For persons who have never visited the tropics to form an idea of the
exceeding beauty of night in these regions, is utterly impossible. The
azure depth of the sky, illuminated by numberless stars of wondrous
brilliancy, seems, as it were, reflected in the giant foliage of the
trees, and on the dewy herbage of the mountainsides, gemmed with the
scintillations of innumerable fire-flies; while the gentle night-wind,
rustling through the lofty plantain and feathery cocoa-nut, bears upon
its breath a world of rich and balmy odours. Perhaps the scene is
still more lovely when the pale moon flings down her rays on the
chalice of the _Datura arborea_, brimming with nectareous dew--her own
most favoured flower, delicate of scent and chaste in beauty. Yet the
night of the tropics has many drawbacks: noxious, unsightly creatures
then forsake their lair, lithe snakes uncoil their glossy rings, bats
flutter in the moonbeams, and croaking frogs disturb the silence of
the hour.
In a valley of the St Andrew Mountains, in the island of Jamaica,
where we resided for a short time, we beheld in perfection this lovely
night, and experienced in an equally great degree its inconveniences.
It was indeed a favoured spot, for which nature had done her utmost.
Sublime and beautiful were there so exquisitely blended, that to
determine the leading characteristic of the scenery was impossible.
Mountains, clad to the loftiest summit in perpetual verdure; gigantic
trees, rich in blushing fruits; pensile plants, aglow with the
choicest flowers; proud-rifted rocks, pale and ghastly, as if cleft by
an earthquake; foaming cascades springing madly down the cliffs,
leaping through chasms spanned with aquatic creepers, and then
dwindling into ever-gurgling streams, that glided through ravines
curtained with verdant drapery--such were some of the details of the
picture; but how vain the endeavour to describe this redundant beauty!
A friend, who enjoyed it with a zest as keen as our own, once
remarked: 'It is like nothing in this world but one of Salvator Rosa's
pictures framed in a garland of flowers!'
This gorgeous scenery screened from our dwelling the unsightly squalor
of a negro village, which lay at a distance of a mile and a half on
the other side of an abrupt hill to our rear. It consisted merely of
some score of huts, of miserable aspect, formed of matting, stretched
on stakes stuck in the ground; and in other cases, of interwoven
bamboos, dabbed with mud, and roofed over with gigantic palm-leaves.
Each had its garden in front, of yams, cocos, and sweet potatoes. The
negroes of the village were our nearest neighbours, and we visited
them occasionally, in the hope of ameliorating their condition by
communicating to them such instruction as they were capable of
receiving; but their grotesque ideas of liberty, overweening egotism,
and marvellous superstition, together with the shortness of our stay
in their vicinity, combined to frustrate our object.
The place we occupied had been once a missionary station, and
consisted merely of a couple of chambers, a sitting-room, and a
veranda that ran round the house, which was built of an inferior
species of mahogany, and ceiled and floored with the same. The colour
of the wood, together with the fact, that all the former occupants had
fallen victims to the climate, gave the house an air of extraordinary
gloom; still, this was in some measure dissipated by the multitude of
flowers in the garden, of the kinds familiar to us in England, and
which, from the equable temperature of the mountain climate,
flourished in the open air.
Before the windows flashed a bright parterre, begirt with a thick
hedge of salvias, above which the exquisite humming-bird for ever
hovered. The hedge was intermingled with the tea-rose, white jasmine,
fuchsia, pink cactus, and bignonia; all of which, from the hardihood
of their growth, appeared indigenous. Balsams sprung like weeds, and
every conceivable variety of convolvulus flaunted in gay bands from
the shafts of ever-blossoming limes. Along the veranda, extending from
column to column, ran a drapery of nurandias, lobeas, and plumbago;
while at the end of the parterre, in close proximity, stretched the
grave-yard of the station, studded thick with white stones, recording
the names of many a once weary missionary and Christianised negro.
About a month after our arrival at Rosevale--for so was the place
called--my husband was compelled by professional duty to be absent for
a couple of days. It was the first time I had ever been left alone,
having been only recently married, and separated from my family in
England. An utter stranger in the island, my nerves were somewhat
subdued at the prospect before me; and although determined to endure
the loneliness very bravely, still it was not felt the less acutely.
There were no Europeans nearer than a distance of five miles; and
owing to the peculiar nature of the scenery, its extraordinary
stillness, and the unusual aspect of its gigantic vegetation, it was,
despite its beauty, invested to a remarkable degree with an air of
desolateness and solitude. At five in the morning, my husband set out
upon his journey, and at eight a negro came to inquire whether massa
was at home. This was an unusual circumstance; but upon hearing that
massa left home that morning, he departed, and I thought no more of
him. The weary day dragged heavily to a close, and at eight in the
evening the same negro returned, and repeated his inquiry by the light
of a lamp held by a young lad of his own race in our service. I saw
the man's face, and suffering, perhaps, from nervous irritability,
fancied I had never seen a countenance more sinister. My pulse
throbbed quickly, as the reply was given, that 'Massa wouldn't return
till the night of the ensuing day.' Here was an admission! I alone in
this wild, outlandish place, attended only by my maid, a semi-German,
semi-Irish girl, exceedingly timid, and a couple of negro servants, if
possible more cowardly: I felt my heart sink, as after uttering some
half-intelligible words, the sable visitor departed. While drinking
tea in solitude, musing on the old familiar faces of my former home,
never was the croaking of the frog so loud, the curlo's note so
shrill, the evening air so gentle. I heard the negro servants without
expressing their astonishment that, now as massa was gone, missus
wouldn't call in Miss Jane (the maid), and make her 'peak' to her;
adding--'Rosevale not good house to lib by himself in--plenty "padres"
die dere, plenty doppies (ghosts) come up dere from de grabe-yard!'
Now my dread was not of the 'doppies,' but I did fear the return of
the recent ill-favoured visitor.
Our books had not yet been forwarded from Kingston, so I had not the
solace of a favourite author; but on a shelf in the sitting-room lay
an odd volume of Missionary Reports, and the third or fourth of
Mandeville's English History, which had belonged to the former
occupant of the place. These I took from their resting-place, and
essayed to read, when, in an instant, a bat dropped from the rafters,
and fluttering round and round the lamp, cut short my studies.
Formerly, church-service was wont to be celebrated in this same room;
and for the purpose of kindling, by means of music, any latent sparks
of devotion in the minds of his sable flock, the deceased clergyman,
who had resided before us at Rosevale, had imported a seraphine, which
he played with skill, and which had never been opened since his death.
It stood as he had last touched it, at one end of the sitting-room;
and hoping to overcome my nervousness, I strove against the feelings
which had hitherto withheld me from approaching the instrument. I
seated myself before it, and began a sacred melody, when, by the
imperfect light, it seemed as if the keys were in motion. This I at
first attributed to the manner in which the light was thrown, owing to
the wheeling flight of some four or five bats that had joined the
earliest intruder in his frolics. This idea, however, was speedily
dissipated by a great cockroach crawling upon my fingers, and I
started up with a shudder, for the instrument was literally covered
with these unsightly creatures. I then paced up and down the veranda,
flooded with moonlight, till a short time past ten o'clock, when the
moon set, and I retired for the night to my chamber, where my
uneasiness was speedily overcome by sleep.
At midnight, or probably earlier, I awoke with a start: unusual sounds
were on the air; and the sinister visage of the past evening's visitor
presented itself to my disturbed imagination. I stilled my heart, and
listened. The sounds seemed to come from the negro village. I sprang
from my bed, and, approaching the window, unclosed the jalousie, and
saw a number of negroes pouring down the mountain-side--some bearing
large torches, and all yelling fearfully. On streamed the living mass;
closer and closer they approached, till their faces were distinctly
visible. They carried with them a hideous burden--a swathed and
ghastly corpse, the rigid features of which looked ghastlier still in
the lurid glare of the torch-light! This they flung, with frantic
gestures, from one to another, receiving it in their arms with a yell
and a scream, gibbering in fiendish glee, and dancing and whirling
about. Sickening at the horrid sight, I turned away, and closed the
jalousie; when, as the procession surrounded the house, my maid rushed
into the room, exclaiming: 'O ma'am, what will become of us? they are
trying to force the doors--they are coming in!'
For some time they continued seeking an entrance; but the thought of
admitting them never once crossed my imagination. At last, one among
the number suggested the inutility of any further attempt; and,
abandoning their original design, they all marched off to the
grave-yard, where they remained till dawn as it seemed in some grand
carousal. They then, as I was afterwards told, returned to the
dwelling of the deceased, laid him in his coffin, and at six in the
morning bore him to his last resting-place. This ceremonial was called
'The Feast of the Dead,' and was celebrated in order to insure a
favourable reception for their departed brother from the mouldering
occupants of the grave-yard, and to prevent the appearance of his
doppie.
The deceased, it seems, had been a carpenter, and in that capacity had
worked occasionally at Rosevale, which, a few days previously to our
arrival, had been the scene of his last labours. It was thought
necessary, therefore, for the repose of his soul, that, prior to
interment, his body should be brought into the house to pay a farewell
visit.
A fellow-passenger in our voyage to Kingston related to us a similar
occurrence. He had been but a short time resident at Montego Bay, and
was, with his wife, active in disseminating Christian knowledge among
the negroes of the district. One family, more intelligent than the
rest, particularly attracted this good lady, who was much interested
in their behalf, in return for which, they attached themselves to her
most zealously. Their eldest child, a young girl of fourteen years
old, was attacked by a malady, which suddenly terminated in death; and
Mrs R---- was ignorant of the fact, till one evening, as she was
entertaining company, the corpse of the poor girl, dressed in the
latest gifts she had bestowed, was borne into the midst of the party,
to take leave of the kind benefactress, so beloved by her in life.
The dread in which the appearance of disembodied spirits is held by
the negroes is excessive, and the expedients to which they resort to
defend themselves from their intrusion are truly absurd. One of these
is to drive ten nails into the door in a pentagonal form--a very
effectual barrier; for the doppie, on beholding it, can neither
advance nor recede, but remains there literally spell-bound till the
witching-time of night is past, vainly endeavouring to reckon the
number of nails, but unable to get beyond the fifth. Another very
excellent preventive, in negro estimation, is old leather--that which
has been worn in boots or shoes is considered best. This should be
burned with horse-litter, and afterwards rubbed upon the door-posts.
'This,' to quote one of the dusky fraternity, 'make such a bad mell,
that it catch him nose; and de berry Jurabie himself would run away
from it!' I know not the extent of Satanic endurance, but for a mere
mortal to bear with it is impossible, as I once found by experience,
when it compelled me to take refuge in the bush.