VIII

I thought Grande Anse the most sleepy place I had ever visited. I

suspect it is one of the sleepiest in the whole world. The wind, which

tans even a creole of St. Pierre to an unnatural brown within

forty-eight hours of his sojourn in the village, has also a peculiarly

somnolent effect. The moment one has nothing particular to do, and

ventures to sit down idly with the breeze in one's face, slumber comes;

and everybody who can spare the time takes a long nap in the afternoon,

and little naps from hour to hour. For all that, the heat of the east

coast is not enervating, like that of St. Pierre; one can take a great

deal of exercise in the sun without feeling much the worse. Hunting

excursions, river fishing parties, surf-bathing, and visits to

neighboring plantations are the only amusements; but these are enough to

make existence very pleasant at Grande Anse. The most interesting of my

own experiences were those of a day passed by invitation at one of the

old colonial estates on the bills near the village.

It is not easy to describe the charm of a creole interior, whether in

the city or the country. The cool shadowy court, with its wonderful

plants and fountain of sparkling mountain water, or the lawn, with its

ancestral trees,--the delicious welcome of the host, whose fraternal

easy manner immediately makes you feel at home,--the coming of the

children to greet you, each holding up a velvety brown cheek to be

kissed, after the old-time custom,--the romance of the unconventional

chat, over a cool drink, under the palms and the ceibas,--the visible

earnestness of all to please the guest, to inwrap him in a very

atmosphere of quiet happiness,--combine to make a memory which you will

never forget. And maybe you enjoy all this upon some exquisite site,

some volcanic summit, overlooking slopes of a hundred greens,--mountains

far winding in blue and pearly shadowing,--rivers singing seaward behind

curtains of arborescent reeds and bamboos,--and, perhaps. Pelée, in the

horizon, dreaming violet dreams under her foulard of vapors,--and,

encircling all, the still sweep of the ocean's azure bending to the

verge of day.

... My host showed or explained to me all that he thought might interest

a stranger. He had brought to me a nest of the _carouge_, a bird which

suspends its home, hammock-fashion, under the leaves of the

banana-tree;--showed me a little fer-de-lance, freshly killed by one of

his field hands; and a field lizard (_zanoli tè_ in creole), not green

like the lizards which haunt the roofs of St. Pierre, but of a beautiful

brown bronze, with shifting tints; and eggs of the _zanoli_, little soft

oval things from which the young lizards will perhaps run out alive as

fast as you open the shells; and the _matoutou-falaise_, or spider of

the cliffs, of two varieties, red or almost black when adult, and bluish

silvery tint when young,--less in size than the tarantula, but equally

hairy and venomous; and the _crabe-c'est-ma-faute_ (the

"Through-my-fault crab"), having one very small and one very large claw,

which latter it carries folded up against its body, so as to have

suggested the idea of a penitent striking his bosom, and uttering the

sacramental words of the Catholic confession, "Through my fault, through

my fault, through my most grievous fault."... Indeed I cannot recollect

one-half of the queer birds, queer insects, queer reptiles, and queer

plants to which my attention was called. But speaking of plants, I was

impressed by the profusion of the _zhèbe-moin-misé_--a little

sensitive-plant I had rarely observed on the west coast. On the

hill-sides of Grande Anse it prevails to such an extent as to give

certain slopes its own peculiar greenish-brown color. It has

many-branching leaves, only one inch and a half to two inches long, but

which recall the form of certain common ferns; these lie almost flat

upon the ground. They fold together upward from the central stem at the

least touch, and the plant thus makes itself almost imperceptible;--it

seems to live so, that you fed guilty of murder if you break off a leaf.

It is called _Zhèbe-moin-misé_, or "Plant-did-I-amuse-myself," because

it is supposed to tell naughty little children who play truant, or who

delay much longer than is necessary in delivering a message, whether

they deserve a whipping or not. The guilty child touches the plant, and

asks, "_Ess moin amisé morn?_" (Did I amuse myself?); and if the plant

instantly shuts its leaves up, that means, "Yes, you did!" Of course the

leaves invariably close; but I suspect they invariably tell the truth,

for all colored children, in Grande Anse at least, are much more

inclined to play than work.

The kind old planter likewise conducted me over the estate. He took me

through the sugar-mill, and showed me, among other more recent

inventions, some machinery devised nearly two centuries ago by the

ingenious and terrible Père Labat, and still quite serviceable, in

spite of all modern improvements in sugar-making;--took me through the

_rhummerie_, or distillery, and made me taste some colorless rum which

had the aroma and something of the taste of the most delicate gin;--and

finally took me into the _cases-à-vent_, or "wind-houses,"--built as

places of refuge during hurricanes. Hurricanes are rare, and more rare

in this century by far than during the previous one; but this part of

the island is particularly exposed to such visitations, and almost every

old plantation used to have one or two cases-à-vent. They were always

built in a hollow, either natural or artificial, below the

land-level,--with walls of rock several feet thick, and very strong

doors, but no windows. My host told me about the experiences of his

family in some case-à-vent during a hurricane which he recollected. It

was found necessary to secure the door within by means of strong ropes;

and the mere task of holding it taxed the strength of a dozen powerful

men: it would bulge in under the pressure of the awful wind,--swelling

like the side of a barrel; and had not its planks been made of a wood

tough as hickory, they would have been blown into splinters.

I had long desired to examine a plantation drum, and see it played upon

under conditions more favorable than the excitement of a holiday

_caleinda_ in the villages, where the amusement is too often terminated

by a _voum_ (general row) or a _goumage_ (a serious fight);--and when I

mentioned this wish to the planter he at once sent word to his

commandeur, the best drummer in the settlement, to come up to the house

and bring his instrument with him. I was thus enabled to make the

observations necessary, and also to take an instantaneous photograph of

the drummer in the very act of playing.

The old African dances, the _caleinda_ and the _bélé_ (which latter is

accompanied by chanted improvisation) are danced on Sundays to the sound

of the drum on almost every plantation in the island. The drum, indeed,

is an instrument to which the country-folk are so much attached that

they swear by it,--_Tamboul_ being the oath uttered upon all ordinary

occasions of surprise or vexation. But the instrument is quite as often

called _ka_, because made out of a quarter-barrel, or _quart_,--in the

patois "ka." Both ends of the barrel having been removed, a wet hide,

well wrapped about a couple of hoops, is driven on, and in drying the

stretched skin obtains still further tension. The other end of the ka is

always left open. Across the face of the skin a string is tightly

stretched, to which are attached, at intervals of about an inch apart,

very short thin fragments of bamboo or cut feather stems. These lend a

certain vibration to the tones.

In the time of Père Labat the negro drums had a somewhat different

form. There were then two kinds of drums--a big tamtam and a little one,

which used to be played together. Both consisted of skins tightly

stretched over one end of a wooden cylinder, or a section of hollow tree

trunk. The larger was from three to four feet long with a diameter of

fifteen to sixteen inches; the smaller, called _baboula_,[6] was of the

same length, but only eight or nine inches in diameter. Père Labat also

speaks, in his West Indian travels, of another musical instrument, very

popular among the Martinique slaves of his time--"a sort of guitar" made

out of a half-calabash or _couï_, covered with some kind of skin. It

had four strings of silk or catgut, and a very long neck. The tradition

of this African instrument is said to survive in the modern "_banza_"

(_banza nèg Guinée_).

The skilful player (_bel tambouyé_) straddles his ka stripped to the

waist, and plays upon it with the fingertips of both hands

simultaneously,--taking care that the vibrating string occupies a

horizontal position. Occasionally the heel of the naked foot is pressed

lightly or vigorously against the skin, so as to produce changes of

tone. This is called "giving heel" to the drum--_baill y talon._

Meanwhile a boy keeps striking the drum at the uncovered end with a

stick, so as to produce a dry clattering accompaniment. The sound

of the drum itself, well played, has a wild power that makes and

masters all the excitement of the dance--a complicated double roll,

with a peculiar billowy rising and falling. The creole onomatopes,

_b'lip-b'lib-b'lib-b'lip_, do not fully render the roll;--for each

_b'lip_ or _b'lib_ stands really for a series of sounds too rapidly

filliped out to be imitated by articulate speech. The tapping of a ka

can be heard at surprising distances; and experienced players often play

for hours at a time without exhibiting wearisomeness, or in the least

diminishing the volume of sound produced.

It seems there are many ways of playing--different measures familiar to

all these colored people, but not easily distinguished by anybody else;

and there are great matches sometimes between celebrated _tambouyé_ The

same _commandè_ whose portrait I took while playing told me that he

once figured in a contest of this kind, his rival being a drummer from

the neighboring burgh of Marigot.... "_Aie, aïe, yaïe! mon chè!--y

fai tambou-à pàlé!_" said the commandè, describing the execution of

his antagonist;--"my dear, he just made that drum talk! I thought I was

going to be beaten for sure; I was trembling all the time--_aïe,

yaïe-yaïe!_ Then he got off that ka. I mounted it; I thought a moment;

then I struck up the 'River-of-the-Lizard,'--_mais, mon chè, yon

larivie-Léza toutt pi!_--such a River-of-the-Lizard, ah! just perfectly

pure! I gave heel to that ka; I worried that ka;--I made it mad;--I made

it crazy;--I made it talk;--I won!"

During some dances a sort of chant accompanies the music--a long

sonorous cry, uttered at intervals of seven or eight seconds, which

perfectly times a particular measure in the drum roll. It may be the

burden of a song, or a mere improvisation:

"_Oh! yoïe-yoïe!"

(Drum roll.)

"Oh! missié-à!"

(Drum roll.)

"Y bel tambouyé!"

(Drum roll.)

"Aie, ya, yaie!"

(Drum roll.)

"Joli tambouyé!"

(Drum roll.)

"Chauffé tambou-à!"

(Drum roll.)

"Géné tambou-à!"

(Drum roll.)

"Crazé tambou-à!_" etc., etc.

... The crieur, or chanter, is also the leader of the dance. The

caleinda is danced by men only, all stripped to the waist, and twirling

heavy sticks in a mock fight. Sometimes, however--especially at the

great village gatherings, when the blood becomes overheated by

tafia--the mock fight may become a real one; and then even cutlasses are

brought into play.

But in the old days, those improvisations which gave one form of dance

its name, _bélé_ (from the French _bel air_), were often remarkable

rhymeless poems, uttered with natural simple emotion, and full of

picturesque imagery. I cite part of one, taken down from the dictation

of a common field-hand near Fort-de-France. I offer a few lines of the

creole first, to indicate the form of the improvisation. There is a

dancing pause at the end of each line during the performance:

Toutt fois lanmou vini lacase moin

Pou pàlé moin, moin ka reponne:

"Khé moin deja placé,"

Moin ka crié, "Sécou! les voisinages!"

Moin ka crié, "Sécou! la gàde royale!"

Moin ka crié, "Sécou! la gendàmerie!

Lanmou pouend yon poignâ pou poignadé moin!"

The best part of the composition, which is quite long, might be

rendered as follows:

Each time that Love comes to my cabin

To speak to me of love I make answer,

"My heart is already placed,"

I cry out, "Help, neighbors! help!"

I cry out, "Help, _la Garde Royale!_"

I cry out, "Help, help, gendarmes!

Love takes a poniard to stab me;

How can Love have a heart so hard

To thus rob me of my health!"

When the officer of police comes to me

To hear me tell him the truth,

To have him arrest my Love;--

When I see the Garde Royale

Coming to arrest my sweet heart,

I fall down at the feet of the Garde Royale,--

I pray for mercy and forgiveness.

"Arrest me instead, but let my dear Love go!"

How, alas! with this tender heart of mine,

Can I bear to see such an arrest made!

No, no! I would rather die!

Dost not remember, when our pillows lay close together,

How we told each to the other all that our hearts thought?

... etc.

The stars were all out when I bid my host good-bye;--he sent his black

servant along with me to carry a lantern and keep a sharp watch for

snakes along the mountain road.

[Footnote 6: Moreau de Saint-Méry writes, describing the drums of the

negroes of Saint Domingue: "Le plus court de ces tambours est nommé

_Bamboula_, attendu qu'il est formé quelquefois d'un très-gros

bambou."--"Description de la partie française de Saint Domingue," vol.

I., p. 44.]

[Illustration: HOME FROM MARKET, ST. PIERRE

_The notion of speed and scarcity of time has not reached

these dreamy, ease-loving islands._]