An attack of fever is the certain consequence of getting wet, and remaining in that condition for the shortest time. Lieutenant Richardson of the 50th, an officer who had been much on service, going to Stony Hill, where he was quartered, was suddenly caught by a downpour, which fell so unmercifully that in a minute or two he was completely soaked.
Having no place of refuge from the storm, he rode on quickly towards the mountain, at the foot of which there was a small tavern where the Lieutenant hastily alighted, and, without making any change in his apparel, he drank freely of some rum and water. The weather clearing up, he was anxious to arrive at his barracks before sunset, and therefore proceeded without much delay upon his journey, at the end of which he found himself quite dry. The effects of his imprudent conduct were soon evident, for the fatal malady got possession of his frame, and his life was terminated on the following day.
While the fever was at its height among the troops, Mrs. Ross, wife to Surgeon Baily Ross of the 50th, an amiable young woman, interesting both in manner and appearance, embarked in one of the traders bound for England; but scarcely had she left the island when a violent tempest drove back the ship, and cast her on the rocks to the eastward of Port Royal, where she went to pieces and became a total wreck. The passengers, however, with great difficulty, and after extreme sufferings, at length succeeded in getting safe ashore, to which, although with loss of all their baggage, they were thankful that they had escaped with their lives.
Poor Mrs. Ross, alone and unprotected, was ill prepared to meet the sudden and unexpected blow, and with her companions in misfortune, bereft of every thing but the clothes she wore, she returned again to Kingston.
Anxiety of mind, together with the hardships that she must have undergone, were too much for so delicate a frame, and before she could obtain another passage, she was seized with fever, and all her trials and sufferings were shortly ended. The sad event called forth the grief of those who had known the worth of this kind and gentle lady, who, in the bloom of youth, was thus cut down, like a fair and lovely flower, when her bright hopes of returning to her friends and country were about to be realized.
Kingston is a good sized town, situated on an inclined plane, sloping to the water side, where all the principal warehouses and the markets stand. The streets are regularly planned, intersecting each other at right angles, abounding in shops (or stores), well filled with all the varieties of European manufactures. The appearance of the town, in general, has something of a dull and sombre character, in consequence of the finery and other things being hidden within the stores, in the windows of which there is little or no display;—the market, however is a lively place where the chattering and good-humour of the negro girls attract the observation of the stranger more than the rich and delicious fruit they carry in their baskets. The Hotels and boarding-houses were most expensive, their respective proprietors taking good care to make the unfortunate traveller or tourist disgorge most woefully.—The bill was usually in accordance with the inverse ratio of the conscience; of which latter commodity there being little or none, the length of the former, may easily be guessed at.—In fact one could not open one's mouth under a dollar, even if it were but a glass of porter, and the residence of a night made a wide breach in a month's pay, or caused a doubloon to look exceedingly foolish on the ensuing morning. Between black waiters, black chamber-maids, and the whole establishment of sable beauties, the work of fleecing was vigorously carried on, until the unlucky griffin was cajoled and shorn of his last penny.
From all that we could learn respecting the fair sex in Kingston, or of Jamaica at large, they were interesting and pretty; at least so much might be said of those who favoured us with their company on the parade at Up Park camp, while we passed in review before them. Accustomed as they are to a life of listless indolence and luxurious ease, they use but little exertion of mind or body throughout the day, and the enervating influence of the climate promotes a languishing effect in the manner, as well as in their attitudes, that is really very attractive. Beyond the limits of their well-shaded saloons, or closely screened balconies, they hardly ever move; there, gracefully reclined on couch or sofa, the lovely nymphs dream away the lazy hours; decked out in purest white, with ornaments most brilliant, they simper, smile, or perchance, by great exertions, may enter into converse, with some admiring youths, with whom it would be sacrilege to laugh. Dancing is their favourite amusement, and one which they enjoy with all their life and soul, considering their usual half torpid habits, this is a circumstance not easily accounted for, but so it is. Their energies seem to be all reserved for this their chief delight, and, during those hours when all around are wrapped in sleep, these happy fair ones linger in the ball-room, until Aurora, peeping through the jalousies, reminds them that their charms may suffer by comparison with her rosy beams. The pallid hue, which they soon acquire, is made still more like the lily by these nightly revels, while the total want of healthy exercise in the fresh and open air tends to perfect the fragile ensemble of a West India belle.
The male bipeds of the community must not be overlooked, lest they might be haunted by the green-eyed monster. The planters, or those engaged in trade, together with the whole professional tribe, had their pens, (or country houses,) and in some sequestered dell or glade the modest mansion rises. Here they retired, after the heat and bustle of the day, to feast and ruminate upon the best of living.
Kingston was like a city of the plague from twelve at noon till six the following morning. Transacting their affairs in cooler hours, by sunset all were on the move, and, like the land crabs, journeyed in a body to the mountain districts, the money-changers driving to their rural homes, or to the military parade.
The burning heat of the town, although so near the water, is insufferable, and the Creoles, however enured to it, feel its full effect.—They sink into drowsiness and apathy, lounging on the galleries, or before their shops, (I beg their pardon, stores I ought to say,) with their pedestals stuck up against the walls, or on the backs of chairs, and they keep up such an oscillating movement that a new comer would suppose they were making an experiment to discover the perpetual motion; on being addressed they lazily drawl out the words as if it were painful to articulate.