Fully aware that we were leaving the most home-like port we should make
during the voyage, our adieus to Cape Town were with mingled feelings
of gratification and regret. Thrift met us there at every step; and
the place had a substantial and prosperous, as well as a quiet and
comfortable, English air, which one could not fail to notice after
visiting the miserable, tumble-down Portuguese settlements of Porte
au Grande and Loando. To visit Cape Town directly after stopping at
the last-named places made us feel profoundly grateful for our descent
from the Anglo-Saxon stock, and impressed us with the truth of the
oft-repeated remark that “the English are the best colonists.” This is
undoubtedly owing, in a great degree, to their persistent energy and
industry, and also to the fact, that, wherever they go, the spirit of
enterprise and the elevating influences and comforts of our Protestant
religion goes with them.
At three o’clock on the afternoon of the 12th of December we weighed
anchor, and our good ship being turned once more seaward, we steamed
out of Table Bay. Taking our seats on the quarter-deck, just under the
bridge connecting the wheel-houses, and facing the stern, we prepared
to note the points of interest as they passed before us while sailing
out of the bay. First the city, with its background of mountains,
receded in the distance; then the shipping; and passing the breakwater,
the fortress, the city hospital, and light-house, we rounded Green
Point, with Bird’s Island on our left, and were soon fairly out at
sea. We had a stiff head-wind to encounter; but our good ship ploughed
her way swiftly through the dark-green billows, and soon were seen in
outline the other side of the Lion’s Back and Head,--the former greatly
lengthened, but the latter bearing itself as loftily as ever,--and in
the valley between the two a fine road wound its way over the country,
with large and fertile farms on either hand.
At this point we made a _détour_ along the coast, and obtained a fine
view of the other side of Table Mountain, the coast formation reminding
us strongly of the Highlands of the Hudson. Then came a succession of
the same high and rugged elevations, which, like Table Mountain, were
oblong in form and flat at their summits, having their squared ends
abutting directly upon the sea, whose waves were dashing against their
rocky sides. Directly after these we passed two lofty peaks which were
united at the base, having a gradual slope covered with soil made
of the _débris_ which had washed down from their barren and almost
perpendicular steeps. As we sailed along the coast we saw much mountain
scenery of a similar character, although occasionally a conical peak
appeared, reminding us of the Cape de Verd Islands. Some, also, were
in form not unlike the pyramidal sand-hills on the shore of the bay
of Loando; and on rounding a huge mountain of this description, which
stood boldly out towards the sea, Table Mountain disappeared from
view. The strata of these summits are peculiar in their formation,
being nearly horizontal, and are evidently of volcanic origin. After
meeting a small coasting propeller, which rode the waves beautifully,
notwithstanding the heavy swell, we lost sight of the Lion’s Head,
which had so long towered on high in gloomy grandeur, and came to a
descending range, over whose slope old Table Mountain again reared its
head, forming the background to a splendid landscape, with the sea
in the foreground, and a little cove hard by, in which was nestled a
small hamlet. Further on we passed a more regular range, which was
perpendicular from the base; and then, turning, had a lateral view of
the huge, square range we had first passed, now stretching as far back
as the eye could follow its dim outline into the interior. Then came
a narrow and verdant tongue of land, which widened as we approached,
but which was soon lost in another range of mountains very different
in appearance from any of the former, being more rounded, and greener
near the base, although their tops wore a barren and sterile aspect.
Until reaching this point we had kept within three or four miles of
the land; but now, although we still sailed due south, the coast-line
was receding, and being summoned to tea, our panoramic picture of all
that is wild and wonderful in romantic and sublime mountain scenery was
suddenly broken.
On returning upon deck, we found our course much the same, and the
distance which we were making from the shore increased very little; but
the coast tier of mountains was lower, and we had a fair view of two
distinct parallel ranges, with light, fleecy clouds resting between
them, and glistening in the rays of the setting sun. We were also fast
approaching the southernmost point of the Cape of Good Hope, which is
here about five miles wide, and going below, kept our watch at the
stern of the vessel until eight o’clock in the evening, when on the
smaller of two mountain-peaks near the sea appeared the revolving light
of the Cape. In the foreground of these mountains a long tongue of
land extends far out into the sea, and upon its extreme point stands
another Pharos, to guide the mariner along the coast in safety. We had
now a heavy sea, with the darkness increasing; and, anxious to get a
view of the revolving light from the quarter-deck, we ascended, but
had barely gained what we deemed a sheltered position, when a great
sea broke over the deck, and sweeping the place where we stood, gave
us a most thorough and unexpected _douche_-bath, which sent us below
_instanter_, where we were glad to remain for the night.
The next morning there was comparatively little sea, and at eleven
o’clock we were off Cape Lagullus,--the southernmost point of the
African continent,--and with the aid of a glass could see the
light-house, and a small bay or cove near at hand, where vessels were
riding at anchor. In the afternoon we met a fine clipper ship under
full sail, and speeding through the water like a bird before the wind.
On nearing her we displayed the American flag, when she promptly ran
up the Union Jack; and the signals being again put in requisition, we
learned that she was the _Lord of the Isles_, from Hong Kong.
Steaming onward in a northeasterly direction, Africa gradually receded
from our view, and we had barely sighted and passed the southeastern
point of Algoa Bay, when we met with another sea, whose swell
continued with unabated violence for three days, and greatly impeded
our progress. Soon afterwards, when very nearly in the latitude of
twenty-six degrees south, and in longitude thirty-seven degrees east,
we sailed through many miles of what is termed “the whale’s feed,”
which, by the action of the currents, was floating in streams to the
southeast. It is said to be an animalcule, and its appearance is not
unlike oak saw-dust; while underlying, and mingling with it, is usually
found an abundance of craw-fish. Whales, being very fond of this food,
are frequently found in its vicinity, and the next day we were spoken
by an American whaler, and stopped, while her boat was sent off for
news. She proved to be the _Young Phœnix_, of New Bedford, and had been
out fourteen months without any tidings from the United States, having
taken during that time eleven hundred barrels of oil. It is impossible
for one inexperienced in the hardships of sea-life to properly
appreciate the feelings of a ship’s crew thus isolated, on meeting
with a vessel so recently from home. The interest with which they
perused the supply of papers which we gave them must have been of that
absorbing character for which the English language affords no adequate
expression.
The weather was becoming very warm, and the mercury, which had already
risen to 85°, was fast seeking a higher elevation. We had passed
the “whale’s feed,” and were voyaging along with but little that was
noticeable to break the monotony of sea-life, or to add to our stock of
information. We observed, however, that the waters assumed a tint of
blue deeper than we had noticed in the Atlantic tropics. While sailing
there we were particularly charmed with the extreme brilliancy of the
stars; often beguiling the hours until late at night, in watching the
rising of the planets, and the appearance of the glorious Southern
Cross. Never, however, were we so enchanted with the splendor of the
starry vault as when tracing our quiet course upon the Indian Ocean,
particularly while on our passage from Port Louis, in Mauritius, to
Singapore. Venus, which even in our Northern clime is a planet of
extraordinary beauty, shines here with such regal splendor as to cast
a shadow, and, with the other heavenly bodies, stands out, as it
were, in bold relief; thus fully realizing the strange conceit of the
ancients that the stars were “fixed,” or riveted like nails to a solid
super-mundane sphere.
No description can convey to the mind the fascinating, poetic charm of
the lovely Southern Cross, or the hopeful and religious thoughts which
it inspires, as it is seen sparkling and glistening while floating
through the deeply clear, and transparent ether of the tropical
heavens. The serenity of the evening, the balmy weather, and cloudless
sky, wooed us to the open air, where, hour after hour, we watched the
rising of this, and kindred constellations that never illuminate our
Northern sky; together with the curious Magellanic clouds, which are
supposed to be other planetary systems. The superb lustre of Aldebaran,
and the increased brilliancy of the Pleiades, in Taurus, together
with the surpassing effulgence of the stars composing Orion,--the
largest and brightest of the Southern constellations,--often held us
spellbound for hours; and most reverently impressed us with the truth
of the Psalmist, that “the heavens declare the glory of God, and the
firmament showeth His handiwork.” We also caught something more than a
faint glimmer of the meaning of the Almighty, who, when addressing Job,
said:--“Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or loose the
bands of Orion?”
On the afternoon of the 20th of December we were nearing the
southeastern shore of the “Island of the Moon,”[3] and before night
were within eight or ten miles of the land, with the shadowy outlines
of two large mountains distinctly visible. We coasted for several hours
along the low shore of this comparatively unexplored country; but,
“Green Madagascar’s flowery dales,
Her vernal lawns, and numerous peaceful bays,”
were enveloped in a hazy, dreamy, tropical atmosphere that hung over
the mountains like a veil, and floated across the lowlands, soon to
be dissipated by the glorious sun, even as the shades of heathenism
and the darkness of superstition, which once entirely enveloped in
tenfold night this beautiful country, are beginning to be dissipated
by the glorious light of the Sun of Righteousness. We sighted Fort
Dauphin in the bright tropical moonlight, which also brought to view
the mountain ranges and the coast, that here assumed a bolder outline.
We were heading, however, for the Isle of Bourbon and the Mauritius;
and the morning found us once more where the clear cerulean of the
horizon met only the darker blue of the ocean. We had looked our last
upon a land combining in its romantic mountain-scenery much that is
grand and sublime in Nature,--a land whose flora is unequalled, being
particularly rich in rare and superb orchids, and remarkable for its
traveller’s-tree, from whose leaf-stalk, when pierced, pure water
gushes to refresh the thirsty wayfarer.
Early on the morning of the 23d of December we were sailing along the
coast of Bourbon, which we first made at its southwest point, and
were watching the day, then just breaking beyond its lofty volcanic
mountains, the tops of which became radiant as the early light
played upon their summits. This island lays considerably higher than
Mauritius, but its scenery is said to be less beautiful. The shore-base
of the coast-line formed by the mountains is square and precipitous,
and in one place extended out into the sea for a mile or more, like an
immense breakwater. We were now off St. Denis, which is the chief port
of the island, although a very insecure one during the prevalence of
high winds. Ships lying in this harbor are always kept in readiness to
sail at a moment’s warning; and we counted a fleet of fourteen sail,
with all their canvas set, lying in the offing, and ready to slip out
to sea at the first intimation of foul weather. At a sort of wharf,
or jetty, a flag is hoisted whenever boats from the ships can land in
safety. There were remarkably deep gorges between the mountains in the
rear of the town, which one of our missionary party, who had lived for
some years in Northern India, compared to those he had seen among the
Himalaya Mountains, through which ran living streams of water. Passing
other mountains whose steeps were cultivated, and covered with a rich
verdure half way up their sides, we sailed a little to the east, and
St. Denis disappeared.
As we coasted along the island the mountains gradually receded from our
view, and we were soon off a more extensive slope of country reaching
far back from the sea, with finely cultivated plantations whose fields
teemed with a rich tropical luxuriance, and picturesquely situated
houses dotting the landscape in every direction.
We had scarcely lost sight of Bourbon, when at mid-day of the 23d of
December we discerned the broad-shouldered mountains of Mauritius,
sixty miles in the distance, and at five o’clock in the afternoon were
coasting near their base, intending to make the harbor of Port Louis.
These mountains presented an almost infinite variety of forms. At one
point an old castle-like looking peak passed before us, followed by
several smaller ones, all rising directly out of an extensive plain;
while another cone-shaped mountain that attracted our attention seemed
as if surrounded by natural lawns, which were covered with a luxuriant
herbage of the richest green. The country seemed to be in as high a
state of cultivation as at the Isle of Bourbon, and the plantations,
with their neat residences, gave every indication of thrift and
prosperity.
While admiring the rarely equalled beauty of the scenery there came
very suddenly upon us a slight tropical shower, which passing away
rapidly, as the sun reappeared, the arch of a beautiful rainbow sprang
from behind the mountains, giving to the varied landscape an air of
surpassing beauty and enchantment. This scene, however magnificent,
was but the prelude to another equally grand and beautiful. A tropical
sunset is always a splendid spectacle, but a tropical sunset after
a storm is an event in one’s lifetime,--one of those few phases
of Nature, in fact, which cannot be described any more than the
impressions which they create. A scene like this it fell to our lot to
witness on that memorable evening, as the shower moved off,--its dark
skirts tinged with brilliant sapphire by the setting sun. Then there
were the white and fleecy clouds that lagged in the wake of the storm,
exquisitely tinted with the pale red of the opal and the delicate
violet of the amethyst,--so beautiful as almost to vie with the hues of
the rainbow, whose broken arch gleamed just over the distant mountains.
We fired our guns, and rounding a lofty peak, (which, with a
signal-station upon its top, loomed up at our right,) entered the
harbor of Port Louis. We did not wait to take on board a pilot, for
although it was our Captain’s first visit to this island he was too
accomplished a navigator to require any such aid. With the vessel at
half speed, we felt our way up the channel by continued soundings,
until we reached the quarantine ground, our quarter-deck filled with a
happy group, whose hearts seemed overrunning with delight at the beauty
of the scenes around them, to say nothing of our anticipated pleasure
in “doing” the town and environs of Port Louis.
The warning advice of an English ship-captain whose vessel we passed
while coming up the harbor,--“not to attempt going to the wharf,”--fell
like a discordant note upon our ears; and on reaching the anchorage a
burly English pilot came alongside, but would not touch his foot to the
gangway-stairs until well assured that there was no sickness on board,
and that no death had occurred since our leaving the Cape. He was a
bustling, loquacious man, and when ascending to the quarter-deck said,
in a very brusque and loud tone of voice, “Well, we have the cholera
thick in this port!”--the effect of which announcement was electrical,
and, mute with sudden fear and disappointment, one by one, we withdrew
to the cabin below.
But “the art of our necessity is strange;” and although the _chateaux
en Espagne_, reared upon the pleasure and satisfaction we were to
receive in looking up the lions of the city, and its neighborhood, had
vanished like the beautiful clouds of the tropical sunset, and in the
fearful summer heat, (the mercury ranging at 90° and upwards,) we were
about to meet a dreadful pestilence, no one seemed panic-stricken, and
very little was said on the subject. It was, however, interesting to
notice the similar effect this entire change in our prospects had upon
all on board,--each one seeming more inclined to commune with his own
thoughts than to communicate them to others. At this time the words of
Isaiah came very forcibly to mind: “In quietness and confidence shall
be your strength”; and none seemed to doubt, that, to be fortified with
the Christian’s hope and trust in such an emergency, was of infinitely
more value than a display of senseless bravado, or yielding, on the
other hand, to a weak and unmanly fear. We learned afterwards that the
pilot had somewhat exaggerated the extent of the disease, not being
in the most “melting mood” imaginable in consequence of the rapidity
of our movements, which prevented his boarding us in time to place us
in quarantine. For many weeks previous, all vessels from the Cape of
Good Hope had been compelled to pass this ordeal, on account of the
prevalence of the small-pox at the latter port during the autumn.
No one was permitted to go on shore until the port physician had
visited the ship, and satisfied himself as to our general good health.
We were already somewhat reassured of the safety of our position,
and Captain Briggs, after visiting the city, returned with an account
so different from the pilot’s statement, that we were satisfied the
disease had more of the endemic than epidemic character, and was
confined, as near as we could learn, to a locality on Grand River, two
miles from Port Louis. In 1854 the cholera raged fearfully in the city
of Port Louis, and the most stringent measures were now being taken to
prevent a similar calamity. It had been brought to the port by a vessel
from Calcutta; and the ship which we spoke at the entrance of the
harbor was also from that city, being loaded with India Coolies, among
whom the cholera had appeared while on the passage. On her arrival, of
course, the vessel was promptly quarantined.
The island of Mauritius was discovered in the sixteenth century by
Pedro Mascarenhas, a Portuguese, by whom it was called _Ilha do Cerno_;
but Van Neck, a Dutch navigator, who touched at the island in 1598,
finding it still uninhabited, called it Mauritius, in honor of Maurice,
the Prince of Orange. It was, however, abandoned by the Dutch, and we
were told by a citizen of Port Louis, that the story in regard to their
having been driven out of the island on account of the great multitude
of rats that infested it, was universally received as an historical
fact.
In 1721 the French took possession of the island, and much of its
present prosperity is due to the ability, and good management of
its French Governor, the celebrated M. de la Bourdonnais. It was
afterwards, however, taken by the English in 1810,--to whom it was
definitively ceded by the peace of 1814. The island is said now to
contain 350,000 inhabitants, of which number only ten or twelve
thousand are Europeans. The country is very mountainous, and the soil
is of a reddish cast; but the land is generally fertile, well-watered,
and rich in tropical productions,--the trees, fruits, and plants common
to the Eastern tropics growing here in great perfection.
Notwithstanding the island produces excellent coffee and spices,
sugar is cultivated to the exclusion of almost every other staple
commodity,--three hundred millions of pounds being exported annually,
most of which goes to France. The black-wood, or ebony, grown on the
island is said to be the most solid, close, and shining of any in
the world, and if all of it is like that which was brought on board
our vessel, it has a well deserved reputation. Very little corn, or
grain of any kind, is raised; most articles of provision, and other
supplies, being imported from the Cape of Good Hope, Madagascar, India,
and Bourbon. The extensive grazing lands of Madagascar produce fine
cattle; and from that island, where, Camoëns says,--
“The lowing herds adorn the vales of green,”--
the Mauritians are supplied with beef.
African slavery, which formerly existed here, was abolished more than
twenty years ago; but some of the most remarkable and attractive
natural points of scenery on the island are said to be connected with
the injustice and misery experienced by that unfortunate race, who,
although guilty of a blacker skin than the races of Asia, are now
daring to look up and claim an equal brotherhood with the family of
man. On becoming freemen, they stood comparatively little chance of
bettering their condition, or of remaining as they were. It is said
that, amid the toil and moil of the more privileged and advanced
Asiatic races with whom they came in competition,--none of whom were
under the unrelenting ban of prejudice that everywhere meets the
African,--these poor people have mostly passed away. It is, however,
acknowledged that some who are left have succeeded in making themselves
comfortable homes, and in gathering together some wealth; and those who
have attained such positions of comfort, and respectability, have done
so in the face of difficulties, which, to have been overcome by one of
our own race, would have caused him to be regarded as an indomitable,
and very clever Saxon.
The city of Port Louis is the chief port, and capital of the island,
and lies in latitude 20° 9′ 56″ south, and in longitude 57° 28′ 41″
east. It is situated at the head of a triangular bay, and is partly
built on the slopes of the mountains, which enclose it on three sides.
The highest of these is the Pouce, which rises directly in the rear
of the town, to the height of 2800 feet, and from which another range
of mountains extends to the sea in a southwesterly direction. The
mountain range, which encloses the town and its beautiful suburbs,
extends to the northeast; and back of them, towering high above his
compeers, is the summit of the celebrated Peterboth. The town, as seen
from the harbor, has rather an imposing aspect. The Creoles, Coolies,
and the descendants of the former slave population, occupy different
localities, and an occasional minaret of a mosque is seen in the Coolie
quarter of the city.
Port Louis was first settled by the better class of French families,
many of whom were of the old _noblesse_; and their descendants, still
keeping up the old ancestral dignity, have given to the society in
which they live, a tone of superior cultivation and polish, rarely
met with even in countries nearer the centre of civilization. The
population is said to be between fifty and sixty thousand, and
comprises representatives from nearly every nation on the face of the
earth. It is considered one of the most cosmopolitan places in the
world, all the foreign trade of the island being transacted there;
and at early morning, during the business hours, the bustling crowd
of English and French merchants, military, and policemen, sailors,
and Chinese, Arabs, Bengalese, and Parsees, together with natives
“to the manor born,” all seen in their different national costumes,
present to the eye of an untravelled American a scene at once novel and
interesting.
There are large warehouses on the wharves; and a few steps from the
landing an entrance, through a spacious gateway, leads into a large,
open space, called the Place d’Armes, which is planted on each side
with trees. The Governor’s house is situated farther beyond, towards
the mountains.
Previous to 1845, sugars and other articles sent from the Mauritius to
Great Britain were charged with the same duties as the like articles
from India; but during that year the custom rules and regulations were
changed, and the duties being fixed the same “as on like goods of the
same growth, produce, or manufacture of the British Colonies in the
West Indies,” the trade was thus placed on the same footing.
The fort, which commands the town and harbor, stands on a spur of the
mountain we rounded on entering, and the passage being difficult, every
vessel on approaching is required to hoist her flag and fire two guns;
and at night a light must be shown, when a pilot goes on board and
steers the ship safely into port.
For the first three months of the year the island is subject to
terrible hurricanes, or _cyclones_, and during that time the weather
is unsettled. Squalls of wind and rain precede these tempests; and
their advent being near at the time of our visit, heavy rain-clouds
were every day seen to expend themselves on the tops, or down the sides
of the mountains, and sometimes a slight sprinkling was received on
board our vessel. We watched these never-failing precursors of the
gales that were to follow, with fearful interest, after hearing the
English seamen’s chaplain, the Rev. Mr. Richards, relate his perilous
experience during the year previous, when he and his entire family came
very near being destroyed by remaining on board the Bethel ship through
the hurricane season. His remarkable escape did not have the effect of
calming our anxiety, and we were more than ever anxious to be at sea
again in order to get out of their latitude.
We were told that on account of these winds the dwellings in the town
are only of one story, having, for security, strong outside shutters,
called hurricane-shutters, and doors of unusual strength. When the
barometer indicates the coming of the hurricane, a gun is fired from
the citadel as a signal for all vessels to take down their upper masts
and yards; and at the same time a flag is hoisted at the port-office,
as a warning to all ships lying outside the inner harbor to put out to
sea. If a vessel hesitates, or refuses to move from the outer anchorage
when thus warned, a gun is fired upon her from the fortress, and she
is compelled to leave. Absolute necessity requires such a course, as
no ship can remain in the outer harbor, during the prevalence of these
winds, without being driven upon the rocks and destroyed. The inner
harbor can accommodate but a few vessels at a time, which are moored
in rows, side by side, and in some way fastened together, with a small
clear space of water between them. Each vessel is anchored both at the
bow and stern, which reminded us of St. Paul’s shipwreck, when they
“cast four anchors out at the stern, and wished for the day.”
It is well known that Mauritius is the scene of St. Pierre’s little
romance of “Paul and Virginia,” and that their tombs are in a garden at
Pamplemeuses. The _St. Geran_ was wrecked on the neighboring coast,
in 1745, and a bight adjoining it is called the Bay of Tombs,--Paul
and Virginia, according to the old legend, having been buried there.
Pamplemeuses is reached after a charming drive of seven miles in a
northerly direction, and no one visits Port Louis without going there.
Therefore, hoping for the best in regard to the sickness in the city,
we also made a pilgrimage to that classic region.
It was Christmas Day, and the heat very oppressive,--the mercury rising
to ninety-six degrees and upwards in the shade; but we did not set
forth on our excursion until late in the afternoon, when the fierceness
of the sun’s rays was upon the wane, and the air somewhat tempered by
the evening breeze from the ocean. Leaving the ship and landing at the
wharf, we encountered a group made up of nearly every nation of the
East, from the jet-black African to the light Arab, who, squatting on
the ground, were intently engaged in gambling with cowries; and passing
on, we walked through the arched gateway, already mentioned, to the
Place d’Armes, where the gentlemen of our party, after some chaffering
with a group of voluble drivers, and owners of open barouche-like
carriages, succeeded in obtaining two vehicles, and we drove off. The
streets of Port Louis, and the roads leading from it, are macadamized
in the best manner, and the gutters, as well as the sidewalks in
the town, are paved with stone. Many parts of it are ornamented with
shade-trees, and an ample supply of excellent water is brought from the
mountains, over deep gorges, in aqueducts built of stone masonry. One,
in particular, near which we passed, was constructed in the Romanesque
style, and had a very antique and imposing appearance.
The drive was delightful, the road being lined on either side with
hedges of the aloe and cactus, interspersed with various other tropical
shrubs, flowers, and trees. The curiously tasselled flowers of the
aloe, borne upon a foot-stalk fifteen or twenty feet in height, was a
particularly attractive object; and along the road were seen extensive
sugar-plantations bordered with hedge-rows, together with the houses
of the planters, and the thatched cottages of the Coolies. The palings
enclosing the yards of private residences were in many instances hidden
by a species of convolvulus,--a creeper more beautiful in flower and
verdure than any of our Western varieties,--and some were surrounded
with hedges of exquisite flowers, while within were beautiful little
parterres filled with many kinds of flowering shrubs and plants.
Mauritius is literally an Eden of flowers; and on Christmas morning,
besides having our cabin-table resplendent with their beautiful
tropical tints, some of our Christmas greetings came accompanied with
beautifully arranged bouquets. To us the Oriental _sylva_ seemed to
partake of a no less remarkable character. There was the banyan,
bamboo, fig, almond, mango, banana, cocoanut, and different varieties
of the palm, together with the pomegranate, unfolding its beautiful
flowers; while at every turn, large flowering trees, in full bloom,
displayed the richest tints of yellow, purple, and red. One of these
trees, in particular, we shall always remember for its stately and
gorgeous beauty. It was growing by the road-side, at Pamplemeuses, and
was at least forty feet in height, having a full acacia foliage of
delicate green, amid which were large clusters of brilliant scarlet
flowers. We afterwards learned that it was the _Poinciana regia_,
commonly called _mille fleurs_, or _flamboyant_, and that the time of
its blossoming is from December to April.
Everything combined to make our drive so like enchantment that we
almost questioned within ourselves whether we were there _in propria
persona_, or only dreaming. It being Christmas, all classes had a
holiday, and the Coolie population, as well as the Creole, were out
arrayed in their best. The whole length of our way, both on going to
and returning from Pamplemeuses, was thronged with these people. There
was the Bengalee woman, who had donned her brightest red, yellow, or
purple _sari_;--a garment made of one long piece of cotton cloth, or
some other light fabric, that gracefully covered the head and person;
and walking beside her was her Hindoostanee sister, with her dress
composed of three garments; viz. the _kurti_, which we should term a
jacket; the _saya_, answering to our skirt; and the _chudar_,--a piece
of white muslin, or calico print, of one yard and a half or two yards
in length, which is thrown lightly and often jauntily over the head.
The men, resplendent in holiday garbs of white and red,--their loose
robes flowing gracefully,--were walking, or riding in donkey-carts;
and well-to-do Mussulmans drove past in carriages, or sauntered
leisurely along the road in groups; some of whom, when overtaken by
their hour of prayer, prostrated themselves as we passed. Everywhere
mingled with the moving crowd were Coolies occupied in their various
callings: some we observed with large circular flat baskets on their
heads, not unfrequently filled with chickens; and others, with heavily
laden panniers of fruit and vegetables, were trotting along at a
brisk pace, to and from the city. Both sexes had lithe figures, and
were exceedingly erect and well proportioned. Both also showed their
fondness for ornaments,--wearing rings not only on their fingers, and
hanging to their ears, but also pendent from the nose. It was a common
practice, also, to fasten an ornament of some kind on the forehead, and
they abounded in bracelets.
Arriving at Pamplemeuses, we were met by a Bengalee Coolie who lived
in a cottage near by, and who, after acting as cicerone, asked for
_bukshish_. Following this man, we were led into the garden, and a
few steps brought us to a small oval pond of sluggish water, passing
which, a short distance along its right bank, we were directly standing
near the tomb of Virginia,--that of Paul being directly opposite, on
the other side of the muddy pool. Both tombs were much dilapidated,
all that remained of them being two square masses of brick masonry
stuccoed with plaster, each of which had a delicate iron shaft passing
down through its centre from the top. The masonry formerly served
as a pedestal, the iron shafts acting as supports for the clay, or
coarse terracotta urns that stood upon them; and both monuments were
originally enclosed with light iron railings. No vestige, however,
either of the railings or the urns is now remaining; but over each
the pliant and graceful bamboo rustles mournfully in the wind, and a
species of vine-like mimosa trails closely at their base. The alley
of bamboos, the shaddock-groves, as well as the cocoanut-trees, and
the mango and orange-groves, if they ever embellished that particular
spot, have passed away. Many years ago a house of entertainment was
kept in the vicinity, and the place was much frequented by the French
residents of Port Louis.
It seems a pity to spoil so affecting a story as that of the lives
and loves of Paul and Virginia, but we were assured by an English
Protestant clergyman of Mauritius that nearly the whole narrative was
a myth. Not but that some such persons might have existed and been
shipwrecked on the coast; but this was merely the _incident_ which St.
Pierre worked up into a touchingly affecting tale; none, excepting
a few French, believing it to be a real life-narrative. Some of our
_compagnons du voyage_, who were in full belief of the story, were
greatly disturbed because we laughed at the idea; and yet we were quite
as intent as they in plucking flowers and sprigs of the bamboo and
mimosa, to preserve as mementos of our visit, while we thought with
renewed pleasure of the days when we first conned the pages of St.
Pierre’s interesting little book.
Pamplemeuses and its environs are exceedingly charming and attractive.
A fine old Cathedral, in the Gothic style, stands at a little distance
from the Tombs, with a cemetery near by, whose graves and monuments
were adorned with fresh floral offerings; and the abundant display of
beautiful Christmas bouquets and wreaths, placed by loving hands upon
the last resting-places of the dead, gave a very cheerful aspect to the
enclosure. Most of the bouquets were in vases of handsome design and
workmanship, and were fixtures to the monuments and tombs.
The Zoölogical, or Royal Gardens, in the same neighborhood, cover about
fifty acres of land, and are laid out on a grand scale,--both sides
of the avenue being bordered with the rarest and most valuable trees
in the world. At certain intervals there are stone seats, which serve
as resting-places for visitors; and we observed little gutters, on
either side of the spacious walls, through which water is conducted
for irrigation. Our time did not permit us to examine the ground as
thoroughly as we wished; but we took a hasty glance at the avenue of
superb palms, which is said to be scarcely equalled in extent and
beauty in the world, and saw, for the first time, the Jack-fruit-tree,
with its singular fruit, which hung at a distance of thirty feet from
the ground and had already attained a great size, but was not ripe.
There was, also, among the shrubbery, a fine _echite_, from which we
took a few of its strangely variegated leaves.
The last evening of our stay in Mauritius was devoted to visiting the
Christian Cemetery, which interested all of us, but had peculiar
attractions for our missionary party, from the fact that Mrs.
Harriet Newell, one of the earliest American missionary women, lies
buried there. Although separately enclosed, it is contiguous to the
burial-place of the Mussulmans of India, and also to those of the
Parsees and Chinese; occupying with them a low portion of ground lying
at the southeastern side of the harbor.
A spacious winding avenue along the sea-shore--which seemed to
be a favorite place for the Europeans to exhibit their dashing
turn-outs--conducted us to its gate, the avenue being bordered on
either side with tall filao-trees, which are very like the cypress.
The action of the wind from the sea has inclined these trees slightly
in the direction of the cemetery, to which they lead; and the fitful
sighing of the breeze, as it rustles sadly in the foliage, makes it a
strikingly mournful entrance-way to the resting place of the dead.
The grounds contained many tombs and monuments,--some of the latter
being ornate and expensive, although most of them were plainly and
substantially made of the coarse native granite, which admits of a fair
polish, and is readily procured from the mountains which overshadow the
place. Evergreens, shrubs, and flowers were abundant, and the Coolie
water-carriers were busily engaged in watering them for the evening,
as we wandered in various directions in search of Mrs. Newell’s grave.
We were without a guide, and consequently encountered some little
difficulty in finding it, but finally succeeded in our endeavors, after
a patient and persevering search among the monuments. The grave is
enclosed by a low tomb of native stone, and on its top rests a white
marble slab, having upon it, at the head, an urn in bas-relief, under
which is inscribed the following:--
Sacred
to the memory of
MRS. HARRIET ATWOOD,
Wife of Rev. Samuel Newell,
Missionary at Bombay.
Born at Haverhill, Mass., U. S. A., Oct. 10, 1793.
Died, after a distressing voyage from India to this place,
Nov. 30, 1812.
Early devoted to Christ, her heart turned towards the heathen.
For them she left her kindred, and her native land,
and welcomed dangers and sufferings.
Of excellent understanding, rich in accomplishments and virtues,
she was the delight of her friends, a crown to her husband,
and an ornament to the Missionary cause.
This humble monument to her memory
is erected by the
American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions.
The tomb and marble slab were kept clean and in good condition, and we
were told that the spot was every year properly cared for by religious
Americans and Englishmen, who gladly availed themselves of the
opportunity of performing this work, simply as a labor of love.
The brief life of one so beloved and accomplished has doubtless been
regarded, by many of those who see and judge after the manner of men,
as having been uselessly sacrificed, if not absolutely thrown away.
To those, however, who know something of the workings of Protestant
Christian missions in heathen lands, and can speak from observation of
the great need of such women in the missionary field, the dedication
of Mrs. Newell to the work, her patient sufferings, and short career,
have yielded much fruit, and been of infinite service to the cause. Her
example has also actuated so many of her countrywomen to cheerfully
and gladly devote themselves to the same noble purpose, and has had
such an effect in inclining others to become earnest and diligent
workers at home, for the advancement of the Redeemer’s kingdom, that,
on standing at the side of her humble grave, one can feel with truth
that “though dead, she yet speaketh.” If there is a spot on earth where
this sentiment can be truly felt, it is at the grave of one so young,
and self-devoted, and accomplished, who shrank from no hardships, and
halted at no sacrifice, as long as the cause of Christ and the good
of souls was the end in view. With her, Christian duty was paramount
to every other consideration; and although her early death was an
irreparable loss to the cause in which her soul seemed to have expended
its best energies, still it was fitting that the “Lord of the harvest”
should call her thus early home, for it may well be said of her, in the
eloquent language of Tasso,--
“These birds of Paradise but long to flee
Back to their native mansions.”
Beside a gigantic stone-cross which we encountered while in quest
of Mrs. Newell’s grave, there were two or three similar ones in
other parts of the cemetery, all of which were well proportioned and
handsomely finished shafts, round in form, and made of the native
granite, about twenty feet in height, with cross-pieces six or seven
feet long. The effect of this symbol of our Christian faith, as it
was seen at different points above the graves and monuments, was
religiously sublime, and seemed to us to be not only a token of
Christ’s love for us, but also an earnest of the Christian’s final rest
in heaven.
A Mahommedan funeral, which we met in the avenue of filao-trees on our
return, was a wild, strange, and mournful scene. The coffin, which
was placed on a sort of bier, and carried on the shoulders of men, who
were walking at a brisk pace, was shaped like the roof of a house, with
a ridge-pole-like top. It was draped with calico of a pale ochreous
yellow, and wreaths of pink roses were hanging down on either side. A
turbaned priest walked at the head of the bier, but the motley throng
of men accompanying the remains, paid little heed either to order or
propriety. They looked far more like the ordinary street crowds in the
East than a funeral procession, and were talking with great volubility.
Occasionally the voice of the priest was heard above the din, gravely
chanting in a half monotonous tone; but the main feature of the scene,
and that which the most painfully impressed us, was the thoroughly
indifferent air of all composing the procession, their conversation
evidently being upon business and other worldly matters. This was
the first heathen funeral we had ever witnessed; but we can conceive
of no circumstance that could have led us to more sincere and hearty
self-gratulation that we had been born and educated in a land of Bible
religion and Christian influences.
FOOTNOTE:
[3] Madagascar was formerly thus called by the natives.