Colonial memories

Trinidad had nearly completed its first century of British rule when we went there in 1891, for it was in February 1797 that the British Fleet, eighteen vessels in all, under Admiral Harvey came through the Bocas, carrying a land force of nearly 8000 men under General Sir Ralph Abercromby. The Spanish Governor, Chacon, felt that no defence was possible, for he only had at his command a small, passing squadron of five ships and about 700 soldiers. So, with an amount of practical common-sense and humanity which might be borne in mind with advantage at the Hague Conference, he surrendered to the tremendous odds brought against him. Not a single life was lost in this change of flags; but the Spanish Admiral, Apodoca, burned his ships sooner than give them up. Chacon seems to have been an excellent Governor, and to have done much for his colony before he had to yield to force majeure. Indeed, it always struck me in looking over the history of Trinidad that it had been exceptionally fortunate in its Governors. Colonel Thomas Picton was its first English proconsul, and though, as might be expected, somewhat high-handed and hasty in his dealings, especially with the natives, the colony made great progress under his rule; but it only lasted six years, which was considered a short time to manage the affairs of a colony in those days. It is a fact, however, that when Sir Thomas Picton fell at Waterloo, he was practically under trial for the alleged murder of two slaves in Trinidad. The case was only standing over for further evidence. Certainly, things—justice among other things—seem to have been done in a loose and free-and-easy way in the early days of the last century!

The Governor par excellence of Trinidad, however, is, and always will be, Sir Ralph Woodford, although Lord Harris and Sir Arthur Gordon run him very close in enduring popularity of the best sort. But Sir Ralph was truly a born empire-maker. He was so young, too—only twenty-nine—when he began (in 1813) his fifteen years of hard work in a tropical climate. It must have been extremely difficult to change the whole state of affairs, even the language—for it was not until his day that English was used in the Law Courts and that the minutes of the “Cabildo”—the precursor of our Legislative Council—were kept in the new tongue. Poor Sir Ralph died at sea on his way to England in 1828, and it is sad to think how completely his valuable life seems to have been thus early sacrificed to the ignorance of the commonest rules of health. But he would not leave his work in time, and so died in harness very shortly after he had been persuaded to leave his beautiful and beloved colony.

Lord Harris did not take up the reins of government until 1846, only eight years after slavery had been abolished, so he had to deal with as complex a state of affairs as Picton or Woodford. But he ruled splendidly and successfully until 1854, and it was delightful to hear, nearly half a century afterwards, how well the numerous reforms and systems he had started still worked.

All this time the various Governors had dwelt in many and different Government Houses, all more or less near the site of the present one. Don José Maria Chacon, captain in the Spanish Navy, and his predecessors seem to have lived on the side of a neighbouring hill, but it is difficult to trace even the foundations of that house, for when once “the jungle is let in” it soon covers up and does away with bricks and mortar. Then came a strange and ugly little dwelling where the pastures of the Government farm now spread, and that was succeeded by a house of sorts (of which I could find no pictured record) in the Botanical Gardens. That must have been near where the present beautiful dwelling stands, for whenever I said what a pity it was that the stables should be so near the house, I was always told that they were a survival of a former Government House in the same spot. But the jungle also seemed to have been let in on the minds of my informants, for I never could elicit any accurate information about that house. Sir Ralph Woodford lived in a large Government House in Port of Spain, used as Government Offices and burned in the late riots, but the really historical Government House in Trinidad will always be the Government Cottage about a quarter of a mile away, still in the Botanical Gardens, where Sir Arthur Gordon lived and Kingsley wrote his “At Last.” Nothing now remains of what must have been a picturesque and romantically pretty little dwelling but the swimming-bath and an outbuilding used as a cottage for the house carpenter. But I often used to go and look up the valley with “At Last” in my hand, and try to identify the trees described. The ravine or dell immortalised by Kingsley has, however, suffered many changes from the woodman’s axe and forest fires, for the only tree I could ever recognise is the big Saman outside the ballroom windows.

A propos of the existing building, “I call this a tropical palace,” was the remark made to me several times a day by one of our numerous—shall I say globe-trotting?—guests, who certainly ought to have been a judge of palaces. And there was some truth in the criticism as applied to the present Government House at Trinidad. Because the popular idea of a palace is that it is not a very comfortable dwelling, and chiefly constructed with a view to first impressions. This “palace,” however, is really a beautiful house, and stands in the large Botanical Gardens of Port of Spain. It has a charming view over the wide savannah in front, and is sheltered from the cold north winds by the low, beautifully wooded hills behind. The natives say of this same wind, which is so alluringly fresh and cool, “vent de nord, vent de mort,” and the chill it brings to the unwary, especially at night, is doubtless accountable for many of the local colds and fevers. Nothing can be much more beautiful than the first effect of the entrance hall to this Government House, and the long vista through the large saloon and ballroom beyond ends with a glimpse of that magnificent Saman tree on whose wide-spreading branches grows what Kingsley so aptly calls—speaking of this same tree—“an air-garden.”

To my mind that tree was quite one of the sights of those beautiful gardens. Beneath it flourishes a small grove of nutmeg-trees, and tall, spreading palms, all of which seem mere shrubs and bushes compared to its lofty splendour. When it is loaded with its pink feathery blossoms, it attracts every bird and insect in the island, but our winter visitors never really saw that tree in its full beauty, for the wondrous air-garden growth did not develop until after the first heavy rains. Then it is indeed wonderful to see the sudden spikes of brilliant blossom, the fantastic orchid growth, and the marvellous wealth of ferns clustering and drooping all along the massive branches. I endured great anxiety lest the weight of the wet verdure should break down these giant limbs, for the wood is rather soft and unsubstantial. However, no such calamity has yet occurred.

But to come back to the tropical palace. It was certainly an ideal house for entertaining. I always declared that the balls gave themselves, and there never was the slightest trouble in arranging any sort of party in the large rooms, which were always as cool as possible after sunset. The ballroom was lofty, open “to all the airts that blow,” and possessed a perfect floor. Then when you have Kew Gardens for decorative purposes growing outside your windows, there is not much difficulty in producing a pretty effect. Indeed, the entire house was arranged for coolness, from the great hall which went up the whole height of the building, to the wide verandahs which surrounded it on three sides. But in the bedroom accommodation there is a woeful falling-off, and I was often at my wits’ end to know how to house the numerous guests who flock to these “Summer Isles of Eden” every winter. There is no place in the house for English servants, and your own and your visitors’ servants can only be put up in some of the guest-rooms. There is one magnificent bedroom which is called “the Prince’s Room,” as H.R.H. the present Prince of Wales inhabited it during his last visit, in 1891. But it is a very hot room, and if you are to coax any cool air into it you must resign yourself to keeping your doors wide open. The suite of rooms generally used by the Governor are at the end of another long corridor, and, though good, comfortable, and certainly the coolest in the house, are so close to the stables that one hears the horses stamping and fidgetting all night, especially when the vampire bats are tormenting them. The only back staircase in the house also passes close to these rooms, so they can hardly be described as quiet or private. Still, it was a very pretty house, and I took great pride and delight in hearing it admired.

It is not until one lives in a place oneself that one realises in what degree it is accessible. Certainly I never thought I should welcome many English friends coming out to Trinidad just for a little change after influenza! But that constantly happened, and beautiful yachts often looked in there for a few days, to say nothing of training ships of all nationalities. The attraction to them was the placid nature of the Gulf of Paria, which made it an ideal playground, or rather schoolroom, for them, and many intricate evolutions on its smooth surface have I been invited to witness. There I beheld with interest as well as amusement the young idea being taught how to shoot torpedoes as well as to lay or find mines and other fiendish contrivances.

It always amused me, especially with the foreign vessels, to watch the degree of ardour with which the naval cadets pursued their deep-sea studies. But the most ardent and promising pupil who ever visited our shores was a young Japanese prince, who, if his proficiency of those ten-year-old days is any guide, ought certainly to have played a very distinguished part in the present struggle with Russia. Anything like that boy’s thirst for knowledge and anxiety to do every other cadet’s work I never beheld. He was studying at that time on board a German training ship, but he told me he hoped to go for a second course of instruction to an English one. His captain said he had never seen any cadet work so hard or so conscientiously, and his one waking thought was to make himself acquainted with every detail of his profession.

The naval cadets of every nation were always free to spend their shore leave at Government House, and play tennis or amuse themselves in the beautiful gardens in any way they liked, for the thought of my own boys made me anxious to provide a safe and pleasant play-place for them, and it delighted me to see how much they liked coming up to us. The huge fresh-water swimming-bath in the grounds counted for a great deal in their simple amusements, as did the iced “lime-squash” afterwards. The little prince came but seldom, and if I asked after him, I was always told, “Oh, he is doing so and so’s work.”

One beautiful evening we were going to take tea on board this same German man-of-war, and I noticed in the launch which was sent to tow our own barge a grimy little figure working away at the miniature stoke-hole. “Who is that?” I asked. “That? oh, that’s the Prince, of course. He begged to be allowed to come and stoke for you. He wanted to learn just how that furnace went.”

Prince K. did not seem to know how to play tennis, nor could he dance, and I do not believe his idea of amusement extended beyond his ship’s side. At his Captain’s request we gave him a formal dinner-party, receiving and treating him just as we would our own royalty. Poor boy, he went through it all courageously, but it must have been a terrible infliction, for he could not speak one word of English, and even his knowledge of German was scanty. He brought two gentlemen of his suite with him, and depended on them for translation. They both spoke French as well as English tolerably well, but as far as appearance went the little Prince had decidedly the advantage, and looked very high-bred in his plain and correct evening dress, but it was the only time I ever saw him out of uniform. He maintained a true Oriental gravity all through dinner, and it was quite a revelation of his real expression of face when the Governor, after the usual toast of the Queen’s health, proposed that of the Emperor of Japan, and one of his gentlemen, whom I had taken the precaution of putting near him, told him of the terms of the toast. The lad sprang to his feet at once, and with really a beaming countenance bowed low, first to the Governor and then to the rest of the company. He looked absolutely delighted, and it did not need his Secretary’s whispered comment of “His Highness ver much please” to tell me how gratified he was.

But after dinner things became terribly dull for him, poor boy. He did not dance, nor seem to care about music or anything else which was going on, so it fell to my share to walk him about the large salon, and show him whatever I thought might possibly interest him. Of course, his two gentlemen were in close attendance, or we should indeed have suffered conversational shipwreck. When I arrived at an enormous elephant’s foot, I thought we had now certainly reached a turning-point in the tide of boredom which had evidently set in for the poor youth. But in spite of my explanation of how the big beast had fallen to my eldest son’s rifle and various exciting details of the said fall, all duly passed on by the other gentlemen, I could not see the faintest trace of interest or even of comprehension in that immovable ivory countenance. At last the Secretary murmured: “Highness not know elephant ver well.” This was indeed despairing, but my eye was caught by a clumsy little ebony model of an elephant, which I seized as an object-lesson, handing it to the Secretary, and saying, “Please explain to his Highness that this is an elephant.” The Prince murmured some words in reply which were translated to me as: “Ah, I see! a large sort of pig.”

After this I felt I must let things take their course, and I have no doubt the polite adieux which soon followed were as great a relief to the guest as they were to me.

The greatest daytime treat I could ever give my guests was to send them round the Botanical Gardens under the escort of the gifted superintendent. They always returned hot and thirsty, but with their hands full of treasures. I think a freshly-gathered nutmeg, with its camellia-green leaves and its apricot-like fruit, enlaced with the crimson network we know later as mace, procured them the greatest joy of all. Then came breathless accounts of the soap-nut with which they had washed their hands, of the ink galls with which they had written their names, of orchids growing beneath long arcades—“Out of doors you know!”—of palms of every size and sort and description, each more lovely than its neighbour, of strange lianes which, dropping down from lofty trees and swinging in the breeze, are caught and twisted by Nature’s charming caprice into the most fantastic shapes imaginable.

There are many advantages connected with the Government House standing in these beautiful gardens, but it cannot be said to conduce to its privacy. I always pined for “three acres and a cow” to myself, but I never got it! A tiny iron fence, six inches from the ground, marked out the tennis-courts, and certain narrow limits beyond, which were supposed to be private, and little iron notice-plates repeated the idea. But if any enterprising tourist wished to enlarge his sphere of observation, none of these trifles stood in his or her way, and I have sometimes been awakened at daylight by vociferous demands, just outside my bedroom window, to know “where the electric eel lived.” Poor thing, it did not live anywhere latterly, for it had died; but there was no persuading the energetic visitor, who only had a couple of hours in which to “do” the Botanical Gardens, that I had not secreted it in my bathroom.

I must hasten to add, however, that it was only the tourist who sometimes harried us, for it seemed well understood by the people of the island that a certain small space round Government House was private ground, and we never had the least difficulty with even the numerous nurses and babies who flocked, for whatever fresh air was going, to these charming gardens where the capital police band plays twice a week. We often strolled about this public part of the gardens on Sunday afternoons, when many people were about, and I enjoyed it thoroughly, until it came to the final “God save the Queen,” and then I confess I always felt surprised and indignant to see how few hats were taken off. Every white man, from the Governor downwards, stood bare-headed of course, from the first note to the last, so did the ever-courteous foreign visitor; but hardly a well-clad, well-fed young coloured man followed their example. I was always deeply ashamed at visitors seeing this lack of loyalty or manners (I don’t know which). I observed the elder black men nearly always uncovered, but the dark, gilded youth of Port of Spain certainly did not.

One does not realise how close Trinidad is to Venezuela until one goes there. My very first drive showed me a fine mountain range blending beautifully with the fair and extensive landscape.

“I thought there were no really high mountains in Trinidad!” I exclaimed in surprise.

“But those are not in Trinidad,” was the crushing answer; “they are on the mainland, which is only twenty miles off, just there.”

I little thought, that day, how anxiously I should watch the political horizon of Venezuela! But as the supply of beef depended on the numerous revolutions or threatenings of revolutions, I grew to take the liveliest interest in those social convulsions, and I became an ardent advocate of peace at almost any price—of beef.

I always longed yet never made time, I am sorry to say, to go up one of the numerous mouths of the Orinoco which run into our Gulf, the Gulf of Paria; many of our guests made the excursion, getting up as far as Bolivar in one of the comfortable, almost flat-bottomed river steamers which provide an excellent service. The accounts brought back were always so glowing that I longed to go, but home duties and home ties pinned me firmly down.

Venezuela seems to be a perfect land of Goshen compared to even our tropical luxuriance, and the cocoa-pods, bananas, and plantains brought back from the mainland were, without the least exaggeration, quite twice as large as those grown on the island. “But, then, what would you have?” I was asked. “Trinidad is only a little bit of South America which the Orinoco has washed off from the mainland.” If this be so, then the mighty stream dropped several of the pieces on the way, for there are many islets, some five miles or more away from Trinidad, and towards the Bocas or mouths of the great river. These little islands are a great feature of Trinidad, and splendid places for change of air or excursions. They all have houses on them, and one tiny islet may, I think, claim to be the smallest spot of earth which holds a dwelling. It is just a rock, on the top of which is perched a small but comfortable and compact house. Beyond its outer wall is, on one side, a minute plateau about ten or twelve feet in length, and that is all the exercise-ground on the island. I was assured it was the favourite honeymoon resort, which certainly seemed putting the capabilities of companionship of the newly-married couple to a rather severe test! Fishing, boating, and bathing are the resources at the command of the islet visitors, and the air is wonderfully fresh and cool on these little fragments of the earth’s surface. Whenever I could make time it was my great delight to take the Government launch with tea and a party of young friends to one of these islets, and it was certainly a delightful way of spending a hot afternoon.

Trinidad is a great place for cricket, and boasts a beautiful ground belonging to a private club. First-class teams often go out there to play matches, and I used to see incessant cricket practice going on on the savannah in front of Government House. Certainly that savannah is a splendid “lung” to the low-lying town, and the people of Trinidad may well be proud of it. On its south-western side is a small walled enclosure; it is the graveyard of the original Spanish owners of the soil, and a large sugar estate once stood where races are run and cricket played nowadays. The living owners have all, long ago, disappeared; only the dead remain in their peaceful little resting-place under the shade of the spreading trees which grow inside the low wall.

To return for a moment to the Botanical Gardens. Within the limits of the so-called private part is a small plot of ground planted with vegetables for the Governor’s use. In my eyes it was chiefly remarkable for the three large, coarse sort of bean-vines which grew at its entrance, and which were further decorated at the top of the stick round which they clung (in very tipsy fashion) by an empty bottle and some tufts of shabby feathers. These aids to horticulture being quite new to me, I inquired their use, and was assured they constituted the Obeah police of the garden, and that so long as those vines grew there, no young lettuce or tomato or yam would be stolen from that garden; and certainly theft was never assigned as the reason for the scanty contents of the gardener’s daily basket. It was always the time of year or the weather.

I used to feel very envious when some of the older residents would speak of these gardens as having been the home of the humming-bird. Alas! the lovely little creatures are seldom to be seen there now, in spite of the protective legislation of many years past. But the ruthless tourist will always buy a humming-bird’s nest, especially with its two sugar-plum-like eggs in it, so the enterprising black boy keeps a sharp look-out for these articles of commerce. Soon after we first went there, I found a wee nest on a low branch of a tree close to Government House, with a darling little bird sitting in it. I peeped cautiously very often during the next few days, and the young mother grew so accustomed to my visits that she would let me stand within a yard of the bough. At last some microscopic fragments of eggshell appeared on the moss beneath, and on my next visit, when the little hen was away getting food, I beheld a thing very like a bee with a beak. This object seemed to grow amazingly every few hours, so that in a week it looked quite like a respectable bird. Imagine my rage and despair when I found one morning the branch broken off and the baby bird dead on the ground. My sweet little nest had been taken for the sake of the sixpence it would fetch next time a tourist-laden yacht came in!

A much happier fate attended a humming-bird which built its nest in a small palm growing in a friend’s drawing-room. I paid many visits to that drawing-room during the bird’s occupancy, and anything so interesting as its manners and customs cannot be imagined. Instead of bringing material from outside for the nest, the tiny builder requisitioned the floss silk from an embroidered cushion and the wool from a ball-fringe. The nest, unusually gay in colour, hung down a couple of inches from one of the serrated points of the palm leaf; but when I was first invited to come and look on, it was not quite completed to the feathered lady’s satisfaction, for she still darted in and out of the open windows and about the room.

The master of the house, at my request, seated himself in his usual arm-chair and opened his newspaper, and I made myself as small as I could in a distant corner. Our patience was soon rewarded, for there was the little bird balancing itself with its vibrating wings just above the newspaper. However, as no building material was forthcoming from that source, she flashed over to my corner, and, quicker than the eye could follow, had snatched a thread of silk from a work-table and was off to her work again. The little creature got quite tame, and her confidence was well placed, for nothing could exceed the charming kindness of her host and hostess. The eggs were laid and hatched in due time, and the master of the house told me he used to get up at the day-dawn and open his drawing-room window to let the little mother out to get food for her babies. This necessitated his remaining the rest of the morning in the drawing-room, as he said it would not have been safe to have left it. I naturally thought he feared for the safety of his wife’s pretty things, but oh, no—what he guarded was the nest, lest it should meet the fate of mine and be stolen.

It was on this occasion I found out what humming-birds feed on. The popular idea is that they live on honey, and attempts have often been made to keep them in captivity on honey, or sugar and water, with the result that the poor little birds died of starvation in a day or two. The honey theory has sprung from seeing the birds darting their long bills and still longer tongues into the cups of honey-bearing flowers. What they are getting, however, is not honey, but the minute insect which is attracted and caught by the honey.

I never saw any but the commonest sort of humming-bird during my stay in Trinidad, and very few of those, and I was told that even in the high woods it was rare now to behold them. In spite of the stringent ordinance against killing colibris, I fear many skins are taken away every year by the tourist, especially by the scientific tourist. Never can I forget my feelings when, on bidding adieu to a delightful foreign savant, he informed me that he had enjoyed his trips into the interior of the island immensely, and had collected many interesting specimens of flora and fauna, including a hundred humming-bird skins! I nearly fainted with horror, but my one effort then was to prevent this dreadful boast reaching the Governor’s ears, for I felt sure that international complications of a very grave character would have followed.

Pages might be written on the scientific value of the beautiful gardens which surround this tropical palace, as well as of the opportunity they afford of studying insect life. At first it is disappointing to see so few flowers in them, but in the summer the large trees are covered with blossom, and, in fact, the flowers may be said to have taken refuge up the trees from the all-devouring ants. But the serious business of the gardens is really to make experiments in the growth and cultivation of the various economic products of the island—raising seedling canes, coffee, and cocoa, and determining which variety would most successfully repay culture. It is a mistake to regard them only from the ornamental point of view, though their beauty is very striking, for they are chiefly valuable for their practical results.