Curious Seaweed.--Professor Agassiz.--Myth of a Lost
Continent.--Island of Martinique.--An Attractive
Place.--Statue of the Empress Josephine.--Birthplace of
Madame de Maintenon.--City of St. Pierre.--Mont Pelee.--High
Flavored Specialty.--Grisettes of Martinique.--A Botanical
Garden.--Defective Drainage.--A Fatal Enemy.--A Cannibal
Snake.--The Climate.
Between St. Thomas and the island of Martinique, we fell in with some
floating seaweed, so peculiar in appearance that an obliging
quartermaster picked up a spray for closer examination. It is a strange,
sponge-like plant, which propagates itself on the ocean, unharmed by the
fiercest agitation of the waves, or the wildest raging of the winds, at
the same time giving shelter to zooephytes and mollusks of a species,
like itself, found nowhere else. Sailors call it Gulf weed, but it has
nothing to do with the Gulf Stream, though sometimes clusters get astray
and are carried far away on the bosom of that grand ocean current. The
author has seen small bodies of it, after a fierce storm in the
Caribbean Sea, a thousand miles to the eastward of Barbadoes. Its
special home is a broad space of ocean surface between the Gulf Stream
and the equatorial current, known as the Sargasso Sea. Its limits,
however, change somewhat with the seasons. It was first noticed by
Columbus in 1492, and in this region it has remained for centuries, even
to the present day. Sometimes this peculiar weed is so abundant as to
present the appearance of a submerged meadow, through which the ship
ploughs its way as though sailing upon the land. We are told that
Professor Agassiz, while at sea, having got possession of a small branch
of this marine growth, kept himself busily absorbed with it and its
products for twelve hours, forgetting all the intervening meals. Science
was more than food and drink to this grand savant. His years from
boyhood were devoted to the study of nature in her various forms. "Life
is so short," said he, "one can hardly find space to become familiar
with a single science, much less to acquire knowledge of many." When he
was applied to by a lyceum committee to come to a certain town and
lecture, he replied that he was too busy. "But we will pay you double
price, Mr. Agassiz, if you will come," said the applicant. "I cannot
waste time to make money," was the noble reply.
The myth of a lost continent is doubtless familiar to the reader,--a
continent supposed to have existed in these waters thousands of years
ago, but which, by some evolution of nature, became submerged, sinking
from sight forever. It was the Atlantis which is mentioned by Plato; the
land in which the Elysian Fields were placed, and the Garden of
Hesperides, from which the early civilization of Greece, Egypt, and Asia
Minor were derived, and whose kings and heroes were the Olympian deities
of a later time. The poetical idea prevails that this plant, which once
grew in those gardens, having lost its original home, has become a
floating waif on the sapphire sea of the tropics. The color of the
Sargasso weed is a faint orange shade; the leaves are pointed, delicate,
and exquisitely formed, like those of the weeping willow in their
youthful freshness, having a tiny, round, light green berry near the
base of each leaf. Mother Cary's chickens are said to be fond of these
berries, and that bird abounds in these waters.
Probably the main portion of the West Indian islands was once a part of
the continent of America, many, many ages ago. There are trees of the
locust family growing among the group to-day, similar to those found on
our southern coast, which are declared to be four thousand years old.
This statement is partially corroborated by known characteristics of the
growth of the locust, and there are arborists who fully credit this
great longevity. It is interesting to look upon an object which had a
vital existence two thousand years and more before Christ was upon
earth, and which is still animate.
* * * * *
Each new island which one visits in the West Indies seems more lovely
than its predecessor, always leaving Hayti out of the question; but
Martinique, at this moment of writing, appears to rival all those with
which the author is familiar. It might be a choice bit out of Cuba,
Singapore, or far-away Hawaii. Its liability to destructive hurricanes
is its only visible drawback. Having been discovered on St. Martin's
day, Columbus gave it the name it now bears.
St. Pierre is the commercial capital of Martinique, one of the French
West Indies, and the largest of the group belonging to that nation. Fort
de France is the political capital, situated about thirty miles from St.
Pierre. It was nearly ruined by the cyclone of last August, a few weeks
after the author's visit. St. Pierre is the best built town in the
Lesser Antilles, and has a population of about twenty-five thousand. The
streets are well paved, and the principal avenues are beautified by
ornamental trees uniformly planted. The grateful shade thus obtained,
and the long lines of charming arboreal perspective which are formed,
are desirable accessories to any locality, but doubly so in tropical
regions. The houses are very attractive, while there is a prevailing
aspect of order, cleanliness, and thrift everywhere apparent. It was not
our experience to meet one beggar in the streets of St. Pierre. More or
less of poverty must exist everywhere, but it does not stalk abroad
here, as it does in many rich and pretentious capitals of the great
world. The island is situated midway between Dominica and St. Lucia, and
is admitted by all visitors to be one of the most picturesque of the
West Indian groups. Irregular in shape, it is also high and rocky, thus
forming one of the most prominent of the large volcanic family which
sprang up so many ages ago in these seas. Its apex, Mont Pelee, an only
partially extinct volcano, rises between four and five thousand feet
above the level of the ocean, and is the first point visible on
approaching the island from the north. It would be interesting to dilate
upon the past history of Martinique, for it has known not a little of
the checkered vicissitudes of these Antilles, having been twice captured
by the English, and twice restored to France. But this would not be in
accordance with the design of these pages.
St. Pierre is situated on the lee side of the island, something less
than two thousand miles, by the course we have steered, from New York,
and three hundred miles from St. Thomas. It comes down to the very
water's edge, with its parti-colored houses and red-tiled roofs, which
mingle here and there with tall, overhanging cocoa-palms. This is the
most lavishly beautiful tree in the world, and one which never fails to
impart special interest to its surroundings.
A marble statue in the Place de la Savane, at Fort de France, on the
same side of the island as St. Pierre, recalls the fact that this was
the birthplace of the Empress Josephine, born in 1763. Her memorable
history is too familiar for us to repeat any portion of it here, but the
brain becomes very active at the mere mention of her name, in recalling
the romantic and tragic episodes of her life, so closely interwoven with
the career of the first Napoleon. One instinctively recalls the small
boudoir in the palace of Trianon, where her husband signed the divorce
from Josephine. That he loved her with his whole power for loving is
plain enough, as is also his well known reason for the separation,
namely, the desire for offspring to transmit his name to posterity.
There is one legend which is always rehearsed to strangers, relating to
Josephine's youth upon the island. We refer to that of the old negress
fortune-teller who prognosticated the grandeur of her future career,
together with its melancholy termination, a story so tinctured with
local color that, if it be not absolutely true, it surely ought to be.
The statue, unless we are misinformed, was the gift of that colossal
fraud, Napoleon III., though it purports to have been raised to the
memory of Josephine by the people of Martinique, who certainly feel
great pride in the fact of her having been born here, and who truly
venerate her memory. The statue represents the empress dressed in the
fashion of the First Empire, with bare arms and shoulders, one hand
resting on a medallion bearing a profile of the emperor to whom she was
devoted. The whole is partially shaded by a half dozen grand old palms.
The group teems with historic suggestiveness, recalling one of the most
tragic chapters of modern European history. It seemed to us that the
artist had succeeded in imparting to the figure an expression indicating
something of the sad story of the original.
This beautiful island, it will be remembered, also gave to France
another remarkable historic character, Francoise d'Aubigne, afterwards
Madame Scarron, but better known to the world at large as Madame de
Maintenon. She, too, was the wife of a king, though the marriage was a
left-handed one, but as the power behind the throne, she is well known
to have shaped for years the political destinies of France.
St. Pierre has several schools, a very good hotel, a theatre, a public
library, together with some other modern and progressive institutions;
yet somehow everything looked quaint and olden, a sixteenth century
atmosphere seeming to pervade the town. The windows of the ordinary
dwellings have no glass, which is very naturally considered to be a
superfluity in this climate; but these windows have iron bars and wooden
shutters behind them, relics of the days of slavery, when every white
man's house was his castle, and great precautions were taken to guard
against the possible uprising of the blacks, who outnumbered their
masters twenty to one.
Though so large a portion of the population are of negro descent, yet
they are very French-like in character. The native women especially seem
to be frivolous and coquettish, not to say rather lax in morals. They
appear to be very fond of dress. The young negresses have learned from
their white mistresses how to put on their diaphanous clothing in a
jaunty and telling fashion, leaving one bronzed arm and shoulder bare,
which strikes the eye in strong contrast with the snow white of their
cotton chemises. They are Parisian grisettes in ebony, and with their
large, roguish eyes, well-rounded figures, straight pose, and dainty
ways, the half-breeds are certainly very attractive, and only too ready
for a lark with a stranger. They strongly remind one of the pretty
quadroons of Louisiana, in their manners, complexion, and general
appearance; and like those handsome offspring of mingled blood, so often
seen in our Southern States, we suspect that these of Martinique enjoy
but a brief space of existence. The average life of a quadroon is less
than thirty years.
Martinique is eight times as large as St. Thomas, containing a
population of about one hundred and seventy-five thousand. Within its
borders there are at least five extinct volcanoes, one of which has an
enormous crater, exceeded by only three or four others in the known
world. The island rises from the sea in three groups of rugged peaks,
and contains some very fertile valleys. So late as 1851, Mont Pelee
burst forth furiously with flames and smoke, which naturally threw the
people into a serious panic, many persons taking refuge temporarily on
board the shipping in the harbor. The eruption on this occasion did not
amount to anything very serious, only covering some hundreds of acres
with sulphurous debris, yet serving to show that the volcano was not
dead, but sleeping. Once or twice since that date ominous mutterings
have been heard from Mont Pelee, which it is confidently predicted will
one day deluge St. Pierre with ashes and lava, repeating the story of
Pompeii.
Sugar, rum, coffee, and cotton are the staple products here,
supplemented by tobacco, manioc flour, bread-fruit, and bananas. Rum is
very extensively manufactured, and has a good mercantile reputation for
its excellence, commanding as high prices as the more famous article of
the same nature produced at Jamaica. The purpose of the author is mainly
to record personal impressions, but a certain sprinkling of statistics
and detail is inevitable, if we would inform, as well as amuse, the
average reader.
The flora of Martinique is the marvel and delight of all who have
enjoyed its extraordinary beauty, while the great abundance and variety
of its fruits are believed to be unsurpassed even in the prolific
tropics. Of that favorite, the mango, the island produces some forty
varieties, and probably in no other region has the muscatel grape
reached to such perfection in size and flavor. The whole island looks
like a maze of greenery, as it is approached from the sea, vividly
recalling Tutuila of the Samoan group in the South Pacific. Like most of
the West Indian islands, Martinique was once densely covered with trees,
and a remnant of these ancient woods creeps down to the neighborhood of
St. Pierre to-day.
The principal landing is crowded at all times with hogsheads of sugar
and molasses, and other casks containing the highly scented island rum,
the two sweets, together with the spirits, causing a nauseous odor under
the powerful heat of a vertical sun. We must not forget to mention,
however, that St. Pierre has a specific for bad odors in her somewhat
peculiar specialty, namely, eau-de-cologne, which is manufactured on
this island, and is equal to the European article of the same name,
distilled at the famous city on the Rhine. No one visits the port, if it
be for but a single day, without bringing away a sample bottle of this
delicate perfumery, a small portion of which, added to the morning bath,
is delightfully refreshing, especially when one uses salt water at sea,
it so effectively removes the saline stickiness which is apt to remain
upon the limbs and body after a cold bath.
The town is blessed with an inexhaustible supply of good, fresh,
mountain water, which, besides furnishing the necessary quantity for
several large drinking fountains, feeds some ornamental ones, and
purifies the streets by a flow through the gutters, after the fashion of
Salt Lake City, Utah. This is in fact the only system of drainage at St.
Pierre. A bronze fountain in the Place Bertin is fed from this source,
and is an object of great pleasure in a climate where cold water in
abundance is an inestimable boon. This elaborate fountain was the gift
of a colored man, named Alfred Agnew, who was at one time mayor of the
city. Many of the gardens attached to the dwelling-houses are ornamented
with ever-flowing fountains, which impart a refreshing coolness to the
tropical atmosphere.
The Rue Victor Hugo is the main thoroughfare, traversing the whole
length of the town parallel with the shore, up hill and down, crossing a
small bridge, and finally losing itself in the environs. It is nicely
kept, well paved, and, though it is rather narrow, it is the Broadway of
St. Pierre. Some of the streets are so abrupt in grade as to recall
similar avenues in the English portion of Hong Kong, too steep for the
passage of vehicles, or even for donkeys, being ascended by means of
much worn stone steps. Fine, broad roadways surround the town and form
pleasant drives.
The cathedral has a sweet chime of bells, whose soft, liquid notes came
to us across the water of the bay with touching cadence at the Angelus
hour. It must be a sadly calloused heart which fails to respond to these
twilight sounds in an isle of the Caribbean Sea. Millet's impressive
picture was vividly recalled as we sat upon the deck and listened to
those bells, whose notes floated softly upon the air as if bidding
farewell to the lingering daylight. At the moment, all else being so
still, it seemed as though one's heartbeat could be heard, while the
senses were bathed in a tranquil gladness incited by the surrounding
scenery and the suggestiveness of the hour.
Three fourths of the population are half-breeds, born of whites, blacks,
or mulattoes, with a possible strain of Carib blood in their veins, the
result of which is sometimes a very handsome type of bronzed hue, but of
Circassian features. Some of the young women of the better class are
very attractive, with complexions of a gypsy color, like the artists'
models who frequent the "Spanish Stairs" leading to the Trinita di
Monti, at Rome. These girls possess deep, dark eyes, pearly teeth, with
good figures, upright and supple as the palms. In dress they affect all
the colors of the rainbow, presenting oftentimes a charming audacity of
contrasts, and somehow it seems to be quite the thing for them to do so;
it accords perfectly with their complexions, with the climate, with
everything tropical. The many-colored Madras kerchief is universally
worn by the common class of women, twisted into a jaunty turban, with
one well-starched end ingeniously arranged so as to stand upright like a
soldier's plume. The love of ornament is displayed by the wearing of
hoop earrings of enormous size, together with triple strings of gold
beads, and bracelets of the same material. If any one imagines he has
seen larger sized hoop earrings this side of Africa, he is mistaken.
They are more like bangles than earrings, hanging down so as to rest
upon the neck and shoulders. Those who cannot afford the genuine article
satisfy their vanity with gaudy imitations. They form a very curious and
interesting study, these black, brown, and yellow people, both men and
women. In the market-place at the north end of the town, the women
preside over their bananas, oranges, and other fruits, in groups,
squatting like Asiatics on their heels. In the Havana fish market, one
compares the variety of colors exhibited by the fishes exposed for sale
to those of the kaleidoscope, but here the Cuban display is equaled if
not surpassed.
St. Pierre has a botanical garden, situated about a mile from the centre
of the town, so located as to admit of utilizing a portion of the native
forest yet left standing, with here and there an impenetrable growth of
the feathery bamboo, king of the grasses, interspersed with the royal
palm and lighter green tree-ferns. The bamboo is a marvel, single stems
of it often attaining a height in tropical regions of a hundred and
seventy feet, and a diameter of a foot. So rapid is its growth that it
is sometimes known to attain the height of a hundred feet in sixty days.
Art has done something to improve the advantages afforded by nature in
this botanical garden, arranging some pretty lakes, fountains, and
cascades. Vistas have been cut through the dense undergrowth, and
driveways have been made, thus improving the rather neglected grounds.
One pretty lake of considerable size contains three or four small
islands, covered with flowering plants, while on the shore are pretty
summer houses and inviting arbors. The frangipanni, tall and almost
leafless, but with thick, fleshy shoots and a broad-spread, single leaf,
was recognized here among other interesting plants. This is the fragrant
flower mentioned by the early discoverers. There was also the
parti-colored passion-flower, and groups of odd-shaped cacti, whose
thick, green leaves were daintily rimmed with an odorless yellow bloom.
Here, also, is an interesting example of the ceba-tree, in whose shade a
hundred persons might banquet together. The author has seen specimens of
the ceba superbly developed in Cuba and the Bahamas, with its massive
and curiously buttressed trunk, having the large roots half above
ground. It is a solitary tree, growing to a large size and enjoying
great longevity. Mangoes abound here, the finest known as the _mango
d'or_. There is a certain air about the public garden of St. Pierre,
indicating that nature is permitted in a large degree to have her own
sweet will. Evidences enough remain to show the visitor that these
grounds must once have been in a much more presentable condition. There
is a musical cascade, which is well worth a long walk to see and enjoy.
Just inside of the entrance, one spot was all ablaze with a tiny yellow
flower, best known to us as English broom, _Cytisus genista_. Its
profuse but delicate bloom was dazzling beneath the bright sun's rays.
Could it possibly be indigenous? No one could tell us. Probably some
resident brought it hither from his home across the ocean, and it has
kindly adapted itself to the new soil and climate.
We were cautioned to look out for and to avoid a certain poisonous
snake, a malignant reptile, with fatal fangs, which is the dread of the
inhabitants, some of whom are said to die every year from the venom of
the creature. It will be remembered that one of these snakes, known here
as the _fer-de-lance_, bit Josephine, the future empress, when she was
very young, and that her faithful negro nurse saved the child's life by
instantly drawing the poison from the wound with her own lips. It is
singular that this island, and that of St. Lucia, directly south of it,
should be cursed by the presence of these poisonous creatures, which do
not exist in any other of the West Indian islands, and, indeed, so far
as we know, are not to be found anywhere else. The fer-de-lance has one
fatal enemy. This is a large snake, harmless so far as poisonous fangs
are concerned, called the _cribo_. This reptile fearlessly attacks the
fer-de-lance, and kills and eats him in spite of his venom, a perfectly
justifiable if not gratifying instance of cannibalism, where a creature
eats and relishes the body of one of its own species. The domestic cat
is said also to be more than a match for the dreaded snake, and
instinctively adopts a style of attack which, while protecting itself,
finally closes the contest by the death of the fer-de-lance, which it
seizes just back of the head at the spine, and does not let go until it
has severed the head from the body; and even then instinct teaches the
cat to avoid the head, for though it be severed from the body, like the
mouth of a turtle under similar circumstances, it can still inflict a
serious wound.
The fer-de-lance is a great destroyer of rats, this rodent forming its
principal source of food. Now as rats are almost as much of a pest upon
the island, and especially on the sugar plantations, as rabbits are in
New Zealand, it will be seen that even the existence of this poisonous
snake is not an unmitigated evil.
Crosses and wayside shrines of a very humble character are to be seen in
all directions on the roadsides leading from St. Pierre, recalling
similar structures which line the inland roads of Japan, where the local
religion finds like public expression, only varying in the character of
the emblems. At Martinique it is a Christ or a Madonna; in Japan it is a
crude idol of some sort, the more hideous, the more appropriate. The
same idea is to be seen carried out in the streets of Canton and
Shanghai, only Chinese idols are a degree more unlike anything upon or
below the earth than they are elsewhere.
It was observed that while there were plenty of masculine loafers and
careless idlers of various colors, whose whole occupation seemed to be
sucking at some form of burning tobacco in the shape of cigarette,
cigar, or pipe, the women, of whatever complexion, seen in public, were
all usefully employed. They are industrious by instinct; one almost
never sees them in repose. In the transportation of all articles of
domestic use, women bear them upon their heads, whether the article
weighs one pound or fifty, balancing their load without making use of
the hands except to place the article in position. The women not
infrequently have also a baby upon their backs at the same time.
Negresses and donkeys perform nine tenths of the transportation of
merchandise. Wheeled vehicles are very little used in the West Indian
islands. As we have seen, even in coaling ship, it is the women who do
the work.
The Hotel des Bains, at St. Pierre, is an excellent hostelry, as such
places go in this part of the world. The stranger will find here most of
the requisites for domestic comfort, and at reasonable prices. As a
health resort the place has its advantages, and a northern invalid,
wishing to escape the rigor of a New England winter, would doubtless
find much to occupy and recuperate him here. St. Pierre, however, has
times of serious epidemic sickness, though this does not often happen in
the winter season. Three or four years ago the island was visited by a
sweeping epidemic of small-pox, but it raged almost entirely among the
lowest classes, principally among the negroes, who seem to have a great
prejudice and superstitious fear relating to vaccination, and its
employment as a preventive against contracting the disease. In the
yellow fever season the city suffers more or less, but the health of St.
Pierre will average as good as that of our extreme Southern States; and
yet, after all, with the earthquakes, hurricanes, tarantulas, scorpions,
and deadly fer-de-lance, as Artemus Ward would say, Martinique presents
many characteristics to recommend protracted absence. A brief visit is
like a poem to be remembered, but one soon gets a surfeit of the
circumscribed island.
Our next objective point was Barbadoes, to reach which we sailed one
hundred and fifty miles to the eastward, this most important of the
Lesser Antilles being situated further to windward, that is, nearer the
continent of Europe. Our ponderous anchor came up at early morning, just
as the sun rose out of the long, level reach of waters. It looked like a
mammoth ball of fire, which had been immersed during the hours of the
night countless fathoms below the sea. Presently everything was aglow
with light and warmth, while the atmosphere seemed full of infinitesimal
particles of glittering gold. At first one could watch the face of the
rising sun, as it came peering above the sea, a sort of fascination
impelling the observer to do so, but after a few moments, no human eye
could bear its dazzling splendor.
Said an honest old Marshfield farmer, in 1776, who met the clergyman of
the village very early in the opening day: "Ah, good mornin', Parson,
another fine day," nodding significantly towards the sun just appearing
above the cloudless horizon of Massachusetts Bay. "They do say the airth
moves, and the sun stands still; but you and I, Parson, we git up airly
and we _see_ it rise!"