Scenery of Antigua--Pilgrimage to "Tom Moore's Spring"--The
Goddess Mnemosyne--Fig-Tree Hill--The "Bower of Bliss"--"Old
Road"--The Strand--The cross sexton--The parochial school--Old
Road Church--Tomb of Col. Williams--Moravian settlement--Salt
ponds--Copses--"Crab Hill"--Sandy Valley--The Valley Church--
The rising moon--Arrival in town--Night, and night dreams.
With respect to the scenery of Antigua, it is said to be neither
"grand nor magnificent," that "its mountains are too much like
mole-hills,"[62] and in many other ways has it been depreciated;
yet there are some spots of real beauty, which would strike the
eye of even a painter or a poet. To see some of these to the
greatest advantage, I would advise all such readers as have it in
their power to take a drive or a ride (whichever they prefer)
some fine morning to "Fig Tree Hill," and return by "Crab Hill."
They will then meet with spots of such transcendent loveliness,
as will cause the most unpoetic to exclaim, "Beautiful!
beautiful!" But as some of my readers, perhaps, may never have
the chance of taking such a tour, in pity to them, I will attempt
to describe what I saw in my pilgrimage to "Tom Moore's Spring."
It was a lovely morning (as most West India mornings are) when we
started upon our journey. The sun shone bright and clear; indeed,
far too clear for actual comfort, had we gone as "pilgrims grey,"
with "scalloped hat," and "sandled shoon," and resting on our
"staves;" but we preferred the less romantic, but more pleasant
way of taking it quietly in our carriage. Quickly we passed
through the town of St. John's, leaving its busy inmates, its
shops and stores, its "Scotch row" and Scotchmen, and all its
noise and bustle, for the quietness and freshness of the country.
Upon gaining "Otto's Hill," at the outskirts of the town, I
looked back upon the beautiful harbour of St. John's, its blue
waves just rippling the surface, its barques and brigs, schooners
and sloops, bowing their heads as if in graceful homage to some
sea-god from old King Neptune's court; and its sloping shores
displaying a carpet of luxuriant green, for a little rain which
had fallen not long before had clothed the fields in a garb of
lovely verdure. While thinking upon all these beauties, and the
images they called up, my poetic fancies were crushed by the
horrible noise of a long string of "cattle carts" and their sable
drivers, coming into town with a load of molasses for "Brother
Jonathan," or some other worthy. This brought me down from the
seventh heaven, and made me just then find out that it was very
_hot_, and the road disagreeably dusty. However, in our
pilgrimage through life, we meet with many crosses, and many
_dusty spots_; and therefore, in our pilgrimage to "Tom Moore's
Spring," we could but expect the same.
The country certainly looked very pretty upon this eventful day,
for every spot was green, and as we passed the numerous estates,
an air of gladness seemed to be abroad. The breeze blew soft from
off the mountains we were approaching, and greeted our olfactory
nerves with the odour of the yellow acacia, which grew along the
side of the road in vast profusion. In a short time, we reached
the banks of a small rivulet, the only real stream Antigua can
boast of, for the few others we passed owed their source more to
the late rains than anything else. This rivulet was bordered by
bamboos, and other species of wild cane, while larger trees, in
many parts, shewed their gnarled roots, and bent their long
boughs to kiss the swift gliding waters. Various aquatic plants
grew along its margin, while in the stream itself sported my own
country's water-lily, bright nymphæa. Near to the spot stands a
rural little temple of worship, with its plain white walls, and a
little cross upon its roof, and across the rivulet is thrown a
rustic bridge. This is a favourite resort for country
washerwomen, and as we passed, many of them were busily engaged
in their very necessary avocations; but as none of them presented
the appearance of a nymph or a naïad, I will not introduce them
to my readers.
We had heard of the bad state of the roads before we left our
home, of the hills we had to mount, and the dingles we had to go
down; of the terrible ravines on one side, and the bare rocks on
the other, and of places where the least swerve of the carriage
would send us over, and then, according to our informant, "it
would be no use to go look for you." At every turn of the road,
then, we looked for some trial, and "screwed up our courage to
the sticking-point," that we might be enabled to overcome them;
but after travelling for some time, and meeting with nothing very
terrific, we began to console ourselves, and remark, that the
difficulties appeared to lie in the imagination. At length, we
came to a pretty steep hill, which we surmounted in due time, and
again sped on our way joyfully, thinking that all was very fair,
when lo! up rose before us, if not a _mountain_, at least, a
_giant hill_. Here would be the "tug of war," so we called a
council. "What is to be done?" was the first query. "Why, either
_go on_ or _go back_" was the answer. The old adage of "out of
two evils, choose the least," came into our thoughts. There was
the hill behind, and the hill before, so we agreed to lay the
various "for's" and "against's" before us in a very orthodox
manner.
To commence then: if we go on, we must mount this hill, but when
we have accomplished that, we shall have no other of great
consequence; we were near half way, so we should have almost as
far to go back as to go on; on the other side, if we returned, we
should still have a hill before us, and not have the consolation
of visiting the celebrated "fig-tree." Having come to the
conclusion of our arguments, the word was given "forward," and
forward we attempted to go; but there were some of our party
whose opinions had not been asked, but who, no doubt, felt as
great concern in the decision as any one else; I mean those very
noble animals ycleped "horses," and for reasons my readers may
easily conceive they appeared resolved not to proceed. After a
few words of encouragement, however, and a few caresses, they
agreed to lend us their aid, and once more we started.
During the period that all this momentous business was going on,
we had totally neglected the appearance of the weather, and had
not a drop or two of rain fallen, and the sound of a distant clap
of thunder echoed round us, I dare say we should not have thought
upon such a subject. Here, then, was romance; a thunder-storm,
and "Sawcolt Hill"--it only wanted an old castle and a horde of
banditti to make it a scene worthy the pen of a "Radcliffe." The
lambent lightning played for awhile, and the thunder bellowed
through the boundless sky, and then passed slowly away to the
west, very much to my satisfaction. "Sawcolt Hill" was ascended,
and descended, and the road became more beautiful at every turn,
until at length we stood by the side of the noted freshwater
spring. And what then were my reflections? I thought it was
lovely in everything but its name--"Tom Moore's Spring!" Who, in
the name of all that's romantic, could call such a spring by such
a name? Had it been the "fairy's spring," or the "spring of the
mountain sylph," or something of the kind, it would have sounded
as it ought, and some charming legend might have been attached.
But who could ever inquire after "Tom Moore?" Why, the name of
such a being puts all fancies to the flight!
Thus far had my thoughts wandered, when suddenly, an ideal form
passed before me; her sweet and classic countenance--her eyes
which mocked the heavens in their dye--her long and silken lashes
which drank the dew of her vermilion cheeks, all conspired to
render me entranced. A blue mantle floated from her shoulders,
and a thousand graces hovered round her steps. As she glided
away, she placed one of her taper fingers upon her ruby lips,
and, in a voice of liquid sweetness, uttered the word,
"Remember!" I knew her for the goddess "Mnemosyne," and I tried
to follow her behest. My beautiful goddess assisted me, and
brought to my recollection that "Bulbul of a thousand songs,"
that sweet rhymer who charms us with his "bower of roses by
Bendameer's stream," as with his melodies of the "Emerald Isle,"
he who bears the well-known appellation of "Tom Moore." I
remembered all this to my shame, and determined in future never
to utter one word against it, did all the springs in Antigua bear
that name. After making this resolution, I turned once more to
inspect "Tom Moore's Spring." The water is as clear as crystal,
and of a refreshing coolness; and as it trickles from beneath the
roots of a large bamboo growing by, each drop looks like liquid
pearl. It has never been known to be dry, let the season be what
it will, and consequently must be of inexpressible value to the
adjoining estates. It was formerly built round with a stone wall,
but that has long ago fallen to ruin, and no one has troubled
himself to erect it again. I blame none, however, upon this
score, for, in my opinion, it looks more romantic as it is;
nature has done much for it, and art would only spoil her work.
After leaving the spring, another height presented itself,
clothed with luxuriant woods. This was "Fig-tree Hill," and no
description I have ever heard of it has sufficiently set forth
its beauty. Upon one side of the road is a deep ravine, whose
irregular descent is hidden by trees of every description, which
cover it to the bottom, and again ascend upon the opposite bank,
until they reach the top of the neighbouring mountain; on the
other side are sloping hills, carpeted with the gayest emerald.
This beautiful hill takes its name from several large fig-trees
which grow around; and from its highest point can be distinctly
seen, upon a clear day, the four islands of Guadaloupe,
Monserrat, Nevis, and St. Kitts.
After remaining upon the height for some time, and enjoying the
extensive prospect, we prepared to descend; but how to describe
the loveliness of the path, I know not. We alighted and walked
down, that nothing might escape our observation. Trees of all
species abound, and--
"With confessed magnificence deride
Our vile attire, and impotence of pride."
The lofty "red cedar," the beautiful "white-wood," the
glossy-green "loblolly," the treacherous "manchineel," which
invites your approach by its beautiful fruit, while it infects
you with its poisonous odours; the enormous "ceibar," (or silk
cotton,) the native "walnut," (which in every tree presents such
varying shades of green,) and the splendid "tamarind," shade each
side of the road, and cover the surrounding hills.
In many places, huge masses of fantastic rocks rear their bare
fronts to the heavens; some taking the form of old castles, with
their frowning battlements and strong ramparts; and others
looking as if about to fall into the valleys beneath.
Just at the termination of the first descent is one of the
sweetest spots in Antigua. It is one of tranquillity and repose.
The fierce beams of the sun are excluded by the umbrageous
foliage of the trees, around whose trunks various creepers
entwine themselves, and throw their slender limbs from one to the
other of these
"Green-robed senators of mighty woods,"
forming many beauteous alcoves, carpeted with the lowlier
flowers; whilst the "purple wreath" hangs its tasseled blossoms
on all sides, and gives an air of lightness to the whole. A
little silver stream (one of those the offspring of the balmy
showers before mentioned) crossed the road in this part; and
after leaping over roots of trees, or any other slight impediment
which fell in its way, and thereby causing a thousand translucent
waterfalls, at length lost itself in the impending woods. Oh! it
was a lovely scene, and put me very much in mind of Spenser's
"Bower of Bliss;" particularly when
"Was heard a most melodious sound
Of all that could delight a curious ear;
Such as might not upon terrestrial ground,
Save in this paradise, be heard elsewhere.
Full hard it was for him, who did it hear,
To guess what sort of music this might be;
For all that pleasing is to living ear
Were there soft mingled in one harmony:
Birds, voices, instruments, winds, waters, all agree."
This was a true delineation; for although most tropical birds are
devoid of song, the "painted warblers" might here be said to hop
"from spray to spray." The pretty little humming-bird fluttered
among the flowers, extracting from them, with its long and
slender beak, the liquid honey; and the doves courted each other
with soft, but melancholy cooing, from many a leafy brake. Upon
my remarking I never before heard birds _sing_ in the West
Indies, our negro-servant joined the conversation with--"Oh,
missis! if you was to come here early in the moring, before the
sun high, you would hear the birds singing in such a manner, that
it would make you feel quite dismal all de day." The first time I
ever heard of the song of a bird producing such an effect.
But to return to my description of this sweetest of all sweet
spots. Did we live in "days of yore," when fairies were wont to
visit our world, and astonish the benighted swains with their
glittering processions, we could fancy this one of their
favourite retreats; but, alas! those harmless goblins have long
disappeared, and with them all moonlight revels. The negroes,
however, are determined it shall not be without some aerial
visitants, so have peopled it with a tribe of _jumbies_, who,
according to their account, are very different in behaviour and
appearance to the pretty little elves.
After carving our names upon the trunk of a noble tree, which
appears to grow out of a rock, we proceeded on our journey
through the same lovely scenes, which now became interspersed
with palm-trees, until we entered upon a plain, on one side
studded over with ruined Carib houses, and on the other, laid out
in luxuriant cane-pieces, belonging to the Hon. Rowland E.
Williams, the descendant of a long line of noble ancestors, and
whose paternal domain extends throughout the lovely scenes I have
been endeavouring to describe. A few minutes' drive brought us to
"Old Road," so called because it was the first high-road made in
Antigua.
This town, if town it can be called, is, as regards architective
arrangement, a perfect nondescript; for streets there are none,
but here and there a straggling house. There is the _beach_,
indeed, which may justly be termed "_the strand_;" but, unlike
that far-famed street in London, boasts no splendid shops--no
arcades or bazaars, with their "euterpeons"--no brilliant lines
of lamps, or crowds of well-dressed and busy passengers. A
plentiful supply of bushes and "rock-stones" (as the Creoles call
all descriptions of stones) make up for those deficiencies; and
the murmur of old Father Ocean is the only music heard. Of the
houses which are to be found, a few of them are in repair; but
the greater part are falling to ruin, and have become a
receptacle for hordes of green lizards. One of these buildings
struck me as rather peculiar in appearance. Nothing remained of
it, it is true, but the walls of rough masonry, with huge
gable-ends pointing to the skies; but still it seemed as the work
of another race of beings. Upon making inquiries about it, an
inhabitant informed us her grandmother (who had died several
years before, at the advanced age of 116) remembered it in the
same ruinous state from her earliest years; but we could learn no
further particulars.
Our principal object for visiting "Old Road," was to see a
tombstone in the church, laid down to the memory of Col. Rowland
Williams; and consequently, as soon as we arrived, our first
inquiry was for the person who kept the keys of the church, and
who acts in the capacity of sexton. While waiting for this
official, we walked down to the beach. The harbour is a very fine
one, and forms a complete rotund, except in the opening, where
the sea stretches out beyond ken. A line of smooth silver sand
borders the sea, diversified with clumps of mangrove, manchineel,
and sea-side grapes; while here and there a cocoa-nut tree rears
aloft its proud head, as if scorning to herd with the lowlier of
its kind. For some time we amused ourselves with picking up
various small shells, matted sea-weed, and corallines, which were
scattered about the beach in profusion; but the heat,
notwithstanding the fresh sea-breeze, was beginning to be felt
oppressive; when turning the angle of one of the old buildings, a
man with a bunch of keys in his hand appeared in sight.
Although not always the case, still very generally, the face is
the index to the mind; and when I first saw that man, I felt
prejudiced against him. He came forward with a slovenly gait, and
downcast looks, and to our inquiries for the keys of the church,
he returned for answer, "Yes, but I can't let you in." On asking
the reason, the rejoinder was, "Because the parson told me not to
let any one go into the church." This was by no means cheering
news for us; it was far from satisfactory after riding fifteen
miles, to be turned away without seeing the very object we came
to look at. Every kind of persuasion was used to induce him to
comply. I joined in urging him to "ope' the door, and bid us
enter," but alas! I found him as insensible to the voice of
woman, as to everything else. "Can we go into the churchyard?"
was then inquired. "Yes," was the surly answer; and following his
steps, we soon reached that quiet spot.
Even here he apparently viewed us with suspicion, thinking,
perhaps, we not only looked capable of _sacrilege_, but of
carrying away the church also; for although he still had the keys
in his hand, and the rain began to fall, he not only remained
inexorable, but looked as if he should be quite as well pleased
if we quitted the place altogether. "The rain was falling fast,"
and obliged us to retire to the shelter of a large white-wood
tree, which no doubt was coeval with the first settlers, and
beneath its spreading branches we remained for some time, until
one of our party determined to try some other expedient, to gain
the wished-for admittance, and for that purpose left myself and
attendant in our shady retreat.
After the lapse of about a quarter of an hour, a well-known voice
was heard; and at an opening in the leafy covert, the person it
proceeded from appeared, accompanied by a female. This was the
parochial school-mistress; and a kind-hearted creature she
appeared to be. She immediately sent in search of the cross
sexton, and promised to take upon herself the responsibility of
letting our party into the church; but the man was not to be
found--he had left the town, and carried the keys with him. With
native politeness, Miss Austin (as the worthy school-mistress was
called) invited us to rest in her house until she could make
further inquiries after the "keys;" and following our
conductress, we shortly arrived at her residence, where (with a
very warrantable kind of pride) she informed us, her mother was
born, and married, and had reared eight children. Long before we
gained the house, the hum of little voices was heard; and upon
approaching the open door, about forty children, who formed the
school, rose up, and commenced singing, "We make our obeisance to
you, ma'am," to the tune of "L--a--w, Law;" while a parrot,
suspended from a beam, if she did not _sing_, at least
_screeched_ in chorus. After looking at these little negroes for
some time, and inspecting the simple decorations of their
school-room, we were ushered up stairs, and introduced to Miss
Austin's two sisters.
I cannot help speaking more fully of the polite behaviour of this
trio. I came among them a perfect stranger, my name even being
unknown, and in all probability never again to meet in this
world; but every little attention possible was lavished upon me,
the choicest produce of their garden tendered, and without the
least parade. I have mixed with society in a far higher grade,
where courtly manners prevail, and every art is tried to invest
each action with a polished grace; but often, very often, has
less native good-breeding, fewer sterling qualities of the mind
been displayed than I found in the sisters of "Old Road." They
are not like the generality of persons in their line of life;
hospitality indeed is, I believe, a virtue which most of them
possess; but there was no aping of their betters, as is too
frequently the case with this class of people; no flying away,
when we came so suddenly upon them, to put on a brass chain, or a
string of glass beads; or to take off an untidy wrapper, to
enrobe themselves in a smart gown; their neat dresses and
snow-white collars, like beauty, needed not "the foreign aid of
ornament."
Many a beautiful tree grew around their humble dwelling, and many
a sweet-scented flower almost entered the open windows. When we
had rested for a short time, we proceeded to the garden, to see a
lime-tree. Knowing as I did the blighted state of these trees in
Antigua, I expected to see a diminutive shrub; what, then, was my
surprise, upon entering the little paddock, (for it had more the
appearance of that than a garden,) to see a noble tree, covering
the space of about fifty square feet, loaded with its fragrant
fruit to the very ground. Well worthy was it to be looked at!
well worthy to be praised by an abler pen than mine!--no
indefinite article could be used to this shrub; it must be called
_the_ lime tree, and nothing else. While looking, again and
again, at this beautiful tree--pressing its odorous leaves, and
inhaling the scent of its golden fruit, the youngest sister
remarked, "The archdeacon was here the other day, to catechise
the children, and upon seeing this tree, said it looked as if the
blessing of God was upon it." And in truth it does appear so, for
it flourishes on in its beauty in the midst of a burning sand,
whilst most of its species are blighted and seared.
After leaving the lime-tree, we returned to the house and heard
the children read a chapter in the Bible, and repeat the gospel,
which they did very correctly, although some of them had not
numbered their fifth year, thus proving the pains their tutoress
takes with them; and then, putting up with our disappointment,
left for home. As we were passing the church, Mr. Sexton appeared
to have altered his mind in some degree, for (but with a very
indifferent grace, it must be owned) he condescended to open the
church door, and allow us entrance. The church, which is composed
of hewn stone, is built in the form of a cross, and is noted for
being the first place of public worship erected in Antigua. There
is nothing very remarkable in the interior; the walls are plain
white, and the floor paved with brick; but it is a quiet little
church, where the good people of that neighbourhood may worship
their God in peace. Over the altar is an old painting of Moses
and Aaron in their robes; and under the communion table reposes
the ashes of him who may be called the founder of the church; for
he gave the land, and liberally contributed towards its erection.
This was Col. Rowland Williams, who, as before-mentioned, was
celebrated for his various good qualities, as well as humanity,
in a period when the West Indies were generally enveloped in
moral darkness. The epitaph upon his tomb-stone is inscribed in
Latin; but as many of my readers no doubt prefer the English
translation, I will insert it, which I am enabled to do through
the kindness of the Rev. H. G. Hall.
Here safely lie in Mother Earth
The mortal remains of Rowland Williams.
We are but dust and ashes!
He was the first male infant of European extraction
Lawfully born in this island.
When he attained to manhood, he conducted himself
As a man,
Being equally in military, as in civil life, an honour
As well to himself, as to his connexions.
In the field, he was a bold commander;
In the senate, he was a wise councillor:
What avails strength without wisdom?
He was a loyal subject of his king, a protector of
His country,
A true father to his children, hospitable to his guests,
A friend to his friends. In a word,
He was all things to all men.
Throughout his whole life he displayed,
With health of body, soundness of mind.
Possessing the strictest honesty and much wealth.
He fell a tardy victim to death,
Having survived about eighty years.
He was buried the twentieth day of ------ 1713.
Since it is certain that we must die,
We should without delay take warning against it.
Near the altar is an elegant and chastely ornamented white marble
tablet, erected to the memory of Mrs. Williams, daughter of Sir
Patrick Ross, K. C. B., and wife of the Hon. Rowland E. Williams,
the great-great-grandson of the above Col. Williams. This
exemplary lady died at the early age of 32; respected by all
classes, and deeply regretted by those who were honoured with her
friendship. The following lines are engraved on the tablet:--
"Death, ere thou canst claim another,
Fair, and good, and wise as she,
Time shall hurl his dart at _thee_."[63]
After copying these inscriptions, and casting one more glance
round this rustic church, we returned to our carriage, and
proceeded on our journey to "Crab Hill." Before relating the rest
of our adventures, I must remark, that the line of conduct
pursued by the sexton of "Old Road" is not common in Antigua,
such officials being generally very obliging.
Near to "Old Road" is a pond, which is formed by the hand of
nature into a complete bason. It is surrounded with some fine and
noble trees, which form a screen, and is embellished with a
variety of odoriferous flowers, which bloom and die unknown and
uncared for, illustrating those beautiful lines of Gray's--
"Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air."
Near to this spot is a natural excavation, called the "Devil's
Punch Bowl," which, although I had often heard it spoken of as
something very grand, did not cause me much pleasure or
astonishment, being, in fact, nothing more than a deep hole, with
a little turbid water at the bottom.
About a stone's throw from "Old Road," on the top of the hill,
stands a Moravian settlement, with its neat white house and
chapel; there is always an air of comfort around these
settlements, which speaks to an English heart; and the Moravians
themselves are a quiet, well-meaning people, diligent in the
discharge of their ministerial duties, and earnestly desiring
their people's welfare. May they meet their reward!
After passing the fort of "Old Road," the next place which
attracted our notice was the salt ponds, with their fringe of
mangrove trees and little islands. Innumerable soldier crabs were
hurrying to and fro,--some looking out for a new coat of mail, in
the form of a new shell, and others hunting for their prey, which
is very frequently the weak and small of their own class. The sea
now burst upon our sight, and added to the beauty of the scene;
its surface was as smooth and clear as a mirror, except where the
breakers played over a long reef, which runs far out from shore,
and threw up their lovely but dangerous spray in measured
showers,--no wonder the ancients fabled their goddess of beauty
to have sprung from this sparkling object.
After passing the rectory of St. Mary's, our road lay through
copses, whose overhanging boughs formed a beautiful and verdant
arch. The sunbeams, penetrating through them, danced in sportive
glee upon the chequered ground, while between the boles we caught
picturesque glimpses of the ocean. I could not help noticing one
peculiarity in passing through these woods, that almost every
tree is decorated with that species of parasite called wild
pines;[64] the great varieties of cactus was also remarkable.
After journeying along the road for about a mile, we came in view
of "Crab Hill," noted for the dangers it presents to travellers,
should their horses prove restive, or night overtake them. Here
again we alighted, determined that nothing should escape our
gaze. The road rises about 180 feet from the sea, in an abrupt
precipice clothed with the dwarf acacia and "milk-bush"--those
ever-to-be-found productions of Antigua. A low wall of stones,
loosely piled, borders the edge of the road, which would prove
but a sorry guard against any accident. In the steepest part of
the hill, we looked over, and watched in silence the beautiful
but treacherous waves, as they laved the rocky base of the
precipice. Here and there a blasted parasite clung to it, and
feebly strove to hide its ugliness; and one or two sea-birds sat
watching for their prey, and pluming their rumpled feathers. At
the sound of our voices they started, and after turning upon us
their bright quick eyes for a moment, as if to ask why we
obtruded upon their solitude, flapped their wings and soared
screaming away through the vaulted ether.
We enjoyed the scene for some time longer, and then remembering
we were still many miles from the capital, and the sun had almost
completed his daily journey, we resumed our seats and set our
faces towards home. A ride of a few more minutes brought us to a
place called "Sandy Valley," which proved not to be, like some
places, a _misnomer_, for there is sand enough for any one's
taste, and fine glittering sand it is too. The sea bounds one
side of the valley, and a stagnant marsh the other.
Leaving this, we passed by the valley church and school,
cultivated cane-pieces and neat-looking "great houses," negro
huts and provision grounds, and an open country, for we were
rapidly leaving the mountains behind us. On our right, we passed
a methodist settlement, and another belonging to the Moravians,
and hard by a fresh-water spring; but I began to feel very tired,
and consequently did not find out beauties which otherwise might
have attracted my attention. A pretty sloping hill lay before us,
and as we passed, the "full-orb'd moon" rose above it, and
"O'er the night her silver mantle threw."
A sudden turn in the road placed her lovely face behind us, and
languidly reclining in a snug corner, I mused in silence upon the
beautiful scenes I had passed through in our pilgrimage, until
roused by a bustle in the road, just at the entrance of the
capital, where men and boys, long poles and ropes, and that very
respectable quadruped, dignified by Antiguans with cognomination
of "a cattle," formed the _figurantes_. The poor creature had
been landed from an American vessel that morning, at a
neighbouring bay, and exhausted, I suppose, with the discomfits
of its voyage, had fallen down on its way to the butcher's. I
don't think its sufferings were of long continuance, for the next
morning I heard the black bellman announcing to the public, that
"A fine fat 'merican ox was slaughtered at the shambles of
'Seizar' James."[65]
But to conclude our adventures; we rapidly passed through the
grass-market and the town, heard the jingle of many a piano and
the squeak of many a flute, (I mean no disparagement to the
performers,) almost ran over a pig or two, who, spite of a late
prohibition, were walking out to enjoy the cool of the evening;
and at length safely alighted at our residence in "Spring
Gardens."
In the course of an hour or two, I willingly resigned myself to
the dominion of sleep, and dreamt of mountains and
thunder-storms, springs and fairies, precipices and lime-trees.
------
[62] "The highest mountains are not more than 1500 feet above the
level of the sea."
[63] The above lines are taken from an epitaph written upon the
Dowager Countess of Pembroke, sister to the celebrated Sir Philip
Sidney one of the favourite courtiers of Queen Elizabeth, and
author of a romance entitled "Arcadia," which he dedicated to his
sister the Countess. On this account it is frequently called "the
Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia." This lady was noted for her
great learning, in an age when classical knowledge was the common
accomplishments of the court ladies. Her principal work was a
translation of "Antonius," a French tragedy.
"Underneath this marble hearse,
Lies the subject of all verse.
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother.
Death, ere thou hast kill'd another,
Fair, and learn'd, and good as she,
Time shall throw a dart at thee."
[64] There is one great peculiarity in this plant which deserves
notice. The leaves are cellular, and so formed as to make sure
reservoirs for the drops of rain, which fall into them from the
top, through small openings. The seeds are furnished with a downy
substance, by which means they float through the air, and take
root upon any part of a tree or shrub upon which they chance to
fall. The leaves always grow erect, by which means they safely
hold the rain water. Dampier mentions piercing these plants with
his knife, and catching the water in his hat when suffering from
thirst.
[65] It may be proper to note, that such events are not of
everyday occurrence in Antigua. Not more than two "cattle" are
slaughtered in the capital in a week, and when such deed is
committed the bellman announces it to the public.