A TOUR TO THE ISTHMUS:
Filled in from the Pencillings of an English Artist,
BY A YANKEE DAUBER.
Painting is welcome;—
The painting is almost the natural man;
For since dishonor traffics with man's nature,
He is but outside. These pencilled figures are
Even such as they give out.
Timon of Athens.
I.
Chesapeake Bay. Hampton Roads. Old Point. Rip Raps. The Capes.
Tuesday, May 26, 1835. Hurrah! there she goes! Free and fast,—free and fast! Hurrah! Here am I on the green waters of the Chesapeake,—my craft a little clipper, my companion one of the best fellows in creation; and his sister, a bright-eyed French girl, whose spirits seem to rise with every knot our tight little vessel makes upon the dancing waves. Did you ever see a Baltimore clipper under full way? Then you have seen a fair sight. I never saw any craft get over the waves so fast. Her peculiar build, and her yet more peculiar rig fit her for this, and she takes the wind out of any thing and every thing she essays to compete with. We have left a steamboat behind since we left Baltimore. We are just now entering Hampton Roads, and here we are to anchor. “Old Point Comfort,” is the name given to a fortification on our right, which, in the dense mirk of the night looks like any thing but the abode of comfort. We are riding at anchor upon the surging waves, and beneath dark and heavy clouds piled one above another in voluminous masses, from which the lightning is playing incessantly. It is a most grand and yet most fearful scene. I stand, with Mariette, my little French companion, and, as if spellbound, look into the depths of cloudland, watching for every opening of those yawning chasms disclosed by the perpetual play of the lightning, regardless of the warning of the captains, (for we “serve two masters”) who are foreboding a fearful night. Excitement! what are we not willing to sacrifice for it,—a new scene, something strange,—a fresh feeling! Here are we, tempests threatening us from every point, the wind veering incessantly from every quarter of the heavens, and the chances that we shall be driven ashore increasing with the lapse of every moment, and yet all is so new, and so exciting, that we are really rather amused than fearful. But then, capitaine, if you insist upon it, why, I suppose we must e'en go below!
28th. Just returned from a visit to what one of the men who accompanied us called “the last post office I ever did see, any how!” It is located in the centre of the grand fort, planned by the most celebrated engineer of his own and Napoleon's time, General Bernard. They mount three hundred guns, and the work, I understand is, or is to be the finest piece of military architecture in the United States. But it was too dark while we were there to observe any thing minutely. We are now approaching blue water very fast. The Rip Raps or Fort Calhoun on our left, will soon be lost to our view. This fortification is only a few feet above the water as yet, nor will it be finished for some years. I do not know who was the projector of it, but presume from the name it bears that it was originally projected by that celebrated South Carolinian statesman, while he was minister of the war department. It is to be built on a similar plan to that of Cherbourg in France, by filling large boats or rafts with stone, and sinking them. This mass is then covered with loose stone, over all which a composition or cement is poured, acting as a binder. This work is about gun distance from Old Point Comfort, and the two, by a cross fire, form a most admirable barrier to James River, thus protecting the ports of Richmond and Norfolk completely. I do not see that Baltimore is by any means adequately guarded, its only protection being a small fort a dozen miles below the town, which might be very easily evaded by a skilful foe.
29th. Only think of a stager of my standing and experience being sea-sick! I am ashamed of myself, after defying Old Nep. in his very lair, in two or three regular marches across his domains, to be here, turning pale in the face from encountering the Capes of Virginia. But so it is, and as that droll Yankee Liston whom I saw in Boston, but whose name I forget,1 was wont to say, “it can't be any 'tisser.”
1 My friend means Finn.
June 4. After all, this sea life is an intolerably monotonous and stupid way of getting along in the world. I would rather be a dormouse or a hedgehog; indeed I might as well be either,—for my only life now is lying in the sun all day, eating if my qualms will allow me, and drinking whether they will allow me or no,—merely pour passer le temps: sleeping from seven o'clock, P.M. until seven o'clock, A.M. besides taking a nap in the morning, and a siesta to boot. I have seen the flying fish, the whale, and the Portuguese man of war, which Mariette says is “sans doute le Nautile,”—and now I close my log till I shall see a dolphin. “This do I swear, and now let's have a song!” as the renowned Artaxomines saith.
II.
Chased by a Pirate. Going ashore. St. Thomas's. Descriptive Sketches.
After a lapse of many days, I resume my sketches, to give you some account of my going ashore in the West Indies, after my long and tedious voyage. Since I shut up the port-folio nothing worthy of remark has occurred. The same succession of two-knot breezes, of lazy floating gulf-weed and of flying fish; the same rolling of the vessel all the first part of our voyage, to make us sick, and then six days of severe squalls, during light and dark, to make us mad, were our only amusements. My comrade was on his back, a martyr to this combination of horrors. Mariette, poor thing! looks the spectre of herself; and as for myself, I have conjugated that bore of a verb ennuyer in all its moods and tenses, until I began to fancy myself a marine Mazeppa, tied on a seahorse, and doomed to ride the waste of waters forever for my sins.
What a relief was it, and how did it stir my sluggish blood, to hear the captain say that there was a pirate in full chase of us, one squally morning. We were a fore and aft schooner—with a two and a half knot wind—while the chase was square rigged, and neared us every moment. The wind had not blown from any quarter steadily for six days, but was rising and lulling every half hour,—and it was to this peculiarity in the weather that we owed our escape, after a smart chase of seven hours. Our craft was a very fast vessel on the wind, and a breeze springing up, we distanced the enemy in a little time, and soon run her clear out of sight. So much for the speed of the far famed Baltimore clippers! This sea-devil appears to be well known by sailors in these waters; and one of our crew told me that she carries no guns, but only small arms, which are easily stowed, or plausibly accounted for,—and if she is overhauled by a government vessel, that she shows merchants' papers. When she attacks she makes sure work, and quiets all babblers: “dead men tell no tales.” Upon our arrival at St. Thomas, we heard of preparations being made to pursue this very craft, which had been carrying on its bloody trade in the vicinity of that island. Arrived at St. Thomas on the last day of June.
This island belongs to the government of Denmark, and its latitude is about 18 deg. 30 min. It seems to me one of the most interesting places I ever visited, which feeling, in advance of all experience upon its shores, must arise from the impression of novelty which every thing I see around me has produced. The principal harbor (Porto Franco) is one of the loveliest bays in the world; it is round and small, and filled with vessels displaying the flags of every nation on the globe. Among these I observed that the stars and stripes of your free land predominated greatly. Entering this harbor, you see only a dense mass of mountain and wood, until within a few miles you see the Moro, or fort, on the right, and a dilapidated structure on the left, of an entrance scarcely a half mile across. Passing the latter fortification, as it is called, the whole town rises grandly before you, compactly built on a succession of undulations or spurs of the grand hill which composes the island, reaching quite down to the water's edge. The wharves are built on piles, as are many of the stores or warehouses for the deposit of heavy goods, as tobacco, sugar, &c. in which an extensive trade is carried on by the people of the island.
The town does not make so imposing an appearance from the harbor as it would do were the houses more than one or two stories high; and one is disappointed on going ashore, to find a much more dense and extensive population than he was prepared to see. The streets are refreshed with the shade of banana and cocoa trees, and here and there you meet with a market place or parade ground, with these tropical trees growing in thick luxuriance around them. I have observed that several parts of the town have of late been thickly planted with them, but as they are six years in attaining their growth, they are yet very small compared with the others I have described.
Many, I may say most of the houses are built of stone, and this renders them much cooler and more agreeable places of residence than they would otherwise be. Yet the preference of this material arose less from choice than necessity. There was a most calamitous fire in the island in the year 1832, which devastated nearly the whole town. Since that time the government have prohibited the erection of buildings from any other material than stone. These are low, but neat and commodious enough.
The country around (if that may be called so which is a continued ascent to the elevation of about 3,000 feet above the level of the sea, rising abruptly from the harbor) is surpassingly rich in verdure, every description of tropical shrub and underwood growing spontaneously. Many of these, and indeed most of them, are gay and brilliant in their flowering, but singly are, like other wild flowers, scentless. Yet on the hills, their united or concentrated aroma is often overpowering.
In the morning, upon rising and coming on deck, while the heavy dew is yet lying upon all around me, I observe that the water outside the harbor, being very deep, is of the most intense blue; while inside the harbor it is of the brightest green,—brighter than any thing I have ever seen, excepting some very light shades of foliage,—and realizing the clearness of Claude's water pieces. And when the early sun shines upon the waters, they present shades of emerald, which, were I to be so daring as to convey them to my canvass, would be invariably condemned by all beholders as fictitious. This, by the way, is one of the painter's greatest obstacles; to surmount which, indeed, he finds it impossible: he must paint nature with art as his model, before he can be called natural; yet he knows full well that
“Laboring art, can never ransom Nature
From her inaidable estate.”
In the centre of the town is a very substantial fort of dark blue stone, an excellent garrison, and paved with a kind of fire-brick or tile. The guns are very small but beautifully cast. They are of brass, and are handsomely mounted. The men are all clean, well dressed, and under admirable discipline. Their light Danish complexion strikingly contrasts with the swarthy countenances of the islanders. The pale fair faces, flaxen hair, sandy mustachios and light blue eyes of the soldiery, mark them at once among the smooth-chinned, black-eyed, curly-haired Creoles and natives. The streets are filled with blacks of every grade and shade, all thinly clad; and the coquettish manner in which the Madras dress their heads in their striped handkerchiefs, with the hair long and straight, or braided and hanging in clubs around the forehead and temples, and a peculiar style of gait in the women, combine to give them a certain air, which at first gives you rather a ludicrous idea of them; but as you see more of it, it becomes rather pleasing than otherwise. The girls of fifteen or sixteen are frequently met walking in pairs, as erectly as possible, clad in a single garment, generally of white cotton or linen, either falling down to the feet in folds, or tied round the waist; with a kerchief, and the folds partially drawn up to this belt, to aid the wearer in walking. This gives them a certain air which we sometimes call classic, and which is associated rather with the idea of an Egyptian or a Hindoo. When young they are mostly beautiful; but age, though it does not destroy that erectness of gait which I have described, gives them an unsteadiness in their carriage which is quite marked and very general. I have observed too, that the old people of the laboring classes, are either grossly fat or wretchedly thin and emaciated. It is curious to see the precision and ease with which they carry their burthens, invariably upon their heads, and which they balance, be they ever so heavy, with great nicety. I yesterday saw two girls coming from the well with their water pots. These are entirely Egyptian in their fashion, being large and round, with long necks, and a handle on each side. They are made of red clay, and are very strong. I could not but stay to watch the group. The figures of the girls were faultless, their faces pleasing, though black; and then their thin white flowing draperies setting off their slender graceful forms and small neat feet to great advantage. The back ground to this scene was formed by a row of latticed houses, shaded by cocoa trees.
The stores for the sale of fancy articles and dry goods are large, commodious and cool,—fire proof, by ordinance of the government, with large open doorways, displaying the interior almost entirely, and attended by the whole family—fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, and slaves. Articles of all descriptions are cheaper here than in New York, though I confess the currency puzzles me no trifle, the Spanish dollar being here worth only seventy-five cents, and that is divided into so many “stivers” and “bits,” that a stranger is cheated every hour in the day in spite of his teeth.
July 7th. I have just returned from one of the most whimsical scenes I ever witnessed. About half a mile from the town rises a chain of hills, divided by ravines running from the summit to the spot I visited, a distance of perhaps two miles. This being the bight of the hills, is always moist, even in the hottest weather. A small stream which is constantly trickling down, keeps the place cool, and the foliage is the richest and purest green I ever witnessed. Tropical trees and shrubs of every kind, glow here spontaneously; the lofty silk cotton tree,—the mango, with its dense foliage, than which there is no shade from the sun, or shelter from the rain more agreeable,—the graceful pomegranate,—the quivering tamarind with leaf like the locust tree, but more graceful and fragile, and a thousand other plants, all in blossom, and bearing ripe fruit and green at the same time. One would fancy the place the chosen spot of Oberon, for the scene of his fairy revels,—although at present a very different kind of fairies were disporting themselves in this lovely wilderness. The spot is called by the very unromantic name of “Buck's Gut,” from the circumstance, I believe, of its being the property of a Mr. Buck. However this may be, it is private property, and the owner derives a profit from it by farming it out to a tenant, who has built a dam at the head of the stream, which is but a little drizzle of water an half inch deep or thereabouts. Thus he makes a pool, in which he sells the right of washing linen at the rate of ten stivers, or twelve cents per diem. The parties hiring this privilege, assemble over night and form lesser pools, by building smaller dams at intervals from the top to the bottom of the ravine, out of stones, mud, and old rags. Round these pools congregate persons of every color and shade—but no white—dressed in every degree, from the dress in which their Maker sent them into the world, to the fashionable muslin slip in which “Missy Rosa, lubby fine,” danced with her amiable ebony Adonis last evening,—during which pastime his spurs (all ride, and many walk here à la militaire, with spurs, the shanks of which are of bright brass, and six inches long at least) must have caused “that envious rent,” through which I perceived the ladies' flesh-colored stockings and sky-blue shoes with pink rosettes.
The process of washing was curious enough. The pool soon becomes of the consistency of batter from the large number of clothes washed in it, but still the wretches wash and wash until they only gain in dirt instead of losing, until the hour of noon, when you see them in all their glory—some on their knees, thumping their duds into very rags with a short mallet—others, mid-deep in the pool, more tenderly treating their clothes—some lying on the bank, lazily basking in the sun, and singing some negro song, in which the whole group at times unite in full chorus. One old woman stood among the enormous roots of a gigantic silk cotton tree, cooking soup for the good of the community, with a half dozen children sitting contentedly around her, in primitive nudity. In this latter particular the adults are not much better off, however, than the children; for of them not more than a twelfth part have any more covering than a single kerchief tied round the middle of their persons. Now, though some of these yellow girls are straight and well limbed, the generality of them would hardly serve as models for a Venus.
But hark! what noise is that! what screaming and shouting! what roar of waters! the sluices at the head of the stream are just opened, and the fresh water is coming down in all its force. Open gush all the pools, to be dammed up again directly, so as to allow the laundresses an opportunity to rinse the clothes they have been attempting to wash. The water, in its descent, is accompanied by shouts from group to group, apprising those below of what is coming—and such an infernal hubbub never before did I hear. Having finished my pencilling of the scene, I took my leave.
July 8th. I took a walk this evening a little way out of the town, passing along the sea-side for about two miles, westward. After passing through the suburbs, which are composed of houses remaining from the recent fires, which are of course old and dirty, I came to the burial grounds. That belonging to the Jews is well kept, very neat, and surrounded by a high wall strongly built of stone. Every tomb is handsome, and some are really elegant. But the English and Catholic grounds are very much neglected, the only fence being a hedge of aloes, with a prickly pear interspersed here and there. The tombs are small and mean, many of the graves being marked only by a wooden cross. From this yard you have a fine scope of the whole harbor presented to your view, and an admirable panoramic prospect of the town; while on the other side of the road the hills rise amphitheatrically, covered with perennial green, with a hedge of cocoa trees between the burial grounds and their base.
A mile farther on, you come to a walk of cocoas, the road on each side being hedged with this beautiful tree. On one side of the road runs a small bay of about three miles in circumference, sweeping closely up to the road, its tiny waves fairly breaking on the passing traveller. Seen through the foliage, this sheet of water is most picturesque. I have attempted a sketch of it, which I hope you will recognize among those in the port folio. At the end of this walk stands the most remarkable curiosity in the island,—a silk cotton tree of such gigantic dimensions as literally to astonish all who behold it. The trunk at the base occupies ground of at least fifty feet in circumference. It is not very high, but spreads abroad its enormous limbs until one would imagine that it must fall asunder by its own weight. Each branch would form a stately forest tree, if growing separately. It extends its foliage-covered boughs far over the way in every direction, and on every bend of the limbs you see grasses of various descriptions growing; and on one in particular, I noticed a vigorous stalk of sugar cane flourishing finely. The foliage hangs densely and gracefully from every bough, and is of a deep green teint. I assayed a sketch of this wonderful tree, but fear I have given you, by the conjoined aid of pen and pencil, but a very inadequate idea of its magnificence and rare beauty.
July 9th. Started from St. Thomas', with the assurance that our little schooner was awaiting us at Chagres. We all longed to see the wee craft once more, and to be again with her upon the waves; and indeed we regretted her, clipper as she was, with as much fondness as if she were the most stately man-of-war. I close my portfolio for the present; where I shall open it next, Fate knows, not I. But wherever it may be, for your eyes and yours alone, my friend, are these “types of travel” recorded. I do not write for the public eye; I leave that to your friend N. P. W. and to my friend Mrs. Trollope, content, when again we meet, and shake hands once more after my wanderings, to hear you say, in the language of Old Will—Well, Ned, “thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel.”
* * * * *
Wherever the Inquisition had power, the word fata was not allowed in any book. An author wishing to use the word, printed in his book facta, and put in the errata “for facta read fata.”