Chapter XVI: A Cooking Memory 240 (6)

Next to the cockroaches might be ranked as irrepressible torments the mole-crickets, who would not allow of a lawn anywhere. There were some beautiful grass tennis courts in these Botanical Gardens, costing an appalling sum to keep in tolerable order—thanks to the crickets which burrow like moles and devour like locusts and hatch out in myriads. I used often to see a small army-corps of little black boys on the tennis grounds headed by tall coolies with watering-pots of strong soapsuds which they poured on the ground. This _douche_ brought the mole-cricket out of his hall door in a great hurry, to be snapped up and flung into a bucket of water by the attendant imp. But it was very difficult to keep them down, even by these means, and the lawns had to be dug up and replanted constantly. It is impossible to keep the rapacious insect-world in order in a climate which, for certainly half the year, resembles an orchid-house watered and shut up for the night.

The Harlequin beetle is, no doubt, quite as destructive as his less gaudy brethren, but one forgives him a good deal, partly because of his brilliant beauty, and partly because his depredations are carried on chiefly underground. Then the shady places are always made glorious by large slow-moving butterflies of gorgeous colouring and quaint conceit, such as transparent round windows let in, as it were, amid their brilliant markings.

Any one who fears bats should not visit “Iëre, or the home of the humming-bird” (as the Indians told Sir Walter Raleigh Trinidad was called), for all sorts and conditions of bats abound. The fruit-eating variety is greatly attracted to the Botanical Gardens by the star-apple trees growing there. I always feared lest sentence should be passed against these beautiful trees with their copper-beech-like foliage, on account of the bats, who, by the way, don’t seem ever to eat the fruit where it grows, but always carry it off and devour it in another tree. The Vampire bat is a great deal bigger than the ordinary bat, but mosquito netting is quite sufficient protection in a house, and the stables are generally guarded by galvanised wire netting, and if ordinary care is taken about not leaving stable-doors open after sundown, the horses do not suffer; but when did a negro groom ever think of a detail of that sort?

It was very amusing to watch the native bees going back to their hive at dusk. I don’t know how they had been persuaded to take up their abode in a box fastened against the wall of the Superintendent’s office in the Botanical Gardens; but the colony was in a very flourishing condition when I was taken to view it at sundown, and it had evidently established Responsible Government. The bees themselves were small and shabby, regarded _as_ bees, and did not trouble to make more honey than enough for their daily needs; they scouted the idea of storing it, for there were lots of flowers all the year round, and no wintry weather to provide against. Their chief anxiety seemed to be to keep their hall-door shut, and they were very particular on that point. When I was watching them, the great mass of the bees had already gone into the hive, and only an occasional loiterer was to be seen creeping in at a very small hole.

“Now here comes the last bee,” said my companion. “Look carefully at him.” So I did, and saw that the little creature was carrying a pellet of mud nearly as big as himself. It was too big to go in at the hole, so he had to break bits off; but he twice picked up some of the fragments which had fallen down, and stuffed them also into the hole. Then he went in himself, and the Superintendent opened a sliding panel commanding a view of this hall-door, at which three or four bees were busily working, blocking it up with the mud pellets.

“They do that every night,” I was told, “and open it the first thing in the morning.” I wanted very much to know what would happen if any belated bee turned up afterwards, but the story did not say.

English bees were introduced into the island many years ago, but they have lost most of their thrifty ways, and become demoralised by the flower wealth all the year round. They also decline to be confined in hives, which I dare say they find too hot, and so they build wherever they like. An enormous colony had settled years and years before, evidently, under the flooring of one of the cool north verandahs of Government House. As long as they went in and out from outside it did not matter, but latterly they took to pervading the verandah inside and violently assaulting the passers-by. This was too much to bear often, so the house-carpenter and his assistants were set to work to prise up the boards of the verandah. They chose a cloudy day when the bees would be out, taking advantage of the comparative coolness, but they soon found that many boards had to come up, for the comb was thickly formed everywhere. At last all the verandah floor was up, and I certainly never saw such a sight. Yards and yards of comb! Most of it black and useless, nearly all quite empty of honey (that was for fear of the ants), and hardly any bee-bread even. When the men went away to their breakfast the orioles, who must have been watching the proceedings with deep interest, came down from the _Flamboyant_ outside the window, and had a sumptuous breakfast off the immature bees. There was a terrible revenge, however, when the bees returned later, and the workmen had to retreat hastily. I found upon that occasion that silver quarter-dollars made the best salve for bee-stings.

When we first went to Trinidad our evening drives often led us past fields of sugar-cane, which seemed even then fast falling out of cultivation, and long before we left—in 1896—they had been replaced by plantations of Guinea grass, which appeared to thrive extremely well, and for which there was an excellent market in and near Port of Spain. The land was evidently worn out for sugar-cane, but answered capitally for this tall grass, on which all four-footed beasts seem to thrive.

Much has been written and preached about the terrible fondness of the West Indian negro for smart clothes; but if he had not that passion—with which surely the modern fine lady can well sympathise—it would be extremely difficult to get him or her to work. Why should he, in a climate where bodily exertion is very undesirable, and where food and shelter grow, so to speak, by the roadside?

They expend vast sums on their wedding festivities, at which the guests are expected to appear in perfectly new garments. I once offered a comely young black housemaid leave of absence to go to her brother’s marriage, but she declined on the score of expense. Now I had seen this girl, a week or two before, very smartly dressed for a friend’s wedding, so I said:—

“But surely you have still got that beautiful hat and frock you wore at Florinda’s marriage the other day?”

Aurelia gave me a shocked glance as she answered:—

“Oh, lady, me can’t wear _that_!”

“Why not?” I asked.

“All peoples very much offended if I wear same dress to their wedding; must be quite new every things.”

And nothing I could urge had the least effect in shaking her resolution not to disgrace her family by appearing in garments which had done duty before on a similar occasion. I always noticed at the cathedral that every female member of the very large and devout coloured congregation had on her head a hat which must have cost a good deal more than my own bonnet. From a picturesque point of view the effect of the coloured women’s spotlessly clean white dresses and brilliantly flowered and ribboned hats was excellent, though doubtless the political economist would have sighed. I once asked a friend where and how these smart damsels obtained their patterns, for nothing could be more correct or up-to-date than their skirts and their sleeves.

“Oh, the washerwomen set the fashions here, especially yours. It is very simple: when you send a blouse or a muslin or cotton dress to the wash—and these women wash beautifully—the laundress calls in her friends and neighbours, and they carefully study and copy that garment before you see it again; and the same thing happens with the gentlemen’s tennis flannels, and other garments.”

But the most amusing, and absolutely true, story I heard was this one:—

Our house steward told me that, when he was superintending the moving of our numerous boxes and packages on the return from our short annual visit to England, he noticed on the wharf one of the young black men employed who was unusually active in dealing with the luggage. Nothing could be a greater contrast to the ordinary sleepy loafer, who used to smoke and talk a good deal more than he worked. This youth was strong and smiling, and made nothing of handling any big boxes which came in his way, so most travellers rewarded his good-humoured exertions by an extra sixpence for himself.

A couple of years later Mark was missing from the landing jetty. No one knew what had become of him, nor could the most anxious inquiries elicit any information. At last one day, when my informant was in one of the principal “Stores,” as the excellent and comprehensive shops of Port of Spain are called, there suddenly entered his friend Mark, smiling as ever, and still dressed in his primitive working garments of three old sacks—two for his “divided skirts,” and one with a hole cut in it for his head to go through, and worn as a sleeveless smock-frock. Before any questions could be asked, Mark took one of the assistants aside, and began to choose, very carefully and deliberately, an entire outfit of black cloth clothes. He evidently knew exactly what he wanted, and paid for each article, as he selected it, from a roll of five-dollar notes, which, for want of a pocket, he carried in his hand. The broad-cloth suit was followed by other indispensable garments, and finally a pair of lavender gloves, shining boots, a tall hat, a slender umbrella, and even a showy gilt watch-chain were purchased, and the happy possessor of a complete rig-out of “Europe clothes” left the store with only a few cents to put in his new and numerous pockets. He was often seen afterwards in this fine suit of clothes walking about the Gardens when the band was playing, but, so far as any one knows, he has never done a stroke of work since!

XIII

RODRIGUES

“The deaf, cold official Ear” used to be a favourite phrase in the Crown Colonies in my day, and referred, of course, to the Ear of Downing Street; but even then it seemed to me a very undeserved reproach, for, so far as my own experience went, or rather the experience of my dear husband, it was only necessary to bring a grievance—small or large—before that much-abused department for at least an attempt to be made to remedy it directly.

Take the case of Rodrigues as an example. It had been for many years a “most distressful” _dépendance_ of Mauritius. Once upon a time—early in the nineteenth century—it was a favourite sanatorium of the East Indian squadron, and ships were constantly calling there to leave sick or wounded sailors and take away the convalescents. For, until 1814 brought peace and the Treaty of Paris, a good deal of fighting went on in that part of the Indian Ocean, Bourbon and L’Ile de France being the prizes of the victor.

Apropos of those same prizes, I have always heard that L’Ile de France, as Mauritius used to be called in those days, was only captured by stratagem, and that its protecting circle of reefs, quite as effectual as a chain of torpedoes, had kept the British frigates cruising outside for many a weary day. There was no reliable chart, and, naturally, no pilot was forthcoming. At last, very early one morning, a pirogue was sighted, and a smart man-of-war’s boat intercepted it before the shelter of the coral girdle could be gained. Its solitary occupant was a young fisherman, who was directly taken to the admiral’s ship, and, with great difficulty and with the aid of what was to him an enormous bribe, persuaded to guide the landing-party’s boats through difficult passages to a suitable and unexpected landing-place. The choice lay between that and death, and the lad chose life and wealth. But I was assured that from that day to this the poor man and his descendants had been regarded as outcasts, with whom no one in the conquered island would have any dealings.

Then, as to Bourbon, the story goes that it was given back to the French by that same Treaty of Paris owing to a mistaken idea at our own Colonial Office that it was a West Indian island, instead of lying only a hundred miles south of Mauritius. So ever since 1814 poor little Rodrigues has been deserted by her naval visitors, and Port Mathurin had welcomed only two men-of-war in the sixty-five years which had passed before our visit.

The real bad times, however, set in with the abolition of slavery, for it is the sort of climate where one need not work, or only work very little, to live. The sugar and coffee estates soon fell out of cultivation, as did the cotton and even the vanilla bean, which grows so easily, and the island seems to have come in for more than its fair share of hurricanes. Then the want of communication and a market for exports completed the tale of its trouble; and when an unusually dry season killed the rice crops, something very like a famine set in. This had happened several times before our day, and relief for the moment had, of course, been sent.

But when, one day in the middle of the hurricane season of 1881, a wretched little open boat struggled across the 350 miles of Indian Ocean, bringing the island pilot and another sailor with a piteous tale sent by the magistrate in charge, of the hunger and distress which prevailed in Rodrigues, the Lieutenant-Governor of Mauritius felt that nothing but a personal visit and inquiry into the cause of the constantly recurring evil would satisfy his Government. So an application was made at once through the Colonial Office for the loan of a man-of-war to visit the afflicted little island. There was no telegraph nearer than Aden twenty-three years ago, so, although the matter was taken in hand at once in Downing Street, it was early in June of the same year before it could be finally arranged. A small gunboat was all that had been asked for, and lo! the flagship herself—the stately _Euryalus_—was put at the Lieutenant-Governor’s disposal through the courtesy of the admiral of the East Indian station, who made an official visit of his own to Madagascar fit in with the date of the proposed trip to Rodrigues.

I have felt this little explanation to be necessary of how we came to be standing on the poop of H.M.S. _Euryalus_ that lovely afternoon of June—the best mid-winter month. Our party had been kept as small as possible, for there was only the accommodation reserved for the admiral and his flag-lieutenant vacant, and our good bishop had begged to come to look after the spiritual needs of his small flock in that distant part of his diocese.

The scene is still vividly before me; the profound calm of everything after the noise and bustle of our reception on board were over, of which the only trace was the smoke of the saluting cannon still curling over the calm water. _We_ seemed to be stationary, and the lovely hills, with their deep purple shadows, their glistening waterfalls, and the vivid green of the fields of sugar-cane in the valleys, appeared to be slowly gliding away under the most exquisite sunset sky. But all too soon the _Euryalus_ had made her way through the crowded harbour of Port Louis to what seemed a gate in the wall of coral reef, and headed, a few moments later, out to sea. A sea beautiful to behold, indeed, but of so rough-and-tumble a nature that the dinner-party that evening was but small. In fact few of our party showed up much during the three days of alternate rolling and pitching across that rough bit of water, with a strong head-wind from south-east. We had really been making the best of our way all the time because the captain was very anxious to get in early on the 28th to celebrate her Majesty’s coronation. No sooner, therefore, had we dropped anchor in the open roadstead opposite Port Mathurin than the royal standard flew out from our main, and the gallant old ship was, in a moment, dressed from stern to bow in gay flags. At noon a royal salute pealed out over the water—but this is anticipating a little, for long before noon every available boat was crowding round the _Euryalus_. The magistrate had come on board directly; so had two very agreeable Roman Catholic priests. Every one concerned in the matter was soon deep in the arrangement of details connected with our official landing.

As I had nothing to do except to put on my best bonnet at the proper time, I had plenty of leisure to admire the tiny island, which, with no other land to dwarf it, looked quite imposing from the deck of the _Euryalus_. It was difficult to believe that the highest hill I could see was only 1800 feet above the sea-level, for the beautiful clear atmosphere seemed to magnify everything, as if one were looking at it through water. And there were ravines plainly marked, each with its little tumbling cascade, and a great deal of bright green foreground, which we afterwards found was not the inevitable sugar-cane, but a coarse, rather rank grass, affording excellent grazing for cattle. Indeed, Rodrigues could supply Mauritius entirely with beef if only there were proper communication, but as matters then stood our supply used to come chiefly from Madagascar by weekly steamer.

It was really like an English April day, even to the bite in the air whenever the sun was absent during the constant scudding squalls—squalls which kept the poor reception committee in a state of anguish and anxiety not to be described. Most of them had come on board to arrange details, and were condemned to watch their beautiful arches and masts and flags being most roughly handled by the sou’-wester. I did my best to comfort any one who came my way by predictions of a fine afternoon, and to assure them that business—stern, serious business—was the real object of the visit. The heart-breaking part of it all, however, was to find that the entire population of Rodrigues insisted on regarding the gaily-dressed ship, the royal salute, even the royal standard, as all being part and parcel of the show, and in the Lieutenant-Governor’s honour. I never can forget the horrified faces both of poor dear F. and the flag-captain of the _Euryalus_ when this fact dawned on them. They were quite tragic over it, and thought me most heartless for laughing at the mistake.

The alternations of sun and shower showed up with curious clearness the water-path which a boat would need to follow between the ship and the shore. It was traced quite distinctly, as if in a very devious track of indigo, through the bright blue water and the white tips breaking on the coral reefs, whilst every here and there a wee islet, on which earth and grass-seed were quickly finding their way, had pushed its head up. It seemed an object-lesson on the very beginning of things. The worst of all this was that the big ship could not come at all near the shore, and, as we were always to sleep on board, the little voyage twice a day entailed a good deal of forethought on account of the tide.

However, both weather and tide were highly favourable by three o’clock that same afternoon, when the official landing took place with perfect success. I could not help glancing triumphantly at the now radiant reception committee as, with hardly a breath of air stirring and not a cloud in the sky, we stepped out of the admiral’s barge. Needless to say, the entire population of Rodrigues were crowded on the little wharf, which was gaily carpeted with red and roofed with palm branches. Even the two _condamnés_, representing the evil-doers of the community, stood in the background in friendly converse with their gaoler, who would not on any account miss the show. Our friend the pilot was there also in great form, and it seemed he had been taking to himself the credit of having arranged the visit. He was not in carpet slippers this time, however, which was a pity; for, if he had only known it, the carpet slippers in which he had been forced to present himself before the Lieutenant-Governor, after his terrible voyage in February, had, as he called it, _abîméd_ his feet, and, adding a certain dramatic touch of reality to the tale of suffering—counted for something in the end.

A resplendent guard of honour of Marines had preceded us, and so had the ship’s band. “Ces Messieurs avec les trompettes” became at once first favourites, and remained so to the end. Primitive and friendly as it all was, there yet was no escaping the inevitable addresses, which had to be in French, as that is really the language of the little island, though I fear it was not of the purest Parisian type. Happily, I could perceive no traces of famine or even of hard times in the crowds which surrounded us. All seemed fat, and buxom, and beaming. I looked anxiously at the children, for I remember the heart-breaking sight the poor little ones had presented when I had passed through an Indian famine district long years before the Rodrigues visit. These babies were as plump as ortolans, and as merry as crickets.

Friendly and almost universal handshaking brought the affair to an end—“une vraie fête de famille,” as I heard it called—and we were free to adjourn to the magistrate’s pretty house for a welcome cup of tea. The moment it had been hastily swallowed and F. had got out of his gold-laced coat, he and the magistrate adjourned to the little court-house close by and plunged at once into business, being with difficulty hailed forth in time to return on board for a very late dinner. Nothing had any effect on their movements except threats of the falling tide. In fact, the state of the tide governed—not to say tyrannised over—our arrangements that whole week. “Pray be punctual to-morrow morning, on account of the tide,” was the last thing I heard at night, and no engagement on shore could be made until the state of the water at a given hour was ascertained. In spite, however, of punctuality and care, we had to make some ridiculous _trajets_, beginning in great pomp in the admiral’s barge, changing half-way into smaller boats, then into canoes, and finally being piloted through the shallows standing on a tiny plank laid across a stout leaf and propelled by a swimmer; yet one always arrived dry-shod though much agitated.

We had only a very few days to stay in Rodrigues, for the _Euryalus_ had to return to Madagascar to pick up her admiral; but there were two things which must absolutely be accomplished during our visit. One was an expedition to “The Mountain” to visit the good priests and make a closer acquaintance with the needs of that particular district, and the other was to have a day’s sport. This, I must add, was chiefly in the interests of our kind naval hosts, for I honestly believe that both F. and the magistrate would have greatly preferred a long and happy day in the court-house, hard at work.

The mountain excursion entailed our leaving the ship at eight o’clock of a lovely morning. In fact, the bad weather seemed to have ceased with our landing, and it proved ideally calm and beautiful all that week. As no wheeled vehicle, or horse to draw it, exists on Rodrigues, _chaises à porteurs_ were provided for the two ladies of the party, and all the gentlemen walked. For the first five miles the road was excellent, having, indeed, been a “relief work” during one of the famines. It zigzagged up the steep hill-sides very easily, and wound through natural groves of oranges and lemons, plantains and palms, which afforded a welcome shade. The small houses—_cases_, as they are called—looked trim and pretty, each with its “provision ground” of yams and sweet potatoes, and one soon got high enough to look over them on to the little town nestling among trees, with large patches of bright green grass between it and the sea. The _Euryalus_ made a stately object in the foreground, and dwarfed the little fishing-boats and pirogues which swarmed around her to the size of toys. I noticed that the sails of these tiny craft were stained with much the same vivid colours one sees at Chioggia, and the colouring of both sky and sea was truly Italian, as were the “soft airs of Paradise,” which made walking a pleasure.

Still, many halts were called, ostensibly to admire the charming panorama, but also to pick wild oranges and other juicy fruits. Flowers, more or less wild, grew in profusion all round us, and I was soon laden with beautiful blossoms.

We were already a large party when we started, and our enormous “tail” increased as we passed through each hamlet. The last part of the road proved merely a mountain track over rough boulders, and all felt glad when the hill-top was reached and we were once more on a tolerably level track. The village of Gabrielle appeared to have availed itself of every inch of cover from the summer hurricanes, and each ravine or dip in the ground was occupied by a little _case_ and garden. A fine triumphal arch awaited us here, beneath which stood the two abbés, with the whole population of the district as a background. Such a smiling crowd, and such a cordial welcome!

After the inevitable address, an attempt was made to raise “le God-save” (as it is always called in Mauritius), but its tones were wavering and uncertain, and the tune showed a tendency to turn into the “Old Hundredth,” so it was somewhat of a relief when it was succeeded by a local hymn of welcome, which they all knew, and which was given with great heartiness and lung power. The refrain “Et vivat! et vivat!” was most spirited, and went really well.

By this time, however, we all felt very hungry, and were glad to be taken to the presbytery, close to the little chapel, where _déjeuner_ awaited us. Wild kid, poultry, eggs, and fruit made up an excellent meal, followed by perfect coffee; and then the serious business of the day began.

I betook myself to the sheltered side of a _case_, where I could view the sort of open-air meeting which was going on to leeward of the chapel, and of which F. and the priests formed the central figures. An interpreter had to be found, for the island has a patois of its own, different even from that of Mauritius. This interpreter was an Irishman, and his gestures were so dramatic that I could really make a good guess at the story which was being unfolded; but I felt somewhat puzzled when, towards the end, he flung his old hat on the ground and danced on it. I wondered if he was asking for Home Rule! All the men in the settlement had crowded round F. and the priests, so I found myself the centre of a large gathering of the women of Gabrielle. Children were there in numbers, but had no chance of getting near me, and there was always the difficulty of the language. What my smiling jet-black friends seemed most curious about was my “civil status,” and that of the other lady. “Madame ou Ma’amzelle?” was the incessant question to both of us. I singled out one extraordinarily ugly but beaming and big, fat girl to put the same question to, and I can never forget the droll air of coquetry with which she laid one black finger against an equally black cheek, turned her head aside, and murmured bashfully, “Moi, je suis Modeste.”

This out-of-door parliament lasted a couple of hours, and by that time all the burning questions and even the grievances had been laid before the Lieutenant-Governor, and it was necessary to make a start if we were to catch the tyrant tide. So the procession re-formed, only with the _chaises à porteurs_ left out, for we ladies preferred to walk down, especially at first; and off we set, the priests leading, our little party next, and a dense crowd everywhere. They all sang hymns, winding up with the first we had heard, and lusty shouts of “Et vivat! et vivat!” pursued us almost to the bottom of the hill. Never was a more affectionate leave-taking, and the expressions of gratitude to F. for the trouble he had taken were really most touching. We carried the dear abbés back to dine on board with us, as there was yet much to be discussed.

The next day was supposed to be one of rest as far as exercise went, and whilst F. was busy indoors with work, I was taken by the magistrate’s wife round the little town of Port Mathurin to visit the school and the tiny hospital, as well as to return the calls of some of the leading ladies. It is a very healthy island apparently, much more so than Mauritius, but then it is not so desperately overcrowded as its big sister. The chief complaint I heard was of the idleness and inertia of the people themselves, and of how difficult it was to induce them to do anything except dawdle—good-humouredly enough—through their lives. Of course, this partly accounts for the famine and distress. They just live from day to day, and make no sort of provision for even the morrow, still less the rainy or hurricane day.

There certainly was no inertia, however, on the part of the children at a christening service the bishop held in the schoolroom that afternoon. Such vigorous protests against the sacred rite could not be imagined, and it was difficult to get through it on account of the noise of the children’s shrieks. The mothers did not seem in the least distressed or alarmed at the outcries of their offspring; indeed, one black lady remarked to me—I was the universal godmother—“C’est peut-être M. le Diable qui s’en va?” I can’t think why the children were so terrified, because the bishop christened the babies first, and all was calm and holy peace until I attempted to lead up a small boy of about four years old. He started a wild yell and frantic struggles, in which all the others joined, till at last I felt inclined to take part in the chorus of sobs myself. The bishop’s tact and gentle patience were marvellous, but did not avail to allay the fears of the neophytes.

Our last day at Rodrigues held, indeed, hard work, for we spent it from an early hour _en chasse_, the paraphernalia of which might have served for at least a small punitive expedition. Such munitions of war, in the shape of guns and cartridges! and the commissariat was on an equally liberal scale. This excursion took us quite to the other side of the island, and we crossed a little bay to get to it, so a small fleet of fishing-boats had been commandeered for the occasion. This brought us in touch with most of the fisherfolk, and F. seized the opportunity of thoroughly investigating their needs and wants.

There is really a good deal of game on the island; deer, partridges, and wild guinea-fowl were promised us; but, alas! we had reckoned without the first lieutenant of the _Euryalus_, who availed himself of our absence to have a thoroughly happy day with his big guns, the noise of which drove every beast and bird as far away as possible. However, there was still the long delightful day in the open air, and it was always possible to get shade beneath the vacoas, a sort of palm, common also in Mauritius, of whose fibre sacks, baskets, and lots of useful things are made. But the _Latanier_ is the maid-of-all-work among palms. All the little _cases_ are built and thatched with it, its fibre makes excellent rope, and doubtless it could be turned to many other uses.

In spite of our really enormous luncheon, we were bidden to a banquet on our return to Port Mathurin, and that day actually ended with a ball! We had made ourselves independent of the tyranny of the tide for once, and had brought our evening things on shore with us, so a very sunburnt and sleepy group in uniforms and ball dresses made the best of their way on foot to the court-house somewhere about nine o’clock, and absolutely danced with spirit and vigour until the coxswain put his head in at the door and murmured, “Tide’s falling, sir.” It was just about midnight, and we all fled like so many Cinderellas. No need to wrap up, for a lace scarf was sufficient on such a balmy night, and the moonlight felt quite warm.

We certainly would not have been allowed to take so hurried a departure had it not been settled that we were to breakfast on shore next morning and make our real farewells then. The guard of honour and the _trompettes_ preceded us once more, and there was a sort of attempt at an official “send-off.” But the islanders took the matter into their own hands this time, and I really believe every human being in Rodrigues came to see us off, and to thank and bless “_Excellence_” for having paid them so long a visit. The _condamnés_ were there too, and solemnly promised me to be models of good behaviour for the future. My numerous god-children were now (scantily) clothed, but in their right minds, and their mothers tried hard to get them to express their regret for having been _si méchant_; but that part of the performance did not come off. However, they got their bags of sugar plums all the same.

The inevitable address was got through in dumb show, and we were followed not only to the water’s edge but into the water itself by the affectionate farewells of all the poor people. It was so touching, the way they brought gifts. Modeste was there with oranges and eggs in each hand. Indeed, I may mention here that eggs, however fresh, are very embarrassing tokens of affection when given in dozens. I presented all mine to the fo’castle, as well as sundry sacks of oranges; and as for my bouquets, they would have stocked a flower-shop. It was quite with difficulty we pushed off at last. Fortunately, the tide allowed the admiral’s barge to come up to the little jetty, for I am sure if we had started on a palm leaf, as we sometimes did, there would have been disasters and wet feet, to say the least of it.

By the time the _Euryalus_ was reached, she was found to be ringed round by boats of all sorts and sizes, and it was quite difficult to get, first on board and then off. “Et vivat!” rang out in great force on every side, and even a tremulous “God-save”; but the hearty thanks and benedictions were the pleasantest sounds. At last the screw turned, and the fine old ship headed once more for the wide ocean. The boats and waving kerchiefs were soon dwarfed into so many dots on the dancing waves, and in an hour or two we had looked our last on Rodrigues.

The wind was fair for going back, and the voyage proved quite smooth as well as very pleasant. “Ces Messieurs avec les trompettes” discoursed delightful music to us after dinner, and the soft moonlight lasted all the way back. The dear old _Euryalus_ has gone the way of old ships, but has happily left a smart successor to her name and fame. Regular communication (that is to say, as regular as the hurricanes will allow) has been established with Rodrigues, and it must be more prosperous, for I see by the latest returns that the population has doubled itself since that delightful visit.

XIV

COLONIAL SERVANTS

My very first experience of the eccentricities of colonial servants dates a good deal more than half a century ago, and the scene was laid in Jamaica, where my father then held the office of “Island Secretary” under Sir Charles—afterwards Lord Metcalfe—the Governor. It was Christmas day, and I had been promised as a great treat that my little sister and I should sit up to late dinner. But the morning began with an alarm, for just at breakfast-time an orderly from one of the West Indian regiments, then stationed in Spanish Town, had brought a letter to my father which had been sent upstairs to him. I was curled up in a deep window-seat in the shady breakfast-room, enjoying a brand-new story-book and the first puffs of the daily sea-breeze, when I heard a guttural voice close to my ear whispering, “Kiss, missy, kiss.” There stood what seemed a real black giant compared with my childish stature, clad in gorgeous Turkish-looking uniform with a big white turban and a most benignant expression of face, holding his hand out, palm upwards.

I gazed at this apparition—for I had only just returned to Jamaica—with paralysed terror, while the smiling ogre came a step nearer and repeated his formula in still more persuasive tones. At this moment, however, my father appeared and said, “Oh yes, all right; he wants you to give him a Christmas-box. Here is something for him.” It required even then a certain amount of faith as well as courage to put the silver dollar into the outstretched palm, but the man’s joy and gratitude showed the interpretation had been quite right. I did not dare to say what my alarm had conjured up as the meaning of his request, for fear of being laughed at.

As well as I remember, at that Christmas dinner-party—and it was a large one—the food was distinctly eccentric, edibles usually boiled appearing as roasts and _vice versâ_. The service also was of a jerky and spasmodic character, and the authorities wore an air of anxiety, which, however, only added to the deep interest I took in the situation. But things came to a climax when the plum-pudding, which was to have been the great feature of the entertainment, did not appear at its proper time and place, and a tragic whisper from the butler suggested complications in the background. My father said laughingly, “I am sorry to say the cook is drunk and will not part with the plum-pudding,” so we went on with the dinner without it. But just as the dessert was being put on the table there was a sound as of ineffectual scrimmaging outside, and the cook—a huge black man clad in spotless white—rushed in bearing triumphantly a large dish, which he banged down in front of my father, saying, “Dere, my good massa, dere your pudding,” and immediately flung himself into the butler’s arms with a burst of weeping. I shall always see that pudding as long as I live. It was about the size of an orange and as black as coal. Every attempt to cut it resulted in its bounding off the dish, for it was as hard as a stone. Though not exactly an object of mirth in itself, it certainly was “a cause that mirth was in others,” and so achieved a success denied to many a better pudding.

Several years passed before I again came across black servants, and the next time was in India. I was not there long enough, nor did I lead a sufficiently settled life, to be able to judge of the Indian servant of that day. Half my stay in Bengal was spent under canvas, and certainly the way in which the servants arranged for one’s comfort under those conditions was marvellous. The camp was a very large one, for we were making a sort of military promenade from Lucknow up to Lahore—my husband being the Commanding Officer of Royal Artillery in Bengal—but I only went as far as the foot of the Hills and then up to Simla. It was amazing the way in which nothing was ever forgotten or left behind during four months’ continuous camp-life. All my possessions had to be divided, and, where necessary, duplicated, for what one used on Monday would not be get-at-able until Wednesday, and so on all through the week. No matter how interesting my book was, I could not go on with it for thirty-six hours—_i.e._ from, say Monday night till breakfast-time on Wednesday morning. I could have a new volume for Tuesday, but the interest of that had also to remain in abeyance until Thursday. Still, I would find the book precisely where I laid it down, and if I had put a mark, even a flower, it would be found exactly in the right place.

I always wondered when and how the servants rested, for they seemed to me to be packing and starting all night long, and yet when the new camping-ground was reached the head-servants would always be there in snowy garments, as fresh and trim as if they came out of a box. There were two sets of under-servants, but the head ones never seemed to be off duty.

We started with the first streak of daylight, and there was no choice about the matter, for if you did not get up when the first bugle blew, your plight would be a sorry one when the canvas walls of the large double tent fell flat at the sound of the second bugle, half-an-hour later. The roof of the tent was left a few moments longer, so one had time for hot fragrant coffee and bread and butter before starting either on horse or elephant back. I generally rode on a pad on the _hathi’s_ back for the first few miles while it was still dark, and mounted my little Arab some six or eight miles further on. The marches were as near twenty-five miles daily, as could be arranged to suit the Commander-in-Chief’s convenience as to inspections, &c.

Everything was fresh and amusing, but I think I most delighted in seeing the modes of progression adopted by the various cooks. Our head-cook generally requisitioned a sort of gig, in which he sat in state and dignity, with many bundles heaped around him. Part of his cavalcade consisted of two or three very small ponies laden with paniers, on top of which invariably stood a chicken or two, apparently without any fastenings, who balanced themselves in a precarious manner according to the pony’s gait. No one seemed to walk except those who led the animals, and as the camp numbered some 5000 soldiers and quite as many camp-followers the supply-train appeared endless.

Just as we neared the foot of the Himalayan range, where the camp was to divide, some of us going up to Simla, leaving a greatly lessened force to proceed to Lahore, smallpox appeared among our servants. I wonder it did not spread much more, but it was vigorously dealt with at the outset. I had as narrow an escape as anybody, for one morning, while I was drinking my early coffee and standing quite ready to start on our daily march, one of the servants, a very clever, useful Madras “boy” whom I had missed from his duties for several days, suddenly appeared and cast himself at my feet, clutching my riding-habit and begging for some tea. He was quite unrecognisable, so swollen and disfigured was his poor face, and I had no idea what was the matter with him. He was delirious and apparently half-mad with thirst. The doctor had to be fetched to induce him to let me go, and as more than once the poor lad had seized my hands and kissed them in gratitude for the tea I at once gave him, I suppose I really ran some risks, for it turned out to be a very bad case of confluent smallpox. However, all the same, he had to be carried along with us in a dhooly until we reached a station where he could be put into a hospital.

But certainly the strangest phase of colonial domestics within my experience were the New Zealand maid-servants of some thirty-five years ago. Perhaps by this time they are “home-made,” and consequently less eccentric; but in my day they were all immigrants, and seemed drawn almost entirely from the ranks of factory girls. They were respectable girls apparently, but with very free and easy manners. However, that did not matter. What seriously inconvenienced me at the far up-country station where my husband and I had made ourselves a very pretty and comfortable home was the absolute and profound ignorance of these damsels. They took any sort of place which they fancied, at enormous wages, and when they had at great cost and trouble been fetched up to their new home I invariably discovered that the cook, who demanded and received the wages of a _chef_, knew nothing whatever of any sort of cooking and the housemaid, had never seen a broom. They did not know how to thread a needle or wash a pocket-handkerchief, and, as I thought, must have been waited on all their lives. Indeed, one of my great difficulties was to get them away from the rapt admiration with which they regarded the most ordinary helps to labour. One day I heard peals of laughter from the wash-house, and found the fun consisted in the magical way in which the little cottage-mangle smoothed the aprons of the last couple of damsels. So I—who was extremely ignorant myself, and had no idea how the very beginnings of things should be taught—had to impart my slender store of knowledge as best I could. The little establishment would have collapsed entirely had it not been for my Scotch shepherd’s wife, a dear woman with the manners of a lady and the knowledge of a thorough practical housewife. What broke our hearts was that we had to begin this elementary course of instruction over and over again, as my damsels could not endure the monotony of their country life longer than three or four months, in spite of the many suitors who came a-wooing with strictly honourable intentions. But the young ladies had no idea of giving up their liberty, and turned a deaf ear to all matrimonial suggestions, even when one athletic suitor put another into the water-barrel to get him out of the way, and urged that this step must be taken as a proof of his devotion.

After the New Zealand experiences came a period of English life, and I felt much more experienced in domestic matters by the time my wandering star led me forth once more and landed me in Natal. In spite, however, of this experience, I fell into the mistake of taking out three English servants, whom I had to get rid of as soon as possible after my arrival. They had all been with me some time in England, and I thought I knew them perfectly; but the voyage evidently “wrought a sea change” on them, for they were quite different people by the time Durban was reached. Two developed tempers for which the little Maritzburg house was much too small, and when it came to carving-knives hurtling through the air I felt it was more than my nerves could stand. The third only broke out in folly, and showed an amount of personal vanity which seemed almost to border on insanity. However, I gradually replaced them with Zulu servants, in whom I was really very fortunate. They learned so easily, and were so good-tempered and docile, their only serious fault being the ineradicable tendency to return for a while—after a very few “moons” of service—to their kraals. At first I thought it was family affection which impelled this constant homing, but it was really the desire to get back to the savage life, with its gorges of half-raw meat and native beer, and its freedom from clothes. It is true I had an occasional very bad quarter of an hour with some of my experiments, as, for instance, when I found an embryo valet blacking his master’s socks as well as his boots, or detected the nurse-boy who was trusted to wheel the perambulator about the garden stuffing a half-fledged little bird into the baby’s mouth, assuring me it was a diet calculated to make “the little chieftain brave and strong.”

I think, however, quite the most curious instance of the thinness of surface civilisation among these people came to me in the case of a young Zulu girl who had been early left an orphan and had been carefully trained in a clergyman’s family. She was about sixteen years old when she came as my nursemaid, and was very plump and comely, with a beaming countenance, and the sweetest voice and prettiest manners possible. She had a great love of music, and performed harmoniously enough on an accordion as well as on several queer little pipes and reeds. She could speak, read, and write Dutch perfectly, as well as Zulu, and was nearly as proficient in English. She carried a little Bible always in her pocket, and often tried my gravity by dropping on one knee by my side whenever she caught me sitting down and alone, and beginning to read aloud from it. It was quite a new possession, and she had not got beyond the opening chapters of Genesis and delighted in the story of “Dam and Eva,” as she called our first parents. She proved an excellent nurse and thoroughly trustworthy; the children were devoted to her, especially the baby, who learned to speak Zulu before English, and to throw a reed assegai as soon as he could stand firmly on his little fat legs. I brought her to England after she had been about a year with me, and she adapted herself marvellously and unhesitatingly to the conditions of a civilisation far beyond what she had ever dreamed of. After she had got over her surprise at the ship knowing its way across the ocean, she proved a capital sailor. She took to London life and London ways as if she had never known anything else. The only serious mistake she made was once in yielding to the blandishments of a persuasive Italian image-man and promising to buy his whole tray of statues. I found the hall filled with these works of art, and “Malia” tendering, with sweetest smiles, a few pence in exchange for them. It was a disagreeable job to have to persuade the man to depart in peace with all his images, even with a little money to console him. A friend of mine chanced to be returning to Natal, and proposed that I should spare my Zulu nurse to her. Her husband’s magistracy being close to where Maria’s tribe dwelt, it seemed a good opportunity for “Malia” to return to her own country; so of course I let her go, begging my friend to tell me how the girl got on. The parting from the little boys was a heart-breaking scene, nor was Malia at all comforted by the fine clothes all my friends insisted on giving her. Not even a huge Gainsborough hat garnished with giant poppies could console her for leaving her “little chieftain”; but it was at all events something to send her off so comfortably provided for, and with two large boxes of good clothes.

In the course of a few months I received a letter from my friend, who was then settled in her up-country home, but her story of Maria’s doings seemed well-nigh incredible, though perfectly true.