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JOURNAL OF A WEST INDIA PROPRIETOR,

Kept During A Residence In The Island Of Jamaica.

By Matthew Gregory Lewis

Author of “The Monk,” “The Castle Spectre,” “Tales Of Wonder,” &c.

London: John Murray, Albemarle Street.

MDCCCXXXIV


“I WOULD GIVE MANY A SUGAR CANE,

MAT. LEWIS WERE ALIVE AGAIN!”

BYRON.


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ADVERTISEMENT.


The following Journals of two residences in Jamaica, in 1815-16, and in
1817, are now printed from the MS. of Mr. Lewis; who died at sea, on the
voyage homewards from the West Indies, in the year 1818.




JOURNAL OF A WEST INDIA PROPRIETOR


Expect our sailing in a few hours. But although the vessel left the
Docks on Saturday, she did not reach this place till three o’clock on
Thursday, the 9th. The captain now tells me, that we may expect to sail
certainly in the afternoon of to-morrow, the 10th. I expect the ship’s
cabin to gain greatly by my two days’ residence at the “--------------,”
 which nothing can exceed for noise, dirt, and dulness. Eloisa would
never have established “black melancholy” at the Paraclete as its
favourite residence, if she had happened to pass three days at an inn
at Gravesend: nowhere else did I ever see the sky look so dingy, and the
river “_Nunc alio patriam quaero sub sole jacentem_.”--Virgil.




1815. NOVEMBER 8.


(WEDNESDAY)

I left London, and reached Gravesend at nine in the morning, having been
taught to exso dirty; to be sure, the place has all the advantages of
an English November to assist it in those particulars. Just now, too,
a carriage passed my windows, conveying on board a cargo of passengers,
who seemed sincerely afflicted at the thoughts of leaving their dear
native land! The pigs squeaked, the ducks quacked, and the fowls
screamed; and all so dolefully, as clearly to prove, that _theirs_ was
no dissembled sorrow? And after them (more affecting than all) came
a wheelbarrow, with a solitary porker tied in a basket, with his head
hanging over on one side, and his legs sticking out on the other, who
neither grunted nor moved, nor gave any signs of life, but seemed to
be of quite the same opinion with Hannah More’s heroine, “Grief is for
_little_ wrongs; despair for mine!”

As Miss O’Neil is to play “Elwina” for the first time to-morrow, it is
a thousand pities that she had not the previous advantage of seeing the
speechless despondency of this poor pig; it might have furnished her
with some valuable hints, and enabled her to convey more perfectly to
the audience the “expressive silence” of irremediable distress.


NOVEMBER 10.

At four o’clock in the afternoon, I embarked on board the “Sir Godfrey
Webster,” Captain Boyes. On approaching the vessel, we heard the loudest
of all possible shrieks proceeding from a boat lying near her: and who
should prove to be the complainant, but my former acquaintance, the
despairing pig, He had recovered his voice to protest against entering
the ship: I had already declared against climbing up the accommodation
ladder; the pig had precisely the very same objection. So a _soi-disant_
chair, being a broken bucket, was let down for us, and the pig and
myself entered the vessel by the same conveyance; only pig had the
precedence, and was hoisted up first. The ship proceeded three miles,
and then the darkness obliged us to come to an anchor. There are only
two other cabin passengers, a Mr. J------ and a Mr. S------; the
latter is a planter in the “May-Day Mountains,” Jamaica: he wonders,
considering how much benefit Great Britain derives from the West Indies,
that government is not careful to build more churches in them, and is of
opinion, that “hedicating the <DW64>s is the only way to make them appy;
indeed, in his umble hopinion, hedication his hall in hall!”


NOVEMBER 11.

We sailed at six o’clock, passed through “Nob’s Hole,” the “Girdler’s
Hole,” and “the Pan” (all very dangerous sands, and particularly the
last, where at times we had only one foot water below us), by half past
four, and at five came to an anchor in the Queen’s Channel. Never having
seen any thing of the kind before, I was wonderfully pleased with the
manoeuvring of several large ships, which passed through the sands at
the same time with us: their motions seemed to be effected with as much
ease and dexterity as if they had been crane-necked carriages; and the
effect as they pursued each other’s track and windings was perfectly
beautiful.


NOVEMBER 12. (SUNDAY.)

The wind was contrary, and we had to beat up the whole way; we did not
reach the Downs till past four o’clock, and, as there were above sixty
vessels arrived before us, we had some difficulty in finding a safe
berth. At length we anchored in the Lower Roads, about four miles off
Deal. We can see very clearly the double lights in the vessel moored
off the Goodwin sands: it is constantly inhabited by two families, who
reside there alternately every fortnight, except when the weather delays
the exchange. The “Sir Godfrey Webster” is a vessel of 600 tons, and was
formerly in the East India service. I have a very clean cabin, a place
for my books, and every thing is much more comfortable than I expected;
the wind, however, is completely west, the worst that we could have, and
we must not even expect a change till the full moon. The captain pointed
out a man to me to-day, who had been with him in a violent storm off
the Bermudas. For six hours together, the flashes of lightning were so
unintermitting, that the eye could not sustain them: at one time, the
ship seemed to be completely in a blaze; and the man in question (who
was then standing at the wheel, near the captain) suddenly cried out,
“I don’t know what has happened to me, but I can neither see nor stand;”
 and he fell down upon the deck. He was taken up and carried below; and
it appeared that the lightning had affected his eyes and legs, in a
degree to make him both blind and lame, though the captain, who was
standing by his side, had received no injury: in three or four days, the
man was quite well again. In this storm, no less than thirteen vessels
were dismasted, or otherwise shattered by the lightning.

Sea Terms.--_Windward, from_ whence the wind blows; _leeward, to_ which
it blows; _starboard_, the _right_ of the stern; _larboard_, the _left_;
_starboard helm_, when you go to the left; but when to the right,
instead of larboard helm, _helm a-port_; _luff you may_, go nearer to
the wind; _theis (thus)_ you are near enough; _luff no near_, you
are too near the wind; the _tiller_, the handle of the rudder; the
_capstan_, the weigher of the anchor; the _buntlines_, the ropes which
move the body of the sail, the _bunt_ being the body; the _bowlines_,
those which spread out the sails, and make them swell.


NOVEMBER 13.

At six this morning, came on a tremendous gale of wind; the captain
says, that he never experienced a heavier. However, we rode it out with
great success, although, at one time, it was bawled out that we were
driving; and, at another, a brig which lay near us broke from her
moorings, and came bearing down close upon us. The danger, indeed, from
the difference of size, was all upon the side of the brig; but, luckily,
the vessels cleared each other. This evening she has thought it as well
to remove further from so dangerous a neighbourhood. There is a little
cabin boy on board, and Mr. J------ has brought with him a black
terrier; and these two at first sight swore to each other an eternal
friendship, in the true German style. It is the boy’s first voyage, and
he is excessively sea-sick; so he has been obliged to creep into his
hammock, and his friend, the little black terrier, has crept into the
hammock with him. A boat came from the shore this evening, and reported
that several vessels have been dismasted, lost their anchors, and
injured in various ways. A brig, which was obliged to make for Ramsgate,
missed the pier, and was dashed to pieces completely; the crew, however,
were saved, all except the pilot; who, although he was brought on shore
alive, what between bruises, drowning, and fright, had suffered so much,
that he died two hours afterwards. The weather has now again become
calm; but it is still full west.


NOVEMBER 14. (TUESDAY.)


THE HOURS.

               Ne’er were the zephyrs known disclosing

                   More sweets, than when in Tempe’s shades

               They waved the lilies, where, reposing,

                   Sat four and twenty lovely maids.

               Those lovely maids were called “the Hours,”

                   The charge of Virtue’s flock they kept;

               And each in turn employ’d her powers

               To guard it, while her sisters slept.

               False Love, how simple souls thou cheatest!

                   In myrtle bower, that traitor near

               Long watch’d an Hour, the softest, sweetest!

                   The evening Hour, to shepherds dear. *

               In tones so bland he praised her beauty,

                   Such melting airs his pipe could play,

               The thoughtless Hour forgot her duty,

                   And fled in Love’s embrace away.

               Meanwhile the fold was left unguarded--

                   The wolf broke in--the lambs were slain:

               And now from Virtue’s train discarded,

                   With tears her sisters speak their pain.

               Time flies, and still they weep; for never

                   The fugitive can time restore:

               An Hour once fled, has fled for ever,

                   And all the rest shall smile no more!

* L’heure du berger.


NOVEMBER 15.

The wind altered sufficiently to allow us to escape from the Downs;
and at dusk we were off Beachy Head. This morning, the steward left the
trap-door of the store-hole open; of course, I immediately contrived to
step into it, and was on the point of being precipitated to the
bottom, among innumerable boxes of grocery, bags of biscuit, and porter
barrels;--where a broken limb was the _least_ that I could expect.
Luckily, I fell across the corner of the trap, and managed to support
myself, till I could effect my escape with a bruised knee, and the loss
of a few inches of skin from my left arm.


NOVEMBER 16.

Off the Isle of Wight.


NOVEMBER 17.

Off the St. Alban’s Head. Sick to death! My temples throbbing, my head
burning, my limbs freezing, my mouth all fever, my stomach all nausea,
my mind all disgust.


NOVEMBER 18.

Off the Lizard, the last point of England.


NOVEMBER 19. (SUNDAY.)

At one this morning, a violent gust of wind came on; and, at the rate of
ten miles an hour, carried us through the Chops of the Channel, formed
by the Scilly Rocks and the Isle of Ushant. But I thought, that the
advance was dearly purchased by the terrible night which the storm made
us pass. The wind roaring, the waves dashing against the stern, till at
last they beat in the quarter gallery; the ship, too, rolling from side
to side, as if every moment she were going to roll over and over! Mr.
J------ was heaved off one of the sofas, and rolled along, till he was
stopped by the table. He then took his seat upon the floor, as the more
secure position; and, half an hour afterwards, another heave chucked him
back again upon the sofa. The captain snuffed out one of the candles,
and both being tied to the table, could not relight it with the other:
so the steward came to do it; when a sudden heel of the ship made him
extinguish the second candle, tumbled him upon the sofa on which I was
lying, and made the candle which he had brought with him fly out of the
candlestick, through a cabin window at his elbow; and thus we were all
left in the dark. Then the intolerable noise! the cracking of bulkheads!
the sawing of ropes! the screeching of the tiller! the trampling of
the sailors! the clattering of the crockery! Every thing above deck and
below deck, all in motion at once! Chairs, writing-desks, books, boxes,
bundles, fire-irons and fenders, flying to one end of the room; and the
next moment (as if they had made a mistake) flying back again to the
other with the same hurry and confusion! “Confusion worse confounded!”
 Of all the inconveniences attached to a vessel, the incessant noise
appears to me the most insupportable! As to our live stock, they seem to
have made up their minds on the subject, and say with one of Ariosto’s
knights (when he was cloven from the head to the chine), “_or corvien
morire_” Our fowls and ducks are screaming and quacking their last by
dozens; and by Tuesday morning, it is supposed that we shall not have
an animal alive in the ship, except the black terrier--and my friend the
squeaking pig, whose vocal powers are still audible, maugre the storm
and the sailors, and who (I verily believe) only continues to survive
out of spite, because he can join in the general chorus, and help to
increase the number of abominable sounds.

We are now tossing about in the Bay of Biscay: I shall remember it as
long as I live. The “beef-eater’s front” could never have “beamed more
terrible” upon Don Ferolo Whiskerandos, “in Biscay’s Bay, when he took
him prisoner,” than Biscay’s Bay itself will appear to _me_ the next
time that I approach it.


NOVEMBER 20.

Our live stock has received an increase; our fowls and ducks are dead to
be sure, but a lark flew on board this morning, blown (as is supposed)
from the coast of France. In five minutes it appeared to be quite at
home, eat very readily whatever was given it, and hopped about the deck
without fear of the sailors, or the more formidable black terrier, with
all the ease and assurance imaginable.

I dare say, it _was_ blown from the coast of France!


NOVEMBER 21.

The weather continues intolerable. Boisterous waves running mountains
high, with no wind, or a foul one. Dead calms by day, which prevent
our making any progress; and violent storms by night, which prevent our
getting any sleep.

Every thing is in a state of perpetual motion. “_Nulla quies intus_ (nor
_outus_ indeed for the matter of that), _nullâque silentia parte_” We
drink our tea exactly as Tantalus did in the infernal regions; we keep
bobbing at the basin for half an hour together without being able to get
a drop; and certainly nobody on ship-board can doubt the truth of the
proverb, “Many things fall out between the cup and the lip.”


NOVEMBER 23.


PANDORA’S BOX. (Iliad A.)

               Prometheus once (in Tooke the tale you’ll see)

               In one vast box enclosed all human evils;

               But curious Woman needs the inside would see,

               And out came twenty thousand million devils.

               The story’s spoil’d, and Tooke should well be chid;

                   The fact, sir, happen’d thus, and I’ve no doubt of it:

               ’Twas not that Woman raised the coffer’s lid,

                   But when the lid _was_ raised, Woman popp’d out of it.

               “But Hope remain’d”--true, sir, she did; but still

                   All saw of what Miss Hope gave intimation;

               Her right hand grasp’d an undertaker’s bill,

                   Her left conceal’d a deed of separation.

N. B. I was most horribly sea-sick when I took this view of the subject.
Besides, grapes on shipboard, in general, are remarkably sour.


NOVEMBER 24.

                   “Manibus date lilia plenis;

                        Purpureos spargam flores!”

The squeaking pig was killed this morning.


NOVEMBER 25.

Letters were sent to England by a small vessel bound for Plymouth, and
laden with oranges from St. Michael’s, one of the Azores.


NOVEMBER 26.

A complete and most violent storm, from twelve at night till seven the
next morning. The fore-top-sail, though only put up for the first time
yesterday, was rent from top to bottom; and several of the other sails
are torn to pieces. The perpetual tempestuous weather which we have
experienced has so shaken the planks of the vessel, that the sea enters
at all quarters. About one o’clock in the morning I was saluted by a
stream of water, which poured down exactly upon my face, and obliged me
to shift my lodgings. The carpenter had been made aware that there was
a leak in my cabin, and ordered to caulk the seams; but, I suppose,
he thought that during only a two months’ voyage, the rain might very
possibly never find out the hole, and that it