Our good breeze did not desert us; and rapidly and surely we made way, until we passed over the bar, and entered the harbour of St. John’s. What a busy scene now presented itself to my view; the various ships from England, Scotland, Ireland,[58] and America, distinguished by their several flags; the boats and droughers[59] hurrying backwards and forwards with their loads; whilst the hallooing of the sailors, and the screaming of the negro watermen, conspired to render it the very imagery of discord. The town of St. John’s, with its white houses and green jalousies, lay stretched before us, surmounted by its neat and pretty church; and upon our left the Fort of St. James and Rat Island. While looking at the latter, up went a flag, which, fluttering in the breeze, announced to the good people of St. John’s the arrival of a ship from “_home_” as the Antiguans always call England. Several boats now joined us from the shore, conveying friends to welcome us to Antigua; a harbour-master, (a very agreeable and worthy personage by-the-bye,) to make certain inquiries; custom-house officers, (of a superior class of men to those who board vessels in the Thames, and are so disagreeably distinguished by their undeviating devotion to that herb, which Sir Walter Raleigh, in his excessive overflow of human kindness, is said to have introduced into England,) to see that if you smuggled yourselves on shore, you did not smuggle your goods; and plenty of black boys, to grin and chatter, and get all the biscuit and beef they could. But I must not omit to give a more particular account of the black pilot. A very pompous personage he was, and one who no doubt stood vastly high in his own estimation, as he lent upon the rail of the vessel, with his large straw hat, and gigantic snuff-box, giving orders to the sailors, and in the interim discussing the news of the island. “Hab fine rain last night; you bring good _wedder_—(war for you ’tand staring dere for, you black nigger ?)—yes, feber berry bad last month, many buckra die— (war you go do, run de ship on de shore?)—Crop bery good dis year; ship load fast ’nough—(why you no haul dat rope good?)—Yes, gubbernor bin bery bad; better now tho’.” And thus he ran on, until, the proper place gained, down dropped the ponderous anchor, a boat received us, and in a short time landed us “all well” upon one of the wharfs of Antigua, amid blacks and whites, porters and boatmen, and boys and girls clad “à la Venus.”