“A sail!” exclaimed Castello, interrupting Paul.
“A sail, a sail!” rang through the vessel, especially by the Negroes, the blackness of whose faces seemed to glisten with emotion.
“Northeast,” remarked Paul, elevating his glass. “European, I reckon.”
“Can’t tell,” said Garcia, following his example, “good way off yet.”
“Brig: I reckon she’s a man-of-war,” continued Paul.
“Can’t tell, sir!” replied Castello, exhibiting signs of fear.
During this time the approaching vessel was coursing from northeast to southwest, the “Vulture” from southeast to northwest, their lines of direction forming an X. Whilst every eye with fear was strained at the advancing seaman, suddenly she was seen to tack to the northeast, her direction being such as to have to meet the “Vulture” at a point in a given distance. All now stood in fearful silence waiting an expression from Garcia, who alone of the officers was an experienced slaver.
“Can’t be after mischief, I reckon?” enquiringly said Paul, the first to break silence in the anxiously gazing group.
“An infernal fast sailor!” replied Castello.
“No idea what she is?” again enquired Paul.
“Some cussed thief of an Englishman I suppose,” said Royer, Garcia giving him a look of caution, to guard against the ear of the Negroes.
The stranger was still advancing, but not near enough to determine what she was, as she carried no color, and all still stood in fear, waiting an opinion from the superior judgment of the Spaniard, when unexpectedly they were startled by a loud exclamation from Gascar–
“Golly, but she come! De old Gull got nothin’ to do but flap ’er wings, an’ she pick up ’erself an’ sails!”
“Shut up there, you black raven! Who asked you for your lip. Begone in an instant, or I’ll lash you to the mizzenmast and give you a hundred!” ordered Royer; the boy making away quaintly saying:
“De raven goes; but he croak fo’ he did go!”
Royer cast an eye at the blacks who stood on the forcastle quite aside from them–while the whites occupied the quarterdeck–who smiled among themselves at the last repartee of their young fellow seaman.
“Curse the–!” said Royer, scratching his head, but did not for prudential reasons finish the sentence.
All available canvas was given to the winds strongly blowing from the northeast, and speed was now increased at least one fourth. It was evidently decided in the minds of all to be a chase, which could not be concealed, and every tack in nautical science was put to the test. On sped the “Vulture” dashing and splashing like a great living monster of the main, and on came the stranger in the distance riding and gliding the waves like a monstrous waterfowl. The scene increased in interest as the vessels increased their speed, and the Negroes were among the boldest of the crew. But the shades of evening were coming on, and the stranger which was to all appearance fast gaining on them, by illusion of the growing obscurity, seemingly fell back in the distance. The strictest watch was kept, and fearful anticipations troubled the whites during the entire evening.
Emboldened by what was now thought to be an Englishman, the Negroes had determined to have a merry chant. So soon as Blake, who for a short time had withdrawn, made his appearance among them, they commenced in loud tones a glee:
We have hatred dark and deep for the fetter and the thong;
We bring light to prisoned spirits, for the captive wail a song!
We bring light——
“See!” interrupted Blake, as a vivid flash of lightening was seen in the distance, presently followed by a heavy rumbling of thunder.
The glee stopped, the blacks for the night, except those on watch, and the whites separated to rest till aroused in the morning to scenes of a more pleasing prospect, each party in hopes of the other’s disappointment.
CHAPTER 53
Middle Passage–Chase Continued
A sail–a sail! a promised prize to hope!
Her nation–flag–how speaks the telescope?
She walks the water like a thing of life,
And seems to dare the elements to strife.
And seems to dare the elements t–Byron
This morning ushered in a day of hope and cheerful promise to the mariner. The sun rose beautifully, overspreading by his reflections the expanded surface of the ocean, as if by the skill of some magic touch, changing at once the silvery to a golden hue. While the winds blew constantly–and occasionally moderate–a gale, there was not a cloud in the sky observable, to mar the prospects nor check the progress of a fair sail and passage to all appearance, during the remainder of the voyage. The spirits of all seemed in unison with the prospects of the day, cheerful and happy, all having assembled on the decks in anticipation of something decisive concerning the pursuing vessel the day before. And while thus standing in anxious expectation, the blacks had congregated together mooting a council regardless of their superiors who occupied another position on the same plane with themselves.
The whites were now quite desirous for a chant from the blacks, to divert their attention from the stranger which they expected shortly to make his appearance above the swelling seas. Passing by Gascar who stood alone, Royer desired to know what the blacks were doing so long together, and why they did not entertain the vessel with a merry sea song. Gascar made no reply, but started toward the group wagging his head, which he occasionally touched on one side knowingly with the end of his finger, then stopping, looked back at the mate, then started again.
“What the deal does he mean?” said Royer.
“Headwork!” replied Paul, when there was a laugh at Royer’s expense.
“At your old tricks again, Captain Paul? You’ll spoil Negroes wherever you go!” retorted Royer. “Negroes should be kept in their place.”
“This is not the occasion for talking about ‘place,’ Mr. Royer,” rebuked Captain Paul. “You had better think about fate!”
“I’ll teach the black rascal how to behave to white men!” said Royer in reply.
“You’ll find it a task, I’m thinking, Mr. Royer!” said Paul.
“There we have it again! Give a nigger his own way and he’s of no use to anybody,” rejoined Royer.
“Maybe so!” said Paul.
“I know so!” retorted Royer.
“This is no time for cross-firing, Mr. Royer, and the sooner you stop it the better!” rebuked Captain Paul in an authoritative tone.
Seizing a rope’s end, Royer, smarting under the rebuke of his superior officer, raised it over the boy, asking why he did not answer him when spoken to–to which the boy made no reply, but raised his head with a straining look over the sides of the deck toward the northwest.
“Answer me instantly!” commanded Royer.
“A sail!” replied the boy, pointing in the direction in which he was looking.
“A sail!” repeated Royer, dropping the rope.
“What is her course?” inquired Garcia, without his glass.
“Direct pursuit!” answered Castello.
“What flag?”
“Red ensign.”
“British then, as sure as the world!” exclaimed Garcia.
“Run up the Stars and Stripes,” commanded Royer.
“Off with the hatches there, you black devils! Bring out the dead and dying; heave them overboard!” order the heartless Portuguese.
The hatches, which had been for many hours closed, being opened, the blacks fell back, and retreated to escape the pestiferous fumes which met them.
“No running from dead niggers there, you black wolves! Down in the hold like a gang of half-starved hyenas into the grave of an executed thief!” exclaimed the reckless American.
Next came the heaves and sighs, wailing and cries, groaning and moaning of the thirsty, hungry, sick, and dying, in tones of agony, such to rend the soul with anguish to invoke Jehovah why
Is there not some chosen curse–
Some hidden thunder in the st
ores of heaven,
Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man
Who gains his fortune from the blood of souls?
“Bring out the dead, dying, and damaged, an’ we’ll give ’em* a free an’ quick passage to kingdom come, in less an’ no time. Out with ’em, you black porcupines–out with ’em” again roared the coarse American.
Then came a scene the most terrible. Men, women and children raging with thirst, famished, nauseated with sea sickness, stifled for want of pure air, defiled and covered with loathsomeness, one by one were brought out, till the number of six hundred were thrown into the mighty deep, and sunk to rise no more till summoned by the trump of Heaven in the morning of the General Resurrection of all the dead, to appear before the Eternal Throne of God.
On casting them over, many of the sick and feeble begged in humble supplication to be spared, who, when clinging to the rigging or side of the vessel, had their hold broken by the foot of an officer, and when this was unsuccessful, a blow on the head with a handspike or capstan bar, sent the helpless victim trembling to a watery grave.
“Bear a hand at the pumps there–bear a hand!” ordered the surly Portuguese, the water being directed in constant streams among them, when opening their mouths as before they caught at it to slake their parching palates and stay the perishing threat.
Among those remaining in loathsomeness was Abyssa, the Christian woman of Soudan, who so soon as the black seamen entered, burst into tears of grief, begging for relief from her disgusting condition.**
With glass in hand, standing upon the quarter deck, Royer declared in words of blasphemy and boasting, that the American flag, which had never grounded nor cowered before British colors, should not then become their prize. Before an event so humiliating should occur, he would consent to see her scuttled and all go to the depths of the ocean together. With lips pressed together, Blake looked on without an evidence of emotion, but a countenance and expression so determined, that Royer on passing turned about to look at him. Here, too, was Gascar as quiet as Blake was grave, but occasionally casting a look at Royer, which well might have caused him to suspicion the boy for some ill design toward him personally.
Meanwhile the “Vulture” dashed through the water at fourteen knots an hour, with American colors up and Spanish spirits down. All jesting among them had ceased, and even Gascar, who to them had always been a source of merriment, was now compelled to change his mood, which gave him the countenance of deep distress. Castello continued to pace the decks in silence, speaking only when spoken to, and though in reality the bravest man on board among the whites, submitted to his fate, though with grim reluctance.
The blacks were now under a new order of things, the destruction of the captives having frightened them, and all excepting Blake passed under the ordeal of Royer and Garcia’s displeasure; with blasphemy ever on his lips, he was ready to abuse and insult the feelings of all to whom he spoke.
Calling them to duty, he abused them for delay in coming, and swore at them for coming when they knew that they had no duty to perform; this state of things continued till chance induced a change. The daring Briton seemed now to fall in the distance beyond the recovery of her former position, taking courage from which, Lawrence Spencer, on behalf of the Americans, raised a national air, joined by his party, to the words:
The British shot flew hot,
But the Yankees answered not,
Till they got within the distance
They called handyo!
Says——
“Three times three, for the American flag!” interrupted Royer, when they became uproarious.
Thus escaping capture, by the speed of a superior Baltimore-built slaver, rigged and fitted out in New York for the trade; with a favorable wind, on she sped, clearing the water with nothing unusual occurring excepting every day to throw into the deep some half-a-dozen dead and dying captives taken from the hold, who had perished for want of sustenance in food, water, or air. The whites now were in high hopes and anticipation of pleasant and profitable termination of the voyage.
*The coarseness and ruthlessness of these persons on slavers are indescribable. Imprecations, blasphemy, and sacriligiousness, they seem to delight in mocking and sporting over the distresses of their victims, even when themselves are in danger.
**Native Africans are very cleanly about their person, bathing generally several times a day.
CHAPTER 54
Storm During Middle Passage
The prospects of the day this morning at sunrise were promising, and the entire ship’s company, black and white, were out upon the decks. The Spaniards still exhibited feelings of dissatisfaction, and Royer continued his overbearing assumption. On the quarterdeck were standing the Americans, on the poop the Spaniards, the blacks occupying the forecastle.
While all thus positioned were enjoying the morning sun, looking out upon the ocean, a huge monster appeared in the water off the port bow of the vessel. The creature delighted in playing around and about the ship, diving on one side and coming up on the other, to the amusement and curiosity of the spectators. It was singular in shape, much larger than a grampus, and not so large as a whale. About it there was much cavil, some stating one thing, some another, when Garcia at once pronounced it a “sign of trouble.”
The sky was clear-there were no fears of a storm; the cruiser distanced, no fears from her; they were approaching America, with no fears of the blacks. Then there was nothing to apprehend but the Spaniards, upon whom subsequently the eyes of the Americans were naturally turned.
But the weather suddenly changed; and the recently clear sky became decked with clouds and hazy, when the Americans more than ever became interested in the Spaniards. “A sign of trouble” had impressed them, and kept ringing in their ears, till not but trouble could they imagine was before them. In the moment of a serious consultation among them, a voice was heard cry “a weather,” instantly succeeded by “a sail.” Glasses were immediately leveled, when, just above the horizon, was a steamer to all appearance in direct pursuit. The prospect around had materially changed, the clouds gathered thickly and fast, lowering, seemingly, to the waters, while the steamer approached every minute nearer and nearer. Alarm now succeeded boasting; and fear, arrogant assumption. And whilst such was the case, on their part the Spaniards appeared unchanged by the surrounding circumstances.
This to the Americans was ominous, and caused them apprehension. The slaves at noon but the day before, had been well ventilated, fed, and watered,* and the hatches ordered to be kept partially open, that nothing might occur to hinder their progress. But the steamer still advancing, was fast gaining upon them.
“Examine the hold, and see what them niggers is about!” commanded Royer with a stentorian voice.
“The slaves are restless, Mr. Royer,” replied Lawrence Spencer, who, to guard against the stench, had peeped into the hatch.
“What! I’ll soon quiet ‘em,” replied he, who, armed with sword and whip in hand, ordering the whites to follow him, entered the hold, commanding silence.
The slaves confined in the stalls, immediately turned their eyes toward Mendi,[33] the athletic captive so abused by the mate, who then sat in the centre of the hold, loose and entirely out of place.
“I now see the cause of it,” remarked George Royer, “he has worked himself out of place, and others want to follow.”
Mendi suddenly sprang to his feet, stood with eyes fixed, looking defiant at the whites, then casting a look around upon his fellow captives, he spoke to them in his native Congolese. Royer drew with a brandish his sword, shook with a threat his whip, then gave him a look of authority, and left the hold followed by his companions.
Gaining the decks, and looking up, the skies still angrily threatened a storm, but nothing in comparison with the angry threatening of the dusky faces below.
“Apprehend anything serious?” inquired Paul.
“No, not any,” replied Royer, supposing that the shake of his whip had intim
idated the captive Mendi, though he, in reality, was alarmed.
“No danger of ‘em gettin’ loose, then?” continued Paul.
“None, sir, whatever. All the black rascals require to keep ’em in order is the shake of cowskin over ’em,” replied George Royer.
“I’m not so certain about that; but hark!” said Paul, as a crash was heard below decks, like the crushing of boxes.
“The slaves are dissatisfied, and in a muss below, Mr. Royer,” exclaimed Tom Hardy, an old American seaman.
“What under the sun is the matter with ‘em?” replied the mate.
“They must want water, sir,” replied he, just returning from a peep where he saw them sucking the broken glass of wine bottles.
“Just as you might expect! a nigger is all’as after somethin’ to eat or drink,” replied Royer in a passion. “Give ’em water.”
Water was given which they drank, but still were thirsty; food they ate, but yet were hungry. They hungered and thirsted for liberty, heaven’s great boon to man. Restlessness, with fierce demonstrations, pervaded the slave department, at which the whites becoming alarmed made serious suggestions to the commander.
“By the winds of Heaven, I’ll subdue ’em or die! Follow me!” exclaimed Royer in a torrent of passion entering the hold, armed with sword and revolver.
Mendi on seeing him enter, advanced, stood boldly before him making gestures of the most serious apprehension.
“Rally, men, rally!” sternly commanded Royer, making a rush toward the unmanacled captive, when Tom Hardy, stopping suddenly, shrugged up his shoulders and reached out his hand, which Mendi eagerly grasped.
“Are you dry, old fellow?” inquired the seaman, with suitable gesture, to which he shook his head. “Are you hungry?” continued he, suiting an action to the word; when with a look of contempt the captive smiled. “By daddy, cap’n, this chap seems bent on a muss, an’ I’m kind a thinkin’ he’s able to get up one,” concluded he.
“Nonsense, nonsense!” contemptuously bellowed Royer. “He’s a nigger, an’ I’ll teach him his place.”
Blake or The Huts of America Page 29