Caryl Phillips - Cambridge

I opened the door a few inches so I might gain a sight of my negro sentinel. To my astonishment I recognized the negro as Cambridge, the aged slave who had previously had some disagreement with Mr Brown, a debate which had resulted in his being quite tremendously lashed with the cattle-whip. Mr Brown had laid sambo down with a flogging whose severity had, according to Stella, obliged the proud black to go to the pond and wash off the blood for many an hour. My dark sentry looked up at me, and I noted that I appeared to have disturbed him in the most unlikely act of studying the Bible. I asked if this was his common form of recreation, to which he replied in highly fanciful English, that indeed it was. You might imagine my surprise when he then broached the conversational lead and enquired after my family origins, and my opinions pertaining to slavery. I properly declined to share these with him, instead counter-quizzing with enquiries as to the origins of his knowledge. At this a broad grin spread over his face, as though I had fallen into some trap of his setting. Indeed, so disturbing was the negro's confident gleam, that I quickly closed in the door, for I feared this negro was truly ignorant of the correct degree of deference that a lady might reasonably expect from a base slave.

Hardly had I settled down into these new circumstances, when there came a light, and a knocking upon the door. Never, outside the performance of one of Shakespeare's plays, had I been subjected to so much drama, counter-drama, indeed melodrama, in such a short space of time. Stella roused herself from the rocker in which she reclined, and cracked the door a little. I heard the voice of Mr McDonald and called to Stella to allow him admittance. He quickly apologized for the late hour, but informed me that a concerned book-keeper had earlier this same evening communicated to him that there was something amiss at the Great House. It appeared that Mr McDonald had taken it upon himself to accompany the sooty messenger back to our plantation in case he should need to pronounce judgement upon some person. I sat up in bed and ordered Stella to fetch some beveridge for the doctor. I then invited him to take up the seat that Stella had vacated, and above the noise of the black woman without I related to him the tales of the evening.

The chapter which seemed to cause him the most anxiety was that which involved stationing the negro male outside my bed-chamber. The impropriety of this new situation had not struck me, my principal concern being for my own safety. But I asked the attentive Mr McDonald whether, were I to dismiss the black, he in turn would be prepared to sit all night outside my chamber. To this Mr McDonald made reply which would have persuaded me that his true profession was lawyer rather than physician. He claimed to have extensive knowledge of the black Christiania, and vigorously assured me that I should expect no danger from this quarter. Stella's presence, he went on, would be security enough. There was, of course, no direct response to my question as to whether or not he would choose to exchange places with the negro sentinel, but I espied clearly the deepest hectic rush to colour the face of the good doctor when I presented him the opportunity to pass the night on my bed-chamber doorstep. However, I virtuously resisted the temptation to tease him further.

Stella returned, and when Mr McDonald had finished his drink he stood up from the rocker. He remarked that the noise seemed somewhat to have abated, but then he continued, having apparently thought of a way in which it might be made to cease altogether. Addressing Stella, he enquired whether the vast negro on sentry duty had some influence with Christiania. In vain Stella attempted to feign indifference, but it was as clear as the blackness of her face that she knew the negro possessed considerable influence. Mr McDonald turned and addressed me. 'If anybody can persuade the negress to depart I think it will be your black sentinel, for he fears nobody and is afforded great respect by the body of slaves.' With this information delivered, Mr McDonald dispatched a sullen Stella to make it known to her dark brother what was required of him. I asked the doctor why it was that such a man should come to be beaten so severely by Mr Brown, who otherwise seems a just enough fellow in his attitude and conduct towards the stock. To this Mr McDonald made no answer, except to observe that when two strong wills cross one must expect trouble. I mused upon his words, and then realized that the wolfish noises had ceased. At last I could discern the sounds of nature unobscured by the scratchings of lunacy. I permitted a smile to cross my face and thanked Mr McDonald. At this moment Stella returned. Mr McDonald prepared to take his leave, and as I continued to thank him most properly he informed me that it was neither he nor Stella I should thank, but the giant negro. I asked Stella if the woman had truly ceased her infernal scratching, and I received an affirmative answer. 'Cambridge tell she to stop and so she stop. Is so it do be.' Mr McDonald, clearly pleased with himself, and imagining that he had performed some sterling service on my behalf, bade my person a flourishing farewell and left Stella and myself, and the night, to ourselves.

After this dramatic exercise I certainly did not wish immediately to retire, so I instructed Stella to fetch the chessmen from the central hall, which she did reluctantly, dragging her fatigue behind her. I continued in my pointless quest to acquaint her with this game, but alas she has neither the intelligence even dimly to comprehend the rules, nor the guile even to pretend to possess some notion of its strategies. So time drifted on until poor Stella could no longer feign interest, and eventually she left me exhausted to my tropical night, the bland whisperings of the wind, and the sounds of distant thunder. I feared a storm was due to break, and so in this state of trepidation I passed a restless and wearisome night. However, when morning arrived, and Master Sol rose in the east flaunting his majestic splendour, my heart swelled with gratitude towards God who had offered His merciful protection. Through the open window of my chamber poured a warm flood of sunshine chequering the floor. A sweet breeze, as gentle as an infant's breath, soothed me with its cooling air. This was truly a divine display of God's blessing, and I now felt able to relax and submit to the heavenly convenience of peaceful sleep.

Today I was in a complimentary strain and inclined to be a little more jocose than is common. I summoned Mr Rogers in order than I might learn more about this obeah. I wished also to have a decent companion in the absence of Mr Brown, and one with whom I might converse without having to endure the enervating yawn and drawl of the negro accent. We lunched on a light but festive board whose chief delight were fruits of every description, including the succulent pine-apple, the watery melon, the sweet-smelling guava, and the luscious jelly coconut. For those of us who are inclined to take on more flesh than is considered graceful, it proved something of a trial, though pleasantly so. Soon after our conclusion the board was cleared, though a little light wine sparkled in the crystal chalice. I suggested that we two retire to the piazza, where I sported an umbrella to prevent the sun from scorching my head. I drew Mr Rogers's attention to the distant idling skiffs of the fishermen dancing upon the buoyant blue waters, the dark boatmen mastering the finny race in silence, but Mr Rogers seemed entirely uninterested in my observations. Really, there is little I can relate of our conversation, for Mr Rogers is truly a most reticent and private man. The longer he lingered, the more he gave me confirmation of Mr McDonald's deceit, when he attempted to persuade me that Mr Rogers had secret designs upon my person. I doubt very much if Mr Rogers has ever had such designs, secret or otherwise, upon any woman in his life. I am tempted to describe him as a fish out of water, but this would not be altogether accurate, for it would be difficult to imagine waters in which Mr Rogers might comfortably swim. I enquired after a small monument for Isabella, and he replied casually that he would investigate. Perhaps, he suggested, a plaque in the cemetery, but he declared in a fashion slightly less indifferent that now my health was restored, and my stay extended, I must make an effort to come and visit his church of St George's in the heart of Baytown. Such monuments as the one I was suggesting for Isabella, he said, were usually paid for by public subscription, for the populace would know the person concerned, but in the case of my beloved Isabella, Mr Rogers was at pains to instruct me that the expense would be mine alone.