Crossing the River Read online

  About the Author

  Caryl Phillips was born in St Kitts and now lives in London and New York. Crossing the River was shortlisted for the Booker Prize and his most recent novel, A Distant Shore, won the 2004 Commonwealth Writers Prize.

  www.carylphillips.com

  ALSO BY CARYL PHILLIPS

  The Final Passage

  A State of Independence

  The European Tribe

  Higher Ground

  Cambridge

  The Nature of Blood

  The Atlantic Sound

  A New World Order

  A Distant Shore

  Dancing in the Dark

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Epub ISBN: 9781409016946

  Version 1.0

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  Published by Vintage 2006

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  Copyright © Caryl Phillips 1993

  Caryl Phillips has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  First published in Great Britain in 1993 by Bloomsbury Publishing Ltd

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  ISBN 009949826X

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  For those who crossed the river

  Acknowledgements

  I have employed many sources in the preparation of this novel, but would like to express my particular obligation to John Newton’s eighteenth-century Journal of a Slave Trader, which furnished me with invaluable research material for Part III.

  CONTENTS

  I

  THE PAGAN COAST

  II

  WEST

  III

  CROSSING THE RIVER

  IV

  SOMEWHERE IN ENGLAND

  A desperate foolishness. The crops failed. I sold my children. I remember. I led them (two boys and a girl) along weary paths, until we reached the place where the mud flats are populated with crabs and gulls. Returned across the bar with the yawl, and prayed a while in the factory chapel. I watched as they huddled together and stared up at the fort, above which flew a foreign flag. Stood beneath the white-washed walls of the factory, waiting for the yawl to return and carry me back over the bar. In the distance stood the ship into whose keep I would soon condemn them. The man and his company were waiting to once again cross the bar. We watched a while. And then approached. Approached by a quiet fellow. Three children only. I jettisoned them at this point, where the tributary stumbles and swims out in all directions to meet the sea. Bought 2 strong man-boys, and a proud girl. I soiled my hands with cold goods in exchange for their warm flesh. A shameful intercourse. I could feel their eyes upon me. Wondering, why? I turned and journeyed back along the same weary paths. I believe my trade for this voyage has reached its conclusion. And soon after, the chorus of a common memory began to haunt me.

  For two hundred and fifty years I have listened to the many-tongued chorus. And occasionally, among the sundry restless voices, I have discovered those of my own children. My Nash. My Martha. My Travis. Their lives fractured. Sinking hopeful roots into difficult soil. For two hundred and fifty years I have longed to tell them: Children, I am your father. I love you. But understand. There are no paths in water. No signposts. There is no return. To a land trampled by the muddy boots of others. To a people encouraged to war among themselves. To a father consumed with guilt. You are beyond. Broken-off, like limbs from a tree. But not lost, for you carry within your bodies the seeds of new trees. Sinking your hopeful roots into difficult soil. And I, who spurned you, can blame only myself for my present misery. For two hundred and fifty years I have waited patiently for the wind to rise on the far bank of the river. For the drum to pound across the water. For the chorus to swell. Only then, if I listen closely, can I rediscover my lost children. A brief, painful communion. A desperate foolishness. The crops failed. I sold my children.

  I

  THE PAGAN COAST

  The news reached him after dinner. A well-liveried domestic entered the drawing-room, bowed and thrust forward a silver tray on top of which sat an envelope. Edward seized the letter and dismissed the servant with an elegant flick of his wrist. He levered himself upright and began to read. It was true. Nash Williams, sent to Liberia under the auspices of the American Colonization Society, having undergone a rigorous program of Christian education, and being of sound moral character, had disappeared from the known world. After seven difficult years in Liberia, in which he had worked with unswerving application to his own and his God’s tasks, in which he had apparently won the respect not only of the African natives, but of the free colored men from America, and of the few whites in the inhospitable clime, after seven long years this former bondsman who had been an inspiration to priests and educators alike was nowhere to be found. The worst was feared.

  Nash Williams was a teacher of remarkable gifts. He was a man who, in a country in which fewer than two hundred heathens had been converted in almost twenty years, could lay claim to being responsible for at least fifty of the successes that were reported back to America. The reputation of his mission school was legendary, a fact all the more remarkable given the isolated position it occupied near the known head of the St Paul’s River. The few letters he had sent back to his master, whilst full of the usual childish requests for tools, seeds, money and other necessities of life, positively bristled with the spirit of faith, courage and purpose. Then, a little under a year ago, and at the same time as a saddened Edward was mourning the loss of his wife, Nash Williams had conveyed, by means of an intermediary, an abrupt message making it plain that he had no desire ever to hear again from his former master, and informing him that his own communications would now cease. A disturbed and worried Edward, judging it best, at this juncture, not to communicate directly with Nash, had word and money se
nt by means of a packet out of New York that Madison Williams, an older and somewhat haughty former bondsman, should immediately journey from his place of abode in Monrovia and secure news of Nash’s whereabouts and, if possible, his general state of health. Madison had, at an earlier time, borne Nash some feelings of ill-will, having reasoned, and to some degree correctly, that his master’s affection for himself had been usurped by this younger interloper. But Edward trusted that the passage of time, and a change of climate, would have healed these old wounds, and that Madison would not resent the task with which he was now being entrusted. However, the letter before Edward bore the disturbing news of Madison’s expedition. Not only had Madison failed to locate Nash, but he had been blocked at every turn by native intransigence, their crude vulgarity sometimes taking the form of aggression. The details set forth in Madison’s sad letter let it be known that he considered himself fortunate to have escaped with his life intact.

  Not that the American Colonization Society was ignorant of the dangers that would accompany their policy of attempting to repatriate former slaves on the west coast of Africa. This was, after all, a continent belonging to the native African, and to nobody else. But they hoped that the natives would see reason, and that the prospect of welcoming home their lost children might help to overcome any unpleasant cultural estrangement that the African heathens might temporarily experience. The American Colonization Society was sure that benefits would accrue to both nations. America would be removing a cause of increasing social stress, and Africa would be civilized by the return of her descendants, who were now blessed with rational Christian minds. And so on January 31st, 1820, the ship Elizabeth left New York for the west coast of Africa on what was to be the American Colonization Society’s inaugural voyage. Some weeks later, eighty-six former slaves, half of whose number were women and children, arrived unsuccessfully in the British territory of Sierra Leone. Sadly, a mysterious malady, later understood to be malaria, soon dispatched all but a fortunate few of this initial batch of pioneers. Two years later, in 1822, a second and more successful expedition deposited settlers on the Grain Coast, at the part of West Africa that would soon become known as Liberia.

  Being chosen for colonization was regarded by most slaves and their masters as reward for faithful service. A skilled worker, who was also a converted Christian with a sound moral base, was considered a prime candidate. But reports from early settlers told stories of great hardships. The initial work of clearing the bush, constructing shelters and building fortifications against native attacks resulted in a heavy toll of life. The wet and miserable climate, which between April and November could produce over two hundred inches of rain, ushered many to an early grave. From December through until March, the poor, unfortunate newcomers, having survived the floods, now labored in unbearably high temperatures, and endured a humidity of stifling proportions. But it was the African fever, or malaria, which most affected the lives of the settlers. The severe chills, producing a sensation of cold as fearful as any American winter, and the accompanying delusions which infected the imagination, combined to introduce a deep misery. No longer were these unfortunate creatures pioneering in the welcoming bosom of their native land, with a clear blue sky for a roof and a fertile soil beneath their dusty feet. They were being tossed upon the stormy seas of fever, and when the storm diminished many found they had been driven clear out of this mortal world.

  By the second decade of emigration, very little had changed. Pioneers still arrived, their innocent faces etched with a passionate desire to do God’s work, but sadly they soon found themselves unable successfully to weather the twelve-month seasoning period, and friends and relatives were called upon to be the messengers of melancholy intelligence to those they had left behind in America. One who arrived in this period, and one of these most determined to survive and pursue the task that he had been prepared for, was Nash Williams. Neither climate nor native confrontation, disease nor hardship of any manner would deflect him from his proper purpose. Word soon reached his former master that on many occasions he had to be prevailed upon in the harshest terms to cease working in the rain in the best interests of his health. On receiving this news Edward Williams felt moved secretly to reach for his pen and address the first of his two letters to his former slave. A portion of this first letter contained the following words of wisdom:

  Before you left America, I reminded you of the sacrifices that our good Lord Jesus Christ made for us all, and urged you to consider the situation of Christianity in this new country that you inhabit. You were kind enough not only to dwell upon my words, but to convey back to me in the form of a letter information as to the unlettered and heathen state of the masses. For this both my good wife, Amelia, and myself are grateful. Such information will no doubt prove vital to those slaves whom we are now preparing, in order that they might one day join you on the pagan coast. However, I am somewhat dismayed to hear (from a source you will no doubt guess) about your continued insistence upon attempting to carry out tasks, without recourse to aid from other fellows, that would strain five men, both physically and mentally, either Christian or native. Christ’s sacrifices were many, but surely your acquaintance with the Good Book will have revealed to you that they were calculated. Even He could not do everything in one day. You are fortunate in being blessed with a fair mind and strong body and (although I say so myself) doubly fortunate in that your former master was of a progressive persuasion. Do not disappoint me, or yourself, by falling short of the high standards that you have already set yourself. Only yesterday the children gathered about Amelia and asked after your well-being, and then said prayers for you. Our whole experiment depends greatly upon your success. Your resolve may be firm, but we are all flesh and blood. I hope that you understand that I speak to you in order to assist in your development. May I suggest that you study the Good Book for further guidance.

  Sadly, this letter was uncovered by Edward’s wife, Amelia, and not conveyed. However, never again did Edward receive intelligence that his former bondsman Nash had either disobeyed his instruction, put himself in unnecessary mortal danger, or done anything that might lead Edward once more to consider reaching for the pen and composing lines of disapproval.

  In 1841, having received the letter from his former slave Madison, and having fully digested its discomfiting contents, Edward Williams rose from his chair in the drawing-room and immediately set about making plans to journey to Liberia in order that he might determine for himself what had befallen the virtuous Nash. His plan was to travel alone by the first ship that was sailing for the coast, and he foresaw no reason for there to be a delay of any kind. Being now a widower, he would have to endure neither harsh nor reproachful words from his lady wife, Amelia, who would no doubt have been gravely suspicious of the motives which lay behind his projected expedition. At first, and much to Edward’s surprise, the idea of this scheme did not win the consent of the officials of the American Colonization Society. Though full of admiration for the enthusiasm of Edward Williams, and sympathetic to the ardor he continued to display towards his black charges, they were at pains to point up to him the many dangers to which he might unwittingly be exposing himself. Edward persisted in his communications with them, and eventually, but only after much altercation, they chose to relent their opposition and grant cautious support. At first they had insisted that the mysterious disappearance of a single settler was something they could reasonably expect to occur on a regular basis. Such was the peril of dispatching good men to heathen shores at the edge of civilization, and encouraging them to make this African land their home. But Edward had argued that to abandon men as remarkable as Nash could only reflect adversely on the future of the Society. He reminded the Society that, on his own initiative, he had borne the not inconsiderable expense of sending this man to college in Virginia, in order that he might be thoroughly prepared and trained for the life of a missionary. And further, he had encouraged all of his former slaves, including Nash, to avoid Monrovia,
and like wind-driven seeds to scatter themselves about the land in the hope that there might be a widespread distribution of the message of the Lord. Only Nash had heeded his words. He had settled up-river in native country, having taken to his bosom a good Christian wife from Georgia, one Sally Travis, now deceased. Edward reminded the Society that, together with his wife, Nash had operated the most successful of the mission schools for natives. In fact, Edward had reminded them of this fact at every possible juncture, for, according to his closely argued deposition, this was not simply the sacrifice of one missionary, a victim of untreated fever or ill-advised wanderings into the interior. Edward was adamant that the disappearance of Nash could signal a humiliating defeat for the Society’s ideals as a whole, and he was determined to reach the territory of Liberia and investigate matters with his own eyes. Finally, the American Colonization Society, having listened with patience, came to realize that indeed there was more virtue in assisting Edward Williams than in impeding him.

  It was customary at this time to set sail from Virginia or New York, but Edward had determined to leave on the first available ship, irrespective of its port of departure. He spread before himself a map of the known world, and stared at the inelegant shape of Africa, which stood like a dark, immovable shadow between his own beloved America and the exotic spectacle of India and the countries and islands of the Orient. He would travel for an undetermined length of time, although he had been led to believe that twenty-eight days was not at all unusual for such a journey. Fortunately, he was already armed with some knowledge of what rigors he might reasonably expect to face, both on the passage and after arrival, through the evidence of those letters from his former slaves which Amelia had permitted him to peruse. They spoke of problems and difficulties which would inevitably tax the health of a man of Edward’s fragile constitution, but common sense and restraint would be his guides.