A Journal of The Experiment at Jamaica (The Neville Burton 'Worlds Apart' Series Book 2)

by Georges Carrack

“This big yellow one, what is it? A big yellow orange?”

  “No, it’s a shaddock; sort of like a big orange, but yellow or pink inside. I think the French call it a pamplemousse. I like it, but some don’t. They can be rather tart.”

  “I’ve heard of it then, but never seen one. And this little yellow one?”

  “A guava, or the Spanish call it guayabito. I like it for sweet juice, but to eat it, it is a great mouthful of little seeds.”

  “I know the banana, oranges, and the limes, of course, but this thing looks dangerous*.”

  “Oh, that one; of all these, I like it the best! Sweet juice and heavenly flesh. It’s nothing like its name; we call it a pineapple.

  “But for your condition, I think this last one would be best, so I’ll cut it open for you. This we call a papaya.”

  Again, Maria went off, taking the fruit bowl with her. Neville noticed that he was beginning to dislike it when she left. He would have been happy simply to have her nearby, even as he knew it was a ridiculous - even childish - thought.

  This time it was only a minute or two when she returned. The papaya had been cut in half and any seeds, if there had been any, were gone. She brought only one half and a spoon for him to scoop out the smooth orange flesh, and passed it to him with no bowl or plate; only a cloth for any spills. In so doing, her hand brushed his, and the feeling it caused in him was electric.

  He distinctly remembered the feeling as the exact same as when he first touched Mary, and his eyes snapped on to hers. She had apparently felt it, too, instantly blushed very pink and mumbled, “I am sure you will enjoy it,” and hurried out the door.

  * Author’s note: I would have added a mango to the bowl of fruit except that the Jamaican mango was not introduced to Jamaica until 1780. Neville would likely have been familiar with bananas and oranges as imports either from the Mediterranean or the Azores or from his time at Toulon.

  Another of the seamen Fuller’s sloop had carried to Jamaica died; this one of fever apparently unrelated to his injury, leaving only four recovering from the battle. It became common knowledge that Colonel Fuller had had some medical training, helping to explain why he had instructed his men to bring any wounded home at all. In addition to the time required by his seat on Jamaica’s governing council, which occasionally saw him at his desk until late at night, he met daily with the overseers of his sugar cane plantation. Above all that he sometimes was called away to attend a medical emergency, making him one of the most unusual plantation owners on the island; a man who could govern and manage and yet sympathize with the distress of mortal man.

  The other three ambulatory patients soon left. One seaman lost an arm above the elbow. Another had a great splinter removed successfully from his abdomen. Both could return to their ships and perform some useful function. The third was a soldier who had lost an eye, but when his regiment wrote to ask for his return, he didn’t complain.

  Neville was not called, and while extremely thankful for it, he began to wonder if, after such a short stint on the Antelope, he had simply been forgotten – or presumed dead. After all, the Antelopes knew nothing of Fuller’s ship. He would be no deserter, but he was loathe to return with a leg in this condition. He also knew that neither he nor Maria wanted to part.

  She asked why he didn’t write. “Do you not have anyone at home in England? I don’t mean to pry, but what of the girl I remind you of?”

  In over a month, nobody had asked him personal questions -even date of service. He had not thought to conjure up lies to cover his predicament.

  “She’s gone, now,” was all he said, honestly choking back his real feelings, “Never knew my dad,” he added, leaving any more to be surmised.

  Neville’s injury, a broken lower leg with one bone that had broken through the skin, recovered rapidly as the days lengthened into weeks and July neared its end. He regained his mobility as fast as his pain could bear, and after about four weeks the bamboo sticks came off permanently.

  The days passed in these pleasant surroundings, during which time Maria visited more and more often. On one such visit, he questioned her about the sounds of the house. “What is it that makes the music I hear?

  “My piano. I don’t play often enough, father says. I am surprised you can hear it here – this far from the main house.”

  Neville had not heard piano. “No, not a piano. It seems random, but quite beautiful, and like a ship, it grows with the wind, night or day. I hear it most when the breeze is up to a velocity that stifles the insects of the night. There, that’s it.”

  “The wind chimes? Surely you have these at home.”

  “Aye, if that’s what it is, but not with such a sound. We have little bells or pottery bits that my mother enjoyed, but that I always thought their incessant jangling to be annoying.”

  Maria went out, returning in moments with the device itself. The thing was made of seven bamboo rods, with a striker in the middle propelled with a little wind sail, much as others he had seen. “But what is this wood?” he asked.

  “Bamboo,” she replied with a giggle. “The same as you have had tied to your leg these weeks past. You’ve never seen bamboo?”

  “I think not. It grows hollow?”

  “Yes, hollow, but with divisions at each of these lumps here on the outside. The sections can be used for water carriers, or if drilled out the canes can even be used as water pipes. And it’s very light and strong,” Maria explained.

  With care to avoid striking his leg, he progressed from lying in bed to sitting in his room and spent most of his time reading. To his great fortune, Colonel Fuller had an excellent library.

  Maria spent less time with him for the next week, as the Fuller ship had brought another group of three seriously injured men who were victims of a pirate attack on another island sloop belonging to a plantation to the north. It had been decided that Thomas Fuller held the better hope for their survival, and Maria was called into her role as nursing assistant to Juanita.

  Maria and Juanita were gone Sunday morning. The men in hospital were watched and given any necessary emergency care by three black women whom Neville had come to learn were part of the Fuller Plantation’s slave cadre. Neville was not particularly familiar with the whole slavery concept. He knew what it was, of course, but it was his best recollection that it had been abolished. Apparently, that was not true in Jamaica. He had learned that most of the plantation work was performed by slaves, including the house staff here, and that slaves were treated badly, if not abused. These three spoke English well, albeit with some very strong local accent, and were friendly and caring, and he had never heard a cross word spoken to them. For now, it remained a mystery.

  Maria re-appeared shortly before lunch and looked in to see how he was. “Oh, hello,” she lilted, “You look well today.”

  “I feel much better, yes. Where have you been? I’ve missed you.”

  “You have, have you? Well, it’s Sunday, and we must go to church, mustn’t we?”

  “There’s one here?” he asked, feeling rather silly as soon as the question came out.

  “Of course, where do you think we are – in deepest Africa or something? It’s quite close – the Anglican Tamarind Tree Church just down in Church Pen at Old Harbour. Mother and father gave the land and Colonel Colbeck has put up much of the money to build it. It was Mother’s project all along, and I’ve had my hand in as well. I direct the children’s choir now,” she finished proudly.

  More than a pretty face, by a long way, thought Neville.

  4 - “Recovery”

  Neville began to stand, at first with considerable pain. He progressed to the simple exercise of repeating the sitting-to-standing-to-sitting motion, and thence to hobbling about the room with a cane. The other victims left, having either died or recovered sufficiently to return to their homes, and Maria returned to concentrate on his care again. From his standpoint, this stage of his recovery could not have been better, except maybe that the cocoa leaves for pain ne
ver arrived. Maria used camphor to make a paste that she then rubbed on his wound – now a very large scar – to interrupt the ceaseless itching. She assisted him daily to walk farther than the confines of his room, and he could imagine nothing in the world more heavenly than the support of her body as they hobbled about the courtyard.

  More and more he became a guest in the Fuller’s home and less a patient in their makeshift hospital. A chair that rolled on large wheels was ‘invented’ for him, and with this mobility to transit the larger distance from courtyard room to main house, he was permanently invited to meals.

  “Matters of plantation business and politics are not uncommon at this table,” Colonel Fuller said at one of Neville’s first attendances to dinner. “Many would not speak of such things with a daughter, but you’d best get used to it here. Her mother died a few years ago of ‘the fevers’, and we both had a hard, lonely go until I found that Maria is not only a good listener but also a surprisingly knowledgeable sounding board for my ideas. She’s a damn sight smarter than half of those twits sitting in Council!”

  It was obvious he was proud of his daughter, and so continued: “My lovely Mrs. Catherine Fuller was from Puerto Rico and spoke beautiful Spanish. Naturally, her daughter here grew up with it – I do not discourage any sort of education - and now speaks it with Juanita and our local Spanish community to the extent that she has become their unofficial representative to the Council through me. The Council, for the most part, has no interest in any formal representation of them. One of these days we’ll send her to the Colleges at Exeter or Oxford, and she may come back to run this whole thing herself! Ho, ho! That would show them!”

  He glanced at Maria, who did not look down at the table, blush, or shy from the idea at all; only looked back at the two of them with a clear eye.

  “Or there’s Cambridge, near where I come from,” Neville interjected impetuously. That earned him a quizzical – displeased? - look from Colonel Fuller.

  “I am aware that you, as a newcomer to Jamaica, are ignorant of almost everything of the Caribbean world. At least I presume so. I’ve never met a newcomer who knew squat of it. For myself, I am more than pleased to have a new audience for my opinions. I will ask you to speak openly. I know Maria will; she is not one who is easily tamed! If you don’t mind a little local political education, I shall tell it you now. First, let me roll you into my study.

  Once there he continued, standing in front of a very large map of the Caribbean Sea that had been painted on the wall. It was certainly the most complete and detailed of any Neville had ever seen, giving a new perspective to the entire situation, and there were latitudes and longitudes indicated.

  “Here is Barbados, over here to the east in the Windwards of the Lesser Antilles. It is our primary English foothold, largely because it is to windward of almost every other place and island. Our fleet, if we have one, can fly to leeward whenever needed for defense. You notice I say ‘IF we have one’.

  “Here are St. Christopher and Nevis, and here Guadeloupe and Marie-Galante and St. Eustatia, the latter being ours now, though it was a Dutch and after that a French Island. With your help, St. Christopher is now entirely ours again, but we cannot allow the French settlers to return to their half of the island or the fear of them would grow again. The English settlers have been ruined twice in twenty-two years. They would likely not risk a third time. The nearby English colonies such as Nevis would surely vacate as well. All English people there would surely run for the northern colonies! On the other hand, if the island were entirely French it would be as dangerous to the nearby colonies as is French Martinique. We must keep St. Christopher fully English; it has good soil, water and air, and still produces as plentifully as any of the Caribees. It is my opinion that in five years it would have more than twenty-five hundred men who could fight, and in only a dozen years would equal Barbados in riches. For the same reason we need to drive the French from Guadeloupe. Colonel Codrington feels the same. I hope by God that this war ends the French interests in America!”

  “Father…”

  “Oh, yes, yes! I am sorry. I am always ready to put forth the arguments for the English to hold all these islands, and I can be far too vociferous, can’t I, Maria? But please don’t stop me yet! We must at least explain ourselves here in Jamaica."

  “Here we are, see,” he continued, looking to Neville again, “This island is very long, and there are several plantations that need the low land along the coasts. They are far from one another and the chance of being sacked or spoilt and burned by French pirates is high. Not only that, but all vessels bound thither must pass by those damned French ports. On top of that,” he said, swooping his hand along the trade routes, “French pirates will always lie in wait for them on their return voyage at Point Anthony on the very western tip of Spanish Cuba, and then hide behind the Isle of Pines, here!” he emphasized by tapping his finger on the map.

  “And see how close Hispaniola lies? The French freebooters hide here at the Isle of Ash in the south and Isla Tortuga, up here in the north, where Laurens de Graaf has his home port. Their governor is here at Cap Francois, and they have made two settlements here at Petit Goâve … and here at Léogane. It’s not that the Spanish are actively our enemies, but they have not shewed any stomach to stop the French.”

  “Father…”

  “Yes, I will rest…..”

  “Sir, I would love it of all things to continue this education at some further evening, of the winds and currents and trade routes, but I have a very different request, if I might,”

  “Certainly, Neville, please ask.”

  Neville paused a moment. It had been since parting with his boyhood chum Daniel Watson when last at home that anyone other than Maria had called him by his first name. In the company of anyone beyond family, close friends or immediate peers aboard ship – first midshipmen and then lieutenants - his first name had been “Mr.” or “Lieutenant” for several years now. Anything else would have been disrespectful. And certainly his ‘betters’ – superior officers or any civil authorities he might meet, including those contemptible Whitehall clarks – would not stoop to suggest he was their equal. He did not object, but found it flattering. No, not only flattering, but something more; it was an implied acceptance in this man’s home, as with family, by a competent, powerful man who could be his father in age. It was an experience that Neville had had little of, his father having gone missing in battle when he was born.

  He barged on: “Sir, I have enjoyed learning French. I have a way with language, I suppose, as I did not find it difficult, and it has served me well already at my age. I am most fascinated to hear Maria’s Spanish; if she is willing and could be patient with me, may I ask her to teach me the language? It appears I could have much practice here, and I certainly have the time – at least for now.”

  The quick glance between father and daughter was sufficient for Thomas Fuller to answer, “It would be her pleasure, I am sure. We may have a book here, but I am not sure. Maria learned the language as all children do - from her mother, without books; just a slate for her letters and sentences once old enough to read.”

  Maria beamed. “I will look in the library tomorrow. I think mother kept my favorite children’s book, at least.”

  Shortly after first light of the next morning, there was a clattering in the outer courtyard. Two men on horses had arrived and Colonel Fuller was speaking excitedly with them. He asked them to light and take a quick bite of breakfast while he prepared to go with them. By the time Neville rose, struggled into his clothing and hobbled out to determine the reason for the turmoil, the three were already swinging their mounts and waving goodbye.

  Maria yelled after them, “Be careful, father!” After watching them canter quickly down the road she turned to see Neville standing with his cane, by now almost behind her.

  She advanced the three steps left between them, put her arms around him and buried her face into his chest. Surprised as he was, he thought he detec
ted a slight shudder, or a quick little sniffle, and she held on for a moment more.

  He encircled her with his free arm and held her gently, concerned for the cause of this behavior. He would not be the one to push away. “Is everything all right?” he asked at length.

  “Yes,” she said firmly, lifting her head to look into his face. Her dark hair swirled backward to show her full face as a mask of resolve. It did not have its usual glow or her eyes quite their normal sparkle, but it was a mask of hopeful strength and beauty. There was no tear, if he had expected to see one.

  “Or no,” she added. “Everything is not ‘all right’. What little I understood was that father has gone off to help stop a slave rebellion up at Mr. Salter's in the mountains in the middle of the Island. More than five hundred forced the house and killed the caretaker, took some ammunition and marched on the next plantation. It will be dangerous, I am sure, and there is always a chance that he will not come back. Not that I need to be protected. We have always survived here when he is away, but I don’t like it one bit! One summer he went to a far plantation and a hurricane came. It was terrible. For three days it blew and rained and a big tree at the end there came down across the house. I was worried the whole time that he was out in it.”

  By the act of talking, she was regaining her composure. “It may not be so bad when I have my captain here?” she suggested, looking up into his face again and adding, “You have such blue eyes.”

  I do? he pondered, but he could not look away to save his life. After a moment she said, “Come on, then. Let’s find that Spanish book.” Taking him by the hand and pulling him – not so strongly as to topple him over his cane – toward the main house. “Segueme, mi amor. Te deseo. (Follow me, my love. I desire you),” she added quietly with a slight blush that was turned so he couldn’t see.

  “And what did that mean?” he questioned, sensing that his Spanish lessons had begun.