The circumstances attending the death of Governor Burt were very extraordinary. Upon a certain day his excellency honoured a gentleman of the island with his company to dinner, and during the repast he was as gay as any at that festive board. Soon after the cloth was withdrawn, when the laughing wine sparkled in the crystal chalice, and, surrounded by all the good things of this world, the convivial party threw off all cares, they were surprised to hear the governor call to his servant to bring his sword, which he always carried abroad with him. Wondering at this command, yet too well bred to make inquiries, the company waited in silence until the order was performed. The sword was brought and handed to the governor; when, unsheathing it in an instant, he exclaimed, in a loud voice—“Tell that fellow to quit the back of my chair, or I will run him through!” The company were more amazed than ever. What could the governor mean? no one was behind his chair; no one was in the room but themselves and the domestics. Uncertain what to do or say, they still remained silent; when the governor repeated, in a still louder tone, “Send away that man, or I will run him through!” It was represented to his excellency that he laboured under a mistake, that no one was behind his chair; but it was of no avail, all that could be got from him was, “Send away that man, or I will run him through!” In this state he was carried home, and every art tried to restore him to his proper senses; but all was of no avail, he never recovered the shock; and in a short time after he fell a prey to that insatiable monster, Death, who so justly says—
“I visit the halls of the great and gay,
And snatch them from all their delight away;
I rest at the villager’s humble door,
For welcome alike are the rich and the poor.”
It has been said that the governor was poisoned, and that the mixture, or whatever other form it was administered in, was so prepared as to have the effects of unsettling his reason; but possibly it was a case of delirium tremens, without the assistance of any deleterious drug or herb.
This circumstance is related in a different manner; and as I am not aware which is the most correct, will lay them both before my readers, that they may judge for themselves. General Burt, it is said, was dining at a party at “Pensive Hall,” (the name of the great house upon Martin Byam’s estate, now belonging to Messrs. Shands, of Liverpool, England,) when he saw an apparition, which informed him, that ere twelve moons had waxed and waned, this mandate should be issued to him—“Thou shalt die and not live!” He related the circumstance to the party, and expressed his firm belief in it. His friends removed him to the Great House upon Weir’s estate, (the present seat of Francis Byam Ottly, Esq.,) and by convivial parties, strove to overcome his melancholy forebodings; but all was of no effect. He finally sailed for England, and died upon his passage, the very day twelve months he saw the apparition.
After the death of General Burt, in 1781, Major-General Sir Thomas Shirley, Bart., was appointed to the office of commander-in-chief. No events of importance marked the first year of his government, except that the gallant Admiral Vernon obtained a complete victory over the French fleet, between this island and Guadaloupe, and followed up his success by many other naval conquests. General Prescott, commander of the 69th regiment, and the Antiguan troops, landed at St. Kitt’s, and drove the enemy before them with great slaughter.
In 1782, St. John’s again suffered severely from a destructive fire, which broke out in one of the most densely-populated parts of the town. It was this disaster which gave rise to the establishment of the “Friendly Fire Company,” every member of which pledged himself to keep in good order a certain number of buckets; as also to practise themselves in the use of their engines. Soon after the formation of this society, the “Phœnix Fire Office,” in Lombard-street, London, sent out proposals for insurance—the first which were ever made in Antigua, and for many years, that office was the only one which would grant security upon West Indian property.
In 1784, it was resolved to make some alterations in the oaths required of white servants. Prior to this year, they were obliged to swear to their being Protestants, as well as take the oaths of allegiance; from which cause many quiet and useful persons were debarred from receiving the rewards held out to other white emigrants, on account of their not being nurtured in the Protestant religion. It was therefore enacted that no other oaths should be required but those of allegiance to the reigning monarch and his successors. A nightly watch was also established in the town of St. John’s, and a tax levied upon the inhabitants to defray the expenses of it. It was in this year, also, that it was contemplated to allow slaves a trial by jury; but it does not appear to have been carried into effect until 1798. The former method of trying these sable defaulters was to bring them before a justice of the peace, and if his worship considered the offence worthy of the highest punishment, he called to his aid a fellow-justice, and between them they condemned the culprit to death, causing such sentence to be immediately executed.
Regulations were again very judiciously made for the better erection of kitchens, blacksmiths’ shops, bakeries, &c., in order to prevent, as far as possible, the repetition of those fatal fires which had so lately devastated great part of the capital. Such buildings erected within the precincts of St. John’s were, in future, to be constructed of stone or brick, and the roofs to be cased with tiles or slates. Like many other wise purposes, these regulations have long ago fallen into disuse; and at the present day, in an old wooden shed, in the midst of a populous neighbourhood, a blacksmith drives his trade; and as you pass the open door, his huge fire may be seen vomiting forth its tongues of flame, while showers of bright sparks, struck from the glowing iron, often find a resting-place amid the surrounding heaps of combustibles. Surely such practices ought to be noticed by “the powers that be,” particularly when we have lately had such distressing proofs of the havoc made by that destructive element. In 1784 the churchwardens were empowered to sell certain portions of public lands, and to purchase other lots, for the more convenient erection of a parish hospital. Amendments were also made in the act passed in 1766, for the prevention of damage to the harbour of St. John’s, and for appointing a harbour-master, who was to be “a person bred to the sea, and otherwise sufficiently skilled and qualified to take charge of the port and harbour of St. John’s, including the cove.”
In 1786, a tax was raised upon the inhabitants of St. John’s, to defray the expenses of cleaning and repairing the streets of the capital. This must have been very requisite, if they were really in the state described in the following passage, (extracted from a letter written from Antigua August 1, 1786.) “The streets are spacious, but unpaved, nor is there the least care taken to keep them clean. The prickly pear bush, and other shrubs, are suffered to grow therein, to the annoyance of the passengers, the secreting of every species of nastiness, and to the great increase of vermin, insects, and reptiles, with which this place abounds.” Public billiard and other gaming-tables were prohibited, under pain of forfeiture; much to the good order and welfare of the island.
In 1787, our late beloved and lamented sovereign William IV. (then Prince William Henry) honoured Antigua with a visit. During the period of his stay there, he endeared himself to every heart, by that kind condescension and sympathy of manner which marked his every stage through life. As no doubt it will be interesting to my readers to have some account of the manner in which his highness passed his time, I will insert the following letter, written by John Luffman, the author of the map of Antigua, and published, among other of his epistolary productions, in 1789.