The Kingdom on the Waves Read online

  “We will fight, my friend,” said I.

  He nodded, as best he could. “You will,” he assented.

  June 14th, 1776

  For two hours today, I stoked a fire to burn barrelfuls of pork we found blighted with rot. Thus my employment.

  Dr. Trefusis, who went to minister to Slant, delivers word from the sick-camp that one of the inmates of that place has refused food. Against orders, he left his mattress today and walked to the eastern shore of the island, followed by a crowd of devotees; and there, he knelt upon the dirt of his brethrens’ graves, and began to eat that dirt, shoveling it into his mouth.

  He says he commences a ghost.

  June 15th, 1776

  This day a soldier of our Regiment was discovered stabbed to death in the ditch by the encampment. ’Tis not known who killed him. The ghastly deed was done between the hours of three o’clock and five o’clock in the morning.

  Rumors of gambling debt and magic both abound.

  In the night, Isaac the Joiner had a dream in which we all hung with wires through our bodies, and pigeons made their homes upon us, even as we died suspended.

  He claims this dream to be divinely inspired, and fasts this day.

  Better Joe is seized with horror, and walks with a blanket wrapped about him.

  June 16th, 1776

  Slant is dead. Returned from our field exercises, I paid him a call at the hospital. He was not upon his bed. I found him shrouded in the wheelbarrow.

  Thus informed by the sight of him covered by burlap, I set out from the hospital and returned to our camp, where Pomp swept out our tent. Upon my appearing, he put by his whisk and asked me how I fared.

  I went to my pack and removed my razor. I gestured he should sit; and he knew the truth of it.

  He sat before me without tear or grimace, and in silence, I shaved off his hair.

  When I was finished, I sat, and he performed the same office for me. We both, I believe, thought upon that dream that one day we should all sit at the same table on Thanksgiving; that we should show our children our shirts, and tell them tales of when we were young.

  It took Pomp some time to complete the shaving, he not being accustomed to that work. I welcomed every stumble, for it brought blood.

  Bono came to our fly, bursting full of news; but seeing this tableau, he stopped up his tongue. He observed us in this rite, and though we shed no tears, he did. He whispered, “Liberty to Slant. Liberty to Slant.”

  Slant was one of six to die this day. We took him in the evening down to the waterside. Isaac declaimed a prayer of his own devising. Olakunde, versed in the praise-song of Sonponna, spirit of smallpox, beat upon the dundun drum and sang of how the god could not dance, being lumbered with a wooden leg, but still could watch the dancing of others in his honor, O great one, Cold Ground, Hot Ground, Father in the Forest, Wind Like a Man, Peace to the Afflicted, Sweetly, Softly; and then we lowered the bodies into pits near the lapping water; where Slant’s blotched face was covered with sand, his gray eyes blinded with mud, and his limbs, finally, hidden forever from the sun. The last I saw of him, he lay on his left side, an amulet in his hand to guard against deviltry on his last, long journey.

  Then began the awful crooning, the grimaced smiles, the mothers clapping for the death of their children to deceive the god. The shouting was loud tonight, and I thought on tall Slant, ill-toothed, slow of speech, gentle of heart. Before me, the crowd of twenty or so surged along the brink of the pit. Women courtesied with kerchiefs in their hands. Men lamented in joy and wailed in exultation, while others slapped juba upon their arms and thighs.

  Bono took my hands; he drew me forward. I resisted, for I knew not the measures; but he insisted, and I followed, and found myself next to Pomp in the dance, next to Bono himself. Miss Nsia stood by the verge and watched us; we were among the others, and I knew none of the steps they assayed, but still I moved with them, my teeth clacking with each step; a leg unused to vivid motion, an arm; our bodies roiling above, Slant’s inert below, and we all beat time, we all bowed low, we all spun in the night, and paced in lines, and clapped.

  For the first time, I danced.

  [The following page is glued into the volume. Most of it is written in a different hand.]

  A LAMENT

  translated by Olakunde and set down in the language of his oppressor

  Death sit in the house.

  Death sit in the field.

  Death sit in the river.

  The house is full of smoke,

  But the field is full of sun.

  Go now to the heaven of breezes.

  Walk to that heaven.

  We will not kill the antelope,

  We will let the antelope run,

  Until you there and gone.

  June 19th, 1776

  I cannot abide this camp longer, and have requested I be sent out upon a forage expedition; which request has been denied.

  June 20th, 1776

  This day we hear that soldiers have been deserting the 14th Regiment and fleeing under cover of darkness across the small space between our camp and the enemy’s, there to take up arms and join our opponents.

  And why should they not?

  When, a few days past, the Articles of War were read to us all, great shew was made over those words devoted to the punishments for soldiers who dare desert.

  ’Twas, it is certain, a warning to us that if we of our regiment consider flight, or action through uprising, taking up arms against our officers, we shall die.

  I spake of this with Bono; who replied, “Fools. Where they think we going to run?”

  June 22nd, 1776

  There were no drills this day, nor no digging of earthworks. His Lordship hath no use for us.

  No one speaks of Slant.

  A cult of suicides hath grown up by the burial ground upon the east side of the island, a communion of willed starvation. Dr. Trefusis and I today walked to that melancholy place, to view the suicides’ pitiable condition and inquire whether we might in some wise offer succor.

  They wait to die amidst the grove of red pines, sitting naked, leaned against the scaly flanks of the trees. They refuse all sustenance, as they do benefit of liquid. They are slow in their motions; most are afflicted with the smallpox or some other distemper.

  They will not speak to any. The officers will not walk among them. We watched one crawl to the graves and begin to eat the dirt, coughing and gagging all the while.

  I offered assistance to one, lifting him from the ground; but he filled himself with heaviness, until all my efforts could not support him. He being placed again upon the pine needles, he curled and put his hands in his mouth; his lips were dry with clay.

  June 23rd, 1776

  In the midst of sorrow comes joy. Today, Pro Bono, called Private William Williams, was married to Nsia Williams.

  Marriages between Negroes being celebrated in this Colony with no priest nor legal binding, they were free to marry as they pleased, which they did by passing a cup of wine, and, amid applause of all the guests, pouring the lees upon the ground as libation, after which, they met in a kiss.

  It was a most affecting occasion.

  The homily and marriage sentences were said, at Bono’s request, by Dr. Trefusis. They ran somewhat thus: “It is with unutterable pleasure that I present to you today young Private Williams and his bride, whose beauties of person are equaled only by those of her merits.

  “I first knew Private Williams”— and here he could not forbear shedding a tear, his voice clutching too tight for words —“I first knew Private Williams when he was but a child, a reprobate little nursling of eight summers, a charming wag we called, out of our deep affection, 24-06.

  “I tell ye, my friends, there was a look in 24-06’s eye that spake instanter of his wits and acumen. I recall the first instance where I fully credited his quick parts: I observed him blacking his master’s shoes. One may apply blacking as one will — for it is not in the application, but in t
he buffing, that the art of blacking lies. And yet, I perceived that the young 24-06, denied most materials for expression, daubed pictures upon his master’s shoes. They were faces, as I recall, with tongues out or rapiers thrust through the heads. They were the very spirit of insurrection and glee.

  “Then, without remorse for the passing of his figures, he took up the cloth and began his buffing, which obliterated each face in turn as he whispered, ‘And then he died! And then he was kill!’ He brought the shoes to an admirable sheen; and yet, I could not ever after look at my friend Gitney’s shoes without seeing those faces hidden there, invisible as the phiz of the pixie, gaping out, mocking all routes walked by the boy’s master, making all business of that great man inane, for the clucking of the shoes.

  “Mr. 24-06, Private Williams, still brings to all he touches an admirable sheen; and yet, he cannot improve upon the polish of his bride, Miss Nsia Randolph of Chesterfield County. In Nsia combineth the modesty of feminine grace with the forwardness of moral strength. Employed in this Regiment initially as a washerwoman, Miss Nsia hath become a help to the afflicted, working tirelessly with the ill to bring succor and relief. Far too often, the voice of an angel proceedeth from a breast too little angelic; but in this instance, angel coats the throat and cradles the heart, from which emanate all kind virtues.”

  Here Dr. Trefusis stopped and reflected before continuing, so moved was he by the direction of his own oratory. Said he: “When one comes to the end of one’s days, one looks about, exhausted by the blasts and eddies of fortune, and longs for the quietude of annihilation; and yet, ’tis not simply that: for the sight of lovers such as these recall to us the sweetness that we may find here upon Earth as well — and looking upon them, I am transported by a sensation of all the multitude of things that shall remain closed to me in this one, little lifetime: the languages forever unknown to me, in which I might, on some summer evening, have spoken of love — the huts beside some riverside, in which I might have heard tales unimagined — the volcanoes I wot of distantly — the castles in Turkish crags I shall not lay eyes upon — . . . See ye? All the . . . Yes. Indeed.

  “And like a child who hath been spun upon his father’s shoulders, the whole while screaming and protesting, who now, sensible of the ride’s end, feels the hands lain upon him to set him down from the vomitiginous swirl of motion — calls, ‘Pray, again! Again!’ and wishes to start the game anew — so do I feel, seeing these two standing before me. I wish, as the gods of the Hindoos, to sprout a thousand faces, each one peering into a different life; a thousand feet to tread different soils; and a thousand hands with which to practice compassion.

  “One cannot, however, return to this place; for nolens, volens, we are all headed for that last great river where all is forgot. So I bid you, my dears, my loves: Live fully in thy single face, with it pressed deep into the world; walk with strength and dignity, dance with joy, for all those who lie in the dirt beneath thy feet and dance and walk no more; and stretch out thy hands to take another’s, to embrace as many as thou canst; as today, you do.

  “And so . . .” Here he raised his own hand. “And so, now, in the eyes of man and the empty void around man, by the power invested in me as a bitter, sentimental old splenetick, I hereby name thee, William Williams, and thee, Nsia Randolph, man and wife, to have and to hold; may ye find a joy in each other as senseless and complete as the death that shall eventually sunder you. Amen.”

  He clasped their hands to his chest, overcome with tears, and there was general acclamation.

  Following this, we retired to the wedding feast, which, there being no meat for the Ethiopian Regiment for two days, consisted of pork bones boiled in water.

  Bono embraced me, and I him, and we did not, for long minutes, release each other. When I did step away from him, I saw his face wet with tears, and he whispered to me, “I would my mother was here.”

  “When this is over,” said I, “we shall find her.”

  “We won’t find anyone,” he said, turning. “And this ain’t ever going to be over.”

  He went back to his feast.

  In the wake of the festivities, we watched the Regimental children play, running about the pasture and fancying themselves captives in the great oven of Nebuchadnezzar. They leaped and schemed escapes, producing doors from air.

  Observing Miss Nsia — now Mrs. Williams — smiling upon their antics, Dr. Trefusis asked whether the new pair wished soon to have children. Mrs. Williams replied that she did not wish to at present, given the hostilities; but that Pro Bono desired to as soon as they might. “He wish a boy. I tell him, ‘You just want to see you own face on more people around our house.’”

  I owned that I was somewhat surprised to hear that Private Williams was so much in favor of reproduction, when his views of our future were so grim.

  Mrs. Williams laughed. “So he says. But Private Williams — he is a big hank of sentiment.” She turned to me and asked, “Private Nothing, you ever wish for to marry?”

  I hid my confusion at this inquiry, little desiring to meet her gaze (she who I found so perfect and artless) nor that of my tutor (who should sound out my discomfort); and I replied that I did dream of retiring after the war to a cabin by a great, silent river with a fair one who might join me in such solitude, that we might together make music, merriment, and a nobler generation.

  “Someday soon, you find that fair one,” she said in mollifying tones. “You a handsome man.” She patted me upon the arm. “When I met you, I thought you was very handsome, excepting you wasn’t interested.” She laughed. “You was more handsome than that fool,” she said in tones of delight, watching her husband scamper across the field, tilting with the children, playing the Babylon King.

  I nodded; and presented my regrets that I had to step suddenly away upon an errand. Dr. Trefusis watched me go, as the children, screeching with delight, were beset upon by lions.

  June 24th, 1776

  This day a dispute broke out among our Regiment.

  It was occasioned by the cult of dirt-eaters, which despairing souls grow in number upon the far shore of the island, smeared with loam, destitute of movement and lost to all sensation, encrusted with dirt, begrimed with misery.

  During supper-time, we heard shouting from another Company — curses the most furious — and, wondering at this outburst, we abandoned our plates and rushed to witness the argument.

  It ran thus: Speaking of the dirt-eaters, a soldier of Coromantee blood had said this slow self-murder was nothing but fool Ibo weakness, adding that he ain’t never met an Ibo man, but they cried theyselves to sleep; and soon as there’s any hardship, they stringing up they noose.

  At this, those of Ibo blood were greatly affronted, and rose to protest; the Coromantees jesting further; one of them recalling when he was new off the ship, unseasoned, and all the boys was took for to be branded, that the first Ibo boy having the scalding brand pressed into his shoulder screamed in pain; and all the other Ibo boys, in the transports of sympathy, began to wail, to moan, as if had they themselves been seared — like some parcel of girls, so affrightened — oh! Whereas, said he, the Coromantees danced up to the buckra-men and offered their shoulders; they laughed when burned —“Now, they was men, not Ibo girls.”

  And at that word, the men of Ibo blood, pressed to defend their honor, fell upon the Coromantees, and began to strike them; an Efik man still recounting how his father had told him of conveying those blubbering Ibos for sale at Old Calabar; and hearing this, Charles, who cannot abide an Efik, plunged into the fracas and began in earnest to try to crush the life out of this vaunter’s lungs. The combatants had hard work of it to avoid the embers of their small fire, engaged in their melee at its side — plates rattled beneath their heels and there were dim cries of pain. The scene was pitiable — the violence earnest, but with all the lassitude of the starving, peered down upon by triumphant rebels, Olympian in the dusk.

  Into this skirmish stepped Isaac the Joiner, crying, “
Dear brethren — peace — dear brethren — for the sake of Christ our Savior —” until the rest of us, roused from the stupor attendant upon shock, slipped in to divide again the Gold Coast and the Ibo uplands — heaving men back by their arms — glimpsing, among us all, not simply fists, but knives.

  At this interesting juncture, a white lieutenant, hearing the cries, approached shouting; at which the scuffle evaporated entire, and left only men standing ashamed around the ruins of a fire; returning to their own suppers; facing away into the night.

  Above us, from Cricket Hill, came the sound of applause.

  June 29th, 1776

  Our Company is assembled this day for foraging raids upon the Rappahannock. We set forth in the Crepuscule shortly after dawn.

  Pomp and I were pleased to discover that Vishnoo was yet uneaten, and we spent the hours of our voyage reclined, with the tortoise corralled between us.

  At noon, we sent word at a plantation chosen by what means I know not, requesting they should deal with us fairly and present us with corn, livestock, and other sundry provisions. Seeing our numbers drawn up with muskets upon our launch, they did not hesitate to comply, though ’twas said they were rebels.

  We are newly arrived back at the sloop, having brung off a quantity of sheep and three cows.

  Olakunde tells me he shall teach me an Oyo tune upon the pipes.