This day has marked the beginning of the end of my sojourn in tropical America. Christmas is almost upon us and we should, black and white alike, be enjoying a period of rejoicing and spiritual renewal. Instead, I am daily subjected to tensions which test my fragile nerves, so much so that almost by the hour I feel myself sinking back into that weak state which so marred my arrival on this island. Mr Wilson has reappeared. I can find no other way to describe his appeal to my person, other than that he has thrown himself upon my mercy. I was relaxing after breakfast when Stella ushered onto the piazza a somewhat agitated black boy, who delivered a message in the incoherent slobber of negro speech that I should attend Mr Wilson in a Baytown boarding house. A hastily scribbled note, in what I assumed to be the hand of Mr Wilson, informed me that he had heard from a visitor to the neighbouring island, to which he had been exiled, that I had attended the merchant's dinner. According to his spy, I appeared to be a tolerant and well-mannered lady. I bade the excitable negro youth sit, and could not help but observe the affection that these poor blacks seemed to have for Mr Wilson. Stella beamed brightly, for truly a favourite had returned. After a moment's reflection I ordered my skittish sable duenna to have a carriage and pair prepared, for I determined that if I was going to rendezvous with this Mr Wilson I would do so before the sun was high.
En route, one slight unpleasant incident served further to try my fragile constitution. A few hundred yards beyond the village of Middle Way, I was accosted by a two-parts naked, one-part tattered little she-slave walking rapidly and energetically along the road. Upon her skull she sported a thick black that of frizzy wool, and through the thick encrustation of dirt I was able to discern the blackest, most leathery skin. Her sole request, with proffered claw, was the irresistibly ludicrous, 'Misses, misses, you please to buy me a comb for me to tick in me head.' The unfragrance of the negro came from earth, not heaven, and I was obliged to clap a lace handkerchief to my mouth and nose as we took our leave of this mahogany imp. A mile to the north-west of Baytown I espied some sassafras trees putting forth deliriously fragrant tassels of leaves and blossoms which enabled me to remove my handkerchief. These flowering shrubs, along with others new to my acquaintance, enchanted me with their strangeness, as did the wonderful butterflies which seemed to me almost as large as birds.
The rooming-house to which Mr Wilson's negro escorted me appeared to be in a most ruinous and battered condition. It was surrounded by a tiny strip of garden-ground that was barely rescued from the stretch of sandy deposit which bore the weighty name of street. From the vantage point of my carriage I might descry that the exterior paint of this dwelling had long since peeled away, that damaged boards needed repairing and in some parts replacing, and I imagined that there could not be a hinge upon any door that had not been long in the deepest need of oil. Instructing my negro driver not to stray, I followed Mr Wilson's black messenger into the dark interior and on into a small room where my father's former manager, a robustly built, though now ageing man, sat with his onerous new companion, poverty. The whole furniture of his room consisted of a chair, a wooden bench, a basin, a ewer, and a relic of soap of great antiquity. I saw a stained towel, and a glass for one's teeth, but little else. The open window of the room commanded an uninterrupted prospect of the kitchen, an open shed unfit for the stabling of a horse. There being evidently neither hostess nor chambermaid to serve me, Mr Wilson himself presented me with a glass of sangaree. Then, without more formalities, he rapidly engaged me in conversation, explaining that he had been banished by Mr Brown at gunpoint. Mr Brown, he declared, will brook no discussion on any topic; although Mr Brown is a good cane-man, fear, not debate, is his method of government. In short, he seemed keen to impress upon me that through a perverse stubbornness Mr Brown was mismanaging and abusing the property of my family, and that had Mr Wilson not been in fear of his life he would never have abandoned the estate. Mr Wilson's parting shots on the subject of Mr Brown were to assure me that, by nature, overseers are inclined to be irascible, but this man's nerves ceased to be under control once the sun was vertical!
Briefly our conversation floundered, then I explained to Mr Wilson that although I knew relatively little of island life I had been reliably informed that he had been dismissed for theft. At this Mr Wilson threw back his head and roared with laughter. Stealing! Did I not know that he was the most steadfast of Christians? In his whole life he had never stolen so much as a fruit from a bush. His only crime, he told me, was over-zealous civic pride, and a care for the welfare of the slaves. He had pursued the maximum profit compatible with humane decency. He was, he insisted, unwilling to see the negroes suffer the debilities brought on by cruel oppression for the sake of naked profit. His laughter took on something of the quality of bitter rage, so fiercely did he continue to mock the suggestion that he could be guilty of theft. By now I was so confused that my feverish head had begun to spin anew. I listened perplexedly as Mr Wilson lectured me on civic pride, claiming that despite the providence of God and nature, there was little that could be called beautiful in the West Indian townships, for nobody cared. The streets were poorly laid out, the public and private buildings mostly clumsy wooden structures, and only the churches and Government House had a scrap of style or dignity. True enough, inside of these ramshackle buildings things could be quite tidy, and even comfortable at times, but neither outward appearance nor civic amenity seemed to be given any consideration.
Mr Wilson, seemingly oblivious of my manifest distress, pressed on, condemning the unpaved streets, the great abundance of verminous rats, insects and reptiles which soiled both street and dwelling place. I wondered about the neighbouring island on which Mr Wilson had sojourned, and asked after him if it were any better cared for. On this topic he dilated at length, claiming that neither it, nor any of these English islands, could boast anything worthy of a glance. They were the holding stations for those who simply wished to extract profit to be lavished on English gaming tables and other more domestic vices. Mr Wilson seemed happy to admit that his unpopularity with the white citizens stemmed from his inclination to speak candidly upon such matters. According to Mr Wilson, what led to his downfall was his defence of a free black from the abuse of power by a petty white retailer. While Mr Wilson was occupied with this philanthropy, Mr Brown, with the assistance of the lesser orders of white power, conspired to unseat Mr Wilson, though he gained much public support from the blacks and even the responsible whites when the black was magically acquitted and the retailer fined. Much to the dismay of the blacks, Mr Wilson was then compelled to run for his life from the mob of whites.
This really was too much. I protested, pointing out that in the not too-distant past Mr Brown had been involved in litigation which resulted in the punishment of a book-keeper for alleged abuses of a slave. My host smiled and commented that perhaps the petty tyrant Brown is learning that it is not possible forever to conceal injustice. I cautiously concurred, then quickly added that it was not possible for me to know for I did not have access to the mind of Mr Brown. Following a rather uneasy silence, I rose to my feet and proposed that it might be better for all concerned if I took my leave. Mr Wilson had the good grace to acknowledge that he was aware that I lacked the power of either censure or discipline, and with this he escorted me to the street. Mr Wilson told me that he would lodge at this rooming-house until the new year, when he planned to return to England, as fortune would have it, by the same ship on which I was due to travel. We bade each other an uneasy farewell, for I was unable to disguise the distress that our discussion had laid upon me. Upon my return I retired swiftly to my bed-chamber, where I called Stella to attend to me. I asked for some thin gruel to drive out the cold for the strength was rapidly quitting my weak womanly body.