The climate of this the largest of the islands of the West Indies, was
as perfect as climate can be. The heat was, of course, tropical; but
that was tempered by sea-breezes forever blowing from one direction or
another, and as the island is not too mountainous to obstruct these
breezes, one can always find relief from the warmth of the sunshine.
The streets, where the best shops are located, are a busy sight, indeed,
especially during tourists’ season, when crowds of visitors are eagerly
selecting souvenirs for home-friends. These tradesmen consider a buyer,
who does not bargain for his purchase, a brainless creature to be
despised. In fact, one must offer the merchant just about one quarter of
the price asked first if he wishes to win esteem and admiration from the
native. Many times a buyer secures reverence if he turns and pretends to
walk out of the booth, and then pauses to listen to the beseeching
salesman to turn and take the desirable article at his own figure!
As the ladies in Mr. Dalken’s party sauntered from one shop to another,
enjoying the unusual fun of driving hard bargains (as the proprietor of
the hotel had warned them to do) the men attended stalls where they
purchased native hats, curios, and walking sticks or umbrellas with odd
handles and of splendid workmanship.
They finally wound up in the market place, but it was too late in the
day to witness the thrill and thrall of marketing as is seen in the
early mornings. Mr. Dalken learned that on Saturdays the country people
foregathered in the great market to sell their produce and invest the
returns in their own needs. The man added with a smile at the ladies:
“If you visit here on Sata’day, better wear a big bunch of strong
scented flowers directly under your nose. The smells of the crowded
stalls and the decaying fruit or vegetables, to say nothing of fowl and
fish spread out on boards in the heat to attract the buyers but the
flies as well, will not be the pleasantest scent to get.”
“I should say it will be as well to keep away from such a powerful
combined odor, eh?” was Mr. Dalken’s smiling answer.
“But the sight is well worth the insult to the other sense,” retorted
the man who had a sense of humor as well as wit.
“Thank you for the suggestions. If we are still in the town we will call
again,” returned Mr. Dalken, lifting his hat and turning to leave the
market place.
That afternoon the tourists returned to the hotel laden with purchases.
Not only were the ladies almost bankrupt from spending money on
hand-embroidered undergarments and basketwork ornaments, but they also
had been lured into buying savage designs of jewelry and art objects.
The men bought ebony paper cutters, desk outfits, wonderful whips made
from lace-bark, and even fishing-rods made of bamboo, with marvelous
handles mounted on a shark’s backbone. Some of the rods had handles of
sandalwood, and were genuine curios in carvings.
At dinner that evening the hotel manager came over to Mr. Dalken’s table
and introduced himself.
“I wish to invite you to a reception given this evening at Government
House. My guests are always welcome at these entertainments; there you
will meet our Jamaican society.”
Mr. Dalken thanked the host and said: “I am sure we appreciate your
hospitable invitation. If the ladies wish to go we shall enjoy the
reception.”
Naturally the ladies voted to go, and this necessitated a return trip to
the yacht in order to dress for the evening. They had heard how
particular were the aspirants to social favor, as regards the demands of
proper dress at all functions. Therefore Mr. Dalken chartered a car and
soon had his guests back at the quay and on board his yacht where they
hurriedly arrayed themselves in evening clothes.
At the reception that evening the Americans found a mixed society.
Military, civic officialdom, and those who could be classed with the
Dalken group. Dress was a very important item in this gathering, and
every lady present, be she pure white, milk-white (which really showed
she was an octoroon) or yellow, flaunted the most gorgeous gowns. Many
dresses could claim Parisian birth, and others came from the best Fifth
Avenue shops in New York City. The females in the yacht party now saw
the very latest ideas in style, and they were honestly amazed at such a
revelation. Later they heard that style and display of their clothes
constituted the main interest in life for the Kingston society ladies.
Dancing is the favorite amusement of the Jamaicans, and they take
advantage of every opportunity to dance, morning, noon, or night. Hence
a reception of such importance as one at Government House provides a
great opportunity for dancing. The younger members in Mr. Dalken’s party
found all the dancing they could stand at that time. Even the elder
members were lured into dancing several seductive waltzes that evening,
and Polly saw for the first time what a graceful and admirable pair Mrs.
Courtney and Mr. Dalken made as dancing partners.
While they waited for the automobile which had been engaged for the
evening, Polly whispered to Eleanor: “Haven’t you noticed how Dalky has
bloomed since that blight of Elizabeth has been removed?”
“Yes, indeed! And I’m glad of it. Her reckless running away with those
horrid persons that night really turned out to be the very best thing
for our Dalky in the end. Now he can enjoy himself to his heart’s
content without being spied upon,” said Eleanor.
The ladies were now crowded into the automobile, while the men went to
the tram to ride as far as it carried them in the direction of the
Spring Hotel. The air was cool and refreshing during the night, and the
dancing had not caused any one to feel too tired or languid, as might
have been expected in such a climate.
A good sleep at night and a refreshing bath with a fine breakfast in the
morning, brought forth eager and energetic tourists in Mr. Dalken’s
party that next morning.
“Well, what is on the bill for to-day?” demanded Jack, eagerly.
“You sound as if you knew of something,” countered Polly.
“I do. I heard of it last night from one of the officers in the Army. Do
you want to hear it?”
Of course they wanted to hear it. But it was far different than anything
they expected to hear.
“There is a trial in the Court House this morning at ten, of a young man
who helped himself to a stick of sweets on sale by a street peddler, of
which class Kingston is full and overflowing. The lieutenant is called
upon as a witness of the theft, and the brown policeman who caught the
fellow red-handed, is going to make the most of his claim to promotion
on the force. I hear it will be as good as any vaudeville show in the
city,” explained Jack.
“It seems a pity to waste a fine morning in an ill-smelling courtroom,
when there are so many other interesting things to do,” argued Mr.
Fabian, whose artistic instincts rebelled against a court scene as an
amusement.
“Oh, I’d love to witness such a scene,” declared Eleanor, glancing at
her girl-friends to see what they thought about it.
“Supposing you folks—all who wish to—go on a drive all about the
country, while we youngsters attend court,” ventured Ray.
“If I thought we could trust the girls to you two scapegraces in such a
place as a Kingston Court House, I’d accept the suggestion,” returned
Mr. Dalken.
“I’ll go with the girls to the court, and you all can go for a
sight-seeing trip,” offered Mrs. Courtney.
“Would you really care to sit out a court trial?” asked Mrs. Fabian,
sympathetically for her friend.
“I think I’d prefer to be amused this morning instead of sight-seeing
around the country,” answered Mrs. Courtney.
So it was hastily decided that the young people, chaperoned by Mrs.
Courtney, were to attend court, while Mr. Dalken took his friends on a
tram ride out into the open country of Jamaica.
Jack acted as official pilot of the contingent for the court house; as
they came near the entrance door they found a crowd of all sorts of
people waiting to see justice administered.
Inside, the good-looking young lieutenant was introduced to Jack’s
party, and then he found seats in a desirable row where every incident
could be seen, yet they would not be elbowed by the motley gathering.
The court room was nothing more than a large room with a raised platform
at one end. Rude wooden benches were placed in rows for the
accommodation of the audience and those who would have to report when
their names were called from the roll in the clerk’s hands.
Upon the platform was the judge. He sat in an old swivel chair behind a
table, and every now or then he leaned back in weary listlessness, but
just as surely as he tilted back a bit too far, the treacherous pivot
would squeak and the chair went back, being kept from over-turning by
the clutch in the swivel. At these tilts the judge would throw out both
arms and yank his body upright in order to regain his equilibrium. A
deep-seated grunt announced the success of his attempts at balancing,
and the trial would proceed as before the interruption. The spectators
in the room dared not smile, nor even seem to be interested in the
result of the tip of the magistrate’s chair, but each one maintained a
serious expression as if life and limb depended upon their dignified
attention to the witness on the stand. With the advent of Eleanor to the
court room all this was to be reversed.
Jack whispered to the girls: “Is this bench all right for you to see the
show?”
Instantly the judge ceased playing with his heavy-rimmed horn spectacles
and sat upright. He glared over at the newcomers, but finding that they
paid no attention to him he thumped the top of the table with a mallet:
“Order in the Court!” shouted he.
The girls were seated now, and Ruth looked up with awe at the man who
had just spoken. Nancy glanced around the room and wrinkled her dainty
nose at the crowding of whites, yellows, and blacks in one small area.
Polly watched the severe judge, but Eleanor was all eyes for the witness
on the platform. Jack and Ray stood back of the bench upon which sat the
girls, and watched for the fun they had been promised.
The ancient clerk, a picturesque form, now got upon his feet and read
from a legal paper the name and crime of one Al Colman. Down in front of
the platform sat a black giant. Fittingly his name was “Colman.” But he
was not experienced in court manners so he did not answer to the call of
his name.
The judge toyed impatiently with the mallet of authority, but he would
not so far demean himself as to bring the prisoner to understand his
lesson. Rather, he glared at the Clerk, who was a yellow-white, and
demanded of him:
“Got the prisoner in the Court?” he could plainly see the nervous Al
just in front of his table, but that was not justice as he weighed it
out to menials.
The Clerk lowered the paper, stared over his specs at Al, and called
impatiently: “Why don’ you answer when I calls yoh name, Al?” The
Americans smiled at the first bit of play.
“D’ye want me to?” demanded Al Colman, wriggling uneasily. He was a
ragged, ignorant black, who looked too stupid to steal.
“Shore! Got a lawyer t’ defen’ yuh?” demanded the Clerk.
“How come yuh ast me dat? Yuh knows I ain’t got nuff money to git me a
moufful to eat?” retorted Al. Eleanor laughed and the judge thumped the
table furiously and bawled out:
“Order in this Court!”
“Step up to the chair, Al, and be examined,” advised the Clerk.
Poor Al, getting up from his bench as if it was to be the last act on
earth for him, crept up to the platform and shook as he lifted imploring
eyes to the severe magistrate above him. This tickled the egotism of the
judge mightily and he frowned down upon the trembling prisoner.
“Step up and answer all questions truthfully!” commanded he.
Al obeyed and after he had taken the oath to speak the “truf, the hull
truf, an’ nuttin’ but de truf,” the lawyer for the plaintiff began his
story.
“’N it please yuh honor, yistiddy whiles I was lookin’ over important
papers, I hears a hue an’ cry outside my office window, so I jumps up
and looks. Down th’ street went dis niggeh an’ a affer him went a lady
of color what sells sweets on the street—she got a genuwine license from
you, yuh honor,” the man interrupted himself, suddenly remembering how
important such an item would be in influencing justice.
The magistrate bowed with dignity, and the plaintiff continued: “Dis Al
Colman held a stick of sweets an’ was beatin’ it foh de open when I
steps out and interviews de hull thing. It is a plain case of larceny,
yuh honor, an’ my client claims damages an’ costs. I have an important
witness to testify to de truf of dis situation, yuh honor.”
The judge glared at poor Al and the self-styled lawyer beckoned to
Lieutenant Bray to step up. But Jack had already whispered to Bray to go
easy on the poor black man, and call on his friends if he needed any
help in dragging Al out of the ditch.
The lawyer next asked Al all sorts of questions, in order to catch him
lying or attempting to get out of the claim of theft.
“Whar yuh reside, Al?” demanded the lawyer.
“Anywhar I finds a welcome,” murmured Al, his eyes fixed upon the
splendor of the officer’s uniform as he came up to offer his testimony
in the case.
“And what yuh works at, Al?” demanded the questioner suavely, satisfied
with the reply to his first question.
“Now yuh know I does any odd job I kin git,” said Al.
“How come yuh helped yuh-self to dem sweets, Al?” was the next question.
Suddenly a voice behind Polly interrupted the proceedings: “I object to
that question until you have proved that the man took them!”
Every head turned to the owner of the new voice. The girls and Jack and
Ray started in surprise to find Mr. Dalken had entered unseen and was
watching this unusual trial.
“Order in this Court!” thundered the judge. Then to the sheriff, he
said: “Eject that man who interrupts the proceeding of the Law.”
But Mr. Dalken now stepped down to the front and said: “I am the legal
representative for this Al Colman. I object to the irregular questions
asked of my client.”
Al Colman’s jaw dropped and his whole body slumped in the rickety chair.
The judge was so startled that he brought the swivel chair to an upright
position with such suddenness that the clutch broke and dropped out, but
he never knew it. He stared at the new lawyer and scowled his unwelcome.
“Who are you and why didn’t you step up aforetime?”
“I just managed to reach the Court, your Honor, and now I offer my
services to this undefended man on trial for stealing sweets.” Mr.
Dalken’s manner was sugary and Jack hugged himself. He anticipated great
fun with the renowned New York lawyer taking a part. Even the lieutenant
smiled with delight at the turn in events. Only Al seemed overwhelmed
and depressed by the aspect his case was taking.
The old woman who sold sweets on the street lifted bleary eyes to her
lawyer and grumbled: “I’s is losin’ all de mawnin’ trade wid dis foolin’
bout dat stick of sugar cane! Lem’me go!”
“Order in the Court!” thundered the judge, banging the table. He _could_
let out his spleen on the table and it could not object.
The case first advanced a step, then receded a step, until Mr. Dalken
brought his legal experience to bear on his colleague’s legal
understanding. Thus matters drifted and were halted over and over, when
a suspicious sound from the magistrate in the broken swivel chair
announced that he was snoring, while the two lawyers wrangled in front
of his platform. Al Colman sat in stupefied wonderment at all he heard
but he was not sure whether they were going to send him to the chair, or
to jail for life. Every one in the room was tittering at the
discomfiture of the lawyer for the old street peddler, when a new phase
occurred.
“Now, see heah, all yuh fo’kses! I done gone lost a stick of sugar
yistiddy, but I lose all my pence o’ trade to-day cuz, of bein’ hauled
in heah agin my will. I ain’t got no cause nohow to git Al Colman inter
jail, an’ _I’se_ discharge dis case!” As she rendered judgment in a
hoarse voice which was familiar on the street as coming from a
full-lung-powered huckster, she turned to leave the room.
Whether the sound of a woman usurping his rights of judgment, or whether
the laughter of the crowd in the court room aroused him, cannot be
determined, but the judge suddenly let go his balance in the chair in
order to get up and demand order. The swivel instantly pivoted, and the
clutch being gone, back went the chair, tossing His Honor upon his head
behind the table.
[Illustration: BACK WENT THE CHAIR, TOSSING THE JUDGE UPON HIS HEAD.]
Then followed such an uproar that Al made a quick escape without being
seen. Out of the side door went he, and away to the open country he
fled, as if the hounds of justice were upon his heels. The Clerk of the
Court and the Sheriff hastened to assist their superior to an upright
position, and he showed his gratitude by getting hold of the mallet and
almost cracking the table in his efforts to bring about order in that
Court, while he glared at his deputies.
Then scowling fiercely upon the two lawyers who had been the cause of
his nap, he thundered: “The case is dismissed! No cause.”
The spectators laughed and jeered, and the two legal representatives
shook hands and departed. Once outside, Jack and the lieutenant met
again, and the former said to the latter: “The whole thing looked as if
it had been staged for our benefit.”
And the army officer replied: “That’s a typical scene of a trial for
petty larceny. There is no more apparent justice in the entire
proceedings than you would find in having your hen-coop robbed and then
have the man come and ask you to give him the side trimmings to his
chicken dinner.”
Mr. Dalken now came up and was introduced to the officer. “Did the poor
rascal really steal the sugar-stick?” asked he.
“I don’t think so, sir. But a lawyer with no cases on hand has to trump
up something to advertise himself. He may have paid the old peddler a
little sum to attend the court and demand a bit of justice. He may even
have paid Al to permit himself to be tried for stealing, provided Al
made the lawyer promise to get him scot free at the last.”
“Well, well! That scene was certainly well worth the time it took to
witness it!” added Mr. Dalken, as they all moved away to the tram-cars.
Later that morning Polly said: “I haven’t a very high opinion of
Kingston justice!”
“I should say not!” exclaimed Eleanor in high contempt.
“If they bungle such little cases so badly, what must they do when a
really serious crime is committed?” wondered Nancy.
“I suppose they call in New York lawyers for such cases,” laughed Polly,
winking at Mr. Dalken who stood with his back to the girls. But he
turned at this and retorted:
“They never have really serious cases in Jamaica. I find from the
records that Jamaicans are truly a law-abiding people who seldom commit
a crime which necessitates such condemnation as we in New York have to
administer.”