From Cambridge

Without rank and order any society, no matter how sophisticated, is doomed to admit the worst kind of anarchy. In this West Indian sphere there is amongst the white people too little attention paid to differences of class. A white skin would appear passport enough to a life of privilege, without due regard to the grade of individuals within the range of that standing. The only exception I have so far observed was the modesty displayed by the book-keeper who first conveyed me here. However, sensible to propriety, he has subsequently maintained his distance. The other men, perhaps because I am a woman, have shown little courtesy in affording the attentions proper to my rank. They converse with me as freely and as openly as they wish. This is barely tolerable amongst the whites, but when I find the blacks hereabouts behaving in the same manner I cannot abide it, and see no reason why I should accommodate myself to the lack of decorum which characterizes this local practice.

Today I arrived at the luncheon table and yet again found Mr. Brown's strange and haughty black woman, Christiania, seated opposite me. I ordered her to retire from the table, for I am not accustomed to eating my meal in the company of slaves. Further, I informed this coal-black ape-woman that I desired her to put on a serving gown and take up a role among my attendants, male and female, who properly circled the table to wait upon their mistress. On a property belonging to Christian owners, this was her rightful place. Unfortunately, she seemed to display a total lack of concern at my words, and showed no sign of quitting her chair, so I asked her again if she would kindly remove her person in order that I might commence my luncheon. The wench cast on me a look of intense passion that indeed appeared unhinged, her eyes blazing with a malice the source of which I imagined to reside deep in her bosom, springing from some other hurt than that which I had inflicted upon her. Her manner becoming frivolous, she then tossed her head in seeming annoyance. "Massa say I can eat at table. Why missy not like me?" This, as you might imagine, only served to compound the insult of her presence. That she was asking after me an explanation of my behavior caused my blood to overheat, and I began to tremble with indignation.

Again, this time in a more uncompromising voice, I ordered her to rise and leave my table. When it became clear that she was set on her stubborn course, I turned to the chief butler, a slight-looking fellow greying around the temples who, it must be admitted, appeared at least as outraged as I by this woman's display of intransigence. I ordered this black retainer to escort the negress from my table. He immediately set down his burnished silver platter and approached her, whereupon she began to scream in the most reckless and foul-spoken manner, spitting out words whose meaning I dared not imagine. It proved sufficient to cause the butler to back away. The unfortunate lackey turned to me, pleading for clemency, "Missy, she too dangerous, altogether too dangerous." For a third time, now beside myself with fury, I shouted my commands at the black woman, but her lungs were better fitted for the occasion than mine, as she loosed her invective upon me, howling and hurling abuse like some sooty witch from Macbeth. At this juncture, I am sorry to admit, my cue was to flee into the sanctuary of my bed-chamber where I concealed both my tear-stained face and my impotent rage.

I had determined to isolate myself in my soft and feminine chamber, uncharacteristic of the Great House, until the merciful day of my departure, which I knew I would welcome much as a prisoner might greet the end of his hated sentence. It was then that...