CHAPTER XIV.
My first voyage to Antigua—Visit upon deck—The booby’s welcome—Nearer approach—Harbour of St. John’s—The Black Pilot—North Sandy Island—Wreck of the mail-boat—Dangerous navigation—Long Island—South Sandy Island—Panoramic views from the vessel’s deck—Light winds—Disappointment made pleasing—Anchorage for the night
Having noticed the most important of its historical events, I must now be allowed to give some description of the appearance of Antigua, and of my first visit to its shores. After a voyage of many weeks, early one morning we were agreeably saluted with the cry of “land!” Sleep was immediately banished from my eyes, and with a beating heart I waited until the day should “pour in apace,” and allow me the pleasure of viewing for the first time one of those tropical islands I had often thought of with delight. A fair wind filled our sails, and we rapidly gained upon the distant object, which (when I first peeped up the companion ladder) looked like one of those shadowy clouds I had so frequently seen resting, as it were, upon the bosom of the ocean, at the utmost verge of the horizon.
By this time the sun was fast mounting up the sky, and shone with all its fervour upon the glassy waves below; and as we noiselessly glided on, the mountains began to assume a distincter form, and proved beyond doubt that we were near the end of our voyage.
A bustle upon the deck, the trampling of many feet, the rattling of ropes, and the sound of strange voices, and a stranger dialect, announced the arrival of the pilot; and unable any longer to suppress the longing desire I had to behold Antigua from a more eligible situation than my peep-hole, I hastily tied on my bonnet, and spite of the increasing heat, sought my companion upon the deck. Seated upon a hen-coop, which had been arrayed in all the glories of bright green paint, I prepared to look about me; when suddenly I felt a peculiar sensation, which told me, that, like “Achilles,” I was anything but invulnerable in my heel. A “booby,” or gannet, an aquatic bird, which had been captured the night before, and placed in “durance vile” within the self-same coop, was bidding me welcome to her native clime, by unceremoniously inserting her bill into that very susceptible part; and as I was not stoic enough to receive such favours unmoved, she expressed her displeasure by a doleful unharmonious scream. “Well,” thought I, “this is not the pleasantest welcome possible,” and turning my eyes towards the land, “nor this the most interesting looking island in the world.” In fact, it looked dull and dreary; its mountains appeared barren and sunburnt; and the distance prevented me from seeing the valleys and dingles which in some degree redeem it from insipidity.
Our gallant vessel, however, still kept on her way, and—
“Walk’d the waters like a thing of life;”
and as we approached the land, the scene changed for the better. Bright green patches of the sugar-cane appeared amid the brown of the foremost mountains; while the more distant of the chain presented that harmonious blending of a thousand dyes, which poets love to sing, and painters love to study. As it happened to be that season of the year when the sugar harvest was in progress, the white sails of the various mills glittered in the sunbeams, and upon the eminences the manager’s house (or in the language of the country, the “great house”) looked down upon its little hamlet of negro huts, picturesquely embosomed in trees.
On, on we glided; the merry breeze piping in our ears, and the snow-white foam curling and writhing around our prow, until at length we came so near that we could see and almost count the waves as they dashed upon the silver sands of the surrounding bays. In one part a number of tall cocoa-nut trees stretched their long arms to the blast, whilst upon every side of us the light skiffs of the fishermen danced like cockle-shells upon the buoyant waters, and their dusky masters intently pursued their trade of entrapping the finny race.
Our good breeze did not desert us; and rapidly and surely we made way, until we passed over the bar, and entered the harbour of St. John’s. What a busy scene now presented itself to my view; the various ships from England, Scotland, Ireland,[[58]] and America, distinguished by their several flags; the boats and droughers[[59]] hurrying backwards and forwards with their loads; whilst the hallooing of the sailors, and the screaming of the negro watermen, conspired to render it the very imagery of discord.
The town of St. John’s, with its white houses and green jalousies, lay stretched before us, surmounted by its neat and pretty church; and upon our left the Fort of St. James and Rat Island. While looking at the latter, up went a flag, which, fluttering in the breeze, announced to the good people of St. John’s the arrival of a ship from “home” as the Antiguans always call England. Several boats now joined us from the shore, conveying friends to welcome us to Antigua; a harbour-master, (a very agreeable and worthy personage by-the-bye,) to make certain inquiries; custom-house officers, (of a superior class of men to those who board vessels in the Thames, and are so disagreeably distinguished by their undeviating devotion to that herb, which Sir Walter Raleigh, in his excessive overflow of human kindness, is said to have introduced into England,) to see that if you smuggled yourselves on shore, you did not smuggle your goods; and plenty of black boys, to grin and chatter, and get all the biscuit and beef they could.
But I must not omit to give a more particular account of the black pilot. A very pompous personage he was, and one who no doubt stood vastly high in his own estimation, as he lent upon the rail of the vessel, with his large straw hat, and gigantic snuff-box, giving orders to the sailors, and in the interim discussing the news of the island. “Hab fine rain last night; you bring good wedder—(war for you ’tand staring dere for, you black nigger ?)—yes, feber berry bad last month, many buckra die—(war you go do, run de ship on de shore?)—Crop bery good dis year; ship load fast ’nough—(why you no haul dat rope good?)—Yes, gubbernor bin bery bad; better now tho’.” And thus he ran on, until, the proper place gained, down dropped the ponderous anchor, a boat received us, and in a short time landed us “all well” upon one of the wharfs of Antigua, amid blacks and whites, porters and boatmen, and boys and girls clad “à la Venus.”
The harbour of St. John’s is reckoned one of the finest and most commodious in the West Indies. The entrance is defended by Goat Hill Fort on the south, and St. James Fort on the north; across the mouth of it runs a shoal, known as the bar, which extends from a bay called Hog John, to Fort James. The depth of water upon this bar is only from seven to fourteen feet; and consequently, ships, when they are partly laden, pass over this shoal, and take in the remainder of their cargo off Dickenson’s Bay. The principal trade of the island is carried on at this port, the harbour is generally full of shipping; and during the hurricane months, many vessels from the neighbouring islands come here for safety. The approach to it is, however, intersected with numerous rocks, and about three miles from its mouth lies a small island, surrounded by reefs and breakers, to which the name of “Sandy Island” has been attached. It was upon these reefs that, in 1826, the “Maria” mail boat was wrecked, and, with her hapless crew, went to the bottom. She had been down to St. Thomas and the other Islands with the mails for England;[[60]] and upon her return, putting into Monserrat, took on board the Wesleyan missionaries, and their wives and children, who had been to St. Kitts to attend their yearly district meeting, and who were desirous of returning to Antigua, the scene of their labours. They had left St. Kitts a few days before, in a small vessel hired for the purpose; but finding it rather “crank,” they were unwilling to proceed, and determined to wait at Monserrat for the arrival of the “Maria.”
But who can look into futurity? who can tell what may be in store for him? The crank vessel reached Antigua in safety; the mail boat and all on board, with the exception of one solitary female, perished in the treacherous waters, almost within sight of their own homes—within hearing of the church bell. I never pass the spot without shuddering, and fancying what must have been the feelings of that one who was spared to tell the dreadful tale. A woman of lively imagination and affectionate disposition, she saw friend after friend washed away by the remorseless waves. The pride of manhood!—the shrinking delicacy of woman!—the helplessness of infancy!—all of no avail!—a splash—a bubble—and all was over, and their bodies filled the maw of some rapacious monster, or rested in some coral cave beneath the waters, there to remain until that great day, when sea and earth must give up their dead. Of the ill-fated voyagers, all who remained were, she who was destined to be the sole survivor, her husband, and the master of the vessel. Worn out by mental agony, and unavailing exertions to attract the notice of the many fishing-boats and other vessels which were constantly passing within their sight, but which either did not perceive or would not assist them, the master of the vessel gave himself up to the dominion of the “giant despair,” and losing his hold of the wreck, was quickly carried away by the waves. One more victim was required—and that was the dearest, the best beloved—her husband died in her arms, and after holding him for many a painful minute, and struggling for mastery with the billows to retain the much-loved corpse, nature became exhausted, and she sank into a state of insensibility. In this state she remained until the crew of some passing vessel raised an alarm upon their gaining shore. A party of gentlemen went in search of the supposed wreck, and finding the inanimate female, quickly conveyed her to the main land, where every care was lavished upon her, and happily not without success.
No one can read the affecting details of the sufferings of this unhappy crew (an account of which Mrs. Jones, the name of the lady, afterwards published) without feeling deep sorrow at the event. At the same time, no one dares to ask “why was it so?” All we can allege is,
“God moves in a mysterious way.”
This melancholy catastrophe was known at St. Kitts as soon as (if not before) it was at Antigua: the dead body of a child (one of the unfortunate passengers) conveyed the first direful tidings.
Sandy Island is by no means the only sentinel which Nature has placed to guard her favourite land from the sudden inroads of the enemy, the whole of the north side of Antigua being surrounded by rocks and breakers, which make it dangerous navigation. On this account ships generally come down the south side of the island, although some masters of vessels, from the impulse of a daring spirit, or from a want of knowledge, pursue the other course, and often have to lament the issue.
On the northern and eastern sides of Antigua a great number of small islands are scattered, and it is from some of these that the smooth yellowish free-stone, of which the Court-house is built, is obtained; this free-stone is proved to be composed of carbonate of lime and oxyde of iron. The principal of these islands are, Pole-cat Isle, Goat’s Isle, Guana[[61]] Isle, Maiden’s Isle, Cochran’s Isle, and Long Island.
In 1700, Long Island, then the property of the Honourable Edward Byam, was sold by him, and it is now in the hands of the Honourable Bertie E. Jarvis. Since the Emancipation Act came into operation, a great part of it has been let out at an annual rent to the negroes, who plant it with provisions. It is noted for a peculiar breed of sheep, its rabbit-warrens, and the number of sea-side grape trees (Coccolobo uvifera) which grow in all directions. In former times, there was a mill and sugar works upon it, (the ruins of which are still to be seen,) and more than a thousand hogsheads of sugar have been known to be shipped from thence in one year. This apparent improbability has been thus accounted for: large quantities of sugars used to be smuggled from Martinique and Guadaloupe, and landed safely and silently upon Long Island, which is particularly favourable for such adventures. These sugars were afterwards shipped to England as the produce of the island, by the following evasion of the law. It was customary at that period, to swear before one of the magistrates, as to the quantity of sugar made and intended to be shipped; and the certificate was then taken to the collector of her majesty’s customs, who, seeing the signature of the magistrate, allowed all was correct. The parties who were possessed of this smuggled sugar, and who were wishful of transporting it to its destined market, would come before a justice and assert that the seven or nine hogsheads which they intended shipping on board such vessel were the real growth of Long Island; the customary oaths were therefore administered, the magistrate signed his name, and the cocket was presented to the shippers to hand over to the collector. On the road to the custom-house, however, with ready pen they added a ty to the seven or nine (or whatever it might be) in the space which was cunningly left for that purpose, making it of course seventy or ninety; and as no questions were asked by the collector, they were in this manner enabled, from 100 hogsheads of the actual growth of the island, to ship from time to time more than the above number of 1000 hogsheads. This practice of evading the law (while they soothed their own consciences) gave rise to these shipments being called the “T. Y. sugar,” as will be remembered by many to this day.
Guiana and Cochran Island also produced sugar at one time; and in 1725, it was enacted by the legislature, that if the proprietors of those islands, as well as Long Island, suffered any loss from the inroads of the enemy, they should be reimbursed from the public treasury as well as any other inhabitant of Antigua.
Following the line of coast from the north, before we once more make the harbour of St. John’s, we meet with, another “guard,” in the shape of a small island, bearing direct west from English Harbour, with a reef running three miles into the sea, and which is known as South Sandy Island. This is also very dangerous to unwary mariners, particularly when the storm king rides the blast, and “warns the devoted wretch of woe and death.”
But, with all its rocks and breakers, beautiful, very beautiful are the scenes which present themselves to your notice, as, seated upon the deck of some vessel, whose graceful sails are filled with a fresh and favourable breeze, you skirt along the sunny shores of lovely little Antigua. It has happened, in some of my frequent trips around the island, that, although the breeze has been fair, it was so light as scarcely to lift the canvas from the mast. But yet, the disappointment of not gaining land so soon as we expected has been amply compensated for by the beauties we have had more time to discover. Overhead is the sweet, clear blue of the sky, here and there dotted with a cloud so fair, that it might serve to pillow a sleeping Juno; and beneath, the crystal waters sparkling like gold in the beams of the blazing sun. In some parts, the green mountains descend to the very shore; while in others a calm and silent glen opens upon your sight, and the zephyr comes laden to you with the scent of its various flowers. Numerous creeks run far inland, and appear amid the surrounding verdure like chains of silver; and here and there a few negro huts lie nestling among a clump of splendid trees, with their neat-looking provision-grounds spread before them. As you pass Grace Bay, the land looks sprinkled over with gold, from the flowers of the aloe, (aloe vulgaris,) which grows there in vast profusion; and the shore is bordered with sand, on which Amphitrite and her train might love to dance, and wreathe their flowery locks with the dropping seaweeds. And thus we while away the day, enjoying an ever-changing panorama, until the glorious sun reaches the west, and throws his rich beams on every cloud which “throngs to pavilion him.” Suddenly he appears to touch the bosom of the flaming waves; and then sending forth one long vivid line of glory, sinks to rest on his golden couch.
Now comes “still evening” on, and Hesperus and all “the starry host” people the heavens, until at length the moon
“Shews her broad visage in the crimson’d east,”
and robs them of their brightness. And there she paces through those azure fields, not with the cold, pale aspect she wears in my own severer clime, but with the glow, the fervour, with which, in other days, she was wont, as “fabling poets” sing, to visit Endymion on the flowery heights of Latmus. Lovely is it, at such a time, to lean over the vessel’s side, and watch the limpid waves, as they throw up their sparkling foam. All turbulent passions die away—a pleasing calm ensues—and then, casting aside all heathen folly, and allowing the mind to revel at its will, come thoughts, indistinct, but beautiful, and dreamy imaginings of that happy land, where
“The crystaline stream, bursting forth from the throne,
Flows on, and for ever will flow;
Its waves, as they roll, are with melody rife,
And its waters are sparkling with beauty and life,
In the land which no mortal may know.”
But earth’s chains are still about us, and the fairest scenes may prove the most deadly. A kind voice warns me of the increasing cold of the night-breeze; and as the last inch of the cable slides through the hawse-hole, and the tremor of the vessel, as it is suddenly stopped in its course, shews we have anchored for the night, I leave the cool air upon deck for the confinement of the cabin, with a prayer of thankfulness upon my lips for my frequent safe trips across the “blue waters,” and a hope that to-morrow’s dawn will bring us safely to shore.
[[58]] The Scotch and Irish, in addition to the Union Jack, hoist a distinctive national signal.
[[59]] Droughers are small vessels used for conveying the produce of the island from the neighbouring bays to the shipping.
[[60]] At that period, the mails from the different islands were conveyed to St. Thomas’s, in small vessels employed for that purpose, from whence they were despatched to England in one of her Majesty’s packets.
[[61]] Formerly called Guiana Island, from the English settlers who emigrated thither from Guiana, when that country was surrendered to the Dutch by the treaty of Breda. The name is now corrupted to Guana.
CHAPTER XV.
The extent of Antigua—Opinion of some planters—Want of agricultural labourers—Emigration not always profitable to the negroes—“Seizar’s” letter upon the subject—Return of emigrants—Soil of Antigua—Geological matters—Petrifactions—Climate of Antigua—“Yellow fever”—Beautiful evenings—the appearance of the heavens—Evening visitants.
Antigua, as already shewn in another part of this work, contains about 60,000 acres: of which, probably, four-fifths are in a state of cultivation. It was the opinion of many planters, soon after emancipation, that the mountainous estates must, in great measure, be neglected, as the steadiness of the negroes is not always to be relied upon; and from the difficulties of the land, the plough would be almost useless. These prognostications have not been fulfilled—at least, no such instance has ever come under my notice; on the contrary, in my rides through the country I have seen many spots of land, which once bore only grass or wild shrubs, planted with canes, and bearing the title of “a sugar estate,” which, I feel assured, had slavery continued, would never have been cultivated.
Still agricultural labourers are wanted; many of the negroes that were thus employed, while in a state of bondage, think it a disgrace to follow such patriarchal occupations now they are free. They therefore quit the country, take up the business of a mason or a carpenter, or something of the sort; and the result is, that not being competent, they are unable to procure work, and are idling about the street all day, until some vessel from the southern colonies, looking out for emigrants, holds out the temptation of high wages, which is ignorantly caught at by the negro; and he leaves his native island, his wife and children, without remorse, until sickness seizes him, and he is returned upon the country an emaciated being, unable to work at all.
Emigration is not always profitable to the negro, even if he retains his health. Many, many of them, would gladly return, were they not bound for a certain number of years by the captains of the emigration vessels, (who make a complete trade of it by selling their indentures,) or else taken so far up the country as too often prohibit such resolve. A clever letter appeared in one of the West Indian newspapers some time ago, supposed to have been written from a negro at St. Kitts to his friend of the same dye, who had emigrated to Demerara, which I will insert for the amusement of the reader:—
“Sink Hitts, July ——.
“Deer Pomp Eye,
“You no I tould you how it wood be, but you all ways were a wild nagur, and wood neber hear reeson, and lubbed to follow your hedstrong ways. But now you are suffering for it, an I hope you’ll repent, as good Massa Parson says. You no you had no right to run away and leabe you yong pic’nees here to starbe. It was a most wicked act, but I ’spose the Capen who took you away will be made to support ’em as he ought. You are all no better dan Caraline who sent our fren Mushel’s pic’nee widout him knowing at all ’bout it, to Jimmy Radder (Demerara), having sold him me magin to de Capen. What you say ’bout de Spaniards is all bery true, an likely to happen, an me tink wid you our Capens are not to be trusted, for you no what our fren Fletcher did for which he get hang—how he carry off Nagers from Nevis, and trowed dem in de sea and drowned dem. Now me no tink dese Capens will trow de Nagurs in de sea, but me tink it bery like dat dey will hab private signell wid de Spaniards, who will way lay an take de nagurs away at sea—for de Spaniards will gib de Capens two times as much for de free Nagurs to make slabes of dem, as de Capens can get in Jimmy Radder. I hab seen de skul of Fletcher, for me be sumthing of a free-no-low-gist (phrenologist), and I assure you de skul of dese Capens hab gist de same bumps. And not only dis, Massa Pomp Eye, but dere is de law of Englan dat a vessel shall carry passengers cording to he size, dat is, so many Nagurs to so many tun, now dese Capens do break dis law an dese vessels is lible to be seezed and comphiz catted. Dis law was made as me told, to make all de peeple cumfurble dat all may hab room to walk ’bout an lie down, an sleep, an eat, an go safe, an to perwent de Capens from sack wry facing dem passengers, and no noting ’bout dere bizness, for see how dey cram de Nagurs in like toze in de shu, an only de oder day a vessel ful of Nagurs sprung a plank off Mons’ rat an was sinking fast an de Capen noed noting at all ’bout it until a noder ship met him an told him he was going down and dat all he poor Nagurs wood be drown. Oh! Pomp Eye, de Nagurs here be great fool for leabing dis bootiful country for sich muddy place as Jimmy Radder. Here dey hab plenty of fish from de sea, an dem dere be sich bootiful riber from de monting, an sich nice water to drink,—and dere is plenty of wood to cut, and dere is salt-fish, an pork, an beef, an all so cheap—an here nagurs be sirvalized, an de men an wimmin were cloze which dey do not do in Jimmy Radder, an on Sunday dey all go church an hab fine tings on. I’m told dat in Jimmy Radder dey can’t boil or roast dere plantins widout de wurrums (worms) crying and crawling out, an dat derefore dey mash ’em up all togedder in de pot an so eat dem. Brutes! Is de nagur of Jimmy Radder like our Nagurs? Hab dey any beerds? I heer dey hab scales like de fishes from lying in de mud an water, an dat dere shoulder bones stick out like de fins of one fish. An dis is de reeson our wimmin nagurs go to Jimmy Radder, for de wimmin always lobe de monsters. Don’t fret you self Massa Pomp Eye ’bout de dollars for I neber expect ’em. Me no ’tis all de same in de end, if you be paid one quarter dollar here for working, an on half dollar dere, for de tings for eat an drink are twice as deer dere as dey be here, widout being half so good eder. No, no—me be content—me no like snakes an wurrum an dose tings you hab in Jemmy Radder—me lobe me fader land, an no like mud. Here we all be Cristan an can reed and rite, an no be naked savages like aw you. Your poor yong ones send dere lobe to you—but dey shant want bread to eat, as long as your fren Seizer libes.—So good bi, an rub you body wid rum to get rid of de hagur, (ague.)
“Your fren,
“Seizar.”
So much for “Massa Seizar’s” letter. I am not aware who is the actual writer of it; but the reasoning he puts into “Seizar’s” mouth is sound, and by the form in which it is presented may not improbably produce more effect than a graver production.
The soil of Antigua is composed of two distinct sorts; the one, a rich black mould on a substratum of clay; the other, a stiff reddish clay, mixed with sand, upon a substratum of marl. The former of these is very productive when not suffering from those excessive droughts to which this island is particularly subject; but the latter is generally overrun with that species of herbage, known as “Devil Grass,” (Cynodon dactylon,) which it is almost impossible to exterminate. Still, Antigua is one of the most fertile of the West India islands, and produces, in proportion, a larger crop than most of her sister colonies. The land requires, it is true, a quantity of manure, which is one reason for estates keeping such large herds of cattle as they do; but with the assistance of that, and the blessing of the “o’ercharged clouds,” she seldom disappoints the hopes of her planters; while her sugar stands as high as any in the English markets, and her rum has long been known for its pre-eminent qualities.
The mountains contain beautiful varieties of fossils, and other geological curiosities. Among these may be found in the south-west chain, masses of trap, breccia, wacke, porphyry, &c.; and in the inland parallel chain, splendid specimens of coralline schist, agate, jasper, chalcedony, amydoloid, cornelian, and silicified wood are to be met with, of which I need only raise my eyes to those collected before me to say how beautiful they are. These are generally found embedded in a matrix of a deep green colour, which of itself is very pretty, and when well arranged in buildings with the native free-stone, have a very good effect.
In the northern districts are found fragments of limestone, containing fossil shells, spars, and crystals of quartz. This chain, running north and south, is supposed to pass under the sea, forming a reef, and reappearing at Monserrat: it is said that the fish found upon this reef are particularly poisonous.
“Church Hill,” as it is termed, from the fact of the church being erected upon it, has been found to be composed of schist, enveloped in marl, and is particularly rich in its fossil shells. Thanks to the new flight of steps which have been lately erected, and the modifications made around that sacred building, (which has obliged the workmen to blast the rock,) I have been enabled to collect some fine varieties. Among these are conchs, cockles, &c., in which the striæ are perfect, and some of them are beautifully crystalized.
In almost all parts of the island petrifactions are to be met with. Among the most beautiful of those I have seen, may be enumerated red cedar, with agate intermixed; roots and branches of cocoa-nut trees; plantain stalks, with beautiful lines of agate running through them; a species of palm; a root of the dagger, (aloe vulgaris;) the black mangrove, a branch of a tree, supposed to be the ceibar, or silk-cotton, with cornelian; besides many other varieties. Ochres of various colours are also to be dug in some districts; and in most parts of the island are quarries of stone; but they are not generally made an article of traffic.
In some parts of the island are salt ponds, which might be worked to advantage here as well as at St. Kitts and Turk’s Island; but the Antiguans are not of an enterprising spirit; at least, all their attention is bestowed upon the cultivation of the sugar-cane, and if that succeeds, they are perfectly satisfied. Were it otherwise, there are many productions which might prove important and beneficial articles of commerce. Tobacco grows spontaneously about the country; coffee has become naturalized, and grows wild; it is said to be inferior in quality to that which grows in the other islands; but would not culture do much for it? Cotton, ginger, palma Christi,—all are disregarded; even the pimento is left to decay in its loveliness, and its fragrant fruit serves but to feed the feathered tribe; except when, at Christmas, its odorous boughs are gathered to flavour the plum-puddings of the negroes, or decorate the churches and houses, as the holly does in England.
Although the islands of the West Indies, being all situated between the Tropics, are, as regards climate, very similar, yet Antigua is generally reckoned more salubrious than any of the others. Possibly, the reason of this may be attributed to the dryness of the soil, for we have no rivers, and very few marshes, as in many of the other islands, to exhale any degree of humidity. The towns are now also kept very clean and wholesome, particularly the capital, so that island seldom suffers from any pestilential diseases. The “Yellow Fever,” that dreaded scourge of the West Indies, has, however, frequently raged here to great extent, particularly in former years. In 1793 it was very violent in its effects—nearly the whole of the inhabitants of St. John’s fell ill with it, and many deaths occurred. It broke out in the shipping in the harbour, and was supposed to have been brought ashore in a blanket, which had been wrapt round a person who had fallen a victim to it. In 1816 it again appeared, but not to such extent; but after the hurricane, in 1835, it raged with much virulence,—snatched many a young and beloved one from the family circle—separated parent and child—severed the holy bands of matrimony, and laid its victims in the cold and silent grave.
It was supposed to be occasioned by the different effluvia which tainted the air after the gale; particularly that from the filth, which had for so many years been accumulating at the bottom of the harbour, and which, from the violence of the wind, had been completely stirred up.
The warmest months of the year are June, July, and August. The sun, when not obscured by the density of the clouds, shines with a burning lustre; and did he not
“——— kind before him send
The genial breeze, to mitigate his fire,
And breathe refreshment on a fainting world,”
the heat would be insupportable.
The meridian height of the thermometer, during this season, is, in the shade, about 80°, and the other parts of the year 70°; but I have observed the mercury to be, from the end of June to the end of August, from 86° to 90°, and often even higher. The sun is vertical at Antigua on the 7th of May and the 5th of August; and consequently on those days the inhabitants are ascii at noon.
September, and the two succeeding months, are generally reckoned the most unhealthy periods of the year. At one moment, the sun darts its rays with an intensity almost insupportable, while the sea-breeze (that friend to sufferers from “all-conquering heat”) dies away, and a slothful calm prevails; at other times, the sun is hidden by black portentous clouds; the air is chilly and unwholesome, and rank and noxious vapours are abroad.
The longest day consists of about 13 hours; the shortest about ten. In these latitudes, there is scarcely any aurora, or twilight, so that it is scarcely light until the sun is up, and soon after he sets, it becomes dark.
Suffering as the inhabitants do, from the great heat of the days, the delightful evenings are particularly enjoyed. No sooner has the sun hidden his rays in the bosom of the ocean, than the land-breeze arises; this, blowing as it were from the centre of the island, towards the sea, appears to come from all points of the compass at once. Evening is the time for walking; and often have I seen beautiful faces, and bright eyes, gleaming in the moonbeams.
Every author who has written about these “sunburnt isles,” has, I think, mentioned the beauties of a West Indian night, and well worthy is it to be praised. The sky is of a deeper and more lovely blue, almost approximating to violet; and the atmosphere is so much clearer than in England, that many stars are visible to the naked eye which there require the aid of a telescope. The larger planets glitter with a refulgence unknown to more temperate latitudes—
“With purest ray,
Sweet Venus shines,”
and appears almost like another moon. Mars rolls on in eternal solitude, shewing his broad red face to our wondering gaze. Bright-eyed Jove, with his “atmospheric belt,” almost blinds us with his lustre; while the galaxy (or milky way) looks like—
“A circling zone, powder’d with stars;”
thus they glide on in their beauty—
“Bright wanderers o’er the blue sky free;”
but oh! when our own attendant planet, the “Silver Queen of night,” rises in peerless majesty, shedding a flood of glory over all the surrounding landscape, the scene is inexpressibly lovely. How often, when enjoying her beams, and gazing on her “spotted disk,” have I thought of those lines of Mrs. Charlotte Smith—
“And while I gaze, thy mild and placid light
Sheds a soft calm upon my troubled breast;
And oft I think, fair planet of the night,
That in thy orb the wretched might find rest.”
The stillness and calmness of an English summer’s evening have been often and often described by our poets; here, however, no quietness is to be met with, but on the contrary all is bustle and noise. Sounds of every description fill the air, as soon as “evening grey” sets in. Parties of negroes, men, women, and children, gather together in groups, worthy the illustrative pencil of Cruikshank, to gabble away their nancy stories, relate their quarrels, or discuss the other business of the day. Bats of every size and shape fly backwards and forwards in search of their prey, or pay you an unceremonious visit through the open jalousies of your houses. Crickets and frogs raise their shrill pipes, which grate most unmusically upon the ear; cock-roaches (those disgusting pests of the West Indies) crawl over the floors, or ceilings of the apartments, or at times take the liberty of brushing in your face, or nestling in your hair; mosquitoes hum their monotonous song, or insert their proboscis into every accessible part of your flesh; while the land crabs clatter about, just like an old woman in pattens. The houses are lighted up as if for an illumination, the windows are thrown open to admit the evening air, and the fair inhabitants amuse themselves by playing upon harpsichords, or similar musical instruments, “Blue Bells of Scotland,” “Home, Sweet Home,” and other popular melodies.
CHAPTER XVI.
Scenery of Antigua—Pilgrimage to “Tom Moore’s Spring”—The Goddess Mnemosyne—Fig-Tree Hill—The “Bower of Bliss”—“Old Road”—The Strand—The cross sexton—The parochial school—Old Road Church—Tomb of Col. Williams—Moravian settlement—Salt ponds—Copses—“Crab Hill”—Sandy Valley—The Valley Church—The rising moon—Arrival in town—Night, and night dreams.
With respect to the scenery of Antigua, it is said to be neither “grand nor magnificent,” that “its mountains are too much like mole-hills,”[[62]] and in many other ways has it been depreciated; yet there are some spots of real beauty, which would strike the eye of even a painter or a poet. To see some of these to the greatest advantage, I would advise all such readers as have it in their power to take a drive or a ride (whichever they prefer) some fine morning to “Fig Tree Hill,” and return by “Crab Hill.” They will then meet with spots of such transcendent loveliness, as will cause the most unpoetic to exclaim, “Beautiful! beautiful!” But as some of my readers, perhaps, may never have the chance of taking such a tour, in pity to them, I will attempt to describe what I saw in my pilgrimage to “Tom Moore’s Spring.”
It was a lovely morning (as most West India mornings are) when we started upon our journey. The sun shone bright and clear; indeed, far too clear for actual comfort, had we gone as “pilgrims grey,” with “scalloped hat,” and “sandled shoon,” and resting on our “staves;” but we preferred the less romantic, but more pleasant way of taking it quietly in our carriage. Quickly we passed through the town of St. John’s, leaving its busy inmates, its shops and stores, its “Scotch row” and Scotchmen, and all its noise and bustle, for the quietness and freshness of the country. Upon gaining “Otto’s Hill,” at the outskirts of the town, I looked back upon the beautiful harbour of St. John’s, its blue waves just rippling the surface, its barques and brigs, schooners and sloops, bowing their heads as if in graceful homage to some sea-god from old King Neptune’s court; and its sloping shores displaying a carpet of luxuriant green, for a little rain which had fallen not long before had clothed the fields in a garb of lovely verdure. While thinking upon all these beauties, and the images they called up, my poetic fancies were crushed by the horrible noise of a long string of “cattle carts” and their sable drivers, coming into town with a load of molasses for “Brother Jonathan,” or some other worthy. This brought me down from the seventh heaven, and made me just then find out that it was very hot, and the road disagreeably dusty. However, in our pilgrimage through life, we meet with many crosses, and many dusty spots; and therefore, in our pilgrimage to “Tom Moore’s Spring,” we could but expect the same.
The country certainly looked very pretty upon this eventful day, for every spot was green, and as we passed the numerous estates, an air of gladness seemed to be abroad. The breeze blew soft from off the mountains we were approaching, and greeted our olfactory nerves with the odour of the yellow acacia, which grew along the side of the road in vast profusion. In a short time, we reached the banks of a small rivulet, the only real stream Antigua can boast of, for the few others we passed owed their source more to the late rains than anything else. This rivulet was bordered by bamboos, and other species of wild cane, while larger trees, in many parts, shewed their gnarled roots, and bent their long boughs to kiss the swift gliding waters. Various aquatic plants grew along its margin, while in the stream itself sported my own country’s water-lily, bright nymphæa. Near to the spot stands a rural little temple of worship, with its plain white walls, and a little cross upon its roof, and across the rivulet is thrown a rustic bridge. This is a favourite resort for country washerwomen, and as we passed, many of them were busily engaged in their very necessary avocations; but as none of them presented the appearance of a nymph or a naïad, I will not introduce them to my readers.
We had heard of the bad state of the roads before we left our home, of the hills we had to mount, and the dingles we had to go down; of the terrible ravines on one side, and the bare rocks on the other, and of places where the least swerve of the carriage would send us over, and then, according to our informant, “it would be no use to go look for you.” At every turn of the road, then, we looked for some trial, and “screwed up our courage to the sticking-point,” that we might be enabled to overcome them; but after travelling for some time, and meeting with nothing very terrific, we began to console ourselves, and remark, that the difficulties appeared to lie in the imagination. At length, we came to a pretty steep hill, which we surmounted in due time, and again sped on our way joyfully, thinking that all was very fair, when lo! up rose before us, if not a mountain, at least, a giant hill. Here would be the “tug of war,” so we called a council. “What is to be done?” was the first query. “Why, either go on or go back” was the answer. The old adage of “out of two evils, choose the least,” came into our thoughts. There was the hill behind, and the hill before, so we agreed to lay the various “for’s” and “against’s” before us in a very orthodox manner.
To commence then: if we go on, we must mount this hill, but when we have accomplished that, we shall have no other of great consequence; we were near half way, so we should have almost as far to go back as to go on; on the other side, if we returned, we should still have a hill before us, and not have the consolation of visiting the celebrated “fig-tree.” Having come to the conclusion of our arguments, the word was given “forward,” and forward we attempted to go; but there were some of our party whose opinions had not been asked, but who, no doubt, felt as great concern in the decision as any one else; I mean those very noble animals ycleped “horses,” and for reasons my readers may easily conceive they appeared resolved not to proceed. After a few words of encouragement, however, and a few caresses, they agreed to lend us their aid, and once more we started.
During the period that all this momentous business was going on, we had totally neglected the appearance of the weather, and had not a drop or two of rain fallen, and the sound of a distant clap of thunder echoed round us, I dare say we should not have thought upon such a subject. Here, then, was romance; a thunder-storm, and “Sawcolt Hill”—it only wanted an old castle and a horde of banditti to make it a scene worthy the pen of a “Radcliffe.” The lambent lightning played for awhile, and the thunder bellowed through the boundless sky, and then passed slowly away to the west, very much to my satisfaction. “Sawcolt Hill” was ascended, and descended, and the road became more beautiful at every turn, until at length we stood by the side of the noted freshwater spring. And what then were my reflections? I thought it was lovely in everything but its name—“Tom Moore’s Spring!” Who, in the name of all that’s romantic, could call such a spring by such a name? Had it been the “fairy’s spring,” or the “spring of the mountain sylph,” or something of the kind, it would have sounded as it ought, and some charming legend might have been attached. But who could ever inquire after “Tom Moore?” Why, the name of such a being puts all fancies to the flight!
Thus far had my thoughts wandered, when suddenly, an ideal form passed before me; her sweet and classic countenance—her eyes which mocked the heavens in their dye—her long and silken lashes which drank the dew of her vermilion cheeks, all conspired to render me entranced. A blue mantle floated from her shoulders, and a thousand graces hovered round her steps. As she glided away, she placed one of her taper fingers upon her ruby lips, and, in a voice of liquid sweetness, uttered the word, “Remember!” I knew her for the goddess “Mnemosyne,” and I tried to follow her behest. My beautiful goddess assisted me, and brought to my recollection that “Bulbul of a thousand songs,” that sweet rhymer who charms us with his “bower of roses by Bendameer’s stream,” as with his melodies of the “Emerald Isle,” he who bears the well-known appellation of “Tom Moore.” I remembered all this to my shame, and determined in future never to utter one word against it, did all the springs in Antigua bear that name. After making this resolution, I turned once more to inspect “Tom Moore’s Spring.” The water is as clear as crystal, and of a refreshing coolness; and as it trickles from beneath the roots of a large bamboo growing by, each drop looks like liquid pearl. It has never been known to be dry, let the season be what it will, and consequently must be of inexpressible value to the adjoining estates. It was formerly built round with a stone wall, but that has long ago fallen to ruin, and no one has troubled himself to erect it again. I blame none, however, upon this score, for, in my opinion, it looks more romantic as it is; nature has done much for it, and art would only spoil her work.
After leaving the spring, another height presented itself, clothed with luxuriant woods. This was “Fig-tree Hill,” and no description I have ever heard of it has sufficiently set forth its beauty. Upon one side of the road is a deep ravine, whose irregular descent is hidden by trees of every description, which cover it to the bottom, and again ascend upon the opposite bank, until they reach the top of the neighbouring mountain; on the other side are sloping hills, carpeted with the gayest emerald. This beautiful hill takes its name from several large fig-trees which grow around; and from its highest point can be distinctly seen, upon a clear day, the four islands of Guadaloupe, Monserrat, Nevis, and St. Kitts.
After remaining upon the height for some time, and enjoying the extensive prospect, we prepared to descend; but how to describe the loveliness of the path, I know not. We alighted and walked down, that nothing might escape our observation. Trees of all species abound, and—
“With confessed magnificence deride
Our vile attire, and impotence of pride.”
The lofty “red cedar,” the beautiful “white-wood,” the glossy-green “loblolly,” the treacherous “manchineel,” which invites your approach by its beautiful fruit, while it infects you with its poisonous odours; the enormous “ceibar,” (or silk cotton,) the native “walnut,” (which in every tree presents such varying shades of green,) and the splendid “tamarind,” shade each side of the road, and cover the surrounding hills.
In many places, huge masses of fantastic rocks rear their bare fronts to the heavens; some taking the form of old castles, with their frowning battlements and strong ramparts; and others looking as if about to fall into the valleys beneath.
Just at the termination of the first descent is one of the sweetest spots in Antigua. It is one of tranquillity and repose. The fierce beams of the sun are excluded by the umbrageous foliage of the trees, around whose trunks various creepers entwine themselves, and throw their slender limbs from one to the other of these
“Green-robed senators of mighty woods,”
forming many beauteous alcoves, carpeted with the lowlier flowers; whilst the “purple wreath” hangs its tasseled blossoms on all sides, and gives an air of lightness to the whole. A little silver stream (one of those the offspring of the balmy showers before mentioned) crossed the road in this part; and after leaping over roots of trees, or any other slight impediment which fell in its way, and thereby causing a thousand translucent waterfalls, at length lost itself in the impending woods. Oh! it was a lovely scene, and put me very much in mind of Spenser’s “Bower of Bliss;” particularly when
“Was heard a most melodious sound
Of all that could delight a curious ear;
Such as might not upon terrestrial ground,
Save in this paradise, be heard elsewhere.
Full hard it was for him, who did it hear,
To guess what sort of music this might be;
For all that pleasing is to living ear
Were there soft mingled in one harmony:
Birds, voices, instruments, winds, waters, all agree.”
This was a true delineation; for although most tropical birds are devoid of song, the “painted warblers” might here be said to hop “from spray to spray.” The pretty little humming-bird fluttered among the flowers, extracting from them, with its long and slender beak, the liquid honey; and the doves courted each other with soft, but melancholy cooing, from many a leafy brake. Upon my remarking I never before heard birds sing in the West Indies, our negro-servant joined the conversation with—“Oh, missis! if you was to come here early in the moring, before the sun high, you would hear the birds singing in such a manner, that it would make you feel quite dismal all de day.” The first time I ever heard of the song of a bird producing such an effect.
But to return to my description of this sweetest of all sweet spots. Did we live in “days of yore,” when fairies were wont to visit our world, and astonish the benighted swains with their glittering processions, we could fancy this one of their favourite retreats; but, alas! those harmless goblins have long disappeared, and with them all moonlight revels. The negroes, however, are determined it shall not be without some aerial visitants, so have peopled it with a tribe of jumbies, who, according to their account, are very different in behaviour and appearance to the pretty little elves.
After carving our names upon the trunk of a noble tree, which appears to grow out of a rock, we proceeded on our journey through the same lovely scenes, which now became interspersed with palm-trees, until we entered upon a plain, on one side studded over with ruined Carib houses, and on the other, laid out in luxuriant cane-pieces, belonging to the Hon. Rowland E. Williams, the descendant of a long line of noble ancestors, and whose paternal domain extends throughout the lovely scenes I have been endeavouring to describe. A few minutes’ drive brought us to “Old Road,” so called because it was the first high-road made in Antigua.
This town, if town it can be called, is, as regards architective arrangement, a perfect nondescript; for streets there are none, but here and there a straggling house. There is the beach, indeed, which may justly be termed “the strand;” but, unlike that far-famed street in London, boasts no splendid shops—no arcades or bazaars, with their “euterpeons”—no brilliant lines of lamps, or crowds of well-dressed and busy passengers. A plentiful supply of bushes and “rock-stones” (as the Creoles call all descriptions of stones) make up for those deficiencies; and the murmur of old Father Ocean is the only music heard. Of the houses which are to be found, a few of them are in repair; but the greater part are falling to ruin, and have become a receptacle for hordes of green lizards. One of these buildings struck me as rather peculiar in appearance. Nothing remained of it, it is true, but the walls of rough masonry, with huge gable-ends pointing to the skies; but still it seemed as the work of another race of beings. Upon making inquiries about it, an inhabitant informed us her grandmother (who had died several years before, at the advanced age of 116) remembered it in the same ruinous state from her earliest years; but we could learn no further particulars.
Our principal object for visiting “Old Road,” was to see a tombstone in the church, laid down to the memory of Col. Rowland Williams; and consequently, as soon as we arrived, our first inquiry was for the person who kept the keys of the church, and who acts in the capacity of sexton. While waiting for this official, we walked down to the beach. The harbour is a very fine one, and forms a complete rotund, except in the opening, where the sea stretches out beyond ken. A line of smooth silver sand borders the sea, diversified with clumps of mangrove, manchineel, and sea-side grapes; while here and there a cocoa-nut tree rears aloft its proud head, as if scorning to herd with the lowlier of its kind. For some time we amused ourselves with picking up various small shells, matted sea-weed, and corallines, which were scattered about the beach in profusion; but the heat, notwithstanding the fresh sea-breeze, was beginning to be felt oppressive; when turning the angle of one of the old buildings, a man with a bunch of keys in his hand appeared in sight.
Although not always the case, still very generally, the face is the index to the mind; and when I first saw that man, I felt prejudiced against him. He came forward with a slovenly gait, and downcast looks, and to our inquiries for the keys of the church, he returned for answer, “Yes, but I can’t let you in.” On asking the reason, the rejoinder was, “Because the parson told me not to let any one go into the church.” This was by no means cheering news for us; it was far from satisfactory after riding fifteen miles, to be turned away without seeing the very object we came to look at. Every kind of persuasion was used to induce him to comply. I joined in urging him to “ope’ the door, and bid us enter,” but alas! I found him as insensible to the voice of woman, as to everything else. “Can we go into the churchyard?” was then inquired. “Yes,” was the surly answer; and following his steps, we soon reached that quiet spot.
Even here he apparently viewed us with suspicion, thinking, perhaps, we not only looked capable of sacrilege, but of carrying away the church also; for although he still had the keys in his hand, and the rain began to fall, he not only remained inexorable, but looked as if he should be quite as well pleased if we quitted the place altogether. “The rain was falling fast,” and obliged us to retire to the shelter of a large white-wood tree, which no doubt was coeval with the first settlers, and beneath its spreading branches we remained for some time, until one of our party determined to try some other expedient, to gain the wished-for admittance, and for that purpose left myself and attendant in our shady retreat.
After the lapse of about a quarter of an hour, a well-known voice was heard; and at an opening in the leafy covert, the person it proceeded from appeared, accompanied by a female. This was the parochial school-mistress; and a kind-hearted creature she appeared to be. She immediately sent in search of the cross sexton, and promised to take upon herself the responsibility of letting our party into the church; but the man was not to be found—he had left the town, and carried the keys with him. With native politeness, Miss Austin (as the worthy school-mistress was called) invited us to rest in her house until she could make further inquiries after the “keys;” and following our conductress, we shortly arrived at her residence, where (with a very warrantable kind of pride) she informed us, her mother was born, and married, and had reared eight children. Long before we gained the house, the hum of little voices was heard; and upon approaching the open door, about forty children, who formed the school, rose up, and commenced singing, “We make our obeisance to you, ma’am,” to the tune of “L—a—w, Law;” while a parrot, suspended from a beam, if she did not sing, at least screeched in chorus. After looking at these little negroes for some time, and inspecting the simple decorations of their school-room, we were ushered up stairs, and introduced to Miss Austin’s two sisters.
I cannot help speaking more fully of the polite behaviour of this trio. I came among them a perfect stranger, my name even being unknown, and in all probability never again to meet in this world; but every little attention possible was lavished upon me, the choicest produce of their garden tendered, and without the least parade. I have mixed with society in a far higher grade, where courtly manners prevail, and every art is tried to invest each action with a polished grace; but often, very often, has less native good-breeding, fewer sterling qualities of the mind been displayed than I found in the sisters of “Old Road.” They are not like the generality of persons in their line of life; hospitality indeed is, I believe, a virtue which most of them possess; but there was no aping of their betters, as is too frequently the case with this class of people; no flying away, when we came so suddenly upon them, to put on a brass chain, or a string of glass beads; or to take off an untidy wrapper, to enrobe themselves in a smart gown; their neat dresses and snow-white collars, like beauty, needed not “the foreign aid of ornament.”
Many a beautiful tree grew around their humble dwelling, and many a sweet-scented flower almost entered the open windows. When we had rested for a short time, we proceeded to the garden, to see a lime-tree. Knowing as I did the blighted state of these trees in Antigua, I expected to see a diminutive shrub; what, then, was my surprise, upon entering the little paddock, (for it had more the appearance of that than a garden,) to see a noble tree, covering the space of about fifty square feet, loaded with its fragrant fruit to the very ground. Well worthy was it to be looked at! well worthy to be praised by an abler pen than mine!—no indefinite article could be used to this shrub; it must be called the lime tree, and nothing else. While looking, again and again, at this beautiful tree—pressing its odorous leaves, and inhaling the scent of its golden fruit, the youngest sister remarked, “The archdeacon was here the other day, to catechise the children, and upon seeing this tree, said it looked as if the blessing of God was upon it.” And in truth it does appear so, for it flourishes on in its beauty in the midst of a burning sand, whilst most of its species are blighted and seared.
After leaving the lime-tree, we returned to the house and heard the children read a chapter in the Bible, and repeat the gospel, which they did very correctly, although some of them had not numbered their fifth year, thus proving the pains their tutoress takes with them; and then, putting up with our disappointment, left for home. As we were passing the church, Mr. Sexton appeared to have altered his mind in some degree, for (but with a very indifferent grace, it must be owned) he condescended to open the church door, and allow us entrance. The church, which is composed of hewn stone, is built in the form of a cross, and is noted for being the first place of public worship erected in Antigua. There is nothing very remarkable in the interior; the walls are plain white, and the floor paved with brick; but it is a quiet little church, where the good people of that neighbourhood may worship their God in peace. Over the altar is an old painting of Moses and Aaron in their robes; and under the communion table reposes the ashes of him who may be called the founder of the church; for he gave the land, and liberally contributed towards its erection. This was Col. Rowland Williams, who, as before-mentioned, was celebrated for his various good qualities, as well as humanity, in a period when the West Indies were generally enveloped in moral darkness. The epitaph upon his tomb-stone is inscribed in Latin; but as many of my readers no doubt prefer the English translation, I will insert it, which I am enabled to do through the kindness of the Rev. H. G. Hall.
Here safely lie in Mother Earth
The mortal remains of Rowland Williams.
We are but dust and ashes!
He was the first male infant of European extraction
Lawfully born in this island.
When he attained to manhood, he conducted himself
As a man,
Being equally in military, as in civil life, an honour
As well to himself, as to his connexions.
In the field, he was a bold commander;
In the senate, he was a wise councillor:
What avails strength without wisdom?
He was a loyal subject of his king, a protector of
His country,
A true father to his children, hospitable to his guests,
A friend to his friends. In a word,
He was all things to all men.
Throughout his whole life he displayed,
With health of body, soundness of mind.
Possessing the strictest honesty and much wealth.
He fell a tardy victim to death,
Having survived about eighty years.
He was buried the twentieth day of ——— 1713.
Since it is certain that we must die,
We should without delay take warning against it.
Near the altar is an elegant and chastely ornamented white marble tablet, erected to the memory of Mrs. Williams, daughter of Sir Patrick Ross, K. C. B., and wife of the Hon. Rowland E. Williams, the great-great-grandson of the above Col. Williams. This exemplary lady died at the early age of 32; respected by all classes, and deeply regretted by those who were honoured with her friendship. The following lines are engraved on the tablet:—
“Death, ere thou canst claim another,
Fair, and good, and wise as she,
Time shall hurl his dart at thee.”[[63]]
After copying these inscriptions, and casting one more glance round this rustic church, we returned to our carriage, and proceeded on our journey to “Crab Hill.” Before relating the rest of our adventures, I must remark, that the line of conduct pursued by the sexton of “Old Road” is not common in Antigua, such officials being generally very obliging.
Near to “Old Road” is a pond, which is formed by the hand of nature into a complete bason. It is surrounded with some fine and noble trees, which form a screen, and is embellished with a variety of odoriferous flowers, which bloom and die unknown and uncared for, illustrating those beautiful lines of Gray’s—
“Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.”
Near to this spot is a natural excavation, called the “Devil’s Punch Bowl,” which, although I had often heard it spoken of as something very grand, did not cause me much pleasure or astonishment, being, in fact, nothing more than a deep hole, with a little turbid water at the bottom.
About a stone’s throw from “Old Road,” on the top of the hill, stands a Moravian settlement, with its neat white house and chapel; there is always an air of comfort around these settlements, which speaks to an English heart; and the Moravians themselves are a quiet, well-meaning people, diligent in the discharge of their ministerial duties, and earnestly desiring their people’s welfare. May they meet their reward!
After passing the fort of “Old Road,” the next place which attracted our notice was the salt ponds, with their fringe of mangrove trees and little islands. Innumerable soldier crabs were hurrying to and fro,—some looking out for a new coat of mail, in the form of a new shell, and others hunting for their prey, which is very frequently the weak and small of their own class. The sea now burst upon our sight, and added to the beauty of the scene; its surface was as smooth and clear as a mirror, except where the breakers played over a long reef, which runs far out from shore, and threw up their lovely but dangerous spray in measured showers,—no wonder the ancients fabled their goddess of beauty to have sprung from this sparkling object.
After passing the rectory of St. Mary’s, our road lay through copses, whose overhanging boughs formed a beautiful and verdant arch. The sunbeams, penetrating through them, danced in sportive glee upon the chequered ground, while between the boles we caught picturesque glimpses of the ocean. I could not help noticing one peculiarity in passing through these woods, that almost every tree is decorated with that species of parasite called wild pines;[[64]] the great varieties of cactus was also remarkable.
After journeying along the road for about a mile, we came in view of “Crab Hill,” noted for the dangers it presents to travellers, should their horses prove restive, or night overtake them. Here again we alighted, determined that nothing should escape our gaze. The road rises about 180 feet from the sea, in an abrupt precipice clothed with the dwarf acacia and “milk-bush”—those ever-to-be-found productions of Antigua. A low wall of stones, loosely piled, borders the edge of the road, which would prove but a sorry guard against any accident. In the steepest part of the hill, we looked over, and watched in silence the beautiful but treacherous waves, as they laved the rocky base of the precipice. Here and there a blasted parasite clung to it, and feebly strove to hide its ugliness; and one or two sea-birds sat watching for their prey, and pluming their rumpled feathers. At the sound of our voices they started, and after turning upon us their bright quick eyes for a moment, as if to ask why we obtruded upon their solitude, flapped their wings and soared screaming away through the vaulted ether.
We enjoyed the scene for some time longer, and then remembering we were still many miles from the capital, and the sun had almost completed his daily journey, we resumed our seats and set our faces towards home. A ride of a few more minutes brought us to a place called “Sandy Valley,” which proved not to be, like some places, a misnomer, for there is sand enough for any one’s taste, and fine glittering sand it is too. The sea bounds one side of the valley, and a stagnant marsh the other.
Leaving this, we passed by the valley church and school, cultivated cane-pieces and neat-looking “great houses,” negro huts and provision grounds, and an open country, for we were rapidly leaving the mountains behind us. On our right, we passed a methodist settlement, and another belonging to the Moravians, and hard by a fresh-water spring; but I began to feel very tired, and consequently did not find out beauties which otherwise might have attracted my attention. A pretty sloping hill lay before us, and as we passed, the “full-orb’d moon” rose above it, and
“O’er the night her silver mantle threw.”
A sudden turn in the road placed her lovely face behind us, and languidly reclining in a snug corner, I mused in silence upon the beautiful scenes I had passed through in our pilgrimage, until roused by a bustle in the road, just at the entrance of the capital, where men and boys, long poles and ropes, and that very respectable quadruped, dignified by Antiguans with cognomination of “a cattle,” formed the figurantes. The poor creature had been landed from an American vessel that morning, at a neighbouring bay, and exhausted, I suppose, with the discomfits of its voyage, had fallen down on its way to the butcher’s. I don’t think its sufferings were of long continuance, for the next morning I heard the black bellman announcing to the public, that “A fine fat ’merican ox was slaughtered at the shambles of ‘Seizar’ James.”[[65]]
But to conclude our adventures; we rapidly passed through the grass-market and the town, heard the jingle of many a piano and the squeak of many a flute, (I mean no disparagement to the performers,) almost ran over a pig or two, who, spite of a late prohibition, were walking out to enjoy the cool of the evening; and at length safely alighted at our residence in “Spring Gardens.”
In the course of an hour or two, I willingly resigned myself to the dominion of sleep, and dreamt of mountains and thunder-storms, springs and fairies, precipices and lime-trees.
[[62]] “The highest mountains are not more than 1500 feet above the level of the sea.”
[[63]] The above lines are taken from an epitaph written upon the Dowager Countess of Pembroke, sister to the celebrated Sir Philip Sidney one of the favourite courtiers of Queen Elizabeth, and author of a romance entitled “Arcadia,” which he dedicated to his sister the Countess. On this account it is frequently called “the Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia.” This lady was noted for her great learning, in an age when classical knowledge was the common accomplishments of the court ladies. Her principal work was a translation of “Antonius,” a French tragedy.
“Underneath this marble hearse,
Lies the subject of all verse.
Sidney’s sister, Pembroke’s mother.
Death, ere thou hast kill’d another,
Fair, and learn’d, and good as she,
Time shall throw a dart at thee.”
[[64]] There is one great peculiarity in this plant which deserves notice. The leaves are cellular, and so formed as to make sure reservoirs for the drops of rain, which fall into them from the top, through small openings. The seeds are furnished with a downy substance, by which means they float through the air, and take root upon any part of a tree or shrub upon which they chance to fall. The leaves always grow erect, by which means they safely hold the rain water. Dampier mentions piercing these plants with his knife, and catching the water in his hat when suffering from thirst.
[[65]] It may be proper to note, that such events are not of everyday occurrence in Antigua. Not more than two “cattle” are slaughtered in the capital in a week, and when such deed is committed the bellman announces it to the public.