My Dearest Sophie s1

Off the Island of Dominica

December 1792

My Dearest Sophie

I seize the chance to write to you and to assure you that I have survived the rigours of the Middle Passage. At least, I have survived in body, tho’ my mind is most uneasy. I suffered badly from seasickness in the latter stages, but my suffering was as nothing to the plight of my poor fellow- creatures whose cries accompanied my sleep every night.

Shortly after I gave my last letter to the captain of the Conway vessel, I was called by Captain Wainwright to his cabin. He was clearly uneasy – a certain shiftiness, which I have often suspected in him – was very apparent now. He asked me to remember that I was a guest aboard his ship, and that he had been unwilling to carry me on the voyage ‘but for a certain obligation I owed to Mr Saxton. This is not a business for Young Gentlemen of Sentiment’ he said. I assured him that I was only working to secure the best interests of my employer: ‘Why, so am I, so am I, Mr Parry – and you will keep your Counsel if you wish to serve your own Best Interests’. I had no idea what he meant.

But, oh my dear Sophie, words fail to express what I was to see (and hear) over the next days. Shortly after our conversation, a succession of boats drew up alongside our vessel, bearing the most melancholy cargo I have ever beheld. Wave upon wave of sad, chained, beaten and cowed natives were forced in groups below the decks: their cries were pitiful, and the curses of the sailors brutal.

I could scarcely believe that the very sailors whom I had heard singing a Shanty as the Anchor was dropped when we arrived were the same men who brutally beat women and children as they were forced below deck: and in such numbers, too!

Captain Wainwright, dressed in the finery of his office, stood on the quarter deck, supervising the loading of his ‘cargo’. He saw my disgust –‘just Human Cattle, Mr Parry’ he said. ‘Think of them as so many new minted coins: advancing the fortunes of your Benefactor. Men of Prosperity cannot afford to be too Nice’ he said, with a certain air of smugness ‘or how would we afford to Live’. I dislike the man,and his trade, more very day – but I must say nothing.

I saw young Idris Peters watching me “It gets no better with time’ he said. ‘I hate the business, but work is scarce, and Captain Wainwright is a fair man, as they go. At least he allows them time on deck each day – some Captains will not’. Captain Wainwright has observed my quietness with something resembling amusement. ‘Go to parties in theCarib Isles’ he cried to me ‘forget what you have seen. These creatures will forget– see – they are little more than beasts’.

My dearest Sophie – such brutality – and yet this place is like Paradise. The Mountains rise steeply from a deep blue sea, and are covered with vegetation of a wildness and luxuriance such as I never saw. I am told that some of the inhabitants are Indian savages, but that slowly the Jungle is being reclaimed. I pass this letter to you, my dear, as we cross paths with a Royal Naval Frigate bound for Portsmouth. They put a boat across to us to bring us letters, and I was fortunate enough to have a Conversation with the young Lieutenant who came aboard. He expressed surprise that I was travelling as a passenger on a ‘Slaver’ as he called us. He told me in confidence – while Captain Wainwright was away from us in his cabin –that Opinion in England and in Parliament is turning against the Trade – he asked me if I had heard of Mr Clarkson and Mr Wilberforce – I said I had not. Perhaps you, Sophie, with your passion for the News, can tell me more?

Tomorrow we arrive in Jamaica: our melancholy passengers will be ‘disembarked’ there. I will look forward to hearing from you: I shall be, for some months, working for a Mr Simon Taylor, who is, by all accounts, a Gentleman of great Wealth and Consequence in the Islands, though advanced in years. Please write and tell me more about these men, Clarkson and Wilberforce, for I confess myself much disturbed by what I am learning in this Damaged Paradise.

Your Affectionate Brother

William Off the Island of Dominica

My Dearest Sophie

I seize the chance to write to you and to assure you that I have survived the rigours of the Middle Passage. At least, I have survived in body, tho’ my mind is most uneasy. I suffered badly from seasickness in the latter stages, but my suffering was as nothing to the plight of my poor fellow-creatures whose cries accompanied my sleep every night.

Shortly after I gave my last letter to the captain of the Conway vessel, I was called by Captain Wainwright to his cabin. He was clearly uneasy – a certain shiftiness, which I have often suspected in him – was very apparent now. He asked me to remember that I was a guest aboard his ship, and that he had been unwilling to carry me on the voyage ‘but for a certain obligation I owed to Mr Saxton. This is not a business for Young Gentlemen of Sentiment’ he said. I assured him that I was only working to secure the best interests of my employer: ‘Why, so am I, so am I, Mr Parry – and you will keep your counsel if you wish to serve your own best interests’. I had no idea what he meant.

But, oh my dear Sophie, words fail to express what I was to see (and hear) over the next days. Shortly after our conversation, a succession of boats drew up alongside our vessel, bearing the most melancholy cargo I have ever beheld. Wave upon wave of sad, chained, beaten and cowed natives were forced in groups below the decks: their cries were pitiful, and the curses of the sailors brutal.

I could scarcely believe that the very sailors whom I had heard singing a shanty as the anchor was dropped when we arrived were the same men who brutally beat women and children as they were forced below deck: and in such numbers, too!

Captain Wainwright, dressed in the finery of his office, stood on the quarter deck, supervising the loading of his ‘cargo’. He saw my disgust –‘just Human Cattle, Mr Parry’ he said. ‘Think of them as so many new minted coins: advancing the fortunes of your Benefactor. Men of Prosperity cannot afford to be too Nice’ he said, with a certain air of smugness ‘or how would we afford to Live’. I dislike the man,and his trade, more very day – but I must say nothing.

I saw young Idris Peters watching me ‘It gets no better with time’ he said. I hate the business, but work is scarce, and Captain Wainwright is a fair man, as they go. At least he allows them time on deck each day – some Captains will not’. Captain Wainwright has observed my quietness with something resembling amusement. Go to parties in the Carib Isles’ he cried to me ‘forget what you have seen. These creatures will forget– see – they are little more than beasts’.

My dearest Sophie – such brutality – and yet this place is like Paradise. The Mountains rise steeply from a deep blue sea, and are covered with vegetation of a wildness and luxuriance such as I never saw. I am told that some of the inhabitants are Indian savages, but that slowly the Jungle is being reclaimed.

I pass this letter to you, my dear, as we cross paths with a Royal Naval Frigate bound for Portsmouth. They put a boat across to us to bring us letters, and I was fortunate enough to have a Conversation with the young Lieutenant who came aboard. He expressed surprise that I was travelling as a passenger on a ‘Slaver’ as he called us. He told me in confidence – while Captain Wainwright was away from us in his cabin, that Opinion in England and in Parliament is turning against the Trade – he asked me if I had heard of Mr Wilberforce – I said I had not. Perhaps you, Sophie, with your passion for the News, can tell me more?

Tomorrow we arrive in Jamaica: our melancholy passengers will be ‘disembarked’ there.

I will look forward to hearing from you: I shall be , for some months, working for a Mr Simon Taylor, who is, by all accounts, a Gentleman of great Wealth and Consequence in the Islands, though advanced in years.

Please write and tell me more about this Wilberforce, for I confess myself much disturbed by what I am learning in this Damaged Paradise.

Your Affectionate Brother

William