This coarse man had before him a black Hercules of a brute who far outweighed and outspanned him. They stared at each other, their hatred undiluted, but the grey-haired blackie displayed no hint of trepidation at what might follow. In the distance his fellow field-workers trudged on towards the village, reluctant to turn their heads for fear of what they might witness. However, not for one moment did I doubt that their pounding hearts were not with their refractory fellow negro, and if I am to be honest I would have to add that theirs were not the only hearts whose sympathies leapt instinctively to this poor unfortunate. And so Mr Brown raised and cracked his cattle-whip, and in a moment down dropped the aged black upon his knees. But still he stared up in defiance, his dark eyes bright in the sun. Stella shook her head and seemed loath to answer my questions as to the cause of this brutality. All I could obtain from her was the intelligence that the black has a history of insubordination, and that massa foolishly seeks to make him more ruly by inflicting stripes. Again the crack as the whip struck the poor wretch, whose very posture made plain that he would sink no further unless the very sky should tumble down upon him. Once again Mr Brown raised the whip in his hand, but the negro, although well acquainted with its weight, steadfastly refused to flinch away. I asked Stella if it was common for Mr Brown to administer such flagellation. Could not one of his white assistants do this with more propriety? Stella answered that, 'Massa like to punish bad niggers himself, den dey know who Buckra be.' I could do no more than nod my head.
I was by now ready to abandon this remedial walk abroad, but Stella insisted that I should see something that might help to revive my ailing spirits. And of course she was correct, for indeed I have never witnessed so picturesque a scene as a negro village. Each house is surrounded by a small garden, and the whole village criss-crossed by miniature lanes bordered with sweet-scented flowering plants. The gardens of the negroes are not like the kitchen-gardens of England, planted with functional, plain vegetables, and the odd shrub of gooseberry or patch of strawberry. No, the negro grows his provisions in his mountain-grounds and harvests them once a fortnight, as I have described. These village gardens are decorative groves of ornament and luxury, and filled with a profusion of fruits which boast all the colours of the rainbow from the deepest purple to the brightest red. If I were to be asked if I should enter life anew as an English labourer or a West Indian slave I should have no hesitation in opting for the latter. It seems to me manifestly worth abandoning the propriety and civility of English life for the pleasant clime of this island and the joyous spirit which abounds upon it. One can always devise ways to feed the intellect, but how many of us neglect the soul, the inner self who too quickly becomes desiccated.
In this country there is scarce any twilight, and in a single moment all nature seems to falter. All nature, that is, apart from the negroes, who take this opportunity to enjoy, under the cover of darkness, their favourite pastime of dancing. It is impossible for words alone to describe what these people achieve with their limbs and faces. To me their movements appeared to be wholly dictated by the caprice of the moment, but Stella informed me that these dances obey regular figures, and that the least mistake, or a single false step, is noticed by the rest. They have dances which represent not only courtship and marriage, but being brought to bed. The musical instruments to which they leap and shake are Ebo drums, whose beat is made more harmonious by the accompaniment of a black who rattles a bladder stuffed with a parcel of pebbles, while yet another holds a piece of board upon which he beats two sticks. The principal part of the music is vocal, with one girl singing a verse and being answered by choral cries. To make out either rhyme or reason was impossible, and Stella seemed loath to offer me assistance. By this I assumed that the songs were about massa, and were perhaps too ironical in tone to be comfortably translated. Such a noise I never did hear. Having begun shortly after sun-down, the blacks, Stella informed me, might continue their revelry until the first peep of day. This being the case it was deemed judicious that I return to the Great House and take my rest.
I tarried a little before leaving, so that I might observe the first part of the negro feast, which is generally roasted upon three cunningly positioned firestones. The blacks choose not to adopt our plates or cups, preferring to hold their victuals in a calabash. This calabash is nothing more than the nut of a tree cut in half and scraped clean, but it would indeed be cruelty, not generosity, to instruct them in the use of more civilized custom, and compel them to set aside that which gives them harmless pleasure. Not for the negro the usual Christian joint of mutton — leg, shoulder or saddle. Their meaty diet is principally pork and bacon, which is a most welcome addition to their mainly farinaceous fare. But on this evening what a spread of ostentatious edibles! Breadfruit was much in evidence, it being a starch vegetable newly landed in these parts by the now infamous Mr Bligh in the hope that its presence might reduce the necessity to consume so much flour. (The English potato appears not to have taken hold here, so our Mr Breadfruit enjoys its ascendancy.) The chunks of sheep's flesh were identifiable by the eccentricity of shapes in which they had been dissected — diamonds, cubes, rhomboids. These were gormandized whole on their appearance, as was the parcel of turn-turn, boiled plantain that had been beaten in a wooden mortar and sculpted into something resembling a pudding.
The chief delights, greeted by the negroes with much bird-like screeching, were the feet and head of numerous hogs, dressed in the following manner. The component parts are cleaned until white, and men boiled in briny water until the meat falls away. Cold lime juice is applied, along with another dose of salt-water, and an abundance of country peppers. This favourite dish is intended to be consumed with cassava bread, and is known all through the region by the name of souse. For my own part I looked on with revulsion as these cannibals clamoured to indulge themselves with this meat, and I wished that with the growth of civilization in the negro, the gorging of such unacceptable swinish parts might soon cease.
As they bolted their food, the only interruption the negroes were prepared to suffer was that which involved the consumption of yet more drink. They grew perceptibly less inhibited as pailfuls of sugar and rum vanished down their throats. Even as I looked on it was clear that many were already overflowing with toothy pleasure. Glassy whites of eyes and grinning grinders shone in the flickering light. It was evident that within the hour there would not be one person, man, woman, or child, young or old, who would not be helplessly drunk. Indeed, even as I moved to depart an old woman stumbled and fell headlong across a bench, crashing to the ground in a manner which would have shocked the delicacy of even the most immodest European on-looker. Stella informed me that such revelry generally terminates in a quarrel, with much brandishing of hands, clamour of the tongue, and violence in the air.