Crossing the River (13 page)

[West Africa, 25th April.

My Dearest,

These last few days have been amongst the most fatiguing I can ever recall. I, therefore, write to you in the hope of making some amends for this misfortune. Those, myself aside, who have experienced pleasant and agreeable evenings in your company, could never imagine the contrast between such sweet times, and the present miserable situation. I am continually assaulted by the combined noises of slaves and traders; suffocated by heat; and subjected to perpetual talking, the greater part of it to no serious purpose. Last night I managed some two hours of sleep, and I dreamed of you. I
saw
us walking together, and discoursing on the many things which have occurred since our parting. We took our repose beneath a heavily branched tree, and rehearsed that most happy of scenes, when you first gave to me your hand. I sat stupid for some time, and embarrassed you by my awkwardness. But my heart was so full, its beat heavy and irregular, that I knew not how to utter a word out. Your kindness and patience soon restored to me the use of my tongue, and we both concurred that the greater intimacies that have followed are the source of our supreme happiness. But then my dream was invaded by daylight, and the noise of people above my head broke the pleasing illusion. I submitted, most unwillingly, to a very different scene.

The principal cause of my sleeplessness, indeed, my distress, has been the unfeeling intransigence displayed by a certain Mr Ellis. At every opportunity, I ask after my dear late father, but he parries my enquiries. I have constantly demanded of him that he transport me to the very place where my late father, only two years past, lost his life, but he refuses to aid me. He can see plainly enough that I need to vent my grief, but he responds to my entreaties with the curious suggestion that my father traded not wisely, and with too much vigour. He goes on, and hints that Father cultivated a passionate hatred, instead of a commercial detachment, towards the poor creatures in his care, and he urges me to not err in this direction. But more than this he will not say, no matter how fervently I plead my case. I intimated that it was his Christian duty to let me set my eyes upon my father’s resting place, but Mr Ellis scorned the idea of any of my name claiming kinship with the Christian faith. I confess that I was unable to respond to this charge, for indeed my father held dear to the belief that the teachings of the Lord were incompatible with his chosen occupation, and that it was folly to try and yoke together these opposites in one breast. Yet Father made no mention to me of this
hatred
that Mr Ellis claims sealed his fate. My dear, I too must confess to deep feelings of revulsion, but hatred is a word altogether too fierce to describe my natural passions, for in the same manner that a continued indulgence in this trade and a keen faith cannot reside in one breast, one heart can surely not contain the warring passions of both love and hatred. This being true, then my father’s heart must surely have hardened on his final fateful voyage, either this or it was broken clean in half. It would appear that Mr Ellis seems determined to keep from me the more intimate details of this mystery, and it distresses me that his replies are so framed as to imply that my lack of years are the sole impediment to a fuller confession.

I believe my poor Second Mate, Mr Foster, will soon be gone to the sea. Besides my personal regard, I shall miss him on your account, for I have often aired my mind by talking to him about you. I judged him alone to be worthy of the subject, but beyond this person there is none with whom I would degrade your name. I will, henceforth, be forced to keep my pleasures and pains to myself, and am now likely to perform what remains of the journey alone. But I shall want no company, being contented to recall how happy I have been in yours. I went, only this morning, on deck, where the weather was perfectly still, the moon bright, and passed an hour thinking deeply of you. I indulged the hope that you were in a pleasant slumber, and free from the calamitous thoughts which plague your loved one upon the seas. As long as you are favoured with health, and a moderate share of the good things of life, then I will bear all the changes of this world. You cautioned me to be watchful of my own life, for your sake, which is a most engaging argument. I know not which of us must depart first, but it is probable that one must survive the knowledge of the other’s death. If it should be my lot, I cannot tell how I might bear it, for being too young to fully grieve for my dear mother, the departure of my father was the first blow, and a mighty severe one. That I loved him, is beyond doubt, although he remained strange to me in many ways, as often befits a great man. But my love for you is of an altogether different amplitude, and I fear that should you depart first, I would soon join. In the meantime, I do not expect to glide through life without meeting rubs, but I have a confidence that you love me, which I would not exchange for any consideration the world could offer. I will try Mr Ellis again, but I expect to be rebuffed, and to leave this coast with the compensatory knowledge that, despite Mr Ellis’s suggestion, the reputation of my late father is secure and growing, although that of his son the youthful
gentleman passenger
– continues to be mocked by the
salty dogs
who, I fear, will always believe my position due only to preferment. No matter. Let it suffice that I eat, drink, and sometimes sleep. I am in health, and some spirits, and shall do everything necessary to procure a future happy reconciliation, for beyond this trading community lies family life. My dear, I long to dwell safely in your arms, and revel in the imagined joys that our projected children will bless us with.

Yours, etc.

James Hamilton.]