Part 2

I had a little terrier who could not endure monkeys, and barked and chased them whenever he saw them. They soon learned to dread and hate him, and when Fury and I were out walking alone, pieces of dry stick, showers of leaves, and boughs of rhododendron blossom would come down on our heads, but Fury only barked and chased our assailants more ferociously than ever. One day the narrow path led through a very thick clump of evergreen oaks, with branches hanging low down on the path. As Fury and I were making our way under these boughs, a long skinny arm was stretched down, Fury was grasped firmly by his long hair, and carried off. I was in despair. I heard my poor dog’s snaps and barks and yelps, but could do nothing. The sounds mounted higher and higher, till at last I caught a glimpse of poor Fury handed about from one to another among a group of monkeys, who were pinching, and pulling, and buffeting him well. When they were tired of this amusement, and had tortured their little enemy to their hearts’ content, they dropped him over the precipice, and there was an end of poor Fury at once.

But the worst trick the large mountain monkeys (‘langours’ they call them at Simla) ever played me was one evening when I had a dinner-party. I must explain to you that the house we lived in was placed on the top of a sharp-pointed hill, and the very little flat ground which remained after the house was built had been left in front of it, so that at the back, where the dining-room stood, there was quite a precipice steep down, with large rhododendron and oak trees growing against the side of the hill. Their trunks were out of sight, but the topmost branches came against the windows, and it was very beautiful to see clusters of bright crimson flowers almost thrusting themselves into the room.

I was very anxious that this, my first party, should be a pretty one, and instead of the heavy, old-fashioned Indian dinners, with quantities of food in big silver dishes, I had the table arranged _à la Russe_. I wonder if my little readers know what that is. All the meat and puddings and pies were to be handed by the servants, and nothing was put on the dining table except pretty things. There were little white china boys holding baskets of fruit, vases of flowers, preserved fruits and bon-bons from Gunter’s, all sorts of new-shaped goblets and water-jugs, &c. &c. I took a great deal of trouble to see all this properly done by my crowd of stupid servants, and when it was at last arranged stopped to take one more look at it before going to dress, thinking it was all as pretty and nice as possible. I desired one of the men to remain in the room, and went off quite happily to make my toilette. When I had dressed, instead of going into the drawing-room, I thought I should like to have one more look at my dinner-table, and went softly into the dining-room. What a sight met my eyes! No servant was there, he had gone off to smoke his hubble-bubble the moment my back was turned, and the table was surrounded by monkeys, who had got in by the trees which grew close to the windows. They had not contented themselves only with eating up my fruit and cakes, but they had upset the glass dishes, and smeared the preserves all over the table-cloth; they had broken the water bottles, knocked the heads off half my little china boys; in short, you never saw such a mess in your life, and there they stood grinning and chattering, hardly moving even when I rushed at them brandishing my fan as if it had been a poker. I rang the hand-bell furiously, and that frightened them more than anything else. In a moment the old khansamah, or butler, and half-a-dozen other servants came up. I pointed to the table, for I was too angry to speak; and the khansamah, bowing low, joined his hands, and tried to console me by saying in Hindoostanee, ‘Pearl of the Universe, it is the will of Heaven.’ I could not stop to argue this point with him, as my guests were arriving, so I told him to get dinner ready in the usual way as quickly as possible, and went to the drawing-room feeling very much as if I should like to have a good cry over the ruin of all my pretty things. In conclusion, I may tell you that we did not get any dinner at all for more than an hour, and that it was extremely nasty when it came, for everything was over-cooked and spoiled; so I think, considering all things, I have a right to feel angry with langours whenever I remember that unfortunate evening.

We have just five minutes more before nurse comes, so I will end with a short story my father told me, of something which happened many years ago in Jamaica. A new Governor was expected to arrive by the following steamer; he was coming from Demerara, where monkeys abound; his wife was very fond of these pets, and had sent on before her a large iron cage full of monkeys of all sorts and sizes, in charge of a servant. These animals created great excitement on their arrival in Spanish Town, especially among the negroes, who had never seen a monkey, and fancied they were inferior beings of the same class as themselves. The cage was fastened outside the ‘King’s House’ (where the Governor was to live), and for a few days all went well. I must explain to you that the next house to this was one where the President of the Council lived, and was only separated from it by a large garden. Owing to the carelessness of the servant, the cage door was found open one morning, and the monkeys were disporting themselves in the President’s garden, making sad havoc among his fruits and flowers. They were all captured after a little time, except one huge baboon, who climbed into a high tree, and hid himself so cleverly that he could not be found. When the coast was clear, Mr. Monkey came down, and set out on his travels, making his first visit to the President. The black hall-porter was so astonished and alarmed at this unwonted visitor, that he hastily ran upstairs, the baboon following him closely, flung the door of the breakfast-room open, and said in trembling tones: ‘One lilly black genlemans to see massa,’ and then retreated as fast as he could, shutting the door behind him. Now the poor old President had only one leg, and his wooden substitute lay on a chair near him, for he never put it on unless he wanted to move about. He was very indignant at the impudence of his uninvited guest, who immediately began to help himself to the dainties on the table, and he flung his wooden leg at the intruder, never reflecting that he could not stir without its help. When my father happened to look in an hour afterwards he found the old gentleman speechless with rage, still helpless on his chair, and the monkey scrimmaging all over the room, upsetting inkstands, breaking china, and creating the greatest havoc among the President’s books and papers.

Now, there is nurse; do you know those charming lines at the end of Miss Procter’s pretty poem, ‘The Comforter?’—

So good night to my darling Effie: Keep happy, sweet heart, and grow wise; There’s one kiss for her golden tresses, And two for her sleepy eyes.

_ABOUT JAMAICA._

PART I.

I am going to give you an account of the first adventure I ever had; and, although it happened so many years ago, I remember all about it quite well. I was only six years old at the time, but it was talked of in the family for long afterwards, as you may suppose, and this prevented me from forgetting it. Then, by and by, as soon as the younger ones grew old enough to like stories, they would often beg their eldest sister to tell them the famous one of the ‘great upset.’ Since those days I have told the story many times to other children, and now I am going to repeat it once more.

I daresay you would not wish me to begin with the geography or history of Jamaica, though I hope any little boy or girl who is interested in these stories will ask their papa to tell them where it is, and how it came to belong to us long ago, and that they will try to remember all about it. I will only say that it is a most beautiful island, with splendid scenery, lovely flowers and delicious fruits growing wild, parrots flying about the woods, and humming-birds flitting among the aloe-blossoms. But then, on the other hand, it is not nearly so nice a place to live in as our dear old England, in spite of her fogs and grey skies; for in Jamaica, as well as in all our West Indian Islands, the climate is very bad, except in the high mountains: there are earthquakes and hurricanes, snakes, mosquitoes, scorpions, and quantities of poisonous berries and blossoms. Children are seldom taken or kept there after two or three years old, and they have not the free outdoor life of English boys and girls; for they are never allowed to go out except very early in the morning and late in the afternoon, on account of the hot sun, which would probably give them fever, or even kill them.

When I first remember Jamaica, we had been there only a few months. My dear mother was too delicate to live in England during the winter, and my father had been fortunate enough to obtain what was in those days an excellent Government appointment. It was the year that Slavery was abolished: I am always glad to think it was done away with before I knew anything about the country; and the negroes, as I saw them, were only a good-humoured happy race for ever laughing and singing.

The ‘we’ I have spoken of above included, besides Mamma and Papa, a young aunt of whom we children were excessively fond, an English nurse, my sister, and myself. Jessie was about four years old, the prettiest little fairy imaginable, and the idol and pet of every one. I am sorry to say I was very ugly, tall, thin, and sallow, and a regular Tom-boy, besides being the most mischievous child in the world. I did not mean to be naughty, but it seemed so dreadful to be always told to be quiet. No one ever thought of finding me any occupation, and, as I was forced to seek it for myself, spending my time in a series of scrapes, I am afraid I did not choose proper employments. Lesson hour was the happiest part of the day, but unfortunately it lasted only a short while; I used to envy the servants their regular duties, and whenever I read in little books of children being obliged to work hard for their parents, I thought it must be much happier than having nothing to do, which was my constant complaint. Our nurse could not at all understand this ceaseless activity, and often drew a mortifying contrast between me and gentle, pretty little Jessie, whom she declared was ‘a born lady,’ implying that I was just the reverse.

We remained in Spanish Town, the capital of Jamaica, where my father’s office was, until the hot weather set in, about March, and then we all got ill one after the other. Papa was looking out for a cottage in the mountains, in which to spend the summer, when a friend, who was going to England, offered us the use of his country place in the centre of the island. The climate was very cool there, but to get to it we had to climb a high range of hills, and the lowest pass by which we could cross them was so steep and dangerous that it still kept the name of ‘Monte del Diavolo,’ or ‘Devil’s Mountain,’ by which the Spaniards had christened it nearly 300 years ago. When the time came to start on our journey, the English coachman was too ill to accompany us. My father therefore drove the britschka; Joe, the black groom, was on the box next him; and inside sat Mamma, Aunt Nelly, the nurse, and Jessie and I. We had a journey of fifty miles before us, but the horses were very valuable ones, and had just arrived from England: we therefore only travelled in the early morning and the cool evening, as they could not endure the tropical sun at mid-day. These horses had an unfortunate dislike, or dread, of the negro grooms, and when we began to ascend the Monte del Diavolo on the afternoon of the second day, my father gave strict orders to Joe not to leave the coach-box on any account, but to take the reins, saying that he himself would go to their heads if necessary. You must know that the road was exceedingly steep, and so narrow that even a man on horseback could not pass a carriage. In several places a recess had been blasted by gunpowder out of the side of the mountain; a negro mounted on a mule preceded us, and blew a shell loudly, to warn any country carts that might be blocking up the way to draw aside into one of these recesses till we had passed. Child as I was at the time, I remember the grandeur of the scenery, and how I jumped about the carriage from side to side, admiring first the steep cliff rising straight up from the narrow path along which we drove, and next the precipice, which sunk away almost from beneath the horses’ feet; the tops of the tall cedar, mahogany, and cotton trees were on a level with the road, and numbers of bright-plumaged birds flitted about among their branches. At the bottom of this ravine there sparkled what looked like a thin thread of water. I immediately begged for some to drink, and Mamma was explaining to me that what I saw really was a large river, and that its great distance below us made it appear to be only a brook, when my attention was attracted by the warning notes of the shell. Whilst I listened intently, Mamma tied the strings of my cottage-bonnet securely under my chin. You will see presently why I mention this. My little bonnet was very hot and uncomfortable, being exactly like those charity-school girls now wear; but in the days I write of it was quite fashionable. The hood of the carriage was still up, though the sun was sinking below the high hills towards the west, and I thrust my restless head beyond it to see what was going on. How well I remember it all! Just at that moment a second discordant blast came from the shell; the horses pricked up their ears and slightly started, enough to send one of the hind wheels to the very edge of the steep precipice. My father encouraged them with both voice and whip, and all would probably have been right, if poor well-meaning but stupid Joe had not forgotten all his master’s cautions. He jumped off the coach-box, and was at the spirited animals’ heads in a second. At the sight of a figure dressed entirely in white with jet-black face, hands, and bare feet, the horses backed a little more, and the off hind wheel slipped over the edge of the precipice. What follows takes much longer to tell than it did to happen. The horses tried to drag the carriage up again, but in vain; every instant added to the weight. I can distinctly recollect my father’s blanched face as I saw him fling down the useless reins and whip, and spring to the horses’ heads to help Joe to drag them back by main force on to the road. We remained quite still and breathless where we sat. I remember the sensation of the carriage gradually slipping back and dragging the horses nearer the edge; their frantic struggles—I saw them dig their front hoofs, as a cat might its claws, into the bank over which their hind legs had now slipped. That was the last I saw, for we heard a sort of scream from the terrified animals, mingling with the men’s voices of encouragement to them, and I felt Mamma suddenly snatch me into her arms and fold me tight with my head buried in her breast. Then came a swift rushing through the air, which soon took away my small senses; and I never can forget my amazement, on awaking from what I thought a deep sleep, to feel a soft weight preventing me from stirring. I must have made a slight movement, for Mamma gave me a little shake and asked me if I was alive. We have often laughed at that question since, but you must remember that our wits were rather scattered after such a fall. I assured her I was very much alive and anxious to get up, if she would only move; which she accordingly did very slowly, poor darling, for she was a good deal bruised and shaken. I was on my feet in a second, and rather delighted with the novelty and excitement. Mamma and I had fallen out on the first landing, as it were, of the steep mountain-side, not very far from the top. She desired me to tell her what I could see of the others, so I rushed about in great excitement and delight, reporting my observations. In a tall cotton-tree below us I caught a glimpse of the nurse and Jessie lodged like birds in the upper branches. I announced that nurse was lying quite still, holding Jessie’s frock, but the poor little girl was kicking vigorously and crying to be taken down.

Papa I could see on the road above, with his hat and coat off, and literally tearing his hair out with his hands—the only time in my life I have ever seen any one do this. There were bonnets, shawls, books, &c. strewn all about, and I was particularly delighted to perceive a very smart embroidered parasol belonging to Aunt Nelly lying near me. I must confess to being very naughty indeed about this parasol, and I will tell you how. Mamma asked me if the carriage or horses were to be seen, but though I fancied there was something dark in the bed of the river below us, it was impossible to tell what it might be, and, selfish, naughty little girl that I was, I felt very anxious to get away from her with my prize, the parasol, which I had always been strictly forbidden to touch. I suggested, therefore, calling Papa to help Jessie and nurse out of the cotton-tree, and so escaped with the parasol tucked under my arm. Poor Papa was very glad to see me unhurt, and to hear that Mamma was also safe, and on my pointing out the cliff under which she was still lying, he prepared to go to her assistance first. Joe had been already despatched to a place where a detachment of soldiers was quartered in those days, about three miles off, with an entreaty from Papa to the commanding officer to send a cart directly to our help, and also the surgeon. The sun was now fast setting, and I thought with sorrow that my precious parasol would soon be useless, as there would be no sun from which to shelter: but I determined to avail myself of the few moments left; so I opened it and strutted up and down the road. What a ridiculous little object I must have looked!—my frock, &c. torn to ribbons, my bonnet crushed quite flat, and now hanging down my back (the doctor said afterwards its thickness had saved my head from a frightful blow, as the straw was quite cut through in one place), and my thick shock head of hair all blowing about my face: think of the contrast of this little beggar-girl’s appearance to a very smart light-coloured parasol embroidered in bright silks! I can distinctly remember my surprise at finding that my successful piece of disobedience did not make me so happy as I expected it would; on the contrary, my conscience began to prick me horribly. I seemed to hear a voice telling me quite plainly how wicked it was to take advantage of my poor aunt’s absence to do what she had forbidden; in short, I was so tormented by the clamour of these internal reproofs, that I hastily closed the parasol and put it carefully on one side, resolving to confess my naughtiness as soon as possible. I must tell you here that I went about with this burden on my mind for many days before any one would listen to my penitent acknowledgment, and then I was fully and freely forgiven, and _never_ wished to touch the parasol again.

I have only fitful gleams of memory as to what followed. I fancy I see dear Mamma sitting on some of the carriage cushions and leaning against the rocks by the roadside. I see Jessie in Papa’s arms, choking and coughing, and I heard afterwards that in her struggles she had fallen from the branch which caught her head-foremost into the hollow of the old cotton-tree, and had been nearly smothered by a fine powder, caused by decay, with which the vast trunk was filled. Here I am going to make a little digression to explain something to you. The cotton-_tree_ of which I have spoken is quite different from the cotton-_plant_ which furnishes us with all our calico and our pretty cotton frocks. _That_ cotton is the snow-white contents of a small pod about as big as an egg. First there is a bright yellow flower on the shrub (for it never grows more than eight or nine feet high), then a pod succeeds quickly to the blossom, and when this bursts the little tree looks so pretty with these tufts of cotton on it, each with some seeds inside. It grows freely in Jamaica, but is not cultivated to any great extent. Most of the cotton we use comes from India and America, and some even from the South Sea Islands. Now the cotton trees, into one of which poor Jessie fell, grow in the forests and are as big as elms or beeches, and with very thick trunks. They also bear a pod full of cotton, but it is quite useless, though exquisitely soft and fine. In the first place, it is of a light-brown colour, just like a mouse’s back, and in the next place it is quite full of little seeds the size of apple pips. Sometimes the negroes collect this silky down to stuff a pillow, but to pick out the little seeds takes so long that it is not worth much for other purposes. I hope you now understand quite clearly the difference between the cotton-tree and the cotton-plant.