As Pulpitt spoke more fully, and became more animated, the Governor wondered on him. Now so many men come to the Indies to escape, in their guilty attitude they utter it as loud as parrots—then how is a man without brawn or any fighting spirit, such as Mr Pulpitt, come here? Has he committed some Crime that has led him to leave behind his former comforts? One day he will find out what Pulpitt’s dread secret guilt is—he will drag it out with some wine.
The Governor likes Mr Pulpitt, he does, and is bound to be supportive of him, by his own Whiggish principles. Even tho’ a Whig by cause of that handed down to him by his Protestant forebears, the Propensitie of a Whig is to marry to the outlandish and strange — for they are questing men, and they judge all by the standards of the present moment. While the Tory method is to marry within, and so lead to a perpetuation; they judge the Present only by the Laws of the Past.
And, seeming sometimes, all of England is Toryed up.
Buckinghamshire does not understand Port Royal.
Sussex shelters at its Cottages and will not hazard a full Adventure.
Pulpit may not think of it as an Immorality — but to others:
It would be an Index of Miscegenation, or an Index of Iniquitie pure. When heard in the pulpits of Somerset, or Wiltshire, or Cambridgeshire — they, the Vicars and the Priests, are at their Bible-bashing every rainy Sunday morning — from their cold houses where the damp rises in miasmes, with a ha-ha and some sheep, and they sit in coldest relations, ah me—and the Parson is a representative of that View, not happiest, brought over the Seas to here.
“A new Power? She will be a Mulatto Power at the Rate she proceeds,” the Parson Wrotney would wish to say.
Or worse: “Shall we send our Womenfolk down to the Slaves for a Afternoon and all shall be secure in Jamaica’s Future?”
As he looked at friend Pulpitt in unquiet silence, for with the Governor present at the table he had been trapped, not especially by any far-seeing plan of Pulpitt, but opportune how it had all worked out and the Parson must bite on his Tongue, not speak a Word of it, and be made a Fool of, good and proper.