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

by Georges Carrack

  “Follow me, my student,” she in part lied, “to the library.”

  The library was one of the house’s largest rooms. Due to a heavy wooden door, thick brick walls, and windows with louvered shutters, the room was cooler than outside. It also appeared that shadows of the trees outside fell on the windowed walls. The smell was a mixture of Thomas’ pipe tobacco, leather, wood polish, and dry paper. The floor was of polished tiles and the wooden walls – much like those of a ship’s cabin – were covered with bookshelves holding scores of leather-bound volumes in reds, greens and browns. There were sections where the volumes appeared to be business ledgers, several on plants and medicine, and some near the piano that were probably Maria’s music. Thomas’ desk stood at the end farthest from the veranda door, and Maria’s beautiful black piano against the windowless wall. Two leather-covered overstuffed chairs bracketed the windows, with the pelt of a South American Jaguar as a throw rug between. It was obvious that this was the center of the family’s home.

  Neville stood for a moment taking it all in. “May I sit a minute?” he asked, responding to the ache in his leg.

  “Why, yes. I’m sorry. Rest there a minute and I’ll play you my favorite piece.”

  Maria adjusted herself on the piano stool and began. Neville had never heard the likes of what came out of that instrument before in his life, even in church. Together with the girl who played it and the enclosure that was the library, he returned to wondering if he actually had gone to heaven.

  Neville’s leg became stronger each day, though they came to realize that some limp might remain. He did not complain if Maria wanted to take his arm around her for ‘support’ as they walked from his room to the patio or library. Each day he learned new words and they sat closer and closer together until she could feel his warmth beside her. One particularly warm day Juanita walked out with some juice to where they sat on the veranda, made a little noise of clearing her throat, and gave Marie an obvious cold stare. They sat a little farther apart after that, but their hands often went for the same book or chalk slate.

  Colonel Fuller had been gone for four days when Maria took Neville by surprise, whispering, “Juanita always goes to the city on this Wednesday of each month. You see she has had Trombé hitch the donkey-cart. She will leave very soon. You be on your best behavior until she goes.”

  By ten o’clock in the morning she was indeed gone, leaving them alone at the main house.

  What do I do now? Maria wondered. We are without a chaperone, but it is against all I am to give myself to him. I must tell him, however, how I am beginning to feel about him. No, somehow I must do more than tell him. I must somehow show him that I want more of him. I know I do. I feel it every time I come near him. I have known it since he awoke. He is nothing like other young men I have met. He’s only a year older than I am, and he’s younger than most of those whom father has proposed to me as suitors, but they are all boys compared to him. He’s an officer in the navy! He is patient and kind, honest and open, and I know he will respect me. Even in this short time, I know these things. He speaks French, for all love, not the silly Greek or Roman the others put forth as sophistication, and he wants to learn my mother’s language. I’ve not met another with his inquisitiveness, and there is no disputing that he is handsome. I simply cannot deny his strength and those blue eyes. I don’t know the story of his other girl, and I think it is painful to him. I must be careful, but I cannot allow him to go from here without knowing how I feel. What do I do? It must be now!

  “Neville, there is one book I have not been able to find. Would you mind if we take another look in the library? I think it is up high where I can’t reach and has gotten behind some of father’s dry old ledgers of sugar cane fields,” she suggested.

  Maria pushed the door gently closed as they entered the library, and they crossed the cold floor to a shelf behind her father’s desk. She pointed to a shelf about seven feet off the floor. “There, behind that dusty blue thing,” she said.

  Maria watched him look up where she had pointed. She realized that without his injury it would have been nothing at all for him to stand on his toes and stretch up for the blue binder, but even with a cane for balance such motion was not to be made. She saw him begin to turn in a slow motion, scanning the floor for an object he might use as a stepstool. He turned straight into her open arms. They encircled him and she pulled him close. She tilted her head back and pulled his lips down to meet hers.

  The stirring she felt within herself as she kissed him and held his strong body against hers was a thing she had never felt before. She felt her breasts against his chest and caressed his warm back with her hands. Her heart was beating hard. She did not retreat from him, nor he from her, and they kissed even more ardently.

  A rapping began at the door, and a male voice said, “Haloo, Miss Maria. Ustedes aqui?”

  Maria quickly backed a comfortable three feet away from him and announced, as Trombé poked his head in, “No, Neville, this isn’t the one.” Neville turned in a split second and lifted his cane to begin poking at the blue binder. The door opened.

  “Yes, Trombé?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Miss, but Charl want to know if pork and yams be good for supper, what with you have Mr. Neville here and all.”

  “Tell Charl that would be lovely, and ask – make sure you ask, mind you – that if there’s time for a lemon pie with a thick merengue, I would just love it! Oh, never mind, Trombé, we’ll go tell her ourselves.” I think I gave Neville the message, she thought.

  After dinner, Maria and Neville had taken their evening tea out to sit in the garden and enjoy a few more minutes of being together, although it was now under the discreet but watchful eye of Juanita. The crickets joined the song of the night frogs and the fireflies crept into the shadows as the garden slowly went dark.

  Virtually every person who came and went from the Fuller house since Neville had been there took a few minutes to complain that it was such a wet year; the collective opinion was substantiated by clouds that rolled past daily, pouring rains that varied from light mists to gully-filling deluges. The precipitation, which began evaporating immediately, always left in its cooling wake the most uncomfortable humidity that buzzed with insects small and large, particularly if it fell in mid-afternoon. This afternoon it had rained heavily, a thick haze covered the grounds, and by the time the two prospective lovers decided it was time for their beds, the garden was ablaze with flitting dots of light.

  5 - “Return to Duty”

  Sleep did not come to Neville. His mind was overwhelmed with thoughts of Maria. There was be no release that night, but the gloriously cool morning that followed was almost beyond the pleasure of the previous day. Neville was sitting with the most beautiful woman he had ever met in his life on the Fuller home’s main veranda enjoying the most marvelous combination of shade, breeze, company and breakfast. Hot drinking chocolate joined with fresh bread and a bowl of the most sweet-smelling fruit he could imagine. The two had not yet had the opportunity of speaking much more than a proper ‘good morning’ to each other, let alone any endearing murmurings, when Colonel Fuller’s horse plodded tiredly into the courtyard.

  “Father!” Maria cheered as she jumped up and ran toward him, skirts flying.

  A light carriage followed Colonel Fuller’s horse, stopping behind him before Maria reached her father. Seeing the carriage slowed her just a bit in order to appear more lady-like, but she closed the distance between them and hung herself on her father’s neck. A small swarthy dark-suited man stepped from the carriage.

  Neville’s immediate thought was that he had seen the man before, but his spirits changed radically in the split second of seeing Thomas Fuller. What have I done? he thought. I have betrayed his trust.

  “Come with me, Lieutenant Burton,” Colonel Fuller commanded.

  Fear instantly flowed through his veins, and looking at Maria, he sensed the same in her. How could he possibly know of their indiscretions? He h
ad just returned. Was retribution coming? Who was this man he brought; an executioner? He was aware that in the somewhat lawless Jamaica he could hang for such an offense to a powerful man like Fuller – or far worse. Was his rough command anger or merely exhaustion?

  He gathered his wits and bravely stood, still a bit unsteadily without a cane, and hobbled toward Colonel Fuller. Maria had stepped back, obviously unsure of what to do. Her father had never commanded Neville in that fashion before. She turned to greet the gentleman, as was her duty as lady of the house.

  “Lord Inchiquin, this is the lieutenant I was telling you about, Neville Burton. I am convinced he is our man, and almost fully recovered for the assignment.”

  I am not being ordered to death, then, Neville thought.

  “Good morning, Lord Inchiquin,” smiled Maria, as warmly as she could muster.

  “Oh, a superb morning, indeed!” replied Inchiquin. “It is always a pleasure to see the lovely Maria! You are graced, Colonel Fuller.”

  “I am surely,” said Fuller, beaming over his daughter.

  “Lieutenant Burton, please meet Lord Inchiquin, our new Governor of Jamaica.” That explained the formal tone. “Lord Inchiquin, Lieutenant Burton.”

  “Good morning, Lieutenant,” said the caller.

  “Good morning, your Lordship.” answered Neville, moving forward with as little limp as he could manage. He offered a slight bow, “I’ve seen you once before – aboard the Swan.”

  “The Swan; what a wretched craft. Yet she is here still. I don’t remember you, though.”

  “No, Sir. I was not aboard long. I was assigned to command Liberté, that French merchant we took right following the storm.”

  “Oh, yes. The only bit of fun we had on the whole passage.”

  “Thank God we are in time for breakfast,” interjected Colonel Fuller, “I am famished. Lord Inchiquin, shall we sit?”

  Once sitting, but before even more fresh bread and fruit and fresh pots of hot chocolate arrived, Lord Inchiquin began, “Please let us get right on with it. I have an engagement back in town. It has been an enjoyable ride in the cool of morning, and I would like to be back before that unbearable sun reaches is zenith! If you could first give me your report on the negro rebellion, Colonel Fuller.”

  “I will send you a written report within the week, but here is the substance of the preceding few days: It was apparently on the 29th that they rose up at Salter’s. The five hundred killed Salter’s caretaker, stole arms, and marched on to Martin’s estate. They killed Martin’s caretaker as well, and fired the house, but Martin’s slaves would not go with them. As I have argued, Sir, if the slaves be treated better, as I do here, they are much happier people, less likely to enjoin such mischief. It might have been even bloodier. Mistreating your workers is not a wise course. Six or seven whites to five hundred negroes is the usual proportion here on these plantations.

  “But I digress. The alarm being given, fifty horse and foot arrived, and the next day more, and there were skirmishes and the negroes were routed to the canes. Some were killed and had their guns and provisions captured. Sixty women and children since came in reporting many dead and wounded, and I think it is about over, except that so many have escaped that they could be a future danger to the mountain plantations.”

  “Thank you for your efforts in everything, Colonel Fuller. I shall convey that to the others of the council this very afternoon. I think you should excuse yourself and get some rest today, though.”

  “Yes, I will, but there is the other subject, Sir, before you go.

  “Yes, that is why I’ve come here rather than summon him to me. I am in great hope that you might act as my delegate in this matter, as I have so much else on my mind, at least until our fleet can be sent off, but I will undertake to explain our particular situation to this young officer that you so highly recommend.

  “Lieutenant Burton, then, I am sorry to see the damage to your leg, but it looks to be healing well. You are walking. I pray you will be fully healed soon.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Now to our predicament: The French are powerful enemies to Jamaica, and very near, as Colonel Fuller tells me he has explained to you. I am new here as well, as you know; Colonel Fuller can provide much more depth to this discussion later, but this is the nub of it: They control our seas, and even if their navy does not come, they will lose no sleep about allowing the freebooters to pillage us. A more recent danger is that since Colonel Codrington has reduced St. Christopher he has sent from thence a thousand Frenchmen, and they may shortly pay us a visit.

  “Furthermore, when I arrived here we were told of a wreck in the Texanillas, which are southwest of Jamaica about fifty leagues. Although the weather has been bad, as you know, the resulting race to salvage has left Port Royal very thin of able seamen. I had no ship, either, because when Captain Spragge returned here in the Drake, his frigate of 32 guns, she was leaking so badly they despaired of foundering. She was a fine sailor, as is Captain Spragge, having kept the French in awe of us, but the worm has made her unserviceable. On survey, her repair cost has been found, at 2000 pound, to be more than her first cost. She lies careened down in the harbor, and will likely remain so until the storms bury her bones.

  “Therefore we have now only that wallowing Swan, in which we stood from Plymouth, and she is scarce better than nothing at all for her sailing; I believe we would never see her again if she allowed herself to be blown ten leagues downwind. We sent her to Cartagena today, at any rate, with letters from the Spanish Ambassador who does us the favor of asking for the release of some of our English prisoners. Cartagena, about straight south of here, is the only destination from this island from which Swan is able to return, and I cannot imagine she could fight.

  “We have asked the Admiralty for ships and men,” he continued, “and the King ordered Captain Wright to send a fifth and a sixth rate to us, with which we could protect the north side of the island and protect our trade. We have lost several trading sloops to the French and Spanish; and by that I mean the pirates they call privateers.”

  For a moment, Inchiquin’s opinions got the better of him, and he began spluttering about the ignorance and uncooperativeness of Admiral Wright, but he checked himself and continued,

  “Colonel Codrington keeps writing me to send help to fight the French in his little islands to wind’rd, as we did when Colonel Fuller’s ship went thither. How are we supposed to help him if we cannot defend ourselves? Captain Wright is supposed to send us a ship for our defense, as I said, but there has been but one sixth rate, the Experiment, arrive. You can see her from here, I noticed on the way in. She is the largest we have in harbor this fortnight past. So then, I thought I had my ship. However, when she did arrive there was such sickness aboard that we were forced to quarantine her and furnish succor by shore boat. A large number of the company have since died, as well as the captain and several officers. Because of the value of trade here – sugar and molasses, indigo and cotton - and always the slaves for the Asiento, I must believe they will send reinforcements soon if indeed there is to be war with the French. Alas, no! They ask us for help….”

  “As to those French – those from St. Christopher that Col. Codrington sent to Petit Goâve - who say they may come attack us; if they are as strong as they brag, may decide to master the whole of Santo Domingo and kick out the Spanish. Such condition, about which we could do nothing, would be an extreme danger to us!”

  The Governor at last cooled to his more rational self, saying, “I propose our retort to this untidy situation be three-fold:

  “At this time we have private ships, some of which sail from here under letters of marque and some number are purely pirates who profit from us English as their market and see fit to leave our shipping alone. These latter still bear watching, remember.”

  Inchiquin leaned forward toward Neville, emphasizing the last word as he might to a child.

  “Together with those, we have fitted seven sloops ha
ving fifty to seventy-five men, but one of those recently sailed to Caymanos for turtle. She arrived in time to engage Laurens de Graaf, that great pirate of Petit Goâve, before he could take several of our merchants lying there. Firing was heard until eleven at night. Our fishing craft escaped, but nothing since has been heard of the sloop, and it is now a month. We cannot but conclude that Laurens has taken her, his barcolongo having twice the company of our sloop, and possibly even faster.

  “Third, we have the Experiment that I mentioned earlier. She is but a twenty-eight gun sixth rate, but within another fortnight we may see her company sufficiently recovered to attempt putting an axe to our enemies.

  “Colonel Fuller has put it to me that we have an English officer amongst us, and that we must not trust Admiral Wright to send us a farthing more. Furthermore, if they have given you up for dead or simply forgotten you, and then find you here, they may wish to recall you and charge you with desertion. Such a thing would be a great waste. I wanted to see you for myself. I see you are almost healed, or may well be by the time Experiment’s company are well enough to sail!”

  “Let us put him to work, Colonel Fuller,” finalized Lord Inchiquin with enthusiasm. “Let us put this English officer on that English frigate and send him to war against the pirates and French under my authority as Governor. Now that I learn he is the prize commander of that French merchant I am even more convinced he is our man. Together with the sloops we will have a right proper little squadron, verily. At any rate, the land regiments are almost as sickly as the company of Experiment – so sickly that they do not dare attack more French islands now, despite that the French may be in the same condition. On top of that, the cowardly Commodore Wright, being what he is, has sailed his whole fleet to Barbados. He will surely keep there until October after the hurricanes as well. A fleet in the harbor has little need of extra lieutenants. They probably prefer to think Lt. Burton is dead and are ignoring my letters. We in Jamaica do not have the luxury of ignoring the enemy, hurricanes or no.