with his name. He was a gallant soldier, which is no great matter; but, as Mr. Edwards says, “he was one of the very few Castilians, who, amidst all the horrors of bloodshed and infectious rapine, were distinguished for generosity and humanity." Ferdinand had bestowed the government of Jamaica, in spite of the decision given against his Majesty by the Council of the Indies, on Alonzo de Ojeda, who was on his departure for the continent of America, from Hispaniola, when Diego Columbus was sending Juan de Esquivel thence to Jamaica. "Ojeda violently opposed the intended expedition of Esquivel, and publicly threatened that if he should find him at Jamaica on his return from the continent, he would hang him up as a rebel. Ojeda's voyage was unfortunate: after sustaining a series of unexampled calamities, he was shipwrecked on the coast of Cuba, and was in danger of perishing miserably for want of food. In this distress he called to mind that Esquivel was in Jamaica, and he was now reduced to the sad extremity of imploring succour from the very man whose destruction he had meditated: but the magnanimous Esquivel was no sooner made acquainted with the sufferings

of his enemy, than he forgot his resentment. He immediately sent over to Cuba, Pedro de Narvaez, an officer of rank, to conduct Ojeda to Jamaica. Esquivel received him with the tenderest sympathy, treated him during his stay with every possible mark of distinction. and respect, and provided him with the means of a speedy and safe conveyance to Hispaniola." "The Spanish historians," he adds, "bear a most honourable testimony to his virtuous and gentle administration. He brought the natives to submission without any effusion of blood." And again: "Esquivel alone seems to have been sensible of the abominable wickedness of visiting distant lands only to desolate them, and of converting the Indians to Christianity by cutting their throats. How many noble qualities in some of his cotemporaries were tarnished by cruelty and rapine, or unhappily blended with a misguided and frantic zeal for religion, that rendered their possessors still more remorseless and savage!"†

So much for Don Juan de Esquivel. The Indians of the present day (the negroes) are

• B. Edwards: third edit. vol. i. p. 163.

+ B. Edwards: third edit. vol. i.

to be converted to Christianity, according to the planters' ideas and expectations, by cutting the throats of the whites; and as for misguided and frantic zeal for religion, which renders reformers remorseless and savage, I fear there is but one opinion on the subject, and that not a pleasant one, certainly not flattering to the Quakers or the schismatics.

P

CHAPTER XXVIII.

MR. Mathews had met me at Old Harbour, and accompanied me part of my way on the road to St. Jago de la Vega, commonly called Spanish Town. Diana rode with us; and whether he seriously objected to her company on such an occasion, or whether he thought by retiring to find an opportunity for raising a laugh against me on her account, or whatever his motive might be, he begged leave to ride on in advance, promising to meet me again in town, and conduct me to the Pen of Mr. F, two or three miles farther on the Rio Cobre. As we approached the town, Diana expressed an inclination also to take her own course, lest her presence in my suite might draw the attention of the inhabitants to both of us. I must own my figure would have made a droll caricature in London, and

it was a little ludicrous here, sufficient perhaps of itself to attract the gaze of the multitude; for, as I described before, I was arrayed, for coolness, in white from head to foot, my coat even being of so light a grey that it might pass for part of the skin of of the skin of my white charger. My face also, in spite of the heat, was as white as a turnip, from my illness, which had so depilated me, that I had recourse to a close tonsure to prevent my hair falling off; and my great hat becoming thus too capacious for my diminished head, dropped over my eyes and ears, and hung on my cranium like Mambrino's helmet on that of Don Quixote. Scarcely had I come in sight of the houses, before I saw a negro running at some distance before me, frequently looking back and making some remark to every one he met, which instantly turned the eyes of every creature towards us. As we passed along, the beholders stopped to gaze, some seriously, others laughed. I examined myself from head to foot, criticised my own figure, Diana's, Ebenezer's, and Abdallah's,-still I was at a loss. I rode along, however, towards the square where the king's house stands, meaning to take a look at it en passant, as I should