The West Indies and the Spanish Main

by Anthony Trollope

This island is said to be healthy, having in this respect a much better reputation than its neighbour St. Lucia, and as far as I could learn it is progressing—progressing slowly, but progressing—in spite even of the burden of Queens, Lords, and Commons. The Lords and Commons are no doubt considerably modified by official influence.

And then the traveller runs down the Grenadines, a petty cluster of islands lying between St. Vincent and Grenada, of which Becquia and Cariacou are the chief. They have no direct connection with the mail steamers, but are, I believe, under the Governor of Barbados. They are very pretty, though not, as a rule, very productive. Of one of them I was told that the population were all females. What a Paradise of Houris, if it were but possible to find a good Mahommedan in these degenerate days!

Grenada will be the last upon the list; for I did not visit or even see Tobago, and of Trinidad I have ventured to write a separate chapter, in spite of the shortness of my visit. Grenada is also very lovely, and is, I think, the head-quarters of the world for fruit. The finest mangoes I ever ate I found there; and I think the finest oranges and pine apples.

The town of St. Georges, the capital, must at one time have been a place of considerable importance, and even now it has a very different appearance from those that I have just mentioned. It is more like a goodly English town than any other that I saw in any of the smaller British islands. It is well built, though built up and down steep hills, and contains large and comfortable houses. The market-place also looks like a market-place, and there are shops in it, in which trade is apparently carried on and money made.

Indeed, Grenada was once a prince among these smaller islands, having other islands under it, with a Governor supreme, instead of tributary. It was fertile also, and productive—in every way of importance.

But now here, as in so many other spots among the West Indies, we are driven to exclaim, Ichabod! The glory of our Grenada has departed, as has the glory of its great namesake in the old world. The houses, though so goodly, are but as so many Alhambras, whose tenants now are by no means great in the world's esteem.

All the hotels in the West Indies are, as I have said, or shall say in some other place, kept by ladies of colour; in the most part by ladies who are no longer very young. They are generally called familiarly by their double name. Betsy Austen, for instance; and Caroline Lee. I went to the house of some such lady in St. Georges, and she told me a woful tale of her miseries. She was Kitty something, I think—soon, apparently, to become Kitty of another world. "An hotel," she said. "No; she kept no hotel now-a-days—what use was there for an hotel in St. Georges? She kept a lodging-house; though, for the matter of that, no lodgers ever came nigh her. That little granddaughter of hers sometimes sold a bottle of ginger beer; that was all." It must be hard for living eyes to see one's trade die off in that way.

There is a feminine accomplishment so much in vogue among the ladies of the West Indies, one practised there with a success so specially brilliant, as to make it deserving of special notice. This art is one not wholly confined to ladies, although, as in the case with music, dancing, and cookery, it is to be looked for chiefly among the female sex. Men, indeed, do practise it in England, the West Indies, and elsewhere; and as Thalberg and Soyer are greatest among pianists and cooks, so perhaps are the greatest adepts in this art to be found among the male practitioners;—elsewhere, that is, than in the West Indies. There are to be found ladies never equalled in this art by any effort of manhood. I speak of the science of flirting.

And be it understood that here among these happy islands no idea of impropriety—perhaps remembering some of our starched people at home, I should say criminality—is attached to the pursuit. Young ladies flirt, as they dance and play, or eat and drink, quite as a matter of course. There is no undutiful, unfilial idea of waiting till mamma's back be turned; no uncomfortable fear of papa; no longing for secluded corners, so that the world should not see. The doing of anything that one is ashamed of is bad. But as regards flirting, there is no such doing in the West Indies. Girls flirt not only with the utmost skill, but with the utmost innocence also. Fanny Grey, with her twelve admirers, required no retired corners, no place apart from father, mother, brothers, or sisters. She would perform with all the world around her as some other girl would sing, conscious that in singing she would neither disgrace herself nor her masters.

It may be said that the practice of this accomplishment will often interfere with the course of true love. Perhaps so, but I doubt whether it does not as often assist it. It seemed to me that young ladies do not hang on hand in the West Indies. Marriages are made up there with apparently great satisfaction on both sides; and then the flirting is laid aside—put by, at any rate, till the days of widowhood, should such evil days come. The flirting is as innocent as it is open, and is confined to ladies without husbands.