All the ladies felt safe with Paris. After all, he could discuss fashion like a lady and he never became hot and bothered by working. He was a true gentleman, and fun to be around. His many stories about life in Paris before the war kept them enthralled.
Paris was always on somebody’s list for dinner, sometimes as a single person, and other times as a partner for some visiting lady. He was in great demand and he knew everything about everyone. Most of his information came via the bedroom. It did not take long for a bored wife or daughter to fall for his sophisticated chatter. Within a short time he would strip his conquest bare of not just her clothes, but also information and general gossip. He was careful to make sure his black lady-friend never found out about the liaisons with the wives of the island.
He knew how fortunate he was to obtain the building in which his coffee shop now operated. His first attempt had been in the capital, Spanish Town, on the left bank of the Rio Cobre, a town sacked by the English pirates and eventually captured by English troops. Any town so easily captured made him nervous. He moved to Kingston and opened his new coffee shop beneath the guns of the fort pointing down King Street to the harbour.
Kingston’s four main streets created the square, or centre, of Jamaica. This square was called The Parade. It was where everyone would find Paris. He often glanced out of the large front window to reassure himself all was well with his world. Across the road from his coffee house he could see Kingston Parish Church, which was the only place for everyone to be on a Sunday morning. After the service the congregation would stroll across the road to Paris’ for coffee or sherbet.
‘I love Kingston,’ he said to the black girl, ‘it is full of life.’
‘Life?’ questioned the girl. ‘It is dusty and noisy.’
‘You can’t see the beauty of Kingston.’
‘I am a slave, so I don’t see beauty in anything.’
‘Slave, bah! I treat you well. You aren’t a slave. Have you forgotten all that I have given you? If you were a slave, would I have done that? No! Clean up, you ungrateful bitch.’
‘Yes Mass’er,’ smiled the girl as she wiggled her behind once again.
‘Pull over, driver, and wait for me.’
The sudden change from the bright sunshine to the well-shaded coffee house caused William to stop inside the door to allow his eyes to become accustomed to the low light. The two ladies sat at a table to one side.
A long counter dominated the rear wall. Behind the counter stood a white man and a black woman. The man was obviously in charge, as he was in conversation with the two ladies. William could hear that his Continental accent did not sound quite right. It sounded affected. He removed his hat and lodged it under his arm. The women stopped talking and watched the newcomer approach the counter.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ said William, bowing slightly.
‘Good morning, Sir,’ they responded together.
‘Good day, Monsieur, how may I help?’ asked Paris.
‘Sherbet, please.’
‘I am sorry, Monsieur, I cannot make a true sherbet as I do not have any ice.’
‘No matter, the fruit and the cream will be fine.’
The odd Frenchman began to mix the drink. William asked, ‘If you had ice, do you think you could make ice cream?’
‘Of course I could, but I do not have any ice.’
‘I have ice,’ William said quietly.
‘You have ice?’ asked Aristotle, handing over the sherbet drink.
‘Correct, and I have enough at the right price for you to make a lot of money.’ William sipped his sherbet drink and watched the owner.
‘I think, Monsieur, you play a little trick on me.’
‘Can you get cream by this afternoon?’
‘Oui, Monsieur, how much do you wish me to obtain?’
‘How much do you think you can sell?’
‘What happens if you do not return? I will have too much cream.’
The enthralled women listened to the conversation between the officer and Paris.
‘Madam,’ said William, turning to one of the ladies. ‘Would you be so kind to witness something for me?’
‘I don’t know you, Sir.’
‘Forgive me, ladies, I am Captain William King of the Albatross, newly arrived this morning from Boston.’
‘Captain, what do you wish me to witness?’ asked one of the ladies.
‘You have heard my suggestion to …’ William turned, not knowing the proprietor’s name.
‘Paris Aristotle, Captain, at your service.’
‘Ladies, you have heard my suggestion to Monsieur Aristotle. I will now give him two golden guineas for his trouble. If he buys the cream, and I fail to return as promised, then he is at liberty to keep the coins.’
William brought out his purse and counted out the promised cash. He held the coins in his hand and looked at Paris Aristotle and asked, ‘Well, Monsieur, do we have a deal?’
‘Oui, Captain,’ replied Paris, and proffered his hand for the money.
William dropped the coins into Paris’ hand and turned to the ladies. ‘May I suggest, ladies, that you visit this emporium this afternoon. There will be iced drinks for sale, and if you wish to buy some ice, this will also be for sale. I bid you both farewell and look forward to meeting you again.’
As he finished speaking he put on his hat, saluted the ladies, and turned to Paris. ‘Until later, Monsieur.’
On his return to the Albatross, William summoned his officers to his cabin. He could hardly control his excitement. ‘Gentlemen, I think we may be able to sell the ice!’
‘Sell it? Who would want so much ice, Sir?’ asked David Fuller.
‘Anyone living in this climate,’ growled Austin, under his breath.
Fuller blushed.
‘I hope we can sell it to everyone in this town, Mr Fuller,’ commented William.
‘Sorry, Captain, stupid question.’
‘Not at all Mr Fuller, those who do not ask, never learn. Sang! Let’s have some cold drinks while we work out our plan.’
‘Yes, Sorr.’
Within a few minutes Sang produced fruit drinks in which he had placed chunks of ice. He had bargained with a dockside fruit-seller and bought a mixed lot of fruit. He’d said he intended to crush it and offer it to the captain as a dessert, but then decided that it would be better in a punch. Sang crushed the fruits, mixed in rum, and added chunks of ice. William was impressed.
‘Does anybody know how to make ice cream?’ enquired William.
‘As far as I know, Sir, you just wrap the cream container in ice and let it go hard.’
‘I don’t think so, Mr Austin,’ said William. ‘I have tasted ice cream in the Mediterranean and I am sure they spend time stirring it before they serve it.’ William laughed and commented ‘I have sold the idea of ice cream this afternoon, and none of us are sure how to make it!’
‘Captain, Sorr, I can dooa ice crim,’ interjected Sang quietly from the corner of the cabin.
‘Where did you learn to make ice cream?’
‘Sorr, in China, ice crim all time same, no problem, can dooa.’
‘Gentlemen, it appears we have a saviour. Let’s get a couple of carts and fill them with enough ice to make a big splash. if you’ll excuse my little joke.’
They laughed dutifully.
‘I’ll arrange the carts, Sir,’ said the first mate. ‘Mr Fuller, make sure we only unload clean ice. It must be attractive, we don’t want anyone to think that we are trying to poison them.’
‘Aye, aye, Sir.’
‘Thank you, Mr Austin,’ said William, ‘I will return to the coffee house to make sure we have the right audience. Bring the ice as soon as you can. It is called Paris’ and it’s on King Street near the Parade.’
‘Don’t worry, Captain, I’ll find it.’
‘Sang, come with me and tell me what you will require.’
The unloading of the ice attracted the attention of every lay-about and wastre
l for miles around. William was not concerned. He wanted word to spread that a cargo of ice had arrived in town. He stepped from the carriage outside Paris’ coffee shop to be met by a large crowd. There were too many to fit in the small shop.
‘Stay close,’ he commanded Sang, and began to push his way through. Every table was full and people stood around the walls.
’Captain, Captain, over here. Do you have the ice?’
‘It is on its way, Mr Aristotle, and will be here directly.’
‘I have the cream.’
‘Do you have my two guineas?’
Paris Aristotle extracted two guineas and handed them to William.
‘Thank you, now we must discuss the cost of the ice.’
‘How much do you have?’ asked Paris frowning.
‘Enough for anyone with the right money.’
‘So, what price are you asking?’ responded Paris, his eyes fixed on William’s.
‘There are two prices, depending upon which way you wish to buy. You can buy by the pound, or you can become my agent here in Jamaica to sell the ice, and supply me with an outbound cargo. To my agent the ice is free.’
‘Free?’ blurted out Paris, astonished.
‘Free to my agent, because a partner can’t sell his goods to himself.’
‘Partner?’ echoed Paris, his French accent forgotten for the moment.
‘I do hope you will not repeat everything I say, Mr Aristotle,’ commented William with a sigh. ‘Sang, what do you require to make the ice cream?’
‘Big bucket and small bucket. Crim go inside small bucket, small bucket then go inside big bucket.’
‘Monsieur, can you supply my man with those items?’
‘Oui, come,’ replied Paris, his accent returning. He waved his hand for Sang to follow him to the rear of the shop.
William turned and studied the waiting crowd. A sudden roar heralded the arrival of the ice carts. William pushed his way to the front of the shop.
There were several blocks on each cart. The ice, covered in canvas in an effort to protect it from the hot sun, was the centre of attention. Black children rolled under the cart and held their lips to the cold liquid dripping between the boards of the carts. The screams of the children and the chatter of the adults would ensure the whole island knew that the ice ship had arrived.
James Austin climbed down off the cart, saluted William, and asked where the ice was to be stowed.
‘Take it through this shop. You should find an area inside.’
Three seamen from the Albatross each picked up a fifty-pound block of ice and pushed their way through the crowd to the rear of the shop. Hands caressed the ice and wiped the cold water over hot faces.
William followed the last sailor and saw Paris attack one of the blocks with a club. The block broke in to smaller pieces. Sang collected these smaller pieces of ice and placed them in the large bucket, inside which sat a smaller bucket containing cream. Sang then mixed salt with the ice and packed it tightly around the inner container.
‘Is this how they do it in China, Sang?’
‘Yes, Captain, ice an’ salt make vewy cold, and cold goes in to crim. Must keep turning crim so all of it get cold.’
‘Monsieur,’ called William to Paris, ‘I think my man wants someone to stir the cream as it cools.’
‘Harlot! Come here!’ yelled Paris.
The attractive black woman William had noticed earlier came into the shop from the rear. She saw the crowd and her eyes expanded so much that they appeared to fill her face.
Paris reached under the counter and produced a long-handled wooden spoon and handed it to the young woman. ‘Keep stirring the cream with this.’
‘Monsieur,’ asked William, ‘have you decided which way you wish to pay?’
‘Captain, you have a partner,’ replied Paris, holding out his hand to confirm the deal.
‘This means half of today’s profit from the ice sales, and the sales of ice cream, is mine,’ said William straight-faced.
‘Captain, as partners we share everything. The successes and the failures, and please call me Paris.’
William shook the offered hand and said, ‘Partners. Now, Paris, I think you had better serve our customers before there is a riot.’
The next couple of days were frantic for William and Paris. The demand for iced drinks and iced sherbet far exceeded their wildest dreams. Queues formed from early morning alongside the Albatross. Hundreds of people wanted to buy ice. Ladies of quality, who had only visited the wharf area the first time they had arrived in Jamaica, sat quietly under parasols as their native servants loaded blocks of ice onto carts to be rushed back to their plantations or their homes in town.
William heard the crack of whips encouraging horses into a gallop. Long lines of melted ice water followed the carts. The ground became small rivers of mud. He kept a mental count of the sales and the amount of money he had collected. It was considerable. On the evening of the second day he stopped selling ice. His stock had dwindled and he still wanted to experiment with the carriage of tropical fruits to Boston.
The gap between the inner skin and the outer hull, packed with sawdust, had worked a lot better than he had expected. Now he needed to buy fruit, load it quickly, and keep it chilled with the remainder of ice.
Paris quickly sold out of ice cream and was now rationing the remaining ice to sherbet drinks. He had never known his small coffee house to be so full for so long. He opened early on the second day of the ‘ice bonanza’ because he wished to have the place cleaned. The dirt from the street mixed with the melted ice had turned to mud on the floor of the coffee house.
He hired four idlers to clean the place and had arrived early to make sure they worked properly. As he walked towards the front door of his shop, he could see a white man sitting in an open-topped carriage. It was unusual for a white man to be out of bed so early.
As Paris approached the front of his premises, the white man descended from his carriage.
‘Good day, Sir,’ said Paris.
‘I wish to discuss a matter of business,’ said the man, touching his hat.
Paris held open the door for the man to enter the coffee house. ‘How may I be of service?’
‘I have heard the Albatross is seeking fresh fruit for a return voyage to America. Am I correct?’
‘It has been discussed,’ said Paris cautiously, not sure what the man wanted, although he did appear respectable.
‘I have a plantation and, as well as sugar, I also grow various fruits, including forbidden fruit.’
‘Forbidden fruit?’
‘Aye, it is a sour fruit larger than an orange …’
‘Do you mean grapefruit?’ asked Paris.
‘Some call it that, and some have other names for it. I can supply pineapple as well.’
‘Why did you grow grapefruit?’ asked Paris.
‘Most sailors are aware lime juice counteracts scurvy, but limes are sour, whereas the forbidden fruit has a more pleasant taste,’ answered the man.
‘I will discuss your ideas with the captain of the Albatross. He may be interested in pineapples. What price is your fruit?’
‘I will supply you with the lowest price I can, on one condition.’
‘Condition? If we are to buy from you it will be cash for fruit.’
‘My condition is simple. I want to be your supplier for all fruit that leaves Jamaica on the ice ships.’
‘Ice ships, we only have one ship with ice.’
‘One today, but tomorrow, who knows …? I am sure there will be more.’
Paris’ mind was in a whirl, ‘I will discuss your proposal with the captain.’
‘I can assume our conversation is confidential?’ said the man.
‘You can, but I cannot guarantee that others will not have the same idea, and condition.’
‘Perhaps, but I will match any price.’
Paris smiled and said, ‘If you expect to be our sole supplier you must beat any price, not
just match it. Now may I ask your name, Sir, and also offer you a glass of my famous iced sherbet while we discuss the matter further?’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Return to Boston
April 1806
The hills behind Boston were free of snow. The air held a hint of warmth to herald that spring was not too far away. Long Wharf jutted arrow-like into the harbour as the pilot conned the Albatross alongside. A carriage drew to a halt at the Albatross’s berth. William’s heart skipped a beat as Ruth descended from the carriage. When the last line was secure, he hurried to greet her.
He kissed her hand and straightened to search her face for a sign that she had missed him as much as he had missed her. Something was wrong.
‘What’s the problem, Ruth? Is your father well?’
‘He is as well as can be expected.’
‘There is something wrong. What is it? Tell me.’
‘We have lost four of our black clerks.’
‘What do you mean “lost”? Have they run away?’
‘No, no, they have not run away. They are free men and they don’t have to run away from anything. They have papers stating that they are free.’
‘What do you think happened?’
‘I suspect, but cannot prove, that they may have been taken by slave hunters.’
‘Slave hunters?’
‘Yes, hunters from the south come north in an effort to find runaways. They get paid a bounty to return runaways to their original owners.’
‘But your four men didn’t have an original owner. Your father bought them from the hunters. Did you report them missing to the authorities?’
‘Who would be interested in four missing blacks? This happens all the time, but our people have been lucky as they usually go home together.’
‘Where is home? Back at Mamre, or do they live in town?’
‘They couldn’t afford to live in town so Elijah takes them back to Mamre each night. On the day you sailed, the clerks returned to the office to make sure all the paperwork was in order.’
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