CHAPTER VIII.

THE heat is here at seventy degrees of Fahrenheit's thermometer-a delicious temperature, and there are no musquitos. I found a blanket very comfortable at night, and the morning was infinitely cooler than on the sea side. Port wine does not taste amiss in these regions, though it is generally called physic in other parts of the island. I drank a good libation of it last night, by a fire-side. Here are several sorts of humming-birds, and the doctor-bird, or robin, having a green body with a red throat. As for the ring-tail pigeons, they reminded me of the ring-doves of England, and seemed to be almost the same species; and though they are esteemed as the greatest possible delicacy, I was not epicure enough to find any superiority in them.

I find that considerable apprehensions have

been entertained respecting the discontents of the negroes, and a report has arrived here of insurrections in Saint Mary's. Every thing is attributed, right or wrong, to the Saints (as they are called) in England, and their interference with the concerns of the proprietors in Jamaica has certainly excited a feeling of the greatest indignation. My host is a great advocate for the Moravians, but almost enraged against the missionaries of the Methodists, who, he says, in point of practice, act in direct opposition to the others. The first are peaceable, moral, industrious, pains-taking people in their vocations; the latter, cunning, intriguing, meddling, fanatical, hypocritical, canting knaves, cajoling the poor negroes (who listen to them in fear and trembling) of all their little savings and every species of property they can amass, under the pretence of saving them from the Devil and everlasting damnation. Such influence have their preposterous doctrines on the minds of some of the poor creatures in the towns, that they have been actually driven into madness by brooding over the terrors with which the preachers have inspired them; and not a few have destroyed themselves under the appre

hension of destruction, like the poor bird that flies into the poisonous mouth of the rattlesnake, under the influence of its fatal fascination. This fanatical phrenzy has, in some cases, taken a turn ludicrously horrible, leading its victims into excesses, which, except on a plea of insanity, might be construed into blasphemy. I should be almost afraid to relate them, but for a sincere love of truth, and a wish to expose the inefficacy of extravagant doctrines or declamations.

A negro-man, named Schweppes or Swipes, to which his comrades have added the appellation of Saint, took it into his head to poison a preacher at Montego Bay. He but half killed the poor creature, who discovered the nature of the poison in time to prevent its fatal effects, though it is more than probable he will never recover his former health. The maniac did not attempt to conceal the crime, or to escape, but argued that the spirit moved him to kill Massa Parson. He affirmed that the preacher always said, "he longed to lay down his burden; to quit this mortal life; to go to Abraham's bosom, to the bosom of his Saviour, to glory," and so forth,—and he, Swipes (whose brain was turned topsy-turvy)

out of good-will and love, wished to help him to heaven and glory, for which he was so anxious. There was so much method in his madness, that it was resolved he should be put on his trial; and several persons intimating to him that he would probably be hanged, he had wit enough to make his escape from jail, and run off into the woods, where he concealed himself for some time from the observation of the whites, although many of the blacks were well acquainted with the place of his retreat. At last, two gentlemen, in the pursuit of wild hogs, penetrated unconsciously. and by mere accident to a little open spot in the midst of the woods, where, beside a small hut, with a fire still smoking in it, they found a cross or a crucifix (as it bore something intended for an effigy on it) and caught there a runaway negro. They thought and hoped it was Mr. Swipes; but here they were deceived; the prisoner proved to be only a disciple of the saint, and being brought down to the bay or town, related many particulars of his patron's present mode of life. It seems he has often an attendance of negroes to hear him preach, to whom he has the assurance to communicate the sacrament of the

Lord's Supper; but as he can get no wine, he distributes rum and sometimes porter, and roasted plantains and cocos for bread. The figure on the crucifix is meant for the worshipful Mr. W and is made out of an old black coat, with a calabash tied to the cross for his head, on which a nose and eyes are scratched with charcoal. He would fain call himself Saint John, and eats soldiers and crawfish, which he calls lobsters, meaning, I suppose, locusts; and stolen molasses serve him for wild honey; though he might find an abundance of that in the woods, if he thought fit to search. He and his companions sitround the effigy of Saint Wilforce, as they call it, and smoke their jonkas, or pipes about two inches long, until the evening closes in, when they are greeted with the company of their wives or sweethearts, and a ceremony similar to the American love-feasts is performed in the dark, or by the blinker light of the dying embers.

This fanatical rascal has really great power over the minds of the negroes, which is, however, moderated by the efforts of an Obeah

⚫ Cancer Diogenes, Hermit Crab.