HF - 04 - Black Dawn

by Christopher Nicole

  'We shall see.' Dick watched the four naked men, having been released from the triangles, coming towards him. 'Cover them up,' he bawled, flushing with embarrassment, wondering if being tied up to await a whipping would have the same effect on him.

  Absolom hastily marched the men round the back of the crowd, and Dick moved closer. He regarded, by Harriet's figures, a thousand and more people, men and women and children, gathered in a huge dark group, black faces remarkably contrasting with the white cotton drawers and chemises which were all any of them wore; while the children were naked. But as he approached he realized that they were not all of the same colour, while their faces were noticeably varied, from the broad, friendly features of the darker Congolese Negroes to the aquiline reservedness of the Mandingoes.

  'Will they all understand English?' he asked Joshua.

  'I think so, Mr Hilton. They all must be living in Jamaica these two years at the least.'

  He drew a long breath. The crowd seemed absolutely still, save for the restless movements of the children. But they gazed at him, expectantly. And with what in their hearts, he wondered. Hatred? Respect? Fear? Or merely apathy?

  ‘I am Richard Hilton,' he shouted. 'I shall live here from now on. I shall take the place of my uncle, Robert Hilton. But I am not Robert Hilton. You will discover who I am, as the days go by. I am here to grow sugar, to make this plantation prosperous. You will help me to do that. You will work hard, and please me, and none of you will be punished. And I will work beside you, as hard as any of you. So will my brother here, and in all things you will regard him as me. With mine, his word is law on Hilltop. Should you not work hard, be sure that you will be punished. But why be punished? See, I have taken down your four comrades who were to be whipped, because I will have no man suffer for a crime committed before I came to Hilltop. And I have dismissed my bookkeepers, because they would rule by the whip. Now then, this afternoon there will be no more work. Tomorrow morning you will go aback as usual, and recommence your labour. You will be commanded by Absolom here, and his drivers, and the inspection will be carried out by this gentleman, Joshua Merriman, who you will regard as my deputy in all things. Very good. You are dismissed to your houses.' He turned to Joshua. 'Go amongst them, and make sure they understand me.'

  'Oh, I going do that, Mr Hilton. They going follow you, sir. They going follow you.'

  He rode down the hill towards the silent crowd.

  'What do you think?'

  'A very good speech,' Harriet said. 'I doubt they'll know what to make of it. Let's get back to the house. The stench of their bodies afflicts me nostrils.'

  'You said something about an inspection.'

  'Tomorrow will do,' she said. 'Christ, how me throat is dry.'

  'Me too,' Tony said. 'When I saw all those black faces, why, I doubted not our last moment had come.'

  'Rubbish,' Dick declared. 'They are but people, who require to be treated as people, and we shall have no trouble.' He wheeled his horse, saw Laidlaw seated on his mount only a few feet away; the first of the wagons had already begun its journey down the drive.

  'You speak well, Mr Hilton,' the manager said. 'You should be a politician, like your father. But these people need the whip, not words.'

  'They'll work, Mr Laidlaw. They'll work.'

  'Aye,' Laidlaw said. 'We'll see how they work, when it comes to grinding.'

  'A toast.' Tony Hilton stood, and raised his glass. 'To the Hiltons of Hilltop. Long may they prosper.'

  He slurred, very slightly, and swayed. At the opposite side of the table Harriet Gale gave a giggle of tipsy laughter. They had both drunk far too much.

  But then, Dick wondered, had he not also drunk far too much? Without achieving the blessings of inebriation. He kept thinking how absurd they looked, the three of them, he and Tony in their black jackets and white socks. Harriet in a splendid evening gown in dark blue taffeta which seemed to hang from her breasts as if attached there, leaving shoulders and arms exposed; they were milky-white shoulders and arms, with a dusting of freckles, and plumper than he had first observed.

  Now she tossed her head, scattering that long, straight dark mane, so that some fell behind and odd strands descended most entrancingly in front, trickling across the white swell of flesh, and raised her own glass, to squint through it at the light. 'Empty, by God. Vernon, you black devil, fill it up. Fill it up.'

  Dick sighed, and watched the footman hastily reaching for the decanter. It apparently had been his uncle's humour to name all of his house servants after British admirals. But he also felt like another drink. It was a form of hysterical release, he decided. The bookkeepers, and their wives, and their children, and their dogs, had gone. The town stood derelict. No doubt it would soon fill again, as Reynolds advertised, as they obtained the right people. But what a remarkable day it had been. No, indeed, what a remarkable two days; he had not slept a wink last night. Now he could hardly keep his eyes open, and his head swung, at once with exhaustion and alcohol, and his brain seemed filled with nothing but the presence of Harriet Gale. He thought he could sit here the entire night, just staring at the freckled flesh, just dreaming.

  The decanter crashed past his ear, struck the parquet and shattered into a hundred pieces of crystal.

  'Ow me God,' cried Vernon, staring at the liquid spreading across the floor.

  'Oh, Christ,' Harriet screamed, sitting up.

  'God damn you for a bastard,' Tony bawled.

  Dick rubbed his ears, watched Boscawen pounding in from the pantry.

  'What is this?' cried the butler.

  'It slip, man, it slip.' Vernon was on his knees, his napkin turning red as he swabbed at the wine.

  'Ah, well, fetch another,' Tony commanded.

  'Crystal,' Dick said. 'My God. What did that thing cost? Mistress Gale?'

  'Ah, what does it matter. 'Tis a waste of good wine,' she said. 'There's the problem. They are crazy swine, these people, careless as devils from hell. ' 'Tis break this and smash that, all the while.'

  'Crystal,' he muttered. 'There's pounds and pounds. My God.' His money. Supposing he had any. He hadn't seen a single entry in a book, so far, to prove he wasn't bankrupt. If they threw crystal around like snowballs ... he sat upright at the sound of hooves. 'What's that?'

  'See to it, Boascawen,' Tony commanded. 'And for God's sake bring on the meat, man.'

  'Yes, sir, Mr Hilton, sir.' Boscawen took the commands in order, daintily stepped round the kneeling figure of Vernon, crunched some glass beneath his bare feet and paused, with a pained expression on his face, then continued towards the door, without even a limp. 'Absolom? But what you doing up here this time?'

  The driver wore only his drawers; his huge chest heaved and dripped sweat. 'Is that Mary Nine. She screaming fit to raise Damballah.'

  'Eh?' Dick raised his head. 'Screaming?'

  'Well, is the child, see, Mr Hilton, sir? He pushing he head out and causing she too much pain. And is a fact Mr Roche done gone with them others.'

  'Roche?' Dick asked, stupidly.

  'The white dispenser,' Harriet said. 'This girl, Mary Nine, is too young to have a child, really. She will probably die.'

  'Die?' Dick scrambled to his feet. 'We must do something, Harriet. Mistress Gale, you must help me.' He inhaled. 'I mean help her.'

  'Me? Help a nigger girl give birth?'

  'You must. You said you like to watch. Now you can do more. Horses, Mr Boscawen. Quick, now.'

  Boscawen glared at Absolom. 'You seeing what you done, you stupid black man? You upset the master.'

  'Well, she screaming . . .'

  'Horses,' Dick said firmly. He seized Harriet's wrist and half dragged her from her chair. 'Please. Tony . . .?'

  Tony was regarding the enormous side of beef being brought into the dining room by two other of the footmen. 'I'll just stay here and mind the house,' he said.

  'For God's sake.' Dick pulled Harriet from the room. 'Horses.'

  'You can use mine, Mr Hilton, s
ir,' Absolom said. 'Oh, thanks.' Dick gasped, and swung into the saddle. 'I will come whenever mine is saddled,' Harriet decided. 'Now,' he insisted, leaned down, grasped her under the armpits, and tried to lift her.

  'Help me,' he shouted at Absolom.

  The driver hesitated for a moment, then ran forward, seized Harriet's ankles, and pumped them upwards. A moment later she was sitting in the saddle in front of Dick, squirming to make herself comfortable, her hair flowing back to fill his mouth, while she gasped for breath.

  He was already kicking the horse forward, sending it galloping down the hill, towards the hubbub which marked the slave village.

  'Really, Mr Hilton,' she said, having got her breathing under control. "Tis no way to treat a lady, indeed it is not. I'd not remained on Hilltop to be midwife to a black.'

  'I'd not know what to do without you,' he said, and rode into the street of the village, to find himself in the midst of the slaves, all clamouring at him, setting up a tremendous din, but mostly, he realized, in wonderment at his presence.

  'Is the master, man.'

  'Eh-eh, but you seeing that?'

  'And Mistress Gale.'

  'Man, but what is this?'

  Harriet slid from the saddle, struck the ground rather heavily, and hastily adjusted her skirts. Dick jumped down beside her. 'Where is the hospital?'

  'Hospital, massa? Hospital?'

  'The dispensary,' Harriet shouted, possibly at him.

  'Ah, yes, the dispensary.'

  The unearthly scream which cut through the night was a better directive than any of the gabbled instructions. He thrust them aside and ducked his head to enter the building, slightly larger than the average hut, to recoil in horror at the foetid stench which swept across his nostrils. The dispensary was hardly less crowded than the street, and the flickering torches seemed to be licking at the very beams of the rafters. In the centre of the floor a space had been left clear, and here Joshua Merriman knelt.

  'Joshua,' Dick gasped in relief, ran to his side, and again recoiled as he watched the blood trickling across the beaten earth floor, issuing from between the legs of the young Negress, she really was only a girl, who lay there, her head on Joshua's knees.

  'Oh, my Christ.' Harriet stood beside him. 'She's gone.' 'Joshua?'

  Joshua raised his head. He looked tired. But he held in his hands a tiny scrap of black humanity. 'It jammed up,' he said. 'I had to take it, hard.'

  'Godalmighty!' Dick had to shake his head to clear his senses. 'And the child?'

  Joshua sighed. 'That too, Mr Hilton, sir. That too. I done make a messup of this one.'

  'And you needn't have called us at all,' Harriet said severely. 'Ugh. Me dress has blood on it. Really, Mr Hilton . . .'

  'You can have another dress,' he promised. Wasn't that the attitude around here, and with lives no less than possessions? 'What do we do?'

  Joshua laid the babe beside its mother. 'Well, we got for bury them, Mr Hilton. You there, take them out.'

  Two of the men came forward, one to seize the wrists and the other the ankles of the dead woman, as if she had been a sack of coal. Another picked up the child by the ankles.

  'My God,' Dick said. 'It can't be done now. There is no coffin, no priest. . .'

  'Coffin? For a black girl?' Joshua was amazed.

  'Well, at least let us wait until morning.'

  'It warm, Mr Hilton, sir,' Joshua pointed out. 'Morning time she going be smelling high, and causing sickness.'

  Dick scratched his head. The bodies had already been removed. 'But... a priest. . .'

  'Mr Hilton, sir, that girl ain't no Christian. If you can pray like Damballah, now, then maybe you got cause.'

  'Damballah?'

  'He speaks of the voodoo gods,' Harriet whispered. 'These people are heathens, snake worshippers, most of them. For Christ's sake, Mr Hilton, let us be away.'

  'Is a fact, Mr Hilton,' Joshua said. 'I am too sorry to interrupt your dinner, for nothing.'

  'For. heaven's sake,' Dick said, 'you did the right thing, Joshua. I should be present whenever any one of them is born. Or dies. They are my people.'

  'Christ,' Harriet remarked. 'You'd be down here all the time.' She ducked her head and gained the open air. The slaves stared at her.

  Dick followed, gave her a leg into the saddle, mounted behind her. 'I am sorry, good people,' he called. 'It was an act of God.' Or should he have said, an act of Damballah? Clearly he must learn about this snake god. Mama had mentioned it, but in the warmth of an English parlour it had seemed a fairy tale.

  The horse picked its way out of the compound, back up the hill. Harriet Gale lay against his chest with a sigh. 'You must alter the list,' she said. 'One thousand and fifty-two.'

  'Eh? Just like that?'

  'You must keep track of them, Mr Hilton.'

  Like cattle, he thought. Count heads, every morning. 'Why was she called Mary Nine?'

  'Well, think of it,' Harriet said. 'Better than a thousand. How are you to keep a tally? Your uncle decided it. Half a dozen names, male and female, and after that, numbers. Each field gang has a name, you see.'

  'Absolom has no number.'

  'Ah,' she said. 'When they get to be drivers, they get proper names, like the house slaves.' She nestled her shoulders against his chest. 'You've a lot to learn, Mr Hilton. But the sooner you start the better. Like the way to carry a lady on a horse is to hold her round the waist.'

  'I am holding you round the waist,' he said, 'as my arms are on either side of you.'

  'Pfft,' she said. ' 'Tis not what I meant at all.'

  'Now really, Mistress Gale,' he said. 'You were my uncle's ..’

  'Housekeeper.'

  'Yes, but you have yourself told me . . .'

  'That I administered to his needs. But if you think a bit you'll understand I have not been penetrated by a man these nine years. 'Tis a long time.'

  'For heaven's sake, a girl has just died.'

  'Ah, you'd not confuse a nigger with a human being, now would you? That Merriman himself told you they're not Christian.'

  He sighed. 'Anyway, I'm betrothed.'

  'Are you now.' Her head half turned, her musk and her hair seemed to balloon around his face. 'To a girl in England?'

  'Of course. She'll be joining me whenever I am settled. My God, I am settled.'

  'You think so? You want to be sure,' she said.' 'Tis a mighty big business bringing a young lady all the way from England to Jamaica. Why think on tonight. She'd be fainting by now.'

  He frowned into the darkness. Ellen? Somehow he did not think she would have fainted tonight. She'd be far more likely to have replaced Joshua on the floor, holding the dead child.

  'Nine years,' Harriet said. 'Ah, 'tis a long time. I doubt not I'll have forgotten what it's like.'

  The horse stopped in front of the steps, and Dick hastily dismounted. She fell from the saddle into his arms. 'Anyway,' he said, 'there is the matter of, well. . .'

  'So I'm a year or two the older. A young man always wants to begin with an older woman. 'Tis a well known fact.'

  He escorted her to the steps. What an incredible conversation to be having, with an incredible woman, on an incredible day. 'I'm starving,' he said, and stopped in the archway to the dining room, to gaze at Tony, asleep with his hair trailing in an overturned glass of port. 'For heaven's sake. Mr Boscawen,' he called. 'Where is that side of beef?'

  'Eh-eh, but you back quick, Mr Hilton.' The butler came in from the pantry, minus his wig, and wiping his lips with a linen napkin. The beef, master? We—we just done finish it.'

  'Eh? A whole side of beef?'

  'Well, sir, Mr Hilton, there does be fourteen of us out there, what with the maid and thing.' 'My God.' Dick sat down.

  'But no matter, sir, I going fetch another side of beef. It only a matter of cooking it quick. One hour, on the spit. Meantime you and Mistress Gale can drink some wine, eh?'

  'One hour? More wine?' Dick got up again. 'I'm for bed. I'll say good night, M
istress Gale. Maybe you'd try waking up my brother.'

  'They're waiting, Mr Hilton.' Joshua stood in the door to the dining room, his straw hat in his hands. In the half light of the dawn he looked even bigger than he was.

  Dick finished his mug of steaming black coffee, handed it to the serving girl—he still could not remember their names— and got up. 'No sign of Mr Hilton?'

  'No, sir. Mr Boscawen saying his bed ain't been slept in.'

  Dick nodded, and sighed. All week Tony had been growing more and more restless, more and more bored with life on Hilltop. And it had seemed a good idea to send someone into Kingston, to see how Reynolds was getting on with raising some new bookkeepers . . . but then there had been the quarrel over money. Tony just had not been able to understand the need for economy. He had discovered that in the good old days Robert Hilton had kept his own string of race horses, had matched them, here on Hilltop, against the best in the island on magnificent social occasions which were still the talk of Kingston. But that had been twenty years ago, and the race course was now overgrown, the grandstand rotting. It would cost a fortune to clear and repair. Money they did not have, and would never have, so far as Dick could see. The waste on this plantation was on a scale he had not suspected possible. By reasonable accounting techniques they were quite literally tearing their wealth up. Nor had his day spent in studying the books in the office brought him much happiness. The turnover was in figures not even his banking background allowed him properly to grasp, and yet there was no profit that he could see. The plantation was worth five million pounds, on paper; there was the question as to whom they could ever sell it to. Their last crop had fetched nearly five hundred thousand pounds on the London market, but by the time all the notes had been settled, all the provisions, the wines and the cheeses and the sweetmeats, the clothes and the furniture, the staves and the barrels, the replacement machinery for the factory, the powder and the ammunition for the firearm store, the perfumes for Mistress Gale, the ice for the cold cellars, brought all the way from Newfoundland by specially equipped ships, had been accounted for, they had been left with a debit balance of two thousand, which had had to be added to the debit balances accumulated over the previous twenty years to make a total outstanding of thirty-one thousand pounds. The London agent was not apparently concerned. It was the war, the closure of the European markets, the high freight and insurance costs. Once the war ended, why, the debt would rapidly be reduced. At one time in the middle of the last century, a Hilltop crop had fetched a million pounds on the London market. Another year like that and the debt would be liquidated. Supposing sugar ever regained quite that place in the nation's favour. Because now the American market was closed as well.