Cornelius Kortright was a good person. When I met him first, he was near thirty one years old. You know, a lot of things I know today are due to him; really… even the way I act and behave-- not even knowing-- was copied from him. His British accent and serenity, was particularly attractive to me. He was from Surrey in the South East of England; from the town of Guilford I believe he told me once.
Mr, Kortright was an eager student of everything that had to do with the Caribbean, in particular: Puerto Rico. Many times I found him in the plantation House’s veranda reading history books about Cuba, Dominican Republic and of course, about us. Ha...,! Ramon, come over here let me ask you a question. Look here—he would say in his sharp British accent—and pump me a question over things I knew nothing about. Mr. Kortright, how in heaven can I, to teach you anything?—I would answer-- You know Iam just a simple migrant from the Cannary Islands and you; you are a British gentleman.

The man would smile and made a funny sound like: “ tsk..tsks"… Ramon, don’t be so humble. You know…I think you are brilliant young man. You would not be my foreman otherwise. You unlike me, have lived here a lot more. You Ramon…you are part of this Caribbean dream. Iam just a passer by; you Ramon Mena, can teach me lot about this, such a new way of living; and so alien to me.

Mr. Kortright first came to the Caribbean, as consultant to a financial company specialized in sugar doing business in the island of Tortola. Seeing the limitations in terms of land, water and labor there, urged his company then, to explore other possibilities in the Caribbean. So... in one of his trips to Puerto Rico, he immediately fell in love with the Island. From a week or so he intended to stay originally, he just talked to his people and decided to stay for a while longer. He had apparently some money because was able to buy a piece of land near the Manati’s river, now part of the Township of Barceloneta, in the North central part of Puerto Rico. It wasn’t much, but the land was extremely fertile; from the originally fifty or so acres, he grew later by the time I arrived, to several hundred of the best land in the Island. Due to his expertise and knowledge in the production of sugar, in a few years he made a small fortune which kept growing. His “Trapiche” or Sugar mill as we say here, was producing quality sugar very efficiently which he sold in it’s totality to England and France.

He did not believe in slavery, so everybody working for him were free men, including black folks. Something frowned upon by other plantations in the area of Manati; specially by he Marquee de la Esperanza; a local land owner with a very large sugar plantation and slaved labor. Remember, we are talking about the mid nineteen century and slavery was not yet abolished in the Island. This and his production methods were the reason for his high yields per acre and his success.
 
But he was not a happy person. Many times, in those days, I saw him looking at nights, the multitude of stars of the Caribbean skies, at his house’s veranda, wile puffing at his pipe, which he carried every were…silently and melancholically.

Mr. Kortright, you can not continue to live like this…so lonely. You ought to find yourself a nice English girl, marry her and bring her here. Ramon—he answered, laughing his belly out—you don’t know what you are saying. A British woman would not last week here. Besides, they are very demanding women, not really cut out for Caribbean Plantation living. This would obviously caused him great stress because he would then puff more vigorously and even furiously at his pipe. No..no- he continued—I must be very carefully with that.

One day at noon, we were under the shade of an old Jaguey Fig tree at the farm; the Sun was particularly infernal that day. You Know Ramon—he told me, puffing as always at his pipe—I have been thinking about our conversation the other night… you know? -- What’s that Mr. Kortright? – I asked.

Well—he continued—Iam talking about the lady thing—turning all red to his face—You Know… about me finding a lady for mi self. Aw…that—I replied, as if I didn’t know what the poor man was referring to. He then pulled a linen handkerchief out of his pant’s back pockets, and passed it through his face whipping out his perspiration. I will tell you Ramon what I’ll do, raising his hand with the Handkerchief…if it falls to the West, I will go to the United States but if it falls to the East, I will then go to Europe. In either case, I will see if there is a possibility of meeting someone. What do you think? Great Mr., Kortright, that’s exactly what you have to do, I answered.

The handkerchief fell to the East. Well my friend—he told me--- You stay here and are in charged with everything. I’ll leave you written instructions and a power of attorney. You are now the boss here…. Good by.

When He came back a year and some months later, he was a totally different person. With him came one, if not the most charming and beautiful woman I had ever seen. He was so happy!… and it was easy to understand; Eduarda Kenner, his wife now, was not only as I said beautiful, but as we say here: “encantadora y simpática”: charming and very nice. She was French. The story about how they met and became acquaintances and later married, is really worth telling as a love novel.