Warrior mh-10

by Allan Mallinson

  He picked up the pen.

  My dear wife, he began. And then he put the pen down again.

  Such an inadequate salutation, that. He could not quite recall why he had used the form in his first letter. Was it, somehow, that he was reminding himself of his status; reminding Kezia, too? After all, they had hardly begun things in the best of ways. So unlike the month – months only – that he and Henrietta had enjoyed. In truth, the marriage was barely consummated.

  But to change the form of salutation . . . what might he write? My Dearest? It seemed too contrived.

  He must, however, tell her of his decision to take command of the Eighty-first, and butting no further delay, for it was bound to be out soon. How much more agreeable it would have been had she been Kat – he meant had she been like Kat – who seemed to delight in his progress always.

  He picked up the pen again and wrote his news, fast.

  When he had finished, he read it over. He felt a twinge of unease as he did so, for he had couched the news as if he had only now made the decision, and after a great deal of thought. Kezia might believe that he had had to make his decision at once, without being able to discuss it with her. She might perceive there were other matters which she herself could not know. She might accept that he had decided with reluctance but in good faith, and that since he was unable to communicate with her in coming to the decision he must – as paterfamilias – act as he saw best. She might. But it was not the truth. He had made the decision almost defiantly, before leaving England, and he had not told her because. . . Well, he knew there would be the strongest objections, and if he waited there might come a more propitious time to break it to her. And so, in all honesty, he ought to tear up this half truth before him and begin afresh. But he was tired, and there were other matters pressing on him, matters of considerable moment, and if he waited for an opportunity tomorrow he would miss the Indiaman which was due to sail at midday . . .

  He laid aside the sheets for the ink to dry. He would rise early and write another letter in its place.

  XI

  THE CONSEQUENCES OF INACTION Next morning

  Hervey had slept soundly. He rarely slept ill, but the second night in a bed instead of a hanging cot was perfect repose. A Malay bearer woke him with tea.

  He lay listening to the morning: a native voice here and there, collared doves calling peaceably, the labouring of the water carrier. He turned and looked at his half-hunter on the bedside table, and cursed. He rose at once, but it was later than he intended.

  The bearer came back with hot water.

  And then a knock at the door announced the picket commander. 'Sir?'

  'Is the camp under attack, Corporal Hardy?' asked Hervey, with a mock frown.

  'Sir, sorry, sir, but this message just came from the castle, and the hircarrah said as it was urgent, so I brought it myself rather than give it the picket officer. Sir.'

  Hervey smiled. In that briefest of explanations Corporal Hardy had revealed so much of what he esteemed in the Sixth. Would the picket commander of the Eighty-first have acted upon such initiative? Likely as not he would have waited until the serjeant had come, and then the serjeant would have sought out the picket officer . . . Perhaps he was being unfair.

  'Is the hircarrah waiting on a reply?' he asked, as he opened the despatch from the lieutenant-governor's office (hircarrah, like backshee, was another word the regiment had brought back from India).

  'No, sir.'

  Hervey read the hand he knew well from many years' acquaintance: Would you be so good as to come hither post haste, and with you Captain Fairbrother. There is ripe intelligence from Natal . . .

  'Corporal Hardy, have Toyne bring Molly, if you please, and my compliments to Captain Brereton but I shall not be able to attend first parade.'

  He shaved, dressed, and set out without breakfasting for the castle, but via Fairbrother's house by the Company's gardens.

  An old Hottentot was watering the window boxes there; another was sweeping the stoep. For a moment, Hervey imagined how Georgiana would have loved it.

  The door was open.

  Inside, Fairbrother's housekeeper greeted him warmly as an established friend of the quarters.

  'Is he awake, M'ma Anke?'

  'He was after I'd waked him, Colonel.'

  'I perceive that you believe him not to be awake now. Perhaps you would bring coffee for me to take in to him?'

  'I will, Colonel,' she sighed. 'He did ask for me to wake him early, but this morning he said as he wished he hadn't because he had stayed late at his desk.'

  Hervey smiled.

  'Not as I sees any sign of what kept him there,' she added, with a pronounced roll of her eyes.

  Hervey sat down to await the coffee. On Fairbrother's writing table was a vase of flowers, blue and yellow. They were fresh, placed there this morning. What sort, he did not know, only that it was a woman's touch, delightful – the estimable M'ma Anke. A most agreeable fusing of native and colonist was she. But in what combination or sequence, Fairbrother said, not even she knew. Hervey wished he might find another of her capability, for his own establishment – saving Johnson's protests, of course (and, perhaps, Kezia's).

  He stood up as she returned with a small basin of steaming black arabica. 'We must leave for the castle as soon as he's dressed, M'ma Anke. I know he's indifferent to breakfast.'

  'Not so much indifferent as contrary, Colonel.'

  Hervey smiled. She most certainly had the measure of 'the master'.

  The house was on one floor only, Fairbrother's room on the east side. Hervey opened the door without knocking, and was surprised to find the curtains drawn back, the window full open and his friend sitting up in bed reading the Jamaica Courant and Public Advertiser.

  'Good morning,' said Fairbrother without taking his eyes from the newspaper.

  'My dear fellow, I believe I shall drink this coffee myself, for you evidently have no need of it. Come; we are bidden to the castle.'

  'In good time,' he replied, intent on his news.

  Hervey knew that hurrying him was fruitless. He put down the coffee and found himself a chair. 'What detains you there?'

  Fairbrother lowered the Courant a moment or two later. He appeared lost in thought. 'News of my father.'

  'Not ill news, I trust?' Besides comradely concern, Hervey had formed a high opinion of his friend's father, evidently a plantation owner of enlightened views and kindly disposition: to have raised a bastard son as his own must have been no small thing in that confined society. He hoped one day they might meet.

  'Not of him, no. Quite the opposite, if one is to take the humane view.' He pulled back the bedclothes and made to get up.

  Hervey reached for the discarded Courant.

  'See the report regarding "Treatment of a Female Slave".'

  'I have it.'

  'Read it – aloud, if you will.'

  Hervey began:

  AT a Council of Protection holden this 11th July 1828 in conformity to the 25th clause of the Slave Law now in force, before the Honorable Henry Fairbrother, Custos Rotulorum, and others, Justices and Vestrymen of the parish of Saint Ann, – Kitty Hilton, a Slave belonging to the Rev. G. W. Bridges, was brought forward in pursuance of a written order. The several parties having been duly served, the Council of Protection proceeded to investigate the said Charge.

  Kitty Hilton, sworn; stated, – That she belongs to the Rev. Mr. Bridges, Rector of Saint Ann's. On Friday, after breakfast went to her master in the library, and asked, what he would have for dinner, who asked what witness had done with all the turkeys; had the turkey killed about two o'clock, p.m.; when he saw it killed, master was angry; took her into the pantry and nailed witness against the dresser in the pantry, and kicked her with his foot. Witness begged not to be kicked so severely, as she would buy another turkey and have it for the Sunday's dinner. Being asked, if any one was present? – she said, Miss Moreland; – Was kicked for upwards of an hour; master said he wished he coul
d see her a corpse, as he hated her so. Called old Charles to pick up the largest bundle of bamboo switches he could find, which he did. Master followed her and old Charles to the cow-penn, and had her laid down. He was standing over witness, beating her with a stick, and telling the man to cut all the flesh off her.When master had done flogging her, and witness rose up, the blood was running down her heels. He ordered old Charles to run her down to the pond; and went as ordered, washed her skin, and the blood off her clothes. Did your master follow you? – No, he stopped at the cow-penn: That on her return from the pond her master was pelting her up to the house with stones; the pond can be seen from the house; it was about two o'clock in the day; was struck by her master at the cow-penn; on her return from the pond to the house, her master was following her with a stick, but as he could not catch her, he continued pelting her. On her return to the house, the blood gushed out as bad as ever. Her mistress called for a kettle of water, which she went to take up: she met her master, he gave her a kick, and told her to go out and change her clothes. He followed her into the washhouse and beat her there with a stick.

  'This is abominable, Fairbrother. Do you know either of the parties?'

  'I know the Rector of St Ann's, yes. An odious fellow, his religion distinctly Christless. Read on.'

  Hervey took up the paper again.

  Dr. Stewart, sworn. States the witness had two black eyes when the woman was sent to the workhouse.Witness examined her, and saw severe marks of punishment. W. T. Harker, sworn. Saw the woman on the morning of Wednesday; had heard a report of a woman being severely flogged; examined her, – her eyes were black, as if she had received a severe blow; her posteriors were very much cut up; on the inner part of her thigh, on each, there were several black marks. The Hon. Henry Fairbrother, sworn. Kitty Hilton came to witness to complain against her master, Mr. Bridges; she was very much injured; saw her bruises, evidently switching from the nape of her neck to her posteriors; her face and thighs dreadfully bruised. Has never seen any thing so severe of this kind; in consequences ordered her before the Council of Protection. Miss Steer, sworn. Was at Mr. Bridges on the 2d of April. The dinner was shamefully cooked, and a part of it was obliged to be sent away; Mr. Bridges told her, he should remember her. On the following day she killed a turkey, saying to Mr. Bridges she had been ordered to do so, and Mrs. Bridges told her, it must have been a mistake. Heard she was to have been punished; switches were sent for; and she was sent to the watchman for punishment. Saw Mr. Bridges on the top of the hill. Question to Mr. Colen, by Mr. Bridges. Had I any other negro than Charles, or any other coloured person about me, to punish the woman? Replied – No. The Justices and Vestry having heard the Evidence on behalf of Kitty Hilton, and the Evidence on behalf of the Reverend Mr. Bridges; on its being put to the vote; whether Mr. Bridges should be prosecuted or not, it was carried, by a majority of thirteen to four against the Prosecution.

  'A most objectionable business indeed. I am astonished at the verdict.'

  Fairbrother had begun his ablutions with unusual address, working up a vigorous lather on his shaving brush. 'Just so. I have it from my father that as custos he has made protest to the governor.'

  'It does him credit,' replied Hervey, sitting back in his chair. He would indeed like to meet him.

  'But it will go ill with him. He and the governor are of different minds when it comes to the matter of the Slave Act.'

  'Is that what troubles you?'

  'Do I appear troubled?' asked Fairbrother, without taking his eyes from the mirror as he applied the soap.

  'Shall we say that you are not, as a rule, so active this time of a morning?'

  'Let us say that I am roused by that account.'

  Hervey smiled at the pun, for all that he too was sickened by the account. 'I perfectly understand it. And I trust your father will see justice done without excessive vexation for himself.'

  'I must depend upon it,' said Fairbrother, in a way that told Hervey the affair touched him deeply (and not merely because of the discomfiting of his father). He finished lathering his face and took up the razor.

  Hervey in his turn took up the Courant again to see what manner of business occupied this other of the Crown's colonies. He perused the court notices, the shipping and transactions in silence, allowing his friend to shave with due concentration.

  When the first soap was scraped from his cheeks, Fairbrother began again. 'There's another piece in the Courant worthy of your attention – under "Foreign Intelligence". General Jackson is likely next president of the United States.'

  'The hero of New Orleans?' replied Hervey, his tone suggesting neither great surprise nor dismay. 'Do we fear that this will bring some difficulty with that country? And I think we might have read it first in The Times if it were true.'

  Fairbrother frowned, before lathering again. 'You mistake matters, Hervey, if you think Jamaica is the last to hear things: recollect that it's but a cruise from Washington to Spanish-town. And see the date, too – a fortnight after we sailed.'

  'I stand rebuked. And in truth I suppose I ought to take more cognizance of affairs in Washington if I am to go to Canada.'

  'If?' Fairbrother turned to look at him accusingly.

  'Merely the subjunctive mood. My mind is still quite made up.'

  Fairbrother returned to his shaving. 'I am glad to hear it.' After a minute or so, he took a towel and began dabbing at his face. 'Fine fellows, Americans. D'ye know, they now have their own dictionary?'

  'What nonsense are you trying?'

  Fairbrother nodded to the Courant. 'See there, a notice: a man called Webster's got up a dictionary of American words.'

  'Truly?'

  'Not content with sending the old King packing, they now disdain the King's English!'

  'The devil!' Hervey found the report.

  'Fine fellows. I should very much like to see the country,' declared Fairbrother, laying down the towel and picking up the bowl of coffee. 'Hervey, my good friend, if your offer still stands, I should like to come with you to Canada.'

  Hervey's surprise was marked.

  Fairbrother ignored it. 'You're sure an exchange can be arranged?'

  Hervey stood up, and with a look not merely of satisfaction but of admiration. 'Of course the offer stands. And I'm sure the agents can arrange an exchange with no difficulty. As I told you, these things are perfectly easily done when it is known how.'

  Fairbrother cast off his robe, though the door was full open, and took up the clean linen laid out on a chair next to the press.

  Hervey observed the sinews of an athlete, and wondered, again, how his friend kept such condition when he took no exercise and chose his food and drink entirely at will. It could only be, he concluded, some blood-gift of his mother's line. Ex Africa . . .

  There was Madeira and seedcake on a sideboard in the lieutenantgovernor's ante-room, a breakfast for which both Hervey and Fairbrother were grateful.

  'Sir Eyre-sahib will be coming shortly, Colonel Hervey sahib,' Jaswant assured them.

  They were soon joined by the colonial secretary, Colonel Bird.

  'I am sorry we had no opportunity to speak last evening, Hervey,' he said, taking coffee rather than Madeira. 'These are singular times, are they not? Who would have supposed that Jackson would be president of the United States?'

  Hervey was somewhat taken aback by this early corroboration of his friend's superior intelligence gathering. 'Quite so.'

  'Or, for that matter, the Duke of Wellington prime minister?'

  'Who indeed.' Hervey helped himself to more cake, wondering what the supplementary question might be, for he knew Colonel Bird to be as shrewd as he was gentle.

  'And that he, of all people, should champion Catholics?'

  The cadence suggested that this was Colonel Bird's material interest, and the omission of the definite article before 'Catholics', though not determinative, served nevertheless to remind Hervey of Bird's own religion (and of the consequent animosity, it was said, of
some in the colony).

  'Shall the emancipation measure be carried, do you suppose?'

  Hervey took a deep breath. In truth, emancipation was not a matter in which he was given to much thinking. Catholics or slaves, he was uncertain how the country had come to deprive them of their liberty in the first place. He concerned himself only with the practical questions arising – the murky affair of the gunpowder mills, the obsequies of his serjeant-major's wife. 'I think I would say that there appear to be two types of Catholic: the Irish and the English. I had occasion to attend a requiem mass in London, the whole regiment indeed, and it seemed no more remarkable than if we had been in Lisbon. Well, perhaps a little more so. The Irish, on the other hand . . . Let us say that if the emancipation bill is passed, and the parliament in Dublin restored – and that is their object, is it not? – it would be a Catholic parliament.'