Читать книгу Roraima and British Guiana, With a Glance at Bermuda, the West Indies, and the Spanish Main - J. W. Boddam-Whetham - Страница 13

Table of Contents

A CURIO HUNTER—FORT DE FRANCE—BATHS OF DIDIER—DIAMOND ROCK—FLYING-FISH TRADE—BARBADOES—CARLISLE BAY—HOAD’S—TRAFALGAR SQUARE—THE ICE-HOUSE—ST. ANN’S—SCOTLAND—CONFEDERATION—COAST OF TOBAGO—BIRDS OF TOBAGO—FAUNA OF THE WEST INDIES.

“Yeo-ho, boys, ho, yeo-ho,” rang out merrily from the crew, and before the last notes of “Nancy Lee” had died away, the ‘Eider’ was slowly steaming from Martinique on her way to Barbadoes. A slight delay had been occasioned by the prolonged absence of one of the passengers who was an enthusiastic curiosity hunter, and who, having rifled the other islands and bought up all the frogs and beetles at Dominica, had gone on shore to buy Eau de Cologne, dolls in native costume, and the various liqueurs for which Martinique is celebrated.

Soon we pass Fort de France—the Fort Royal of Imperial days—which is nominally the capital of Martinique, though far inferior in size and population to St. Pierre. A small steamer runs daily between the two places, and Fort de France is well worth a visit. The fine harbour and the pretty town, backed by the great Piton, are more thoroughly tropical in their surroundings than is St. Pierre. In the neighbourhood are some picturesque walks, and the “Baths of Didier,” where there are some mineral springs, is a very favourite resort. In the outskirts dwell a few of the Carib Indians, who occupy themselves with their peculiar basket work. It is a quiet little town, but gains an air of industry and life from the freighted wharfs and the busy dockyard with its spacious floating dock.

From the deck of the ‘Eider’ all eyes are centered on a steep island pyramid, which rises out of the water to a height of about five hundred and fifty feet. This is the celebrated “Diamond Rock,” whose history forms a memorable page in the annals of the West Indies, where nearly every link in the chain of the Antilles has been the scene of England’s naval warfare.

The well-known story may be briefly related as follows. In 1804, the English admiral determined to prevent the escape of French ships, which hitherto had baffled him by running between this rock and the opposite Diamond Point into Fort Royal harbour. The deep water that surrounded the almost perpendicular rock permitted an anchorage within a few feet of its side. The admiral therefore laid his ship, the ‘Centaur,’ close alongside, and performed the surprising feat of hoisting heavy guns from the top-sail yard-arm, and mounting them on the summit of this improvised fortress. Here Captain Morris was established, with men, ammunition, water, and provisions, and the rock was recognised at the Admiralty, as His Majesty’s ship ‘Diamond Rock.’ For months the gallant captain and his crew defied the exertions of the French to dislodge them, destroying their merchant vessels and gun-boats, and harassing them to desperation. Finally, want of water and ammunition necessitated a surrender, and the rock-ship was once more untenanted.

On approaching Barbadoes, it is surprising to see the vast shoals of flying-fish. Like flights of silver arrows they shoot over the water on all sides, and just as you are beginning to think they must be birds, down they drop into the waves. No wonder that the catching of them is a trade in that island, and that flying-fish in Barbadoes is the staff of life—and a very delicious one. No time is lost in their pursuit, nets surround them by day, and at night, by means of an attractive lantern, they fly against the outspread sail and fall victims by the hundred.

After Martinique and Dominica, the appearance of Barbadoes is flat, and tame. One misses the central hill range, which is so marked a feature in the other islands. The wide-stretching fields of bright green cane, and the windmills, recall Santa Cruz. Like that island, Barbadoes, when discovered by the Portuguese in the early part of the sixteenth century, was covered with thick forest. From many of the trees hung the beard-like Tillandsia, whence arose the island’s name. In the present day there is no forest, and the one little wood, with its boiling spring, is reckoned among the “lions” of Barbadoes.

But if the island is devoid of great physical beauty, it is interesting, as being the most ancient colony in the British Empire, one also that has never changed hands, and the only one which thrives—or shall I say has thriven—without foreign labour.

From Carlisle Bay, the harbour of Bridgetown, which is the capital of the island, the view is one of bright colour. One sees gleaming sands broken on by blue water, and edged with deep green avicennias, with here and there a bending cocoa-nut palm. From the busy wharfs white houses extend back into the country to a limestone ridge, and to the undulating hills which are covered with sugar-cane and dotted with lines of palms, leading to the planters’ houses. White roads wind through the green fields, and a church tower peeps over the shady trees; a windmill rises above a cluster of cottages, and near by is the tall smoking chimney of a sugar factory. There are no clouds in the intensely blue sky to cast their shadows, and the breeze rushes across the cane slopes in white green waves. On all, the sun pours down with a pitiless glare, and its strong light brings to full view the finished cultivation and well-to-do aspect of the island.

“Passengers for Bimshire all aboard,” was the cry, as the ship’s cutter pulled for the shore, thus disappointing the clamorous native crews of several expected fees. Presently we landed in Bimshire—as Barbadoes is sometimes called—and were at once surrounded by an agitated crowd of “Bims,” both black and white. As there are no hotels—properly so-called—our luggage was carried to “Hoad’s,” the best boarding house; and after escaping numerous blind beggars who pursued us from the wharf, we were soon ensconced in clean lodgings. Here we found small but comfortable rooms, good food—flying-fish served in two or three different forms being particularly tempting—and indifferent bathing accommodation.

After Martinique, where there are no mosquitoes, one looks disconsolately at the stuffy nettings, and cannot help wondering why the detestable insects should patronize the English islands and not the French. The Barbadian mosquito is of an exceptionally dissipated disposition, as it keeps up its revels far into the morning, and with the heat increases the misery of the late as well as of the early riser.

As may be expected in an island whose population averages a thousand to the square mile, Bridgetown swarms with negroes, whose high-pitched voices and incessant “talk” effectually relieve the streets of any air of dulness. The town is not imposing. Its architectural features are collected in Trafalgar Square, where are situated the Government Buildings. Their style, though striking, is a marvellous blending of Gothic and Venetian architecture, mixed with bow windows and Moorish arches, and as much out of keeping with the adjacent Cathedral as the National Gallery in London is with its neighbouring Church of St. Martin. The statue of Nelson, which stands in the centre of the square, cannot be considered as complimentary to the great admiral, and in its present condition fairly represents “the triumph of Nature over Art.” Shops, stores, and warehouses are good and thriving, and, last but not least, there is an excellent tea-house, which is an institution peculiar to the West Indies. It vies with the club as a place of resort, contains a restaurant, and a well-kept bar, provides the latest papers, and disseminates the freshest news.

In the matter of ice, which is of no small importance in hot climates, the English are ahead of the French. Here it is admitted free, I believe, of duty, whilst in Martinique it is heavily taxed and monopolized.

Most of the white inhabitants live in the suburbs of the town, and in a drive one passes many pretty villas and pleasant gardens. The roads leading to them are lined with negro huts and cabins, shaded by flowering trees, and now and then surrounded by an ill-tended garden plot. On some of these abodes we noticed hanging-boards, on which quaint greetings had been written; one of these bore the words, “A mery Krismas and a hapy New ear to everybody;” on another was printed, “Welcum home 1 and all.”

Towards evening carriages wend their way past the seaside villages of Hastings and Worthing, or, when the band plays at St. Ann’s, stop there to listen to it. The latter appeared to me to be the most agreeable place in or around Bridgetown. The barracks are situated there, and fronting them is a fine savanna, surrounded by shady avenues. Here there is the race course, the cricket ground, a ball court, theatre, and opportunity for the various amusements which relieve the monotony of life in the tropics, and which, fortunately, are always to be found where England has established her garrisons. I should have liked to have visited “Scotland,” as the northern part of the island is called, for it is said to be picturesque and interesting, but time would not permit. Mount Hillaby, which has the highest elevation, is not quite 1200 feet in height, but the scenery is bold and mountainous, though of course on a small scale.

About twelve miles from Bridgetown is Codrington College, and above it, near the edge of a cliff, stands the old St. John’s Church, celebrated for containing in its churchyard the tomb of a Palæologus, supposed to be the last descendant of the Christian Emperors of Greece.

At the time of my visit, the island was somewhat excited over impending Government changes, and the “storm in a tea cup,” raised by the late Governor, Mr. Pope Hennessy, had not subsided. The scheme of confederating it with Tobago, St. Lucia, St. Vincent, and Grenada met with strong opposition. The Leeward Confederation had not proved a success, and the Barbadians objected to having the Windward group joined to them in the same way. Very conservative in their manners and customs, the white inhabitants look with no friendly eye on change and innovation; but I have heard it said, by some whose opinion was valuable, that the Crown Colony system would eventually prove the saving of the island. There were rumours too of fresh negro disturbances; provision grounds were pillaged daily, and the already incredibly conceited blacks were growing more and more pretentious. No other negro can come up to a Barbadian in impudence. If in any of the other islands you meet or hear of a case of peculiar insolence, the offender is sure to be a Barbadian. “You do not like me,” says the deservedly-rebuked servant, “find one more bettar,” and then walks off.

In Barbadoes, you hear that only the worst negroes leave the island, as their love for it is so great that few can be induced to emigrate, in spite of small wages. In time, however, even the most home-loving may find himself compelled to agree with the African philosopher, who, when asked what he thought of freedom, replied, “Well, sir, freedom is a mighty fine thing, but I can’t eat freedom, and I can’t wear freedom, and now I’se got to export myself.” Two days were all that were allowed us in Barbadoes, and then the steamer arrived to carry us to Tobago and Trinidad.

On approaching Tobago from the north, the island presents a mass of high hills, terminating in abrupt precipices. Heavy forests clothe the central ridge and the hill spurs which spring from it. There is hardly a break in the luxuriant vegetation, and except here and there, where a patch in the valleys or on the hill sides has been cleared for cultivation, not a single bare spot is to be seen. We skirt the small island of Little Tobago, the haunt of boobies and tropic birds, and then come in sight of a pretty estate on the mainland, which greatly brightens the wild and gloomy scenery. Soon we round a point, and anchor in Scarborough Bay.

On the right rises a hill, crowned by the dismantled fort of St. George. Below it, and forming the central feature, lies a cluster of grey, steep-roofed houses, grouped on a low conical hill which slopes towards the water, and ends in a steep bank fringed with bamboos.

On the left, cane-fields extend from the shore far back over the undulating land to the hill-range, which curves round in a southerly direction towards a long, low promontory, called Sandy Point. Government House is prettily situated on the rising ground at some distance behind the town, but there is nothing of the slightest interest to induce a passenger to land for the short time during the exchange of mails. For a longer stay, that is if you have a friend’s house to go to, Tobago is very interesting, both to the geologist and naturalist.

Up to the present, over one hundred and thirty different species of birds have been discovered there, among which a “Penlope” is peculiar to the island, and is known as the Tobago pheasant. A bird-seller, who came on board, had some fine skins of trogons, jacamars, humming-birds, manakins, and others. It is to be hoped that the bird laws which have been wisely established in Trinidad will be adopted in Tobago, as at present the bird-killers from the former island gain their supplies from the latter.

A curious circumstance in connection with the fauna of the West Indies is the number of species of birds, animals, and reptiles peculiar to certain islands, and those islands actually within sight of others. For instance, the Santa Cruz deer is distinct from the deer of St. Vincent or Tobago. The frogs of Dominica and the snakes of Martinique differ from those found elsewhere. The “Imperial Parrot”[21] from Dominica, is unknown in the other islands. Regarding humming-birds, Wallace says that “the West Indian islands possess fifteen distinct species, belonging to eight different genera, and these are so unlike any found on the continent that five of these genera are peculiar to the Antilles.”

The cave-haunting Guacharos are found in Trinidad, as well as on the mainland of South America, but they have not reached the more northerly islands. It may be that the isolation of species is not so in reality, but owes its apparent existence to a want of knowledge, as the recesses of many of the densely wooded islands have still to be explored.

It was with no regret that we left Tobago, as the heat was intense, and we could sympathize with a certain officer, who, when quartered here, was once found sitting in his tub, uttering the most vehement denunciations, with the invariable refrain, “D— Columbus, confound the fellow! why did he discover this rascally island?”