A CURIO HUNTER—FORT DE FRANCE—BATHS OF DIDIER—DIAMOND
ROCK—FLYING-FISH TRADE—BARBADOES—CARLISLE BAY—HOAD’S—TRAFALGAR
SQUARE—THE ICE-HOUSE—ST. ANN’S—SCOTLAND—CONFEDERATION—COAST OF
TOBAGO—BIRDS OF TOBAGO—FAUNA OF THE WEST INDIES.
“Yeo-ho, boys, ho, yeo-ho,” rang out merrily from the crew, and before
the last notes of “Nancy Lee” had died away, the ‘Eider’ was slowly
steaming from Martinique on her way to Barbadoes. A slight delay had been
occasioned by the prolonged absence of one of the passengers who was an
enthusiastic curiosity hunter, and who, having rifled the other islands
and bought up all the frogs and beetles at Dominica, had gone on shore to
buy Eau de Cologne, dolls in native costume, and the various liqueurs for
which Martinique is celebrated.
Soon we pass Fort de France—the Fort Royal of Imperial days—which is
nominally the capital of Martinique, though far inferior in size and
population to St. Pierre. A small steamer runs daily between the two
places, and Fort de France is well worth a visit. The fine harbour and
the pretty town, backed by the great Piton, are more thoroughly tropical
in their surroundings than is St. Pierre. In the neighbourhood are
some picturesque walks, and the “Baths of Didier,” where there are some
mineral springs, is a very favourite resort. In the outskirts dwell a
few of the Carib Indians, who occupy themselves with their peculiar
basket work. It is a quiet little town, but gains an air of industry and
life from the freighted wharfs and the busy dockyard with its spacious
floating dock.
From the deck of the ‘Eider’ all eyes are centered on a steep island
pyramid, which rises out of the water to a height of about five hundred
and fifty feet. This is the celebrated “Diamond Rock,” whose history
forms a memorable page in the annals of the West Indies, where nearly
every link in the chain of the Antilles has been the scene of England’s
naval warfare.
The well-known story may be briefly related as follows. In 1804, the
English admiral determined to prevent the escape of French ships, which
hitherto had baffled him by running between this rock and the opposite
Diamond Point into Fort Royal harbour. The deep water that surrounded
the almost perpendicular rock permitted an anchorage within a few feet
of its side. The admiral therefore laid his ship, the ‘Centaur,’ close
alongside, and performed the surprising feat of hoisting heavy guns from
the top-sail yard-arm, and mounting them on the summit of this improvised
fortress. Here Captain Morris was established, with men, ammunition,
water, and provisions, and the rock was recognised at the Admiralty, as
His Majesty’s ship ‘Diamond Rock.’ For months the gallant captain and
his crew defied the exertions of the French to dislodge them, destroying
their merchant vessels and gun-boats, and harassing them to desperation.
Finally, want of water and ammunition necessitated a surrender, and the
rock-ship was once more untenanted.
On approaching Barbadoes, it is surprising to see the vast shoals of
flying-fish. Like flights of silver arrows they shoot over the water on
all sides, and just as you are beginning to think they must be birds,
down they drop into the waves. No wonder that the catching of them is a
trade in that island, and that flying-fish in Barbadoes is the staff of
life—and a very delicious one. No time is lost in their pursuit, nets
surround them by day, and at night, by means of an attractive lantern,
they fly against the outspread sail and fall victims by the hundred.
After Martinique and Dominica, the appearance of Barbadoes is flat, and
tame. One misses the central hill range, which is so marked a feature
in the other islands. The wide-stretching fields of bright green cane,
and the windmills, recall Santa Cruz. Like that island, Barbadoes, when
discovered by the Portuguese in the early part of the sixteenth century,
was covered with thick forest. From many of the trees hung the beard-like
Tillandsia, whence arose the island’s name. In the present day there is
no forest, and the one little wood, with its boiling spring, is reckoned
among the “lions” of Barbadoes.
But if the island is devoid of great physical beauty, it is interesting,
as being the most ancient colony in the British Empire, one also that has
never changed hands, and the only one which thrives—or shall I say has
thriven—without foreign labour.
From Carlisle Bay, the harbour of Bridgetown, which is the capital of
the island, the view is one of bright colour. One sees gleaming sands
broken on by blue water, and edged with deep green avicennias, with here
and there a bending cocoa-nut palm. From the busy wharfs white houses
extend back into the country to a limestone ridge, and to the undulating
hills which are covered with sugar-cane and dotted with lines of palms,
leading to the planters’ houses. White roads wind through the green
fields, and a church tower peeps over the shady trees; a windmill rises
above a cluster of cottages, and near by is the tall smoking chimney of
a sugar factory. There are no clouds in the intensely blue sky to cast
their shadows, and the breeze rushes across the cane slopes in white
green waves. On all, the sun pours down with a pitiless glare, and its
strong light brings to full view the finished cultivation and well-to-do
aspect of the island.
“Passengers for Bimshire all aboard,” was the cry, as the ship’s cutter
pulled for the shore, thus disappointing the clamorous native crews of
several expected fees. Presently we landed in Bimshire—as Barbadoes
is sometimes called—and were at once surrounded by an agitated crowd
of “Bims,” both black and white. As there are no hotels—properly
so-called—our luggage was carried to “Hoad’s,” the best boarding house;
and after escaping numerous blind beggars who pursued us from the wharf,
we were soon ensconced in clean lodgings. Here we found small but
comfortable rooms, good food—flying-fish served in two or three different
forms being particularly tempting—and indifferent bathing accommodation.
After Martinique, where there are no mosquitoes, one looks disconsolately
at the stuffy nettings, and cannot help wondering why the detestable
insects should patronize the English islands and not the French. The
Barbadian mosquito is of an exceptionally dissipated disposition, as it
keeps up its revels far into the morning, and with the heat increases the
misery of the late as well as of the early riser.
As may be expected in an island whose population averages a thousand
to the square mile, Bridgetown swarms with negroes, whose high-pitched
voices and incessant “talk” effectually relieve the streets of any
air of dulness. The town is not imposing. Its architectural features
are collected in Trafalgar Square, where are situated the Government
Buildings. Their style, though striking, is a marvellous blending of
Gothic and Venetian architecture, mixed with bow windows and Moorish
arches, and as much out of keeping with the adjacent Cathedral as the
National Gallery in London is with its neighbouring Church of St. Martin.
The statue of Nelson, which stands in the centre of the square, cannot
be considered as complimentary to the great admiral, and in its present
condition fairly represents “the triumph of Nature over Art.” Shops,
stores, and warehouses are good and thriving, and, last but not least,
there is an excellent tea-house, which is an institution peculiar to
the West Indies. It vies with the club as a place of resort, contains
a restaurant, and a well-kept bar, provides the latest papers, and
disseminates the freshest news.
In the matter of ice, which is of no small importance in hot climates,
the English are ahead of the French. Here it is admitted free,
I believe, of duty, whilst in Martinique it is heavily taxed and
monopolized.
Most of the white inhabitants live in the suburbs of the town, and in
a drive one passes many pretty villas and pleasant gardens. The roads
leading to them are lined with negro huts and cabins, shaded by flowering
trees, and now and then surrounded by an ill-tended garden plot. On some
of these abodes we noticed hanging-boards, on which quaint greetings had
been written; one of these bore the words, “A mery Krismas and a hapy New
ear to everybody;” on another was printed, “Welcum home 1 and all.”
Towards evening carriages wend their way past the seaside villages of
Hastings and Worthing, or, when the band plays at St. Ann’s, stop there
to listen to it. The latter appeared to me to be the most agreeable place
in or around Bridgetown. The barracks are situated there, and fronting
them is a fine savanna, surrounded by shady avenues. Here there is the
race course, the cricket ground, a ball court, theatre, and opportunity
for the various amusements which relieve the monotony of life in the
tropics, and which, fortunately, are always to be found where England
has established her garrisons. I should have liked to have visited
“Scotland,” as the northern part of the island is called, for it is said
to be picturesque and interesting, but time would not permit. Mount
Hillaby, which has the highest elevation, is not quite 1200 feet in
height, but the scenery is bold and mountainous, though of course on a
small scale.
About twelve miles from Bridgetown is Codrington College, and above it,
near the edge of a cliff, stands the old St. John’s Church, celebrated
for containing in its churchyard the tomb of a Palæologus, supposed to be
the last descendant of the Christian Emperors of Greece.
At the time of my visit, the island was somewhat excited over impending
Government changes, and the “storm in a tea cup,” raised by the
late Governor, Mr. Pope Hennessy, had not subsided. The scheme of
confederating it with Tobago, St. Lucia, St. Vincent, and Grenada
met with strong opposition. The Leeward Confederation had not proved
a success, and the Barbadians objected to having the Windward group
joined to them in the same way. Very conservative in their manners and
customs, the white inhabitants look with no friendly eye on change and
innovation; but I have heard it said, by some whose opinion was valuable,
that the Crown Colony system would eventually prove the saving of the
island. There were rumours too of fresh negro disturbances; provision
grounds were pillaged daily, and the already incredibly conceited blacks
were growing more and more pretentious. No other negro can come up to a
Barbadian in impudence. If in any of the other islands you meet or hear
of a case of peculiar insolence, the offender is sure to be a Barbadian.
“You do not like me,” says the deservedly-rebuked servant, “find one more
bettar,” and then walks off.
In Barbadoes, you hear that only the worst negroes leave the island, as
their love for it is so great that few can be induced to emigrate, in
spite of small wages. In time, however, even the most home-loving may
find himself compelled to agree with the African philosopher, who, when
asked what he thought of freedom, replied, “Well, sir, freedom is a
mighty fine thing, but I can’t eat freedom, and I can’t wear freedom,
and now I’se got to export myself.” Two days were all that were allowed
us in Barbadoes, and then the steamer arrived to carry us to Tobago and
Trinidad.
On approaching Tobago from the north, the island presents a mass of high
hills, terminating in abrupt precipices. Heavy forests clothe the central
ridge and the hill spurs which spring from it. There is hardly a break
in the luxuriant vegetation, and except here and there, where a patch in
the valleys or on the hill sides has been cleared for cultivation, not
a single bare spot is to be seen. We skirt the small island of Little
Tobago, the haunt of boobies and tropic birds, and then come in sight of
a pretty estate on the mainland, which greatly brightens the wild and
gloomy scenery. Soon we round a point, and anchor in Scarborough Bay.
On the right rises a hill, crowned by the dismantled fort of St. George.
Below it, and forming the central feature, lies a cluster of grey,
steep-roofed houses, grouped on a low conical hill which slopes towards
the water, and ends in a steep bank fringed with bamboos.
On the left, cane-fields extend from the shore far back over the
undulating land to the hill-range, which curves round in a southerly
direction towards a long, low promontory, called Sandy Point. Government
House is prettily situated on the rising ground at some distance behind
the town, but there is nothing of the slightest interest to induce a
passenger to land for the short time during the exchange of mails. For
a longer stay, that is if you have a friend’s house to go to, Tobago is
very interesting, both to the geologist and naturalist.
Up to the present, over one hundred and thirty different species of birds
have been discovered there, among which a “Penlope” is peculiar to the
island, and is known as the Tobago pheasant. A bird-seller, who came on
board, had some fine skins of trogons, jacamars, humming-birds, manakins,
and others. It is to be hoped that the bird laws which have been wisely
established in Trinidad will be adopted in Tobago, as at present the
bird-killers from the former island gain their supplies from the latter.
A curious circumstance in connection with the fauna of the West Indies is
the number of species of birds, animals, and reptiles peculiar to certain
islands, and those islands actually within sight of others. For instance,
the Santa Cruz deer is distinct from the deer of St. Vincent or Tobago.
The frogs of Dominica and the snakes of Martinique differ from those
found elsewhere. The “Imperial Parrot”[21] from Dominica, is unknown
in the other islands. Regarding humming-birds, Wallace says that “the
West Indian islands possess fifteen distinct species, belonging to eight
different genera, and these are so unlike any found on the continent that
five of these genera are peculiar to the Antilles.”
The cave-haunting Guacharos are found in Trinidad, as well as on the
mainland of South America, but they have not reached the more northerly
islands. It may be that the isolation of species is not so in reality,
but owes its apparent existence to a want of knowledge, as the recesses
of many of the densely wooded islands have still to be explored.
It was with no regret that we left Tobago, as the heat was intense, and
we could sympathize with a certain officer, who, when quartered here, was
once found sitting in his tub, uttering the most vehement denunciations,
with the invariable refrain, “D— Columbus, confound the fellow! why did
he discover this rascally island?”