lime juice and syrup from the boiler which, though sweet, has still the flavour of the cane. The men mixed this with a small quantity of rum, but I was led to believe that this practice was something from which ladies should refrain. This beveridge was presented to us in a crystal cup lidded with silver. Along with this beveridge we had thrust upon us baskets of fruit from which, according to our physician's maxim, one should eat as much as possible since 'fruit never hurts'. Next we had trolleyed before us ham, eggs, and various breads, the favourite of which was the cassava bread. The cassava is best described as a fleshy root, the sweet variety of which is used for food. One must take care not to consume the cassava water, or juice, for it is poisonous, but the body, having been dried and baked on thick iron plates, is both wholesome and palatable. We swilled down this noonday extravagance with tea, for coffee and chocolate are deemed too heavy to be taken under the vertical rays of the mid-day sun. We then consumed a little punch, which consisted of Madeira, port and claret. Mr McDonald also took the opportunity to sup a little Bristol beer, while his guest partook of all in moderation. Perhaps I should take this opportunity of introducing our third member, for he was to play a major role in our drama.
Mr Rogers arrived in a light carriage, together with Mr McDonald. I happened to be engaged in my bed-chamber, so Stella ushered them onto the piazza for drinks. My first impression upon joining them there and casting eyes on this new guest was to note how florid and healthy was our physician, a fact I had not considered until confronted with someone against
whom I might set him. Mr Rogers is a slight man who looks as though his fifteen-year sojourn in this climate has made inroads into the health of his constitution. On my presenting myself he stood, bowed graciously as one might expect of a churchman, and after some sharp colloquy we three decided to repair immediately to our table. As we did so I noted that Mr Rogers has a tendency to cough, and he peppers his words with this dry ailment. In his case he could wish for no more suitable companion than a physician.
Mr McDonald is the dominant of the two men. Almost before we had found our seats, and begun to sup the beveridge, he asked after the whereabouts of Mr Brown. I said that I assumed Mr Brown to be out in the fields. I quickly seized this opportunity to pursue the question of Mr Wilson, directing my enquiries towards our new guest. My past gambits on this subject had been effectively countered by Mr McDonald with evasiveness and some outward signs of discomfort. For his part Mr Rogers simply shook his head and confessed that some not inconsiderable time had passed since Mr Wilson had taken up residence on a neighbouring island. Unless my eyes deceived me I felt sure that I detected a knowing glance, perhaps even a reproving one, pass from Mr McDonald to the other. Possibly to avoid Mr Rogers stumbling into waters from which he would prefer his friend to steer clear, Mr McDonald took the initiative and commenced a solo rendition of his feelings about the deficiencies of absentee planters, and those they leave in charge of their fortunes.
Mr McDonald contrasted the use of the phrase 'at home', when applied by the English expatriate, with its use by the French. For the former, he always means England, but the Frenchman will determine that his island is his 'home', which naturally results in his making a greater effort to ensure its moral and social survival. The English planters look upon these islands as colonies to which they are exiled for a certain period, places containing their properties, and therefore of the greatest consequence to them, but very few expect to die on these
tropical estates. Those who have troubled to bestir themselves all look forward to spending their last years in the land of their birth. They never see, or inhale the fragrance of, a creole
Mr Rogers arrived in a light carriage, together with Mr McDonald. I happened to be engaged in my bed-chamber, so Stella ushered them onto the piazza for drinks. My first impression upon joining them there and casting eyes on this new guest was to note how florid and healthy was our physician, a fact I had not considered until confronted with someone against
whom I might set him. Mr Rogers is a slight man who looks as though his fifteen-year sojourn in this climate has made inroads into the health of his constitution. On my presenting myself he stood, bowed graciously as one might expect of a churchman, and after some sharp colloquy we three decided to repair immediately to our table. As we did so I noted that Mr Rogers has a tendency to cough, and he peppers his words with this dry ailment. In his case he could wish for no more suitable companion than a physician.
Mr McDonald is the dominant of the two men. Almost before we had found our seats, and begun to sup the beveridge, he asked after the whereabouts of Mr Brown. I said that I assumed Mr Brown to be out in the fields. I quickly seized this opportunity to pursue the question of Mr Wilson, directing my enquiries towards our new guest. My past gambits on this subject had been effectively countered by Mr McDonald with evasiveness and some outward signs of discomfort. For his part Mr Rogers simply shook his head and confessed that some not inconsiderable time had passed since Mr Wilson had taken up residence on a neighbouring island. Unless my eyes deceived me I felt sure that I detected a knowing glance, perhaps even a reproving one, pass from Mr McDonald to the other. Possibly to avoid Mr Rogers stumbling into waters from which he would prefer his friend to steer clear, Mr McDonald took the initiative and commenced a solo rendition of his feelings about the deficiencies of absentee planters, and those they leave in charge of their fortunes.
Mr McDonald contrasted the use of the phrase 'at home', when applied by the English expatriate, with its use by the French. For the former, he always means England, but the Frenchman will determine that his island is his 'home', which naturally results in his making a greater effort to ensure its moral and social survival. The English planters look upon these islands as colonies to which they are exiled for a certain period, places containing their properties, and therefore of the greatest consequence to them, but very few expect to die on these
tropical estates. Those who have troubled to bestir themselves all look forward to spending their last years in the land of their birth. They never see, or inhale the fragrance of, a creole
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