Near to this spot is a natural excavation, called the “Devil’s Punch Bowl,” which, although I had often heard it spoken of as something very grand, did not cause me much pleasure or astonishment, being, in fact, nothing more than a deep hole, with a little turbid water at the bottom.
About a stone’s throw from “Old Road,” on the top of the hill, stands a Moravian settlement, with its neat white house and chapel; there is always an air of comfort around these settlements, which speaks to an English heart; and the Moravians themselves are a quiet, well-meaning people, diligent in the discharge of their ministerial duties, and earnestly desiring their people’s welfare. May they meet their reward!
After passing the fort of “Old Road,” the next place which attracted our notice was the salt ponds, with their fringe of mangrove trees and little islands. Innumerable soldier crabs were hurrying to and fro,—some looking out for a new coat of mail, in the form of a new shell, and others hunting for their prey, which is very frequently the weak and small of their own class. The sea now burst upon our sight, and added to the beauty of the scene; its surface was as smooth and clear as a mirror, except where the breakers played over a long reef, which runs far out from shore, and threw up their lovely but dangerous spray in measured showers,—no wonder the ancients fabled their goddess of beauty to have sprung from this sparkling object.
After passing the rectory of St. Mary’s, our road lay through copses, whose overhanging boughs formed a beautiful and verdant arch. The sunbeams, penetrating through them, danced in sportive glee upon the chequered ground, while between the boles we caught picturesque glimpses of the ocean. I could not help noticing one peculiarity in passing through these woods, that almost every tree is decorated with that species of parasite called wild pines;[[64]] the great varieties of cactus was also remarkable.
After journeying along the road for about a mile, we came in view of “Crab Hill,” noted for the dangers it presents to travellers, should their horses prove restive, or night overtake them. Here again we alighted, determined that nothing should escape our gaze. The road rises about 180 feet from the sea, in an abrupt precipice clothed with the dwarf acacia and “milk-bush”—those ever-to-be-found productions of Antigua. A low wall of stones, loosely piled, borders the edge of the road, which would prove but a sorry guard against any accident. In the steepest part of the hill, we looked over, and watched in silence the beautiful but treacherous waves, as they laved the rocky base of the precipice. Here and there a blasted parasite clung to it, and feebly strove to hide its ugliness; and one or two sea-birds sat watching for their prey, and pluming their rumpled feathers. At the sound of our voices they started, and after turning upon us their bright quick eyes for a moment, as if to ask why we obtruded upon their solitude, flapped their wings and soared screaming away through the vaulted ether.
We enjoyed the scene for some time longer, and then remembering we were still many miles from the capital, and the sun had almost completed his daily journey, we resumed our seats and set our faces towards home. A ride of a few more minutes brought us to a place called “Sandy Valley,” which proved not to be, like some places, a misnomer, for there is sand enough for any one’s taste, and fine glittering sand it is too. The sea bounds one side of the valley, and a stagnant marsh the other.
Leaving this, we passed by the valley church and school, cultivated cane-pieces and neat-looking “great houses,” negro huts and provision grounds, and an open country, for we were rapidly leaving the mountains behind us. On our right, we passed a methodist settlement, and another belonging to the Moravians, and hard by a fresh-water spring; but I began to feel very tired, and consequently did not find out beauties which otherwise might have attracted my attention. A pretty sloping hill lay before us, and as we passed, the “full-orb’d moon” rose above it, and
“O’er the night her silver mantle threw.”
A sudden turn in the road placed her lovely face behind us, and languidly reclining in a snug corner, I mused in silence upon the beautiful scenes I had passed through in our pilgrimage, until roused by a bustle in the road, just at the entrance of the capital, where men and boys, long poles and ropes, and that very respectable quadruped, dignified by Antiguans with cognomination of “a cattle,” formed the figurantes. The poor creature had been landed from an American vessel that morning, at a neighbouring bay, and exhausted, I suppose, with the discomfits of its voyage, had fallen down on its way to the butcher’s. I don’t think its sufferings were of long continuance, for the next morning I heard the black bellman announcing to the public, that “A fine fat ’merican ox was slaughtered at the shambles of ‘Seizar’ James.”[[65]]
But to conclude our adventures; we rapidly passed through the grass-market and the town, heard the jingle of many a piano and the squeak of many a flute, (I mean no disparagement to the performers,) almost ran over a pig or two, who, spite of a late prohibition, were walking out to enjoy the cool of the evening; and at length safely alighted at our residence in “Spring Gardens.”