CHAPTER VIII
SAVINGS BANKS—KESWICK VIEWS—SPANISH TOWN
I have been interrupted in my writing this morning by listening to a very entertaining conversation going on between two maid-servants, both pure negresses, as to whether pink or blue chiffon would look best in their Sunday hats. The latest fashion is to see smartly-dressed black ladies with well-powdered necks and faces, wearing huge knots of coloured ribbon on the left breast. Everything they can save goes to buy finery. Out of four shillings a week, three are spent on dress, the fourth feeds them. Much is done to induce them to put spare pence into savings banks, which were established as early as 1837, depositors receiving 4½ per cent.; but some years after, a panic ensued, when the secretary of a branch bank committed forgery, and was sentenced to fourteen years’ penal servitude.
In 1870 a Government savings bank supplanted the former; the interest depositors get now is only 2½ per cent. The married negress lawfully regards her deposits as her own special property. That this is a praiseworthy as well as useful institution is proved by the fact that there were on the 31st of March 1900 32,860 depositors, including charities, societies, clubs and public functionaries investing in their official capacities. To assist people to deposit smaller sums, there are now penny banks established in different parts of the island by influential persons and clergymen. In 1897 there were forty-three of these with 11,703 depositors. The currency is the same as in England, but there are nickel pennies in circulation and paper notes for sovereigns. I studiously avoid taking the latter, and insist on English gold: the dirty things are detestable. Yesterday I went into a store at Mandeville to buy some trifle, and I saw two black damsels trying the effect of transparent muslin over their dusky arms; that with the biggest pattern was chosen, it was “preetty fe trew,” they thought.
I am indebted to a Kingston clergyman for many amusing negro stories; having lived here over thirty years he has quite a fine collection. This is one. A negro stood chatting with the blacksmith in his shop. After a while he broke out, “Hi, me smell fire burn!” With a frightful exclamation he gave a jump, and found he had been standing on a piece of iron just out of the fire, but it had taken some time for the heat to penetrate the hoof!
A coloured man wrote thus to a clergyman:—
“Dear Minister,—My mother is dead, and expects to be buried this afternoon at four o’clock. Please come and administer over her remains.”
GARDEN AT MYRTLE BANK HOTEL.
Another story tells of an irreligious young clerk who often teased one of the head men about his piety and church-going. On Monday morning the chaff began as usual.
“You went to church again yesterday, you old rascal.”
“Yes, buckra,” replied he, “me go a church, sah! but de trange ting is me hear ’bout you, sah, during service.”
“Yes, you hear about me, eh!”
“Yes, sah, parson read de word, ‘De fool hat said in his heart dere is no god.’”
One day I read in the newspapers that the Keswick delegates were to give their last service at Kingston, before setting off on an evangelising tour throughout the island.
A fellow-passenger on the Port Antonio said he would like to hear them. We arranged to dine at Myrtle Bank Hotel, and go afterwards to the place of worship where the service was to take place. This hotel has an entrance into it from Harbour Street; the gardens on the other side of the building go down to the water’s edge, and are cool and inviting. Generally a breeze, known as “the doctor,” from the sea is blowing, which makes it deliciously refreshing.
We dined shortly after six, and were whirled in a “’bus” for sixpence to Coke Chapel, a large edifice furnished with galleries. Crowds were fighting to get in. Fortunately, the official black is still imbued with the idea of the superiority of the white people, but how long that will last if the social democrat is allowed to preach the equality of the black with the white, is a question a wiser head than mine may solve. On this occasion, my friend and I were shown with much respect to seats near the pulpit. There were mostly coloured people in our immediate vicinity; a little further away faces of ebony and mahogany made up the rest of the large congregation. All looked serious, expectant, prosperous, too, if one were justified in judging by the clothes they wore. The service began by a hymn, followed by extempore prayer. The singing was congregational and hearty. The blacks love singing hymns; one hears old familiar tunes hummed constantly wherever one goes.
But the addresses were what they all came for. The delegates from Keswick were both good speakers, and they fairly riveted the attention of their hearers. However, a more unpractical Christianity, a more uninviting picture of the religious life as laid down by these Evangelists, it has never been my lot to listen to. Calvin and Knox flourished over three centuries ago. Revivalists nowadays preach on gentler lines.
These childish, ignorant, irresponsible, but happy-hearted children of the South were told that smoking, drinking, card-playing, dancing-parties, love-making, novel-reading, society-going were incompatible with the Christian life. If they wanted to enjoy such things they were imperatively bidden to leave the church. In this instance, that meant membership of nonconformist bodies. I learnt from the local newspapers, which indiscriminately praised the work of the delegates, that they upheld a high standard of spiritual life. It may be so. But of what use is it to describe the unattainable and the impossible, seeing that negro human nature is limited in its perceptions and in its capabilities, and a white man would think twice before he made such wholesale renunciations! The young women present were enjoined to keep themselves to themselves; they were not to seek husbands, the Lord would provide them! What about English church-going spinsters? I wondered. Many of them had not chosen the better part.
That they should not desire to go into society was impressed upon them, since that often led to trouble. To exemplify this teaching the Old Testament story of Dinah as given in Genesis was taken as the text. I have since looked it up. It belongs to the unreadable stories of the Pentateuch, but the gist of it, as presented to the mixed assembly, was, that Dinah, said the preacher, probably like many in front of him, “wanted more society than home afforded, so she called to see the daughters of the land.” Just in the same way they might go to tea at different houses in Kingston. Harm came of it, for she met somebody who got her into trouble, and the end of it was her lover was killed. The moral of the story was obvious. Safety was only to be found in staying at home! Practical persons say the best teaching for these people is that of example. If they see English people live well-ordered lives, they will in time learn to copy them in the same way as they copy English dress. Many of them are really stupid; they seem unable to retain what they hear. A lady tells me that her servants can never repeat the text, nor give a reasonable account of what they have heard at church. She asked a girl who had that day been to Sunday School, it being Whit Sunday:
“Who is the Comforter you heard about?”
The lady who taught the class was the clergyman’s wife.
“Judas Iscariot, missus,” promptly and unabashed came the reply.
And this, she tells me, is a specimen of how they jumble up Bible names and stories. No doubt there is a physiological solution to this muddle-headedness, but it must be particularly trying for those who would like to really improve them.
The next day I went with several people from the hotel to a garden-party at King’s House. The afternoon was very hot; fortunately it became slightly cooler by 4.30: the reception was from half-past four to six o’clock. Their Excellencies received us at the entrance of the gardens. Guests to the number of about one hundred and fifty had arrived; very few government officials were present, and altogether, as a representative gathering of the best people in the island, I admit we did not think much of it. A lady resident told me the cause of so limited a number taking the trouble to come was of course the unpopularity of the lady who presides over the entertaining at King’s House. We chatted to those we knew, strolled about the grounds. The house, which is unpretentious, is situated in a hundred acres, containing some beautiful shrubs and rare plants. Refreshments were served under the trees. It grew dark. We sought our carriage, and returned to the hotel in time to dress for dinner. I was determined to take one expedition into the country before leaving for the islands, so on the Saturday I started from Constant Spring Hotel with a friend by a tram, leaving shortly after six to catch the first train to Spanish Town, from which place we intended to take a carriage to the Rio Cobre. This town, the capital of the Spaniards, was called San Jago de la Vega; it is not particularly interesting. The Governor’s residence was here till quite recently. In the banqueting-hall and ball-room one may picture the scenes which took place in the days of West Indian prosperity at the King’s House in Spanish Town. We found the most interesting object to be the cathedral, where lie interred many early Governors, their wives, and some of the first settlers of the island. The architecture is simple, though varied. The verger, who conducted us to the top of the tower and pointed out the principal objects, was interesting in the fact that he had been born there and evidently loved every stone of the place. He directed our gaze to one of the oldest epitaphs. It ran—
“Here lyeth the body of Dame Elizabeth, the Wife of Sir Thomas Modyfort, Baronet, Governor of his Majesty’s Island of Jamaica, who died the 12th of November 1668 being the 20th year of their happy wedded life.”
A marble statue of Queen Victoria stands in the public Square, and bears the inscription—
VICTORIA
of Great Britain and Ireland
Queen
Empress of India
and of Jamaica Supreme Lady
1837-1901.
We did not go to see the United Fruit Company’s plantation of bananas, oranges and pines, but I believe it well repays a visit, so does the Cayman sugar estate, where some of the best rum is made.
We preferred to take a drive up the Rio Cobre of about nine miles. This is really beautiful; the road winds along the course of the river, and the luxuriant growth on either bank is simply wonderful to a person fresh from home and new to tropical scenery. Huge banana-trees, enormous clumps of bamboo, meet one at every turn in the road. We extracted a good deal of information from our driver, although we could not always understand him. Bare-legged women with skirts tucked up passed us with the inevitable yam-laden basket on their heads, crowned with the hat which was to cover the woolly hair of the lady when she set down her load; one or two begged for quatties, an old Spanish word still used and representing one penny halfpenny in our money. It is not often the natives beg of you, although they will turn round and tell you how much they love you! We had a delightful but very hot day, and did not get back till quite late in the evening. There was one more event which I have to record before closing these pages for a time on Jamaica. This was the opening of a new wing added during the last year to the hotel.
Tourists, apparently, are beginning to make this island into a favourite winter resort, the consequence being that increased accommodation was needed. Elder, Dempster and Co., who own the hotel, were celebrating the event by giving a garden-party. Their agent, Mr Haggart, had arrived. The Governor was expected, and people were arriving in crowds, making a gay picture of the lawns in front of the hotel, where a West Indian band from one of the regiments was playing. It was nearly five o’clock when the gubernatorial party arrived. Their Excellencies were conducted over the new part of the building, afterwards to the new golf links, upon which Sir Augustus played the first round. The most important part of the programme consisted in his speech, in which he formally opened the new wing. He spoke ably, and congratulated the Company on their enterprising spirit, and hoped a new tide of success was about to float the island into a more prosperous condition. Her ladyship stood close by, as he spoke; so did the venerable, but tuft-hunting Delicia, so did the industrious Russian journalist, taking notes the while, but I looked in vain for persons of importance supporting their chief. I wondered where the influential residents, the representatives of the mercantile world, and government officials had betaken themselves to, and enquired of a well-known lady in Kingston the reason of their absence. It was the old story: they preferred to stay away. One felt sorry that things were so. However, the afternoon was very enjoyable. The hotel provided refreshments in the most generous and handsome way. Everyone present could only hope that Jamaica in the near future may be as flourishing as the most sanguine of her boomers could desire.