CHAPTER III.
Fully aware that we were leaving the most home-like port we should make during the voyage, our adieus to Cape Town were with mingled feelings of gratification and regret. Thrift met us there at every step; and the place had a substantial and prosperous, as well as a quiet and comfortable, English air, which one could not fail to notice after visiting the miserable, tumble-down Portuguese settlements of Porte au Grande and Loando. To visit Cape Town directly after stopping at the last-named places made us feel profoundly grateful for our descent from the Anglo-Saxon stock, and impressed us with the truth of the oft-repeated remark that “the English are the best colonists.” This is undoubtedly owing, in a great degree, to their persistent energy and industry, and also to the fact, that, wherever they go, the spirit of enterprise and the elevating influences and comforts of our Protestant religion goes with them.
At three o’clock on the afternoon of the 12th of December we weighed anchor, and our good ship being turned once more seaward, we steamed out of Table Bay. Taking our seats on the quarter-deck, just under the bridge connecting the wheel-houses, and facing the stern, we prepared to note the points of interest as they passed before us while sailing out of the bay. First the city, with its background of mountains, receded in the distance; then the shipping; and passing the breakwater, the fortress, the city hospital, and light-house, we rounded Green Point, with Bird’s Island on our left, and were soon fairly out at sea. We had a stiff head-wind to encounter; but our good ship ploughed her way swiftly through the dark-green billows, and soon were seen in outline the other side of the Lion’s Back and Head,—the former greatly lengthened, but the latter bearing itself as loftily as ever,—and in the valley between the two a fine road wound its way over the country, with large and fertile farms on either hand.
At this point we made a détour along the coast, and obtained a fine view of the other side of Table Mountain, the coast formation reminding us strongly of the Highlands of the Hudson. Then came a succession of the same high and rugged elevations, which, like Table Mountain, were oblong in form and flat at their summits, having their squared ends abutting directly upon the sea, whose waves were dashing against their rocky sides. Directly after these we passed two lofty peaks which were united at the base, having a gradual slope covered with soil made of the débris which had washed down from their barren and almost perpendicular steeps. As we sailed along the coast we saw much mountain scenery of a similar character, although occasionally a conical peak appeared, reminding us of the Cape de Verd Islands. Some, also, were in form not unlike the pyramidal sand-hills on the shore of the bay of Loando; and on rounding a huge mountain of this description, which stood boldly out towards the sea, Table Mountain disappeared from view. The strata of these summits are peculiar in their formation, being nearly horizontal, and are evidently of volcanic origin. After meeting a small coasting propeller, which rode the waves beautifully, notwithstanding the heavy swell, we lost sight of the Lion’s Head, which had so long towered on high in gloomy grandeur, and came to a descending range, over whose slope old Table Mountain again reared its head, forming the background to a splendid landscape, with the sea in the foreground, and a little cove hard by, in which was nestled a small hamlet. Further on we passed a more regular range, which was perpendicular from the base; and then, turning, had a lateral view of the huge, square range we had first passed, now stretching as far back as the eye could follow its dim outline into the interior. Then came a narrow and verdant tongue of land, which widened as we approached, but which was soon lost in another range of mountains very different in appearance from any of the former, being more rounded, and greener near the base, although their tops wore a barren and sterile aspect. Until reaching this point we had kept within three or four miles of the land; but now, although we still sailed due south, the coast-line was receding, and being summoned to tea, our panoramic picture of all that is wild and wonderful in romantic and sublime mountain scenery was suddenly broken.
On returning upon deck, we found our course much the same, and the distance which we were making from the shore increased very little; but the coast tier of mountains was lower, and we had a fair view of two distinct parallel ranges, with light, fleecy clouds resting between them, and glistening in the rays of the setting sun. We were also fast approaching the southernmost point of the Cape of Good Hope, which is here about five miles wide, and going below, kept our watch at the stern of the vessel until eight o’clock in the evening, when on the smaller of two mountain-peaks near the sea appeared the revolving light of the Cape. In the foreground of these mountains a long tongue of land extends far out into the sea, and upon its extreme point stands another Pharos, to guide the mariner along the coast in safety. We had now a heavy sea, with the darkness increasing; and, anxious to get a view of the revolving light from the quarter-deck, we ascended, but had barely gained what we deemed a sheltered position, when a great sea broke over the deck, and sweeping the place where we stood, gave us a most thorough and unexpected douche-bath, which sent us below instanter, where we were glad to remain for the night.
The next morning there was comparatively little sea, and at eleven o’clock we were off Cape Lagullus,—the southernmost point of the African continent,—and with the aid of a glass could see the light-house, and a small bay or cove near at hand, where vessels were riding at anchor. In the afternoon we met a fine clipper ship under full sail, and speeding through the water like a bird before the wind. On nearing her we displayed the American flag, when she promptly ran up the Union Jack; and the signals being again put in requisition, we learned that she was the Lord of the Isles, from Hong Kong.
Steaming onward in a northeasterly direction, Africa gradually receded from our view, and we had barely sighted and passed the southeastern point of Algoa Bay, when we met with another sea, whose swell continued with unabated violence for three days, and greatly impeded our progress. Soon afterwards, when very nearly in the latitude of twenty-six degrees south, and in longitude thirty-seven degrees east, we sailed through many miles of what is termed “the whale’s feed,” which, by the action of the currents, was floating in streams to the southeast. It is said to be an animalcule, and its appearance is not unlike oak saw-dust; while underlying, and mingling with it, is usually found an abundance of craw-fish. Whales, being very fond of this food, are frequently found in its vicinity, and the next day we were spoken by an American whaler, and stopped, while her boat was sent off for news. She proved to be the Young Phœnix, of New Bedford, and had been out fourteen months without any tidings from the United States, having taken during that time eleven hundred barrels of oil. It is impossible for one inexperienced in the hardships of sea-life to properly appreciate the feelings of a ship’s crew thus isolated, on meeting with a vessel so recently from home. The interest with which they perused the supply of papers which we gave them must have been of that absorbing character for which the English language affords no adequate expression.
The weather was becoming very warm, and the mercury, which had already risen to 85°, was fast seeking a higher elevation. We had passed the “whale’s feed,” and were voyaging along with but little that was noticeable to break the monotony of sea-life, or to add to our stock of information. We observed, however, that the waters assumed a tint of blue deeper than we had noticed in the Atlantic tropics. While sailing there we were particularly charmed with the extreme brilliancy of the stars; often beguiling the hours until late at night, in watching the rising of the planets, and the appearance of the glorious Southern Cross. Never, however, were we so enchanted with the splendor of the starry vault as when tracing our quiet course upon the Indian Ocean, particularly while on our passage from Port Louis, in Mauritius, to Singapore. Venus, which even in our Northern clime is a planet of extraordinary beauty, shines here with such regal splendor as to cast a shadow, and, with the other heavenly bodies, stands out, as it were, in bold relief; thus fully realizing the strange conceit of the ancients that the stars were “fixed,” or riveted like nails to a solid super-mundane sphere.
No description can convey to the mind the fascinating, poetic charm of the lovely Southern Cross, or the hopeful and religious thoughts which it inspires, as it is seen sparkling and glistening while floating through the deeply clear, and transparent ether of the tropical heavens. The serenity of the evening, the balmy weather, and cloudless sky, wooed us to the open air, where, hour after hour, we watched the rising of this, and kindred constellations that never illuminate our Northern sky; together with the curious Magellanic clouds, which are supposed to be other planetary systems. The superb lustre of Aldebaran, and the increased brilliancy of the Pleiades, in Taurus, together with the surpassing effulgence of the stars composing Orion,—the largest and brightest of the Southern constellations,—often held us spellbound for hours; and most reverently impressed us with the truth of the Psalmist, that “the heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth His handiwork.” We also caught something more than a faint glimmer of the meaning of the Almighty, who, when addressing Job, said:—“Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion?”
On the afternoon of the 20th of December we were nearing the southeastern shore of the “Island of the Moon,”[3] and before night were within eight or ten miles of the land, with the shadowy outlines of two large mountains distinctly visible. We coasted for several hours along the low shore of this comparatively unexplored country; but,
were enveloped in a hazy, dreamy, tropical atmosphere that hung over the mountains like a veil, and floated across the lowlands, soon to be dissipated by the glorious sun, even as the shades of heathenism and the darkness of superstition, which once entirely enveloped in tenfold night this beautiful country, are beginning to be dissipated by the glorious light of the Sun of Righteousness. We sighted Fort Dauphin in the bright tropical moonlight, which also brought to view the mountain ranges and the coast, that here assumed a bolder outline. We were heading, however, for the Isle of Bourbon and the Mauritius; and the morning found us once more where the clear cerulean of the horizon met only the darker blue of the ocean. We had looked our last upon a land combining in its romantic mountain-scenery much that is grand and sublime in Nature,—a land whose flora is unequalled, being particularly rich in rare and superb orchids, and remarkable for its traveller’s-tree, from whose leaf-stalk, when pierced, pure water gushes to refresh the thirsty wayfarer.
Early on the morning of the 23d of December we were sailing along the coast of Bourbon, which we first made at its southwest point, and were watching the day, then just breaking beyond its lofty volcanic mountains, the tops of which became radiant as the early light played upon their summits. This island lays considerably higher than Mauritius, but its scenery is said to be less beautiful. The shore-base of the coast-line formed by the mountains is square and precipitous, and in one place extended out into the sea for a mile or more, like an immense breakwater. We were now off St. Denis, which is the chief port of the island, although a very insecure one during the prevalence of high winds. Ships lying in this harbor are always kept in readiness to sail at a moment’s warning; and we counted a fleet of fourteen sail, with all their canvas set, lying in the offing, and ready to slip out to sea at the first intimation of foul weather. At a sort of wharf, or jetty, a flag is hoisted whenever boats from the ships can land in safety. There were remarkably deep gorges between the mountains in the rear of the town, which one of our missionary party, who had lived for some years in Northern India, compared to those he had seen among the Himalaya Mountains, through which ran living streams of water. Passing other mountains whose steeps were cultivated, and covered with a rich verdure half way up their sides, we sailed a little to the east, and St. Denis disappeared.
As we coasted along the island the mountains gradually receded from our view, and we were soon off a more extensive slope of country reaching far back from the sea, with finely cultivated plantations whose fields teemed with a rich tropical luxuriance, and picturesquely situated houses dotting the landscape in every direction.
We had scarcely lost sight of Bourbon, when at mid-day of the 23d of December we discerned the broad-shouldered mountains of Mauritius, sixty miles in the distance, and at five o’clock in the afternoon were coasting near their base, intending to make the harbor of Port Louis. These mountains presented an almost infinite variety of forms. At one point an old castle-like looking peak passed before us, followed by several smaller ones, all rising directly out of an extensive plain; while another cone-shaped mountain that attracted our attention seemed as if surrounded by natural lawns, which were covered with a luxuriant herbage of the richest green. The country seemed to be in as high a state of cultivation as at the Isle of Bourbon, and the plantations, with their neat residences, gave every indication of thrift and prosperity.
While admiring the rarely equalled beauty of the scenery there came very suddenly upon us a slight tropical shower, which passing away rapidly, as the sun reappeared, the arch of a beautiful rainbow sprang from behind the mountains, giving to the varied landscape an air of surpassing beauty and enchantment. This scene, however magnificent, was but the prelude to another equally grand and beautiful. A tropical sunset is always a splendid spectacle, but a tropical sunset after a storm is an event in one’s lifetime,—one of those few phases of Nature, in fact, which cannot be described any more than the impressions which they create. A scene like this it fell to our lot to witness on that memorable evening, as the shower moved off,—its dark skirts tinged with brilliant sapphire by the setting sun. Then there were the white and fleecy clouds that lagged in the wake of the storm, exquisitely tinted with the pale red of the opal and the delicate violet of the amethyst,—so beautiful as almost to vie with the hues of the rainbow, whose broken arch gleamed just over the distant mountains.
We fired our guns, and rounding a lofty peak, (which, with a signal-station upon its top, loomed up at our right,) entered the harbor of Port Louis. We did not wait to take on board a pilot, for although it was our Captain’s first visit to this island he was too accomplished a navigator to require any such aid. With the vessel at half speed, we felt our way up the channel by continued soundings, until we reached the quarantine ground, our quarter-deck filled with a happy group, whose hearts seemed overrunning with delight at the beauty of the scenes around them, to say nothing of our anticipated pleasure in “doing” the town and environs of Port Louis.
The warning advice of an English ship-captain whose vessel we passed while coming up the harbor,—“not to attempt going to the wharf,”—fell like a discordant note upon our ears; and on reaching the anchorage a burly English pilot came alongside, but would not touch his foot to the gangway-stairs until well assured that there was no sickness on board, and that no death had occurred since our leaving the Cape. He was a bustling, loquacious man, and when ascending to the quarter-deck said, in a very brusque and loud tone of voice, “Well, we have the cholera thick in this port!”—the effect of which announcement was electrical, and, mute with sudden fear and disappointment, one by one, we withdrew to the cabin below.
But “the art of our necessity is strange;” and although the chateaux en Espagne, reared upon the pleasure and satisfaction we were to receive in looking up the lions of the city, and its neighborhood, had vanished like the beautiful clouds of the tropical sunset, and in the fearful summer heat, (the mercury ranging at 90° and upwards,) we were about to meet a dreadful pestilence, no one seemed panic-stricken, and very little was said on the subject. It was, however, interesting to notice the similar effect this entire change in our prospects had upon all on board,—each one seeming more inclined to commune with his own thoughts than to communicate them to others. At this time the words of Isaiah came very forcibly to mind: “In quietness and confidence shall be your strength”; and none seemed to doubt, that, to be fortified with the Christian’s hope and trust in such an emergency, was of infinitely more value than a display of senseless bravado, or yielding, on the other hand, to a weak and unmanly fear. We learned afterwards that the pilot had somewhat exaggerated the extent of the disease, not being in the most “melting mood” imaginable in consequence of the rapidity of our movements, which prevented his boarding us in time to place us in quarantine. For many weeks previous, all vessels from the Cape of Good Hope had been compelled to pass this ordeal, on account of the prevalence of the small-pox at the latter port during the autumn.
No one was permitted to go on shore until the port physician had visited the ship, and satisfied himself as to our general good health. We were already somewhat reassured of the safety of our position, and Captain Briggs, after visiting the city, returned with an account so different from the pilot’s statement, that we were satisfied the disease had more of the endemic than epidemic character, and was confined, as near as we could learn, to a locality on Grand River, two miles from Port Louis. In 1854 the cholera raged fearfully in the city of Port Louis, and the most stringent measures were now being taken to prevent a similar calamity. It had been brought to the port by a vessel from Calcutta; and the ship which we spoke at the entrance of the harbor was also from that city, being loaded with India Coolies, among whom the cholera had appeared while on the passage. On her arrival, of course, the vessel was promptly quarantined.
The island of Mauritius was discovered in the sixteenth century by Pedro Mascarenhas, a Portuguese, by whom it was called Ilha do Cerno; but Van Neck, a Dutch navigator, who touched at the island in 1598, finding it still uninhabited, called it Mauritius, in honor of Maurice, the Prince of Orange. It was, however, abandoned by the Dutch, and we were told by a citizen of Port Louis, that the story in regard to their having been driven out of the island on account of the great multitude of rats that infested it, was universally received as an historical fact.
In 1721 the French took possession of the island, and much of its present prosperity is due to the ability, and good management of its French Governor, the celebrated M. de la Bourdonnais. It was afterwards, however, taken by the English in 1810,—to whom it was definitively ceded by the peace of 1814. The island is said now to contain 350,000 inhabitants, of which number only ten or twelve thousand are Europeans. The country is very mountainous, and the soil is of a reddish cast; but the land is generally fertile, well-watered, and rich in tropical productions,—the trees, fruits, and plants common to the Eastern tropics growing here in great perfection.
Notwithstanding the island produces excellent coffee and spices, sugar is cultivated to the exclusion of almost every other staple commodity,—three hundred millions of pounds being exported annually, most of which goes to France. The black-wood, or ebony, grown on the island is said to be the most solid, close, and shining of any in the world, and if all of it is like that which was brought on board our vessel, it has a well deserved reputation. Very little corn, or grain of any kind, is raised; most articles of provision, and other supplies, being imported from the Cape of Good Hope, Madagascar, India, and Bourbon. The extensive grazing lands of Madagascar produce fine cattle; and from that island, where, Camoëns says,—
“The lowing herds adorn the vales of green,”—
the Mauritians are supplied with beef.
African slavery, which formerly existed here, was abolished more than twenty years ago; but some of the most remarkable and attractive natural points of scenery on the island are said to be connected with the injustice and misery experienced by that unfortunate race, who, although guilty of a blacker skin than the races of Asia, are now daring to look up and claim an equal brotherhood with the family of man. On becoming freemen, they stood comparatively little chance of bettering their condition, or of remaining as they were. It is said that, amid the toil and moil of the more privileged and advanced Asiatic races with whom they came in competition,—none of whom were under the unrelenting ban of prejudice that everywhere meets the African,—these poor people have mostly passed away. It is, however, acknowledged that some who are left have succeeded in making themselves comfortable homes, and in gathering together some wealth; and those who have attained such positions of comfort, and respectability, have done so in the face of difficulties, which, to have been overcome by one of our own race, would have caused him to be regarded as an indomitable, and very clever Saxon.
The city of Port Louis is the chief port, and capital of the island, and lies in latitude 20° 9′ 56″ south, and in longitude 57° 28′ 41″ east. It is situated at the head of a triangular bay, and is partly built on the slopes of the mountains, which enclose it on three sides. The highest of these is the Pouce, which rises directly in the rear of the town, to the height of 2800 feet, and from which another range of mountains extends to the sea in a southwesterly direction. The mountain range, which encloses the town and its beautiful suburbs, extends to the northeast; and back of them, towering high above his compeers, is the summit of the celebrated Peterboth. The town, as seen from the harbor, has rather an imposing aspect. The Creoles, Coolies, and the descendants of the former slave population, occupy different localities, and an occasional minaret of a mosque is seen in the Coolie quarter of the city.
Port Louis was first settled by the better class of French families, many of whom were of the old noblesse; and their descendants, still keeping up the old ancestral dignity, have given to the society in which they live, a tone of superior cultivation and polish, rarely met with even in countries nearer the centre of civilization. The population is said to be between fifty and sixty thousand, and comprises representatives from nearly every nation on the face of the earth. It is considered one of the most cosmopolitan places in the world, all the foreign trade of the island being transacted there; and at early morning, during the business hours, the bustling crowd of English and French merchants, military, and policemen, sailors, and Chinese, Arabs, Bengalese, and Parsees, together with natives “to the manor born,” all seen in their different national costumes, present to the eye of an untravelled American a scene at once novel and interesting.
There are large warehouses on the wharves; and a few steps from the landing an entrance, through a spacious gateway, leads into a large, open space, called the Place d’Armes, which is planted on each side with trees. The Governor’s house is situated farther beyond, towards the mountains.
Previous to 1845, sugars and other articles sent from the Mauritius to Great Britain were charged with the same duties as the like articles from India; but during that year the custom rules and regulations were changed, and the duties being fixed the same “as on like goods of the same growth, produce, or manufacture of the British Colonies in the West Indies,” the trade was thus placed on the same footing.
The fort, which commands the town and harbor, stands on a spur of the mountain we rounded on entering, and the passage being difficult, every vessel on approaching is required to hoist her flag and fire two guns; and at night a light must be shown, when a pilot goes on board and steers the ship safely into port.
For the first three months of the year the island is subject to terrible hurricanes, or cyclones, and during that time the weather is unsettled. Squalls of wind and rain precede these tempests; and their advent being near at the time of our visit, heavy rain-clouds were every day seen to expend themselves on the tops, or down the sides of the mountains, and sometimes a slight sprinkling was received on board our vessel. We watched these never-failing precursors of the gales that were to follow, with fearful interest, after hearing the English seamen’s chaplain, the Rev. Mr. Richards, relate his perilous experience during the year previous, when he and his entire family came very near being destroyed by remaining on board the Bethel ship through the hurricane season. His remarkable escape did not have the effect of calming our anxiety, and we were more than ever anxious to be at sea again in order to get out of their latitude.
We were told that on account of these winds the dwellings in the town are only of one story, having, for security, strong outside shutters, called hurricane-shutters, and doors of unusual strength. When the barometer indicates the coming of the hurricane, a gun is fired from the citadel as a signal for all vessels to take down their upper masts and yards; and at the same time a flag is hoisted at the port-office, as a warning to all ships lying outside the inner harbor to put out to sea. If a vessel hesitates, or refuses to move from the outer anchorage when thus warned, a gun is fired upon her from the fortress, and she is compelled to leave. Absolute necessity requires such a course, as no ship can remain in the outer harbor, during the prevalence of these winds, without being driven upon the rocks and destroyed. The inner harbor can accommodate but a few vessels at a time, which are moored in rows, side by side, and in some way fastened together, with a small clear space of water between them. Each vessel is anchored both at the bow and stern, which reminded us of St. Paul’s shipwreck, when they “cast four anchors out at the stern, and wished for the day.”
It is well known that Mauritius is the scene of St. Pierre’s little romance of “Paul and Virginia,” and that their tombs are in a garden at Pamplemeuses. The St. Geran was wrecked on the neighboring coast, in 1745, and a bight adjoining it is called the Bay of Tombs,—Paul and Virginia, according to the old legend, having been buried there. Pamplemeuses is reached after a charming drive of seven miles in a northerly direction, and no one visits Port Louis without going there. Therefore, hoping for the best in regard to the sickness in the city, we also made a pilgrimage to that classic region.
It was Christmas Day, and the heat very oppressive,—the mercury rising to ninety-six degrees and upwards in the shade; but we did not set forth on our excursion until late in the afternoon, when the fierceness of the sun’s rays was upon the wane, and the air somewhat tempered by the evening breeze from the ocean. Leaving the ship and landing at the wharf, we encountered a group made up of nearly every nation of the East, from the jet-black African to the light Arab, who, squatting on the ground, were intently engaged in gambling with cowries; and passing on, we walked through the arched gateway, already mentioned, to the Place d’Armes, where the gentlemen of our party, after some chaffering with a group of voluble drivers, and owners of open barouche-like carriages, succeeded in obtaining two vehicles, and we drove off. The streets of Port Louis, and the roads leading from it, are macadamized in the best manner, and the gutters, as well as the sidewalks in the town, are paved with stone. Many parts of it are ornamented with shade-trees, and an ample supply of excellent water is brought from the mountains, over deep gorges, in aqueducts built of stone masonry. One, in particular, near which we passed, was constructed in the Romanesque style, and had a very antique and imposing appearance.
The drive was delightful, the road being lined on either side with hedges of the aloe and cactus, interspersed with various other tropical shrubs, flowers, and trees. The curiously tasselled flowers of the aloe, borne upon a foot-stalk fifteen or twenty feet in height, was a particularly attractive object; and along the road were seen extensive sugar-plantations bordered with hedge-rows, together with the houses of the planters, and the thatched cottages of the Coolies. The palings enclosing the yards of private residences were in many instances hidden by a species of convolvulus,—a creeper more beautiful in flower and verdure than any of our Western varieties,—and some were surrounded with hedges of exquisite flowers, while within were beautiful little parterres filled with many kinds of flowering shrubs and plants.
Mauritius is literally an Eden of flowers; and on Christmas morning, besides having our cabin-table resplendent with their beautiful tropical tints, some of our Christmas greetings came accompanied with beautifully arranged bouquets. To us the Oriental sylva seemed to partake of a no less remarkable character. There was the banyan, bamboo, fig, almond, mango, banana, cocoanut, and different varieties of the palm, together with the pomegranate, unfolding its beautiful flowers; while at every turn, large flowering trees, in full bloom, displayed the richest tints of yellow, purple, and red. One of these trees, in particular, we shall always remember for its stately and gorgeous beauty. It was growing by the road-side, at Pamplemeuses, and was at least forty feet in height, having a full acacia foliage of delicate green, amid which were large clusters of brilliant scarlet flowers. We afterwards learned that it was the Poinciana regia, commonly called mille fleurs, or flamboyant, and that the time of its blossoming is from December to April.
Everything combined to make our drive so like enchantment that we almost questioned within ourselves whether we were there in propria persona, or only dreaming. It being Christmas, all classes had a holiday, and the Coolie population, as well as the Creole, were out arrayed in their best. The whole length of our way, both on going to and returning from Pamplemeuses, was thronged with these people. There was the Bengalee woman, who had donned her brightest red, yellow, or purple sari;—a garment made of one long piece of cotton cloth, or some other light fabric, that gracefully covered the head and person; and walking beside her was her Hindoostanee sister, with her dress composed of three garments; viz. the kurti, which we should term a jacket; the saya, answering to our skirt; and the chudar,—a piece of white muslin, or calico print, of one yard and a half or two yards in length, which is thrown lightly and often jauntily over the head. The men, resplendent in holiday garbs of white and red,—their loose robes flowing gracefully,—were walking, or riding in donkey-carts; and well-to-do Mussulmans drove past in carriages, or sauntered leisurely along the road in groups; some of whom, when overtaken by their hour of prayer, prostrated themselves as we passed. Everywhere mingled with the moving crowd were Coolies occupied in their various callings: some we observed with large circular flat baskets on their heads, not unfrequently filled with chickens; and others, with heavily laden panniers of fruit and vegetables, were trotting along at a brisk pace, to and from the city. Both sexes had lithe figures, and were exceedingly erect and well proportioned. Both also showed their fondness for ornaments,—wearing rings not only on their fingers, and hanging to their ears, but also pendent from the nose. It was a common practice, also, to fasten an ornament of some kind on the forehead, and they abounded in bracelets.
Arriving at Pamplemeuses, we were met by a Bengalee Coolie who lived in a cottage near by, and who, after acting as cicerone, asked for bukshish. Following this man, we were led into the garden, and a few steps brought us to a small oval pond of sluggish water, passing which, a short distance along its right bank, we were directly standing near the tomb of Virginia,—that of Paul being directly opposite, on the other side of the muddy pool. Both tombs were much dilapidated, all that remained of them being two square masses of brick masonry stuccoed with plaster, each of which had a delicate iron shaft passing down through its centre from the top. The masonry formerly served as a pedestal, the iron shafts acting as supports for the clay, or coarse terracotta urns that stood upon them; and both monuments were originally enclosed with light iron railings. No vestige, however, either of the railings or the urns is now remaining; but over each the pliant and graceful bamboo rustles mournfully in the wind, and a species of vine-like mimosa trails closely at their base. The alley of bamboos, the shaddock-groves, as well as the cocoanut-trees, and the mango and orange-groves, if they ever embellished that particular spot, have passed away. Many years ago a house of entertainment was kept in the vicinity, and the place was much frequented by the French residents of Port Louis.
It seems a pity to spoil so affecting a story as that of the lives and loves of Paul and Virginia, but we were assured by an English Protestant clergyman of Mauritius that nearly the whole narrative was a myth. Not but that some such persons might have existed and been shipwrecked on the coast; but this was merely the incident which St. Pierre worked up into a touchingly affecting tale; none, excepting a few French, believing it to be a real life-narrative. Some of our compagnons du voyage, who were in full belief of the story, were greatly disturbed because we laughed at the idea; and yet we were quite as intent as they in plucking flowers and sprigs of the bamboo and mimosa, to preserve as mementos of our visit, while we thought with renewed pleasure of the days when we first conned the pages of St. Pierre’s interesting little book.
Pamplemeuses and its environs are exceedingly charming and attractive. A fine old Cathedral, in the Gothic style, stands at a little distance from the Tombs, with a cemetery near by, whose graves and monuments were adorned with fresh floral offerings; and the abundant display of beautiful Christmas bouquets and wreaths, placed by loving hands upon the last resting-places of the dead, gave a very cheerful aspect to the enclosure. Most of the bouquets were in vases of handsome design and workmanship, and were fixtures to the monuments and tombs.
The Zoölogical, or Royal Gardens, in the same neighborhood, cover about fifty acres of land, and are laid out on a grand scale,—both sides of the avenue being bordered with the rarest and most valuable trees in the world. At certain intervals there are stone seats, which serve as resting-places for visitors; and we observed little gutters, on either side of the spacious walls, through which water is conducted for irrigation. Our time did not permit us to examine the ground as thoroughly as we wished; but we took a hasty glance at the avenue of superb palms, which is said to be scarcely equalled in extent and beauty in the world, and saw, for the first time, the Jack-fruit-tree, with its singular fruit, which hung at a distance of thirty feet from the ground and had already attained a great size, but was not ripe. There was, also, among the shrubbery, a fine echite, from which we took a few of its strangely variegated leaves.
The last evening of our stay in Mauritius was devoted to visiting the Christian Cemetery, which interested all of us, but had peculiar attractions for our missionary party, from the fact that Mrs. Harriet Newell, one of the earliest American missionary women, lies buried there. Although separately enclosed, it is contiguous to the burial-place of the Mussulmans of India, and also to those of the Parsees and Chinese; occupying with them a low portion of ground lying at the southeastern side of the harbor.
A spacious winding avenue along the sea-shore—which seemed to be a favorite place for the Europeans to exhibit their dashing turn-outs—conducted us to its gate, the avenue being bordered on either side with tall filao-trees, which are very like the cypress. The action of the wind from the sea has inclined these trees slightly in the direction of the cemetery, to which they lead; and the fitful sighing of the breeze, as it rustles sadly in the foliage, makes it a strikingly mournful entrance-way to the resting place of the dead.
The grounds contained many tombs and monuments,—some of the latter being ornate and expensive, although most of them were plainly and substantially made of the coarse native granite, which admits of a fair polish, and is readily procured from the mountains which overshadow the place. Evergreens, shrubs, and flowers were abundant, and the Coolie water-carriers were busily engaged in watering them for the evening, as we wandered in various directions in search of Mrs. Newell’s grave. We were without a guide, and consequently encountered some little difficulty in finding it, but finally succeeded in our endeavors, after a patient and persevering search among the monuments. The grave is enclosed by a low tomb of native stone, and on its top rests a white marble slab, having upon it, at the head, an urn in bas-relief, under which is inscribed the following:—
Sacred
to the memory of
MRS. HARRIET ATWOOD,
Wife of Rev. Samuel Newell,
Missionary at Bombay.
Born at Haverhill, Mass., U. S. A., Oct. 10, 1793.
Died, after a distressing voyage from India to this place,
Nov. 30, 1812.
Early devoted to Christ, her heart turned towards the heathen.
For them she left her kindred, and her native land,
and welcomed dangers and sufferings.
Of excellent understanding, rich in accomplishments and virtues,
she was the delight of her friends, a crown to her husband,
and an ornament to the Missionary cause.
This humble monument to her memory
is erected by the
American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions.
The tomb and marble slab were kept clean and in good condition, and we were told that the spot was every year properly cared for by religious Americans and Englishmen, who gladly availed themselves of the opportunity of performing this work, simply as a labor of love.
The brief life of one so beloved and accomplished has doubtless been regarded, by many of those who see and judge after the manner of men, as having been uselessly sacrificed, if not absolutely thrown away. To those, however, who know something of the workings of Protestant Christian missions in heathen lands, and can speak from observation of the great need of such women in the missionary field, the dedication of Mrs. Newell to the work, her patient sufferings, and short career, have yielded much fruit, and been of infinite service to the cause. Her example has also actuated so many of her countrywomen to cheerfully and gladly devote themselves to the same noble purpose, and has had such an effect in inclining others to become earnest and diligent workers at home, for the advancement of the Redeemer’s kingdom, that, on standing at the side of her humble grave, one can feel with truth that “though dead, she yet speaketh.” If there is a spot on earth where this sentiment can be truly felt, it is at the grave of one so young, and self-devoted, and accomplished, who shrank from no hardships, and halted at no sacrifice, as long as the cause of Christ and the good of souls was the end in view. With her, Christian duty was paramount to every other consideration; and although her early death was an irreparable loss to the cause in which her soul seemed to have expended its best energies, still it was fitting that the “Lord of the harvest” should call her thus early home, for it may well be said of her, in the eloquent language of Tasso,—
Beside a gigantic stone-cross which we encountered while in quest of Mrs. Newell’s grave, there were two or three similar ones in other parts of the cemetery, all of which were well proportioned and handsomely finished shafts, round in form, and made of the native granite, about twenty feet in height, with cross-pieces six or seven feet long. The effect of this symbol of our Christian faith, as it was seen at different points above the graves and monuments, was religiously sublime, and seemed to us to be not only a token of Christ’s love for us, but also an earnest of the Christian’s final rest in heaven.
A Mahommedan funeral, which we met in the avenue of filao-trees on our return, was a wild, strange, and mournful scene. The coffin, which was placed on a sort of bier, and carried on the shoulders of men, who were walking at a brisk pace, was shaped like the roof of a house, with a ridge-pole-like top. It was draped with calico of a pale ochreous yellow, and wreaths of pink roses were hanging down on either side. A turbaned priest walked at the head of the bier, but the motley throng of men accompanying the remains, paid little heed either to order or propriety. They looked far more like the ordinary street crowds in the East than a funeral procession, and were talking with great volubility. Occasionally the voice of the priest was heard above the din, gravely chanting in a half monotonous tone; but the main feature of the scene, and that which the most painfully impressed us, was the thoroughly indifferent air of all composing the procession, their conversation evidently being upon business and other worldly matters. This was the first heathen funeral we had ever witnessed; but we can conceive of no circumstance that could have led us to more sincere and hearty self-gratulation that we had been born and educated in a land of Bible religion and Christian influences.