As we were coming out from tea this evening, General P—— called over the bannisters to know if we were ready for the usual game of whist. We found him in the upper parlor, seated opposite the rocking-chair, which nobody will occupy at whist but myself. I find in him qualities not often combined in a whist-player,—scientific skill, and what I am far more capable of appreciating, patience and kind encouragement for the mistakes of his partner.
Wednesday evening, April 17th.—This morning the General knocked at our door to say that the United States Consul would be here at half-past three, with his carriage, to carry us up to the Government House, this being the reception day of Mrs. B——, its mistress. We went, accordingly, to find the walks and house filled with coming and going guests. On sending in cards we were at once ushered into the drawing-room, where was her ladyship seated in one corner of a sofa, without crinoline, which she has never worn. There is character for you! Her dress and cap were of some gauzy material tinctured with purple; the same color looked from the underside of her point lace collar and cuffs, and after my turn was over for commonplaces, I had leisure, or seized it from the stupid conversation of Doctor somebody on the other side of me, to discover that the lady’s face was full of culture and spirit, and that her high-toned guests perfectly agreed with me in the opinion. A grand piano occupied one side of the octagon room, its polished feet, like those of its mistress, standing upon a bare, shining oak floor; the wide open windows commanded a triple view of sea, valley, and forest. As we came out Mr.——, the graceful bachelor consul, registered our names in a book kept for the purpose and then brought us home.
Friday, April 20th.—A boat ride yesterday morning, followed by a long exhausting walk on the bare beach of Hog Island, which lies stretched out in front of Nassau for the apparent purpose of making a harbor. All this fatigued out of me every writing possibility. But to-day we sailed delightfully over to Silver Key, one of the many uninhabited little islands that lie within a few hours’ sail of Nassau. The gentlemen were obliged to wade from the boat to the shore; the ladies were curiously carried in the arms of the sailors. But we soon forgot the awkwardness of this novel locomotion in the exciting pleasure of collecting the pretty shells, corals, sea-fans, and sea-stars, with which we loaded our pockets, pocket-handkerchiefs, and the arms of the sailors and gentlemen.
Our sailors insist that all these little islands still contain gold and silver, buried long ago by the pirates, who first of all discovered and inhabited them. It is true that a fruitless expedition from the United States once came to make search.
As we passed down the bay, we had a new view of the two or three “slavers” that lie at anchor. One of them was years ago tossed on the shore and nearly wrecked by a tornado. The others are noble ships left deserted to waste and decay in the storms and sunshine. They are fair but doomed and desolate monuments of a foul traffic, and of a silent wrath which corrodes their falling masts and haunts like black ghosts their misery-memoried cells.
April 21st.—This afternoon looking for shell-work, for which Nassau is famous. Among other manufactures, we found two maiden sisters living alone in a little rose-vined cottage. The room was full of natural curiosities, drawings, and a variety of handiwork discoursing decided taste and talent. They sold me some very curious sponges and sea-fans, and kindly gave me a spirited drawing in water colors, representing a native woman carrying her baby in a bag on her back, according to a very general custom here. We found these maidens truly intelligent and polite. Since our return we learn that their mother was a perfectly black negro, their father formerly a governor of the island.
We ended our drive by visiting a famous banyan-tree, and by an attempt to stretch it, which hordes of provokingly critical mosquitoes frustrated. This tree most commonly grows as a parasite on the Pride of India, a fine native tree, which is often at last hugged to death by its soi-distant friend.
Returned home after dark, past cottages and country-houses in which not a single light was burning, a precautionary defence against mosquitoes.
May 7th.—All these languid days a constant south wind, bringing intense incapacity for every effort. My pen, a seldom skipping grasshopper, is indeed become a burden; it refuses to help me “lift the weight of the superincumbent hour,” even for you.
Our second week here made to us the fatal revelation that Nassau had exhausted its claims to interest. Since that time the heat alone has been enough to legitimize its claim to being a mild Purgatory, from which no prayers, penances, or even money could release us, there being no escape except by the monthly steamer.