at
Monticello. My mother always took special care with the food on those occasions,
since she said the French put great store in what they ate. And always Mistress
Jefferson took special care with what she wore because, as with their food, she
said, the French cared a great deal about what they put on their backs. This, I
found out, was a contagious disease, for never was I so consumed with envy for
clothes and despondent not to have them as in Paris.
It seemed to me too that the French were very careful about
the way they spoke, for Monsieur LaFaurie hemmed and hawed for over an hour
before he finally asked me: Why did people refer to me as being a Negro slave?
Since obviously I was neither a Negro nor a slave. "Why, you are whiter
than I," I remember him saying in astonishment.
I could have told him that I was a slave not because of my
color, but because my mother was a slave and her mother before her. But I was,
I found myself lying, a Spanish orphan from New Orleans (that sounded distant
and foreign enough), engaged as a lady's maid for Miss Jefferson. I was on the
seven seas, far from Monticello, and I let my imagination take me through a
most convincing childhood. I had had much practice with Martha at home, making
up imaginary childhoods.
But, of course, he asked Captain Ramsay later, who told him
the truth, plus my age. He also gave me a scolding I would never forget. After
the gentlemen had had their brandy and cigars, Captain Ramsay sent for me.
"Sally, I want to know why you deliberately lied and
misled Monsieur LaFaurie this morning."
"Because he wouldn't have believed me if I had told
the truth."
"I can't believe that a slave at Monticello has been
brought up to lie. Your master would be shocked, and what an example to set for
young Miss Jefferson!" He sighed and waited for me to say something. When
I didn't, he continued. "You know it is very difficult to have two female
passengers on this ship. Of course, Miss Jefferson is a child, but you are not,
and you should be careful how you conduct yourself. I know that at home you
have all kinds of freedom and license and that you are ... are ... are even
encouraged ... but you must remember in the close quarters of a ship, you
cannot... I will not permit that you give ... provocation to my gentleman
passengers. You may look sixteen, but I know you are but fourteen, and you
invite ... something you are not prepared for, to be sure.... You are a child,
and I might add a not very well-brought up slave and servant, and if you have
not been taught as yet your place in life, then I will confine you to your
cabin until we reach shore."
All my pretensions of womanhood dropped like so many
petals. I had wanted to impress Monsieur LaFaurie because he hadn't treated me
any differently for being "black." I supposed French people didn't
know any better.
"I have not said anything to Miss Jefferson, nor do I
intend to. Nor do I intend to punish you myself. That is, if you behave
yourself. Am I understood?"
"Yes, Master."
"Now, another thing, Miss Hemings. You have the habit
of sitting on the first platform of the forward mast. Sitting there, you may
not be aware, but you are in full view of the sailors working beneath the upper deck. You cannot see them, but
they can see you. You sit there for hours, and undo your hair and let it stream
down your back, and this is dire provocation for the sailors who call you the
'siren.' I know you don't know what that means, but let me say, for a sailor, a
siren... is someone who makes ... who provokes."
"What's that?"
"Provocation ... flirting ... frolicking," he
said.
I almost fainted with shame. Captain Ramsay, who had been
getting redder and redder, paused, and I began to sob. I was suddenly lonely
and miserable.
For the first time in my life I realized that I was truly
alone. I had never had a father, and might never see my mother again. I had no
rights before society, whatever Monsieur LaFaurie said. I had no rights even
over my
Monticello. My mother always took special care with the food on those occasions,
since she said the French put great store in what they ate. And always Mistress
Jefferson took special care with what she wore because, as with their food, she
said, the French cared a great deal about what they put on their backs. This, I
found out, was a contagious disease, for never was I so consumed with envy for
clothes and despondent not to have them as in Paris.
It seemed to me too that the French were very careful about
the way they spoke, for Monsieur LaFaurie hemmed and hawed for over an hour
before he finally asked me: Why did people refer to me as being a Negro slave?
Since obviously I was neither a Negro nor a slave. "Why, you are whiter
than I," I remember him saying in astonishment.
I could have told him that I was a slave not because of my
color, but because my mother was a slave and her mother before her. But I was,
I found myself lying, a Spanish orphan from New Orleans (that sounded distant
and foreign enough), engaged as a lady's maid for Miss Jefferson. I was on the
seven seas, far from Monticello, and I let my imagination take me through a
most convincing childhood. I had had much practice with Martha at home, making
up imaginary childhoods.
But, of course, he asked Captain Ramsay later, who told him
the truth, plus my age. He also gave me a scolding I would never forget. After
the gentlemen had had their brandy and cigars, Captain Ramsay sent for me.
"Sally, I want to know why you deliberately lied and
misled Monsieur LaFaurie this morning."
"Because he wouldn't have believed me if I had told
the truth."
"I can't believe that a slave at Monticello has been
brought up to lie. Your master would be shocked, and what an example to set for
young Miss Jefferson!" He sighed and waited for me to say something. When
I didn't, he continued. "You know it is very difficult to have two female
passengers on this ship. Of course, Miss Jefferson is a child, but you are not,
and you should be careful how you conduct yourself. I know that at home you
have all kinds of freedom and license and that you are ... are ... are even
encouraged ... but you must remember in the close quarters of a ship, you
cannot... I will not permit that you give ... provocation to my gentleman
passengers. You may look sixteen, but I know you are but fourteen, and you
invite ... something you are not prepared for, to be sure.... You are a child,
and I might add a not very well-brought up slave and servant, and if you have
not been taught as yet your place in life, then I will confine you to your
cabin until we reach shore."
All my pretensions of womanhood dropped like so many
petals. I had wanted to impress Monsieur LaFaurie because he hadn't treated me
any differently for being "black." I supposed French people didn't
know any better.
"I have not said anything to Miss Jefferson, nor do I
intend to. Nor do I intend to punish you myself. That is, if you behave
yourself. Am I understood?"
"Yes, Master."
"Now, another thing, Miss Hemings. You have the habit
of sitting on the first platform of the forward mast. Sitting there, you may
not be aware, but you are in full view of the sailors working beneath the upper deck. You cannot see them, but
they can see you. You sit there for hours, and undo your hair and let it stream
down your back, and this is dire provocation for the sailors who call you the
'siren.' I know you don't know what that means, but let me say, for a sailor, a
siren... is someone who makes ... who provokes."
"What's that?"
"Provocation ... flirting ... frolicking," he
said.
I almost fainted with shame. Captain Ramsay, who had been
getting redder and redder, paused, and I began to sob. I was suddenly lonely
and miserable.
For the first time in my life I realized that I was truly
alone. I had never had a father, and might never see my mother again. I had no
rights before society, whatever Monsieur LaFaurie said. I had no rights even
over my
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