Jamaica as it is, 1903

by B. Pullen-Burry

It is not inconceivable that the forefathers of these gentlemen, who were so incredibly shocked at the immorality of Jamaica, might have been planters themselves in distant times; and if their lot were cast in such homes as house the peasantry of Jamaica they might not escape that fall which seems the common lot of unregenerated humanity. Let the ardent reformers who advertised the island as a “plague spot,” and who would dragoon this childish race into a code of morality, remember that a great deal is attributable to the cupidity of the white man who violated the principles of humanity to procure the “foul tissue of terrestrial gold.”

The very handsome marble monuments sent out from England, erected to the memory of many of these, adorn the walls of the island churches, and speak from their sacred precincts to the silent observer. Here other than the poetic-minded may gather as he wanders

“Wisdom from the central deep,

And, listening to the inner flow of things,

Speak to the age out of eternity.”

Now, it appears to my limited range of vision that from brute animalism both Church and State, working into each other’s hands, are making the race into useful men and women. They know now something of the sacredness of marriage and family life, as well as of the arts of civilisation. In an interesting article entitled “Among the Jamaican Negroes,” by an American lady, Mrs K. J. Hall, published in the October issue 1902 of a magazine known as The World To-day, the situation is admirably summed up in these words: “Deceitfulness and untruthfulness are the besetting sins of the race, though the educated are bravely struggling with their less enlightened kinsmen. Each year witnesses some forward step taken by these people so lately freed from bondage.”

It was with regret that I took leave of my kind friends at N——, and prepared to extend my journey to the extreme limit of the railway, which ends at Montego Bay, a port on the northern coast. I had first, however, to traverse that part of the island known as the Cockpit Country, parts of which being remarkably beautiful. From an agricultural standpoint, this mountainous stretch is practically useless. Isolated peaks covered with tropical foliage form a background to a vast labyrinth of glades and valleys separating precipitous cliffs. Here and there a few smoother tracts occur, and at other places a whole series of impassable sink-holes, called cockpits, prevent further progress. At the bottom of these deep valleys the inhabitants grow a banana-patch, and very sparsely over this hilly country-side does one catch glimpses of the wattled huts of the blacks. I believe the country has never yet been thoroughly explored; it offers first-rate facilities for a traveller to lose himself in. At the present day it is the home of the Maroons, but these latter have no distinguishing facial characteristics by which to recognise them, the negro type being everywhere predominant. There is very little water in these parts, for the rain is carried off directly by numerous crevices. Springs, long distances apart, form underground water-courses, and, coming to the surface, disappear again. These are sink-holes; they are generally to be found deep down in some valley. The character of the ground around them plainly indicates their existence; but occasionally such openings are to be met with on more level ground, where nothing whatever gives a sign of danger, grass and brush growing over the edge of the aperture and concealing it from observation, until the unwary victim steps unconsciously over the brink of the treacherous chasm, and disappears, to be seen no more. Persons have been known to drop out of life thus into a deep unfathomable grave.

In the south-western part of St Ann’s Parish, which for its exquisite beauty has been called the “Garden of Jamaica,” there is an opening into the subterranean passages amongst the mountains, associated with the most shocking tragedies attended by circumstances of unusual horror. This sink-hole is called “Hutchinson’s Hole.” Near by is the ruined home of the monster, who was at length brought to justice for a whole catalogue of atrocities; it is still known by the name of “Hutchinson’s Tower.” Travellers who sought hospitality at this house, which was miles away from any other habitation, obtained it, but they invariably met with the cruel fate which their host had in reserve for all who approached his domain, their bodies afterwards being thrown down “Hutchinson’s Hole.” At length, being discovered, he fled; the whole country rose up in pursuit. At Old Harbour Hutchinson found a boat, and put off to sea. Lord Rodney was then in command of the fleet at Port Royal; hearing of the miscreant’s flight from justice, he set sail in his own ship, and speedily overhauled the merchantman which had taken the fugitive on board, captured him, and he was afterwards hung at Spanish Town.

The geological explanation is that the foundation of the limestone hills is probably coral reef, the rough country lying between these reefs a formation caused by the sedimentary deposit produced by the action of the sea. After the volcanic upheaval of Jamaica it is thought that these limestone basins gradually found drainage under the surrounding mountains, and this, through successive ages of disintegration, has brought these districts to their present rough almost impassable structure. The railway affords most beautiful views as it curves round the mountains after having skirted, for some miles, the Black River on the level country. After crossing the third bridge, it commences to ascend into this wild and picturesque region. Some of the gradients are very steep, and the curves very sharp; but the views to be obtained from apparently perilous heights into the deep valleys below are well worth the journey.