Part 17
From this variety in the land, together with that which attaches to situation, as being flat, or mountainous, protected, or exposed, it will necessarily happen, that the produce will differ in different parts of the island: and as the whole has been long under cultivation, it is manifest that if a due supply of manure cannot be procured, a degree of exhaustion, bearing a certain ratio to the deficiency, must result.
It is established, from the mode of agriculture adopted in some counties of England, that, by an adequate supply of manure, estates may be kept in a constant round of cultivation, yielding as prolific crops as upon their earliest tillage; and this is found to be no less certain, than that if the land be subjected to continued culture, without such supply, it will be so exhausted, in the course of a few years, as not to give sufficient produce to compensate the labour and expense.
The same facts equally apply to Barbadoes, where, if the artificial supply be not commensurate with the harvest removed from the land, a gradual diminution of the crops will succeed; or, in order to have these in their usual abundance, the acres in cultivation must be reduced to such a number as the island shall be capable of furnishing with an adequate quantity of manure; and we accordingly find that herds of small steers are kept upon the plantations, for the purpose of supplying this indispensable addition to the soil. These are employed instead of horses in the heavy labour of the estate, and we often see from twelve to twenty-four of them yoked in a waggon, drawing a single hogshead of sugar, or some other load, such as in London would be conveyed with facility by one horse in a cart.
At night the cattle are penned upon a bed of trash, collected from the refuse of the canes, and other waste materials of the estate; by treading upon which, and mixing it with their own dung, they trample the whole into an useful compost for the fields.
It necessarily follows from such numbers of cattle being required, for the purpose of manuring the land, that a greater supply of beef and veal is raised for the markets, and that fresh provisions are more plentiful than in most of the other colonies. Of the custom of buying the veal in live quarters for the pot I have already spoken; and I may now remark that the beef is commonly killed so very young as to form neither beef nor veal, but something of appearance and flavour between the two.
The seasons here are not divided into winter and summer, but into wet and dry: yet are they, by no means, what many, from these terms, would believe, who might imagine that half the year is drowned with incessant rain, and the other half parched with constant drought. Such a construction of the terms _wet_ season, and _dry_ season, though not unfrequent, is far from correct, and leads to a very inaccurate idea of the climate; for, notwithstanding it has been the dry season, during the whole time we have been at Barbadoes, we have scarcely had two successive days without refreshing rain; although the showers are not so heavy at this period as at that of their greater frequency, termed the wet season, when the torrents which fall might convey the idea of a sudden rupture of the clouds, letting forth their waters _in streams_ to the earth.
The quick evaporation which succeeds to rain in this climate creates a most agreeable and refreshing coolness. The extreme ardor of the sun’s rays is also counteracted by the ever-grateful breeze, which sets in from the sea about eight or nine o’clock in the morning, and continues throughout the day, ceasing only as the sun forsakes us at evening; when we are again defended from oppressive languor by a breeze springing up from the land. This sets in as that from the sea subsides, and diverging, as it were from a central point, is felt on all quarters of the island.
The day is nearly of equal length throughout the whole circle of the year. We have none of the short dark days of an English winter, nor of the still shorter light nights of a Scottish summer. Nights of one or two hours, and days of six or seven, are here equally unknown. It is light about six o’clock in the morning, and dark about seven at night. Evening is scarcely observed. The sun traversing his vertical course sinks at once from the horizon, and, refusing his oblique beams to protract or soften the decline of day, robs us of the twilight hour, and suddenly throws around all the obscurity of night.
This uniformity of the diurnal round scarcely exceeds that of the general temperature of the climate, which brings us one perpetual summer. The fields and the trees are always green. Nature ever smiles. Uninterrupted by the torpor of winter, she is neither chilled with frost, nor buried in snow. But, for these advantages we forego the sprightly delight, and genial comfort of a summer’s evening, the all-animating pleasures of a returning spring, and the soft joys of the twilight hours. If I had time for such discussions, I might enter into a long digression upon the comparative excellence of the climate we have left, and that we now inhabit: yet should I yield the palm to my native island; for of all the charms of climate in other countries, however great or durable, I know none that can stand in competition with the balmy softness of England’s spring.
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April 8.
The uniform returns of day and night in this climate induce a regularity of habit in the hours of rising, and going to rest. It is common to leave the pillow at six in the morning, and few persons remain out of bed after eleven at night. The coolest and most pleasant part of the day is from six to about half past seven o’clock in the morning: about eight a degree of closeness is often experienced, arising from the decline of the land-breeze, before that from the sea has become sufficiently strong to diffuse its influence. A similar period, likewise, occurs at evening, between the abatement of the sea breeze and the setting in of the breeze from the land. Some days the closeness of these hours is so slight, as to be scarcely perceptible, but commonly they are by far the most oppressive of the twenty-four.
Respecting the mode of living it may be remarked that in all countries said to be civilized, and among all people calling themselves refined, too much of time and attention is devoted to the business of eating and drinking. Perhaps the majority of diseases in social life may be traced to this source. Were it possible to convey, in a single sentence, the frightful train of ills, the melancholy interruptions of health, and the immense consumption of time, thus produced, men would be shocked to read it! They would be terrified to behold the magnitude of an abuse, to which, unheeding, they had so long been devoted. This remark applies but too correctly to the island from whence I am addressing you, and where, from the state of indolence induced by tropical heat, the ingesta taken to excess may be expected in a peculiar degree to oppress the human frame.
The people of Barbadoes are much addicted to the pleasures of the table. The breakfast usually consists of tea and coffee, or chocolate, with eggs, ham, tongue, or other cold meat. Bread is seldom used, but substitutes are found in roasted yams or eddoes, both of which a good deal resemble roasted potatoes. They are taken hot, and eaten with butter, which is sometimes made in the country, but more frequently barrelled and brought from Ireland; that prepared in the island being of cream-like softness, and not always of good flavour. In the course of the forenoon are used fruits, or sandwiches, with free libations of punch and sangaree: immediately preceding dinner, which is commonly at an early hour, are taken punch or mandram. The dinner, for the most part, is profuse, and many hours are passed at table in full and busy feasting.
After a more than plentiful consumption of food, a free indulgence in fruit, and a bounteous supply of wine and other good liquors, the appetite and thirst are further provoked by a dish of sprats, or other broiled fish, and a large bowl of milk-punch. Tea and coffee are next served; and lastly comes the supper, which forms no trifling meal. After this the bottle, the glass, and the punch-bowl experience no rest, until bed-time.
From the nature of the climate we expected to have found the inhabitants men of meager person, half dissolved in perspiration, and exhausted almost to shadows: nor, indeed, are such figures rare, but they are to be found, mostly, among the clerks, the book-keepers, and those orders of white people below the managers who are employed in active and busy occupation, and have but little time to devote to indolence and the luxuries of the table.
We observe that condiments are used very generally, and with great freedom. Acting as stimulants they appear to have the effect of causing the relaxed and enfeebled stomach to digest more than it would, otherwise, require—more, indeed, than it would, otherwise, take. The various species of red pepper, known in England under the common term _Cayenne_, are employed in quantities that would seem incredible to people of colder climates.
A most heterogeneous mixture of food is often consumed; and with this compound of solids, are used wine, punch, porter, cyder, noyeau, and other good liquors in free libation; yet are there specimens of health and vigour, amidst all these indulgences, which might seem to invalidate the doctrines of the advocates of abstemiousness.
In the order of the feast plenty more prevails than elegance. The loaded board groans, nay almost sinks beneath the weight of hospitality. That delicacy of arrangement now studied in England, under the term economy of the table, is here deemed a less perfection than a substantial plenty. Liberality is more esteemed than neatness in the supply; and solids are, sometimes, heaped upon the table in a crowded abundance that might make a London fine lady faint.
The repast not unfrequently consists of different kinds of fish—a variety of soups—a young kid—a whole lamb, or half a sheep—several dishes of beef, or mutton—a turkey—a large ham—Guinea fowls—and a pigeon pie; with various kinds of puddings; a profusion of vegetables; and multitudes of sweets. I was lately one of a small party, where, precisely, this dinner was served, and where the half of a sheep, kicking its legs almost in the face of the master of the house, adorned the bottom of the table—forming the most unseemly dish I ever beheld.
The generous board is often supplied wholly from the produce of the estate, and on the occasion of giving an entertainment it is not unusual to kill an ox, a sheep, or, literally, the fatted calf: hence it sometimes occurs that several dishes of the same kind of food, under different forms, make up the principal part of the dinner.
The liquors most in use are Madeira and claret wines, punch, sangaree, porter, and cyder. Punch and sangaree are commonly used as the _diluents_ of the morning. The latter forms a most delightful drink. A glass of it, taken when parching with thirst, from heat and fatigue, may be ranked among the highest gratifications of our nature! It consists of half Madeira wine and half water, acidulated with the fragrant lime, sweetened with sugar, and flavoured with nutmeg. A stronger sort of it is sometimes made under the superlative name of _sangrorum_. This differs from the former, only in containing a greater proportion of wine.
The too-prevalent English custom of _sending away_ the ladies, or, according to the politer term, of the ladies _retiring_ after dinner, for the gentlemen _to enjoy_ their bottle, prevails also at Barbadoes; and, we have thought, even to a greater extreme than in England. They leave us very soon _after_ dinner, and, often, we see no more of them during the evening. Frequently they do not join us _before_ dinner; but we find them all assembled, at the head of the table, when we enter the dining-room. The party is sometimes so badly arranged, that we have scarcely more of the society of the ladies, and the people of the island, than if we had remained on board ship. Instead of the different persons being, pleasantly, intermixed, it is too common to see the ladies grouped together in a body at the upper end of the table; the officers and strangers, just arrived from Europe, placed at one side; and the gentlemen of the island, who are familiar acquaintances, at the other. The attendants at the dinner-table are very numerous. In addition to those of the family, almost every gentleman has his own slave; and, thus, to frequently happens that the room is crowded with sable domestics, whose surfaces emit an odour not less savoury than the richest dishes of the board.
In its supply of fresh provisions, particularly what is here termed _stock_, such as fowls and the like, Barbadoes exhibits a degree of plenty unknown in the neighbouring islands. This seems to be the happy effect of allowing the slaves to raise these things for sale, together with there being many small settlers, distributed about the country, who find their support chiefly in breeding stock for the markets. Poultry has been our principal food. Turkies, Guinea fowls, and chickens, we have had in great abundance. When we arrived, in the month of February, they were sold in the public market at little more than a bit (about 5½_d._) per pound, but from the increased demand, consequent upon the presence of so many troops, and such throngs of shipping, the price is now raised to nearly two bits. The Muscovy ducks are also bred in numbers upon the island, and are so large as to appear like geese, when dressed for the table. Next to small stock they have veal and pork in the greatest plenty. In Bridge-town they have also a fish-market, which at times is well supplied, but not so regularly, as, from the insular situation of the country, might be expected.
You will form some idea of the immense flocks of poultry raised on this little island, when I tell you that not only the ships of war, and the transports, but most of the West India trading vessels, recruit their provisions at Barbadoes; and that in addition to this constant and extensive drain it furnishes occasional supplies to the other colonies. Since we have been in Carlisle Bay, we have seen, at various times, great quantities of stock shipped for Martinique.
In point of clothing the people of Barbadoes deviate less from the habits of England than the difference of climate would seem to warrant. Their dress resembles that worn in our more northern latitude, being commonly a cloth coat, white cotton waistcoat, and nankeen pantaloons. In some instances people of very active employment, or those who are much exposed in the fields, have the whole suit made of nankeen. Their night clothing seems more appropriate to the greater heat of the climate than the apparel of the day. It is common to sleep on a hard mattress in a long cotton shirt, without any other covering, except in the coolest season, when they make the slight addition of a cotton sheet.
One of the most prominent characteristics of the island is the tedious languor in which the people of Barbadoes pronounce their words. To convey to you, by the pen, any idea of their manner of speaking is utterly impossible: to be comprehended, it must be heard. The languid syllables are drawled out as if it were a great fatigue to utter them; and the tortured ear of an European grows impatient in waiting for the end of a word, or a sentence. “_How you do to da—ay_,” spoken by a Barbadian creole, consumes nearly as much time as might suffice for all the compliments of the morning! nor is this wearisome pronunciation confined to the people of colour; it occurs, likewise, among the whites, particularly those who have not visited Europe, nor resided for some time away from the island. In the same lengthened accent do the lower orders of Barbadians vent their unrestrained rage, in vollies of uncommonly dreadful oaths, which, in their horrible combinations and epithets, form imprecations peculiarly impious.
In manner, also, and in movement, as well as in speech, a degree of indolence and inaction prevails, beyond what might be expected, merely from heat of climate, and which is extremely annoying to Europeans.
The state of the negroes in Barbadoes varies, as the state of slaves must ever do, according to the disposition and circumstances of the master. Under such humane and benevolent characters as Mr. Waith, and others whom we have visited, their situation might be envied by the poor of European nations! But under severe and cruel masters it becomes a state of ceaseless vexation and misery.
On the very important question of slavery in general I do not feel that my experience, hitherto, in the West Indies, enables me to judge with accuracy. But I will take care to note for you such facts as shall occur to my observation, and I may some day, perhaps, give you them in a separate letter.
Very much to the discredit of Barbadoes, numbers of old, diseased, or decrepit negroes, objects of compassion, and of horror, are seen lying at the corners, or begging about the streets. This, like the toleration of the swarms of mendicants in England, is a nuisance for which there is no excuse. If these poor unfortunate negroes be free, they should be relieved by a general tax upon the island: if slaves, the law should compel every master to provide for his own. Should the laws of humanity be insufficient, and those of justice inadequate, a law of coercion should constrain the unfeeling owner to protect and cherish the being, whose youth and vigour have been expended for his benefit; and who, having worn out his days, in the heavy toils of bondage, is grown aged and infirm!
What can be so unworthy! what so disgraceful, as for a master to neglect, in old age, the slave from whom he has exacted all the labour of youth, and all the vigour of manhood? Perhaps nothing portrays in more melancholy demonstration, the possible depravity of the human heart! No longer able to exert himself to his owner’s profit, the aged slave, enfeebled by years, and exhausted by toil, is left to beg his _yam_ from door to door! Abandoned by his cruel master, he becomes a pensioner upon promiscuous charity, or is allowed to fall a prey to disease, and to want!
Without some compulsory law the slaves of the avaricious and of the lower orders, who are, themselves, scarcely removed from indigence, must ever be subject to this hard lot of neglect and cruelty.
The first specimen of West India slaves which met our observation was singularly calculated to impress us with sentiments of compassion and disgust. It occurred at the very moment, too, when the impression would be most powerful, and consequently it will remain indelible. Immediately on our coming to anchor in Carlisle Bay, a woman appeared alongside the ship in a small boat, with some bad fruit, tobacco, salt fish, and other articles of traffic. She was rowed by two negroes, who were her slaves. Two such objects of human form and human misery had never before met our eyes! They were feeble, meager, and dejected—half-starved, half-naked, and, in figure, too accurately resembling hungry and distempered greyhounds! They crouched upon their heels and haunches in the boat; their bones almost pierced their filthy and eruptive skins; their wasted frames trembled with debility; and, while their hollow eyes and famished countenances rendered them ghastly images of horror, their whole appearance shocked humanity, and appalled the sight! Are these, we exclaimed, what are called slaves? Is this the state to which human beings are reduced in bondage? Afflicting and cruel indeed! Well may slavery be deemed a curse! Can it be possible that these spectres once were men? Are such the objects we are to see? Are these the wretched and deplorable beings who are to appear every day, and every hour before our eyes? Forbid it humanity! forbid it Heaven! Such was the apostrophe of the moment, and I feel a sincere gratification in being able to inform you that the melancholy subjects of this first impression were not correct examples of the general mass of slaves. Still it is grievous that any such should be seen: but we hope to find them only rare instances, for we learn that the large gangs of negroes kept by the great merchants, and the planters, are generally treated with kindness and humanity, and appear contented and in comfort.
It is easy to distinguish the slaves of the opulent and respectable inhabitants from those of the poor and needy people of the town. The latter, being in poverty themselves, can only give to their negroes a scanty allowance of food, while their indigence induces them to exact an over-proportion of labour. Hence the slaves of this class of people appear too often with sharp bones and hungry sallow countenances, having eruptions about the body, and their skins of an unhealthy hue. Their general appearance indeed is dirty and unwholesome, and strikingly marks their neglected state. Want and wretchedness are deeply stamped in every line of their persons; and they may not inaptly be said to resemble the worn-out horse or the starved and jaded ass, too often seen trembling under a heavy burden, or reeling in an old tattered cart upon the roads of England.
It is not the practice to load the slaves with a superfluity of clothing: a shirt, and a pair of breeches, or only the latter, for the men; and a single petticoat for the women, constitute the whole apparel. Bedding and bedclothes find no place in their list of necessaries: they usually sleep on a hard plank, in the clothing of the day. Repose is both ensured and sweetened to them by labour; and the head needs no pillow but the arm. Some who, by means of industry and economy, are more advanced in their little comforts, procure a kind of matting, a paillasse of plantain-leaves, or some other species of bedding, to defend them from the bare plank; but this is an indulgence self-attained, not a necessary provided by the master. The architecture of their huts is as rude as it is simple. A roof of plantain-leaves, with a few rough boards, nailed to the coarse pillars which support it, form the whole building. The leeward side is commonly left in part open, and the roof projects to some distance over the door-way, forming a defence against both the sun and the rain.
Notwithstanding the great heat experienced by Europeans, the negroes feel the evenings chilly, and we frequently see them crowding round the bit of fire which they make for cooking their supper. This is commonly in the open air near to the door of the hut; but they sometimes place it upon the middle of the dirt floor withinside the building; where they seem to have great enjoyment in squatting round it, amidst the thick cloud of smoke, to whiff additional fumes from the short pipe or sagar, and to join in loud and merry song.