right moment to land from the steam-tug. Some amusing “deckers” joined the ship at this port; these answer to our steerage passengers. I saw a newly-married couple of blacks come on board, both as well dressed as white people of a corresponding class at home. The woman in white piqué, starched as they only can starch in the West Indies, wearing a much-beflowered white hat, and holding an enormous bunch of flowers. Her newly-made husband wore an immaculate suit of grey, and carried the luggage, consisting of one chair and two basins!
Deckers have no quarters below stairs. They remain all night under an awning, but as their journeys are generally from port to port, their lot is not a hard one. We had brought along with us a pale-faced Irish curate, who was met by the Bishop of Antigua.
From St Kitts a delicate-looking girl came on board, the daughter of a sugar-planter, whose family had been settled some generations there. She amused me by her readiness to drink cocktails at all hours of the day; in fact, she gave me to understand that it was quite customary with many West Indian ladies to drink one before dinner as an appetiser. It is quite true that the enervating climate is most exhausting. Personally, I should be sorry to have to coax a jaded appetite in this way.
We had an interesting personage with us at one time on the E——, a tall, dark-browed, silent, narrow-chested Spaniard, who smoked cigarettes all day. He was suffering from berri-berri, and people said he was the ex-president of a small republic called Acre, which has quite recently been a source of contention between the governments of Brazil and Bolivia. It owes its existence to Sir Martin Conway, of exploring fame, who discovered its resources, and pointed them out to some enterprising Americans. This tiny republic is far up on the banks of the Amazon. Report said that before leaving the scene of his presidency he had feathered his nest, his gains being safely invested in European securities, but so much mystery lies around the rise and fall of South American presidents, that one may unconsciously fall into error in giving too much credence to reports which spread too easily when they concern noteworthy individuals.
One other personage, whose scientific knowledge interested me greatly, was a Colonial assistant-surgeon from Castries, the chief town of St Lucia. He was returning to England, having just been offered a more advanced appointment in our West African possessions. He gave me a paper to read, which he had drawn up on the conveyance of disease by mosquitoes, in which he declared: “It is no longer a theory, but an established fact, that Malaria and Yellow Fever are conveyed from the sick to the healthy by mosquitoes.” He further explained many interesting experiments which have been made with “infected mosquitoes,” which, he stated, “ought to convince the most sceptical that yellow fever (and other diseases) is carried by mosquitoes.” The result of the establishment of this theory resolves itself into “the destruction of the mosquitoes which carry them (parasites), and of their breeding-places.” These latter he describes to be such places as stagnant swamps and offensive puddles and pools. It is interesting also to know that the Military Governor of Havana, General Leonard Wood, issued instructions for the method of disinfection for yellow fever based on this theory, and the effect of this change is, that this particular disease has been stamped out of Havana in less than ten months, and the city which has been the home of yellow fever since 1762 can now rank as a healthy city of the world. “Finally,” he wrote, “the complete control over the spread of yellow fever that the Sanitary Department of Havana has obtained this year, by the enforcement of prophylactic measures that are based solely on the doctrine of the transmission of yellow fever by the mosquito, goes very far to prove that there is no other channel of communication of the disease. These results have been obtained by the systematic destruction of mosquitoes in every house where a case presented itself. If this success is interrupted, the responsibility must fall upon the physician who conceals a case of the disease.” Evidently the splendid results of the Cuban campaign against mosquitoes has exceeded the expectations of the most sanguine, and one may hope in a few years this disease, which is the scourge of the Brazils and many tropical countries, will be relegated to the history of the past.
When I contemplated taking the trip to the islands it was naturally my hope to see Mont Pelée in action, nor was I entirely disappointed. On the route up to St Thomas the mountain was partially enveloped in the densest donas of smoke, but returning, we went as near the shore as was prudent. The mountain then was covered in impenetrable clouds of smoke. It was a moonlight night and the effect was grand, but weird in the extreme; lightning at intervals was illuminating the sky to the north, but no rain fell. Presently, as we approached nearer, we smelt sulphur and felt dust in our faces, together with warm currents of air. We kept our eyes fixed on the crater, or, to speak more correctly, at the spot where we supposed it to be. Nor were we disappointed, for we saw a stream of “living fire” leap from under the thick concealing smoke and race down the mountain-side in a serpentine track. We did not see it plunge into the sea, but the officer on the bridge got a sight of it. He told us afterwards that it had taken exactly ten minutes for this fiery torrent to travel five miles, which was the distance the sea lay from the old crater. The whole aspect was terrifying. One felt one did not care for a nearer acquaintance with a burning mountain.
We did not land at St Pierre to see the ruins; for that you require a French permission. We saw where they lay, and a tiny light glimmered close down towards the water’s-edge, which probably belonged to the craft which the professor at the Observatory has ready for escape at the first symptom of danger. St Pierre must have been one of the most important towns in the West Indies. It was the most famous town of Martinique, and contained 25,000 persons. It used to be the port of call of the Royal Mail; the steamers go now to Port of France, between which and St Pierre a beautiful road, bordered with woods, formed the favourite drive taken by visitors to the island. On either side are seen “giant ferns and huge parasites clinging to the branches of gigantic trees, the whole woven together by creepers of extraordinary grace. Suddenly the view opens out, and splendid points of vantage are reached whence one commands the eastern and western sides of the island; for this road, traced (whence its name Trace) for the most part by the Caribs almost always follows the ridge of the mountains.”
In disembarking at St Pierre one was faced by the Place Bertin; on one side stood a round tower serving as a semaphore, having a red light visible for 9 miles, opposite stood the Chamber of Commerce. The town possessed two banks, a seminary, a theatre, a military hospital, rum factories and a beautiful Botanical Garden with quantities of native and exotic plants, waterfalls, and a miniature lake with three islets called respectively, Martinique, Dominica, and Guadeloupe, because their shapes were similar to these islands. Life was luxurious at this French colonial town; every house had its bath-room, there was an excellent hydropathic institution, food was abundant and cheap. Whether or no there was any truth in the report that this city was famed for its wickedness, I am not able to say. St Pierre, I know, was considered by many to be a modern Gomorrah, and piously-disposed people regarded its extinction as the righteous judgment of an indignant Deity. I will only refer my readers on this head to a story of what went on at St Pierre, Good Friday afternoon last (1902), as given in an article in The Fortnightly of October 1902, entitled “A few Facts concerning France.” It appears that atheistical agitators went to the island preaching an anti-religious crusade, the outcome of which was on that Good Friday afternoon a procession paraded the streets of St Pierre, hooting and blaspheming. In the midst of this gathering of human scum was held aloft, on a cross, a pig, crucified alive. Its head was adorned with wreaths of flowers, and the crowd mockingly aped its dying wriggles. To put a climax to their folly, in a mad rush of hatred towards all things sacred they marched up the slopes of Mont Pelée to a spot where a Calvary stood, and was seen far and wide in the island landscape. This they tore down, flinging the crucifix into the crater, with shouts of “Go to hell, from whence thou camest!” I met a very charming French priest, who had, by his own exertions, built a church in one of the parishes of Dominica; I believe it was called Soufrière. I asked him concerning the truth of this story. He had heard of it, but—and he lifted up his hands in holy horror at the very mention of the wickedness of St Pierre—he was not able to confirm it, though he considered it more than likely to be true. In Mr George Kennan’s book, which describes the tragedy of Pelée, an interesting incident is recorded. On the eve of the catastrophe a local newspaper called Les Colonies deprecated the panic which had been caused by previous heavy detonating explosions and the appearance of incandescent matter at the summit-fissure, in consequence of which many persons left for different parts of the island. “Mont Pelée is no more to be feared by St Pierre than Vesuvius is feared by Naples,” said this newspaper. Captain Leboffe, the skipper of the Italian barque, Orsolina, which was in the harbour loading with sugar for Havre, thought differently. He went to the shippers, told them he did not consider the roadstead safe, and gave notice that he should sail for Havre immediately.
“But,” said they, “you can’t go yet; you have not got aboard half the cargo.”
The captain, however, declared he should sail rather than risk remaining there. The shippers angrily explained that the mountain was not dangerous, since it had once before thrown out ashes and smoke in the same way.
“If Vesuvius looked as your volcano does this morning, I’d get out of Naples, and I am going to get out of here,” said he. The shippers told him if he sailed without permission and without clearance papers he would be arrested on reaching Havre.
“All right,” imperturbably he replied; “I’ll take my chance of arrest, but I won’t take any chances on that volcano. I’m going to get my anchor up, and make sail just as soon as I get aboard.” And he went away.
The shippers sent two Customs officers to the barque, with instructions to prevent her leaving. The captain, however, addressed them as follows: “Gentlemen, I sail from this port in less than an hour. If you want to go ashore, now is your time to leave. If you stay, I shall take you to France.”
When the sails were loosed, and the crew began to heave up anchor, the Customs officers hailed a passing boat and went ashore, threatening the captain with all the penalties of the law.
Twenty-four hours later St Pierre, with all its inhabitants, was wiped for ever out of the book of the living, but the barque Orsolina was speeding on her way to sunny France.
La Soufrière at St Vincent was awful in the desolation which the late eruption has produced; the line of demarcation was strictly defined between the green verdure of the country which had not suffered from devastating showers of dust and lava, and that which had been subjected to the outpourings from the crater. Puffs of white smoke here and there announced the neighbourhood of hot sulphur springs.
The inhabitants of Montserrat also lie under the shadow of a volcanic mountain; just above their little town is a crater which, like Pelée, may one day serve as a vent to the fires beneath. Temporary shelter at one corner of the island has been prepared for an emergency of this kind. Meanwhile, the islanders busy themselves very philosophically with the cultivation of limes, an industry which seems to be fairly remunerative. The speech of the people here is still said to recall the brogue of the Irishmen sent out by Oliver Cromwell.
I think one of the most interesting of the smaller islands we saw, but did not touch at, was the little Dutch island of Saba. Here a few hundred thrifty Hollanders inhabit an extinct crater several hundreds of feet above the waters of the Caribbean Sea; they reach their homes by means of ladders hanging from the cliffs. Curious to relate, in their isolated eyrie they build many of the schooners which ply locally from island to island. The ships are let down by ropes, and navigated by these extraordinary islanders, who are considered the ablest sailors in those waters.
It was interesting to find ourselves once more at Trinidad, for events on the Venezuelan coast had progressed since we had been away. We found ourselves riding at anchor within a few hundred yards of the flagship of our West Indian Squadron; other British warships were beside her, and not far away the captured fleet of Venezuela. The crews and men had been sent home. Of course Germany was represented, but America was there in full force to support the Munro policy, in the menacing form of four great warships, which lay motionless on the green waters of the Gulf of Paria. The blockade of the Orinoco had begun, and we met fugitives from the mainland at the hotel on shore, who seemed to have passed through lively times. I spent Christmas Day on the good ship Trent, belonging to the Royal Mail Service, where we were splendidly entertained, and the next morning at an early hour I found myself once more in Kingston.
I feel, however, I cannot bring my account, brief though it is, of what proved to be a very interesting trip, to a close, without some mention of that almost extinct race, the Caribs.
In a Jamaican newspaper an interesting report appears, written by Mr Hesketh Bell, who probably is the best authority living on the subject of the aborigines of the West Indies. He says: “The reserve set apart for the St Vincent Caribs was recently raked by the fire from the Soufrière. But these are Black Caribs, who, through long admixture of negro blood, have lost all the distinguishing traits of the aboriginal tribe. There still exists, however, in Dominica a handful of full-blooded Red Caribs, the last survivors of their race.” Mr Bell, who is the Administrator of the last-named island, then alludes to the pre-Columbian tradition when fleets of canoes overran the Windward and Leeward Islands exterminating the males, but preserving the women of the milder Arawak nation. The latter handed down for many generations from mother to daughter their original tongue. He further says: “Whatever its origin, the Carib type, even in the remnant that survive to-day, shows an unmistakably Mongolian character, and it would be hard to distinguish a Carib from a Chinese or Tartar child.” The Caribs were inveterate cannibals. Defoe, it is believed, placed the scene of his romance in Tobago, and the wild man Friday was presumably one of a hapless lot of Arawaks whom a party had captured, and were probably carrying north for the delectation of the tribe.
The Caribs, says Davis, after having tasted the flesh of all nations, pronounced the French the most delicate, and the Spaniards the hardest of digestion. Laborde interviewed a Carib who “beguiled the tedium of his journey by gnawing the remains of a boiled human foot”; he told the priest that he only ate Arawaks, “Christians gave him stomachache.”
The Administrator goes on to describe how years of peace and protection have completely metamorphosed the Carib, and have arrested almost at the last gasp the extinction of this interesting remnant of one of the world’s aboriginal races. Instead of a bloodthirsty, man-eating savage the Carib is now as law-abiding and mild a subject as any the King has. “He no longer paints crimson circles of roucou round his eyes and stripes of black and white over his body, but on high days and holidays he wears a tall hat and a black coat; instead of yelling round a sacrificial stone, the Carib of to-day goes to confession to the parish priest, and tells his beads with edifying fervour.” The Carib Reserve at Dominica numbers nearly 400 members, probably 120 only are full-blooded. Out of 78 school-children, 26 are described by Mr Bell to have pure blood in them; their chief characteristics are bright, intelligent expressions, oblique eyes, straight hair, rather coarse, of a beautiful blue-black, the complexion varying from brown to a pinkish-yellow. Their chief claims to be of pure blood. He settles petty disputes. Ogiste, his little granddaughter, is evidently the last of his dynasty. She is more negro than Carib, according to the Administrator, and the Salic law prevails in the Carib Reserve.