I went to tea with some people who were neither white, nor black, nor yellow. They were not half castes, not even quadroons. Octoroons they would be called if they were very poor. White they pass as, in the great house they live in. White they are to the few negro workmen they employ.

I give the conversation, not because it is of interest, but to show the vernacular as voiced by the cultured octoroon. They were pleased to see us, and I had the impression that I was undergoing the pleasant sensation of being lionised—such was the warmth of my welcome.

“You take sugar and milk?” I took milk.

“Oh we always take sugar in Jamaica. It grows here you know, and a few years back it was the most perfectly important product of the country,” explained the lady, and her husband confirmed her statement with—

“Yes, the English have killed that branch of our commerce by the introduction of free trade in sugar. My grandfather grew very very rich on sugar; most of the money he and my father left I am spending in trying to improve the condition of the island. I cannot hope to make money. I do it for the good of my country; I am what you call a philanthropist!”

He played with the fine jewelled ring on his left hand and smiled at me, showing a perfect set of large white teeth. His eyes were larger than is common among Englishmen, and his dark hair contained just the suggestion of a curl. His wife was whiter than he, but her eyes were blacker than those of any Englishwoman. Her lips were brown-red, and her hair a wavy black. She spoiled what might have been a strikingly pretty appearance by wearing pince-nez, for which she had no real use. They had plain glasses heavily framed in gold, and they hung from her blouse by a twisted chain of gold and platinum.

“Yes,” she said, “we are philanthropists!”

“I am perfectly conscious that not many of us white men cultivate our plantations as we ought to do. But I know I work unselfishly. I take my country seriously.”

The lady added—“That is what the Governor said to him the other day. The Governor said, ‘My dear friend, you take your country seriously.’ And so he does—perfectly. And so do I.”

“Well, I was smoking with some gentlemen the other day, and they agreed with me that we Englishmen are very unselfish in not going home and leaving the country to rack and ruination.”

“Ah, what would I give to go home,” exclaimed my hostess.

“To England?” I asked, nervously.

“Of course,” she replied tartly.

“Do you come from London?” I ventured.

“From near London.”

The spirit of enterprise entered my soul, and I determined to ascertain whether the good lady had ever seen our little homeland, so I put questions to her which were distinctly not those a guest should play with at an afternoon dinner-table. I entrapped her into many foolish mistakes, but she would never admit that she had never seen England. Her knowledge of places and things, gathered from reading guide-books and London newspapers, was certainly astonishing. But it was not difficult to pierce through the surface crust of her knowledge. She had been introduced to the King of course, but she knew the late Queen better. She didn’t care much for the Princess of Wales though the Prince himself was a very interesting man.

They told us of the losses they had sustained through the hurricanes, and the lady explained that because they had lost so many many thousand pounds she was forced to be very very economical with her “money for pins.”

But with all their negro-pigeon-English they were hospitable enough, and nothing would have delighted the worthy couple more than our acceptance of their proffered entertainment for many weeks.

“Yes, stop here; we will make you perfectly happy and at home; the house is yours and all the servants, my horses and buggies (he had one of each), and my fishing rods are at your disposal if only you will remain.”

We could not stop, since we were more than seventy miles from the capital and were due to catch a boat in two days. The hostess bewailed the poverty of the household.

“In the period of my grandfather you would not have been permitted to depart in this manner. Then we should have been able to place at your convenience many horses and buggies, so that you could have travelled to Kingston by road, and not in a railway train with negroes. If only we had slaves again and protection also, then you would be able to stop in Jamaica in comfort and luxury.”

“But, my dear,” remonstrated the husband, “slavery is a thing not to be desired by us cultured gentlemen and ladies. We must protect the weak and fallen; it is our juty to heaven to succure the black heathen of the negroid race. Never say words in praise of slavery. Our juty is to helevate the trampled negroid to our condition of education and refinement.”

The lady, so heavily admonished, wept copiously and the man frowned heavily to emphasise the weight of his admonitory disquisition. We moved uneasily in our chairs and I fingered my watch; it is unusual to be confronted by a lady’s tears at an afternoon tea function. “Pray do not go,” said the lady. “Pardon these weakly tears. I feel for my husband. I think of the many thousands of pounds sterling he has been wasted of by the loss of slavery and the sugar duty. I weep for the nobleness he shows in speaking like that.” The frown on the husband’s face became intensified and he gave evidence of the possibility of a new outburst. But I boldly intervened with—“But after all what is a nigger compared with the comfort of white men?”

“That’s just it,” replied our host; “you’ve just hit it. What is a nigger? He is our unequal in every manner. He is but little better than the animals and beasts of the fields. But just to study him the British Government has spread ruination throughout Jamaica. That is just what I say. What is a nigger that he should have dispoiled me of my wealth?”

While he was delivering himself of this vehement contradiction of his former chastened sentiments it was quite obvious that the nigger he so much despised was in reality his natural grandmother. Our hostess flung aside her eye-glasses and the effect was similar to opening of the lock-gates on the upper reaches of the Thames. The tears poured forth in a copious stream of weeping.

“But, Algey,” she sobbed—“Algey you must not forget that you are the nation’s protector of the weak, and poor, and coloured. Do not forget that you do your best. The lowest of the low niggers have wives and children.”

“True, true,” mumbled the husband; “sometimes I forget myself and the words flow out like boiling lava from Vesuvius. But I will continue in the way I have gone for many years, and I will be a help and protector to the poor and down-trodden. The humble of the earth are my brothers—that is what I must decline to forget.”

Before we took our leave the couple had regained their cheerfulness, and the lady had made us promise always to think kindly of Jamaica. “After all,” she lisped, “I must regard Jamaica as my home country since here I saw the light of the first day; England is home, of course, always, but Jamaica is my place of birth.”