But we ought now to look for brighter days: a great deal has been done for the negroes, much even before emancipation; schools have been erected in all parts of the island, and instruction proffered, both to young and old. The labours of the Moravian and Wesleyan missionaries have, without doubt, done a great deal of good to society at large by teaching the divine truths to the black population, and striving to make them learn the important fact that they have something else to look for besides the gratification of the present moment. As an episcopalian myself, I feel sorry that the church of England should have been less forward some years ago in their labour of love. True it is there has been, from the time these missionaries first came to the island, up to the present, a great number of churches and parsons. But of these, few, I am sorry to say, practised the pure doctrine they pretended to preach; indeed, many openly denied by their lives what they taught with their lips: their motto was—“Do as I say, not as I act;” which conduct, although it ought not to make religion less respected, has, in a great measure, a tendency to that effect among all classes. “For how,” would many exclaim, “could they enforce the seventh commandment when they wilfully broke it?—or teach a proper respect to the ordinances of God, when (as some have been known to do) they have left a card-table to read the service at church, and then returned to finish their game?” But those days have passed away: Antigua now possesses another race of clergymen very different to those alluded to; men of pious lives, and of ardent desire to further the cause of Christianity. The rector of St. John’s, the Rev. R. Holberton, is an evangelical preacher, and has proved a great acquisition to the island. This gentleman is one who does not preach for the sake of the loaves and fishes alone, but strives to do his duty as an humble follower of his divine Master. To his talents as an orator, he adds the more sterling quality of earnest zeal in his vocation, evinced by the bright example he sets, of joining practice to precept. His discourses are not in that flowery style which, working upon the feelings and imagination, produces but a transitory impression; he rather strives to speak to the heart than please the ear. Like a skilful surgeon, he probes the wound he hopes to heal, and then offers the “balm of Gilead,” and binds it up with the essence of love. I once more beg pardon of my readers for my digressions; but I could not let the opportunity pass, without noticing the great difference between the former race of clergymen and those of the present day; I will now return to my more immediate subject—the outlines of the negro character.
Before their conversion to Christianity, the Africans firmly believed that after death they would return to Africa, and there enjoy uninterrupted felicity. Under this idea, suicide was very frequent among them, particularly when they fell to the share of an austere and cruel master. But now this imagination is almost lost sight of: they are taught so to live, that, after death, they may inherit a better land than Africa: still I have met with some of the old people who seemed to entertain the opinion.
A short time previous to emancipation, I remember talking with a negro who fostered this belief. He was rather a remarkable personage: when in the prime of manhood, he must have possessed great strength, if we may judge from height and breadth. His cheeks, arms, and back of his hands, were deeply tattooed with different devices; his complexion was of a clear black, and his countenance very intelligent; nor had he that remarkable flatness of nose and thickness of lips by which the natives of Guinea are so particularly distinguished. He told me he had been “long ’nough” in the West Indies, (which phrase I found, by inquiry, extended to about four and twenty years,) and that he was a prince in his own country—brother, I think I understood him, to the King of Benguela, or something he pronounced very much like it; that, during a war with a neighbouring tribe, he was taken prisoner, sold to some merchants at Calabar, from whom he was purchased, with several others, by the captain of a slaver, and brought to the West Indies. Several persons whom he knew were on board the same vessel, but that they all died, with the exception of one woman. I afterwards saw this female, who confirmed him in the report of being a great man among his countrymen, where, she said, she could not speak to him, from her inferior station in life. Poor fellow; aged, (for I suppose he must have been about seventy,) infirm, and miserable—brought from comparative affluence to poverty, from governing others, to be himself a slave;—the tear of pity would not be restrained.
The circumstances under which I became acquainted with him excited also my sympathy. The estate had been, for a long time, robbed of its ground provisions, and to discover, if possible, the offenders, the owner had given orders not to distribute to the negroes their usual share of salt food, until the guilty parties confessed their crime. This poor old man came up to the “great house”[[13]] one morning to beg the owner’s lady to intercede with “his massa” for him, that he might have some herrings to eat with his potatoes; “For,” said he, “me ole now, missis—me want something to ’trengthen me; do, missis, beg massa gib me lilly salt provision.” His tremulous voice, as it broke upon my ear, called my attention to him, and thus caused the introduction.
Seeing that I pitied him, he continued, “But now me ole, me soon go hom—me no ’top much longer to trouble me massa!” I asked him what he meant, and where was his home. “To me own country—to Africa!” he replied, the “light of other days” beaming, for a moment, in his eyes.—“What! now you are so old? You have less chance of returning there than you ever had.”—“Oh! missis, you no sabby, (understand.) Me mean me die soon, an’ den me go home—den me happy, den me hab no mo’ work, no sick no mo’, no hungry no mo’; me ole bone no ache den, but me get ’trong den an’ happy too!” Poor fellow! before this he must have gone “home;” a better home than even Africa I hope he may have found it, for
“Though earth has full many a beautiful spot,
As a poet or painter may shew;
Yet more lovely and beautiful, holy and bright,
To the hopes of the heart, and the spirit’s delight,
Is the land that no mortal may know.”
There are not many Africans now in Antigua who were brought there as slaves, they having principally died off, but there are a great many who have been captured in slavers, and brought here by some of her majesty’s ships, who have been made free, after serving an apprenticeship of some years. These persons are termed by the Creole negroes Willeyforce nagers, (Wilberforce,) and between them are constant bickerings—the Creole blacks looking upon themselves as so far superior. Whenever they meet and enter into conversation, it generally terminates in a quarrel; and at such times, the actions they make with their hands, and the clamour of their tongues, would almost lead you to imagine murder was intended. The African has generally the advantage over the Creole in garrulity; but when this is perceived by the other party, he exerts all his energies, “works up each corporal agent to the terrible feat,” elevates his voice to the pitch of a bagpipe, throws aloft his arms, and, with fire-flashing eyes and quivering lips, exclaims—“You, you Willeyforce nager, you!” This is decisive; the African is stunned; and, with crest-fallen brow, goes his way, and leaves the ground to the victor.
I am now about to enter upon my “shadows” of negro character; and as I have not screened the master, neither can I gloss over the faults of the servant, or slave. The most predominant trait in their character is superstition; indeed, there never was a race so universally inclined to this weakness. What is called Obeah, has existed since the first introduction of negroes into these islands; it is one of those dark and fearful practices which they brought with them from Africa, where the devil is still openly worshipped, and temples built to his honour. Few English people can have any idea of the dreadful extent to which the practice of Obeah was carried in the West Indies, in former days. It led the unhappy followers of it on, from one crime to another, until the gallows was too often their end. Many, and many a one, has sunk into a premature grave, from the awful dread of Obeah hanging over them. These Obeah men and women are supposed to have entered into a league with the spirit of darkness, and by his aid are enabled to bring hidden things to light, and do many other marvellous actions; and to offend one of these person was, they thought, to seal their doom.
At one time, poisoning was so frequent a crime among these followers of Obeah, that in the year 1809, it required the strong arm of the law to subdue it. The old people are acquainted with many of the wild plants indigenous in the country; and they often recommend them as specifics in certain diseases. They also appear equally familiar with those plants which yield poison. When irritated with denials of what they wished for, or suffering from jealousy, or any other strong passion, instances have been known of the negroes applying to these Obeah people, and, for a small sum, receiving from them one of their deadly draughts, so prepared as to render death either almost immediate, or, as was most common, lingering.
I heard of an instance of this nature occurring in Antigua during my stay there. I cannot take upon myself to vouch for its authenticity, as it does not appear there were sufficient grounds of complaint against the suspected parties, to warrant their apprehension; I will, however, give the report then current in the island. An English gentleman, a native of Huntingdonshire, resided upon a property about eight miles from the capital, of which he was the manager. Upon one occasion, he had the favour asked him, by a female belonging to the estate, to give her a bason of milk; which request, from some reason or the other, was refused. The matter passed off, and no more was thought about it by the manager. A short time afterwards, he received an anonymous scrawl, warning him to be careful of what he ate or drank. This production was treated, as most anonymous ones ought to be, with contempt. Another note was received, and met with no more attention than the former. At length, sorrow came within his door; his son, a boy of about fourteen, strong and full of life and joy, suddenly fell ill, death claimed his prey, and he was consigned to an early tomb. This melancholy duty was but just performed, when his sister, a laughter-loving girl of twelve years, fell a victim to that all-conquering monster; and but a few more revolving suns, and the younger sister also departed for “that bourne from whence no traveller returns.” Whether any post mortem examination of the bodies took place I am unable to say, but report attributed their deaths to the milk they used being poisoned.