The Kingdom on the Waves Read online

  I knocked upon the doors and was admitted; having made inquiries, I was told that Mr. William Turner, the music-master, was in the hall demonstrating fencing to young officers; but that if I could return within an hour, he should hear me out.

  I returned at the time specified, and found him to be engaged still in lunging. A few of the officers dawdled after their lesson, enjoying Mr. Turner’s foining and the free exchange of youthful braggadocio.

  Waiting until they were gone, I was eventually greeted by Mr. Turner, to whom I humbly submitted that I hoped my small talents might prove useful to him, adding, with much stammering, that when I had played in Concert Hall a few years previous, my efforts had not been found unworthy of applause. He having heard my entreaty, Mr. Turner barely spake to me, but asked me to play him something upon my violin. When I owned that I did not have a violin, he looked at me with impatience, informing me that there were two articles very necessary to be a Negro violinist: to whit, pigment and a violin; and that without the latter article, I was not avowedly a Negro violinist, but a Negro, of which he had no definite want. I begged that if he might grant me an instrument and three minutes’ audition, I hoped that he would not find his time poorly used. He left the room, where I stood anxiously for some moments, discomfited by our interview, gazing at the ranks of empty seats.

  He returned with a violin, poorly tuned. I quickly adjusted it as he observed. I inquired what he wished me to play, indicating that I knew by heart sonatas by Corelli, Tartini, Locatelli, and such other venerable Italian masters as were most highly esteemed.

  He requested I play “Poor Polly Is a Sad Slut.”

  Flustered, disheartened, I said I did not know the tune. He hummed it once for me. I played it back for him; I elaborated upon its melody as a fiddler would — exercising what I had learned of this art when playing tunes for the dances at the Pox Party — and played divisions upon the song — and, now warming after weeks without the welcome cordial of bow and strings, I introduced with a flourish my favorite among the Corelli sonatas — bursting into that beloved piece, so familiar to me and so gratifying an object to my senses — I then catching fire and playing with joy — motivated no longer by the dictates of necessity and the eye of censure, but rather by delight in my new freedom, bow skipping with the pleasant prospect of paid employ and new-found utility.

  I came to a close, awakened abruptly to the shame of my display. I awaited his judgment.

  As it transpired, this demonstration was, I believe, not distasteful to Mr. Turner; except insofar as its excesses suggested an overweening vanity, it made no unpleasant effect upon that versatile and incisive individual, and he agreed to let me play in the orchestra, providing that I could rein in my over-exuberant fantasy and unseemly pride.

  Though chastened, I felt every nerve thrill to have braved scorn and demonstrated my worth.

  Thus I was employed. He inquired as to my name; I did not know what to reply. I cast about.

  “It is lovely,” said he, “when a Negro has time in the day to deliberate even about what he is called. Perhaps, sir, you are newly at leisure?”

  ’Twas imperative I answer. My head thronged with names; but chief among them, my own. Thinking then of Cæsar Augustus, called Octavian until his majority, I replied that I was named Augustus.

  “Augustus. Well chosen,” said Mr. Turner. “It has an imperial ring.” He instructed me to return the next day for our rehearsal and exhorted me to find clothes better suited to playing before the premier citizens in the Colony. I allowed that I had no money with which to purchase clothing. He informed me that though he wished ardently that he could help me, he was an impresario, not a Benevolent Society for Africo-Italian Virtuosi in Reduced Circumstances, and that I should “scuttle off” and steal myself some handsomer breeches.

  As it transpired, this was precisely what I did.

  The streets now displayed a kindlier aspect, for the sun had brazened the low clouds and shone past the weathervane atop the hall; the half-hearted artillery fire had ceased; merchants moved through the streets; there was the appearance of industry and health in the city; and I had an income.

  I did not for a moment consider Mr. Turner’s suggestion that I procure new clothes through theft, the habit of seemly, submissive, and orderly carriage being too great in me to admit of such a plan. Little knowing how to secure the requisite finery, and motivated now as much by pleasure in exploration as by utility, I passed up and down the town’s byways, dreaming, as youth dreams, of Providence: that I should be suddenly supplied by a suit of clothes tossed into a garbage heap or lain in an alley, or that perhaps I should through some unexpected commerce with maid or char be heaped with a waistcoat hanging to dry which Master no longer desired. Though no such felicitous circumstance transpired, still I walked with light enough step. For the first time, I was free, and, better than free, employed; and now, unencumbered by the terrors of the night and pursuit, I was fully sensible of the exhilarating sensations of that liberty. My long Adagio was succeeded, thought I, by this new Scherzo, and I may even have endeavored to smile.

  Well can it be imagined that my view of the city was rosy in hue. The sun fell golden and blue over the streets. Citizens laughed with soldiers.

  And with every step, I rendered thanks to our Creator, who in His kindness had led me out of the house of bondage, out from under the scepter of Pharaoh, and across the dry sea-bottom to wanderings and liberty.

  Though my heart dilated with my good fortune, still was I surrounded by perplexities. As I circled through the city, my thoughts, too, ran in circuits thus: The Widow Platt waited in expectation of payment; I could not obtain money without employment; I could not obtain employment without clothing; could not obtain clothing without money; but could not obtain money, alas, without that first employment; thus bringing me wheeling back to the original circumstance, as greatly vexatious predicaments often chew their own tails.

  I had ever considered myself, up until that point, as possessed of a meticulous and even over-fastidious disposition. I was no man of action. Given such a snarled knot of cause and demand to untangle, I had sat and picked the ends with fingernails until the utmost hour, pursuing each strand in its involutions, little realizing that the knot might in one swift motion be cut, Gordian-like, with scimitar and the vigor of self-assurance.

  So had I been; but in this hour, I became someone else.

  It was my hands first knew my course.

  As I passed down an obscure street, I felt spread through all my palms that tingling of the nerves that presages a great leap. I touched my fingers together, and found they sweated, as in the commission of some crime.

  I bethought me suddenly upon the fact that I stood not thirty yards from the house where Mr. Gitney’s nephew, Jonathan Gitney, Esq., had lived; the house where Bono’s mother had served in bondage; and musing upon this house, I considered that the last time I had seen Jonathan Gitney, Esq., had been at the Pox Party in the spring; which would suggest that he had evacuated the town and had not, in all probability, returned since the outbreak of hostilities.

  Abruptly, at this remembrance, I could not hear the clamor of passing carts. The street seemed tilted in my fancy, and vertiginous, and there was knowledge in my nerves and in the muscles of hand and leg that, having poisoned my master just one day previous, I now would steal from his family; and yet, from this thought, terrible to utter — for which the Lord may forgive me — I felt only giddiness where justice met with pleasure.

  I being entailed as their rightful property, thought I, it answers to the dictates of ownership as well as expediency that they should provide me with clothing. Such a solution is only meet.

  I suffered the shock of knowledge that this plan was lodged within me and I was indeed going to carry it out. Oft doth reason, enthroned in the pillowed seraglio of the brain, hang back; whereas the flesh, which must walk abroad in the streets, finds its own temerity. Oft do we act, and then inform the governing principles within us
of our past action, and leave for them to write their reports and justifications as they will.

  I thrilled, knowing my body would now commit this crime.

  And at that, the commotion of the street poured in again upon me, and I heard sounds in all their particularity — the striking of hooves, the call of goodwives, the heaving of wood off a cart.

  I stood before the door of the house, through which, when I had passed before, I had passed in train with others, and had then been bid to stand silent and serve unless spoken to. The windows were shuttered. I calculated my route into the empty mansion.

  I made my way back through the alley to the side door, which led into the kitchen yard. This I found locked, as might be expected.

  For a brief moment, I leaned against the door, my hands behind me, as if I lounged; thus situated, I ran my eyes across the windows of the house which stood upon the opposite side of the alley to confirm that they all were dark or shuttered. I steeled myself for activity.

  No plunge into water chill with the rush of spring freshets could have administered more sharp a slap to the nerves than my plunge into the acrobatics of larceny: a heel upon the latch; hands grasping the top of the gate — and then me astraddle — and another leap — and I was in.

  I crouched there where I had landed for some moments, hands spread upon the turf, reminding myself that I was stealing only from those who claimed to own me. My heart stilled. I was safe, and a thief.

  How do we change — within moments, the whole form of our habits and dispositions may become alien to us, and we almost cannot remember what we were. So saith Heraclitus: “The river where you set your foot just now is gone — giving way to this, now this. . . . Just as the river where I step is not the same, and is, so I am as I am not.”

  I did not know who I was become; but I knew this person would be named Augustus, and would be habited in excellent array.

  I rose and made my way across the little yard to the kitchen door. It was locked and could not be forced. I put my shoulder to the door, with the intention of bursting its hinges, when I spied an irregularity with one of the windows: A pane had been smashed, so that a hand might be inserted and swivel the catch.

  Nothing held the bottom sash down. It was the work of a moment to lift it.

  Now I was wary, however, having established proof that another had been here before on some similar errand of mischief. I crawled into the kitchen with great trepidation.

  The chambers were dark, lit only by that light which might make its way through the slats of the shutters. Alert, I passed through the dining-room to the stairs and proceeded up to the bedchambers, walking carefully with my bare feet lain upon the extreme edges of the steps, so that they might not squeak.

  Nothing, curiously, seemed to have been moved from the day when the house had been abandoned. Portraits still hung upon the walls, unmolested by thieves; no vandal had inscribed his name upon the walls; the cushions were pierced by no blade of jealous disdain; and the drawers were sound in their sockets.

  I, then, was the first to rifle through Mr. Jonathan Gitney’s possessions. Seizing upon several shirts and pair of breeches, I rolled them quickly into a bundle, to which I added three waistcoats, one of them fine silk for Dr. Trefusis. I found a wig, stockings — though the gentleman of the house had taken the finest, I presume, for the Pox Party — and cravats. I feared that the frock-coats would not fit Dr. Trefusis, but I rolled up two, shaking off the moth-powder. It was the work of but ten minutes; I then retired, scampering upon my bare feet, into the servants’ chambers, where I sought out a suitable frock-coat for myself of some humbler cloth, ratteen or cherriderry. Finding a few articles suitable, the whole mess of apparel I wrapped around two pair of shoes, swaddling it all in the thickest of the coats and tying the arms about the parcel for easy carriage.

  My theft complete, I descended the stairs as softly as I might and passed silently through the parlor towards the back of the house and escape.

  I had got no further when I heard the scrum of shoes upon the floorboards of the kitchen.

  Whoever the mysterious visitant was had smashed the pane to get at the latch — he had returned.

  I knew not what to do. I could not move, so clamorous were my senses; I was fixed by panic. All my bravery abandoned me.

  I heard the intruder move carefully, quietly across the kitchen floor. The broken glass clicked, ground, and splintered beneath his heel.

  Suspended on the rounds of my feet, I glided to the sofa and slid beneath it. I had no opportunity to bring the parcel of clothing with me beneath the seat; for the intruder swung wide the door and entered. His calves were before me; and I waited in excruciation for discovery.

  He paused near me; then crossed the room, at which corner I could see him from my hiding place: a youth of my years, perhaps, dressed as might befit an apprentice at some trade. He made his way cautiously through the chamber, then set off through the door to the hall. I heard him make a survey of the house, seeking something, perhaps, which he did not find.

  Anxious with the passing minutes, I had almost determined to slide out and make a bid for the exit while he inspected the chambers upstairs; but no sooner had I purposed thus, than I heard him clambering down the steps, and he burst again into the room, giving me but a scant instant to conceal myself.

  I lay in my hiding place, praying he might head for the kitchen window and egress.

  Then he sat upon a chair.

  The disorder of my senses might well be imagined; for long habituation had taught me to fear any infraction in the house of a Gitney; and added to this, there was uncertainty about the motives of this other thief, and whether he carried a dirk.

  For some time, we remained like this, he sitting motionless and I Observant now, regarding the burlap weave on the bottom of the sofa, measuring my breath for silence.

  He sighed; and there was another fumbling in the kitchen.

  This clearly threw him into a state of confusion. His cheek flushed; he half rose; then sat; then rose again, straining to hear this new intruder.

  He had no time, however, to effect any concealment — for another crossed the kitchen floor.

  The first intruder sat upon his chair, which he clutched on either side. I closed my eyes, for there is some subtle magnetism in the gaze that nudges the lambent spirit in those viewed and draws attention to those who watch concealed.

  Tensed for disaster, I heard the second intruder throw wide the door to the back hall. I could not forbear opening my eyes. Another youth stepped into the room. The first swiveled his head to view this new menace. He rose.

  They looked upon each other, both reddening.

  For a time, they stood in some embarrassment, unspeaking, immobile.

  They came together in the center of the room.

  Without further word, they clasped each other, their arms thrown around each other, bosom to bosom; they kissed, offering only, after some moments, a few endearments — as, “My darling.” They whispered inquiries as to the other’s safety. “I feared you was caught and dead,” said one. They clasped again, and one of them hissed, “I have so much longed for . . .” He did not complete his sentiment, but grasped his friend’s face and shook it.

  I had heard of alliances of this stripe, a gentleman of the College having spent some years in Italy, enjoying the coarse blandishments of stevedores; hiding there, beneath the sofa, I did not condemn, but I wished ardently for the adoring prentices to gratify their Classical lusts above-stairs in the bedroom and quit the parlor, where, if they tarried, I would soon be noticed and undone.

  They held each other, standing in the midst of the room. I lay my head upon the floor, praying that the enticements of Eros would prove more involving than the intelligences of the senses, as I was not well concealed, and the bundle rested beside the sofa.

  Embracing cheek to cheek, they remained unmoving, clasped; I could hear each inhalation measured in that chamber; and each, I could see, drank in the breath of hi
s friend, so dear in its emission; until one of them began to mock the other, exaggerating his respiration, panting in his ear, and they kicked at each other and laughed.

  They wrestled, each plucking at and then casting off the other’s bob-wig, one of which landed near me like some creature of the sea. The youths kissed and rubbed their bald heads together.

  “Bedchamber?” said one.

  “Oh la, sir,” said the other. “My maiden blushes speak louder than words.”

  “Then here,” said the first, “upon the couch?”

  He sat in the neighborhood of my head. I closed my eyelids. He drew the other upon his lap, which weight made the sofa creak.

  “Right here?” the upper one murmured.

  “Aye,” the other assented.

  “But,” said the first, “that might startle the Negro boy hiding under the cushions.”

  The room was still. In that silence, panic subsiding, the blood returned to its courses, my heart expanded once more to fill its wonted chamber; and I felt nothing but relief at my detection and gratitude for the laxity of their humor.

  I spoke to the cushion. “I am beholden to you for your clemency,” said I.

  “’Tis nothing, sir,” said one of the boys above me.

  “‘Clemency,’ is it?” said the other. “He is exceeding genteel, for a sofa.”

  The first explained to me, “I beg pardon, sir. It weren’t our aim to slap the wrist of any pilfering hand.”

  “Not for a thousand worlds,” added his accomplice.

  Said the first, “A man should never be embarrassed in the midst of pilfering.”

  “Almost as galling as being discovered in the midst of an embrace.”