HF - 03 - Mistress of Darkness

by Christopher Nicole

  'And now,' Matt said, 'if you will pass me that hammer, Abraham...'

  'Oh, yes, suh, Mr. Matthew.' Abraham held out the hammer, and Matt took it, and hafted it, and looked around him. It was a brilliantly sunlit morning, with only a suspicion of dark cloud gathering over the Blue Mountains above Kingston, and no more than a zephyr of breeze to stir the dust. Behind him were gathered all who had participated in the building; Tom, also stripped to the waist, although not even eight weeks of unremitting labour had been able to change much of his plump flesh for muscle; the four black men and their three women who had actually been employed; Abraham, the foreman, and Suzanne, little Tony in her arms, her belly distending the front of her gown. And if Tom seemed incongruous to Matt's eyes, what was he to make of his mistress? She looked for all the world like one of the poor white women, the wives of those who were not planters and were not merchants or employed by the Government, but who yet sought to eke out a living in this segregated paradise, who existed in the direst poverty, and yet who considered themselves immeasurably superior to anyone with a black skin.

  No doubt Sue did so consider herself, although there was little evidence of it in the way she stood close to the black women. It was her clothes which were so indicative of her changed station, for her gown was plain white cotton, and he knew she wore no petticoats underneath, not even a shift, while her hat was straw, lacking even a ribbon. And her feet were bare; and dusty.

  But she smiled, as they all smiled, as they waited for the last nail to be driven. Nor were they alone. At least a hundred people were gathered on the borders of the property, mostly blacks these, either freemen or slaves sent into town on errands for their masters; but there were also one or two white men and women, amazed at this phenomenon of people like themselves, and indeed people above themselves, Hiltons working with their hands in the heat of the sun. Or perhaps, working with their hands at all.

  But it had been good work. The house stood a little distance to his right. It consisted of walls, a sloping roof, and a porch, beside which was situated a large vat to catch their fresh water; there was no stone, no paint and no decoration. Within were four rooms, two sleeping chambers, a general room for living in the centre, and a kitchen at the back. The furniture so far consisted of hammocks slung from hooks set in the walls, and the cooking pots. And the entire building would have fitted into Sue's bedroom on Hilltop. But he and Tom and Abraham had built it themselves, and he was as proud of that tiny structure as of anything he had ever accomplished.

  What then would he say about the church? Tom had not been sure they needed a chapel. 'The great vault of heaven is our church, Matt,' he had said. 'There is no need for buildings.'

  'You aim to compete with Christianity organized on the one hand,' Matt had retorted, 'and with voodoo on the other. Both demand visible evidence of the presence of their god, be it priest and altar or priestess covered in blood. Both will expect the same from you. What you must offer them is something better, something more simple perhaps, more easy to understand, more universal, more appealing. There it is.'

  Coke had scratched his head, and looked uneasy, and Matt had clapped him on the shoulder, and laughed.

  'Besides,' he had said. 'We must be practical. This is Jamaica. Would you have your congregation dwindle away once the rains start? Be sure they will not stand and worship in a downpour.'

  Well, he thought, as Abraham held the board in place for him, this will keep off the rain. There was a sloping roof and four walls. Within there was a dais, on which Tom would stand. He would accept no pulpit and no lectern. 'Simplicity, Matt,' he had insisted. 'There is Mr. Wesley's principal concern.'

  The onlookers burst out clapping. The final board was of course no more than a symbolic gesture. The chapel had been completed the previous day, but he knew how important it was to impress the Negroes with some sort of ceremony.

  'Matt,' Sue cried, corning forward. ' 'Tis a triumph.'

  'Aye, so it is,' Coke agreed. 'I'd not have accomplished it without your energy, Matt. And your support, Sue.'

  'Then count on them both, for ever,' she said. 'Are we allowed inside?'

  ' 'Tis what it is intended for,' Coke said, and himself held the door for her.

  She stepped into the gloom, and wandered slowly the length of the rectangular building. 'It smells delicious.' Matt had used cedar wherever possible; it was cheap enough. Sue reached the dais, and turned. Matt and Coke had also entered, and behind them, Abraham and his fellows. But now there were others; the crowd of onlookers, drawn by curiosity, was peering through the door, and some even cautiously sidling inside. Very few of the Negroes had ever been permitted inside a white man's church before.

  'Man, Mr. Matthew, is true this Lord God you does speak about living in here?' Abraham inquired.

  'Why, so He does,' Matt agreed.

  Abraham looked around him somewhat nervously, and seized his wife, Rebecca, by the arm. Matt wondered if he had never in turn wondered about the name he had been given by his erstwhile owner.

  'That is not strictly speaking correct, of course,' Coke said. 'As the building has not yet been consecrated.'

  'Then consecrate it,' Matt suggested.

  ‘I? Why, I doubt I have the authority.'

  'For heaven's sake,' Matt cried. 'You'll not have the bishop do it. He'd be more likely to pull it down about our ears.'

  'I will study the matter,' Coke said. 'I suppose, being alone here, in the sense of the Wesleyan movement... I will have to study the matter. There are others of equal importance. We have a church, a splendid church, Matt. Now we must consider how we are going to fill it.'

  Matt stared at him in mingled amusement and irritation, and scratched his head, and then looked down at the crowd in front of him. "You would not say it is presently filled, then?' There could not be less than seventy people inside the building, he estimated.

  'My word,' Coke said. 'My word, but you are right. Do you suppose they will come again on Sunday?'

  'They might,' Matt said. 'If you made their coming sufficiently attractive a prospect. Talk to them, Tom. Now, while you have them here. Tell them what you hope for them, what you require of them.'

  'Now? But it is Thursday.'

  'Does that make a difference? Do they not say, needs must when the devil drives? How much more must that be applied when the Lord beckons. You have them here now, gathered in front of you, impressed by what we have so far accomplished. I will wager you will never have a more receptive audience in your life.'

  'My word,' Coke said. 'But I believe you are right.' He looked down at his naked chest. 'But I cannot preach like this. You must give me time to don my clothes, and prepare a text.'

  'Time?' Matt demanded. 'Time?' For already the least curious were drifting back to the door, chattering amongst themselves. 'Avast, there,' he shouted, reverting to his navy days. In the limited space his voice sounded like a cannon shot. Everyone stopped talking and turned to face the dais. Desperately Matt searched his brain for words, and cursed himself for having paid so little attention to religious matters throughout his life.

  'Brethren,' Sue suggested in a whisper at his elbow.

  'Brethren,' he shouted. 'Aye, you are that. I call you brethren, and I welcome you to this Wesleyan Chapel in the name of our pastor, Dr. Thomas Coke. Dr. Coke will now address you.'

  Coke stared at the people, then at Matt. 'I have no notes,' he muttered. 'No text. What am I to say?'

  'For heaven's sake,' Matt exclaimed, and no doubt he meant it as a prayer, he thought. Once again the crowd was edging towards the door. 'Wait,' he shouted. 'Dr. Coke has asked me to make this address to you. Listen to me, my brothers. You know my name. It is Matthew Hilton. You know I am the son of a planter, the cousin of another. You'll know I have been a slave owner. But perhaps you do not know that I abolished the whip on my plantation. I did it because I too have felt the lash, because I have come to realize that we are all brothers under the sun, under God; that no one of us has the right t
o ill-treat another; that in time we must all answer to Him.'

  He paused, and licked his lips. At least they were waiting. But with nothing more than polite interest.

  'Listen to me,' he said again, his voice filling the room. 'You live in a country where the white man rules, and where he appears to be supported by his God. You know that here in Kingston black people are not allowed into the white man's church. You think with reason, that this is the way the white man will have it, everywhere. But you are wrong, my friends, my brothers. In that great country across the ocean, whence are all the Jamaican white men come, God is the God of all men. He will protect every one of you in front of me no less than will He protect me and mine. And to God all men are brothers. And more than that. All men are free.'

  He drew breath into his lungs, and they stared at him. 'You cannot stop now,' Sue whispered.

  'So this God of mine,' he shouted. 'Of ours, my brothers. We cannot see Him, because He is everywhere. Abraham asked me just now if He truly lives beneath this roof. He lives beneath the roof of Heaven, my brothers. He but prefers to speak with us poor mortals under the roof of one of His houses. God is great, and He is universal. But so too is He jealous, my brothers. If you would seek His assistance, so must you turn to Him, and no other. I beg of you, my friends, forget your Damballahs and your Agones ...'

  There was a murmur from the concourse before him, and he drew breath again.

  'Forget them,' he shouted, louder than before. 'Forget Ogone Badagris. They cannot help you, here. Have they ever helped you before? But God, the one God, the God of us all, He will help you. And soon. He is already helping you, by entering the hearts of white men, in England and all over the world, and telling them that they are to stop ill-treating their black brothers. He has entered my heart, and the heart of my friends. And He is a God of wrath. He will have His way, or He will be avenged. Let every white man who hears these words know this. God will be avenged on those who gainsay His will, His determination that all His people shall be free.'

  Now the last of the muttering had stopped, and they gazed at him in wonder.

  He leaned forward, and lowered his voice. 'But God is also a God of mercy, my brothers. He will forgive those who understand his word, and take heed of it. And He is not a God of war, of fighting and destruction. He will punish His enemies in His own way. For you, for me, for us, our task is to pray to Him, and try to understand His meaning as told to us by His representative here, Dr. Coke, and be patient. Your freedom is coining. Freedom from the lash, freedom from fear, freedom from poverty, freedom even from inferiority. God will have it so, and what God has decreed, no man can oppose without involving his own damnation. Gather in this chapel, my brothers, whenever you may. Whenever you are in this town, come here. Dr. Coke will be here, or I will be here. Come and talk with us, my friends. Tell your friends to do the same. Come here and learn the word of the Lord, and learn too what He would have us do, to prepare for the great day of freedom. Now go in peace. But return, my friends, and learn more of God.'

  He discovered himself to be sweating as if he had run several miles in the noonday heat. And the Negroes were slowly filing through the door, talking amongst themselves, looking over their shoulders at the dais, and then hurrying away, almost fearfully.

  'My word,' Coke muttered. 'My word.'

  'Did I fail you?'

  'Fail me? Good heavens no. There was a speech which could have been made by Dr. Wesley himself. But he preaches in England. Should word of what you have said here today get abroad ...'

  'As it will,' Sue said.

  'They will call it treason, most likely,' Coke said. 'My word, as they accuse me of being an incendiary, what will they call you?'

  'We must wait and find out,' Matt said. 'You came here to accomplish a mission, Tom. I know not whether to attribute my part to God or to the devil, but circumstances have transpired to place me at your side. And I'll tell you this, you will not attract any Negro to this church just to hear readings from the Bible. As for offending the planters, did you not know for sure that you must do that? Did you know that by buying this ground and building this church you have already done so?'

  'You must confine your preaching to the congregation,' Sue said, and kissed him on the nose. 'We are already believers.'

  'Is Tom?'

  Coke hesitated, and then sighed. 'I honour everything you have done, Matt. No doubt I lack your raw courage, your pioneering spirit. Your arrogance, if you like. But then, I am not a Hilton. I only pray that we, that you, for I know my own weakness, will ever be able to control the forces that you have set in motion here today.'

  'But you were magnificent.' Sue settled Tony into his cot, and lay down in her hammock, sent it swaying gently to and fro to create a slight breeze; the night was still and hot, and from Kingston sound seeped towards them, a burst of music, a shriek of laughter, the high-pitched barking of a dog. 'Almost I could see fire and brimstone hurtling from your eyes, seeking to destroy any man who stood before you in opposition. Had you possessed a beard, I'd have supposed myself in the presence of Moses.'

  Matt sat in his hammock, legs dangling, and watched her combing her hair. As usual she had not permitted him the use of her body since discovering her pregnancy, and since her belly had started to swell she had even insisted on separate hammocks. All of which was reasonable enough. But how he wanted her this night. He wondered if, although he would never admit it, he was even a little afraid himself of what he had said this morning. 'You are making fun of me.'

  'No,' she said. 'You are not the sort of man of whom anyone should make fun, Matt. Your energy, your determination, your passion, in whatever you do, is too plain to see.'

  'I sometimes suppose that all of those characteristics you seem to admire can be little more than the worst of vices,' Matt said. 'What joy has it brought you, sweet? To live in a shack, and be forced to support me?'

  'And naturally,' she continued as if he had not spoken, 'one who can feel so strongly about whatever he does must also swing to the other pole of human endeavour, and be left sated and gloomy within a few hours of his best effort. As now. By tomorrow you will again be happy to take up the struggle.'

  'You have not yet answered my question.'

  She blew out the candle. ‘I have answered that question a thousand times, Matt. I shall not do so again. I am happy where you are happy, and if you find happiness a difficult commodity to obtain, then am I happy where you are at least content. And Matt, I am proud of the words you uttered today, whatever consequence they bring. It is you, and men like you, who will free the slaves, if it can ever be done. Not dreamers like Tom. Now go to sleep, sweet. I have no doubt you will need all of your energy tomorrow.'

  How he wanted to touch her. But that would surely be a mistake, as then he would be unable to let her go. And he did not lust for her. He wanted only reassurance, and the comfort of her strong arms. So then, did he regret today? Certainly it had never previously entered his mind to play the preacher, and the idea of playing the revolutionary filled him with horror. But how else to reach the hearts and minds of people who were necessarily at once uneducated and suspicious, save by appealing to their senses, to their hopes, to their ambitions? But now surely he was damned, by every man, woman and child with a white skin in the entire West Indies, and no doubt by every ancestor in the vault of heaven itself. Even Kit the buccaneer, while he had never used the whip, had ruled his plantation and his slaves with a will of iron. Because he was a man of iron. As before him Edward Warner and his father had been men of iron. Had they known that, when they were men? Or was iron only perceived in a man's character when he was dead, and his deeds could be considered as a whole. But had none of that fearsome trio ever known doubts? It was hard to accept that Tom Warner, who had ordered an entire Carib tribe to be massacred to safeguard his St. Kitts colony, could have doubted; or that Edward his son, who had fought the Spaniards with such ferocity that he had become a legend in his own lifetime, had ever wondered what
he was doing; or that Kit Hilton, who had marched with Morgan on Panama and had defied, almost alone, the entire Antiguan plantocracy, had ever known fear.

  But there was one difference. For Matt Hilton had also sought to defy the Antiguan plantocracy. And he had been defeated.

  He stared at the darkness of the roof above his hammock. So then, now he was attempting to defy the entire West Indian plantocracy. Was that not courage worthy of all his ancestors? Or was that merely youthful foolhardiness?

  The room was silent, and Sue was no doubt already asleep. Although the candle seemed to glow, throwing little shadows up and down the roof. Yet it too was extinguished. No doubt his over excitement at the events of the day was affecting his eyesight.