“F ar removed from every human eye he is,
R egardless now of earth, partakes of heaven’s bliss;
E xalted was his lively soul whilst here below,
D elighted ever tender friendships for to show;
E asy and cheerful through every scene of Life;
R eady to forgive all; but unto me, his wife,
I ndulgent to the last degree, for ever kind—
C alm was his spirit, virtuous was his mind.C areful he ever was to take no bribe in Law;
O h! full, full well the abject hate of mortals saw.
P artial he never was, just to each man’s fame,
E ach initial letter will now declare his name.”
He was born in London, of honest parents, on the 21st day of May, 1711, and died, in Antigua, on the 8th ———, 1739.
A fine large marble tomb, to the memory of the Honourable Ashton Warner, who died 11th of February, 1762, stands near to this very original sepulchral acrostic; and at no great distance a single stone to the memory of some admiral (the inscription obliterated) with its anchors and flags, and escutcheons.
On the east side of the north vestibule stands the tomb of Major-general George W. Ramsey, governor-in-chief of Antigua, Monserrat, and Barbados, in 1816, who departed this life, November 1st, 1819, in the 58th year of his age. The iron railing has become rusted and bent,[[79]] and the tomb bears many a blackened mark.
Near to the last resting-place of governor Ramsey, stands another very handsome tomb of white marble, erected to that well-known and eccentric character, Patrick Kirwan. He was a native of Galway, and as true an Irishman as ever handled a shillelah, or vowed devotion to “the shamrock so green.” Mr. Kirwan resided in Antigua for many years, as a planter and proprietor of estates, where his “bulls and blunders” are still remembered and repeated with delight. Upon one occasion he sent for a sun-dial from England, which he intended to have erected near his dwelling; but upon its arrival, it looked so smart with its golden rays and gnomen, that “Pat” pronounced it the very height of profanation to have such a pretty “cratur” exposed to the relentless shafts of master Sol; and so to preserve its beauty, and keep all secure, he had a tight snug shed built over it, which eventually forbid the entrance of any straggling sunbeam which might feel inclined to call upon it, to learn the hour. Poor Mr. Kirwan! his Irish blood was always leading him to commit blunders, which were sure to raise a laugh at his expense. During a partial rebellion of the negroes, at a period when he was manager of an estate, a few miles from the capital, he one morning presented himself before the proprietor with a very flushed face, and excited mien—“Good morning, Mr. Kirwan,” said his employer. “What brings you to town so suddenly—you look alarmed, I hope nothing is the matter?” “Faith, an there is though!” retorted the Irishman, “and if the blessed St. Patrick himself had been here, he would have looked alarmed too. Why, there’s a perfect resurrection of the negroes upon your estate!” “A what?” inquired the surprised proprietor. “A perfect resurrection,” repeated Pat, “and I have come to ask you what I must do?” His employer could scarcely repress a smile at this strange intelligence. At length, however, he summoned gravity enough to reply, “If that’s the case, Mr. Kirwan, the best advice I can give you is, to put a hoe into their hands as fast as they rise, and set them to work immediately.”
But with all his “bulls and blunders,” Mr. Kirwan was deservedly respected, and his death universally regretted. He died in 1819, in the 66th year of his age. The inscription upon his monument informs us “By his direction this tomb was erected.”
At the entrance of the east gate is a mural stone monument, erected to the memory of James Cullen, by his brother Robert Cullen. This monument is pointed out to strangers on account of the peculiarity of its form, with the assertion that the person who built the church is buried there, and that the coffin is obliged to stand in a perpendicular position. This, however, is not correct; the monument certainly stands there, but the place where the body is entombed is 23 feet further to the west; and instead of being raised to the memory of the architect of the church, that individual erected it to perpetuate the memory of his brother. This fact is engraven upon the monument; but so unexploring are the Antiguans in general, that I think but few of the inhabitants are aware of the real truth, but still think the coffin stands upright.
This strange practice of putting up the grave-stone at a distance from the grave is not the only instance of the kind to be met in the churchyard of St. John’s. At one of the west gates lies a stone slab, to the memory of the late organist; and upon reading the inscription, I supposed that the body reposed beneath. But not so: that lies far away, with “not a stone to mark the place.” Upon asking a pew-opener the reason for placing the slab in that situation, his reply was, “It does so nicely, you know, for the people to walk on, and looks well.”
The churchyard is entered by five iron gates, of handsome patterns. At the north, a flight of stone steps leads up to the church, while from the south gate, the building is approached by an easy and gradual ascent, paved with brick. The pillars of the south gate are surmounted by stone figures, representing St. John the Baptist, and St. John the Evangelist. These figures were intended to receive the vows of the good catholics at Dominica; but as it happened to be war time, when they took their departure from “la belle France,” on their passage they fell in with an English man-of-war, who most unceremoniously took them into keeping, and brought them to Antigua; where, by universal consent, they were placed as sentinels in their present position, instead of being decked out in gold and silver leaf, and mock jewels. The negroes, however, refuse to recognise them by their own titles, but have unanimously dubbed them “Adam and Eve”—the Baptist, I suppose, playing the part of the lady, as his garments are longer and more voluminous than those of his companion.