Foreigners Page 3

  As far as I could ascertain this unique relationship had begun in the middle part of the century when Barber, then only a young boy, and not yet refined by a full exposure to civilisation, arrived on Johnson's doorstep in London. Some few years earlier, the eight-year-old piccaninny had been sold on a plantation in his native Jamaica and brought to England by a Colonel Bathurst. It is said that the boy's original name may well have been Quashey, and it is understood that his value was most likely five pounds or thereabouts. Bathurst and the boy arrived in England in 1750, whereupon Colonel Bathurst chose to live in Lincoln with his son Richard, a doctor of medicine. It was decided that the young Quashey, newly named Francis, should be sent to Yorkshire to attend the Revd William Jackson's school in the hamlet of Barton, where it was hoped that he might acquaint himself with reading and writing. The negro boy remained in Barton for two whole years, during which time he achieved some knowledge of the English language, and then the now cheerful, and surprisingly gentle, ten-year-old boy returned to Lincoln and began service as the younger Bathurst's servant. It soon became clear that Dr Richard Bathurst had no desire to use the boy as an exotic ornament and dress him as a negro page in bright satins and a turban; he was, instead, actively looking for some role in society that the boy might profitably fulfil. As it transpired, Dr Bathurst's closest friend was none other than the literary man, Samuel Johnson, who, around this same time, lost his wife Tetty to a lingering and painful disease, which left Johnson all alone in a large house in London with neither company nor help. Richard Bathurst understood that his dear friend regarded solitude as a horror, for his sensitive mind was dangerously vulnerable to morbid reflections. In these circumstances, the younger Bathurst thought it only proper to pack Francis off to London in order that he might make himself useful to a depressed Dr Johnson.

  On first encountering his future master, the ten-year-old boy was shocked by the sight of this large, shambling man who seemed to twitch uncontrollably about the shoulders, and whose face appeared to be painfully contorted, perhaps to compensate for an obvious blindness in one eye. The scars around this man's throat were terrifying and formed a red lumpish collar, and young Francis found it difficult to tell when Johnson was speaking to him or simply muttering to himself, for there seemed to be little division between the two modes of expression. The nervous Jamaican negro boy entered the service of Samuel Johnson, who informed the dusky stranger that he imagined this Jamaica to be 'a place of great wealth and dreadful wickedness, a den of tyrants and a dungeon of slaves', but the poor boy could make no reply for his mind was now almost totally cleansed of memories of his birthplace.

  Johnson took immediately to the young black child, who was now styled Francis Barber, but like his friend Dr Bathurst, he too had no desire to impress his peers by dressing the negro as a satin-clad page or forcing the child to wear livery of any sort. He was aware that ostentatiously attired blacks were now commonplace in London society, appearing in law courts, answering doors, marrying servants, running errands, sitting for portraits. In literature they were making minor appearances in the novels, plays, and the poetry of the age, but to Johnson's eyes the negro, generally through no fault of his own, often lacked a certain civility. Johnson set about the task of saving the young heathen's soul, teaching him to pray and providing him with some basic religious instruction, but the literary man soon discovered that the boy's spirit appeared to be resistant to being given information as to how he should conduct himself. The boy also displayed a lack of enthusiasm in applying himself to even the most basic of household chores, and this was a cause of some surprise to his master, although in most circumstances the general untidiness of his living quarters never seemed to trouble Johnson greatly. After all, Johnson was a man preoccupied with literary matters and he had little time to waste on domestic issues, but he did have some understanding of the possible source of Francis' reluctance to follow orders. Dr Bathurst's father, the planter and former colonel in the Jamaican militia, had recently suffered great financial losses which threw all of his affairs into disarray, and then he had suddenly taken ill and died. However, his will contained a clause which granted young Francis Barber his freedom and the bountiful sum of twelve pounds, which greatly pleased Johnson who was firmly wedded to the belief that no man should by nature be the property of another. Clearly this unexpected benevolence had fed Francis' sense of himself as being somewhat independent and beyond any jurisdiction, but Johnson's personality was such that he found it relatively easy to overlook the boy's rebellious behaviour.

  It was during this period that Miss Williams, the middle-aged daughter of a Welsh physician with whom the doctor had become friendly, established herself as a permanent occupant of the house, and she made it her business to reign over the domestic arrangements with a fist of iron. Despite her blindness, she found little difficulty ranging up and down the dangerous stairs, from the kitchen in the basement to her own room beneath Johnson's study, which was located in the garret near the very apex of the house. Miss Williams was a strict disciplinarian who seldom ate more than plain bread with butter, but she drank copious quantities of tea, and she saw little reason why others should indulge themselves beyond her own rigorous diet. Miss Williams was prepared to tolerate the doctor's peculiar, and sometimes offensive, manners, but she had little patience with any others who sought to resist her rule.

  Upon her arrival, Francis immediately noticed that Miss Williams exercised considerable influence over his master, for the doctor became a little more careful in his dress, utilising metal buttons instead of twisted hair on his familiar brown suit, and silver buckles occasionally decorated his shoes. However, the influence was limited, for Johnson's wig remained large and greyish, his shirt plain off-white, his stockings black worsted, and he continued to eschew ruffles on his coat so that his white shirtsleeves were generally visible. In short, his master's rugged exterior was still likely to alarm the unsuspecting, and his physical convulsions and general irascibility remained very much in evidence, but Francis continued to feel happy in the company of this kind, if somewhat eccentric, man. However, coping with the daily presence of Miss Williams was proving to be a great trial, for the blind woman made it plain that although Francis might be a clear favourite of her employer, she viewed the Jamaican as little more than an idle black boy who had absolutely no notion of his own modest place in the greater scheme of things. She continually attempted to exercise her authority over Francis, and their rancour was generally uncivil and often bitter. Johnson seemed reluctant to adjudicate, and he habitually allowed Miss Williams to put her oar in and verbally abuse his negro without any attempt on his part to intervene and curb her demanding nature.

  Sadly, from the young boy's vantage point, the situation grew steadily worse until finally he could tolerate no more of this peevish woman. With a few pounds safely tucked away in his pocket, and confident of his new-found status as a free man, the negro exchanged his master's household for that of a Mr Farran of Cheapside, an apothecary of modest means, who employed Francis as his assistant. For two years Francis lived with Mr Farran, but he soon understood that he did not enjoy his duties as an apothecary's assistant, finding the work both menial and taxing. During this period Francis did not completely cut himself adrift from his former master, and the young man still visited Johnson, who continued to treat him with kindness and warmth. His former master often suggested that the negro join him for dinner, and the two formed an astonishing spectacle as the doctor slipped a heavy arm around the boy and lumbered his way to a tavern, clutching, in his free hand, a vast oak stick that was six feet in length and of such girth that even the massive hand of Johnson could not completely circle it. Eventually, when Johnson saw that Francis' unhappiness appeared to be incessant, he suggested to the boy that he relinquish his duties as an apothecary's assistant and return to live with him at his new lodgings in Gough Square, for he worried about Francis' frail nature and his susceptibility to illness. However, soon after his return young Fran
cis realised that the miserable Miss Williams' tyrannical hold over domestic matters had not abated and so, determined to make his own way in the world, the sooty youngster resolved to run away to sea.

  On 7 June, 1758, sixteen-year-old Francis Barber enlisted in the Royal Navy and was registered in the muster books as 'L. M.' – which identified him as a 'landsman' or a member of a ship's crew who was unfamiliar with the ways of the sea. The young negro boarded The Golden Fleece, which was the tender ship for HMS Princess Royal, and a few days later, on 10 June, the black boy was transferred to HMS Princess Royal which lay at anchor at Sheerness. When Johnson learned that young Francis had once again abandoned his household, but this time run off to sea, he was beside himself with anxiety for he was sure that the boy must have been used wrongly in some vile manner. Initially he feared that his negro may have been kidnapped and pressed on board, or – worse still – disposed of at auction in some coffee house or tavern and become the metal-collared, human property of some conscienceless brute and dispatched back to the West Indies. It was equally possible that young Francis might have become an apprentice to some cockney thief, and Johnson understood that Spitalfields and Whitechapel markets were places where one might buy a poor young child to train as a pickpocket, or beggar, or prostitute, and so he spent many an hour there questioning strangers about his Francis. His enquiries led him to conclude that the sea was undoubtedly the new 'home' of young Francis, and although he now understood that his servant had almost certainly volunteered, he worried constantly about the fate of his boy. It caused him some irritation that Miss Williams seemed to care little that Francis appeared to have exchanged the relative comforts of Gough Square for a life of adventuring, and Johnson's agitation with regard to his servant's new choice of 'career' was further fuelled by the fact that the literary man possessed a particular loathing towards seafaring, being sure that long confinement in a ship served only to narrow the mind as opposed to opening up possibilities of seeing the world anew. He was often quoted as having declared that, 'No man will be a sailor who has contrivance enough to get himself into a jail; for being in a ship is being in a jail, with the chance of being drowned.'

  For sixteen long months, Johnson suffered daily anxiety about the moral and spiritual well-being of Francis, who he knew was not a hardy youngster. Information reached him that the boy had transferred to HMS Stag and, unable to endure any further torment, Johnson decided to contact a Dr Hay at the Admiralty and request that an order for the boy's discharge be issued. Months passed by without the order being acted upon, for apparently HMS Stag was spending a great deal of time at sea, albeit in English waters, but finally, on 8 August, 1760, Francis Barber received the unwelcome news that he had been discharged. Unhappy to be so quickly deprived of his new and independent life, Francis loitered about the ship for two whole months before regretfully disembarking on 22 October at Sheerness.

  On returning to London, the eighteen-year-old young man discovered that his master had taken slightly more spacious lodgings at 1 Inner Temple Lane, where he had been joined by a strange widow named Mrs Desmoulins, who appeared to be a person of little merriment, and a Dr Levett, a shabby and silent physician to the lower orders. Francis reluctantly reassumed his previous role, busying himself answering the door, running trifling errands, attending at table whenever company happened to call, and fetching an occasional dinner from a local tavern. In addition, Francis was entrusted with the power of purchasing provisions. The greatest joy for the young man was his discovery that Miss Williams had remained behind at Gough Square, where she now occupied herself running a small boarding school. Her blessed absence afforded Francis considerable time to enjoy leisure about the house without being hounded by this wretched woman. However, concerned that the boy's general level of education remained in dire need of improvement, Johnson insisted that Francis keep pace with his studies, and to this end he eventually dispatched his Francis to a modest grammar school at Bishop's Stortford in Hertfordshire that was willing to take him in and attempt to enhance his literacy and speech, and familiarise him with Latin and Greek. Francis was placed in the charge of the late headmaster's widow, who rose to the challenge of this experiment, but the reports that his master received of Francis' 'progress' were, at least initially, discouraging. Johnson soon found himself in the embarrassing position of being the recipient of written complaints about his servant's ineptitude, but he continued to send money and in the end he expended nearly £300. When the young Francis returned to London, Johnson was gratified that his servant could read and write English with improved ease, although not with great fluency, and in addition the negro had indeed been able to add Latin and Greek to his learning. While it pleased Johnson to now have the company of the negro to relax with him by the fire in the evenings, it frustrated him that the young man chose not to ask any questions or put his new education to the service of spirited conversation. But it was enough for Johnson, who described himself as 'a hardened and shameless tea drinker', that he had somebody to sit with him late into the night as he pursued his vice.

  It was during this period that sooty Francis began to fraternise with others of his own race who were living at various stations of life in London, and his master welcomed Francis' friends into his house whether he was in residence or not. Far from being intoxicated with liberty, many of these blacks were gainfully employed, and when keeping company with Francis, they were simply enjoying a temporary escape from their menial duties, which included waiting upon ladies of quality, carrying their trains, combing their lapdogs, or producing smelling salts when required. Some, however, found difficulty in obtaining employment and, prohibited by law from learning a trade, the negroes were often confined to living in squalid hovels with whores, beggars, and criminals. Whether employed or not, Barber's negro friends felt at home in Dr Johnson's house and they were able to sit together in the parlour and enjoy a few moments of merriment. Such behaviour was not to the liking of many in Johnson's circle, but none would dare to question the literary man's judgement. Such behaviour was also not to the liking of the irritable Miss Williams, who had once again joined the household, together with a Scotch maid who carried coals, washed dishes, and attempted to clean. The increasingly gloomy Dr Levett contrived to carry on an open conflict with Miss Williams and, in both action and word, he chose not to obscure his ill-feelings towards her. For Francis, this warring household was not a happy abode and he daily wondered if he should leave and perhaps set up home with some of his own complexion, for his friends constantly urged him to escape the tyranny of the blind woman. However, Francis' loyalties to his master ran deep, and having abandoned him twice, and being aware of the anguish that the good man suffered as a result of his running away to sea, he had resolved never again to abscond.

  On my second morning, I woke early to find the Lichfield sun streaming through my window, but this peaceful and pleasant start to the day quickly soured as a tempest of raised voices began to emanate from a nearby chamber. I immediately recognised the voice of the innkeeper, and that of his wife, and I was not surprised to hear them squabbling for I had already noted a tension between the pair which seemed to extend beyond any individual act or incident. Clearly this couple failed to understand the distinct roles that the sexes were intended to occupy, roles which complement the different natures and capacities of men and women. I suspected the wife of shrewishness, and the innkeeper of being under the tyrannical rule of a petticoat government, and this unseemly cacophony served only to confirm my suspicions. Surely the foolish man understood that in law husband and wife are one person, that person being the husband, and unless a man rules these trifling creatures with benevolent determination then things will fall out of their natural order. It is difficult to respect a man who cannot control his wife's cantankerous nature for it is clear that such a man will have difficulty maintaining order in all things in his life. I lay still for some moments and attempted to block out these unfortunate sounds, but realising that there was little pr
ob ability of achieving peace I rose from the disagreeable bed and began to prepare for the day that lay ahead. Breakfast was a quiet affair, although the shrew did cause me to become excessively irritable by attempting to stimulate meaningless conversation, however the woman soon realised that her efforts to engage me were in vain and she finally fell silent before eventually withdrawing altogether.

  The journey out to Burntwood followed the same pattern as the previous day, and on this occasion the sun shone even more brightly in the blue sky. My host personally escorted me to the carriage and assured me that today I would certainly have the pleasure of meeting with the wife of the late Mr Barber and so my mind was lively with anticipation. The driver, who was the same ancient man as before, remained somewhat puzzled by the nature of my quest, but he knew better than to question my intent. We departed in the direction of the house of Mrs Elizabeth Barber, and once again I observed the strange low-lying fields and peculiar marshes of this completely foreign part of England. There was little hereabouts to remind me of the rolling hills and valleys of my native Kent, and as my excursion progressed I discovered myself staring at a curiously low horizon that was presided over by the odd ugly tree. If nothing else, this venture into the Midlands was providing me with an improved understanding of the many varieties of landscape to be found in my England.