a girl accordingly made their appearance; the men dressed like the
tumblers at Astley’s, the lady very tastefully in white and silver,
and all with their faces concealed by masks of thin blue silk; and they
proceeded to perform the quarrel between Douglas and Glenalvon, and the
fourth act of “The Fair Penitent.” They were all quite perfect, and had
no need of a prompter. As to Lothario, he was by far the most comical
dog that I ever saw in my life, and his dying scene exceeded all
description; Mr. Coates himself might have taken hints from him! As
soon as Lothario was fairly dead, and Calista had made her exit in
distraction, they all began dancing reels like so many mad people, till
they were obliged to make way for the Waterloo procession, who came to
collect money for the next year’s festival; one of them singing,
another dancing to the tune, while she presented her money-box to the
spectators, and the rest of the Blue girls filling up the chorus. I
cannot say much in praise of the black Catalani; but nothing could be
more light, and playful, and graceful, than the extempore movements of
the dancing girl. Indeed, through the whole day, I had been struck with
the precision of their march, the ease and grace of their action, the
elasticity of their step, and the lofty air with which they carried
their heads--all, indeed, except poor Britannia, who hung down hers in
the most ungoddess-like manner imaginable. The first song was the old
Scotch air of “Logie of Buchan,” of which the girl sang one single
stanza forty times over. But the second was in praise of the Hero of
Heroes; so I gave the songstress a dollar to teach it to me, and drink
the Duke’s health. It was not easy to make out what she said, but as
well as I could understand them, the words ran as follows:--
“Come, rise up, our gentry,
And hear about Waterloo;
Ladies, take your spy-glass,
And attend to what we do;
For one and one makes two,
But one alone must be.
Then singee, singee Waterloo,
None so brave as he!”
--and then there came something about green and white flowers, and a
Duchess, and a lily-white Pig, and going on board of a dashing man of
war; but what they all had to do with the Duke, or with each other, I
could not make even a guess. I was going to ask for an explanation, but
suddenly half of them gave a shout loud enough “to fright the realms of
Chaos and old Night,” and away they flew, singers, dancers, and all. The
cause of this was the sudden illumination of the town with quantities of
large chandeliers and bushes, the branches of which were stuck all over
with great blazing torches: the effect was really beautiful, and the
excessive rapture of the black multitude at the spectacle was as well
worth the witnessing as the sight itself.
I never saw so many people who appeared to be so unaffectedly happy.
In England, at fairs and races, half the visiters at least seem to have
been only brought there for the sake of traffic, and to be too busy to
be amused; but here nothing was thought of but real pleasure; and that
pleasure seemed to consist in singing, dancing, and laughing, in seeing
and being seen, in showing their own fine clothes, or in admiring those
of others. There were no people selling or buying; no servants and
landladies bustling and passing about; and at eight o’clock, as we
passed through the market-place, where was the greatest illumination,
and which, of course, was most thronged, I did not see a single person
drunk, nor had I observed a single quarrel through the course of the
day; except, indeed, when some thoughtless fellow crossed the line of
the procession, and received by the way a good box of the ear from the
Queen or one of her attendant Duchesses. Every body made the same remark
to me; “Well, sir, what do you think Mr. Wilberforce would think of the
state of the negroes, if he could see this scene?” and certainly, to
judge by this one specimen, of all beings that I have yet seen,
these were the happiest. As we were passing to our boat, through the
market-place, suddenly we saw Miss Edwards dart out of the crowd, and
seize the Captain’s arm--“Captain! Captain!” cried she, “for the love of
Heaven, only look at the _Red_ lights! Old iron hoops, nothing but old
iron hoops, I declare! Well! for my part!” and then, with a contemptuous
toss of her head, away frisked Miss Edwards triumphantly.
JANUARY 2.
The St. Elizabeth, which sailed from England at the same time with our
vessel, was attacked by a pirate from Carthagena, near the rocks of
Alcavella, who attempted three times to board her, though he was at
length beaten off so that our Piccaroon preparations were by no means
taken without foundation.
At four o’clock this morning I embarked in the cutter for Savannah
la Mar, lighted by the most beautiful of all possible morning stars:
certainly, if this star be really Lucifer, that “Son of the
Morning,” the Devil must be “an extremely pretty fellow.” But in spite
of the fineness of the morning, our passage was a most disagreeable
concern: there was a violent swell in the sea; and a strong north wind,
though it carried us forward with great rapidity, overwhelmed us with
whole sheets of foam so incessantly, that I expected, as soon as the sun
should have evaporated the moisture, to see the boat’s crew covered with
salt, and looking like so many Lot’s wives after her metamorphosis.
The distance was about thirty miles, and soon after nine o’clock
we reached Savannah la Mar, where I found my trustee, and a whole
cavalcade, waiting to conduct me to my own estate; for he had brought
with him a curricle and pair for myself a gig for my servant, two black
boys upon mules, and a cart with eight oxen to convey my baggage. The
road was excellent, and we had not above five miles to travel; and as
soon as the carriage entered my gates, the uproar and confusion which
ensued sets all description at defiance. The works were instantly all
abandoned; every thing that had life came flocking to the house from all
quarters; and not only the men, and the women, and the children, but,
“by a bland assimilation,” the hogs, and the dogs, and the geese, and
the fowls, and the turkeys, all came hurrying along by instinct, to see
what could possibly be the matter, and seemed to be afraid of arriving
too late. Whether the pleasure of the negroes was sincere may be
doubted; but certainly it was the loudest that I ever witnessed: they
all talked together, sang, danced, shouted, and, in the violence of
their gesticulations, tumbled over each other, and rolled about upon
the ground. Twenty voices at once enquired after uncles, and aunts, and
grandfathers, and great-grandmothers of mine, who had been buried long
before I was in existence, and whom, I verily believe, most of them only
knew by tradition. One woman held up her little naked black child to me,
grinning from ear to ear;--“Look, Massa, look here! him nice lilly neger
for Massa!” Another complained,--“So long since none come see we, Massa;
good Massa, come at last.” As for the old people, they were all in one
and the same story: now they had lived once to see Massa, they were
ready for dying to-morrow, “them no care.”
The shouts, the gaiety, the wild laughter, their strange and sudden
bursts of singing and dancing, and several old women, wrapped up
in large cloaks, their heads bound round with different-coloured
handkerchiefs, leaning on a staff, and standing motionless in the middle
of the hubbub, with their eyes fixed upon the portico which I occupied,
formed an exact counterpart of the festivity of the witches in Macbeth.
Nothing could be more odd or more novel than the whole scene; and yet
there was something in it by which I could not help being affected;
perhaps it was the consciousness that all these human beings were my
_slaves_;--to be sure, I never saw people look more happy in my life;
and I believe their condition to be much more comfortable than that of
the labourers of Great Britain; and, after all, slavery, in _their_
case, is but another name for servitude, now that no more negroes can be
forcibly carried away from Africa, and subjected to the horrors of the
voyage, and of the seasoning after their arrival: but still I had
already experienced, in the morning, that Juliet was wrong in saying
“What’s in a name?” For soon after my reaching the lodging-house at
Savannah la Mar, a remarkably cleanlooking negro lad presented himself
with some water and a towel: I concluded him to belong to the inn; and,
on my returning the towel, as he found that I took no notice of him, he
at length ventured to introduce himself, by saying,--“Massa not know me;
_me your slave!_”--and really the sound made me feel a pang at the
heart. The lad appeared all gaiety and good humour, and his whole
countenance expressed anxiety to recommend himself to my notice; but the
word “slave” seemed to imply, that, although he did feel pleasure then
in serving me, if he had detested me he must have served me still. I
really felt quite humiliated at the moment, and was tempted to tell
him,--“Do not say that again; say that you are my negro, but do not call
yourself my slave.”
Altogether, they shouted and sang me into a violent headach. It is now
one in the morning, and I hear them still shouting and singing. I gave
them a holiday for Saturday next, and told them that I had brought
them all presents from England; and so, I believe, we parted very good
friends.
JANUARY 3.
I have reached Jamaica in the best season for seeing my property in a
favourable point of view; it is crop time, when all the laborious work
is over, and the negroes are the most healthy and merry. This morning I
went to visit the hospital, and found there only eight patients out of
three hundred negroes, and not one of them a serious case. Yesterday I
had observed a remarkably handsome Creole girl, called Psyche, and she
really deserved the name. This morning a little brown girl made her
appearance at breakfast, with an orange bough, to flap away the flies,
and, on enquiry, she proved to be an emanation of the aforesaid Psyche.
It is evident, therefore, that Psyche has already visited the palace of
Cupid; I heartily hope that she is not now upon her road to the infernal
regions: but, as the ancients had two Cupids, one divine and the other
sensual, so am I in possession of two Psyches; and on visiting the
hospital, _there_ was poor Psyche the second. Probably this was the
Psyche of the sensual Cupid.
I passed the morning in driving about the estate: my house is frightful
to look at, but very clean and comfortable on the inside; some of the
scenery is very picturesque, from the lively green of the trees and
shrubs, and the hermitage-like appearance of the negro buildings, all
situated in little gardens, and embosomed in sweet-smelling shrubberies.
Indeed, every thing appears much better than I expected; the negroes
seem healthy and contented, and so perfectly at their ease, that our
English squires would be mightily astonished at being accosted so
familiarly by their farmers. This delightful north wind keeps the air
temperate and agreeable. I live upon shaddocks and pine-apples. The
dreaded mosquitoes are not worse than gnats, nor as bad as the Sussex
harvest-bugs; and, as yet, I never felt myself in more perfect
health. There was a man once, who fell from the top of a steeple; and,
perceiving no inconvenience in his passage through the air,--“Come,”
said he to himself, while in the act of falling, “really this is well
enough yet if it would but last.” Cubina, my young Savannah la Mar
acquaintance, is appointed my black attendant; and as I had desired him
to bring me any native flowers of Jamaica, this evening he brought me a
very pretty one; the negroes, he said, called it “John-to-Heal,” but
in white language it was _hoccoco-pickang_; it proved to be the wild
Ipecacuanha.
JANUARY 4.
There were three things against which I was particularly cautioned, and
which three things I was determined _not_ to do: to take exercise after
ten in the day; to be exposed to the dews after sun-down; and to sleep
at a Jamaica lodging-house. So, yesterday, I set off for Montego Bay at
eight o’clock in the morning, and travelled till three; walked home from
a ball after midnight; and that home was a lodging-house at Montego
Bay; but the lodging-house was such a cool clean lodging-house, and the
landlady was such an obliging smiling landlady, with the whitest of
all possible teeth, and the blackest of all possible eyes, that no harm
could happen to me from occupying an apartment which had been prepared
by _her_. She was called out of her bed to make my room ready for me;
yet she did every thing with so much good-will and cordiality; no quick
answers, no mutterings: inns would be bowers of Paradise, if they were
all rented by mulatto landladies, like Judy James.
I was much pleased with the scenery of Montego Bay, and with the
neatness and cleanliness of the town; indeed, what with the sea washing
it, and the picturesque aspect of the piazzas and verandas, it is
impossible for a West Indian town so situated, and in such a climate,
not to present an agreeable appearance. But the first part of the road
exceeds in beauty all that I have ever seen: it wound through mountain
lands of my own, their summits of the boldest, and at the same time
of the most beautiful shapes; their sides ornamented with bright green
woods of bamboo, logwood, prickly-yellow, broad-leaf, and trumpet trees;
and so completely covered with the most lively verdure, that once,
when we found a piece of barren rock, Cubina pointed it out to me as a
curiosity;--“Look, massa, rock quite naked!” The cotton-tree presented
itself on all sides; but as this is the season for its shedding its
leaves, its wide-spreading bare white arms contributed nothing to the
beauty of the scene, except where the wild fig and various creeping
plants had completely mantled the stems and branches; and then its
gigantic height, and the fantastic wreathings of its limbs, from which
numberless green withes and strings of wild flowers were streaming,
rendered it exactly the very tree for which a landscape-painter
would have wished. The air, too, was delicious; the fragrance of the
Sweet-wood, and of several other scented trees, but above all, of the
delicious Logwood (of which most of the fences in Westmoreland are made)
composed an atmosphere, such, that if Satan, after promising them “a
buxom air, embalmed with odours,” had transported Sin and Death thither,
the charming couple must have acknowledged their papa’s promises
fulfilled.
We travelled these first ten miles (Montego Bay being about thirty from
my estate of Cornwall) without seeing a human creature, nor, indeed, any
thing that had life in it, except a black snake basking in the sunshine,
and a few John Crows----a species of vulture, whose utility is so great
that its destruction is prohibited by law under a heavy penalty. In a
country where putrefaction is so rapid, it is of infinite consequence to
preserve an animal which, if a bullock or horse falls dead in the field,
immediately flies to the carcass before it has time to corrupt, and
gobbles it up before you can say “John Crow,” much less Jack Robinson.
The bite of the black snake is slightly venomous, but that is all; as
to the great yellow one, it is perfectly innoxious, and so timid that it
always runs away from you. The only dangerous species of serpent is the
Whip-snake, so called from its exactly resembling the lash of a whip, in
length, thinness, pliability, and whiteness; but even the bite of this
is not mortal, except from very great neglect. The most beautiful tree,
or, rather, group of trees, all to nothing, is the Bamboo, both from its
verdure and from its elegance of form: as to the Cotton tree, it
answers no purpose, either of ornament or utility; or, rather, it is not
suffered to answer any, since it is forbidden by law to export its down,
lest it should hurt the fur trade in the manufacture of hats: its only
present use is to furnish the negroes with canoes, which are hollowed
out of its immense trunks. I am as yet so much enchanted with the
country, that it would require no very strong additional inducements to
make me establish myself here altogether; and in that case my first care
would be to build for myself a cottage among these mountains, in which I
might pass the sultry months,
“E bruna-si; ma il bruno il bel non toglie.”
JANUARY 5.
As I was returning; this morning; from Montego Bay, about a mile from my
own estate, a figure presented itself before me, I really think the
most picturesque that I ever beheld: it was a mulatto girl, born upon
Cornwall, but whom the overseer of a neighbouring estate had obtained
my permission to exchange for another slave, as well as two little
children, whom she had borne to him; but, as yet, he has been unable
to procure a substitute, owing to the difficulty of purchasing single
negroes, and Mary Wiggins is still my slave. However, as she is
considered as being manumitted, she had not dared to present herself
at Cornwall on my arrival, lest she should have been considered as an
intruder; but she now threw herself in my way to tell me how glad she
was to see me, for that she had always thought till now (which is the
general complaint) that “_she had no massa_” and also to obtain a regular
invitation to my negro festival tomorrow. By this universal complaint,
it appears that, while Mr. Wilberforce is lamenting their hard fate in
being subject to a master, _their_ greatest fear is the not having a
master whom they know; and that to be told by the negroes of another
estate that “they belong to no massa,” is one of the most contemptuous
reproaches that can be cast upon them. Poor creatures, when they
happened to hear on Wednesday evening that my carriage was ordered for
Montego Bay the next morning, they fancied that I was going away for
good and all, and came up to the house in such a hubbub, that my agent
was obliged to speak to them, and pacify them with the assurance that I
should come back on Friday without fail.
But to return to Mary Wiggins: she was much too pretty not to obtain her
invitation to Cornwall; on the contrary, I _insisted_ upon her coming,
and bade her tell her _husband_ that I admired his taste very much for
having chosen her. I really think that her form and features were the
most _statue-like_ that I ever met with: her complexion had no yellow in
it, and yet was not brown enough to be dark--it was more of an ash-dove
colour than any thing else; her teeth were admirable, both for colour
and shape; her eyes equally mild and bright; and her face merely broad
enough to give it all possible softness and grandness of contour: her
air and countenance would have suited Yarico; but she reminded me most
of Grassini in “La Vergine del Sole,” only that Mary Wiggins was a
thousand times more beautiful, and that, instead of a white robe, she
wore a mixed dress of brown, white, and dead yellow, which harmonised
excellently well with her complexion while one of her beautiful arms was
thrown across her brow to shade her eyes, and a profusion of rings
on her fingers glittered in the sunbeams. Mary Wiggins and an old
Cotton-tree are the most picturesque objects that I have seen for these
twenty years.
On my arrival at home, my agent made me a very elegant little present of
a scorpion and a couple of centipedes: the first was given to him, but
the large centipede he had shaken out of a book last night, and having
immediately covered her up in a phial of rum, he found this morning that
she had produced a young one, which was lying drowned by her side.
I find that my negroes were called away from their attention to the
works yesterday evening (for the crop is now making with the greatest
activity), and kept up all night by a fire at a neighbouring estate.
On these occasions a fire-shell is blown, and all the negroes of the
adjoining plantations hasten to give their assistance. On this occasion
the fire was extinguished with the loss of only five negro houses; but
this is a heavy concern to the poor negro proprietors, who have lost in
it their whole stock of clothes, and furniture, and finery, which
they had been accumulating for years, and to which their attachment is
excessive.
LANDING.
When first I gain’d the Atlantic shore,
And bade farewell to ocean’s roar,
What gracious power my bosom eased,
My senses soothed, my fancy pleased,
And bade me feel, in whispers bland,
No Stranger in a Stranger-land?
’T was not at length my goal to reach,
And tread Jamaica’s burning beach:
’T was not from Neptune’s chains discharged,
To move, think, feel with powers enlarged:
Nor that no more my bed the wave,
Ere morning dawn’d, might prove my grave:--
A livelier chord was struck: a spell,
While heav’d my heart with gentle swell,
Crept o’er my soul with magic sweet,
And made each pulse responsive beat.
No Sheep-bell e’er to Pilgrim’s ear,
Wandering in woods unknown and drear;
No midnight lay to Spanish maid,
Conscious by whom the lute was played;
Not on the breeze the sounding wings
Of him who nurture homeward brings
To mother-bird, whose callow brood
Pain her fond heart with chirps for food,--
E’er seem’d more charming than to me,
(When two long months had past at sea,
During whose course my thirsty ear
No softer voice, no strain could hear
Nearer allied to love and pity,
Than the strong bass of seaman’s ditty,)
Seem’d by the sea-gale round me flung,
Approaching sounds of female tongue!
No, Venus, no! Small right hast thou
To claim for this my grateful vow;
N or on thine altar now bestows
My hand the gift of one poor rose!
No eager glance, no heighten’d dye
Blush’d on my cheek, nor fired mine eye;
I heard, nor felt, at each soft note,
Flutter my heart, and swell my throat.
Those sounds but spoke of bosom-balm,
Of pity prompt and kindness calm;
Of tender care, of anxious zeal;
For here were breasts whose hearts could feel!
’T was as to guest in stranger halls
If voice of friend a welcome calls:
Such pleasure soothes the starting maid,
Who finds some jewel long mislaid;
Pleasure, which blessed dew supplies,
To ease the heart, and float the eyes;
As when in pain attentions prove
A mother’s care, a sister’s love.
To Woman, Life its value owes!
Robb’d of her love, its dawn and close
Would find nor aid, nor soothing care;
Its middle course no joys would share.
Childhood in vain would thirst and cry,
And Age, unheeded, moan and die;
And Manhood frown to see the hours
Weave scentless wreaths unblest with flowers.
It beam’d on cheek of sable dye;
No matter, since ’t was _woman’s_ eye!
Each phrase the tortured language broke;
Enough for me--’t was _woman_ spoke!
Once raven locks my temples wore;
Time has pluck’d many, sorrow more:
Through forty springs (thank God they’re run)
These weary eyes have seen the sun;
And in that space full room is found
For flowers to fade, and thorns to wound.
But now, (all fancy’s freaks supprest,
Each thread-bare sneer and wanton jest,)
With hand on heart in serious tone,
With thanks, with truth, I needs must own,
Wide as I’ye roam’d the world around,
Roam where I would, I ever found,
The worst of Women still possest
More virtues than of Men the best.
And, oh! if shipwreck proves my lot,
Guide me, kind Heav’n, to some lone cot
Where _woman_ dwells! Her hand she’ll stretch
In pity to the stranger-wretch;
If virtuous want mine eye surveys,
Nor mine the power his head to raise,
I’ll pour the tale in _woman’s_ ear,
She’ll aid, and, aiding, drop a tear.
And when my life-blood sickness drains,
And racks my nerves, and fires my brains,
What kinder juice, what livelier power,
Than mineral yields, or opiate flower,
Can make me e’en in pain rejoice?--
A few sweet words in that sweet voice!
JANUARY 6.