(_From a piquant, rambling paper in Fraser's Magazine_.)
We arrived at Otaheite just in time to witness the funeral ceremonies of
the pious chief Omaree. He was lying in state at his house above the
harbour where we landed, and we were invited to assist at the obsequies.
His _viscera_ were removed, and his _remains_, properly speaking, were
laid on an elegant palanquin or hanging bier, highly perfumed; around
which, and through the apartment, odorous oils were burning. Several of
his old friends came to see him, and complimented him highly on the state
of his looks and his good condition in various respects. They presented
him with numerous and tasteful gifts, which they assured him were sincere
tokens of their esteem, and hoped he would accept them as such. Omaree
replied by the mouth of an old priest who acted as master of the
ceremonies--assuring the good company, in return, that he was "as well as
could be expected," felt particularly flattered by the kind attentions of
his friends and visiters, and hoped they would make themselves quite at
home. "By the hand of my body," exclaimed the captain, sitting down to a
bowl of fresh Palmetto wine, and lighting a pipe at the foot-lights, "this
is the _dacentest_ wake I ever came across out of Ireland! Noble sir, your
good health and snug lying to you!"
After a conversation with Omaree on various interesting topics, his
friends and family proposed taking him to see his property in another part
of the island: he gratefully assented to the proposition, and requested
the good company to avoid fatiguing themselves by travelling too rapidly,
as he was in no hurry to leave them. He was then borne in state for some
miles, preceded by dancers, singers, knuckle-drummers, strewers of flowers
and leaves, &c., to a pretty spot by the sea-side, where he had lately
made a tobacco-plantation, and which, he remarked, "would be scarce worth
the plucking, as he had not been able to attend to it of late;--however,
he hoped his venerable and disinterested friend and spiritual comforter,
the priest, would accept the crop, such as it was, as a slight testimony
of his eternal gratitude." Hereupon the crowd clapped their hands with
delight, the singers shouted, the drummers thumped, and the dancers
vaulted their admiration of the piety and generosity of Omaree.
Here he was placed in an easy sitting posture, in a commodious arm-chair
that commanded a view of the plantation and the Pacific; where, sheltered
from the meridian sun by a lofty arbour of the climbing _cobea_ and wild
vine tastefully trained through a cluster of cocoa-palms, he was invited
to witness a dramatic representation containing incidents which they knew
his memory reverted to with pride and pleasure. This drama, in which a
great company of performers took part, was carried on with much taste and
spirit. The old priest undertook to translate the most interesting
passages for my edification (still acting as the mouthpiece of his
deceased friend), with the exception of a few "love-passages," as Queen
Elizabeth would have called them, the import of which was sufficiently
perspicuous without verbal comment.
Whilst remaining at Hayti, I took an excursion, on foot and alone, through
the mountains one day, to visit this interesting spot. The ascent to the
cavern was steep and toilsome. I was obliged frequently to change my
course, and pursue a more lengthened route than what my eye had
anticipated; but at length I reached the place, and, pausing a few minutes
to rest after my weary journey, struck a light, and, with lantern in hand,
entered the awful cave. A large stone had been so placed within the
entrance that it might have served for a stopper occasionally. Even in its
withdrawn position I passed it with difficulty. "Now," I exclaimed, "I
shall behold with my own eyes the aboriginal style of burial in these
sacred and almost inaccessible recesses, which that unsatisfactory
historian, Ferdinand Colon, was too lazy to inspect with his own eyes, and
which his father had never seen in all his hunting-matches. Indeed, I don't
think his blood-hounds could climb the ascent to this cave." As I entered,
I felt myself treading on bones! I looked around the narrow chamber of
death, and every where bones--human bones covered the rocky floor; but no
sign of art or trace of religious obsequies rewarded my scrutiny. "Bless
me!" said I, "what a journey I have had for nothing! This is merely the
ordinary HOTTENTOT-HOLE style, with a stone instead of a thorn-bush to
exclude wild beasts!" So I hastened forth, blaming the easy credulity that
drank in traditionary tales of aboriginal tombs. At the entrance I found a
negro standing, leaning on his musket; a brace of pistols were stuck in
his girdle, and a sword hung by his side. I was rather startled, for the
man possessed a fierce and threatening aspect, and I was perfectly
defenceless. Nevertheless there was are air of manly dignity about him
which assured me that he was not likely to be unnecessarily savage. _"Qui
vive?"_ demanded he, sternly. I explained my views in coming to this
secluded spot. He unbent his dark brow on hearing that I was an Englishman.
"Behold that noble expanse!" said he, changing his tone and language
together. "The guileless race whose bones whiten this rocky den once
ranged over that lovely landscape in peace and freedom. The white savages
came, and were received as brethren. They threw off the mask, and repaid
friendship and love with bonds and tortures. The red man was too innocent,
and too ignorant, and too feeble, to co-exist under the same sky with the
cunning and ferocious white demon--and he retired to his caves to die! His
race is extinct, for _he knew not the use of arms_!" He clasped his musket
to his breast with emotion, and remained silent. "Who are you that feel so
much for the exterminated Haytians?" I inquired. "Their avenger!" he
replied, "and the champion of a darker race whose wrongs can never have
vengeance enough. Christophe!"
* * * * *
"You shall see the '_Dead men's feast_,'" said Logan. I followed him in
silence, till we reached the southern bank of the Ohio, not far from his
own residence. The tribe was seated in a beautiful and secluded _prairie_,
that just afforded a vista of the river through the cypress swamp between.
A number of men and women seemed busily engaged in the decoration of
others with belts, beads, and brilliant-coloured garments; and these
latter seemed passive or asleep. Logan laid down the load he carried in
his blanket, and unwrapped the burden that had so long attracted my
attention. "'Tis my grandsire!" said he: "he has only been two years
buried:--I have brought him far. Aid me to cleanse the brave old limbs and
skull from these worms, that his spirit may rejoice over the feast with
his red children. Haste! my father yonder is painted and dressed already."
* * * * *
Before I quitted Kentucky, I made a point of visiting the celebrated and
immense nitre caverns or catacombs of the limestone region. Here I found
the mummies of the pigmy race that once inhabited the gigantic valley of
the Mississippi, adorned with strings of shell-wampum and turkeys'
feathers--seated in death like the ancient Naso-menes, grinning at me with
their long _inhuman_ fore-teeth--and came out as wise as I went in.
* * * * *
"O," said the captain, "a burial in Canada is no trifle in winter. Just
before you arrived, our drummer died, and we mustered spades, picks, and
shovels, to dig a grave for him; but the ground was one rock every where,
and after trying twenty places we found--that we had spoiled our tools. It
took the armourer next day to steel them all. The third day we got down
four inches and a half, in the softest soil we could find; but it would
only grind up pinch by pinch. The fourth day the armourer was at work
again. The fifth day the whole company turned out in a rage with the
ground, and having got under the frost in some degree, sunk the grave full
nine inches more. This night another soldier, a corporal, died; and his
comrades were almost dead with disappointment and vexation. The bodies
would keep in the frost very well; but we had not a spare room in the
barrack, and their comrades wanted to get them out of the way of a wedding.
Well, sir, the sixth day I divided the garrison in two, and set them at
separate graves; but, unluckily, they drank to keep up their spirits in
the battle with the frost, and fought about the corporal's right of
priority, and the freezing point of brandy. Worst of all, they forgot to
cover the new picked surfaces with straw and blankets, so that when they
came in the morning the points of attack were as invulnerable as ever. In
despair they buried both in one grave--the corporal undermost--without
further efforts to attain a decent depth. As to six feet, it was quite
unfathomable. They heaped all the stones they could loosen over the bodies,
and the chaplain read prayers at last, after a 'week's preparation' and
suspense, 'snow to snow, and ice to ice.' That night a herd of wolves
came prowling by, and carried the corporal and drummer along with them.
The fifer--an Irish rascal--was laughing heartily the whole week; and it
was he set up the corporal's claim to the deep grave, to have his joke out.
When all was over, the sergeant reported him to me, for bragging 'that he
could have buried them six feet deep himself in two hours, and have
covered them up so _nately_ after, that the devil couldn't stick a tooth
in them; but he had kept the secret to be revenged of the corporal, who
had 'listed him one day,' and of the drummer who had 'flogged him.'
'Please your honour,' said he, when called before me, 'I was _sartain_ you
wished to find work for us this _cowld_ weather, and it wouldn't become
_me_ to say what your honour knew as well as myself--that a rousing fire
would soften any frost; and sure, only I know you compassionated the poor
starving wolves, I'd have thrown a few buckets of water through the
grave-stones, and clinched 'em as tight as the bars of Newgate.'"
The fertilizing properties of an individual in the _chemical_ stage of his
existence, seem only to have been fully recognised since the memorable
battle of Waterloo; the fields of which now annually wave with luxuriant
corn-crops, unequalled in the annals of "the old prize-fighting ground of
Flanders." I have no doubt, however, that the cerealia of _La Belle
Alliance_ would have been much more nutritive if the top-dressing which
the plain received during the three days of June, 1815, had not been
robbed of its stamina by London dentists, who carried off the soldiers'
teeth in hogsheads; and by Yorkshire bone-grubbers, who freighted several
transports with the skeletons of regiments of troopers, as well as
troop-horses, to be ground to dust in Kingston-upon-Hull, and drilled with
turnip seed in the chalky districts of the North and West Ridings of
Yorkshire. The corn of Waterloo is thus cheated of its phosphate of lime;
but the spirits of Cyrus the Great and Numa the Wise, who had a fair
knowledge of the fructifying capabilities of the "human form divine," must
rejoice in beholding how effectually the fertilizing dust pushes the young
Globes, Swedes, and Tankards into their rough leaves, that bid defiance to
that voracious "Yorkshire bite" _the turnip fly_.
* * * * *