Chased by a Pirate. Going ashore. St. Thomas's. Descriptive Sketches.
After a lapse of many days, I resume my sketches, to give you some
account of my going ashore in the West Indies, after my long and
tedious voyage. Since I shut up the port-folio nothing worthy of
remark has occurred. The same succession of two-knot breezes, of lazy
floating gulf-weed and of flying fish; the same rolling of the vessel
all the first part of our voyage, to make us sick, and then six days
of severe squalls, during light and dark, to make us mad, were our
only amusements. My comrade was on his back, a martyr to this
combination of horrors. Mariette, poor thing! looks the spectre of
herself; and as for myself, I have conjugated that bore of a verb
_ennuyer_ in all its moods and tenses, until I began to fancy myself a
marine Mazeppa, tied on a seahorse, and doomed to ride the waste of
waters forever for my sins.
What a relief was it, and how did it stir my sluggish blood, to hear
the captain say that there was a pirate in full chase of us, one
squally morning. We were a fore and aft schooner—with a two and a half
knot wind—while the chase was square rigged, and neared us every
moment. The wind had not blown from any quarter steadily for six days,
but was rising and lulling every half hour,—and it was to this
peculiarity in the weather that we owed our escape, after a smart
chase of seven hours. Our craft was a very fast vessel on the wind,
and a breeze springing up, we distanced the enemy in a little time,
and soon run her clear out of sight. So much for the speed of the far
famed Baltimore clippers! This sea-devil appears to be well known by
sailors in these waters; and one of our crew told me that she carries
no guns, but only small arms, which are easily stowed, or plausibly
accounted for,—and if she is overhauled by a government vessel, that
she shows merchants' papers. When she attacks she makes sure work, and
quiets all babblers: “dead men tell no tales.” Upon our arrival at St.
Thomas, we heard of preparations being made to pursue this very craft,
which had been carrying on its bloody trade in the vicinity of that
island. Arrived at St. Thomas on the last day of June.
This island belongs to the government of Denmark, and its latitude is
about 18 deg. 30 min. It seems to me one of the most interesting
places I ever visited, which feeling, in advance of all experience
upon its shores, must arise from the impression of novelty which every
thing I see around me has produced. The principal harbor (Porto
Franco) is one of the loveliest bays in the world; it is round and
small, and filled with vessels displaying the flags of every nation on
the globe. Among these I observed that the stars and stripes of your
free land predominated greatly. Entering this harbor, you see only a
dense mass of mountain and wood, until within a few miles you see the
Moro, or fort, on the right, and a dilapidated structure on the left,
of an entrance scarcely a half mile across. Passing the latter
fortification, as it is called, the whole town rises grandly before
you, compactly built on a succession of undulations or spurs of the
grand hill which composes the island, reaching quite down to the
water's edge. The wharves are built on piles, as are many of the
stores or warehouses for the deposit of heavy goods, as tobacco,
sugar, &c. in which an extensive trade is carried on by the people of
the island.
The town does not make so imposing an appearance from the harbor as it
would do were the houses more than one or two stories high; and one is
disappointed on going ashore, to find a much more dense and extensive
population than he was prepared to see. The streets are refreshed with
the shade of banana and cocoa trees, and here and there you meet with
a market place or parade ground, with these tropical trees growing in
thick luxuriance around them. I have observed that several parts of
the town have of late been thickly planted with them, but as they are
six years in attaining their growth, they are yet very small compared
with the others I have described.
Many, I may say most of the houses are built of stone, and this
renders them much cooler and more agreeable places of residence than
they would otherwise be. Yet the preference of this material arose
less from choice than necessity. There was a most calamitous fire in
the island in the year 1832, which devastated nearly the whole town.
Since that time the government have prohibited the erection of
buildings from any other material than stone. These are low, but neat
and commodious enough.
The country around (if that may be called so which is a continued
ascent to the elevation of about 3,000 feet above the level of the
sea, rising abruptly from the harbor) is surpassingly rich in verdure,
every description of tropical shrub and underwood growing
spontaneously. Many of these, and indeed most of them, are gay and
brilliant in their flowering, but singly are, like other wild flowers,
scentless. Yet on the hills, their united or concentrated aroma is
often overpowering.
In the morning, upon rising and coming on deck, while the heavy dew is
yet lying upon all around me, I observe that the water outside the
harbor, being very deep, is of the most intense blue; while inside the
harbor it is of the brightest green,—brighter than any thing I have
ever seen, excepting some very light shades of foliage,—and realizing
the clearness of Claude's water pieces. And when the early sun shines
upon the waters, they present shades of emerald, which, were I to be
so daring as to convey them to my canvass, would be invariably
condemned by all beholders as fictitious. This, by the way, is one of
the painter's greatest obstacles; to surmount which, indeed, he finds
it impossible: he must paint nature with art as his model, before he
can be called natural; yet he knows full well that
“Laboring art, can never ransom Nature
From her inaidable estate.”
In the centre of the town is a very substantial fort of dark blue
stone, an excellent garrison, and paved with a kind of fire-brick or
tile. The guns are very small but beautifully cast. They are of brass,
and are handsomely mounted. The men are all clean, well dressed, and
under admirable discipline. Their light Danish complexion strikingly
contrasts with the swarthy {556} countenances of the islanders. The
pale fair faces, flaxen hair, sandy mustachios and light blue eyes of
the soldiery, mark them at once among the smooth-chinned, black-eyed,
curly-haired Creoles and natives. The streets are filled with blacks
of every grade and shade, all thinly clad; and the coquettish manner
in which the _Madras_ dress their heads in their striped
handkerchiefs, with the hair long and straight, or braided and hanging
in clubs around the forehead and temples, and a peculiar style of gait
in the women, combine to give them a certain air, which at first gives
you rather a ludicrous idea of them; but as you see more of it, it
becomes rather pleasing than otherwise. The girls of fifteen or
sixteen are frequently met walking in pairs, as erectly as possible,
clad in a single garment, generally of white cotton or linen, either
falling down to the feet in folds, or tied round the waist; with a
kerchief, and the folds partially drawn up to this belt, to aid the
wearer in walking. This gives them a certain air which we sometimes
call classic, and which is associated rather with the idea of an
Egyptian or a Hindoo. When young they are mostly beautiful; but age,
though it does not destroy that erectness of gait which I have
described, gives them an unsteadiness in their carriage which is quite
marked and very general. I have observed too, that the old people of
the laboring classes, are either grossly fat or wretchedly thin and
emaciated. It is curious to see the precision and ease with which they
carry their burthens, invariably upon their heads, and which they
balance, be they ever so heavy, with great nicety. I yesterday saw two
girls coming from the well with their water pots. These are entirely
Egyptian in their fashion, being large and round, with long necks, and
a handle on each side. They are made of red clay, and are very strong.
I could not but stay to watch the group. The figures of the girls were
faultless, their faces pleasing, though black; and then their thin
white flowing draperies setting off their slender graceful forms and
small neat feet to great advantage. The back ground to this scene was
formed by a row of latticed houses, shaded by cocoa trees.
The stores for the sale of fancy articles and dry goods are large,
commodious and cool,—fire proof, by ordinance of the government, with
large open doorways, displaying the interior almost entirely, and
attended by the whole family—fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, and
slaves. Articles of all descriptions are cheaper here than in New
York, though I confess the currency puzzles me no trifle, the Spanish
dollar being here worth only seventy-five cents, and that is divided
into so many “stivers” and “bits,” that a stranger is cheated every
hour in the day in spite of his teeth.
_July 7th._ I have just returned from one of the most whimsical scenes
I ever witnessed. About half a mile from the town rises a chain of
hills, divided by ravines running from the summit to the spot I
visited, a distance of perhaps two miles. This being the bight of the
hills, is always moist, even in the hottest weather. A small stream
which is constantly trickling down, keeps the place cool, and the
foliage is the richest and purest green I ever witnessed. Tropical
trees and shrubs of every kind, glow here spontaneously; the lofty
silk cotton tree,—the mango, with its dense foliage, than which there
is no shade from the sun, or shelter from the rain more agreeable,—the
graceful pomegranate,—the quivering tamarind with leaf like the locust
tree, but more graceful and fragile, and a thousand other plants, all
in blossom, and bearing ripe fruit and green at the same time. One
would fancy the place the chosen spot of Oberon, for the scene of his
fairy revels,—although at present a very different kind of fairies
were disporting themselves in this lovely wilderness. The spot is
called by the very unromantic name of “Buck's _Gut_,” from the
circumstance, I believe, of its being the property of a Mr. Buck.
However this may be, it is private property, and the owner derives a
profit from it by farming it out to a tenant, who has built a dam at
the head of the stream, which is but a little drizzle of water an half
inch deep or thereabouts. Thus he makes a pool, in which he sells the
right of washing linen at the rate of ten stivers, or twelve cents
_per diem_. The parties hiring this privilege, assemble over night and
form lesser pools, by building smaller dams at intervals from the top
to the bottom of the ravine, out of stones, mud, and old rags. Round
these pools congregate persons of every color and shade—but no
white—dressed in every degree, from the dress in which their Maker
sent them into the world, to the _fashionable_ muslin slip in which
“Missy Rosa, lubby fine,” danced with her amiable ebony Adonis last
evening,—during which pastime his spurs (all ride, and many walk here
_à la militaire_, with spurs, the shanks of which are of bright brass,
and six inches long at least) must have caused “that envious rent,”
through which I perceived the ladies' _flesh_-colored stockings and
sky-blue shoes with pink rosettes.
The process of washing was curious enough. The pool soon becomes of
the consistency of _batter_ from the large number of clothes washed in
it, but still the wretches wash and wash until they only gain in dirt
instead of losing, until the hour of noon, when you see them in all
their glory—some on their knees, thumping their duds into very rags
with a short mallet—others, mid-deep in the pool, more tenderly
treating their clothes—some lying on the bank, lazily basking in the
sun, and singing some negro song, in which the whole group at times
unite in full chorus. One old woman stood among the enormous roots of
a gigantic silk cotton tree, cooking soup for the good of the
community, with a half dozen children sitting contentedly around her,
in primitive nudity. In this latter particular the adults are not much
better off, however, than the children; for of them not more than a
twelfth part have any more covering than a single kerchief tied round
the middle of their persons. Now, though some of these yellow girls
are straight and well limbed, the generality of them would hardly
serve as models for a Venus.
But hark! what noise is that! what screaming and shouting! what roar
of waters! the sluices at the head of the stream are just opened, and
the fresh water is coming down in all its force. Open gush all the
pools, to be dammed up again directly, so as to allow the laundresses
an opportunity to rinse the clothes they have been attempting to wash.
The water, in its descent, is accompanied by shouts from group to
group, apprising those below of what is coming—and such an infernal
hubbub never before did I hear. Having finished my pencilling of the
scene, I took my leave.
_July 8th._ I took a walk this evening a little way out {557} of the
town, passing along the sea-side for about two miles, westward. After
passing through the suburbs, which are composed of houses remaining
from the recent fires, which are of course old and dirty, I came to
the burial grounds. That belonging to the Jews is well kept, very
neat, and surrounded by a high wall strongly built of stone. Every
tomb is handsome, and some are really elegant. But the English and
Catholic grounds are very much neglected, the only fence being a hedge
of aloes, with a prickly pear interspersed here and there. The tombs
are small and mean, many of the graves being marked only by a wooden
cross. From this yard you have a fine scope of the whole harbor
presented to your view, and an admirable panoramic prospect of the
town; while on the other side of the road the hills rise
amphitheatrically, covered with perennial green, with a hedge of cocoa
trees between the burial grounds and their base.
A mile farther on, you come to a walk of cocoas, the road on each side
being hedged with this beautiful tree. On one side of the road runs a
small bay of about three miles in circumference, sweeping closely up
to the road, its tiny waves fairly breaking on the passing traveller.
Seen through the foliage, this sheet of water is most picturesque. I
have attempted a sketch of it, which I hope you will recognize among
those in the port folio. At the end of this walk stands the most
remarkable curiosity in the island,—a silk cotton tree of such
gigantic dimensions as literally to astonish all who behold it. The
trunk at the base occupies ground of at least fifty feet in
circumference. It is not very high, but spreads abroad its enormous
limbs until one would imagine that it must fall asunder by its own
weight. Each branch would form a stately forest tree, if growing
separately. It extends its foliage-covered boughs far over the way in
every direction, and on every bend of the limbs you see grasses of
various descriptions growing; and on one in particular, I noticed a
vigorous stalk of sugar cane flourishing finely. The foliage hangs
densely and gracefully from every bough, and is of a deep green teint.
I assayed a sketch of this wonderful tree, but fear I have given you,
by the conjoined aid of pen and pencil, but a very inadequate idea of
its magnificence and rare beauty.
_July 9th._ Started from St. Thomas', with the assurance that our
little schooner was awaiting us at Chagres. We all longed to see the
wee craft once more, and to be again with her upon the waves; and
indeed we regretted her, clipper as she was, with as much fondness as
if she were the most stately man-of-war. I close my portfolio for the
present; where I shall open it next, Fate knows, not I. But wherever
it may be, for your eyes and yours alone, my friend, are these “types
of travel” recorded. I do not write for the public eye; I leave that
to your friend N. P. W. and to my friend Mrs. Trollope, content, when
again we meet, and shake hands once more after my wanderings, to hear
you say, in the language of Old Will—Well, Ned, “thou didst make
tolerable vent of thy travel.”
* * * * *
Wherever the Inquisition had power, the word _fata_ was not allowed in
any book. An author wishing to use the word, printed in his book
_facta_, and put in the errata “for facta read fata.”