“And how far is that from us, would you think?” Mr. Lincoln asked me. “How many handspans?”
I had no idea.
“Well?”
“Would that be my handspans or yours, sir?” I asked, playing for time.
He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “It’s goodly far. Not a distance one travels on a whim. You understand that, I suppose. And what do you know of Jamaica, other than that your father has business there?”
“I know nothing of it, sir.”
“We shall have to remedy that. You see those bookshelves?” I could not have avoided seeing them; they almost completely covered the walls of the room. “You will find there books on nearly everything you might want to know, as well as many, many things you never thought to wonder. That is the purpose of a good library. You will no doubt find something there about Jamaica, and you shall report on what you have found at tea this evening. In the meantime, these two shall study with me. You are excused.”
I rose and turned, overwhelmed by the task before me. The books—shelves upon shelves of them—seemed arranged in no particular order. How would I find Jamaica in this apparent hodgepodge? I glanced back helplessly, but Mr. Lincoln and the two others had already focused their attention on the tabletop, rolling out sheets of paper that I later learned were maps, and placing little square tokens on them. In desperation, I stepped to the nearest wall and began my search. Eventually I discovered that indeed there was an order to the books—a mostly geographical one—and with that, I was able to find some likely-looking volumes and I sat down on the floor and began reading.
I was soon swept up by that far-off island, and nearly half the day passed before I realized that those at the table were not speaking English. Startled, I looked toward them: Mr. Lincoln was still in his chair, but leaning over the table, while Touch and Carrot stood at each side of him. All were gazing at the display before them, but I had no idea what they were talking about or even what language they were speaking. Curiosity got the better of me for a moment, and feeling exiled, I longed to join them, to see what was so intriguing. But I reminded myself that I had been given a different task, and this first day was the time to prove myself, so I turned back to the book in hand and did not notice anything else until Athena brought me a cheese pie and a glass of watered beer.
The fact that my meal had been brought to me made clear that I was expected to stay in place, and so I did, still feeling the exile. No one spoke to me: it was as if I were not even in the room. Remembering Mr. Lincoln’s shout not to touch the globe with possibly greasy hands, I ate cautiously, careful not to drop crumbs into my book. The day slid by, neither fast nor slow, but by the time it grew too dim in my corner to read, I had gone through the Jamaica parts of six books. To tell the truth, at that point I knew more about that island country than I did about England.
At the end of the day, Mr. Lincoln said, “Well?” and I knew by his raised voice that he was speaking to me. “What have you to tell us?”
He did not invite me to the table, so I stayed where I was. “Jamaica was discovered on May 5, 1494, by Christopher Columbus—”
“Discovered?” Mr. Lincoln interrupted. “Discovered? Had no one else ever been there before? Was it vacant of any population?”
The sudden vehemence of his attack startled me, and for a moment I struggled for a response. “No, sir,” I said. “There were native people there and they came out in seventy or more canoes to greet him, all painted and dressed in feathers.”
“Ah”—he leaned back in his chair—“there was a battle.”
“No, sir, there was not, because Columbus made a big show of friendship, and even later, when he thought it necessary, he brought forth his crossbows and after a few of the natives were wounded, they left off any more shows of defiance. Also, he had a dog.”
Mr. Lincoln raised his eyebrows. “He had a dog?”
“A very big one, sir. A frighteningly big one.”
“Did the natives have no weapons?”
“Yes, sir, they did have some, but only lances and bows and arrows. No crossbows, which are more powerful and can be used from a greater distance.”
“Come join us for tea and tell us the rest,” he said, as if I had piqued his interest. “Athena!” he called. “It’s past our teatime.”
I gathered up my books and brought them to the table in case I needed to make reference. At some point, Athena brought the tea, but I hardly took notice; I was so busy reporting on all that I had learned. It was the first time such a thing had ever happened to me: one adult and two other boys listening raptly to my accounts of the Spanish colonization, the pirates who circled the Caribbean, the battle with the English for the island and their use of buccaneers against both the Spanish and the French, the great sea battles for control of the island, the slaves and the Maroons and the Creoles—both white and black—the cocoa and later the sugar plantations, the earthquakes and the hurricanes, the slave trade; all of it taking place on this exotic, sand-garlanded island. I had, on that day, fallen in love with Jamaica.
It was nearly bedtime by the time I finished. Carrot was staring at me. Touch was drawing figures with his finger on the tabletop. Mr. Lincoln was beaming. “Very good,” he said, nodding. Then he leaned forward. “But there is more, you know.”
“I don’t understand, sir,” I said.
He leaned back and smiled. “But you will,” he said. “You will.” He gazed at each of the other boys in turn, before looking again at me. “You have made a start at least, and that is enough for one day.” He rose then and lifted a candlestick as signal that it was time to retire. He started away from the table but suddenly turned back to me. “Jamaica,” he said, “is a very interesting place. Very interesting. Jamaica. We shall be calling you that: Jamaica.”
“Very good, sir,” I said, not knowing at all whether it would be good or not.
Chapter 4
I could not get Jamaica out of my head. As I climbed into my cot—barely noticing that Athena had put a quilt on it—I was already recounting more than I had told at teatime, starting with Columbus’ huge black dog, larger than any such animal the natives had ever seen, frightening them so terribly that, after their first attempt, they rarely tried to attack again.
“That’s no surprise,” Carrot said. “He probably ate some of them.”
“No, he didn’t,” I said. “I’m sure. The book never said it, anyway.”
“I bet he did, though.” In the dark, I could tell he was grinning.
“Tell again about the buccaneers,” Touch said.