CHAPTER XXV.
CONCLUSION OF THE LEGEND.
The morning after this eventful meeting rose fair and bright. Bridget and Zulmiera, seated at an open window, inhaled the sweet breeze, while they bent over their embroidery frames; and the fair Englishwoman was giving a description of her own far-off land, when, gazing in the direction of the before-named copse, Zulmiera espied a white feather glancing for a moment above the tops of the trees, a well-known signal indicating the presence of Raphe de Merefield.
Framing an excuse, she shortly left the apartment; and taking a circuitous route to escape observation, in a few moments gained the old tree, where, as expected, she found her lover.
“Zulmiera,” said the young man, after the first greetings were passed, “I have suffered deeply in mind since we parted, on account of the strange words you let fall last evening; and I now seek your presence to demand, as your affianced husband, their signification. Tell me, Zulmiera, thine whole heart, or as Willy Shakspeare saith—
“——If thou dost love me,
Shew me thy thought?”
Accosted in this sudden manner, and surprised by his serious demeanour, Zulmiera’s caution forsook her, and bursting into tears, confessed to her lover, as best she could, the following facts. Having been treated with great scorn and harshness by the governor, and looking upon herself as the descendant of a line of chieftains, and consequently entitled to respect, a deep and irresistible feeling of revenge sprang up in her breast, and absorbed her every thought. Roaming, as she had ever been wont, amid the romantic dells and leafy labyrinths of her native islands, she came one evening upon a curious cavern; her love of novelty led her to inspect it, but in the act of doing so, she was driven back in alarm by the sight of a flashing pair of eyes.
Unable to suppress her fears, yet too much overcome by the encounter to fly, she leant against the rocky opening of the cave; when, rushing from his concealment, a powerful man, whom she immediately recognised as a Carib, darted upon her, and placing his hand upon her mouth to prevent her screams from being heard, was about to bear her away as his captive.
Terrified as she was, she still had the presence of mind to declare her origin, and claim his forbearance, on the score of their allied blood. To such a plea, a Carib’s heart is never deaf; the grasp upon the shoulder was relaxed; the armed warrior stood quietly by her side; and a conversation in the Carib tongue (which Zulmiera had acquired from her mother) was carried on between them.
The stranger declared himself to be a Carib chief, named Cuanaboa, and with the openness for which that people were noted among their friends, acquainted Zulmiera with the cause of his appearance in that lone cave. Following the example of his fathers, Cuanaboa said he had resolved to make an attack upon Antigua, accompanied by a neighbouring chief and their several tribes; but in a war-council held by them, it had been arranged for him to pay a secret visit to the island, in order to inspect it, and endeavour to find out its weakest parts. Accordingly, leaving his mountain home in Dominica, he had paddled himself over in a slight canoe, and easily discovering the cave, which had been well-known to the tribe in their former predatory visits, he took up his abode there.
Zulmiera listened eagerly to this communication; and excited as she was, thought it a good opportunity for effectually procuring her revenge. After arranging for the safety of Raphe de Merefield, to whom she had been long engaged, she finally promised, that upon an appointed night, she would open the doors of government house, and admit the band of Caribs. Ignorant of the real force of Antigua, and led away by her own turbulent and romantic passions, the Indian girl wrongly supposed that a few half-armed Caribs would be able to strike terror into the breasts and compete with the well-arranged ranks of the English. In consequence of this wild fancy, Zulmiera further proposed, as her reward, that when the battle was gained, and the English defeated, she should be immediately elected queen, and Raphe king of the Caribbees. Many other meetings had taken place between herself and the Carib chief; and she concluded her relation, by informing Raphe of the arrival of the whole band of Caribs, and that the hour of midnight was the time proposed for the intended assault upon government house.
The surprise, the consternation of the young man, as she unfolded this tale to him, was overpowering, and for some moments he remained as if rooted to the ground. At length, striking his hand upon his forehead, he exclaimed, in a tone of extreme bitterness—“Oh! Zulmiera—Zulmiera! what hast thou done! Surely it is some horrible dream; and yet it is too true; thou couldst not have distressed me so, an’ it had not been. To-night, sayest thou? Unhappy girl, thou hast indeed dashed the cup of happiness from thy lips! Now I understand thy visible emotion—thy half-smothered expressions! But I must away—the lives of hundreds, perhaps, hang upon my steps;” and darting from her, he left her to the deepest feelings of despair.
Leaning against the tree for the support her own limbs denied her, the unfortunate Zulmiera remained with her face buried in her hands, until aroused by the sound of footsteps. Hastily looking up, Raphe again stood before her. “Dearest Zulmiera,” said the pitying young man—“rouse thyself; I cannot leave thee thus; all may yet be well. I will immediately to the governor, and without implicating you as my author, inform him of the inpending attack. Much as I dislike the man, it is my proper plan—so now dry your eyes,” for the warm tears were again gushing down the cheeks of the repentant girl; “return to the house, keep yourself quiet, and trust the matter to me.” So saying, he imprinted a fond kiss upon her brow, and turning away, hastened with a quick step in the opposite direction.
Mastering her emotions, Zulmiera returned to her home, determined, when the evening fell, to seek the cave, and if possible, persuade Cuanaboa of the impracticability of his schemes, and by that means, prevent the effusion of blood, which a meeting of the Caribs and English was sure to produce.
In the meantime, Raphe sought the presence of the governor, and without bringing forward Zulmiera’s name, contrived to give him the necessary information, and then departed, taking upon himself the office of scout. Preparations were immediately made for the intended attack—ambuscades arranged, and fire-arms cleaned; and with anxiety the party awaited the rising of the moon.
As the day grew to a close, Zulmiera became more and more restless, until at length, unable to bear the conflict of her feelings, she left the house, and, unperceived by the family, sought the promised meeting in the cave. The sun had sunk behind the waves, and the stars began to peep forth, as the half-Carib gained the entrance of the wood. Carefully threading her way through its tangled bushes, and avoiding as she went the numerous impediments, she gradually progressed deeper and deeper in its thickening gloom. The air was calm, and nothing disturbed the almost pristine stillness but the whisperings of the soft breeze, or the shrill cry of some of the aquatic fowls who made that lonely grove their home. In some parts the foliage was less thick, and the beams of the now rising moon forced their way through and snorted upon the ground, forming many a fantastic shadow. Uprooted and sapless trees lay in various directions, around which parasites wound in luxuriant beauty, and hid the whitened wood in wreaths of green. In other parts, the larger trees and shrubs made way for dense thickets of thorny underwood, over which the active girl was obliged to leap.
Onward she sped, stopping only now and then to recover her breath, and then darting forward at increased speed, until, gaining a little knoll, where pointed crystals strewed the ground, and the manchineel showered its poisonous apples, beautiful and treacherous as “Dead Sea fruits,” a mark in one of the trees told her she was near the place of her destination; and winding round another thicket, Zulmiera stood before the mouth of the cave.
The interior was lighted by a few torches of some resinous wood, stuck in the fissures of the rock; and their flickering light shone upon the dark countenances and wild costume of the inmates. Branches of trees roughly plaited together were placed partly before the opening, and served to screen the light of the torches from the view of any wandering stranger; while the ground before the entrance to the cave had been cleared away, forming a kind of rustic amphitheatre.
As soon as the maiden was perceived, Cuanaboa came forward, and introduced her to Guacanagari, and a few of their principal followers, who only appeared to be waiting for her presence, to commence their solemn dance, as was ever the custom of the Caribs, before undertaking any warfare.
Darting from the cavern, about twenty of these wild warriors arranged themselves in a circle around an old woman, known among them by the name of Quiba, who, squatting upon the ground, chanted, in a monotonous voice, the burden of a war-song: the men moving slowly, and joining in the chorus—“Avenge the bones of your fathers, which lie whitening upon the plain!” Continuing this revolving motion for some time, but gradually increasing in celerity, they at length appeared as if worked up to the highest pitch of their passions; and releasing each other’s hands, and twirling round and round with the greatest rapidity, tearing their hair, and gnashing their teeth, at length threw themselves upon the ground, foaming with rage.
Zulmiera, terrified at their frantic movements and horrid contortions, tremblingly leant against the trunk of a tree, until, aroused by an exclamation from the old woman, she perceived another party of savages, apparently of meaner grade, bringing in large calabashes and baskets, huge pieces pf baked meats, and bowls of some kind of liquids. Placing them upon the ground, they retreated; and old Quiba, quitting her recumbent posture, seized upon one of the pieces of meat, and throwing it among the prostrate warriors, exclaimed, in a cracked voice—“Eat of the flesh of your enemies, and avenge your fathers’ bones!”
As she uttered these words, the men sprang from the ground, and rushing upon the viands, devoured them with savage greediness; while Cuanaboa, lifting up one of the smaller pieces of meat, approached Zulmiera, and, with harshness, requested her to eat it. Alarmed at his ferocious manner, but not daring to shew it, the trembling girl essayed to obey; and putting a portion of it into her mouth, by a strong effort swallowed it. No sooner was this effected, than, breaking into a horrid laugh, and with his eyes gleaming like the hyæna’s, Cuanaboa shouted to the old woman, who had just before entered the cave—“Bring forth our present for our queen; surely, she deserves it, now she is one of us!”
Startled by his evident irony, Zulmiera turned round, at the moment that Quiba emerged from a natural passage in the interior of the cave, bearing in her hand a small bundle, which, with a sardonic grin, she laid at the feet of the observant girl. “There, lady; that is our first present,” croaked forth the old hag. “Ay, lift it up, and search it well; Mayboya will stand your friend, and send you many more, I hope.” So saying, she hobbled up to one of the torches, and taking it from its resting-place, held it before the face of Zulmiera.
Impelled by an irresistible desire to know the worst, Zulmiera stooped and undid the folds of red cloth wound around their proffered gift. After untwining it for some time, the wrapping felt damp to the touch; and dreading she knew not what, she loosed the last fold, and a human head rolled upon the ground.
Uttering a cry of horror, but forced on by her unconquerable emotions, she turned the gory object round; and as the torches flashed with further glare, her eye fell upon the pallid features. The blue eye, glassed by the hand of death, and over which the starting eyelids refused to droop—the parted lips, parted with the last throe of agony, and shewing the pearly teeth—the finely-moulded cheeks, but disfigured by a deep gash—and the long auburn hair, dabbled with the blood that still oozed from the severed veins, bespoke it Raphe de Merefield’s! Her own blood congealed around her heart like ice—her pulse quivered and stopped—and with one unearthly, prolonged shriek, the unfortunate Zulmiera sank senseless upon the ground.
Recovered by the means of some pungent herb applied to her nostrils, by the hands of Quiba, she awoke to all her misery. Her eyes fell again upon the mutilated head of her lover; while the demoniac voice of Cuanaboa whispered in her ear—“The food you partook of just now was part of the body of your minion! I met him wandering in the copse a time agone; and I thought he would make a fine sacrifice to Mayboya.” This last horrible information completely altered her nature, and changed the fond loving girl to the disposition of a fiend. Lifting up the head, and imprinting upon the blood-stained lips one long fervent kiss, she enveloped it again in the wrappings of red cloth, and carefully binding it around her waist, was in the act of quitting the cave, when arrested by the powerful grasp of Cuanaboa.
“Not so fast, lady!” exclaimed the Carib chief; “remember your oath to Mayboya! We still stand in need of your assistance to guide us to the house of yon white chief. Remember that was part of your bargain: let us in; and when we have vanquished the enemy, we shall still be willing to receive you as our queen; that is, if you will agree to take me for your king instead of the pale-faced boy, whose body has served to regale us and our people.” With eyes that flashed fire, Zulmiera was about to reply, when suddenly constraining herself, she simply muttered—“My oath to Mayboya!—follow me, then!” and with determined purpose, left the cavern.
The whole party of Caribs, consisting of about eighty, were by this time gathered around the spot, armed with bows and arrows, clubs, darts, spears, and all the other rude implements of warfare. As the two chiefs made their appearance, they pointed to the moon—then rapidly ascending the heavens—and uttering a suppressed war-whoop, they commenced their march in the direction of government house, preceded by the half-Carib.
Unconscious of pain, Zulmiera darted through the thorniest thickets, turned not aside for any impediment; but borne up by the hopes of revenge, she outstripped the most active of the party. Knowing, as she did, that the inmates of government house were prepared for the attack, she felt assured that few, if any, of the Caribs would escape; but completely altered in disposition, from the effects of the horrible scenes she had gone through, she experienced no compunctious feelings for the event. Her only wish, her fixed purpose, was to possess herself of a dagger—stab Cuanaboa to the heart—drink his warm blood as it gushed forth—and after bathing the head of her lover with it, kill herself upon the spot. To deceive Cuanaboa, she pretended that her fear of Mayboya led her to conduct the party, an assurance which his own blind zeal for that dreaded deity caused him to believe.
In furtherance of her dreadful scheme, she carefully avoided those spots where she supposed an ambuscade of English might be stationed; fearing lest some other hand should take the life of the chief. In this manner she was gradually progressing towards the house, thinking it more probable a weapon could be there procured, when in passing a clump of trees, one of the governor’s scouts, who was stationed behind it, and who was unable to bear the sight of the Carib chief so near him without endeavouring to take his life, sprang from his concealment, and rushing upon Cuanaboa, was in the act of stabbing him with a dirk, when, with the cry of some infuriated wild animal robbed of its prey, Zulmiera was upon him. Wresting the weapon from the astonished Englishman, the maddened girl fled after the Caribs, who, abashed by this encounter, and the sudden appearance of a troop of soldiers, were flying in the greatest confusion, and at their utmost speed, in direction of the before-named creek, where they had left their canoes.
Many of the Caribs fell wounded by the way, from the fire of their pursuers’ muskets; but Cuanaboa, closely attended by Zulmiera, still kept on, until after passing over the same undulating ground, forcing their way through thickets, leaping over natural barriers, and creeping through leafy arcades, they gained upon the creek. But woe to the Caribs! a party of English, in hot pursuit, were, in fact, driving them into a trap, at the point of their weapons. Throughout this irregular and hurried retreat, Zulmiera had never dropped her dirk, or her gory burden; neither had she lost sight of Cuanaboa; while the chief, seeing her dash the weapon from his uncovered breast, when one stroke of the Englishman’s hand would have caused his death, thought she had forgiven his horrid barbarity, and was well pleased to see her nigh him.
As they emerged from the deeper glades of the wood, a volume of smoke rose above the trees; and upon gaining the open ground, the whole extent of their danger was revealed to the Caribs. There lay their canoes, a burning mass; while the foreground was occupied by another band of Englishmen, ready prepared for battle. Hemmed in on all sides, the Caribs fought with the fury of uncaged beasts, and sold their lives dearly. Many of the English were stretched upon the ground, a flattened mass, from the blows of their heavy clubs; while others, wounded by their poisoned arrows, only lived to endure further torments. Still Cuanaboa remained unhurt; and standing upon a gentle knoll, brandished his club, and dealt destruction upon the foremost of his enemies. His friends were rapidly falling around him; and as he turned to seek for refuge, Zulmiera approached him unperceived, and with one blow, drove the dirk into his very heart.
Without a groan, the Carib chief sank dead upon the earth; and Zulmiera, kneeling by him, plucked the weapon from the wound, and applying her lips, drank the warm blood as it gurgled forth! Unbinding the head of the unfortunate Raphe de Merefield from her waist, where she had carried it throughout the fray, she gazed ardently at it; tenderly parted the still bright hair, imprinted a last kiss upon the cold lips, and then taking up in her hand some of the vital stream, which was still flowing from the wound of Cuanaboa, and forming a pool around him, she bathed the head with it, exclaiming as she did so, “Raphe, thou art avenged! thine enemy lies dead before thee, slain by my hand; and thy bride, faithful in life and death, comes to share thy gory bed.”
These actions completed, she looked up. The dying and the dead lay stretched around her,—the conquering English were looking to their captives,—the last gleam of the fire was shooting upwards to the sky,—the moon had gained her zenith,—while, as if in contrast to that bloody field, the waters of the creek rolled on like molten silver, beneath her lovely beams. For one moment the wild but beautiful girl gazed upon the scene; old remembrances sprang up in her mind, and brought the tear into her eye. But dashing them away, she regained her former implacable mood; and as a party of the governor’s servants came forward to arrest her, placing one hand upon her lover’s head, she raised with the other the dirk—its bright steel glittered for a moment in the moonbeam—in the next it was ensheathed in her heart; and she fell a corpse upon that dire chief, to whom she owed all her misery.
The scene of this Antiguan tragedy may still be viewed; the creek bears the name of “Indian Creek,” while the cavern in which they held their barbaric meeting is called “Bat’s cave.” The governor retained his office until 1660, when Charles II. was restored to the vacant crown; but refusing to acknowledge his sovereign, he was superseded, and the vacant post was filled by Major-General Poyntz, a royalist, who continued to act as governor until 1663, when Lord Francis Willoughby obtained a grant of the island.
The name of Raphe de Merefield (the uncle of the young cavalier) appears with that of Sir Thomas Warner in the original grant signed by Charles I. It is still to be seen at “Stoney Hill,”—an estate belonging to the late Samuel Warner, president of Antigua, and a descendent of the old family. This property was willed by him to his god-son, ——— Shand, Esq., of the house of Messrs. Shand, Liverpool.
CHAPTER XXVI.
Towns: Falmouth—Church and churchyard—Mangroves and acacias—Black’s Point—Bridgetown—Willoughby Bay—Its site and decoration—The superintendent of the Wesleyan schools—School-room—Methodist chapel—The Memoras—St Philip’s church—Beautiful views—Parham—Its derivation and site—St Peter’s church—Churchyard—The new church—Methodist chapel and school-room.
In the year 1675, six towns were appointed in Antigua as places of trade—viz., St. John’s, Falmouth, Old Road, (or Carlisle Road,) Bridgetown, Willoughby Bay, Bermudian Valley, and Parham.
St. John’s, as the capital of the island, has already been noticed in a chapter by itself, and it now devolves upon me to endeavour to describe, what is almost indescribable, the arrangement of the other towns, which, with the exception of Bermudian Valley, are still in a state of existence.
To commence with Falmouth. As it lies just before the traveller gains English Harbour, the road to it is the same already mentioned in our journey to that place; and consequently another description would be tiresome and superfluous. I must, however, remark that near the entrance of the town a pretty turn in the road leaves the blank-looking country, which so generally predominates between Falmouth and the capital, and leads you into a kind of defile; on one side, bordered by rugged banks thickly covered with the yellow acacia, and its sweet-scented blossoms; and on the other, by the picturesque ascent of Monk’s Hill, surmounted by all its frowning battlements.[[97]]
The town of Falmouth is noted for being the first part of the island settled upon by the English, who, under the command of Mr. Warner, son of Sir Thomas Warner, emigrated from St. Christopher’s in 1632, and laid out the surrounding country in fields of tobacco, cotton, and ginger, which were for some years after the staple commodities of Antigua.
Humble as might have been the architectural ornaments of this town in those early days, it seems almost an impossibility to suppose them less then than they are at present; for if strangers (from some of our bustling maritime cities in Europe, for instance) were suddenly and unconsciously landed in the streets of Falmouth, they would to all certainty believe them to be so many pathways to the “castle of indolence;” and the irregular and dismal-looking buildings to be the habitations of some lawless, vagrant tribe. A few four-cornered houses, in shape like a pigeon-coop, and of dimensions to suit a dweller of Lilliput, are elevated a short distance from the ground by being placed upon empty boxes or barrels, or four pillars of rudely-piled stones, which arrangement forms a snug retreat for the pigs or poultry of the inmate, or serves as a reservoir for sundry discarded pots and pans, or other “household gods.” These habitations are as variously placed as the taste of their owners may chance to dictate. Some present an acute angle, others a broadside to the eye of passengers. Some stand in what I suppose is intended to represent a garden, whose rank weeds and straggling vegetables are guarded from the steps of the unwelcome marauder only by a gate, made from empty candle-boxes or barrel-heads, flanked by a thinly sprinkled row of some dwarf shrub, over which the gallant “Xit” (whom Mr. Ainsworth has so cleverly called into existence in his admirable “Tower of London”) could have stepped with the greatest ease; letting alone the frequent lapses in the enclosure, through which a bulky man might readily pass. To make all secure, however, these rustic gates are generally garnished with a huge padlock, which is of course carefully locked whenever the owner is absent; while the key, with admirable precaution, is tucked into some little peep-hole near, that it may be ready for the use of any stray visitants.
A few of these dwellings are, however, of superior form and fabric; and one stands forth in all the glories of palisading, and if I mistake not, bright green verandahs. It looks, by the side of its pigmy neighbours, like the Colossus of Rhodes, to the mandarin figures in our English grocers’ shops.
The present church, dedicated to St. Paul, is a plain, uninteresting-looking building, standing at the outskirts of the town, and capable of affording about 400 sittings.
The churchyard might be made as picturesque, and looks as quiet, as some of those pretty rural burial-places we oftentimes alight upon in dear old England’s sequestered nooks. Some fine trees, and a few handsome monuments, are to be met with; and if the rank grass was cleared away a little, and some of the various beautiful flowers, which are to be found in all parts of the island, planted there, it would present a spot equalling in appearance many of our modern cemeteries.
It may by some be thought folly thus to beautify the place of death—to garnish that spot where the worm revels upon the once animated clay!—to plant the gladsome, gaily-tinted flowers where all is mouldering beneath! Be it so—yet would I see the flowers blooming over the grave of those I have loved, and while seated near, feel that the bitterness of death is past, and that their happy disembodied spirits range, free from all sorrows, amid the amaranthine bowers of heaven! Like the late talented and oft-lamented “L. E. L.,” I love to frequent the scene of our last resting-place—like her, to—
“Stand beneath the haunted yew,
And watch each quiet tomb;
And in the ancient churchyard feel
Solemnity, not gloom.The place is purified with hope—
The hope that is of prayer;
And human love, and heavenward thought,
And pious faith are there.The golden cord which binds us all
Is loosed, not rent in twain;
And love, and hope, and fear unite,
To bring the past again.”
The parochial school is held in a small house near the church. It is conducted upon the same plan as the other schools of the kind in Antigua; the instruction consisting of lessons in reading, writing, arithmetic, repetition of catechism and hymns, and plain-work for the girls.
St. Paul’s has a chapel-of-ease in English Harbour; which was, in truth, a private dwelling-house, but now, disencumbered of its partitions, serves as a chapel, and is capable, it is said, of affording accommodation for 350 persons; during the week, it is appropriated to the use of an infant school.
The whole of Falmouth is thickly studded with clumps of acacia, privet, and prickly pear; all of which are of the thorny family, and if report be true, serve the inhabitants instead of pins. Between Falmouth and English Harbour lies a marshy thickly covered with sand, and dotted about with groups of mangrove-trees, in all their glittering, green foliage, forming so many oases in the midst of a burning desert. The sea overflows this spot at times, and leaves its tribute in the shape of small shells and bunches of sea-weed.
Opposite to Falmouth, looking across the waters of the harbour, a bold promontory stretches out into the ocean, to which has been given the name of “Black’s Point.” As it belongs to a gentleman of that name, it is generally supposed in Antigua, to derive its cognomen from that cause. Such supposition is, however, incorrect, for it is laid down in an old chart of the island as “Black’s Point” long before its present possessor came into existence. The real origin of its bearing that appellation is from the fact of its having been the place where it was customary to land the cargoes of newly-imported negroes, prior to the abolition of the slave trade; and from this circumstance the name it now bears was given to it.
Falmouth Harbour is considered one of the best in Antigua, and is capable of affording safe anchorage for ships in those times of danger to which the West Indies are exposed. The shores of the bay boast their silver fringe of sand, which is often selected by the parent turtle, as a place of safety, in which to deposit her two or three hundred eggs; and when the sun has performed the duties of incubation, which the lethargic mother refuses to perform, numbers of these little creatures may be seen, crawling towards their favourite element, where they feast and fatten, until, perhaps, in after-years, they are doomed to increase the table store of some Antiguan gourmand, or, perchance, find their way to England, and tickle the palate of “the lord mayor, and the other city authorities” within the sound of Bow bells.
Old Road (or Carlisle Road, as it was once called) and St. Mary’s church having been already described, in our “pilgrimage to Tom Moore’s Spring,” it remains for me, in the next place, to mention Bridgetown, or Willoughby Bay, as it is more frequently termed. Here, again, I have the task of describing, what is almost a nondescript, for no stranger would ever discover that it was a town unless the fact were pointed out to him. If the man who painted a lion was obliged to write under it, “This is a lion,” I am sure the person who huddled the three or four houses together, which constitutes Bridgetown, had need to have put upon a giant-like placard, “This is a town!” unless, indeed, a rather good-looking Methodist chapel, a small mission-house, a stone dwelling-house, with school-room attached, and a few of my four-cornered friends, stuck in here and there, like the dots in a landscape of some country painter, to represent crows, be sufficient to merit for it that lofty title, which Dr. Johnson, or some other lexicographer of equal renown, leads us to suppose signifies “a large collection of houses.”
As regards the population of this town, (I like to give places their proper names,) I can give but little information. With the exception of the very kind-hearted superintendant of the Wesleyan schools, Mr. Charles Thwaites, and his equally amiable wife, their very pretty little boy, one or two domestics, and their scholars of every shade, the only inhabitants I saw were flocks of black-headed gulls, busily employed in following their piscatory avocations; a few half-starved looking sheep, vainly endeavouring to screen themselves from the fiery beams of the sun beneath the leafless branches of some blighted shrubs; and three or four long-necked, screaming birds, known in this part of the world as gorlings, and which derive their subsistence from the same source as their neighbours, the gulls.
After resting for a short time at the superintendant’s dwelling, we proceeded to the school-room, a most commodious apartment, measuring 50ft. by 48ft., and capable of containing 500 persons. The whole of this establishment, including the superintendant’s house, which is detached, was erected by the Church Missionary Society; but after being used by them for a short time, it was turned over to the “Ladies’ Society,” to whom it still belongs, although the Wesleyan Mission holds its school there.
The school-room was but thinly attended upon the day of our visit, there not being more than 40 children—the usual number is about 100. Upon our entrance, they all rose up with “We’ll make our obeisance together, as children ought to do,” and then, quitting their raised seats, formed into double lines, their teacher at their head, and marched round the apartment to the tune of one of their infant rhymes. After performing many martial-like evolutions, they finally arranged themselves into a deep phalanx, and thus sang another of their little songs. Many of them are proficients in reading the scriptures, and are well versed in the historical parts of them. I hope and trust the education so liberally bestowed upon them, and above all, the religious instruction which they receive, may benefit their after-conduct, and lead them to do their duty in that sphere of life in which it has pleased their Creator to place them. I was much pleased to learn from Mr. Thwaites that, in almost every instance, the pupils who have left the schools under his charge have followed agricultural employments. To a country whose grand resource, and, indeed, entire dependence, is placed upon the cultivation of the sugar-cane, this conduct upon the part of its rising generation must be very important; and if the lower classes continue to do so, and not, because they are free, despise the hoe, Antigua may stand forth as pre-eminently flourishing among the other West Indian colonies.
Mr. Thwaites is the paid superintendant of all the Wesleyan country schools. His salary is 150l. sterling per annum, a small recompence (although quite as liberal as the mission can afford) for the constant care his responsible situation calls for, and which he performs with untiring zeal. For about twenty-nine years has this good man been employed in providing for the mental wants of the black population, and in endeavouring to lead their young minds to the only fount of real knowledge. Unmindful of passing events he has kept on his irksome task, (for irksome it must be to drive knowledge into the brains of some of these little negroes,) buoyed up by his feelings of deep philanthropy.
The first few years of his employment were passed without receiving any reward, but the approval of his own conscience. As, however, his laudable exertions became known, he was engaged by the “Church Missionary Society,” whose interests he faithfully served for near ten years. Since that period he has been in the employ of the Wesleyan mission. Although from being such a valuable auxiliary in rearing “the infant mind,” and teaching “the young idea how to shoot,” the bishop would gladly have retained his services, provided he gave up all connexion with the Methodists.
Mr. Thwaites has under his charge eleven day-schools, with about 800 scholars; and three Sunday-schools, with about 900 scholars. Besides attending these several schools, Mr. Thwaites visits the neighbouring estates in the evenings, for the purpose of giving the labourers religious instruction, and guarding his elder pupils, or those who have left his schools, for the purpose of engaging in the avocations customary to their province in life, against those temptations to which their age and sex are most subject.
It has been remarked in a late publication, (in commenting upon events in Antigua) that “after ransacking the whole freed population for a dozen suitable teachers of children, Mr. Thwaites could not find even that number who could read well.” Now, this is a great error, and altogether contradicted by Mr. Thwaites himself. The blacks certainly had not the means of improving themselves in former years, as the more fortunate generation have had since emancipation; but that the whole class were so totally ignorant as not to be able to read, is entirely incorrect. In proof of this, the superintendant pointed out to our notice several teachers who were well adapted for their employment; one in particular, who, Mr. T. remarked, conducted a school consisting of 120 scholars, which he instructed in reading, writing, and arithmetic, in which last branch of education many of his pupils had attained to “Practice” and “Vulgar Fractions.”
The salaries of these paid teachers (of which there are seventeen, the remainder giving their services without any recompence) are very small—not more than from three to four dollars (12s. and 16s. sterling) per month. They are paid by the “Ladies’ Negro Education Society,” and other benevolent societies in England, who also defray the other expenses of the schools, with the exception of the superintendent’s salary, which is provided by the Wesleyan mission. The children, who receive instruction in writing, cyphering, and needlework, pay a small pittance, which is placed in the school fund.
There is a very neat and excellent little library attached to the Willoughby-Bay school, where the works of “Abbott,” “Sherwood,” “Pike,” and various other pious authors, are open to the use of all, besides treatises upon geography, history, and experimental philosophy. The lighter works, such as Mrs. Sherwood’s pretty, and often affecting, little narratives, are read, Mrs. Thwaites informed me, with avidity by the negroes, to which intelligence their well-thumbed covers gave a tacit assent. Around the schoolroom were hung various cards, with texts of scripture printed upon them in large characters, that “such who run may read”—a practice I greatly admire, for turn whichever way you will, some goodly sentence meets your eye.
In the neat little yard attached to Mr. Thwaites’ dwelling, we met with some old friends of mine—a small wooden hive of “busy bees.” A pane of glass inserted into the box gave us a view of the industrious little creatures building their waxen cells, in which to store their fragrant food; but the weather was against them—the long drought had withered the flowers, and thus curtailed their stock of honey. There are very few bee-hives to be met with in Antigua. This is rather strange, as all Creoles are noted for having a “sweet tooth,” and consequently honey is reckoned a luxury. It cannot be from want of proper food, that the labours of these little insects are discountenanced, for Nature has been most prodigal of her stores to Antigua, and clothed her every hill and dale with melliferous blossoms.
I have heard of one gentleman, however, who was very anxious to establish an apiary upon his property in Antigua, and accordingly he obtained some choice hives, which in due time were safely deposited in his well-stocked garden. Soon after their arrival, however, business called him from the island, and he committed his valued bees to the care of his overseer, a true son of Hibernia, with an expressed hope, “that they would not wander from home.” The day after his departure, the overseer, wishful of obliging his employer, stole from his multitudinous duties a sufficient time to watch the movements of his buzzing charge. The bright sun drew them from their hives, and jocund in their little hearts, away they bounded on the balmy zephyr. Innumerable flowers dazzled their eyes, and courted their attention. Here the gorgeous hybiscus spread out its glowing bosom—there the blushing frangipanne loaded the air with its rich fragrance. At one moment they inserted their trunks into the sweet-scented cup of the jasmine; at the next, and they brushed the pearly dew from the brilliant radii of the passion-flower. Onward they flew, allured by flowerets of every colour, each one as
“Fair as the fabulous Asphodels;”
until at length, to the dismay of the overseer, they were lost to sight! He was no naturalist: he had never studied “Réaumur” upon the “habits of bees,” and as the last straggler disappeared, he thought “Well! Mr. ——— hoped they would not wander from home, but by St. Patrick they’re all gone, and if they ever come back is a query.” However, as nothing could be done, he was obliged to leave them to their fate; and in a rather disconsolate mood, “he turned and left the spot.”
Hours wore away,
“The evening came, the sun descended,”
and the truant insects returned to their hive, to the great joy of the observant overseer. “Ah! ah!” said he, as they alighted, heavily laden with their luscious store, “a pretty trick you have played me to-day; but by my patron saint, I will take care of you to-morrow.” He watched until they were all safe housed; and then with hurried steps, and self-congratulatory hitches of the shoulders, he sought the spot where masons had been lately working. Providing himself with some of the soft mortar, he again visited the apiary; and with ready will, and determined purpose, applied to the opening of each hive a sufficient quantum of the cement, so as to effectually forbid the egress of any bee. It is almost needless to mention, that upon the return of the gentleman, whose absence had been protracted, he found his favourite insects defunct; nor need I animadvert upon the vexation his overseer’s management of an apiary caused him.
To resume my subject—which the bees, and their untimely fate, drove from my head: after inspecting the school, and expressing our gratification, we proceeded to visit the Methodist chapel, a stone’s throw from the school-room. It is a plain wooden building, measuring 45 feet by 60 feet, and capable of containing 900 sittings. The burying-ground is attached, and serves as the place of interment for the whole town, and some part of the adjoining country. Adjacent to the chapel is the mission-house, a neat little domicile for such an extraordinary-looking place as Bridgetown.
There is nothing interesting about Willoughby Bay. No glittering white sand, or clear blue water with its dazzling surf to be seen. A line of blighted, sickly-looking bushes shuts out the sight of the beach; and the part of the bay which greets our eyes looks gloomy and discoloured, as if from lurking reefs and shoals. Upon the opposite side of the bay, looking across the water, lies the Memoras, a long ridge of rocks, over which the sea rushes with tremendous force, and with a deafening noise, which may be heard at a considerable distance. Upon a still day, the angry moan of the waves can be clearly distinguished at Bridgetown. Willoughby Bay derives its name from Francis Lord Willoughby, who in 1663 was made Lord Proprietor of the whole island, by a grant from Charles II.[[98]]
St. Philip’s, the parish church, is situated upon an ascent, at some distance from Bridgetown, and commands one of the finest views to be met with in any part of the country. The eye ranges with delight over sloping hills and open glades; wood-crowned mountains, and silent valleys. Sugar plantations, in all the beauty of high cultivation, spread out their fields of rich and wavy green beneath our feet, interspersed with groups of simple negro huts, almost hid in their leafy enclosures; while on all sides, the ocean stretched out its interminable blue waters. It was a lovely day when we visited the spot,—
“The whispering winds were half asleep,
The clouds were gone to play,
And on the woods, and on the deep,
The smiles of heaven lay.It seem’d as if the day was one
Sent from beyond the skies,
Which shed to earth above the sun,
A light of paradise.”
Of the first church dedicated to St. Philip no account can be given; but most probably it was built about the year 1690. The second church to that saint was erected about 1717. It was a wooden building, and no doubt possessed but little claim to architectural beauty. The present church is one of the prettiest I have seen in the West Indies. It is built of the smooth freestone, so generally found in Antiguan quarries; the only fault is, that they are cut too small, which, at a distance, gives them more the appearance of white bricks.
The plan, like many of the other Antiguan churches, is cruciform; but there is so much chasteness displayed in the simple arrangement of the interior, that it must please every eye. The large oriel window is furnished with ground-glass, of the most elegant, yet simple devices; and the neat pulpit and desk,—the altar, gallery, and pulpit rails,—the wooden columns which support the roof,—the pews and doors, painted in excellent representation of rich-grained oak, please by their uniformity. They are in the gothic style. The decorations of the altar are very plain, merely consisting of the tables of the Commandments, the Lord’s Prayer, and the Creed.
Leaving the town of Bermudian Valley (of which I think there is scarcely a relic) “alone in its glory,” we come to Parham, the remaining place of trade appointed during the time Col. Rowland Williams held the deputy-governorship of Antigua. Parham takes its name from the title of Lord William Willoughby of Parham. In 1697, after the decease of Christopher Codrington, Esq., (the elder,) Parham appears to have been the residence of the lieutenant-governor, in preference to St. John’s; and this circumstance gives rise to the statement of some authors, that Parham was once the capital of the island. It is another of those strangely straggling places whose streets are in many parts bordered with dagger (aloe vulgaris) instead of houses; but still it is far superior to Bridgetown, for some of its edifices boast of covered galleries, or balconies, flights of stone steps, and many other decorations.
The parish church of St. Peter’s, the second of the name, is an old dismal looking building, whose outward appearance is enough to give the observer a fit of that fashionable complaint, dyspepsia. It was erected in 1754, and affords 300 sittings. St. Peter’s has a chapel-of-ease, the private property of the Rev. Nat. Gilbert, a descendant of the “founder of Methodism” in Antigua, who was speaker of the house of assembly in 1764.
From some strange freak, or else from dire necessity, Parham churchyard is situated at about two miles distance from the church and town. It was formerly surrounded by a brick wall, but that is all falling to ruin. A more desolate-looking burying-ground I never saw—not a tree or flower near it; the very birds in their aerial wanderings seem to shun the spot.
At a short distance from St. Peter’s is fast rising into existence what will prove, when finished, a very neat and pretty church. It is an irregular octagonal—that is, the sides are not of equal dimensions. It is built of the same kind of stone as St. Philip’s; but has a better effect, from the blocks being cut of larger size. The base of the tower is constructed from the interior; but in its present unfinished state, (1842) with all its multiplicity of scaffolding and frame work, it is impossible to say what will be the effect; except, as I have before remarked, it will no doubt make a pretty appearance when completed. The architect is an Englishman, and the head mason (a black man) appears to be well-versed in the mysteries of his trade, to judge from the excellent smoothness in the joints of the walls, and from a very neat key-stone which he has sculptured. This church is intended to take the name and service from the old one, which will then be dismantled.
Besides the episcopal church, Parham boasts a very neat little chapel belonging to the Wesleyans, with a good stone mission-house and school-room adjoining. The general number of scholars at this school is seventy, including girls and boys; although upon our visit to it, there were not more than thirty-five. The school-room is a very airy and commodious building, capable of containing 600 or 700 persons. The children which compose the school are of every age, from three to fourteen. The instruction given them is plain, but good—scriptural knowledge, reading, spelling, writing, and arithmetic, with needlework for the girls. There are no pictorial embellishments in this school-room, merely a few selections from the Scriptures, cards of multiplication, and some black-painted boards upon which the children practise their little sums with a piece of chalk.
The Wesleyan missionary stationed at Parham, the Rev. Mr. Keatley, (who appears to be a very amiable man,) mentioned as a well-known fact, that the schools in the country were always better attended the three first days in the week, and that after that period very few children made their appearance. Probably this is owing to their parents employing them in some domestic business which is more necessary at the close than at the beginning of the week.
Parham harbour, although it affords safe anchorage when gained, is dangerous to the inexperienced navigator from the number of shoals and reefs which encumber its approach. It also contains some few islands, of which Bethel’s Island is the largest. This harbour is protected from the inroads of the enemy by Port Byam, erected upon Barnacle Point, and which derives its name from Colonel Edward Byam, some-time governor of Antigua. It is said that within the precincts of this fort, Colonel Byam had a small room erected, where he was in the habit of receiving and entertaining a party of Caribs, who came yearly from some of the neighbouring islands, in order to smoke their calumets of peace with that gentleman.
To the southward of Parham rises a curious hill, which is supposed to be the work of art, and to have answered for the burying-place of the ancient inhabitants, the Caribs. An old writer speaking of this tumulus, describes it as “in form a long square, very regular in all its parts, lessening gradually from its base to the top, which is flat, and may be from five to six hundred feet long, and from forty to fifty feet high.”
[[97]] From the summit of Monk’s Hill, the eye can range over the whole island of Antigua, with the exception of one part, where the mountains intervene. The principal work, named Fort George, is mounted with pieces of cannon, said to have been taken in the “Foudroyant” man-of-war, in one of the many conflicts between the French and English.
[[98]] For the genealogy, and a general account of this family, see Appendix.