Chapter 2: People of Colour

May 1800

Kingston in 1800 was an astounding city with over twelve thousand people living and working there. The vast majority of them were Black slaves working in the shops and households of their holders. There was also a sizeable proportion of free people of colour, freed slaves and their progeny, who plied their trades. Only one fifth of Kingston’s population were White people of English, Scottish and Irish descent. The colonial government was in Spanish Town, some six miles to the West, but Kingston was the heart of Jamaican commerce with its huge natural harbour and the numerous shops, taverns, and even a theatre.

As he followed his father who led him along one of the major streets, Thomas gaped at the colourful life around him. He had seen very few Black people — Negroes — in his life, just a few coachmen of visiting neighbours. Now he saw himself surrounded on all sides by dark-skinned men and women of all ages, offering fruits and other food to the passers-by, and he held on tightly to his father’s hand.

“Don’t be afraid, Thomas!” his father told him. “They’re just traders like the ones in Guildford, only they don’t get sunburnt as easily.” He chuckled with the last words.

“Should I buy something, Father?”

“Why not? Try a banana or a mango. They’re sweet and tasty. You never had one, had you?”

“No, Father. What’s a banana?”

They stepped closer to a fruit stand, and the youngish Black woman greeted them.

“A good mornin’ to you, Guv’ner. What’s your pleasure?”

“A hand o’ bananas, two mangoes and two coconuts for my boy,” Theodore Grey answered.

The woman collected the fruits. “Sixpence, Guv’ner.”

Whilst his father handed the woman the coin, Thomas collected the fruits. The mangoes, red and yellow, looked like strange apples, the bananas were deep yellow with blackish tips, but the coconuts were inedible, being entirely too hard to eat. Yet, the woman deftly took them and with a huge knife, hacked openings into them. Thomas watched as his father took one of those open nuts and poured a liquid into his mouth.”
Try it, Thomas. It’s coconut milk.”

Thomas followed the example and discovered that the strange liquid was indeed sweet and tasty. Borrowing the woman’s knife, the elder Grey split the nuts open to reveal a soft, white flesh inside from which he cut shavings with his knife. Using his own sailor’s knife, Thomas did the same and tasted the coconut flesh. It tasted strange but sweet and delicious.

Next, he was taught to peel a banana and eat it. It was even better than the coconut meat, and Thomas stuffed his mouth with the sweet fruit.

“See, Son, ‘tis good fruit you find in these islands. I’ll tell Bartleby to buy a good supply for when we’ll sail again. Green mangoes keep for quite some time and bananas, too.”

Thomas nodded eagerly, unable to answer with his mouth still full with fruit.

“See, a sailor’s life isn’t all hardships. Let’s find a good tavern for a meal.”

After some walking and asking passers-by, they found the Anson inn, clearly a tavern catering to sailing men. Being a commanding officer, Theodore Grey was shown to a table in common room which was open to the street on one side. He ordered a pepper-pot for them and thin ale. After the first bites, young Thomas thought his tongue and lips were on fire. It was hot! His father chuckled.

“It’s the custom here, my boy. Somehow the meats keep better when they’re spicy. You’ll get used to it.”

“But it’s burning, Father!”

“Flush your mouth with thin ale, and it’ll go away,” the elder Grey chuckled.

They saw more of Kingston on a day that Theodore Grey had set aside to spoil his only son. They found a coffee house on the way back to the harbour where Thomas tasted his first chocolate. Alas, once back on board, Thomas found that nobody had done his work over this day, and he was kept busy until after darkness.

When it became clear that Cormorant would not be ready to sail for a few more days, the Greys visited Port Royal and Thomas saw the Royal Navy facilities, but also some of the sunk buildings of Old Port Royal. It was almost 100 years ago that most of the once thriving port city had disappeared when a devastating earthquake liquified the seemingly solid ground, and three quarters of the houses had been swallowed by the quicksand. Thomas learned of the bad reputation of Port Royal from his father, but also of the riches that were spent there on wine and loose women during the golden age of the buccaneer pirates. Thomas had no real concept of what a loose woman was, and Theodore Grey thought him too young for such a lesson.

They also stepped into a small shop bearing strange signs and decorations. It was, Theodore Grey explained, the home and practice of the famous Jamaican doctress and Obeya witch, Cubah Cornwallis. Even eleven-year-old Thomas saw that Cubah, a black woman about the age of his mother or younger, was beautiful in the way of her race and must have been more so when a young woman. Most importantly, she had a friendly, winning smile that made Thomas forget all his shyness. Theodore Grey showed her respect beyond his usual ways.

“A good day, Mistress Cubah,” he offered.

“Mister Grey! Pray, what ails you?” the healer answered in good English.

“Nothing, but I would like to buy some of your wound ointment and of your tea for sore throats. This is my son, Thomas, a volunteer in my ship.”

“Peace and health upon you, young Thomas,” Cubah smiled at the boy who felt compelled to bow to her, making her smile.

“I’m no highborn woman, my lad; no need to bow!” Looking at his father, she said, “He’s a good boy I wager, and polite.”

“My wife and I hold that all God’s children were created equal,” his father answered with a nod. He produced a small parcel. “Admiral Cornwallis tasked me to bring you this as a token of his fond memories.”

Thomas could have sworn that the woman blushed under her dark skin, but she smiled.

“He is such a fine man. Now, my dear Mister ... Captain Grey? ... let me find a jar of ointment for you and some tea. The boy is healthy?”

“Yes, so far. He’s had nary a cold the last years.”

The woman nodded. “He looks healthy and clean,” but then she went into the back of her shop to fetch the requested items, but when she returned, she gave Thomas a small piece of soap that smelt of flowers.

“Wash your face with it, and your peepee, my lad. Dirt and grime make you sick, so keep clean, you hear!”

Thomas blushed almost scarlet at the mention of his unmentionables, but his father laughed heartily.

“Good advice, Thomas. Remember it.”

Again, Thomas had to work til sunset to complete his tasks for the day, but it had been another exciting day. In spite of his embarrassment, the black doctress had impressed him. She was so different from the stuffy Doctor Wallis in Guildford! She exuded vitality and goodwill whilst Wallis exuded only boredom. After he’d taken dinner with his father, he asked him how he knew her.

“It must have been ‘94 or so. I was still the Nº2 in the old Proserpine frigate, and we escorted the Kingston convoy from London. I had caught a wood splinter under my skin, and it was festering. The old sawbones wanted to amputate, but Captain Courtland sent me ashore to Cubah. She only lanced the festering wound, cleaned it, and gave me of her wound ointment. A week later, my leg was good again. If it was me, I’d hire her to knock some sense into our ship’s surgeons. There was this apothecary from somewhere near Portsmouth who spent two months learning from her, Gutteridge was his name I think. He said she’s no witch, she just knows healing herbs and insists on cleanliness.”

“She seems nice, too.”

“Yes, she is, and very popular around Port Royal. Some fop of a planter wanted to cane her for some reason, but there were enough Navy men around to give him the caning.”

“But she’s free. Why would he...”

“Thomas, some of those planters see a black face and they think ‘slave’. It was bred into them. To hear some of them, you’d think they’re only doing lip service to the Christian faith. After all, our good Saviour was a Jew, and one of the Holy Kings was a Negro. Did the Holy Mother kick him out of the stable? I think not. To me, Cubah is a fine woman and to be respected, regardless of her skin.”

Thomas looked at his father with wide eyes. He had rarely heard him speak so fervently of a matter.

“But, Father, people say...”

“What people say is of no matter. People can be stupid, and they mostly just repeat what they were told by other stupid people. Son, to do the right things, you must search for the truth, not listen to others.”

“But I listen to you and Mum.”

“Yes, but once you’re grown, you’ll have to find your own truths. Your mother and I are not infallible; nobody is. You’ll make mistakes, too, plenty of them. What’s important is to admit your mistakes to yourself and to learn from them.”