Caribee

by Christopher Nicole

  'A good man,' Tom said, observing his friend's interest in the storekeeper. 'A self-interested man, who will carry the colony upwards with him.'

  Jefferson said nothing. He had nothing to say, save the questions which bubbled across his tongue and which he dared not utter. Yet the people were interesting enough. It was possible to tell the length of time they had lived in the colony by merely looking at them, separating the brownness of their skins, the tidiness or otherwise of their dress. But here at least was a legitimate question. 'How many people do you muster now, Tom?’

  'More than a hundred, to be sure. I have not yet held a census, although it is in my mind to do so.'

  They walked past the crowd, who ceased their labours to stand straight and touch their hats to the Governor, or in the case of the women to curtsy. 'And they live well together?'

  'As I said, we have our problems. Forced upon us by circumstances. You'll remember that the first women you brought were the Irish. They are all married now, to my original settlers. Their children multiply each year. Yet they began life as Irish whores, and we have had few opportunities to change them here. So when Harriman arrived with his shiploads two years ago, you'll understand what happened. The most part of these people are Suffolk farmers and the like. Not gentlemen, certainly, but good yeomen, people of manners and gentility. If they swear they do so hi private, and if they drink it is seldom to the point of collapse. Yet they are the newcomers, and thus the inferiors, in land and status in the community. There can be no other way to manage the colony.'

  ‘Indeed. Yet do they, surely, outnumber your original people?"

  'By some four to one.'

  They walked up the deserted street, towards the Governor's House, and saw Mr Mailing standing on the steps of the church.

  'Good day to you, Reverend,' Tom said.

  ‘It is indeed, Your Excellency. Well, Mr Jefferson, what do you think of our colony?’ Mailing was a very small man, with greying hair and clean-shaven, pointed features. His mildness was remarkable. It was impossible to imagine that, like everyone else on this island, he had found it necessary or at least desirable, to leave England. But he was no high churchman, and Laud's assessors had been breathing too heavily down his neck.

  ‘It thrives, Reverend,' Jefferson agreed, and the three men walked slowly up the street. 'Captain Warner was telling me of his problems, of the jealousies which crop up between the original colonists and the newcomers. And yet I observe very few suggestions of coercion. No soldiers or trained bands. And I would have thought you needed those for your very safety.'

  ‘We call such forces a militia in these parts,' Tom said. 'And every man is bound to serve.'

  'Saving the indentured labour, of course,' Mailing said. 'There would be a risk we could not envisage, to place arms in the hands of such papist hooligans.'

  ‘Well, then,' Jefferson said. To protect yourselves against them'

  'Hardly necessary,' Tom said. 'On the one hand, they are divided up amongst the colonists, and on the other hand when they do accumulate, it is to drink and fight amongst themselves. I know the Irish, sir. I fought over their bogs when I was hardly more than a boy. Their lack of discipline, of any care for the morrow, indeed, leaves them totally unfitted for concerted action. Added to which they would require a leader of character and purpose, and in Merwar's Hope they entirely lack such assistance. No, John, when I spoke of our problems, they are matters of fairness between individuals, arising from jealousies and rivalries between individuals. They will be resolved, by the Reverend and myself. It is our business. And I do promise you this; there has been too much blood shed to secure this marvellous land for any man of us lightly to consider throwing any more away. This is Yarico.'

  For they had reached the top of the street, and the Indian woman waited for them. At that, Jefferson wondered, was she anything more than a girl? She was very modestly dressed, in a high-necked and wide-collared gown; the colour was green, the collar white, all in linen. Indeed, there was a total absence of lace or furbelows about her. She wore a white cap on her head, from beneath which her black hair descended in a straight mass. It was longer hair than Jefferson had ever seen, and in a way the most beautiful hair he had ever seen, because unlike the softness he would have expected in a European woman, this hair had a texture of stiffness, and glimmered in a dull fashion, so as to suggest it would be impenetrable, and in fact, when she moved her head, as she did now to bow before the white men, the entire mass of hair moved in unison.

  To complete her incongruity, her feet were bare. But there was more beauty here than in just the hair. The face was handsome, features filled with strength and purpose, and supported by a strong chin and firm, wide lips. Her eyes were black, and remote, except when she looked at Tom Warner; then they came to life, with a possessive purposefulness Jefferson had seldom seen before. For the rest, the gown was sufficiently shapeless to hide the body, but the wide hips and the bulge at the bodice were sufficient, when added to the hair and the feet and the face, and the suggestion of savagery which remained around her like an aura, to suggest untold, and heathen, delights, should she ever wish to share herself.

  'My pleasure, Miss Yarico,' he said, and to his surprise she extended her hand, and waited, so confidently that he almost kissed it before recollecting himself. Hut the hand itself was admirable, with straight fingers and a dry palm.

  'Chief Tegramond's daughter,' Tom explained. 'And my housekeeper.'

  Jefferson glanced at him, but there was no suggestion of a flush, or any indication of embarrassment. Mailing, on the other hand, had turned a bright red from forehead to neck.

  'Welcome, sir,' Yarico said, and stood aside. Two Irish servants, a male and a female, waited behind her, to take the men's hats and relieve them of their swords, and this done, she walked before them, her bare feet noiseless on the uncarpeted floor, across the hall and into the inner room. Here Jefferson halted in the doorway in surprise, for the room was furnished with four well-carved chairs, and an equally stylish table, set against the wall; it lacked only a fireplace to suggest a room in Suffolk. And on the table there were glasses and a variety of bottles.

  ‘You have done well, Tom,' he said. 'Well indeed.'

  ‘You drink, sir?' Yarico asked, taking her place at the table.

  ‘Indeed I shall, madam,' Jefferson said. 'Whatever you are offering.'

  'The French wine, Yarico,' Tom said, 'as it is a special occasion. You'll understand, John, that our delicacies have to be rationed, as we can never be sure of your arrival.'

  'But now that I propose to leave three of the ships here,'

  Jefferson said. "Why, you should never lack for anything, ever again.'

  'There you have our toast. You'll join us, Yarico.'

  She handed them their glasses without replying, and raised her own. 'Merwar's Hope,' she said. She spoke her English carefully, and yet with obvious difficulty.

  'Merwar's Hope,' the men said.

  'Now come,' Tom cried. 'Do not lurk there in the shadows. You'll remember Uncle John Jefferson, Sarah?'

  The girl was a dun wisp; the mucus gathered in a steady stream beneath her nose, and stained the sleeve of her gown where she had sought to wipe it away. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and she moved without pleasure. But Jefferson was interested less in her than in the child who clutched her hand, hardly more than two years old, a strange combination of Tom Warner's rounded features and Yarico's lank black hair.

  'My youngest son,' Tom said, and swept the boy from the floor. ‘I have named him Thomas, after myself. He will perpetuate the name.'

  The child gazed at Jefferson with the deep, solemn eyes of his mother, and the white man found himself looking from son to mother, and from father to preacher.

  'This is not England, John,' Tom said. Things are different here. Tom is but the leading representative of a new people, who one day will claim this land. Perhaps this world.'

  Jefferson nodded. ‘I have read that the Spaniards fa
ce the same problem on the mainland.'

  'Problem? By God, it is no problem, but a just and proper arrangement on the part of Providence. Now come, where are Philip and Edward?'

  'Philip come,' Yarico said.

  Here at least there was no cause for surprise or distress. Philip must be fourteen by now, Jefferson thought, an absolute image of his father, in height and build and feature. Even in manner. He shook hands, briefly. ‘It is good to see you again, Mr Jefferson.'

  'And where is Edward?" Tom demanded. 'Does he not wish to greet Mr Jefferson?’

  Philip glanced at Yarico. 'Edward not come,' Yarico said. 'Not come? By God....'

  'You'll not find him, Father,' Philip said. 'He is drunk. He got drunk the moment the fleet was sighted. Now he has taken himself into the forest. You'll not find him.'

  Tom rolled his leaf with great care, savouring the scent with every moment, striking the flint and waiting as the first wisps of smoke rose under his nostrils. Jefferson and Mailing were already alight, glasses of wine at their elbows. Dusk had come to Merwar's Hope with its invariable suddenness, but it had made little difference to Sandy Point. Rather it had brought the town to life. Lanterns glimmered in Jarring's General Store, and someone was scraping a fiddle down there; people were dancing in the streets. Mosquitoes and sand flies buzzed eagerly through the still air, for they too would feast this night. Merwar's Hope, on holiday, celebrating their tenuous links with that life they had left behind in England. Tonight there would be an absence of tensions and jealousies, although fresh causes of dissension would certainly be in the making, as hitherto faithful wife found herself holding hands with handsome, transient sailor, while husband drank himself insensible in the shadows.

  But the Governor's House was dark, save for a single lantern in the doorway. The three men sat on the porch, and looked down the street.

  They are a happy people,' Jefferson said. 'Despite any differences you may observe amongst them, I’ll wager you are a proud man, Tom.'

  Dinner had been a strained, silent affair. Now they waited, for Tom either to dismiss them or speak his mind. That he so urgently wished to speak his mind was clear to them both.

  'A happy people,' he said. ‘I'll not disappoint them. As you say, whatever our differences, they came here to seek some relief from the burdens of living in England, and they have placed their trust in me. I have taken hard decisions before, by God. This one were relatively easy. I'm coming home with you, John.'

  'With me?’

  'Aye, to see the King. To put our position squarely before him. He'll understand. But you'll forgive me, dear friend, this is not a matter that can be illustrated by means of a letter, or by the advocacy of the best friend any man could ask. It must be done by me alone.'

  'Now there is true statesmanship, Tom,' Mr Mailing said.

  Jefferson nodded, slowly. ‘You'll understand that Charles is not like his father, Tom. Nor is England still the country you left.'

  'He can be no more difficult than James, to be sure. And with Villiers in his grave, England must be a better country. And to say truth, I long to see Framlingham again, and Jane and Edward, before they the. And I have another problem on my mind. Sarah. This climate plays the same tricks with her health as it did with her mother's. I’ll take her with me, and well see if an English spring cannot put the bloom back into her cheeks. There. The decision is done. I'll communicate it to the colony tomorrow.'

  'And appoint your deputy,' Mailing said, quietly.

  Tom glanced at him, frowning. 'Aye. To solve one problem we must create another. It will have to be Hal Ashton. He has the seniority and the experience. And if perhaps he suffers from pessimism and stolidity, well, as the least I'll be sure that there will be no wild flights of fancy in my absence.'

  'Yet did not he and Berwicke all but cost you the colony, in the old days?' Jefferson asked. 'And if there are differences between your people, will Hal . . . well, has he not withdrawn from public life these last few years?"

  That is to the good,' Tom asserted. 'Hell not have been too intimate with the layabouts, either. Oh, he's a disciplinarian, Hal is.'

  'Well, of course, the decision is yours.' Jefferson watched Mailing.

  'But you'd have taken another one in my circumstances, eh?" Tom said. 'You do not know my circumstances, John. Nor would I wish them on you.' He inhaled, found the cigar to his satisfaction, and sighed.' 'Tis ever a mistake to paper over cracks, or to attempt to do so. Edward has not lived beneath this roof since his mother died. He has built himself a house, if you can call it that, for it possesses but a single room, on the other side of Brimstone Hill, and lodges there. By himself.'

  'He takes no part in the life of the community? I do not see how you can permit that.'

  'He works. Oh, we'll have no beachcombers here. He takes his turn at the duties of constable, and is a good one. Perhaps his attendance at church is not so regular as we would wish.'

  ‘You’ll not find his name in the book more than five times this year, Tom,' Mailing said.' 'Tis a problem we shall have to face. Should anyone else take it into his head to dissent. ...'

  'We'll have him in the stocks. It is something winch is continually on my mind. I dunk the time has come, indeed. To make an example of my own son, by God. And yet....' he sighed.

  ‘I can see the difficulty,' Jefferson remarked. ‘In operating one law for the Governor and his family and another for the colonists. That can only breed discontent'

  Tom got up, violently, walked the porch. "You'd not understand, John. You do not live here. You do not know. In any event, that law we made amongst ourselves has long gone by the board; this was agreed before . . . well, you may as well know the story. By Christ, man, you know me for what I am. There has been no more faithful husband in my experience, I'll swear to that. But since arriving here, Rebecca was always different. She did not enjoy the heat. Like Sarah, she suffered from it. Her health, I mean. And then, she did not enjoy the responsibilities I was, and am, forced to undertake. It began with the Irish girl, Tony Hilton's wife. She formed an attachment to Edward, and they sought to elope. It was necessary to make an example of the girl.'

  'Of the girl,' Jefferson said softly.

  'She was an absconding servant. But it caused dissension. Her mind could not stand the pain. By Christ, I was not to know that. She was nothing more than an Irish whore, so far as I could see.'

  'You mean she became mad? Where is she now?'

  'She lives with Mr Hilton, on the north coast' Mailing explained. 'As for being mad, Mr Jefferson, perhaps a better word would be dull.' 'And this was . . . ?’

  'Four years ago,' Tom said. 'But it is not her I'd discuss. I do not regret ordering the punishment, only the outcome. Yet the punishment was necessary, or we'd have no order amongst our domestics. And now, well, she seems to satisfy Hilton well enough, and between them they fill a necessary role. I must have at least one plantation on the windward coast, to insure that the French do not spread themselves too far, and Tony is the only man willing to undertake such a lonely and uncomfortable vigil. They suffer more from wind and rain over there, you'll understand. But still we stray from the point. Rebecca would not take my side in the matter, and we quarrelled. And while we quarrelled, I found myself beside Yarico. Christ, it was a bad time.'

  ‘I'd argue with no man for taking a mistress,' Jefferson said. ‘I do not see the reason for your apologia. Although . ..'

  'You do not see how she achieved her present position, either,' Tom said. 'She brought news of an intended massacre by her people, of the French and ourselves, and Belain and I decided to anticipate the event. There was naught else we could do.'

  'Ah,' Jefferson said. ‘I doubt I would have acted differently. Mr Mailing?'

  ‘I can but thank God I have never been in such a position, Mr Jefferson,' the parson said.

  'Aye,' Tom said. 'But the whole of it is not clear. The Caribs are a vengeful people. It was necessary to do the job completely, you'll understand. Excep
t where wives were needed. And by God I swear that every woman taken was in due course lawfully married.'

  ‘In due course?"

  'Christ, man,' Tom shouted. ‘It is not a deed of which any man on this island can be proud. Any part of it. It haunts us, every one of us. But the worst was later. I repeat, it was necessary to destroy the entire tribe. There was no time or room for parley, for ascertaining the truth. And when it was done, it was discovered that Yarico was pregnant.'

  ‘With the boy?'

  ‘You'll see at a glance he is my son. You, and everyone else. Her own people, had they survived. Now there is something to haunt a man.'

  'Good God,' Jefferson said. 'You mean you think she fabricated the entire plot in order to save herself from the vengeance of the Caribs?'

  ‘I do not know,' Tom said. 'Christ in Heaven, I do not know. Perhaps, had I certainty ... no one knows. Only Yarico, and her mind is her own.'

  'And yet....'

  ‘Yet she now lives as my mistress. She mothered my son. I could not turn her away. Nor could I allow her to be married off to some layabout who'd beat her every dusk.'

  'And Rebecca?"

  'Accepted the situation.'

  'As you would have it so. And died'

  Tom turned. 'You accuse me?'

  'No,' Jefferson said. ‘It is not my place, and if indeed your marriage was finished, it might have happened anyway. But Edward holds it so. That is why you do not punish his misdemeanours. Why you cannot.'

  Tom Warner's entire body seemed to sag. 'Aye,' he said. ‘I am the guilty one. There is none other.'

  There was a movement from the far end of the porch. Their heads turned in alarm, and Yarico glided up to where they sat in front of the doorway. Here she hesitated. 'War-nah, go?" Her voice was soft.

  'Only for a season, sweetheart. I have been before. And come back.'