CHAPTER I
MANDEVILLE—JAMAICA NOT NEAR THE VOLCANOES—BOOKS ON THE WEST INDIES
Mandeville, 1st January 1903.—“Our horizon is not limited by the things of time. The expectation we entertain of a future life tends to make us view things in their true proportion.”
These sentences were uttered last Sunday morning by the Assistant-Bishop of Jamaica at the Parish Church of the little inland town of Mandeville, of which he is also Rector.
The occasion which called forth his eloquent sermon upon the future life was the death of Dr Temple, the late Archbishop of Canterbury.
The choice and scholarly English spoken by the Bishop, together with the breadth of thought which characterised his views, riveted my attention. Looking round at the mixed congregation of whites and blacks, I noted that the preacher had equally gained the attention of the dusky worshippers.
I wondered how much they understood of what he said, and what they really looked for in the life to come, for the creed must be simple if these grown-up children are to learn and digest it. I am told that a place where golden crowns will be placed upon their heads, harps in their hands, if they behave properly, appeals to their imagination, as do white robes to their sense of what constitutes decorous clothing for so great an occasion. One can also imagine that the old-fashioned doctrine of hell-fire would not be without efficacy as a check upon the habits of the black when he inclines to revert to his former type.
Although the negro is naturally argumentative and litigious, it will be many years before his brain adapts itself to the study of the deep things of theological casuistry.
One could scarcely expect him to grapple with the subtleties of the thirty-nine Articles, or, as I have irreverently heard them called, “the forty stripes save one,” in his present evolutionary state of development.
My lot having fallen to me in a house overrun with Americans, the dignified language of that morning’s sermon, and the sonorous tones of the preacher, had come as balm to my afflicted ears.
If the virility, energy, and business capacities of our friends across the Atlantic are of world-wide fame, so, honesty compels me to say, are their bragging and their boasting. When one is the only Briton amongst a crowd of Yankees, the discordant nasal voices in which they discuss food and dollars from morning till night is apt to get on one’s nerves.
However, I did not come to Jamaica to write about Americans. I am glad they visit this island in search of health, and bring their much-prized dollars with them for the good of the Commonwealth.
Two months have scarcely passed since I left my native shores. Hosts of new experiences, fresh sensations and interests have filled up the intervening weeks.
I had intended to write a diary; instead, I have made some progress down that path which is said to be paved with good intentions. They say of the natives of these latitudes that “they were born tired, grew up tired, and have been tired ever since.” I cannot truthfully say that of myself, although the enervating climate tries the strongest when they feel tropical heat for the first time. Energies which were rampant in the temperate zone find the end of their tether very soon under Jamaican skies. Perhaps this is why the island is said to be beneficial to persons suffering from overdone nerves. They must rest in the middle of the day; the heat is too great for any real exertion. I have not had much time to take notes, but as I propose staying four weeks in this quiet spot, I intend to gather together the mental fragments at present lying scattered about in that organ, which, for want of better knowledge, I designate my brain-pan, and piece them together into something which may be of use to people contemplating a visit to Jamaica. And I cannot help thinking if it were more generally known in England how easy it is to take such a trip, and how much there is to reward one for the trouble, many persons would be only too desirous of becoming acquainted with this lovely island.
When I told friends that I intended to visit Jamaica this winter I was amused at the hazy notion prevailing, even amongst the well-educated, not only as to its geographical position, but regarding life in general as it is lived out here.
One lady said to me, “I call it flying in the face of Providence to go so near those horrid volcanoes.” I meekly explained that Jamaica lay several hundred miles away, but she went on to say, “Well! I read in the papers the other day that an American geologist says that the Pelée catastrophe is only the beginning of the end. Sooner or later all the West Indies will go.”
There is no doubt that this feeling exists in some circles in England, and I think the sooner accurate knowledge replaces panic-stricken ignorance the better will it be for the colonists here, and for English people obliged to escape from the rigours of a northern winter.
It is well to know what to see in this part of the world. Several persons have said to me, both in England and in Jamaica, that they could find no guide-book to tell them how to set about taking the trip to the West Indies. I felt this want myself, and enquired at Cook’s office if Herr Bædecker had found his way out here yet. He has not. Nor do I mean to forestall that conscientious and most useful Teuton. Still less do I intend to write a guide-book to Jamaica. All I propose doing is to enlighten intending visitors to these parts as to the best things to see. Very probably the greater part of them will belong to my sex. If they can have patience as I chat about persons, and tell my own experiences in my own way, they may learn things which may prove useful.
So far, I am charmed with the glorious vegetation of the tropics. There are places in this island more enchanting than any descriptions of fairyland ever penned.
Professor Haddon of Cambridge had told me before leaving England that the three most beautiful islands in the world were Java, Ceylon, and Jamaica. Having never been to the east, or nearer the tropics on land than Assouan in Egypt in the northern hemisphere, and Auckland in New Zealand in the southern, my first sight of the exuberance and prolific growth of tropical flora was like the opening of a new and attractive three-volume novel.
I am still at the first volume, and I shall only get to the end of the third when I have explored some of the Blue Mountain scenery, which, being admittedly the best thing in Jamaica, I am, in the spirit of the schoolboy who is promised cake after bread and butter, leaving to the last.
There is one small guide-book to the island which I have found out here, written by an American. It is entitled “Side Trips in Jamaica,” by Mary F. Bradford, Boston and New York, Sherwood Publishing Company, and is already in its third edition. The booklet certainly carries out the object for which it was compiled, namely, to supply the need of a practical guide for tourists. There are a series of trips given for those making only a short tour, and a brief account of the historical and physical features of the island, its agriculture and government. But what is even more useful, it contains reliable information regarding trains, hotels, boarding-houses, distances, and expenses in general.
The books most generally read by visitors to these islands are Kingsley’s “At Last,” and Froude’s “West Indies,” but people find them disappointing, and say the former greatly overrated the islands. Of course, unless one is a naturalist, or, as the Americans designate that calling, a “bug-hunter,” one can scarcely share the ecstasies of an expert in that branch of science. Again in these days of universal travel we cannot all visit at Government Houses, and have horses and carriages placed at our disposal. Here, one is more or less dependent upon one’s own efforts, for there have not been sufficient tourists to these islands to establish any system of coaches, and one must hire one’s own buggy and horse. Moreover, since the West Indies have fallen upon evil times, one hesitates before accepting proffered hospitality. Years ago things were not so; travellers were few and far between, the prosperity of the sugar-planter was proverbial, but the old order has changed owing to the decline of the sugar trade. The spirit may be, and is indeed willing, but the purse-strings are limited.