At Mr. Edmonstone’s tranquil and solitary home, we passed the hours of darkness in sound repose, undisturbed by the tormenting musquitoes, which we had found excessively annoying at the Hermitage the night before.
In the morning Mr. Edmonstone placed himself at the head of our corps, and, attended by four or five negroes, together with a venerable and sagacious Indian, we set out upon an expedition into the woods, in search of the plants and scions, which had formed the leading objects of our journey. Some heavy showers having fallen in the night, we found it unpleasant walking; but we persevered in our pursuit, and toiled far into the woods, remaining upon our legs from nine o’clock in the morning until two in the afternoon, and, to my surprise, without experiencing any fatigue. An ample collection of rare specimens of plants and fruits was the reward of our labour; and we had the further gratification of witnessing, in the course of our perambulation, a variety of scenery, which cannot be met with in the flat and more cultivated parts of the colony. We traversed thick and wild forests, crossed rivulets and limpid streams, climbed up rude hills, and descended into deep gullies; which created a novelty that animated our attention, and banished all sense of weariness.
For the most part, our road was only a narrow path cut by the Bucks, and so closely bordered, as to confine us to the Indian file. At times the forest was thinner, and we could see to a distance betwixt its shades, or walk two or three abreast, under the trees at the sides of our path. Twice only we came to open spots, which had more the appearance of plains than of thickets, and were mere patches of arid and sandy soil, which refused every thing of nourishment to the vegetable world. All the other parts were more or less covered with shrubs and forest trees, the latter of which are of immense height and bulk. They are usually perpendicular in their growth: their wood is heavy, and of uncommonly hard texture, approaching, in some instances, to the solidity, weight, and even the sound of metallic substances.
It occurred to me as remarkable, that in this long walk through the woods, we saw no decayed remains of trees, either standing like the hollow shells we often see in England, or lying upon the ground, sunk with age. Neither did we meet with prostrate trunks, which had been broken down, or uprooted by the winds. All appeared in the fulness of health and vigour, as if their erect and stately pillars had, through many ages, been growing side by side, and were never to surrender to all-destructive years. Most of them were without branches, except near to their summits, where their thick foliage commonly forms a canopy which is not easily penetrated by the sun or the rain.
Among a variety of specimens, we collected some fine plants of the Tonquin bean, the Souwarrow nut, the wild orange, and a species of the medlar. Of birds and four-footed animals the woods appeared to contain but few. Two wild hogs, some parrots, and parroquets formed nearly the list of all we saw; nor did the forest seem to abound with insects, for scarcely had I passed a day, since my arrival upon the coast of Guiana, so entirely free from the annoyance of these minor objects of creation. We noticed only two or three musquitoes, of feeble growth and feeble wing, in the woods; and at Mr. Edmonstone’s not one appeared.
After our return from the forest, we partook of a most plentiful dinner, and in the evening strolled about the environs, either separately, or in divided parties, according to our several inclinations. In this ramble it happened that I trod my way into an Indian hut, where I found the family, consisting of a man, two women, and three children, employed preparing their pepper-pot and cassada for supper.
The next morning I rose at an early hour, and returned to the spot, intending to repeat my visit to this group of Indians; when, lo! I found only the empty hut! Probably they had a better reason for moving, than my disturbing them by an abrupt evening call; but, whatever occasioned it, they had packed up the furniture and utensils of their humble abode, and taking all with them into their canoe, decamped in the night, into the woods.
From the Indian hut I walked into the forest, and, having a small thermometer in my pocket, I suspended it, for some time, in the damp and heavy shade of the woods; when it fell to 72: I, then, immersed it in the open water of the creek, and it rose to 73½. In the house it was at 73; at noon on the day preceding, the mercury was at 81.
Before I take you from the forest-embosomed abode of Mr. Edmonstone, I should tell you that in a small garret of this sequestered home is living a very extraordinary character, in the person of an old Scotsman, an antiquated and eccentric being of the school of Loutherbourg; and who is, here, regarded as a literary phænomenon—a literal one he certainly is! He had formerly known better days; but having been reduced to poverty, he is become an exile from his country, and in this profound seclusion, passes his declining days in the dull and harmless round of reading an old Hebrew bible, and two or three worm-eaten volumes of Greek and Latin. His person is plain, his figure meager, and his visage pallid. In manner, he is formal and pedantic. His wardrobe and furniture vie with the antiquity of his library, and both apparel and apartment well accord with his limited occupation. His wants being few and easily supplied, he lives contented and happy. We found him teaching Mr. Edmonstone’s children to read: and this we understood to be a duty of relaxation—a kind of remission from his converse with the musty old volumes, in the perusal and re-perusal of which he finds the solace of his cares, and the gratification of all his remaining ambition.
We loitered away the forenoon at Mr. Edmonstone’s, sending our boat round by way of the creeks, and the river, to meet us at an estate called Sand-hill, in the evening. We likewise despatched a smaller boat down the river, with the specimens of plants, roots, and cuttings we had collected in the woods; and, after making an early dinner with Mr. Edmonstone, he very kindly took us on, in his large canoe, to prosecute our journey. We returned down the Mabeira creek; but, instead of going north, when we opened into the Woratilla to proceed to the Kamonuy creek, and the river, we took the opposite course in order to penetrate deeper into the woods; and, when we had paddled, to a short distance, up the southern channel of the Woratilla creek, we were set on shore upon its eastern bank, and from thence took our route, on foot, through the forest to the Sand-hill.
This was a walk of two hours over rude hills, across deep gullies, and through woods, which to an European seemed impenetrable. The forest lies, as it were, in waves of alternate ridges and valleys, and the trees stand so close together, that a person unaccustomed to such travelling could have no hope of making his way through it. At best our path was only that of the Bucks, which compelled us to follow each other in the unsocial single line, and, at several times, this obscure track was not discernible to us: but an experienced old negro, whom Mr. Edmonstone had selected as our guide and conductor, seemed to know every tree and twig we had to pass; and directed our steps, with as much accuracy, as if a broad turnpike road had been all the way before him; although it often happened that we had to form a path by pulling away the branches and brambles with our hands.
A short time previous to our arrival at the Sand-hill, we suddenly escaped out of the deep shades of the forest, and one of the most varied and beautiful scenes, which can be found in the colony, opened before us. Suppose yourself in a country where flat waters, and heavy woods form one unbroken sameness, and imagine that after a walk of two hours, through the obscurity of almost impenetrable forests, you, unexpectedly, rush forth upon an extensive plain, where the eye immediately fixes upon a handsome house, together with a bold curve of a large river, winding its course, at a great depth below you, and the view stretching far over the woods of its opposite bank, then you will have a tolerably accurate picture of the scene which presented itself before us, at the Sand-hill. It was highly novel, being more open, varied, and extended than at any other inhabited spot of these boundless forests.
Correctly speaking, the land which appeared to us as a plain, was a hill of sand, whose flat surface was elevated at least a hundred feet about the river, and overhung the water in a bold precipice; but the opposite shore was low and flat, being scarcely raised above the level of the river, which caused the uninterrupted summit of its thick woods to appear before us, like a verdant field of unlimited extent.
We advanced to the house, quite enraptured with its commanding situation: but,—shall I tell you? ... it was the abode of inhospitality! Shall I say that this house, “erected on the rising ground,” was, perhaps, the only one in the colony, where a stranger would have found an unwelcome home! We were greeted with a forbidding coldness—a freezing formality; and were entertained with a miserable penury, of which I had not believed the coast of Guiana could furnish an example; and I feel penetrated with grief and disappointment in marking the Sand-hill as an exception to the general hospitality, which I had found to prevail so eminently in these colonies.
I will not attempt to decide how far the conduct of the lord of this domain might be influenced by climate, but there was much of semblance between the coldness of his manner, and the chilling air of his place of residence; for, on our entering upon the plain of the Sand-hill, when we came out of the forest, we had all felt shivering with cold, and were glad to put on our coats, which we had thrown off in our walk through the woods. Between five and six o’clock the next morning I found the thermometer at 67; and, at noon, it was only 80.
It consisted with the tides of the river, and with our convenience, in waiting the leisure of Mr. Edmonstone, to make this repulsive home our resting-place for the night, and until the afternoon of the following day; but the ungracious reception, we met with, caused the hours to pass very heavily: as soon, therefore, as the tide served, and Mr. Edmonstone was ready to accompany us, we took our departure for the “Loo,” quitting, without regret, the most delightful situation in the colony.