THE CUISINE OF THE _E——_.—THE ROMAN CATHOLIC BISHOP OF DOMINICA
I do not intend to relate my experiences day by day from the time that
I joined the Royal Mail Company’s steamship _E——_, but it behoves me
to explain once more to those who would like to take this trip, that
unless they can possess their souls in patience, and are in the best of
health, they may find more discomfort than gain, more pain than profit in
this so-called pleasure trip. Of course I may have had the ill-luck to
strike a ship (please excuse the Yankeeism, but at Mandeville where I am
writing, we are being invaded by Americans, whose object in life seems
to me to be the erection of twenty-three storied sky-scrapers) where the
captain, the purser, and the steward were suffering from a temporary loss
of the sense of taste, either individually or collectively. The cook
was a black, and from the culinary incapacity of the sons of Ham may I,
in the future, mercifully be delivered! Of all the inappetising-looking
viands, of all the nauseous compounds, the component parts of which
you could not even guess at, ever set before defenceless travellers,
favoured specially with tourists’ privileges, those we had would take the
cake. The first few days the food was incredibly bad, the meat uneatable,
sometimes putrid, the bread mouldy, the butter rancid, the bananas
rotten, and the oranges unripe! This was whilst we were in port. Things
improved somewhat when we were once away from Trinidad. We certainly had
better fruit and delicious pines from Antigua, but the food was often
sent away untouched, for the cooking was of the very vilest description
possible. This, though bad enough, was not the only discomfort endured in
that ever-memorable voyage.
Of course the heat and the mosquitoes were inevitable. Fortunately the
cleanliness of one’s cabin was a feature to be noted; also the advantage
of having it to oneself was a thing to be thankful for; but the memory of
the hot, weary, sleepless nights I endured from the noise and rattling
winches at work, hoisting up and taking on cargo, which went on at all
the ports we touched on our way going up to St Thomas, haunts me yet.
Other ships of a less obsolete type are providentially provided with
hydraulic cranes to do this work, but I have yet to learn that this
particular Company favours any but old-fashioned methods of working. This
frightful noise went on over my head; outside my cabin door the niggers
in the hold bawled to those working the hoisting or lowering apparatus,
as the case might be, whilst the officers shouted down orders to them.
There were three consecutive nights with more or less of this hideous
din going on, when exhausted nature was demanding sleep. Anything more
purgatorial could scarcely be conceived. I was ill for a week from these
privileges. When we did have a night free from this pandemonium, the ship
was being driven through the water at such a rate we were not allowed
to have our port-holes open for fear of being semi-swamped—and this in
the tropics! The stewardess was an enormously fat coloured woman of
Barbadoes, much given to religion. She was a happy, good-natured body,
but incapable of work. It was not pleasant to find yourself in a marble
bath which apparently was never scrubbed out from one end of the year to
the other.
A married couple, who had travelled to Jamaica on the _Port Antonio_ and
were also taking this trip, complained with just cause of the fare given
us. In these islands fruit, at least, is cheap. On the evening of the 8th
of December our dessert consisted of rotten oranges, ditto bananas, and
nuts! I think the menu for breakfast on the 16th of December will remain
a standing joke whenever we meet. The tempting dishes offered us were
salt-fish, pork chops, and brains! I forget how the latter were served.
After a sleepless night and in tropical heat, I need scarcely say that I
did not partake of any. We went empty away mostly!
A lady passenger had also an experience which shows how very absurdly
the regulations on these ships are adapted for tourists, or indeed for
anybody wanting to see something of the islands we passed.
She was on deck at 7.30 A.M. one morning, when one of the ship’s officers
approached her, and informed her it was one of the rules that ladies
should not appear on deck till breakfast-time. The lady is a daughter of
a well-known judge, and her answer was given on judicial lines, to the
effect that no mention of such regulation was on her passage ticket, and
since she came to see the scenery, she intended every morning when there
was land in sight to come up as early as she chose. She said later on to
me: “Fancy passing La Soufrière, or any other equally interesting place
for which you were enduring stifling heat, mosquitoes, sleepless nights,
and bad food, and not allowed to be on deck to see it!”
This was the only mention made of their famous regulation; we never
enquired whether it was a printed one, or an unwritten tradition of the
Company.
From the accounts I have since heard from people coming out to the
West Indies by the Royal Mail Company’s tickets, advertised in the
daily papers at £65 for sixty-five days, I am sure it is not generally
understood that in these inter-colonial mail-boats passengers, whether
tourists or persons having tickets with “tourist privileges” inscribed
on them, like myself and Mr. and Mrs. S——, endure all the discomforts of
cargo-boats, and, in addition, suffer from the restrictions of a mail
service bound by contract to deliver and collect mails at certain times
at certain places.
We never knew at what hour we should land at the different West Indian
towns. It would have been an impossibility to order saddle horses, or
carriages, to be in readiness for us had we desired them, nor could we
ever ascertain with any degree of reliability how long we should stay at
any given place until we got there; all was uncertain, indefinite. The
mails, naturally, were the first consideration; what cargo to discharge,
or to ship, was the next; and last of all, the convenience of the
passengers. I give this as my own personal experience—I only hope other
people have fared better! If there was any place like Martinique, for
instance, which we particularly wanted to see, we invariably arrived when
it was dark. Fortunately, on the return journey one was in some cases
able to see towns one had missed in this way.
At the Royal Mail Company’s office at Kingston, when I made my
arrangements to travel by their ships, I was informed in flowing language
what a beautiful cruise it was to the islands, and that I should never
regret it! It _was_ beautiful, and if I shall never regret having made
it, I certainly shall never forget it. I consider the journey from
Trinidad up to St. Thomas a bad one if business compels one to make it;
as a tourist trip, and therefore a pleasure trip, it is quite unworthy
of the name, especially in these days when the latter are so skilfully
and so ably arranged and conducted by people who really consider their
_clientèle_. Having had the experience, I have not failed to warn people,
especially those who are not strong, of its discomfort and disadvantages!
The best way for those who have time and leisure to see the northern
group of islands is to stay at Dominica, where there are frequently very
fair opportunities of visiting the contiguous islands. It is a lovely,
mountainous, and picturesque island. There are, I was told by a gentleman
who had stayed in them, very comfortable lodgings to be had, kept by an
Englishwoman; and this, he said, was better than putting up at the small
hotel, where the food was not so reliable. I have also met people who
have stayed for weeks in this island and have never found it dull. For
men there is shooting and fishing in the rivers. An introduction by a
member of the club should be obtained, for there are golf links, and, as
in all hot countries, plenty of tennis.
The chief charm of life in Dominica consists in the exquisite rides
amongst the mountains where there are sulphur springs, a boiling lake,
and waterfalls to be visited. I have on a previous page alluded to the
very promising condition of things in Dominica, and I have also mentioned
that limes and cocoa are its principal exports. I had time to take a
lovely walk in the valley of the Roseau, just at the back of the town,
and was much impressed by the loveliness of the scenery, as well as with
the prosperous-looking plantations on either side of the road. At the end
of the valley a turn in the road exposed the peak called Morne Diablotin
to view; it is 4750 feet, and the mountains are the highest in the Lesser
Antilles.
On my return journey from St. Thomas no less a person than the Roman
Catholic Bishop of Dominica, with two or three attendant priests, came on
board at St Kitts. He was introduced to me, and told me quite a number
of interesting things about the islanders. Some few Caribs, he said,
remained still. I asked if his Church had many adherents in Dominica.
“Ninety per cent.,” he told me, adding that it had been a French
possession longer than an English one.
The Bishop, who is a Belgian and not long consecrated, was a very
chatty and amusing person; I admired his skilful tactics. Naturally
he was somewhat prejudiced in favour of our late enemies, the Boers;
but politics and religion he very wisely eschewed. I was amused at his
ways. If he wanted his deck chair removed from one side of the deck to
the other he always called his servant, or secretary—I could not tell
in what capacity the man stood—to do it for him. Brother Boniface was
the oddest-looking creature I ever saw. He was short, fair, and very
much freckled, scant locks of sandy hair peeped out from under a very
broad-brimmed black felt hat. His habit was black, and came to his boot
tops, being confined round the middle of his shapeless body with a black
shining belt. Between its irregular folds and the top of his boots,
white stockings, which probably were knitted by a Belgian grandmother
many years gone by, showed at intervals, their pristine whiteness being
somewhat the worse for wear. A very large black stuff umbrella completed
Brother Boniface’s toilet. He was continually smiling, and his very large
mouth looked always ready for a good meal. As we approached Dominica
the mountains were veiled in mists, and everything had to give way
for the drenching torrential rain which poured on to the deck. I was
standing close by the Bishop, and admired the artistic effects of the
mist-wreathed mountainous coast.
“I prefer to have them so,” I said, pointing to the mountains. “There are
some things which are best left undefined, indefinite, mysterious. Don’t
you think so, Monseigneur?” I looked round at him.
He looked meaningly at me—I fancy he knew I was secretly thinking of the
very definite statements of the Romish Church—and then said: “Do as you
suggested the other day. Come and spend a month on the island.”
“I should very much like to do so,” I answered simply.
“Our people are very good—you don’t think they can be?” he asked, in a
quick way which seems natural to him.
“Oh yes, I do,” was my reply; “I don’t see how they can fail to be
so with such a good bishop.” And there our conversation and short
acquaintance ended.