CHAPTER XII.TO GEORGETOWN—FIRST IMPRESSIONS—BATHS—A DROUGHT—STREET SCENES—AN OIL PAINTING—VICTORIA REGIA—THE CANNON-BALL TREE—SWIZZLES—A PROVISION OF NATURE—DIGNITY BALLS—CALLING CRABS—FOUR EYES—KISKIDIS—FEATHER TRADE—COLOURED SUGAR—A VERSATILE AMERICAN—DEMERARA CRYSTALS—PHYSALIA—OFF TO RORAIMA.
TO GEORGETOWN—FIRST IMPRESSIONS—BATHS—A DROUGHT—STREET SCENES—AN OIL PAINTING—VICTORIA REGIA—THE CANNON-BALL TREE—SWIZZLES—A PROVISION OF NATURE—DIGNITY BALLS—CALLING CRABS—FOUR EYES—KISKIDIS—FEATHER TRADE—COLOURED SUGAR—A VERSATILE AMERICAN—DEMERARA CRYSTALS—PHYSALIA—OFF TO RORAIMA.
A dark thread stretching across the horizon, only a faint streak, which thickened into a fringed skein as the tops of cocoa-nut trees came in view, told us that we were in sight of British Guiana.[27]Soon the blue water assumed the hue and consistency of pea-soup, as we approached the mouth of the Demerara river. A pilot came on board, but for six hours we had to await the pleasure of the tide before crossingthe shallow bar that guards the entrance to the river.
The first impression on beholding Demerara is that a wave of moderate proportions would submerge the country. You see no background, no hill or rising land, nothing but a thin coast line of avicennia and mangrove bushes, above which rise cocoa-nut palms and high chimneys. Presently you discover that there is land behind the coast line, as beyond a fine sea-wall on the left you can see the barracks, fine spacious buildings with deep verandahs, and several white houses. A fort is passed, and a goodly array of shipping at anchor in the river, and lying alongside the wharfs, betokens a busy town. Groups of royal palms, spires, and steeples rise up in the rear of large warehouses and go-downs that line the bank, and before the vessel anchors you recognize the fact that Georgetown is the first and most promising town in or near the West Indies.
We anchored in the river, but now the steamers run alongside a wharf, which is a comfort that cannot be too highly estimated. A hundred voices greeted us on landing, with offers to convey our luggage to the hotel, and “Kerridge, sir, kerridge,” resounded on all sides. Not only were there “kerridges” of different descriptions, but there was actually a “hansom” in waiting. Had it not been for the numerous black faces, we might have landed on the coast of England, but, then again, the numerous bangled women and turbaned men suggested India.
We were quickly driven to the new “Tower” Hotel, which looked clean and comfortable, but not a room was vacant. In Georgetown, house-rent is soexorbitant that many resident bachelors, and occasionally families, live together at the hotels; consequently, strangers often find accommodation unobtainable or indifferent.
Across the road was the “Kaieteur Hotel,” a large, rambling, wooden structure, but with the prestige of antiquity, and kept by Captain Holly, the American consul at Barbadoes. Here we found rooms, and the worthy proprietor did his best to make us comfortable, but it must be allowed that, with all his kindness and attention, he had not then attained the art of keeping a good hotel. But as the two I have mentioned are by far the best hotels in the West Indies, allowances must be made for a few short-comings. There is one item though for which no allowance ought to be made, and in the tropics it is a most important one. In the matter of baths and bath rooms the hotels and boarding houses in the West Indies are disgracefully negligent.
At St. Thomas, to reach the cobwebby and tarantula-occupied bath room, it is necessary to descend a flight of dirty stone steps and to pick your way across a courtyard which is never swept, and which is a repository for old boots, rags, banana skins, and fowls. At Martinique there were no bath rooms in my hotel, and I had to hire a tub; I was told that even in the best hotels—the Hôtel Micas—there were no baths. At Barbadoes, one very small shower-bath taken on the bare bricks did duty for the whole establishment at Hoad’s. At Trinidad, a green, slimy tank into which fresh water ran, but which was never emptied or cleaned, was the sole bathing accommodation for Miss Emma Clark, her boarders, and servants.And here at the “Kaieteur,” the two bath rooms—one on each floor—were not fit for sculleries, a use by the way to which they were frequently put. Their size was such that they barely held a small tub, and it was difficult to stand upright in them; as for a chair, there was not room for one, and, what with the intense heat and the want of space, I have frequently seen people come out of the wretched hole streaming with perspiration after their bath. The supply of water, too, was very limited, as in Demerara rain water alone is used, and when we arrived there the long continued drought had nearly emptied the tanks.
The average rain-fall in Demerara is estimated by feet instead of inches; but last year (1877) had been very dry, and now the absence of rain in the usual short wet season—December, January, and February—had already created more loss to the planters, and as it was too late to expect rain before May, a water famine was anticipated. It used to be positively asserted that the year was divided into two wet and two dry seasons in British Guiana, but it is gradually dawning on the public mind that no uniformity in weather ever did, or can exist, and that, though the climate remains, the weather changes.
Georgetown is a handsome, well-built town, with broad streets, avenues, excellent stores, and shops of all descriptions, and with a lively, well to-do air that is as invigorating as the heat is depressing. In the streets, besides the white race, you meet sharp-featured Madrassees, Hindoos of various castes, Parsees, Nubians, and half-breeds. Stepping timidly along may also be seen two or three “bucks,” as the natives from the interior are called, dressed—if dressed atall—in a motley suit of old clothes, and only anxious to sell or exchange their parrots and hammocks, and then return to their wilds. From a merchant’s store filled with European goods, you step into a little shop redolent of the East, and stocked with bangles and silver ornaments worked by their Cingalese proprietor. There stands a Portuguese Jew, ready to fleece the first “buck” whom he can entice into his cheap general-store, and here sits stolid John Chinaman, with his pigtail wreathed round his head, keeping guard over his home-made cigars.
The Government Building is a large, fine-looking structure, the numerous churches are graceful and picturesque, and everywhere there is a home look about the town, without pretension, that is very attractive. The reading-room is cool and very comfortable, the library well managed, and the museum in the same building is likely, under the care of Mr. Im Thurm, the new curator, to become a very valuable acquisition to the colony. Under his superintendence, a very interesting exhibition of native produce and industry had been held previous to my arrival, and I was sorry to have missed it.
It has been said that hospitality is on the wane in the West Indies; well, if that of Demerara may be taken as an example, may it always be on the wane! A kinder, more hospitable community I never met. It seems to be the object of the residents to make a stranger’s sojourn among them as home-like and agreeable as they can. Some one once remarked, and it has been the fashion to repeat, that the French alone in the West Indies make the land of their adoption their home, and that the English make it merely a placeof business, from which they hasten at the earliest opportunity. This may be so, for the English of all others are a home-loving race, and “the old country” is more, I think, to them than “fatherland” to the Germans, or “notre pays” to the French. But, whilst they are in exile, they, at any rate in Demerara, surround themselves as far as possible with home comforts and home reminiscences, and infuse something of the far off country sweetness into the inner circle of their lives. No heart—no, not even a Savoyard’s—feels expatriation so deeply as an Englishman’s, and none, save those whose lot has been to sojourn far from home, can imagine the intense longing to see again the native shores. Do you remember that old poem called “The Home Fever: A reminiscence of the West Indies?”—the first verse is—
“We sat alone in a trellised bower,And gazed o’er the darkening deep,And the holy calm of that twilight hourCame over our hearts like sleep,And we dreamed of the banks and the bonny braesThat have gladdened our hearts in childhood’s days.”
“We sat alone in a trellised bower,And gazed o’er the darkening deep,And the holy calm of that twilight hourCame over our hearts like sleep,And we dreamed of the banks and the bonny braesThat have gladdened our hearts in childhood’s days.”
“We sat alone in a trellised bower,And gazed o’er the darkening deep,And the holy calm of that twilight hourCame over our hearts like sleep,And we dreamed of the banks and the bonny braesThat have gladdened our hearts in childhood’s days.”
“We sat alone in a trellised bower,
And gazed o’er the darkening deep,
And the holy calm of that twilight hour
Came over our hearts like sleep,
And we dreamed of the banks and the bonny braes
That have gladdened our hearts in childhood’s days.”
and the last,
“Oh! talk of spring to the trampled flower,Of light to the fallen star;Of glory, to those who, in danger’s hour,Lie cold in the field of war;But ye mock the exile’s heart when ye tellOf aught save the home where it pines to dwell.”
“Oh! talk of spring to the trampled flower,Of light to the fallen star;Of glory, to those who, in danger’s hour,Lie cold in the field of war;But ye mock the exile’s heart when ye tellOf aught save the home where it pines to dwell.”
“Oh! talk of spring to the trampled flower,Of light to the fallen star;Of glory, to those who, in danger’s hour,Lie cold in the field of war;But ye mock the exile’s heart when ye tellOf aught save the home where it pines to dwell.”
“Oh! talk of spring to the trampled flower,
Of light to the fallen star;
Of glory, to those who, in danger’s hour,
Lie cold in the field of war;
But ye mock the exile’s heart when ye tell
Of aught save the home where it pines to dwell.”
It will be asked, where do these good people of Georgetown dwell?
Opposite the “Kaieteur” hotel is the Club, which is the pleasantest resort in the town, as it receives the full benefit of the trade wind, which on certain occasionsby-the-bye wafts other zephyrs than those fresh from the beautiful hybiscus hedge in front, and is much frequented by its members. Stretching far away from this club towards the sea-wall is Main Street, and there and in the neighbouring parallel one the principal houses of Georgetown are situated. Main Street is broad and picturesque; a series of wide trenches[28]with green sloping banks divides it, and on each side runs a fine road. The residences which line it are all detached, and of various styles of architecture, from a three-storied edifice with towers and cupola to a low wide-spreading structure with but one floor above the basement. But all are built for coolness as well as comfort, and their wide shady verandahs are the favourite resorts of the family. Many of the gardens are brilliant masses of colour, resembling a rich oil-painting, rather than a delicate water-colour of those of European lands. The tints are so gorgeous and heavy; there are bushes of the crimson hybiscus, scarlet cordias, flaming poinsettias, trailing corallitas, the bright flowers of the bois immortelle, the drooping clusters of the red quiscualis, the vermilion blossoms of the flamboyant, all vying in splendour with saffron petrœas, deep blue convolvuluses, abutilons, and the white trumpets of the datura. In one garden I remember seeing a resplendent mass of Bougainvilleas, and on a neighbouring tree some equally showy blossoms of a magnificent crimson orchid—Cattleya superba; between them crept pale clusters of English honeysuckle, not a bit abashed by their grandneighbours, but rather exulting in the fragrance denied to their bright-coloured companions.
Marbled crotons and purple dracœnas are tipped by strange-looking papaws, whose wax-like blossoms grow direct from the trunks and branches, and above these tower shade-trees and tall palms. Very conspicuous are the royal palms, standing either singly or in groups, and near them bend the cocoa-nut trees, as if in acknowledgment of the superior majesty of their kings. Besides the houses, some pretty churches, half-hidden in trees, give a finish to this the most picturesque street in Georgetown.
In the adjacent street are also some neat houses, and on one side of it are the Public Gardens with the small but ever hospitable Government House opposite. In the gardens are some specimens of the Victoria Regia—the lily which was discovered by Sir Robert Schomburg on the Berbice river—but in size they are not to be compared with some in other parts of Demerara; for instance on one of the plantations, Leonora, is a plant whose leaves are over six feet in diameter, and strong enough to bear the weight of an average-sized man when a board has been placed across to distribute the weight properly. There is also a fine cannon-ball tree,[29]under whose shade the weary traveller may experience sensations similar to those of Damocles, as the huge fruit, which is as big as a twenty-pound shot and nearly as heavy, seems always ready to fall from its slender hanging stem. The gardens are not very interesting, but afford a pleasant playground for children, and a delicious gossiping ground for their attendant nurses.
Let me now recall the usual daily routine in Georgetown. A little before six o’clock tea and toast; after that I never knew for certain what anyone did up to breakfast at half-past nine, probably because my time till then was entirely taken up in getting a bath, dressing, and trying to keep cool. I believe though that business was the occupation. As for riding or early walking exercise, I saw none of it, but then again that may have been through my own dilatoriness, although I doubt it. Breakfast was a very substantial meal, too substantial in fact at the “Kaieteur,” and not tempting enough for a hot climate.
Long before the traveller reaches Demerara, he will have discovered that no meal in the West Indies is without salt-fish from Newfoundland; that and pepper-pot are standard works. Good fresh fish in Georgetown is something of a rarity—at least it was with us at the hotel—and when Jew fish is in the market a bell-man goes round proclaiming the fact and the price per pound. The flesh is coarse, but appreciated by the poorer class when it is cheap. Housekeepers also complain of the scarcity of good meat, and certainly the beefsteaks and mutton chops furnished to us were poor.
After breakfast, business is attended to with decreasing energy up to luncheon, and then dies a natural death in the course of the afternoon. About five p.m. all the world—with the exception of the steady whist and euchre players at the club—takes an airing. Those who have carriages drive out to the sea-wall, which is the promenade, and those who have not walk there. Nursery maids take their charges to the public gardens, coolies lead out cows and oxen to graze, blackboys exercise their masters’ dogs, horsemen ride out to the race-course, and unfortunate cripples—chiefly Chinese—in all stages of terrible disease, come forth and beg. A late dinner, followed probably by some delightful music—as Georgetown boasts of a very excellent Philharmonic Society—winds up the day.
I must not forget to add that it is just possible that its interludes have been filled up by a certain institution of Demerara known as “swizzles.” Most cities and towns have some small peculiarity, for which they are as well remembered as for their greater. Demerara and swizzles are inseparably connected in my mind. The exact recipe for a swizzle I cannot give, although I have seen it concocted not unfrequently; but it is a deliciously cold drink, of a delicate pink colour, and when lashed into a foam by the revolutions of a peculiar instrument called the swizzle-stick, and imbibed out of a thin glass, it makes a very pretty drink. By a wonderful provision of Nature the tree which furnishes the pronged stick, without which the beverage would lose much of its charm, grows abundantly in Guiana. The exact time for indulging in a swizzle has not been clearly defined, but as a general rule in Demerara it is accepted whenever offered. It is taken in the morning to ward off the effect of chill, before breakfast to give a tone to the system, in the middle of the day to fortify against the heat, in the afternoon as a suitable finale to luncheon, and again as a stimulant to euchre, and a solace for your losses. Before dinner it acts as an appetizer, and it is said that when taken before going to bed it assists slumber. And very frequently in Georgetown anything to induce sleep would be welcome, as the incessant “dignity” balls of thenegroes are fatal to slumber. The noisier they are, the better they are enjoyed, and a lull of a few minutes only gives fresh energy to subsequent demonstrations. Verily the coloured folk give a literal interpretation of their own proverb, that “what you lose in de jig, you gain in de reel.”
Even the guttural notes of the frogs, of which there are an extraordinary number in the trenches, are preferable to the negro discord. When Bacchus was rowed along the Styx he could not have been greeted with a more varied frog’s chorus than that which day and night salutes the inhabitants of Georgetown. “Awnk, awnk, awnk,” roars the bass, “week, week, week,” pipes the tenor, “cru, cru, cru,” screams the soprano, and then the full choir joins in a refrain which swells and falls with the breeze. One quaint little fellow has a peculiarly sweet note, so exactly like a whistle that I have frequently stopped in my walk and turned to see who it was that wanted to attract my attention. Just as plentiful and more amusing are the crabs which frequent the dykes and mud flats around the town. The “calling crabs”[30]are especially entertaining, as they wave and beckon with their great claw, and then scurry away at the least attempt to approach them. Often in their fright they miss their holes, then in despair place themselves in fighting attitude, and dare you to the attack. Another common and very hideous creature is the little fish known as “Four Eyes,”[31]which takes amusement in shooting along the water and stranding itself at every opportunity.
The feathered tribe are not strongly represented around Georgetown, but, as a “Birds’ ProtectionOrdinance” has lately been passed in Guiana as well as in Trinidad, they may have a chance of multiplying. The commonest bird is a species of flycatcher called “Qu’est-ce qu’il dit,” which are the exact words it utters; it is pretty and sociable, and its querulous notes are heard from many a tree and house top. It will be interesting to learn after a lapse of time whether the bird-law has tended to the increase of birds in towns and settlements. Of bright-plumaged birds the humming-birds alone frequent habitations, and it will be chiefly their increasing numbers that will tell the tale. The brilliant family of chatterers, the troupials, the cocks-of-the-rock, the trogons, toucans, the tanagers, fire-birds,[32]macaws, manakins, and other gay denizens of Guiana live so far from the haunts of white men that any increase in their numbers can only be assumed.
It is singular to note the constant development of the feather trade; the day is long past when every fine gentleman, king and commoner, decked himself with plumes, but now, when fashion requires them for ladies alone, the demand is far greater. Forests, mountains, and swamps in all parts of the world are ransacked to supply the dealers, and probably, not before the last bird becomes as extinct as the dodo, will the mania for feathers have died out. And it cannot be denied that the plumage of birds makes a most beautiful adornment, and, though in dress, a head here, a wing there, and a bit of the breast somewhere else, is not the most advantageous mode of showing off the glistening beauties, yet even the dismembered parts shine with matchless and inimitable tints. In thepresent day there is little that cannot be imitated; artificial flowers, stones, plants, fruit, fish, and human limbs are so skilfully fashioned as sometimes to deceive the sharpest eye. It has been said, too, that glass eyes have been made so perfectly that even the wearers themselves cannot see through the deception. But birds and their nests defy imitation.
A short time before my arrival in Georgetown, the community had been much amused by the advent of a series of commissioners who had come from the United States to inquire into the manufacture of “coloured” sugar. Some cargoes of this sugar had been detained at the custom-house in one of the American ports, under the impression that the sugar had been “artificially” coloured, thereby avoiding the high duties on light sugars.
Duly furnished with Government credentials, they came, saw, and departed, fully convinced, I believe, that the “coloured” sugar outcry was what is vulgarly called a mare’s nest. One of the commissioners—a very pleasant young fellow—on finding, when he arrived, that he had been forestalled by others, wisely relinquished his sugar researches, and instead established the first telephone in British Guiana between Georgetown and Berbice. The last I heard of him was that he was about to be appointed consul either in British, French, or Dutch Guiana. The versatility of the true American is indeed wonderful.
Sugar-making has been so often described that I must refrain from giving an account of a visit to a Demerara plantation, much as I should have liked it. It must suffice to say that there you see the latest improvements in machinery, the latest scientific appliancesfor vacuum pans, centrifugals,[33]&c., and in fact sugar manufacture on a grand scale.
You also see a veritable “little Holland,” as water forms the boundaries of estates, and by water the produce is transported to the mills. Dams and canals intersect the estates, and the navigation system is complete. You see, too, how the welfare of the coolie is attended to, his hospital, his home, his provision grounds, and how much better off in every way he is than in his native land. I once saw a coolie vessel arrive in Georgetown, and though her passengers wept and embraced the captain and officers in their sorrow at having to leave, yet they looked very lean and emaciated in comparison with those I afterwards saw working on the estates. The ships which bring them over are well regulated, and as comfortable as circumstances will admit, but the voyage is trying for a non-sea-going race. One of the mates, in answer to a question, told me they were “a docile, uncomplaining lot, but dirty, as they were always using water.”
The visitor to a Demerara plantation is sure of a hearty welcome, that is always fresh and invigorating, however hot the day or tame the scenery may be. And even in the scenery there is always something interesting besides sugar, some strange fruit-bearing tree, some flower or bird, and the cane-laden boats, with a brightly clad figure among the green blades, are always picturesque. The country is flat certainly—the only hill I ever found about Georgetown was on the cricket ground—but it is not monotonous if one chooses to look about andenjoy it. Even the muddy river has its attractions, as the last time I crossed it after a visit to a plantation it was covered with hundreds of Portuguese men-of-war[34]whose large air sacks and vertical crests shone resplendently in every shade of purple and blue.
I must not conclude this sketch of social Demerara without alluding to a certain distribution of the government of the colony which, I believe, is peculiar to British Guiana. Besides the Governor, there is what is called a Court of Policy, and also the Combined Court, which consists of the members of the Court of Policy together with six financial representatives chosen by the people for two years. The Court of Policy is composed of ten members, five of them being Government officers, and five elected from the college of Keizers or Electors. This college is a body of seven members chosen for life by the inhabitants who possess the suffrage, for which an annual income of six hundred dollars qualifies. The Court of Policy carries on the general legislative business, whilst taxation and expenditure are in the power of the Combined Court. Every member of the Combined Court has an equal vote, and also the power of rejecting, if he thinks proper, a bill passed by the majority. Thus Kings, Lords, and Commons rule in Demerara, and to their enterprise and liberality I owe my visit to Roraima.
Mr. McTurk a Government official, who was experienced in bush life, and possessed of qualifications well suited to the purpose, had been commissioned by the Governor to superintend the expedition, and towards the end of February I received intimation to join him at the settlement near the junction of the Cuyuni and Mazaruni rivers, where he awaited me with his boats.