Jem (and Sam)

by Ferdinand Mount

  There was a Jew from Portugal with eyes like a Negro’s, one Samson Lucas, who was one of the first to join my mystery, a sly fellow but timid.

  Jeremiah, my friend, I have insured a merchantman bound for Virginia, twelve hundred pounds at ten per cent, but it is a little too steep for me, for I stand in deep just now.

  Samson, I said, I will take half of it off your hands for twelve per cent.

  Thus I began to re-insure, which was a tidy business, for the rates were higher and the risks already weighed. But the cream of the business, its true quintessence, lay in the tardy trade, which worked thus.

  A boastful owner with a cigarro between his lips and jewels upon his fat fingers will say: I have no need of assurance. My ships are sound. Why should I pay money to rogues of your sort?

  But then he hears no word of his ship for weeks, then months, and Samson Lucas will say to him: I hear there are great storms off Bermuda (or in the Bay of Biscay or wherever the ship must go by).

  Storms, you say?

  The worst since I don’t know when, the fortunate ships are hove to at St James, the unfortunate . . . well . . . And he spreads his long thin fingers like the scattered bones of so many seamen.

  Humph, perhaps I should insure the Peerless.

  Oh I fear it is too late for me, I couldn’t contemplate it, but Jeremiah here, he would insure upon a colander.

  Mm, I don’t care for it – here I take up my part – it is tardy, but at fifteen per cent, I might . . .

  Fifteen, that is robbery by daylight, sir.

  It is a kindness, I hate myself for my indulgence.

  Twelve, not a point more than twelve.

  Very well then, as a friend I will oblige you, but don’t tell your neighbours or they will know I have grown soft.

  What he does not know is that Samson’s man in Florida has had word from Jamestown that the Peerless is safely landed a fortnight ago. Nor does he know that the said S. Lucas will have a half-share of the premio, for there is honour among underwriters.

  One afternoon, after we had conducted just such a pretty piece of business, Lucas said to me:

  I think we must celebrate our success.

  Quite so. Let us repair to Davies’s.

  Mr Davies does not stock the pleasure I was thinking of.

  What? He has madeira as well as chocolate, doesn’t he?

  There’s a pleasure sweeter than wine.

  What do you mean?

  Come to my house.

  Somewhat bewildered, I followed Samson Lucas (he was a little neat man, anything but a Samson) along the promenade until the houses were few and the forest came down to the edge of the shore. His house was on a cleared ground, twenty yards from the sea, a little house with a roof made of palm leaves and a shaded porch. He sat me down upon an old cane chair that was half broken and brought out two pipes that he filled with a mixture from a lacquered bowl.

  Mm, this is rare tobacco, I said, breathing in the rich and delicate fragrance.

  I am glad you like it. It is to my own receipt.

  What is your secret, Samson?

  You call me by my name. You are the first Englishman to do so.

  I didn’t mean to –

  No, no, it pleases me. I shall remember this day.

  I shall remember this tobacco.

  It is a mixture of the Jamaica leaf which is fine and the Virginia which is stronger, and thereto I add an ounce of poppy seed, for every two ounces of tobacco. The seed must be well crushed and the mixture fresh.

  So I fell asleep on that afternoon as on many others that were to follow, and when I awoke it was already night and the moon shining on the waters and the lights of the ships shining out in the roads.

  On waking that first time, I clapped my hands to my pockets fearing lest I had been robbed, then I became aware that Lucas was sitting in his chair watching me, or keeping watch on me.

  You are safe here.

  Oh, ah, I did not mean . . .

  You are right to be watchful. The isle is full of thieves. I’ll bring you a dish of tea, for your throat will be dry, I think.

  Yes, yes, it is dry.

  And I sipped the hot brew which had a taste like none I knew – there was mint in it and another herb I could not name. Samson Lucas talked of his life: how his family had come to the island when they might no longer stay in Portugal, how he married a half-Negro, whom they call mulatto. He loved her greatly, but she died of a fever and when she died he became estranged from the faith of his fathers.

  Have you heard of the Prophet Muggleton? he asked.

  Not only heard, I replied, in some surprise to hear that name so far from home, but at one time was well acquainted with him, and John Reeve too.

  But Samson had heard only of Muggleton, for John Reeve was long dead and there was but one Witness surviving.

  I heard his teaching from a trader who came here from Antigua, he said. It seemed a rational religion that an honest man could subscribe to.

  So I told Samson about Reeve’s belief that Heaven was but six miles up in the sky and that God was a man about five feet high. And he shook his head and said he had heard nothing of that and no such matter was written down in the books of the Prophet Muggleton which he had had sent from London and which he knew great parts of by heart, which was as well, because the books had now been eaten by termites.

  So we talked on under the gentle shade of the palm trees with the birds chattering above us and the fishermen bringing up the nets which shone a bright silver from the shoals of fishes in them, so that you might imagine they had trawled through a treasure-ship.

  And as I smoked my opium-pipe and watched its fumes rise up into the palm trees, I began to dream of the golden future that awaited my return. As yet I had no word from my Clapham agent, but it could not be long before the alderman or his heirs would be compelled to sell the estate and at the present rate of progress, my means should be ample enough. I might change the name; Gauden House did not sound elegant. Whom should I invite to walk along my peach avenue and take tea in my pavilions? Men of intellect and influence with the Court, chemists perhaps, great ladies, philosophers. I might even take pity on Mr Pepys and ask him to one of my entertainments. Yet perhaps he would be too infected by envy to come.

  I was resolved also to explore the whole island. Now and then when I was released from Kit’s audience chamber (in truth, but a small brick room such as a great man in England might use for his muniments), I would wander out of the town and there in the forest I would see her pale figure in the midst of a crowd of Negroes as though a ghost had come among them. They would beckon her into one of their straw huts where a sick person lay, and I heard afterwards that she laid her hand upon the affected part and the sick person, whether a child or an old woman, felt eased there. Then they would offer her a cup of palm wine or of rum which they had stolen from the sugar factory and she would take up the half-gourd they offered her and lift it to her lips with every show of solemnity, as though she were taking the Holy Sacrament (though at home she scarcely ever drank wine) and would thank the Negroes and they would clap their hands as if she had accomplished some marvellous feat. Then when she came out of the hut and continued on her walk, the people of the village would follow her chanting. Mr Baptiste the best of the Negro musicians composed a song in her honour which Dr Sloane took down the notes of. You must cry Alla, Alla when the bass is played and clap your hands.

  They followed her through the woods, singing and clapping their hands, so that the humming-birds flew out of the wood, affrighted by the noise, and came past my head, making their own sweet hum as they went, just like a bumble-bee. As they came out of the gloom into the sunshine, their feathers seemed most transparent and delicately coloured, red and blue and green. Hur, hur, they went, like so many tiny wheels spinning.

  Then the Duchess would send the people away and they would come back into the village and talk of her. I think they had never seen anyone so pale and attributed magical powers to her
. She’s so gracious and kind, they said, give thanks that she’s our island’s queen.

  But with the traders and shopkeepers and the men of the Council she was haughty and insisted upon the most extreme ceremony. If something was omitted, she would speak sharply to the major-domo and if offended would walk out of the room, so that all the English on the island thought her proud and peevish and wished they had Lady Lynch back, who had sought to please them.

  She continued cold to me, but she was warm towards Kit once more and would take his arm and accompany him to the quayside that was at the Palisades, where they brought the treasure in. It was as though her affections towards us were on a kind of seesaw: if one was up, the other must be down.

  There was a little platform of figwood and cane built at the harbour with a canopy of canvas and there Their Graces would sit upon golden chairs (rattan painted gold by Mr Baptiste, the musician) and keep watch on the ingots of gold and silver and the plate and jewels and sacred ornaments that were being brought in from the hold of the ships, whether it be from Sir John Narborough’s Foresight or the Good Luck or the Boy Huzzar (Capt. Mr William Phipps – no, now Sir William) or from one of the privateers that had a Commission from the Governor.

  Oh this is like the time when we watched the football in Devonshire. I do like a dais.

  Now we play with golden footballs, my love, we must not kick them so far.

  So they ran on like foolish lovebirds. Together they would count the gewgaws brought up by the naked Negroes (naked so that they could hide nothing upon their persons, though I heard that they might sometimes swallow a jewel or conceal it in some less delicate orifice). And as the Negroes came up the gangplank, His Grace would call them over to inspect the articles more narrowly. And they would allot the ingots according to the per centums that had been agreed in England with the King and the Council, the King to have 5 per cent.

  Here’s one for His Majesty, and one for us, and two for the company. Now one for Sir John, and one for the Gentlemen Venturers, and a half for Sir Richard Haddock who has recovered his courage, and one for the King again and one for us.

  So I took down the details and had the goods marked and sealed and sent up to the Treasure Chamber at Government House which was locked and guarded and set well away from the harbour where the Spanish or the Dutch might nibble at it. But though I had my head in the ledger and must keep my mind on my record so as not to omit anything, I could not but notice how gleeful they were, like children that share out toy marbles.

  When the ship was empty and the night was coming down, they would rise from their golden thrones and make a promenade back towards Government House with the light open carriage trotting on before them in case they should become fatigued. The great moths flew quiet among the trees as they walked, she in her pale gown, he in his white shirt with ruffles and white silk breeches and hose, so that they too looked like moths in the quickening night.

  But as they walked on before me, I could hear him cough and sputter in the twilight. For though he might savour fresh contentment in this second honeymoon, yet he drank as much as before, despite Dr Sloane’s warnings. If there was a new Assembly chosen or a new ship landed (and the Captain to be dined), he would sit up too late and drink too freely, whereby in a short time he had a great pain in one of his legs. Moreover, the change from sherry (which he loved best but which could not then be had in Jamaica) to madeira wine made him worse. Dr Sloane warned him that if he did not alter his courses he would fall into his father the General’s distemper, viz. the dropsy. But he paid no heed.

  Then he went down to Old Harbour to see his father’s friend Sir Francis Watson, and Major Peaks, and once more sat up too late and drank too freely. When he came back to town, he was very ill. His legs came out in yellowish weals which the doctors called erysipelas. He was bled for it in his arm and Dr Sloane had a fomentation made of wormwood, sage, rosemary, rue and pimento leaves to which was added a bottle of wine – which I thought a paradox, for the surfeit of wine was his disease – but it did him no good, and now he complained of a pain in his belly. The doctor proposed clysters and suppositories, but he would hear of neither, and called for a new doctor, so Dr Trapham was sent for as one who understood the country. This stout pompous young man advised him to take a grain of bird pepper in a poached egg, for parrots (he said) always fly to bird pepper as to a natural remedy and it was very necessary for everyone to take it in this climate, though why it should benefit men as it benefits parrots he did not say. When Kit was at the height of his rage (which was extremely violent), the doctors feared that he would perish for want of food and great endeavour was made to force a poached egg, or now and then some chicken broth, down his throat.

  But he survived and appeared to recover.

  He’s well, he’s well, she cried to me the next morning. Isn’t that news to marvel at, Jem? (It was the first time she had spoken to me or used my name for two months.)

  Then she took me by the hand – her hand was so cold and small – and said:

  Let us go for a walk, I have been at the sickbed two days.

  I followed her into the garden behind the King’s House where the lemons and pineapples and guavas and mangrove-grapes grew in rows as in an English orchard.

  We must ride, Jem, ride deep into the forest. Fetch horses, fetch them quickly.

  With some disinclination, for it was a hot morning, I left her gazing into the woods, while I went to the stable and had horses saddled. When I came back, she was sitting under a pine tree, looking down at the sea in a sort of trance.

  Horses, she murmured wondrously, as though to say centaurs or sea-monsters: you have brought horses.

  I thought her too frail to ride as far as the gates of the orchard, but when she was in the saddle she seemed stronger and went off down the sandy path at such a canter that I was put to it to match her pace.

  On we went through the trees with the croaking of the tree-frogs, and the singing of the grasshoppers for our chorus.

  Is not this glorious? she cried back to me, bumping along in her wake.

  It seemed as though the island belonged to us alone and I had a fancy that if Kit did not recover we might resume our old relation.

  Then the path became broader, and all at once we came out into a cleared space, and the soft sand became a heavy tarry road that smelled of burnt sugar so strongly that we could scarce breathe.

  We stopped and gazed in amazement at the great wooden platform which carried three upright rollers that turned upon themselves slowly like a giant’s whirligig. And around the platform were walking gangs of Negro slaves each holding sheaves of cane-stalks and feeding them to the whirligig which crushed them with a harsh noise. Next to it were long open sheds with round chimneys from which sugar-steam was smoking. Inside were huge copper kettles without lids, with slaves stirring them, the kettles each of different size the syrup being thicker in the smaller kettles, and beyond the kettles more slaves were pouring the liquid into clay moulds and then into hogsheads. The heat was so fierce that the Negroes went naked but none the less had sweat streaming down their bodies. I had to wipe my eyes constantly for the smoke rising from the kettles, and the noise of the cane-stalks being crushed was so loud that I could not make myself heard. That sweet sickly smell overcame my remaining senses so that I almost fainted. The Negroes sang, but it was a low, sad chant, not like the sharp cries of the overseer who was quick to reproach a slave who was slow to pour or to stoke the fiery ovens or to feed the Moloch with the green stalks.

  The Duchess stood surveying the infernal scene, then led her horse away from the shouting and the heat and the stench of molasses.

  Why must we make the world so vile?

  That’s how sugar must be made.

  It is vile, she said.

  I cannot help it, madam.

  And I wondered that she should be so tender towards dolphins and Negro slaves and so cruel and capricious to her friends. But madness distracts us from our proper relations and m
akes strangers kin.

  A week after came a ship from London that bore news of the birth of a Prince of Wales, and the next day old Sir Henry Morgan died. He lay in state at the King’s House in Port Royal, then his body was brought to the Church of St Jaco de la Vega and a sermon preached, and afterwards he was buried nearby with great solemnity. Thus the greatest rogue and murderer of his time died in the odour of sanctity and will ever be remembered as the glorious founder of our Western empire, which in truth he was.

  Dr Sloane lost no time in telling Kit that Sir Henry had not been so ill as he and yet had died of the dropsy and if Kit did not heed his prescriptions he would have the same end. This Kit did not wish to hear, and so he turned again to Dr Trapham who proposed a change of air.

  We removed to Ligaunce in the mountains, but it rained there every day, so the Duke drank no less, for there was nothing else to do, and was no better. We came back down to St Jaco de la Vega in the hope of better weather, but the breeze failed from the sea, and the gnats and mosquitoes fed upon the weals on his legs.

  But though he was not yet cured, he could no longer delay the thanksgiving for the birth of the Prince of Wales, for to omit such a ceremony would be a disloyalty that would be quickly reported back to his Sovereign. We ourselves were so much taken up with His Grace’s illness that we had scarcely paused to reflect upon the momentous consequence of this birth. For now there was to be a Roman Catholic heir to the throne and the Protestant succession frustrated, and what James II had begun, James III might very well complete, namely, the reconversion of England to Romanism, which was not to be borne by a Protestant people.

  The festival was set for the last day in September. There had been a storm the day before, but now the sun shone and the humming-birds went to and fro in the fragrant bushes and sometimes swooped over the long tables that were set out under the trees for all the persons of quality on the island with casks of wine at each table and sweetmeats piled high on them. And the Governor went from table to table and at every table he drank a royal health, voices echoing after him ‘God save the King and Royal Family’. After each health, I gave the signal to the foot-guards who had their great pieces mounted in the orchard and they discharged a volley whereat the birds flew off the trees and the forts and the ships in the harbour discharged their guns, so that the whole island was full of merry noise.