Cambridge

by Caryl Phillips

  This past week has marked a profound change in the heart and soul of Mr Brown. I can only assume that his gender aspect has made an appearance as a result of guilt, but whatever it is that has provoked this miraculous improvement in his behaviour I am truly grateful for this reformed state of affairs. It serves to render the remaining few weeks of my sojourn on this West Indian island a little more tolerable, a factor of considerable import for one with a constitution as feeble as mine. Furthermore, the intemperate vehemence of my entreaties seems to have borne fruit. I am happy to report that not only does gentle Mr Brown appear to have forbidden the black Christiania to sit at the dining table, he seems to have confined her and her primitive obeah to the negro village. The effect upon the household slaves has been truly miraculous, for without the vulture presence of this negress casting a shadow over their persons they have all adopted a sunnier aspect. Mr Brown has taken to dressing for dinner. That he has a wardrobe that admits of fashion startled the breath from my body. True, he sports no more than a jacket and a fresh pair of breeches, but they are clean. I assume that by donning these clothes he intends to offer up some sign that he is at least aware of the social and liberal arts, the same arts with which one could be forgiven for having assumed he lacked all acquaintance.

  Dinners upon Father's estate have always been lavish, yet these days they seem, if anything, to have increased in grandeur. Mr Brown and I share a now familiar bountiful supper. The daily feast offers kid, lamb, poultry, pork and a variety of fish. I have adjusted myself to tolerate poorly dressed meat served without butter, unless a shipment from Ireland or England happens to have been freshly landed (although fresh it is unlikely to be after such a voyage). As usual the turtle forms the centre-piece of these dinners, but increasingly crab and lobster are being offered up for our delight. The odour of the slaves who attend us is also somewhat improved. The swarms of fleas that commonly cohabit with our sable dependants appear to have taken up residence elsewhere. However, it is still a problem to persuade the blacks to wear shoes upon their feet. Mr Brown has confided to me that the negro feels more of a chattel when shod than he does when decked in chains, so greatly does he detest the footwear we take for granted. This preference in going barefoot also accounts for the lameness preponderant among the negroes, a consequence of infection by the chegoe.

  The dessert is generally superior to the main course, the finest fruits being provided in abundance. Mr Brown took the trouble to explain to me the mysteries of two fruits which regularly grace our table. Apparently the shaddock contains thirty-two seeds, two of which will reproduce the fruit, but it is impossible to distinguish which two. The rest will between them yield some sweet oranges, some bitter, and some will bring forth forbidden fruit. In short, all varieties of orange are likely progeny of the shaddock, though no flavour is much alike. It is not until the trees start to bear that one is able to detect success or failure, for until this blessing the trees appear much the same. However, the seeds that happily reproduce the shaddock, even if taken from an exceptionally fine specimen, may bear only tolerable, or inferior fruit, some of which is scarcely edible. The mystery of the mango is no less baffling. Mr Brown tells me that the fruit of no two trees is the same, and that the seeds of the finest mango, though carefully sown and cultivated, seldom result in fruit comparable to the parent stock. At its best the mango is the queen fruit of the islands; at worst its flavour resembles turpentine and sugar. I enquired as to the possibility of returning to England bearing some seeds from which I might attempt to cultivate this exotic plant in my own little piece of England, but it seems I am likely to be disappointed.

  Remarkably enough our exchanges have often continued until late in the evening, when we have sat upon the piazza sipping at dishes of tea, trying hard to ignore the mosquito-gentry who pay us close attention, especially after dusk. We are particularly careful to ensure that our conversation remains impersonal, neither of us wishing to spoil this new companionship. So Mr Brown speaks principally with me of West Indian affairs. In turn I explain, as best I can, what is afoot in England, which country, I am sad to learn, Mr Brown has not visited for some twenty or more years. His interest in England appears to be merely polite, and I think one might safely assume that he will bequeath his body to West Indian soil, among the people he seems to understand so well. As to the nature of the trade he is engaged in, I doubt if there is anybody who knows more man Mr Brown about the business of squeezing profit from a moderately sized plantation in the tropical zone. On this point everyone, from Stella to Mr McDonald, agrees. When I displayed interest in the technical procedures employed in cultivation of the cane, Mr Brown offered to escort me around the property, provided our tour began early the next morning. He also promised to show me the principal scenes of life on a sugar plantation.

  Without King Sugar none would be here, neither black nor white. The method of sugar-cane production, upon which all tropical wealth depends, formed the elementary lesson of my day with Mr Brown. First, explained my master, the ripe canes are cut in the field and brought in bundles to the sugar mill, where the cleanest of the black women are employed to deliver the canes into the machines for grinding, while a solitary black woman draws them out at the other end once the juice has been extracted. She then throws the emaciated cane through an opening in the floor, where a pack of negroes is employed in bundling up this trash for use as fuel. The precious cane-juice gushes out of the grinding machine through a wooden gutter, and becomes quite white with foam. It streams into the boiling house, and enters a siphon where it is heated by the boiler. It is slaked with lime to encourage it to granulate. The scum rises to the top, while the purer and more fluid juice flows through another gutter into a second siphon or copper. When little but the scum on the surface remains, the gutter communicating with the first copper is blocked off. The remaining waste travels through a final gutter, which conveys it to the distillery. Here this solution is mixed with molasses or treacle to become rum.

  The pure juice in the second copper is then fed back into the first, and then on into two more, each time more scum being removed from the surface with a copper skimmer pierced with holes. This enables the fresh juice to flow back into the coppers. When free from impurities, the juice is ladled into coolers where it is left to granulate. Sugar is formed in the curing house. As the sugar settles, the part of it that is too poor in quality or too liquid to granulate is allowed to drip off from the casks into vessels placed beneath them. These drippings form the molasses, which is taken into the distillery and mixed with the coarser scum to make rum, after two distillations. The first distillation produces only 'low wine'. Under the guidance of Mr Brown I was able to observe all the tools, utensils and instruments employed in this industry, but it not being the season I was unable to see the process in full operation. However, Mr Brown's explanation was so thorough that not only do I feel confident that I might explain the mysteries of this process to any stranger, but I am persuaded that I must myself have observed it in action!

  The empty canes that form the trash are most commonly utilized as fuel. However, some canes are used for fodder or as thatching. The cane-tops are cut off and replanted in order to cultivate fresh growths. There is another method employed if one wishes to conserve time. It seems that after the original growths have been cut their roots throw up suckers, which mature to become canes. These are known as ratoons. They are much inferior in juice to the planted canes, but require less weeding and spare the negroes the only laborious part of the business of sugar-making, the excavation of holes for planting; however, an acre of ratoons will produce only one hogshead of sugar, while an acre of fresh plants will produce two. But the ratoons save time, effort and expense, and a thoroughgoing planter can cultivate five acres of ratoons in the time it will take him to cultivate one acre of plants. However, nature is not to be outdone and Mr Brown, with some regret, informed me that after four or five crops of ratoons this cyclical process is utterly exhausted and one is obliged to plant f
resh cane-tops. That it was possible for one to extract even so much seemed to me one of nature's more generous bargains. Chief among accidents and injuries is burning, usually caused by drunken negroes stepping into the siphons in the boiling-houses. If the fire has not long been kindled the limb can generally be rescued, but sometimes there is little one can do, and the doctor is forced to resort to amputation, after which neither replanting nor ratoon will restore the limb.

  With Mr Brown I walked the lush pastures of the estate, from time to time being provided the facility to refresh myself with water. The cisterns in which the water for family-use is kept are very well-calculated to preserve the water cool and fresh for some time. What is used for drinking, and supplies the table, passes through a filtering stone into a lead and marble reservoir, which causes it to become more lucid and pure than any water I have ever seen. The reservoir is placed in a shaded corner to preserve the chill, and the water is presented by a slave. The negro offers the water in a coconut shell ornamented with silver, and attached to the end of a hickory handle. This is to prevent the breath of the swarthy bondsman contaminating the purity of the water. Mr Brown was always generous with explanations of any questions I might ask, and ready to label a tree or shrub whose colour or particular grace might attract my eye. However, when I ventured upon more controversial ground, that one might argue is at the heart of the matter, namely slavery, my guide seemed somewhat reluctant to discuss the institution. It would appear that Mr Brown feels that the ethical and moral questions raised by this mode of profit are matters on which I am not yet qualified to engage. Perhaps he objects to discussing such matters with a woman? It is difficult for me to tell. He did, however, suggest that the proposal to substitute animal for black labour arose from pure ignorance. Mr Brown informed me that on many plantations oxen ploughs and other farming implements had been purchased, but through obstinacy and ignorance the negroes simply broke plough after plough and ruined one beast after another. All such attempts have had to be abandoned, for once broken, the cast-iron ploughs cannot be repaired for lack of artisan skills. As for the livestock, efforts to shelter them from heat and rain have proved worthless. Furthermore, the negroes did not seem to understand that the labouring cattle were not as hardy as they, and could not effectively be driven from sun-up to sun-down. Shortly after their arrival the livestock inevitably began to decline, their blood was converted into urine, and expiration soon followed. This, it would appear, constituted the sum total of Mr Brown's case for the continuation of the institution of slavery. In short, if negroes do not labour, then who will? After all, according to my instructor, white men and animals are unsuited to this form of drudgery.

  I have spent the greater part of the last few days in thoughtful consideration of the institution. In this frame of mind I have written yet again to Father informing him that upon my return I would wish to make a small lecture tour. A discourse upon my changing fortunes and adventurous travel upon the Atlantic Ocean, and beyond, upon its further shores. This might be of interest to some of the ladies' associations founded by the wives of these new men of industry, especially if my reflections are supported by my immediate experience. When I left these shores I promised Father that I would endure the tropic heat with an open mind as to the merits of the trade in and employment of slaves, and this I have tried to do. But this tired system is lurching towards an end, a fact which it would be foolish to deny. Overworking of the land, absenteeism on the part of those like Father (who fail to recognize that this business of sugar-planting requires the full attention of those who engage in it), the innate menace of this zone, the loss of trade with the newly independent states in America, the afflictions of war in Europe, and, as I observed under the tutelage of Mr Brown, the sad ineffiency of production, all these ills have contributed to the unpropitious future of the West Indian sugar industry. Soon the English must abandon this seeming paradise. Father has connections enough to aid me in a small lecture tour, and I have also suggested that such a tour might help to defer the expense of his sending me upon this journey. I might even compose a short pamphlet framed as a reply to the lobby who, without any knowledge of life in these climes, would seek to have us believe that slavery is nothing more than an abominable evil.

  Such untravelled thinkers do not comprehend the base condition of the negro. Nor do they appreciate the helplessness of the white man in his efforts to preserve some scrap of moral decency in the face of so much provocation and temptation. We all hope to welcome the day when liberty shall rule over an ample domain, but at present the white man's unfitness for long toil under the rays of a vertical sun would appear to go some way to justify his colonial employment of negro slaves, whose bodies are better suited to labour in tropical heat. To speak with sentiment merely of the sale and purchase of such people without full consideration of the universal economic facts is plain foolishness. This being the case, I have also informed Father that I shall continue to reside on this plantation for a further three months, during which time I shall have completed the notes for both my pamphlet and my lecture tour. I advised Mr Brown of my decision, to which he merely nodded as though the news were of no consequence to him. After all, I do not believe for one minute that he is under any illusion as to where my loyalties lie: in other words, that is, with my father, his employer and his master. What else could he display but resignation? He was, of course, obliged to remain silent with regard to any fears he might harbour that my writings might comment adversely upon his conduct.

  Late last night, having no doubt been informed by Stella of my extended residence, the negroes took it into their heads to pay me a compliment of an extremely inconvenient nature. In order to display their pleasure at my continued sojourn among them, they thought it proper to treat me to a nocturnal serenade. Accordingly, a large body of well-dressed negroes arrived under my window about midnight, accompanied by drums, rattles, and a full orchestra of such unlikely instruments. Thereafter, there appeared to me a congregation of black limbs tumbling and leaping and seemingly determined to pass the whole night singing and dancing beneath my balcony. From their lungs bellowed forth stentorian snatches of Bacchanalian songs, and their unseemly laughter disturbed the still night air. Their fiddlers, cognizant of neither sharps nor flats, embraced with enthusiasm their old friend discord, while those who danced were unable to prolong their individual exertions above a minute or two; nevertheless, this sufficed to distil an abundance of perspiration. Such a vulgar, yet dextrous, set of antics never came into the brain, or out of the limbs, of anything but a son of Ham enjoying his jubilee. After an hour of this Dionysiac abomination, I instructed Stella to inform them that I had long since retired and that they should withdraw promptly to their village. This she did, and then presented herself once more, whereupon she began to address me, her countenance displaying a degree of concern which approached severity.

  Dear Stella. Things between us have not been easy of late. I suspect that she is a shade jealous of the attention that Mr Brown has recently bestowed upon me. I suspect also that he has exchanged fewer words with her than was the case before my arrival. Jealousy being the transitory emotion that it is, I am sure that this difficulty will soon pass, and before long a familiar sweet smile will once more be embellishing her features so that despite their dusky tint they might reassume the appearances of both gentleness and refinement. There has been no sign of Christiania for some while, and Stella and I are once again the dominant females of the household. Dear Stella, she seemed delighted to hear that I would be prolonging my visit, and I am sure that the emotions she displayed were no mere show of theatrical skill. We two sat together until all the negroes had ceased their noisy revelry and returned to their lairs and nests. What we in England call autumn is now upon us. Stella, seemingly both exhausted and preoccupied with her own cogitations, informed me that we were entering the time of the rainy season, with its occasional hurricane. Then she closed her eyes.

  The sultriness began to give way to more windy we
ather, promising a most boisterous and tempestuous night. A sudden flurry swelled into a gale, the thunder began to peal most awfully, and the lightning flashed its fearful fires. The dark clouds laboured to rest upon the mountains, and the wind called mournfully among the trees. As the air became chill, the mercury fell, and the shuttered casements of heaven opened wide. And then, as suddenly as the skies opened, they closed up again. I knew from past experience that one consequence of such rain is that in the morning animal life of all kinds will be crowding for space. The ground will be discovered to be Uttered with lizards, centipedes and cockroaches, all of whom will be present in platoons, under cushions, behind bookshelves, lurking in the most unlikely places. One has to learn not to fear these ugly black creepers and crawlers; there are negro boys a-plenty to crush each noisome creature the moment it invades one's life. There is no stemming the invasion. The creatures are sent to try us, but we must not relax our patient self-defence.

  Disconcertingly, the emotion of fear is becoming increasingly familiar to me. These past nights the sensation has seized me again, causing me to recollect the prior occasion on which I felt such trepidation. After the death of Isabella at sea, the demon made his last assault. As these alarms continued to threaten me in my impotence, I feared that I should soon be reunited with my dead companion. And now this devilish fear has reasserted its power, but this time I find myself adrift, not on threatening waves, but upon an ocean of negroes who care little for my fears. Outside my window, I began to discern nocturnal scratching noises. At first I was too frightened to properly investigate, in fear that some strange beast might be waiting for an opportunity to assault and devour me body and soul. Eventually, on the third night, I pulled back a corner of the blind and peered into the darkness, whereupon I observed the re-entry into the drama of my life of the arrogant black wench, Christiania. Squatting down on her hams, she appeared to be scratching at the dirt, to what purpose I knew not. Furthermore, she was uttering sinister sounds which I did not wish to hear repeated throughout the night. I thought it best not to approach the half-witted creature directly, especially as I was sure that she was unaware of being observed by me. So I called to Stella, directed her attention to the origin of these noises, and instructed her to drive away the crazy woman. Before Stella could jabber a reply, I read the reluctance in her sooty countenance. I have hitherto observed that amongst the other blacks, there is a deep fear of this foolish Christiania, a fear which has its origins in this obeah that they pay so much attention to, about which I have gleaned further information.