1
/
of
0
history-bytes
Jamaica in 1861 Port Royal Hamilton Kingston Port Royal
Jamaica in 1861 Port Royal Hamilton Kingston Port Royal
Regular price
$5.99 USD
Regular price
Sale price
$5.99 USD
Shipping calculated at checkout.
Quantity
Couldn't load pickup availability
Kindle version of vintage magazine article originally published in 1861. Lots of great info and illustrations seldom seen in the last 150 years.
Read excerpt -
Kingston contains 40,000 inhabitants. Long, long ago, as everyone knows, it was the first city in the West Indies; it was the great depot of trade between Europe and the Spanish Main; its merchants were princes, and its aristocracy rivaled, in their magnificence and munificence, the nobility of the mother land. Now Kingston is a shattered hulk lying high and dry upon the rocks of misfortune. Its splendor and comeliness have disappeared. Commercial capital and agricultural capital have been withdrawn. Credit was lost overboard before the ship stranded. Sensible men, who were able to escape, abandoned the wreck in season, and those who, willingly or unwillingly, remained, seem to be very very hard up. I saw the whole of Kingston one morning before breakfast, and I did not meet a white man in my perambulations. The city is the filthiest that I ever dwelt in. Its Board of Health is composed of turkey buzzards; all the garbage that they fail to carry off is left to rot beneath a blazing sun. Carrion crows are the only scavengers I ever saw at work in the streets of Kingston. Situated on an inclined plane, and with every facility for drainage, the city has no drains, and water stagnates everywhere. Naturally one of the healthiest places in the West Indies, it is never free from epidemic fevers. Its hospitals, badly built and badly managed, are a lamentable indication of the prostration of public spirit, enterprise, and philanthropy.
Kingston is not lighted even with oil lamps. The streets, as I have already stated, are covered with the sand that is washed down from the mountains in rainy weather. At that period of the year the thoroughfares can be crossed in boats. At other times they are obstructed by stones and bricks that the floods left there ages ago. There are no trottoirs, but before each door a dilapidated stone platform, ragged and uneven, prevents one walking in the shade of the houses. A pedestrian is in danger of breaking his legs if he attempt to navigate among these excrescences. It would be safer to walk in a quarry of broken rocks. There is but one word to be said in Kingston's favor: it is well laid out. But one would willingly dispense with rectangular streets for a little more cleanliness, for a pavement to walk upon, for a tree to ward off the rays of a terrible sun. Even the square, in the center of the city, is innocent of a speck of green. It is a Zahara, on a small scale, of mountains and valleys of sand. The dust in dry weather is alarming. It penetrates your skin, fills your ears, eyes, and boots, and makes mush of your coffee. I have known a dinner service, plates and dishes, to be completely entombed while the meal was being cooked. But to be out of doors and encounter one of those rolling clouds of sand! Allah it Allah! Imitate the Arab of the desert, and put your head between your knees: otherwise you must perish.
Read excerpt -
Kingston contains 40,000 inhabitants. Long, long ago, as everyone knows, it was the first city in the West Indies; it was the great depot of trade between Europe and the Spanish Main; its merchants were princes, and its aristocracy rivaled, in their magnificence and munificence, the nobility of the mother land. Now Kingston is a shattered hulk lying high and dry upon the rocks of misfortune. Its splendor and comeliness have disappeared. Commercial capital and agricultural capital have been withdrawn. Credit was lost overboard before the ship stranded. Sensible men, who were able to escape, abandoned the wreck in season, and those who, willingly or unwillingly, remained, seem to be very very hard up. I saw the whole of Kingston one morning before breakfast, and I did not meet a white man in my perambulations. The city is the filthiest that I ever dwelt in. Its Board of Health is composed of turkey buzzards; all the garbage that they fail to carry off is left to rot beneath a blazing sun. Carrion crows are the only scavengers I ever saw at work in the streets of Kingston. Situated on an inclined plane, and with every facility for drainage, the city has no drains, and water stagnates everywhere. Naturally one of the healthiest places in the West Indies, it is never free from epidemic fevers. Its hospitals, badly built and badly managed, are a lamentable indication of the prostration of public spirit, enterprise, and philanthropy.
Kingston is not lighted even with oil lamps. The streets, as I have already stated, are covered with the sand that is washed down from the mountains in rainy weather. At that period of the year the thoroughfares can be crossed in boats. At other times they are obstructed by stones and bricks that the floods left there ages ago. There are no trottoirs, but before each door a dilapidated stone platform, ragged and uneven, prevents one walking in the shade of the houses. A pedestrian is in danger of breaking his legs if he attempt to navigate among these excrescences. It would be safer to walk in a quarry of broken rocks. There is but one word to be said in Kingston's favor: it is well laid out. But one would willingly dispense with rectangular streets for a little more cleanliness, for a pavement to walk upon, for a tree to ward off the rays of a terrible sun. Even the square, in the center of the city, is innocent of a speck of green. It is a Zahara, on a small scale, of mountains and valleys of sand. The dust in dry weather is alarming. It penetrates your skin, fills your ears, eyes, and boots, and makes mush of your coffee. I have known a dinner service, plates and dishes, to be completely entombed while the meal was being cooked. But to be out of doors and encounter one of those rolling clouds of sand! Allah it Allah! Imitate the Arab of the desert, and put your head between your knees: otherwise you must perish.