This fierce headache has reduced me to a parlous state. No words can describe my sense of the foulness of the fervid climate that grips and chokes me. My miserable sweltering days are no different from one another man are the sands on the shore. I understand that Arnold has asked for my company, but I instructed Stella to inform him that my lamentable condition would admit of no visitors. There has been no further communication. I feel a gulf is forming between myself and Arnold. He must surely be aware of my audience with his adversary. And what of Arnold's decision regarding the slave Cambridge? Has he finally come to some independent judgement? Poor Mr Wilson, who has suffered so much in his struggle to maintain his values and his dignity. And, of course, poor me. Mr McDonald has paid me a brief and disturbing visit. Surely Arnold will not consider abandoning me now. The revelry has begun anew. The negroes seem to have put aside their troubles and intend to celebrate this imminent Christmas with their customary wild romp, there being little to choose in such cases between savages and children. And what of Father, no doubt deep in his cups at the Planters' Club in London, or swilling champagne in some other company of gentlemen? I can only assume that a romantic liaison with some vulgar cockneyess will provide him with his Christmas supper. Does he have no conception of what would claim us all in the tropics were we to slip an inch below the surface of respectability? In these climes all is possible. Perhaps this is why a certain type of man (and woman) longs to settle in these parts. I do not know. How can I know? I have so much still to learn.
How maddening are the senses, how deafening is the heart as life creeps upon her determined course with scant regard for the injuries that are daily afflicted upon mankind, let alone my poor soul. In the midst of all the tumult of this supposed festivity, a threnody of distress is borne upon the gale. Christmas day and Mr Brown dead. Ambushed returning from church by the same intelligent negro with whom he waged a constant war. I must bear some responsibility, for it was I who first encouraged Arnold to delay his decision so that I might enjoy a selfish evening, free from the emotional stresses that a stern and decisive judgement would have placed upon it. And now the negro is hanged from a tree, no longer able to explain or defend his treacherous act. The white people of this island dispatched him as a summary warning to any other negroes who might consider such a mutinous path. I cannot relate the full details of the event, but the haughty black woman Christiania had made her return and was in some way involved. It would not surprise me to discover that others of the blacks have been caught up in this motiveless savagery.
Stella brought Mr McDonald to visit with me again. I lay restlessly upon my bed consumed with a fierce and malignant fever. The Scotchman examined me and retired. Like all white people of the region, he now works with a threatening dark cloud above his head. He returned and informed me that he would sit with me on the next day, and that I may need a sick-nurse. His shame was such that he was unable to meet my eyes. His shame! It is clear that I am in no condition to contemplate a long sea-passage. At the same time I have no wish to remain upon this plantation. In my mind I know the place to which Stella and I will retire until I regain my vitality. My present dereliction leaves me without peace.
Mr Wilson has resumed authority to a clamorous welcome, but he has now the unpleasant task of guiding the heathen slaves towards gathering the very poorest of crops. I am led to understand that my father has been sent for, as mere is concern not only for my health, but for the condition of the estate. It would appear that a major scandal may yet break and shatter the reputations of divers persons. O lucky Isabella that she never lived to see these shores, never lived to witness the treachery of the negro that some would set free to wreak havoc upon our persons. Their lying subservience, their sly pilfering, their murderous violence, mark them out as very like the Irish, but of an even more childish character. If this overworked land possesses a soul it has indeed been profoundly abused and made to endure much that is evil. Poor Emily. Lucky Isabella, who would always tell me, with regard to my native England, that I must never allow myself to grow old in a country that is unkind to me. Lucky Isabella that she did not live to witness the consequences of her urgings. Stella is but a sad black imitation. Lucky, wise, Isabella.
II
Pardon the liberty I take in unburdening myself with these hasty lines, but thanks be to God for granting me powers of self-expression in the English language. I humbly beg that those of my dear England, Africans of my own complexion, and Creoles of both aspects, might bear with me as I attempt to release from within my person the nature of my extraordinary circumstances. Soon, I know not when, I am to be dispatched. To where, I know not.
Of my early life in the bosom of my family I confess to having little knowledge. On this subject my memory is no more. In my mind I hold a faded portrait of father and mother and brothers and sisters, but their names and occupations have long-since deserted me. That they loved me is not in doubt. In our unsullied state we are a simple and unwarlike people. It is only the cursed avidity for wealth, and the consequent cruelty, knavery, and practice of diabolical arts by English navigators that has turned the hearts of my simple people from natural goodness, and honest affection, towards acts of abomination. Many natives in my home country are canting, deceitful people about whom one must exercise great caution. The treachery of some of our petty kings, encouraged as they are by so-called Christian customers, leaves one in no doubt that gratitude, that most desecrated of words, has long since fled their crude language. In their dealings my people are great traders and bargainers, having much in common with the Hebrew people in these and other respects. But one should be ever alert and remember from whom my people imbibed the new chicanery. These Christian inheritors of the Hebrew tradition have corrupted the virtues of former times.
No longer was I to tarry in my Africa, where my father and mother loved me with a sincere warmth. A storm broke about our dark heads and I, who can remember only my true Guinea name, Olumide, from amongst the many words of youth, was washed towards the coast and away from my rich and fertile soil by Christian Providence, whose unlikely agents were those who drink deep of strong liquors, which serve only to inflame their national madness, the slave trade. The Lord intended commerce to enable man to develop the friendly bent of his social affections. Finding his brothers in scattered locales it was hoped that man might forge the sweet blessed security of peace and friendship, while diffusing the goods and commodities of his native land. Such enterprise, with Christian religion as its true companion, would be of profound benefit to any shore fortunate enough to be rewarded with the arrival of traders with soldier-like fortitude, and honest values. It sours my blood that in the Guinea of my youth it was not to be the good fortune of my brethren to meet such men, for unfortunately our shores were visited by those whose eyes were blinded, and hearts stupefied, by the prospect of profit. These men violated the principles of sound commercial policy, and imposed upon their own nation a heavy burden, both moral and financial, for the maintenance of their addiction to slavery. Worse still, they involved the good people of their country in the sorrowful guilt of upholding such a system, thus fusing prejudice into their souls and hardening their hearts.