March.
At Mr. Edmonstone’s tranquil and solitary home, we passed the hours of
darkness in sound repose, undisturbed by the tormenting musquitoes,
which we had found excessively annoying at the Hermitage the night
before.
In the morning Mr. Edmonstone placed himself at the head of our corps,
and, attended by four or five negroes, together with a venerable and
sagacious Indian, we set out upon an expedition into the woods, in
search of the plants and scions, which had formed the leading objects of
our journey. Some heavy showers having fallen in the night, we found it
unpleasant walking; but we persevered in our pursuit, and toiled far
into the woods, remaining upon our legs from nine o’clock in the morning
until two in the afternoon, and, to my surprise, without experiencing
any fatigue. An ample collection of rare specimens of plants and fruits
was the reward of our labour; and we had the further gratification of
witnessing, in the course of our perambulation, a variety of scenery,
which cannot be met with in the flat and more cultivated parts of the
colony. We traversed thick and wild forests, crossed rivulets and limpid
streams, climbed up rude hills, and descended into deep gullies; which
created a novelty that animated our attention, and banished all sense of
weariness.
For the most part, our road was only a narrow path cut by the Bucks, and
so closely bordered, as to confine us to the Indian file. At times the
forest was thinner, and we could see to a distance betwixt its shades,
or walk two or three abreast, under the trees at the sides of our path.
Twice only we came to open spots, which had more the appearance of
plains than of thickets, and were mere patches of arid and sandy soil,
which refused every thing of nourishment to the vegetable world. All the
other parts were more or less covered with shrubs and forest trees, the
latter of which are of immense height and bulk. They are usually
perpendicular in their growth: their wood is heavy, and of uncommonly
hard texture, approaching, in some instances, to the solidity, weight,
and even the sound of metallic substances.
It occurred to me as remarkable, that in this long walk through the
woods, we saw no decayed remains of trees, either standing like the
hollow shells we often see in England, or lying upon the ground, sunk
with age. Neither did we meet with prostrate trunks, which had been
broken down, or uprooted by the winds. All appeared in the fulness of
health and vigour, as if their erect and stately pillars had, through
many ages, been growing side by side, and were never to surrender to
all-destructive years. Most of them were without branches, except near
to their summits, where their thick foliage commonly forms a canopy
which is not easily penetrated by the sun or the rain.
Among a variety of specimens, we collected some fine plants of the
Tonquin bean, the Souwarrow nut, the wild orange, and a species of the
medlar. Of birds and four-footed animals the woods appeared to contain
but few. Two wild hogs, some parrots, and parroquets formed nearly the
list of all we saw; nor did the forest seem to abound with insects, for
scarcely had I passed a day, since my arrival upon the coast of Guiana,
so entirely free from the annoyance of these minor objects of creation.
We noticed only two or three musquitoes, of feeble growth and feeble
wing, in the woods; and at Mr. Edmonstone’s not one appeared.
After our return from the forest, we partook of a most plentiful dinner,
and in the evening strolled about the environs, either separately, or in
divided parties, according to our several inclinations. In this ramble
it happened that I trod my way into an Indian hut, where I found the
family, consisting of a man, two women, and three children, employed
preparing their pepper-pot and cassada for supper.
The next morning I rose at an early hour, and returned to the spot,
intending to repeat my visit to this group of Indians; when, lo! I found
only the empty hut! Probably they had a better reason for moving, than
my disturbing them by an abrupt evening call; but, whatever occasioned
it, they had packed up the furniture and utensils of their humble abode,
and taking all with them into their canoe, decamped in the night, into
the woods.
From the Indian hut I walked into the forest, and, having a small
thermometer in my pocket, I suspended it, for some time, in the damp and
heavy shade of the woods; when it fell to 72: I, then, immersed it in
the open water of the creek, and it rose to 73½. In the house it was at
73; at noon on the day preceding, the mercury was at 81.
Before I take you from the forest-embosomed abode of Mr. Edmonstone, I
should tell you that in a small garret of this sequestered home is
living a very extraordinary character, in the person of an old Scotsman,
an antiquated and eccentric being of the school of Loutherbourg; and who
is, here, regarded as a literary phænomenon—a _literal_ one he certainly
is! He had formerly known better days; but having been reduced to
poverty, he is become an exile from his country, and in this profound
seclusion, passes his declining days in the dull and harmless round of
reading an old Hebrew bible, and two or three worm-eaten volumes of
Greek and Latin. His person is plain, his figure meager, and his visage
pallid. In manner, he is formal and pedantic. His wardrobe and furniture
vie with the antiquity of his library, and both apparel and apartment
well accord with his limited occupation. His wants being few and easily
supplied, he lives contented and happy. We found him teaching Mr.
Edmonstone’s children to read: and this we understood to be a duty of
relaxation—a kind of remission from his converse with the musty old
volumes, in the perusal and re-perusal of which he finds the solace of
his cares, and the gratification of all his remaining ambition.
We loitered away the forenoon at Mr. Edmonstone’s, sending our boat
round by way of the creeks, and the river, to meet us at an estate
called Sand-hill, in the evening. We likewise despatched a smaller boat
down the river, with the specimens of plants, roots, and cuttings we had
collected in the woods; and, after making an early dinner with Mr.
Edmonstone, he very kindly took us on, in his large canoe, to prosecute
our journey. We returned down the Mabeira creek; but, instead of going
north, when we opened into the Woratilla to proceed to the Kamonuy
creek, and the river, we took the opposite course in order to penetrate
deeper into the woods; and, when we had paddled, to a short distance, up
the southern channel of the Woratilla creek, we were set on shore upon
its eastern bank, and from thence took our route, on foot, through the
forest to the Sand-hill.
This was a walk of two hours over rude hills, across deep gullies, and
through woods, which to an European seemed impenetrable. The forest
lies, as it were, in waves of alternate ridges and valleys, and the
trees stand so close together, that a person unaccustomed to such
travelling could have no hope of making his way through it. At best our
path was only that of the Bucks, which compelled us to follow each other
in the unsocial single line, and, at several times, this obscure track
was not discernible _to us_: but an experienced old _negro_, whom Mr.
Edmonstone had selected as our guide and conductor, seemed to know every
tree and twig we had to pass; and directed our steps, with as much
accuracy, as if a broad turnpike road had been all the way before him;
although it often happened that we had to form a path by pulling away
the branches and brambles with our hands.
A short time previous to our arrival at the Sand-hill, we suddenly
escaped out of the deep shades of the forest, and one of the most varied
and beautiful scenes, which can be found in the colony, opened before
us. Suppose yourself in a country where flat waters, and heavy woods
form one unbroken sameness, and imagine that after a walk of two hours,
through the obscurity of almost impenetrable forests, you, unexpectedly,
rush forth upon an extensive plain, where the eye immediately fixes upon
a handsome house, together with a bold curve of a large river, winding
its course, at a great depth below you, and the view stretching far over
the woods of its opposite bank, then you will have a tolerably accurate
picture of the scene which presented itself before us, at the Sand-hill.
It was highly novel, being more open, varied, and extended than at any
other inhabited spot of these boundless forests.
Correctly speaking, the land which appeared to us as a plain, was a hill
of sand, whose flat surface was elevated at least a hundred feet about
the river, and overhung the water in a bold precipice; but the opposite
shore was low and flat, being scarcely raised above the level of the
river, which caused the uninterrupted summit of its thick woods to
appear before us, like a verdant field of unlimited extent.
We advanced to the house, quite enraptured with its commanding
situation: but,—shall I tell you? ... it was the abode of inhospitality!
Shall I say that this house, “erected on the rising ground,” was,
perhaps, the only one in the colony, where a stranger would have found
an _unwelcome home_! We were greeted with a forbidding coldness—a
freezing formality; and were entertained with a miserable penury, of
which I had not believed the coast of Guiana could furnish an example;
and I feel penetrated with grief and disappointment in marking the
Sand-hill as an exception to the general hospitality, which I had found
to prevail so eminently in these colonies.
I will not attempt to decide how far the conduct of the lord of this
domain might be influenced by climate, but there was much of semblance
between the coldness of his manner, and the chilling air of his place of
residence; for, on our entering upon the plain of the Sand-hill, when we
came out of the forest, we had all felt shivering with cold, and were
glad to put on our coats, which we had thrown off in our walk through
the woods. Between five and six o’clock the next morning I found the
thermometer at 67; and, at noon, it was only 80.
It consisted with the tides of the river, and with our convenience, in
waiting the leisure of Mr. Edmonstone, to make this repulsive home our
resting-place for the night, and until the afternoon of the following
day; but the ungracious reception, we met with, caused the hours to pass
very heavily: as soon, therefore, as the tide served, and Mr. Edmonstone
was ready to accompany us, we took our departure for the “Loo,”
quitting, without regret, the most delightful situation in the colony.