THE ROYAL MAIL COMPANY—THE “MUMPISH MELANCHOLY” OF JAMAICA
It was on the 2nd of December, 1902, that I left Kingston for my trip
to some of the islands in the Caribbean Sea, in company with a couple
of fellow-passengers who had journeyed out with me from England in the
_Port Antonio_. In answer to my enquiries, the only feasible thing,
apparently, to do was to travel by the Royal Mail Steam Packet Company as
far as Trinidad, there to be trans-shipped into a smaller steamer of that
Company, which takes cargo and distributes the English mails fortnightly,
in connection with the outcoming steamers from Southampton as far as the
Danish island of St Thomas. To my disappointment, I learnt that I should
have to return by the same route to Jamaica, instead of making a circuit
and visiting Porto Rico, as I had hoped to do.
No regular communication exists between St Thomas and Jamaica excepting
that of the Royal Mail Company, although I might have accomplished what
I desired had I remained on at St Thomas, and taken the first chance
steamer, sloop, or schooner, bound for Porto Rico, and so on to Jamaica.
But I felt this was too indefinite and scarcely good enough, St Thomas
being neither very remarkable nor possessing good accommodation. As it
turned out, I was not sorry to revisit most of the islands, especially
those of Martinique and St Vincent, Dominica and St Lucia, the two
latter being by far the most beautiful; and I was glad to have a chance
of seeing the volcanoes twice over to impress my memory with their
awe-inspiring and fearful aspect.
It is well to know what to do and what not to do in the West Indies.
Although many, like myself, would be naturally desirous to see Nature
active in her volcanic haunts—for, apparently, as Jamaica is the natural
habitat of the sugar-cane, so the Caribbean Sea is specially marked out
for these fiery outpourings of Vulcan—I cannot recommend them to follow
in my footsteps, if they value comfort in the smallest degree.
In my case it was Hobson’s choice. At the office of the Royal Mail
Company at Kingston there was a vague talk of tourist ships, later on,
being specially run to do this trip; but as no date could be given of
their probable departure, or certainty entertained as to whether they
would run at all, I resolved to travel by the s.s. _Para_. The cost of my
ticket was £24; this was at the rate of £1 a day, for I expected to be in
Jamaica again before the close of 1902. At the back of this ticket was
written “with tourist privileges.” What those were I have yet to learn,
for a more uncomfortable journey I never experienced than the fortnight
I spent in this Company’s steamer, the _E——_. You are unfailingly
reminded by its officers that the R.M.S. was incorporated by Royal
Charter 1839, and since then has had the monopoly of trade with the West
Indies, and you as often mentally wonder why they are letting such a good
thing slip through incompetent management. The very mention, even, of the
Direct Company’s name has, in some instances on board these steamers,
been like a red rag to a bull.
Since, however, I made my journey to the volcanoes a new manager has come
upon the scene. Things are changing, and one is glad to hear of a regular
overhauling of both offices at home and ships at sea.
Personally, I never heard so much grumbling at sea in my life as I have
from passengers travelling in these regions. Perhaps the heat makes them
unwarrantably irritable. The prohibitive charges on freight have for
years operated as the great hindrance to the development of the resources
of the islands. Indeed, in the interests of the Company, it is well that
things are being looked into.
The late manager of the Royal Mail Company was an admiral of the British
navy, of whom many stories are afloat, showing that he was fearfully
and wonderfully made to hold such an important post. Probably the man
was an expert on shipbuilding and seamanship; most likely there his
qualifications ended. For a purely mercantile undertaking, one cannot
suppose a retired admiral would possess sufficient commercial experience
to warrant his efficiency as manager. My own knowledge of naval men
would incline me to the belief that they would rather laugh to scorn all
suggestions of financial retrenchment.
There may be, however, some adventurous spirits, who, in the face of
discomfort, will want once in their lives to visit these historical
islands, and, however they go, they must trans-ship at Trinidad or
Barbadoes, as I did, into the smaller ships of this Company. Of course
they can go by Dr Lunn’s tourist parties, but everybody does not care to
visit places in gangs.
The _Para_ is a comfortable, steady ship, notwithstanding her venerable
age. The _Trent_, with her sister-ship the _Tagus_, are very handsomely
appointed vessels of modern construction, carrying good cooks.
We had a lovely run in the _Para_ from Kingston to Trinidad; it took
three days. We saw no land until we approached the Bocas, the two
entrances into the Gulf of Paria, the Dragon’s Mouth, and the Serpent’s
Mouth. This gulf is a shallow lake, and forms a harbour of enormous size,
where ships of every nation, almost, ride at anchor.
We arrived at sunset, and the sky was a lovely rosy pink. The purple
mountains of the island ranges, nearly two thousand feet high, divided
the vast expanse of the heavens from the crimson waters of the harbour,
lazily lapping the quay-sides of Port of Spain. Trinidad, discovered
also by Columbus, is very hot and very prosperous. It belonged to the
Spaniards till 1797, since which time it has belonged to us. Cocoa
plantations flourish, and the Lake of Pitch is—and, I presume, will be
for years to come—a magnificent source of never-failing wealth. From it
large quantities of asphaltum are taken and exported.
Charles Kingsley raves over this home of tropical verdure, but I am not a
naturalist, nor do I stay at Government Houses.
I found Trinidad the most trying place of any in the West Indies. The
mosquitoes are positively unbearable; no part of your person is sacred
from their nomadic and predatory excursions. Kickshaws, in the way of
lace-trimmed parasols, will not suffice you for the sun, however festive
the occasion may be to call forth dainty sunshades. Be advised in time:
fling appearances to the four winds of heaven, sally forth in the largest
of shady hats, carry the largest umbrella you can find, but go not into
the streets shopping, or otherwise, without a waterproof, for the rains
are characterised by a ferocity in their down-pouring unknown in other
climes. Take also a fan to withstand the heat, which is ever present, and
a never-ceasing hindrance to personal enjoyment.
Everybody drives the smallest distances, but there are times when,
encumbered with these three indispensable articles in overpowering
heat (you may perhaps have to traverse a hundred yards, as from the
landing-quay to the Royal Mail Company’s Offices) when life is not worth
living, unless you are a person of exceptionable amiability.
Most of the visitors to Port of Spain contented themselves with lolling
round on “rockers” on the verandah of the largest hotel, called Queen’s
Park Hotel, where the rooms are airy and spacious, but the food is not
always to be trusted. It looks out on to the savannah, a circular, fairly
level tract of grass, round which an electric tram whirls the inhabitants
of an evening for a breath of fresh air.
What really interested me was the beautiful Botanical Garden, containing
a library and fine herbarium. Here, indeed, the wonderful parasitical
growth on leviathan trees is simply astounding. If you wish to obtain
orchids and other rare botanical plants apply to the Superintendent.
I went twice with friends to these gardens; each time I was quite
fascinated in watching the “parasol” ants hurrying to and fro in
countless well-worn tracks, sometimes crossing our path, sometimes
alongside of us carrying pieces of green leaf, frequently as large as
a shilling. It was quite a green procession; they each kept to their
appointed side of the path, those who had deposited their green burdens
returning on the other side in search of fresh “parasols.” Policemen
regulating traffic in our London streets could not have done the thing in
better style. If the hot, moist heat made us resemble the sluggard, we
had not far to go to learn industry from these skurrying little insects,
whose ways are past finding out. We were cautioned not to try to pursue
their tracks, which wind incredibly long distances among the undergrowth
on either side of the paths, scorpions being not infrequently met with.
On the voyage to Trinidad I met some Cambridge acquaintances, people who
had been on the _Para_ throughout the voyage from England. They had
landed both at Cartagena and at Colon, on the coast of Central America,
and gave graphic accounts of the horrors of the civil war which has
raged in Columbia these three years past. They were at Colon before
peace was concluded, and it was pitiable to hear of the condition of the
soldiers, mostly boys of enfeebled physique and stunted growth, scarcely
strong enough to carry the old-fashioned guns given them. All looked
starved, with an expression of utter despair imprinted on their woebegone
countenances. A lady told me she collected bread from the ships and
handed it to them on the quay. The wretched youths fought over it as dogs
for a bone; but a frozen sheep was given to them from one of the vessels
lying alongside, which they tore into pieces amongst themselves, eating
it raw.
Their women followed them to war; without their inciting them to fight, I
am told, the Columbians would scarcely attempt to defend themselves. But
when once roused, they fight like diminutive devils! The women too, on
one occasion, rushed a bridge, and took it during the last war. The most
horrible thing I heard about them was that they had no ambulance, and no
doctors!
Whilst I was in the Caribbean Sea, Hayti was in a disturbed state, Cuba
in a transitional condition, erupting volcanoes destroying whole cities,
as at Martinique and in Guatemala. The Columbian Republic was resting
out of sheer exhaustion from further civil warfare, whilst her neighbour
Venezuela was in the throes of political revolution, figuratively torn
in pieces by her rival presidents and her offended European debtors.
Possibly times in the West Indies are bad for those who have put their
trust in sugar, but life and property are safe under British rule. No one
need starve unless he be irredeemably idle. If big fortunes are no longer
attainable, still there is no need for the “mumpish melancholy,” so well
described by the Hon. S. Ollivier, Acting-Governor of Jamaica. He says:
“I have observed that, as a people, we have a habit of being rather sorry
for ourselves. We have not the cheerfulness of the Barbadian. On the
other hand, our depression makes us mumpish and melancholy rather than
vicious and violent. We overdo our talk of depression, we overdo our talk
of the extravagancies of the Government, of the superfluity of our public
officials. Our visitors take for public gospel what we promulgate for
private consumption.”
To return to my journey to Trinidad on the _Para_. About thirty-five
persons belonging to an English Opera Company were journeying to
Trinidad. They had previously been playing in Kingston, and had been not
only to all our colonies, but recently had been touring up the western
coast of South America. I gathered they had had splendid houses in most
of the large towns, such as Valparaiso, Santiago, and Lima, though the
artistes with whom I conversed declared that the heat and the indifferent
food they had had put before them, though taken to the best hotels, had
been most trying to their health. The poor things looked terribly worn,
and evidently made the most of the rest of the three days’ sea-voyage
before performing again at Port of Spain. They had about thirty plays
in their _repertoire_, which included all the best known pieces and the
most popular, such as _The Geisha_, _The Shop Girl_, etc. I met them on
the return journey a fortnight later, returning _viâ_ Kingston _en route_
for Bermuda, Halifax, Nova Scotia, and St John’s, Newfoundland. I mention
having met these strolling players, because I think that many of one’s
friends in the British Isles would have no notion that the inhabitants
of such distant countries had an opportunity of ever becoming acquainted
with the well-known airs of Sullivan and other popular composers. Without
belittling or depreciating our well-meaning but somewhat ignorant
dwellers at home, it is well for us to wake up from insular habits of
thinking, and to discover that outside our particular zone of influence
civilised life is throbbing. In every sphere of labour men are searching
for better methods, and, as in America, are not satisfied until they get
them. We need to keep our eyes open if we would not lose our place in
the world’s history! Conservatism such as ours does not reign in regions
where dollars are plentiful, and where men are not fettered by the
traditions of the past.
It was late on Friday night, 5th December, when we were trans-shipped
into the inter-colonial boat, the _E——_.
I have previously stated that Barbadoes has hitherto been the
meeting-place of the outcoming steamer and of the three smaller ships,
whose mission it is to distribute the mails on three distinct routes.
The _E——_ was bound for the islands as far as St Thomas, the _Solent_ for
La Guayra on the Venezuelan Coast, whilst the third steamer was setting
off for Grenada and Tobago.