Times do change a bit. I don’t think that 11 and 14 year old girls
drink coffee today.
What We Saw in the West Indies Part
III
THE DIARY OF TWO REAL GIRLS
ON A REAL TRIP
By Lola and Valerie
From
Everyland magazine, Mar. 1917;
researched by Alan Schenker; digitized by Doug Frizzle, Mar, 2012.
IT seems strange to sleep on
shore again. We were so tired last night we were glad to go to bed early. Our
beds have mosquito-nettings all around them
and, as there are many mosquitoes
here in Dominica, we have
to be careful to jump quickly into bed before the
mosquitoes do, and to close the
opening in the nets. We liked doing
this so much that we tried it over and over, until we grew to be quite expert.
We got up at about five and
went out on the veranda to see the sun rise. The streets were full of people coming in from
the country with loads of fruits and
vegetables in trays on their heads.
Children were going back and forth from
the hydrant at the corner with buckets of water on their heads, for the
people carry everything, big or little, on their
heads instead of in their hands. It
looks so funny to see a big black woman
walking along with empty hands and with a cake of soap or a bottle of oil
balanced on her brightly colored turban. One little girl had such a pleasant,
smiling face and waved her hand to us so prettily. All the
people are very polite; they bow and
smile and say, "Howdy, missy," or, "Bo' jour," whenever they meet us. There is the
greatest chattering all around, and I really think the
early morning is the nicest part of the whole day down here.
From
the
veranda, or gallery, as they
call it here, we saw a sad little funeral procession which seemed very strange
to us as the
people all walked instead of going in carriages as they do at home. Mother told us that when she was here
before they
didn't even have a hearse, but carried the coffins through the streets on men's heads. The people
have a very funny name for the
hearse; they
call it the
"dead machine."
Early this morning we went
down to the
river to watch the
washer-women
at work. There were whole rows of them,
standing up to their
knees in the
water, soaping the
clothes
on flat stones, and then
pounding them
up and down against the
rocks. They have special ways of doing laundry work and never make any change.
Monday the
clothes
are washed, Tuesday they
are bleached, Wednesday they
are starched, on Thursday and Friday they are handed over to an ironer, and
on Saturday they
are sent home.
They are beautifully done in spite of the rough treatment.
Thursday we were wakened
early by father
who said he had a surprise for us and to hurry and dress in just khaki bloomers and
blouse. It was barely daylight, and after we'd had coffee and toast, which the maid
always brings to the
room,
we were ready to go downstairs. There we found three horses all saddled—for mother did not go— and were told we were to take a
trip into the interior to a place
called Mountain Lake. As soon as we were outside the town, we
entered a great lime grove, and for nearly an hour the road led through gardens and under
cocoa trees. Then we began to climb the
mountains and very soon we were far above the river and the air grew cool and fresh. There was
so much to interest us along the
road that the
time passed very quickly. Sometimes
we rode under the
shade of giant bamboo trees, and we thought them very beautiful, but when we
reached still higher and came to forests of tree ferns we decided they were even
prettier. In many places the
road followed along the
edges of precipices and we could look down from our horses' backs to the bottoms of ravines
which, father
said, were a thousand feet below. Everywhere was forest with the funniest kind of great trees with their trunks
spreading out in broad, thin pieces like planks or boards, and with their branches
all covered and draped with vines and orchids. It was all very damp and still,
and sometimes
we heard wild pigeons cooing in the
woods, and once father
had us stop and listen to a beautiful bird-song that sounded like a flute. Father said it was the
"mountain whistler" and was a very shy, rare bird only found in Dominica.
We also saw many humming-birds darting about the orchid and begonia flowers along the path and,
when we stopped at a spring for a drink, we found a tiny humming-bird's nest
fastened on the
under side of a fern leaf. Sometimes
the
road was very steep and slippery and the horses had to scramble to keep from falling
over the
precipice, but they
were so sure-footed and so used to making the trip that we were not a bit
frightened.
When we had been riding about
three hours, we reached the
highest part of the
road and suddenly found ourselves in a thick mist. We thought it was fog, but
it was really a cloud passing over and keeping everything damp and cool. When the sun shone
again, we saw a lovely lake lying near the road in the midst of the forest, with great wooded mountains
on every side. This was Mountain
Lake, and father said it was really an old volcano filled with
water and that it had no outlet and no inlet. It looked very pretty there in the mountains.
We sat in the shelter of a little
house beside the road and ate our
lunch, while clouds drifted across the
lake and sometimes hid it from us. After lunch we rode on for some distance, until we could look down on the other
side of the island and could see the Atlantic Ocean.
Then, as it was time to return, we rode back toward Roseau and reached home
just about dark with fine appetites. We were dreadfully tired though, and were
glad to go to bed early.
We spent Friday with father and mother at a lime
estate. We were very much interested in seeing how the limes were crushed to make lime
juice and in watching the
women
and girls pressing the
oil from
the
limes under the
trees. The funniest thing was to see the oxen and cows eating the lime skins
after they
had been crushed in the
mill. We picked a big basket of limes for ourselves and gathered a bunch of scarlet lilies that
grow everywhere beneath the
lime trees.
In the evening after dinner the people who
worked on the
estate gave a native dance in the
moonlight for our benefit. The band played the queerest sort of instruments. One
man sat on a big drum and beat it with his hands, another
played a triangle, another a flute
made from bamboo, the fourth shook a rattle made of a calabash filled
with stones, and the last one rubbed
a stick up and down a rough piece of tin like a huge nutmeg-grater. The music
was weird, but it just suited the
black men and women
who danced about, chanting wild, strange songs in patois and English. For our
special benefit they
sang, to the
tune of "John Brown's Body," all about "John Brown's
donkey," who "had a red morocco tail, so he could not march
along."
We have left Dominica
and are passing Martinique now. The captain is
running the ship close to shore, so
we can see the ruins of St. Pierre, which was
destroyed by an eruption. We can't see much except a few ruined walls, for the bushes
have grown up and hidden most of the
dust and ashes that covered the
town. Father pointed out Mount Pelee, the
volcano which destroyed the town,
but it doesn't look a bit dangerous now. It is lovely and smooth sailing, for
back of the
islands the
wind cannot roughen the
sea, and it's as calm as a lake, and such a lovely, deep blue color!
This afternoon we reached the capital of Martinique,
Fort de France. It's very Frenchy. Everything is bright-colored and gay, but the streets
are not so clean as in the
English islands. The prettiest part of the town is the savanna with the statue of Empress Josephine in the center. Father told us
she was born on a sugar estate across the harbor, but we did not have time to
go over to see her old home.
We saw a queer old hand-worked
ferry-boat which Valerie snapped, and were sorry we could not play in it, as it
seems just like a little house.
We left Martinique yesterday,
and this morning when we woke up, we found the
ship tied up to the dock at Castries, the
capital of Saint Lucia.
The first things we noticed
were the
huge piles of coal which covered the
docks and almost hid the
little town beyond. It seems that Saint Lucia is most important as a
coaling station and lots of steamers come
here to get coal. We were most interested in watching the people coaling a ship behind ours.
They were nearly all women
and were the
blackest people we have ever seen. Each woman carried a great basket of coal on
her head and hurried from
the
piles up a plank and onto the
ship, where she dumped it into the
bunkers and ran back with the
empty basket for another
load. They worked so fast that they looked
just like a stream of black ants running along the dock and up and down the
gang-planks to the
ship. The men worked hard, too, shoveling the coal from the piles into the baskets, but every one seemed to
enjoy the
work. Once, when there was a moment's pause, one of the
men picked up his shovel and, holding it like a banjo, played tunes upon it
with a bit of coal, while all the women danced about.
We
left St. Lucia
yesterday noon. This morning at sunrise our ship came to anchor at Barbados.
It seemed very low and flat after the
other
islands, for the
highest part is on the
other
side and that's only hilly. We found a beautiful hotel right on a lovely,
white, sandy beach, and we have already spent hours in the
warm, pale blue water and hate to come out and
dress, even to take motor trips over the
island.
There
is a funny little car line that goes right past the
hotel. The people call it a tram line, and the
cars are queer little things drawn by mules. The ladies here, all wear long,
colored chiffon veils to protect their eyes from the dust and the glare of the
sunlight on the white roads.
The
island is so flat and the roads, cut from the lime rock, are so
smooth, that it's fine for driving or motoring about. We went for a long motor
drive and everywhere passed by cane fields with great windmills standing up
against the sky. An object of special interest
was a huge lion carved out of the natural rock
on a high hill. We climbed up on it and had a fine view from
the lion's back.
There
is a beautiful breeze blowing all the time, so
the island is never very hot. All the palms that border the
roads bend the same way, as the
wind always blows from one direction.
The
people here call the island Little England,
and it is no wonder, for the city is very busy
and all the shops are up to date and seem to
have everything one could possibly wish to buy. Father
tells us Barbados is one of the
most thickly populated spots in the world and
that many of the inhabitants have to work hard
to keep from starving. They certainly all seem
to be very busy.
One
of the nicest things we've tasted in the islands are the
flying-fish cutlets here at Barbados. We had
seen flying-fish alive nearly every day, and now we've eaten them,
for they are a national dish at Barbados. Another funny
thing the people eat is the
sea egg, a kind of sea-urchin. Some
boys were gathering them
and they gave us some,
which we cooked on the beach, but we didn't
like them very much, as they
are too salty and sandy.
We
have taken our last bath in the lovely water
this morning, for we are sailing this afternoon. We are really very sorry to
leave, as we've grown to love Little England even in the
short time we've been here. Our next stop will be South America, for we are
going direct from Barbados
to Demerara, in British Guiana.
(To
be continued)
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