June 23rd, 1776
In the midst of sorrow comes joy. Today, Pro Bono, called Private William Williams, was married to Nsia Williams.
Marriages between Negroes being celebrated in this Colony with no priest nor legal binding, they were free to marry as they pleased, which they did by passing a cup of wine, and, amid applause of all the guests, pouring the lees upon the ground as libation, after which, they met in a kiss.
It was a most affecting occasion.
The homily and marriage sentences were said, at Bono’s request, by Dr. Trefusis. They ran somewhat thus: “It is with unutterable pleasure that I present to you today young Private Williams and his bride, whose beauties of person are equaled only by those of her merits.
“I first knew Private Williams”— and here he could not forbear shedding a tear, his voice clutching too tight for words —“I first knew Private Williams when he was but a child, a reprobate little nursling of eight summers, a charming wag we called, out of our deep affection, 24-06.
“I tell ye, my friends, there was a look in 24-06’s eye that spake instanter of his wits and acumen. I recall the first instance where I fully credited his quick parts: I observed him blacking his master’s shoes. One may apply blacking as one will — for it is not in the application, but in the buffing, that the art of blacking lies. And yet, I perceived that the young 24-06, denied most materials for expression, daubed pictures upon his master’s shoes. They were faces, as I recall, with tongues out or rapiers thrust through the heads. They were the very spirit of insurrection and glee.
“Then, without remorse for the passing of his figures, he took up the cloth and began his buffing, which obliterated each face in turn as he whispered, ‘And then he died! And then he was kill!’ He brought the shoes to an admirable sheen; and yet, I could not ever after look at my friend Gitney’s shoes without seeing those faces hidden there, invisible as the phiz of the pixie, gaping out, mocking all routes walked by the boy’s master, making all business of that great man inane, for the clucking of the shoes.
“Mr. 24-06, Private Williams, still brings to all he touches an admirable sheen; and yet, he cannot improve upon the polish of his bride, Miss Nsia Randolph of Chesterfield County. In Nsia combineth the modesty of feminine grace with the forwardness of moral strength. Employed in this Regiment initially as a washerwoman, Miss Nsia hath become a help to the afflicted, working tirelessly with the ill to bring succor and relief. Far too often, the voice of an angel proceedeth from a breast too little angelic; but in this instance, angel coats the throat and cradles the heart, from which emanate all kind virtues.”
Here Dr. Trefusis stopped and reflected before continuing, so moved was he by the direction of his own oratory. Said he: “When one comes to the end of one’s days, one looks about, exhausted by the blasts and eddies of fortune, and longs for the quietude of annihilation; and yet, ’tis not simply that: for the sight of lovers such as these recall to us the sweetness that we may find here upon Earth as well — and looking upon them, I am transported by a sensation of all the multitude of things that shall remain closed to me in this one, little lifetime: the languages forever unknown to me, in which I might, on some summer evening, have spoken of love — the huts beside some riverside, in which I might have heard tales unimagined — the volcanoes I wot of distantly — the castles in Turkish crags I shall not lay eyes upon — . . . See ye? All the . . . Yes. Indeed.
“And like a child who hath been spun upon his father’s shoulders, the whole while screaming and protesting, who now, sensible of the ride’s end, feels the hands lain upon him to set him down from the vomitiginous swirl of motion — calls, ‘Pray, again! Again!’ and wishes to start the game anew — so do I feel, seeing these two standing before me. I wish, as the gods of the Hindoos, to sprout a thousand faces, each one peering into a different life; a thousand feet to tread different soils; and a thousand hands with which to practice compassion.
“One cannot, however, return to this place; for nolens, volens, we are all headed for that last great river where all is forgot. So I bid you, my dears, my loves: Live fully in thy single face, with it pressed deep into the world; walk with strength and dignity, dance with joy, for all those who lie in the dirt beneath thy feet and dance and walk no more; and stretch out thy hands to take another’s, to embrace as many as thou canst; as today, you do.
“And so . . .” Here he raised his own hand. “And so, now, in the eyes of man and the empty void around man, by the power invested in me as a bitter, sentimental old splenetick, I hereby name thee, William Williams, and thee, Nsia Randolph, man and wife, to have and to hold; may ye find a joy in each other as senseless and complete as the death that shall eventually sunder you. Amen.”
He clasped their hands to his chest, overcome with tears, and there was general acclamation.
Following this, we retired to the wedding feast, which, there being no meat for the Ethiopian Regiment for two days, consisted of pork bones boiled in water.
Bono embraced me, and I him, and we did not, for long minutes, release each other. When I did step away from him, I saw his face wet with tears, and he whispered to me, “I would my mother was here.”
“When this is over,” said I, “we shall find her.”
“We won’t find anyone,” he said, turning. “And this ain’t ever going to be over.”
He went back to his feast.