In these mansions, a system of open but elegant hospitality is kept up; and like gentlemen’s country-seats in England, they are seldom devoid of puissant knights and lovely damsels. The day passes as most days do in the country. Ample respect is paid to the well-stocked breakfast table, where every West Indian luxury abounds; and then the gentlemen separate to pursue their respective avocations; ride round their estates, and mark the progress of their canes, or as it is said, to hear them grow; visit the capital, to perform their legislative duties, pay their respects to his excellency the governor, or scan over accounts with their agents. The ladies, in the meantime, amuse themselves with various feminine and elegant employments; sometimes accompanying their soft voices upon the piano, or on well-strung harps, playing over those melting ditties which once brought tears into the eyes of the “gentle shepherd,” or the matchless ploughman of Ayrshire. Others frequent the library, where the works of our best writers may be met with; but the spirit-stirring volumes of a Gore, a James, or incomparable “Boz,” are much more eagerly sought after, than a Boyle, a Locke, or a Newton; but few of our West Indian ladies study philosophy or metaphysics; a novel, a poem, a book of plays, or modern travels, are the highest steps they take in literature.
At length comes the hour of luncheon, when other delicacies are produced, and duly indulged in; and then the duties of the toilet have to be attended to—a stray ringlet or a captivating dimple taken to task—a smile, a look, or an attitude studied, until the time arrives when a drive in the carriage, or a stroll through some pleasant vale, is practicable. After enjoying these exercises for some time, the dressing-room is once more sought, and beauty receives every assistance that art can give her, in direct opposition to the advice of the author of the “Seasons.”
About seven, the whole party assemble around the dinner-table, where luxurious fare and choice wines receive additional gusto from a profusion of handsome plate, rich glass, snowy table-linen, and a well-lighted apartment. I cannot in this place, pass over the head of all West Indian confectionary, a floating island, without further mention. Could I give an authentic recipe for the making of it, my patriotic spirit would lead me immediately to do so; but as that is not in my power, I can only say it is compounded of cream, sugar, guava jelly, and citron, and is of all sweets the very sweetest. Despite what Baron Munchausen says to the contrary, I could, were all floating islands like it, willingly live upon them; and consequently, his strenuous exertions in driving stakes through them, to render them stationary, as of erst he says he did St. Christopher’s, would meet with no thanks from me.
Dr. Johnson has remarked that the hour of dinner is the most important of the twenty-four; be it so; like all other important, as well as unimportant matters, time at length brings it to a close. The drawing-room is once more sought, and in lively conversation, or listening to soft strains of music, which our lamented Mrs. Hemans has so beautifully eulogized, the evening passes away, or is closed in with a sprightly quadrille.
All West Indians of the higher rank keep a good table; indeed, the custom has become proverbial. Not only does the island contribute its fish, flesh, and fowl, but France and England pay a tribute in the shape of potted meats and soup. The native beef, it must be allowed, is horrible—lean, tough, and sinewy, it requires all your masticatory powers to demolish it, and proves not a bad illustration of the conundrum, “If tough beef-steaks could speak, what English poet would they name?” “Chaw-sir,” (Chaucer.) Some West Indians, however, have asserted that they do not like English beef, it is so “fat and tender!” so much for custom. But the indifferent quality of the Creole beef is easily accounted for, when the state of the animal before it is killed is considered. The cattle bred upon the island, although very small, are used instead of horses in agricultural labour, and are of consequence of great value to the planter. They therefore seldom think of killing them while it is possible for them to be put to the plough, or worked in the cart; but when the planter finds that they are utterly unfit for work, and that death will soon put an end to their toil, or when a cow has become so old and emaciated as to be unable to rear her calves, they make a virtue of necessity, and give them up to the care of one of the old men or women, who feed them about the estate for a few weeks, and occasionally give them a little corn-meal to fatten them, and then sell them to the butcher.
I have seen some of these antediluvian creatures, if I may be allowed to use that term, coming into the capital, particularly about Christmas, lame and blind, faltering at every step they made, that it has been a matter of surprise to me how they were able to reach the shambles; but, poor creatures! there they arrive, sooner or later, are quickly despatched, and, about seven o’clock the next morning, you may hear the bellman hallooing out—“Oyes! oyes! a fine fat ox, bery fat, indeed, to be had at the shambles of Mary Swift,” of famed renown! who, in person, amply makes up in longitude what she loses in latitude. I cannot help remarking, in this place, how much more humane the mode of killing these animals, practised in Antigua, appears than that customary in England. Here are no horrible slaughter-houses, still reeking with the blood of those slain before, to harass the poor animal’s sense of smelling, and call for the assistance of those cruel ropes to pull it in; neither is the dire mallet used, which often requires so many strokes before life is extinct. A little grass is scattered down beneath the shade of some spreading tree, to which the creature is tied, and as it bends its head, the butcher, with a sharp knife, separates the spinal marrow between the horns, and death is instant.
The mutton introduced at the table of the gentry is super-excellent—small, tender, and not too fat; something like the Welsh mutton so justly esteemed by the opulent in England. It is generally fed upon the Indian-corn, and gentlemen kill for their own use. That procured at the shambles is generally very indifferent, and not unfrequently goat mutton. Pork is another viand admitted at times to enlarge the table-store. It is considered by some to be the first meat in the West Indies; this, however, I cannot accede to; the warmth of the climate is against it, and makes it appear unseasonable. Goldsmith, in his “Manners and Customs,” mentions that pigs in the West Indies were always fed upon sugar-canes. I have made inquiries upon this important subject, and from the answers received, and my own observations, am inclined to think that the family of grunters are forced to be content with less luscious fare. Upon estates, when grinding, they may, perhaps, get a share of what is termed the mill-bed, but that is all the production of the cane they are allowed to participate in, unless they march into a cane-field of their own accord, and stand a chance of getting shot or stuck for their pains, for a watchman is ever looking out for such intruders, to whom he plays the executioner’s part, and, after decollating, takes, by right of law, the head for his own share.
Poultry is also a standing dish at a West Indian dinner. Before emancipation, all kinds of feathered stock were very plentiful, and very cheap; fowls could be purchased for from 6d. to 8s. each, and turkeys, geese, guinea-birds, and ducks, in the same proportion; but now it is different, the negroes requiring higher prices for them. Most country gentlemen have, however, a poultry-yard attached to their residence, and thus escape the necessity of having to send, perhaps, half over the island before their want can be supplied.
Rabbits and pigeons are occasionally added to the luxuries of the Creole banquet; and venison finds its way from the neighbouring island of Barbuda. Several very excellent kinds of fish, the produce both of sea and fresh water, and shell-fish, allure the eye of the epicure; and last, not least, the delicious turtle, which at certain seasons is vended weekly at 9d. sterling per pound! with all its rich green fat, its white and yellow eggs! What would a city alderman say to this? would not his imagination revel in all the delights of calipash and calipee, and real turtle soup? not made of beef and calf’s head, with a few pieces of turtle floating in it, to stand its god-father, as a late gastronomic writer so aptly describes such soup as may be obtained at the “London Tavern,” or Cornhill, although that is reckoned very excellent in its way. We are very soon to have the steam ships running, or rather galloping, between England and these islands; and I really think it would well repay that very honourable body the “lord mayor, the sheriffs, and aldermen of London,” to take a trip, if it was only to partake of turtle in perfection, and quaff a glass of Madeira, mellowed beneath this burning sun.
Although hospitality is ever practised in Antigua, Christmas is the season of the year when conviviality is at its height. Then relatives meet together from all parts of the island,—then friendly compacts are renewed, and family differences happily adjusted, and sweet Concord, with beaming smile, wreaths once more her golden chain. Although no glittering green mistletoe, that “holy bough,” hangs pendant from the ceiling, and calls the attention of flashing eyes to its mystic berries, the fragrant pimento adorns the halls of the rich, as well as the cottages of the poor, while the laugh and song and