Limekiller!

Be that as it may: although the boulevard which sweeps along the lower foreshore of King Town, then as now the capital of British Hidalgo, has some time since been renamed ‘'Caribbean Crescent,” hardly anyone ever calls it anything but Artillery. Like Government, it requires no definite article. This road, once the open space of the “quaker cannon” which had frightened off much the smallest squadron of the much-cuckolded king; I disdained to risk the valued vessels of el Rey against so wretched a rabble of heretics and slaves, reported Don Diego; after a long and preoccupied pause, Yo el Rey rewarded this thoughtfulness with a barrel of amontillated sherry which had gone bad in the royal cellars — though at least he did not invite Don Diego to descend and sample on location — this road is planted with palms and jacarandas and palms and casuarinas and palms and more palms; it contains Government House and many fine private residences at one end, and the Chief Minister’s House and many fine private residences at the other; and in between are such edifices as the National Library and Archives, the United Banana Boat Company offices, the two leading hotels and the three leading guest houses (and, since we are on the subject, many fine private residences): also the Public Park, and the Princess Minnie Monument. All these buildings are invariably in as fine a state as paint and labor can keep them in, which is, usually, very fine indeed. From the sea, then, King Town presents a very fine appearance indeed. There is, however, more to King Town than its foreshore buildings and boulevards, however called and however kept. much much more. And not all of this appears quite so fine at all. Perhaps this is inevitable. And perhaps not.

* Lepanto. G.K. Chesterton

A bumboat passed by the Saccharissa, carrying fruit for the South, or Main, Market (the North, or Little, Market was supplied via Cutlass Creek; it was also one of the three places roundabout King Town where the smoking of weed was, if not condoned, tolerated). The bumboatman had opened his mouth for a jovial and innocently obscene greeting, but, suddenly seeing Felix, had left his mouth silent but still open; his eyes moved to Limekiller, expressed appreciation and respect; then he plied his paddle again. There were not many beautiful redheads in King Town.

There were not even many ugly ones.

A full score of vessels were silently swooping out onto the Bay on sails catching the earl)- breeze, hulls catching the early tide, the wings of the morning sails and hulls took. A few although an increasing number of them did have auxiliary engines (an “ox,” it was called), but no true Bavman would use gas when he had a wind or tide. The Saccharissa of course had nothing but her mainsail, her jib, her spare pole, and her paddle. actually, her skiff’s paddle, but kept aboard when the skiff was not in use. As now. The air was grey and moist and cool, so cool that each of the million mosquitoes had his or her head tucked under its wing, so to speak. The sun was so far just an anticipatory smudge on the horizon, but there was light enough.

The Saccharissa was John Lutwidge Limekiller’s boat and Felix Anne Fox wasjohn Lutwidge Limekiller's lady: of course the apos- trophe-s did not imply the same degree of affiliation in each case and so it would probably be much better to say that the Saccharissa wasjohn Lutwidge Limekiller’s boat andjohn Lutwidge Limekiller was Felix Ann Fox’s lover. She had been “settling into” the boat; if she had felt even surprise not to say disappointment that it was absolutely no landlubber’s conception of a yacht, that it had rough and largely unpainted wooden insides (the hull, of course, had to be regularly painted outside. after, of course, having been previously and regularly scraped clean, and caulked), a soggy inner bottom with here and there a small though very real, very alive crab which had come aboard as inadvertent cargo during the vessel’s days as a sandboat; if the total absence of brightwork, if the sanitary conveniences were barely sanitary and certainly inconvenient (consisting of a jury-rigged curtain over the doorless cubbyhold behind which — the curtain — there was a can (not a slang “can,” a real can, though a very large one) with sometimes sand inside, which went over the side — taking very good care it went with and not against the wind — with the rest of its contents; sloshed with sea-water and replaced for next time — if Felix had or had had any qualms about any or all. well, nothing like a complaint had shown.