Leaving the blacksmith’s shop, we passed the sawpit shed and smaller tank, and the shipwright’s house, and then turning an acute angle, came to a very pleasant residence, occupied by the superintendent of the yard, Mr. Hart. Here I met with some of my favourite lime-trees, their pearly flowers redolent with perfume. Mr. Hart kindly plucked for us some of the golden fruit; and afterwards presented, what was dearer to me, from the recollections they call up, three beautiful roses.[86] I may be laughed at for being so fanciful, but I never see a rose, I never inhale its rich fragrance, without wandering in imagination through the flowery gardens of my own land. “Oh! England, my own dear country! never did one of thy children love thee better than I do! In the midst of sickness, in the midst of suffering—when the fervour of a tropical sun burns through my very frame, and the climate throws its languor around me—my mind still reverts to thy verdant fields, I see again thy hawthorn-hedges with all their snowy blossoms, thy carpeting of lovely lowly flowers,—I breathe thy countless odours,—I hear thy sweet-toned birds, or the soft chime of thy village bells, and feel upon ‘my very cheek thy bland and healthy breeze.’” But to return to Mr. Hart and his roses. I kept them through the hot day, bore them in safety to my home, and they now stand before me. But, alas! their beauty is all gone,—their discoloured leaves seem to mourn their own dishonour; and only that “the scent of the roses hangs round it still,” I should scarcely know what the vase contains. After resting in a cool apartment for some time, and taking a glass of lemonade which Pomona herself would not have refused, the carriage was ordered to the door, and we were in the act of stepping in, when it occurred to us that this was a good opportunity to visit the spot where Lieut. Peterson received his death wound. I have already mentioned, in the historical part of this work, this unfortunate incident, but, with the permission of my readers, I must again allude to it. At the time of the occurrence, Lord Camelford commanded the “Favourite,” sloop of war, and Commodore Fahie the ship “Perdrix,” Mr. Peterson holding the rank of first lieutenant on board the last-named vessel. Commodore Fahie had left Antigua a short time before, to take temporary command of the fleet, then anchored before St. Kitts,[87] and during his absence, Lieutenant Peterson was, of course, left in command of the “Perdrix.” It was the custom, in those troubled days of warfare, for boats to row backwards and forwards across the harbour during the hours of night, the sailors of the different ships in the dock, headed by one of their officers, taking it by turns to keep this watch; and the sleeper might often be roused from his dreams as the deep-toned _all’s well_ resounded through the still night air.