V.
PREPARING for her journey, the young màchanne (marchande) puts
on the poorest and briefest chemise in her possession, and the
most worn of her light calico robes. These are all she wears.
The robe is drawn upward and forward, so as to reach a little
below the knee, and is confined thus by a waist-string, or a long
kerchief bound tightly round the loins. Instead of a Madras or
painted turban-kerchief, she binds a plain mouchoir neatly and
closely about her head; and if her hair be long, it is combed
back and gathered into a loop behind. Then, with a second
mouchoir of coarser quality she makes a pad, or, as she calls it,
tóche, by winding the kerchief round her fingers as you would
coil up a piece of string;—and the soft mass, flattened with a
patting of the hand, is placed upon her head, over the coiffure.
On this the great loaded trait is poised.
She wears no shoes! To wear shoes and do her work swiftly and
well in such a land of mountains would be impossible. She must
climb thousands and descend thousands of feet every day,—march
up and down slopes so steep that the horses of the country all
break down after a few years of similar journeying. The girl
invariably outlasts the horse,—though carrying an equal weight.
Shoes, unless extraordinarily well made, would shift place a
little with every change from ascent to descent, or the reverse,
during the march,—would yield and loosen with the ever-varying
strain,—would compress the toes,—produce corns, bunions, raw
places by rubbing, and soon cripple the porteuse. Remember, she
has to walk perhaps fifty miles between dawn and dark, under a
sun to which a single hour's exposure, without the protection of
an umbrella, is perilous to any European or American—the
terrible sun of the tropics! Sandals are the only conceivable
foot-gear suited to such a calling as hers; but she needs no
sandals: the soles of her feet are toughened so as to feel no
asperities, and present to sharp pebbles a surface at once
yielding and resisting, like a cushion of solid caoutchouc.
Besides her load, she carries only a canvas purse tied to her
girdle on the right side, and on the left a very small bottle of
rum, or white tafia,—usually the latter, because it is so
cheap. … For she may not always find the Gouyave Water to
drink,—the cold clear pure stream conveyed to the fountains of
St. Pierre from the highest
mountains by a beautiful and marvellous
plan of hydraulic engineering: she will have to drink betimes the
common spring-water of the bamboo-fountains on the remoter high-roads;
and this may cause dysentery if swallowed without a spoonful of
spirits. Therefore she never travels without a little liquor.
