TO GEORGETOWN—FIRST IMPRESSIONS—BATHS—A DROUGHT—STREET
SCENES—AN OIL PAINTING—VICTORIA REGIA—THE CANNON-BALL
TREE—SWIZZLES—A PROVISION OF NATURE—DIGNITY BALLS—CALLING
CRABS—FOUR EYES—KISKIDIS—FEATHER TRADE—COLOURED SUGAR—A
VERSATILE AMERICAN—DEMERARA CRYSTALS—PHYSALIA—OFF TO RORAIMA.
A dark thread stretching across the horizon, only a faint streak, which
thickened into a fringed skein as the tops of cocoa-nut trees came in
view, told us that we were in sight of British Guiana.[27] Soon the blue
water assumed the hue and consistency of pea-soup, as we approached the
mouth of the Demerara river. A pilot came on board, but for six hours we
had to await the pleasure of the tide before crossing the shallow bar
that guards the entrance to the river.
The first impression on beholding Demerara is that a wave of moderate
proportions would submerge the country. You see no background, no hill
or rising land, nothing but a thin coast line of avicennia and mangrove
bushes, above which rise cocoa-nut palms and high chimneys. Presently
you discover that there is land behind the coast line, as beyond a fine
sea-wall on the left you can see the barracks, fine spacious buildings
with deep verandahs, and several white houses. A fort is passed, and a
goodly array of shipping at anchor in the river, and lying alongside the
wharfs, betokens a busy town. Groups of royal palms, spires, and steeples
rise up in the rear of large warehouses and go-downs that line the bank,
and before the vessel anchors you recognize the fact that Georgetown is
the first and most promising town in or near the West Indies.
We anchored in the river, but now the steamers run alongside a wharf,
which is a comfort that cannot be too highly estimated. A hundred voices
greeted us on landing, with offers to convey our luggage to the hotel,
and “Kerridge, sir, kerridge,” resounded on all sides. Not only were
there “kerridges” of different descriptions, but there was actually a
“hansom” in waiting. Had it not been for the numerous black faces, we
might have landed on the coast of England, but, then again, the numerous
bangled women and turbaned men suggested India.
We were quickly driven to the new “Tower” Hotel, which looked clean and
comfortable, but not a room was vacant. In Georgetown, house-rent is so
exorbitant that many resident bachelors, and occasionally families, live
together at the hotels; consequently, strangers often find accommodation
unobtainable or indifferent.
Across the road was the “Kaieteur Hotel,” a large, rambling, wooden
structure, but with the prestige of antiquity, and kept by Captain Holly,
the American consul at Barbadoes. Here we found rooms, and the worthy
proprietor did his best to make us comfortable, but it must be allowed
that, with all his kindness and attention, he had not then attained the
art of keeping a good hotel. But as the two I have mentioned are by far
the best hotels in the West Indies, allowances must be made for a few
short-comings. There is one item though for which no allowance ought to
be made, and in the tropics it is a most important one. In the matter of
baths and bath rooms the hotels and boarding houses in the West Indies
are disgracefully negligent.
At St. Thomas, to reach the cobwebby and tarantula-occupied bath room, it
is necessary to descend a flight of dirty stone steps and to pick your
way across a courtyard which is never swept, and which is a repository
for old boots, rags, banana skins, and fowls. At Martinique there were
no bath rooms in my hotel, and I had to hire a tub; I was told that even
in the best hotels—the Hôtel Micas—there were no baths. At Barbadoes,
one very small shower-bath taken on the bare bricks did duty for the
whole establishment at Hoad’s. At Trinidad, a green, slimy tank into
which fresh water ran, but which was never emptied or cleaned, was
the sole bathing accommodation for Miss Emma Clark, her boarders, and
servants. And here at the “Kaieteur,” the two bath rooms—one on each
floor—were not fit for sculleries, a use by the way to which they were
frequently put. Their size was such that they barely held a small tub,
and it was difficult to stand upright in them; as for a chair, there was
not room for one, and, what with the intense heat and the want of space,
I have frequently seen people come out of the wretched hole streaming
with perspiration after their bath. The supply of water, too, was very
limited, as in Demerara rain water alone is used, and when we arrived
there the long continued drought had nearly emptied the tanks.
The average rain-fall in Demerara is estimated by feet instead of inches;
but last year (1877) had been very dry, and now the absence of rain in
the usual short wet season—December, January, and February—had already
created more loss to the planters, and as it was too late to expect rain
before May, a water famine was anticipated. It used to be positively
asserted that the year was divided into two wet and two dry seasons in
British Guiana, but it is gradually dawning on the public mind that
no uniformity in weather ever did, or can exist, and that, though the
climate remains, the weather changes.
Georgetown is a handsome, well-built town, with broad streets, avenues,
excellent stores, and shops of all descriptions, and with a lively, well
to-do air that is as invigorating as the heat is depressing. In the
streets, besides the white race, you meet sharp-featured Madrassees,
Hindoos of various castes, Parsees, Nubians, and half-breeds. Stepping
timidly along may also be seen two or three “bucks,” as the natives from
the interior are called, dressed—if dressed at all—in a motley suit
of old clothes, and only anxious to sell or exchange their parrots and
hammocks, and then return to their wilds. From a merchant’s store filled
with European goods, you step into a little shop redolent of the East,
and stocked with bangles and silver ornaments worked by their Cingalese
proprietor. There stands a Portuguese Jew, ready to fleece the first
“buck” whom he can entice into his cheap general-store, and here sits
stolid John Chinaman, with his pigtail wreathed round his head, keeping
guard over his home-made cigars.
The Government Building is a large, fine-looking structure, the numerous
churches are graceful and picturesque, and everywhere there is a home
look about the town, without pretension, that is very attractive. The
reading-room is cool and very comfortable, the library well managed,
and the museum in the same building is likely, under the care of Mr. Im
Thurm, the new curator, to become a very valuable acquisition to the
colony. Under his superintendence, a very interesting exhibition of
native produce and industry had been held previous to my arrival, and I
was sorry to have missed it.
It has been said that hospitality is on the wane in the West Indies;
well, if that of Demerara may be taken as an example, may it always be
on the wane! A kinder, more hospitable community I never met. It seems
to be the object of the residents to make a stranger’s sojourn among
them as home-like and agreeable as they can. Some one once remarked, and
it has been the fashion to repeat, that the French alone in the West
Indies make the land of their adoption their home, and that the English
make it merely a place of business, from which they hasten at the
earliest opportunity. This may be so, for the English of all others are
a home-loving race, and “the old country” is more, I think, to them than
“fatherland” to the Germans, or “notre pays” to the French. But, whilst
they are in exile, they, at any rate in Demerara, surround themselves as
far as possible with home comforts and home reminiscences, and infuse
something of the far off country sweetness into the inner circle of
their lives. No heart—no, not even a Savoyard’s—feels expatriation so
deeply as an Englishman’s, and none, save those whose lot has been to
sojourn far from home, can imagine the intense longing to see again the
native shores. Do you remember that old poem called “The Home Fever: A
reminiscence of the West Indies?”—the first verse is—
“We sat alone in a trellised bower,
And gazed o’er the darkening deep,
And the holy calm of that twilight hour
Came over our hearts like sleep,
And we dreamed of the banks and the bonny braes
That have gladdened our hearts in childhood’s days.”
and the last,
“Oh! talk of spring to the trampled flower,
Of light to the fallen star;
Of glory, to those who, in danger’s hour,
Lie cold in the field of war;
But ye mock the exile’s heart when ye tell
Of aught save the home where it pines to dwell.”
It will be asked, where do these good people of Georgetown dwell?
Opposite the “Kaieteur” hotel is the Club, which is the pleasantest
resort in the town, as it receives the full benefit of the trade wind,
which on certain occasions by-the-bye wafts other zephyrs than those
fresh from the beautiful hybiscus hedge in front, and is much frequented
by its members. Stretching far away from this club towards the sea-wall
is Main Street, and there and in the neighbouring parallel one the
principal houses of Georgetown are situated. Main Street is broad and
picturesque; a series of wide trenches[28] with green sloping banks
divides it, and on each side runs a fine road. The residences which
line it are all detached, and of various styles of architecture, from
a three-storied edifice with towers and cupola to a low wide-spreading
structure with but one floor above the basement. But all are built for
coolness as well as comfort, and their wide shady verandahs are the
favourite resorts of the family. Many of the gardens are brilliant
masses of colour, resembling a rich oil-painting, rather than a delicate
water-colour of those of European lands. The tints are so gorgeous
and heavy; there are bushes of the crimson hybiscus, scarlet cordias,
flaming poinsettias, trailing corallitas, the bright flowers of the bois
immortelle, the drooping clusters of the red quiscualis, the vermilion
blossoms of the flamboyant, all vying in splendour with saffron petrœas,
deep blue convolvuluses, abutilons, and the white trumpets of the datura.
In one garden I remember seeing a resplendent mass of Bougainvilleas,
and on a neighbouring tree some equally showy blossoms of a magnificent
crimson orchid—_Cattleya superba_; between them crept pale clusters
of English honeysuckle, not a bit abashed by their grand neighbours,
but rather exulting in the fragrance denied to their bright-coloured
companions.
Marbled crotons and purple dracœnas are tipped by strange-looking papaws,
whose wax-like blossoms grow direct from the trunks and branches, and
above these tower shade-trees and tall palms. Very conspicuous are the
royal palms, standing either singly or in groups, and near them bend the
cocoa-nut trees, as if in acknowledgment of the superior majesty of their
kings. Besides the houses, some pretty churches, half-hidden in trees,
give a finish to this the most picturesque street in Georgetown.
In the adjacent street are also some neat houses, and on one side of it
are the Public Gardens with the small but ever hospitable Government
House opposite. In the gardens are some specimens of the Victoria
Regia—the lily which was discovered by Sir Robert Schomburg on the
Berbice river—but in size they are not to be compared with some in other
parts of Demerara; for instance on one of the plantations, Leonora,
is a plant whose leaves are over six feet in diameter, and strong
enough to bear the weight of an average-sized man when a board has
been placed across to distribute the weight properly. There is also a
fine cannon-ball tree,[29] under whose shade the weary traveller may
experience sensations similar to those of Damocles, as the huge fruit,
which is as big as a twenty-pound shot and nearly as heavy, seems
always ready to fall from its slender hanging stem. The gardens are not
very interesting, but afford a pleasant playground for children, and a
delicious gossiping ground for their attendant nurses.
Let me now recall the usual daily routine in Georgetown. A little before
six o’clock tea and toast; after that I never knew for certain what
anyone did up to breakfast at half-past nine, probably because my time
till then was entirely taken up in getting a bath, dressing, and trying
to keep cool. I believe though that business was the occupation. As for
riding or early walking exercise, I saw none of it, but then again that
may have been through my own dilatoriness, although I doubt it. Breakfast
was a very substantial meal, too substantial in fact at the “Kaieteur,”
and not tempting enough for a hot climate.
Long before the traveller reaches Demerara, he will have discovered that
no meal in the West Indies is without salt-fish from Newfoundland; that
and pepper-pot are standard works. Good fresh fish in Georgetown is
something of a rarity—at least it was with us at the hotel—and when Jew
fish is in the market a bell-man goes round proclaiming the fact and the
price per pound. The flesh is coarse, but appreciated by the poorer class
when it is cheap. Housekeepers also complain of the scarcity of good
meat, and certainly the beefsteaks and mutton chops furnished to us were
poor.
After breakfast, business is attended to with decreasing energy up to
luncheon, and then dies a natural death in the course of the afternoon.
About five p.m. all the world—with the exception of the steady whist and
euchre players at the club—takes an airing. Those who have carriages
drive out to the sea-wall, which is the promenade, and those who have
not walk there. Nursery maids take their charges to the public gardens,
coolies lead out cows and oxen to graze, black boys exercise their
masters’ dogs, horsemen ride out to the race-course, and unfortunate
cripples—chiefly Chinese—in all stages of terrible disease, come forth
and beg. A late dinner, followed probably by some delightful music—as
Georgetown boasts of a very excellent Philharmonic Society—winds up the
day.
I must not forget to add that it is just possible that its interludes
have been filled up by a certain institution of Demerara known as
“swizzles.” Most cities and towns have some small peculiarity, for which
they are as well remembered as for their greater. Demerara and swizzles
are inseparably connected in my mind. The exact recipe for a swizzle I
cannot give, although I have seen it concocted not unfrequently; but it
is a deliciously cold drink, of a delicate pink colour, and when lashed
into a foam by the revolutions of a peculiar instrument called the
swizzle-stick, and imbibed out of a thin glass, it makes a very pretty
drink. By a wonderful provision of Nature the tree which furnishes the
pronged stick, without which the beverage would lose much of its charm,
grows abundantly in Guiana. The exact time for indulging in a swizzle
has not been clearly defined, but as a general rule in Demerara it is
accepted whenever offered. It is taken in the morning to ward off the
effect of chill, before breakfast to give a tone to the system, in the
middle of the day to fortify against the heat, in the afternoon as a
suitable finale to luncheon, and again as a stimulant to euchre, and
a solace for your losses. Before dinner it acts as an appetizer, and
it is said that when taken before going to bed it assists slumber. And
very frequently in Georgetown anything to induce sleep would be welcome,
as the incessant “dignity” balls of the negroes are fatal to slumber.
The noisier they are, the better they are enjoyed, and a lull of a few
minutes only gives fresh energy to subsequent demonstrations. Verily the
coloured folk give a literal interpretation of their own proverb, that
“what you lose in de jig, you gain in de reel.”
Even the guttural notes of the frogs, of which there are an extraordinary
number in the trenches, are preferable to the negro discord. When
Bacchus was rowed along the Styx he could not have been greeted with
a more varied frog’s chorus than that which day and night salutes the
inhabitants of Georgetown. “Awnk, awnk, awnk,” roars the bass, “week,
week, week,” pipes the tenor, “cru, cru, cru,” screams the soprano, and
then the full choir joins in a refrain which swells and falls with the
breeze. One quaint little fellow has a peculiarly sweet note, so exactly
like a whistle that I have frequently stopped in my walk and turned to
see who it was that wanted to attract my attention. Just as plentiful and
more amusing are the crabs which frequent the dykes and mud flats around
the town. The “calling crabs”[30] are especially entertaining, as they
wave and beckon with their great claw, and then scurry away at the least
attempt to approach them. Often in their fright they miss their holes,
then in despair place themselves in fighting attitude, and dare you to
the attack. Another common and very hideous creature is the little fish
known as “Four Eyes,”[31] which takes amusement in shooting along the
water and stranding itself at every opportunity.
The feathered tribe are not strongly represented around Georgetown, but,
as a “Birds’ Protection Ordinance” has lately been passed in Guiana as
well as in Trinidad, they may have a chance of multiplying. The commonest
bird is a species of flycatcher called “Qu’est-ce qu’il dit,” which are
the exact words it utters; it is pretty and sociable, and its querulous
notes are heard from many a tree and house top. It will be interesting
to learn after a lapse of time whether the bird-law has tended to the
increase of birds in towns and settlements. Of bright-plumaged birds the
humming-birds alone frequent habitations, and it will be chiefly their
increasing numbers that will tell the tale. The brilliant family of
chatterers, the troupials, the cocks-of-the-rock, the trogons, toucans,
the tanagers, fire-birds,[32] macaws, manakins, and other gay denizens
of Guiana live so far from the haunts of white men that any increase in
their numbers can only be assumed.
It is singular to note the constant development of the feather trade; the
day is long past when every fine gentleman, king and commoner, decked
himself with plumes, but now, when fashion requires them for ladies
alone, the demand is far greater. Forests, mountains, and swamps in all
parts of the world are ransacked to supply the dealers, and probably,
not before the last bird becomes as extinct as the dodo, will the mania
for feathers have died out. And it cannot be denied that the plumage of
birds makes a most beautiful adornment, and, though in dress, a head
here, a wing there, and a bit of the breast somewhere else, is not the
most advantageous mode of showing off the glistening beauties, yet even
the dismembered parts shine with matchless and inimitable tints. In
the present day there is little that cannot be imitated; artificial
flowers, stones, plants, fruit, fish, and human limbs are so skilfully
fashioned as sometimes to deceive the sharpest eye. It has been said,
too, that glass eyes have been made so perfectly that even the wearers
themselves cannot see through the deception. But birds and their nests
defy imitation.
A short time before my arrival in Georgetown, the community had been
much amused by the advent of a series of commissioners who had come from
the United States to inquire into the manufacture of “coloured” sugar.
Some cargoes of this sugar had been detained at the custom-house in one
of the American ports, under the impression that the sugar had been
“artificially” coloured, thereby avoiding the high duties on light sugars.
Duly furnished with Government credentials, they came, saw, and departed,
fully convinced, I believe, that the “coloured” sugar outcry was what is
vulgarly called a mare’s nest. One of the commissioners—a very pleasant
young fellow—on finding, when he arrived, that he had been forestalled by
others, wisely relinquished his sugar researches, and instead established
the first telephone in British Guiana between Georgetown and Berbice. The
last I heard of him was that he was about to be appointed consul either
in British, French, or Dutch Guiana. The versatility of the true American
is indeed wonderful.
Sugar-making has been so often described that I must refrain from
giving an account of a visit to a Demerara plantation, much as I should
have liked it. It must suffice to say that there you see the latest
improvements in machinery, the latest scientific appliances for vacuum
pans, centrifugals,[33] &c., and in fact sugar manufacture on a grand
scale.
You also see a veritable “little Holland,” as water forms the boundaries
of estates, and by water the produce is transported to the mills. Dams
and canals intersect the estates, and the navigation system is complete.
You see, too, how the welfare of the coolie is attended to, his hospital,
his home, his provision grounds, and how much better off in every way
he is than in his native land. I once saw a coolie vessel arrive in
Georgetown, and though her passengers wept and embraced the captain and
officers in their sorrow at having to leave, yet they looked very lean
and emaciated in comparison with those I afterwards saw working on the
estates. The ships which bring them over are well regulated, and as
comfortable as circumstances will admit, but the voyage is trying for a
non-sea-going race. One of the mates, in answer to a question, told me
they were “a docile, uncomplaining lot, but dirty, as they were always
using water.”
The visitor to a Demerara plantation is sure of a hearty welcome, that is
always fresh and invigorating, however hot the day or tame the scenery
may be. And even in the scenery there is always something interesting
besides sugar, some strange fruit-bearing tree, some flower or bird,
and the cane-laden boats, with a brightly clad figure among the green
blades, are always picturesque. The country is flat certainly—the only
hill I ever found about Georgetown was on the cricket ground—but it is
not monotonous if one chooses to look about and enjoy it. Even the muddy
river has its attractions, as the last time I crossed it after a visit to
a plantation it was covered with hundreds of Portuguese men-of-war[34]
whose large air sacks and vertical crests shone resplendently in every
shade of purple and blue.
I must not conclude this sketch of social Demerara without alluding to a
certain distribution of the government of the colony which, I believe,
is peculiar to British Guiana. Besides the Governor, there is what is
called a Court of Policy, and also the Combined Court, which consists
of the members of the Court of Policy together with six financial
representatives chosen by the people for two years. The Court of Policy
is composed of ten members, five of them being Government officers, and
five elected from the college of Keizers or Electors. This college is a
body of seven members chosen for life by the inhabitants who possess the
suffrage, for which an annual income of six hundred dollars qualifies.
The Court of Policy carries on the general legislative business, whilst
taxation and expenditure are in the power of the Combined Court. Every
member of the Combined Court has an equal vote, and also the power of
rejecting, if he thinks proper, a bill passed by the majority. Thus
Kings, Lords, and Commons rule in Demerara, and to their enterprise and
liberality I owe my visit to Roraima.
Mr. McTurk a Government official, who was experienced in bush life,
and possessed of qualifications well suited to the purpose, had been
commissioned by the Governor to superintend the expedition, and towards
the end of February I received intimation to join him at the settlement
near the junction of the Cuyuni and Mazaruni rivers, where he awaited me
with his boats.