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Updated: June 5, 2025
"Then Nancy gets them for her own use," said I. "But I have often seen Bridget in myself for things." "My Bridget!" I said, in surprise. I instantly rang the bell. "Tell Bridget I want her," said I to the waiter who came to the door. The cook soon appeared. "Bridget, are you in the habit of borrowing from Mrs. Jordon without my knowledge?"
It isn't fit to drink. Is it the same we have been using?" "No, ma'am," replied Bridget. "It is some Mrs. Jordon sent home. I reminded Nancy, when she was here for butter, that they owed us some tea, borrowed day before yesterday, and she came right back with it, saying that Mrs. Jordon was sorry it had slipped her mind.
The few thousand whites of Jamaica will never be able to establish slavery, or any thing like it, over its 300,000 blacks. Already they are fain to swallow their prejudice against color. Mr. Jordon, member for Kingston and "free nigger," was listened to with respect.
Jordon," said I, at length, as composedly as I could speak, "you seem to be laboring under some strange mistake. The charge of frequent borrowing, I imagine, lies all on the other side. I can name a dozen of my things in your house now, and can mention as many articles borrowed within the last three days." "Pray do so," was her cool reply.
I forgot to tell her yesterday that ours were all gone." "Certainly," I said. "Bridget, give Nancy an egg." "Mrs. Jordon is very sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Smith," said Nancy, re-appearing in a little while, and finding me still in the kitchen, "but she says if you will lend her a bowl of sugar it will be a great accommodation. I forgot to tell her yesterday that the sugar was all gone."
The butter Mrs. Jordon got a little while ago, if returned to-morrow, will not be fit to go on our table. We can only use it for cooking." "It isn't right," sententiously remarked my husband. "The fact is," he resumed, after a slight pause, "I wouldn't lend such a woman anything. It is a downright imposition." "It is a very easy thing to say that, Mr. Smith. But I am not prepared to do it.
On the day of Mr. J.'s trial, the court-room was thronged with colored men, who had armed themselves, and were determined, if the sentence of death were pronounced upon Mr. Jordon, to rescue him at whatever hazard. It is supposed that their purpose was conjectured by the judges at any rate, they saw fit to acquit Mr. J. and give him his enlargement.
Jordon, the editor of the Watchman, in his turn as a member of the common council, was presiding justice, with an alderman of the city, a black man, as his associate. At a table below them sat the superintendent of police, a white man, and two white attorneys, with their huge law books and green bags before them.
"Yes," I replied, "for I was in the kitchen when she got the lard and meal, and Bridget mentioned the coffee as soon as I came down this morning." "Strange!" Mrs. Jordon looked thoughtful. "It isn't a week since we got coffee, and I am sure our Indian meal cannot be out."
Edward Jordon, Esq., the talented editor of the Watchman, then first clerk in the store of a Mr. Briden, was prominently concerned in the correspondence, and was summarily dismissed.
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