But to resume my subject: the incidents of a day’s journey to English Harbour. After partaking of a light breakfast, and quaffing of that cup “which cheers, but not inebriates,” we stepped into the phaeton, and drove through the town, leaving our friends in “Scotch-row” busily employed in arranging their incongruous goods to the best advantage.
The day was very favourable to our undertaking, for it was fine, but overcast. The sun was robbed of his extreme lustre by the intervention of various clouds, which passed along the sky in many beautiful forms. Some dark as ebon night; others of a silverish grey; the eastern ones tinged with gold and purple; while some again looked so white and fleecy, that you could fancy them so many snow-wreaths spread out upon an ocean of blue. The lights and shadows, too, of the far mountains, with all their blended tints, were beautiful objects in the landscape; and the occasional sight of a herd or two of cattle, standing in their usual dreamy posture, completed the picture. We passed several windmills (used in grinding the sugar-cane) with their sails unfurled, and going round merrily in the breeze; but unlike Don Quixote, I took them not for so many giants, nor wished myself a knight-errant, that I might rescue the “beautiful and high-born damsels” from their clutches.
The road to English Harbour is, however, for the most part dull and uninteresting; only here and there a pretty prospect attracts the eye. But on this day (Monday[[84]]) it was rendered more cheerful by the groups of negroes, who, of every age and sex, were coming into town to purchase their weekly stores. Baskets, trays, and boxes—all kinds of vessels, indeed—were placed in critical positions upon their heads; but this appeared to cause no impediment to their ambling gait, while the chatter and song among themselves, and the smile and courtesy as they passed us, with the accustomed “How d’ye, massa?” “How d’ye, missis?” shewed that they considered their errand as one of pleasure rather than of toil. Carts were also put into requisition by the more extensive purchasers; some drawn by a ragged Canadian pony, similar to the little Sheltie breed; others by a tall grim-looking American horse, with its bones sticking out as bare as “Rozinante’s;” and others again dragged along by a slight-made Creole, its mane and tail the colour of flax. Cattle carts were also bringing in loads of sugar, drawn by six miserable-looking oxen two abreast, their poor necks weighed down by the heavy wooden yokes.
In one part of the road we passed All Saints’ chapel of ease, belonging to the parish of St. John’s. It is a very plain building, surmounted by a gothic pinnacle, answering the purpose of a steeple, with an aperture in the middle, intended, I suppose, for the admission of a bell.
After passing a ruined estate, where the long grass grew upon the walls of a roofless building, once used as a boiling house, and accomplishing a steep descent, and one or two abrupt turnings in the road, we came to a cluster of houses, known by the title of “the hamlet.” Many of these rural dwellings are very neatly built of native stone; and their little gardens appear to be well stocked with the country produce, such as potatoes, peas, eddoes, arrowroot, &c. A short distance from the hamlet is another similar collection of dwellings, bearing the name of “the village of Liberta,” (as a painted board informed us,) and equally abundant in its bright green patches of edibles. The emancipation of the negroes, and their desire to possess a portion of the soil in perpetuity, gave rise to these villages, of which there are many in different parts of the island. Here they erect small houses, and plant ground provisions. Some of these little dwellings are very neatly constructed, being raised a little distance from the ground, and the front door graced with a flight of steps and a small portico, while the open windows are furnished with white curtains.
Adjoining the “village of Liberta,” lies the Moravian settlement of Grace Hill, snugly ensconced in its leafy fence, and, like other settlements of the kind in this island, breathing an air of happy tranquillity.
Leaving Grace Hill, and travelling on some distance, we arrived at an estate called Patterson’s, belonging to the Hon. John Athill, and celebrated in Antiguan history, as being the spot where the murder of the governor’s child was perpetrated, (already narrated in the legend of Ding a Ding Nook,) on the occasion of the abduction of his lady in 1640. The “great house” upon this estate was honoured by a visit from our late lamented monarch, William IV., who in 1798 passed a night there.
We here once again came within sight of the sea, which greatly added to the attractions of the scene, while on our left hand rose Monk’s Hill, surmounted by its fortifications, and strewed in some parts with ruined Carib’s houses. Passing through the town of Falmouth, we gained a kind of marsh, dotted over with clumps of aquatic shrubs, and here and there opening to the sea, and in a few moments entered the village of “English Harbour.” The market is just at its entrance, and consisted, upon the day we visited it, of about ten or twelve persons, squatting on the ground, and having before them shallow wooden trays, containing a few country vegetables, a miserable-looking chicken or two, a few strings of strong-scented fish, a store of sun-burnt bread, and other similar luxuries!
The houses are in general of very mean construction, and destitute of paint. There are, however, some very pleasant residences belonging to the crown, from which beautiful sea-views may be obtained; for the village is built along the margin of the sea, and in some parts the waves come rippling up to the very street, and wet the feet of the passengers. Dogs and ducks were enjoying themselves in the water,—the former dashing in and out, and rolling in the sand, while the latter, with their eyes almost closed, were resting upon their glassy couch, in all the luxury of idleness.
Before entering the dockyard, we passed the commissariat stores; and on the opposite side of the road, a large tank, capable of containing 240 tons of water, built by the legislature for the use of the shipping, but from which the inhabitants of the village are allowed to draw water, the dockyard being so well supplied with those necessary reservoirs. This tank bears many a sculptured name; among the rest, that of “Nelson,” that laurel-crowned hero, who visited Antigua in 1784.[[85]]