“Ef ’e don’t, cap’n,” comically replied Hardy, “he’ll mock devilish close the man that does.”
“Come, boys, come!”
“On deck!” was the stern command of Paul at the instant when the order was about to be given by Royer to rush upon the unmanacled bondman.
“Reef sails.”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
“Lively, there, lively!” were commands, answers and orders given, all at the same time by different voices, everything being in the utmost confusion.
A heavy sea now struck the vessel, followed by a blinding flash of lightning and deafening peal of thunder; the “Vulture” dashing, heaving, tossing, plunging, and again mounting the swells as if in defiance of the confusion, roaring of the storm, and threatening danger around.
The contemplation of the scene had now become fearfully interesting. The black and frowning skies and raging hurricane above; the black and frowning slaves with raging passions below, rendered it dreadful without, fearful within, and terrible all around. Whilst captain, mate, and crew were with might and main struggling against the fierce contending elements above, the master spirit of the captives seized the opportunity to release his fellow slaves from their fetters. Armed with a heavy weapon found in the hold, Mendi stood in readiness for the conflict; with which on crushing a box to pieces, billhooks or sugar knives were strewn about the place. Arming his comrades they made ready for a charge.
Standing near to reconnoiter the hatch, an approach from above caused him to recede a pace or two from his position, as Spencer peeped down.
Here he descried the master standing in an attitude of determined resistance, boldly and fearlessly peering at the frowning clouds, as though to invoke the fury of the skies. A dreadful peal of thunder with a fearful flame of lightning just then burst in the elements, causing a glare deep down into the portentous dungeon illuminating his face, who starting stepped back a pace with face upturned to Heaven, falling upon his knees with hands extended in supplication to Jehovah, with great piercing eyes sparkling from under the heavy black brow, presented a sight which struck terror to the heart of the young American passed midshipman.
Pale and trembling he turned away, with faltering speech to describe the scene. Terrible as they might have been, the storm and hurricane above had not produced the trepidation in the young American as did the storm of silent vengeance deeply concealed amidst the fires of the troubled soul of this outraged son of Africa.
“Heavens!” exclaimed Royer at seeing Spencer stand back from the hatch, pale and panic-stricken. “What’s the matter?”
“If the storm continues, we are lost!” replied Spencer.
“Death and destruction!” roared Royer. “Will you let a blast of thunder frighten you?”
“You don’t understand me sir, the Negroes, the Negroes are——”
“What?”
“Loose!” replied Spencer; when again the thunder pealed as if uttering Heaven’s indignation, while the lightning’s forked streaks displayed the threatening of its wrath.
The storm raged, the waters dashed, while the vessel like a cork was tossed amidst the furies of the hurricane, and not a sound nor whisper heard but frightful antecedents. Then above the roaring storm might be heard the voice of Royer, with words of startling blasphemy, endeavoring to encourage on to battle the seamen with the elements; when again it might be heard in tones of discouragement but not less blasphemous, calling upon the thunder and lightning to dash in pieces the vessel, rather than it should be taken by a gang of black devils.
“What did you see?” asked Royer when a moment again favored the enquiry.
“That big restless Negro!” replied Spencer tremblingly.
“How did he look?”
“Like the devil just let loose!”
“Let us look again!” said Royer peeping into the hold. “just as I expected! a nigger’s always after something to eat or drink. See them drums of figs–yes, there’s resons too, and look at the fruits and broken licker bottles scattered round. By the lightning its too bad!”
“Can you see nothing else?” asked Spencer, closely peeping in.
“Stay!” whispered Royer, closely creeping up, laying down and peeping into the hold. “Hark! Still, still! Yes, there he is armed to the teeth, and all his niggers armed. See him, he peeps to see someone–only see his eyes!”
“The vicious devil!” added Spencer. ‘That look!
Dark and unearthly is the scowl,
That glares beneath his dusty cowl;
The flash of that dilating eye
Reveals too much of time gone by!
Though——”
“Come, come, Mr. Spencer, this is no time for Shakespeare and nonsense!* I wish men was as good in showin’ their bravery, as they is sometimes in showin’ their learnin’,” rebuked Royer. Spencer laughed at the mention of Shakespeare.
“Well, cap’n, bravery or not, it ain’t no chile’s play to go in the hold after you black feller, I’m told ye it ain’t,” suggested Tom Hardy.
Crash, again roared the thunder, as if shattering the skies to pieces, the lightning spreading flashes as though the clouds were in a flame. Startled at this potent mandate from above, captain, mate and all stood in silence at the scene.
“Yo ho! Ho eyo!” could be heard above the winds and dashing spray, the seamen manfully contending against the tempest, being fearfully exposed to the raging, merciless blast above, and the restless and dangerous elements of passion below.
Such was the state of things but twenty-four hours’ sail from Matanzas.
Suddenly the winds changed, the clouds began to disperse, the thunder and lightning ceased to be seen and heard. Late in the afternoon a rainbow appeared above the horizon, telling in distant and silent eloquence as a harbinger of gladness, of a brighter prospect to all, as if conscious of the terror which pervaded the enslavers, and the future that awaited the enslaved.
The hatches being secured it was conceded that were it known that the slaves had been rebellious their value would be much depreciated, if not their sale prevented. The agreement was then made to suppress all information concerning their mutinous tendency, and dispose of the cargo as quickly as possible at the barracoons of Matanzas.
Blake during the entire troubles was strangely passive to occurring events below, strictly attending to the duties of his office in silence, except when speaking to a black, or spoken to by a white; but was suspicioned by the Americans as being the instigator of the plot, who under ordinary circumstances would have been executed at the yardarm of the vessel. But the Spaniards having accomplished their ends were satisfied, and showed pleasantness, becoming quite affable, they having at the start desired the cargo to be taken to Cuba.
Nothing could be seen of the daring British West India schooner, she having escaped the storm by putting into harbor. Nothing during the night occurred, and at daybreak next morning they hove in sight of the island, and at six o’clock that afternoon the “Vulture” secured her moorings in the bay at Matanzas.
Scarcely had she landed than without waiting for the adjustment of his engagement, Blake went immediately on shore, and was soon lost among the gazing spectators who assembled on the quay at the arrival of the vessel.
*A fact worthy of note is that the captives in a slaver are only fed once a day, and sometimes watered only once.
*Some young officers at sea are full of levity in times of the greatest danger.
CHAPTER 55
The Captives
Next morning at the earliest dawn, when the song of animated nature, birds, reptiles, and insects–which in Cuba generally enliven the night and cheer the spirits with varied tones of discordant harmony–gaye way for the noise and clamor of the designing inhabitants of the port; among the first few who appeared on the quay was a mulatto gentleman.
There was nothing very remarkable about this, because were Cubans classified according to their complexion or race, three out of five of the inhabitants call
ed white would decidedly be claimed by the colored people, though there is a larger number much fairer than those classified and known in the register as colored.[34] To this class belonged the gentleman in question.
Blake, regardless of the injunction of secrecy, had made known the mutinous spirit of the captives, which Placido managed to get into the hands of the hawkers and gossipers of news in Havana. The sales were delayed till late in the day, which brought a large number of human speculators, the design of which was to enhance the price by the competition on change.
To guard against all such contingencies, and prevent a recurrence of the scenes among them at sea, the most restless spirits among the captives were disposed of as soon as possible; the better to ensure which, a private sale had been effected, through a secret agent of Placido, affecting concern for the interest of the traders. But the poet still continued on the ground covertly depreciating the value of the slaves by the circulation of “postscripts” from the “press,” giving full particulars of the mutiny at sea.
This reduced the captives to a minimum price, which placed them in the reach of small capitalists, for whom they were purchased by agents, who pretended themselves to be spectators. These agents were among the fairest of the quadroons, high in the esteem and confidence of their people, the entire cargo of captives through them going directly into black families or their friends.
The great scheme through this medium being much enhanced, though the mutiny was unsuccessful, with a cheerful heart and lively spirits, Placido with his choice two, Mendi and Abyssa, left Matanzas directly for Havana.
CHAPTER 56
The Seeleys
Blake, from Matanzas, had gone directly to Havana, where to meet and greet his wife and little son, and the poet, his cousin; still concealing from his father’s family his identity; all of whom gave him a hearty welcome.
During his absence Placido had been busy, industriously disseminating the great principles implied in the silence, designed to be put in operation. Both tongue and pen in unison had been mutually engaged, eloquently impressing what the heart and mind conceived. Privately he whispered them in accents softly, meaningly, and confidingly. In poetry he wrote them in sentiments of song, enigmatically, though comprehensively. These words, though softly and fearfully spoken–as if in thunder tones–were indelibly impressed on every heart, while the sentiments of song, like a lightning flash, ran through every mind the length and breadth of the island.
The first care of Blake in his interview with the poet was the release of the captive Mendi, and Abyssa. Mendi was expected to be a powerful accession to their forces, as, being a native chief, he would meet with many of his race whose language he understood, and was thereby better suited to them than many others among them. The mere slave, as such, was deficient in discipline, except that which unfitted him for self-reliance. That was the curse which blighted his moral prospects, the blow which riveted upon him the links of an unyielding chain; the burden which, with mountain weight, pressed his mind to the earth, only to be thrown off by the force of an extraordinary self-exertion, verified the sentiment that–
The day that makes a man a slave,
Takes half his worth away.
The Seeleys had returned from America, after faithfully discharging their trust, bringing with them Charles and Polly, little Joe Blake, and Tony. After his interview with Placido, taking his wife and child, Blake rode out to the residence of the Seeleys, situated some ten miles distant. Mr. Seeley had purchased a fine country seat called Homewood Grove, and entered in a lucrative shipping business in the city.
The shrubbery and grounds of the place were beautiful, affording ample residence for insects and birds. The meeting and greeting also here were affecting, mutual tears being shed for each other, Polly fell upon her knees with outstretched arms to Blake, and Charles embracing Maggie, laughed and cried, while Tony alternately kissed little Joe and hugged his father around the legs. Nor was Madam Seeley a passive spectator to the touching scenes around her.
The little son of Blake on arrival was received and taken to his mother by Placido, the party who accompanied the Seeleys not having met them till then. Mr. Seeley on going out in the evening to his place, was not remiss in sympathy to the party; Charles, Polly, and the boy remaining with the Seeleys until duties required a change. Blake and family left the seat of Homewood Grove for their residence in Havana.
Tony was becoming a very useful boy as an aid to Madam Seeley, whose attention had been turned to animated nature; the securing of specimens for the cabinet being the function assigned the boy. No naturalist was more assiduous than he, as far as his vocation extended; not a bird nor insect seeming to escape his notice, nor fail to receive his most earnest gaze; some of which underwent a much closer examination, by an almost unerring direction of a stone from his hand, or a crush under the weight of his great palmleaf hat.
The first day he started on his mission of research, two hours was the time assigned him, with the promise of reward for the faithful discharge of his duty. The time allotted him was now half an hour overdue, but with the delinquency came Tony, who, as a proof of his claim to the reward and ample satisfaction for his tardiness, tumbled at the feet of Madam Seeley a hatful of insects of every kind he met, and an orange sprig well strung with a variety of birds; many among them of the choicest warblers.
“O, cruel, cruel!” exclaimed Madam Seeley as the heap was placed at her feet. “Tony, why did you do so? What made you kill those beautiful birds–and oh! these lovely insects? Look, too, at the butterflies–poor little creatures!”
“Da was singin’ an’ did’n see me,” replied Tony, referring to the birds, “an’ I jis sneaked up an’ popt ’em.”
“O, you cruel boy!” said the madam.
“O, Miss Seeley, dat ain’t nothin’ to kill a bird! An’ dese bugs, I could jis’ take an’ mash ’em!” replied the boy, looking at the pile of insects, as though he was anxious to jump upon them with both feet.
Madam Seeley, as encouragement, admitted his dexterity and skill in the art of killing, when the boy sauntered away toward the pantry to refresh himself, being well satisfied with his reputation as a naturalist.
CHAPTER 57
Anticipation
“Just in time, Henry!” said Placido, as he entered the house of Junius Blacus, the father of Henry, who had just come from Homewood Grove, taking him by the hand. “I was fearful you wouldn’t get here!”
“Why, Placido: what is the anxiety?” enquired he.
“I will tell you–come aside–tomorrow is a gala day, the celebration of the nativity of the Infanta Isabella, by a grand national fete at the palace of the Captain General.”
“Thank God! Not only do the heavens, but the earth seems to declare his glory! How singularly He willed it, that I should return just at so auspicious a moment, to be with you in council, Placido!”
“God wills what’s best, Henry!” said Placido.
“Then we would what God wills!” replied he.
“Let God’s will be done then!” responded the poet.
“Can we not turn the day to our advantage, Placido?”
“Certainly! There’s wherein consists the importance of your return from sea at this time. Could we have had the appointment, it could not have been better suited.”
“Let us then get ready; the sooner, the better,” said Henry. “What have you done?”
“Seeds have been planted in good ground, the hulls bursted, and kernels already sprouted!”
“Then but little time is required to mature the crop for the sickle of the reaper.”
“I hope much from tomorrow,” suggested Placido.
“We must make much of tomorrow!” replied Blake.
“We can if we will!” added Placido.
“Then we will!” decisively concluded Blake.
“That’s just what I desired to hear, cousin Henry. I suppose I may now leave you, and repair to other quarters in the city, that they may be advised ful
ly of the arrangements.”
“Have you already made arrangements, cousin?”
“Certainly; did I not tell you?”
“Certainly, you did not! I was expecting to hear something of the kind, but was disappointed.”
“Pardon me, General! I——”
“Come, come, Placido! you should not deal in jests of that kind; the thing is too serious for merriment!” interrupted Blake as Placido was about to compliment him.
“I beg your pardon, cousin Henry. I am not jesting, nor can I jest on such a subject, at such a time. And now let me inform you, that we have had our gatherings, held our councils, formed our legions, chosen our leaders, and made Henry Blake General-in-Chief of the army of emancipation of the oppressed men and women of Cuba!” explained Placido.
At the announcement, bracing his arms across his breast, dropping his head, looking down on the floor, Henry stood for some minutes, his wife who entered the room at the moment, throwing herself upon the poet’s neck, weeping audibly.
“I only wish I thought myself worthy and competent, but I much doubt my ability, cousin!” replied Blake with much depression of spirits.
“We have examined every point, and weighed the whole matter, cousin: Henry Blake is the man!” rejoined Placido.
“In bondage again! Well, I suppose those who are bound, especially when they seek it, must obey,” replied Blake.
“Indeed, Henry, I wouldn’t undertake it, so I wouldn’t! I would leave that for cousin Placido or some other gentleman here to do. I’m sure you know nothing about such things!” advised Maggie, at which pressing his hand on her cheek, Placido laughed.
“Wife, I must in this, submit entirely to others,” said Blake.
“I suppose then I may give up all hope of ever having you with me at all!” she replied with renewed sobs.
“Stop, cousin!” admonished Placido. “You must remember that there’s a great difference between Franks’ slaves and General Blake and wife. As the former, you were irresponsible, the latter responsible; that was a life of trouble and sorrow, this of care and pleasure. One shuns adventure, the other seeks it; the slaves feels an issue, and the freeman makes it. A slave must have somebody to care for him; a freeman must care for himself and others. The position of a man carries his wife with him; so when he is degraded, she is also, because she cannot rise above his level; but when he is elevated, so is she also; hence, the wife of Henry the slave was Maggie the slave; but the wife of Mr. Henry Blake will be Mrs. Maggie Blake; and the wife of General Blake will be Mrs. General Blake. What objections have you to this, cousin?”
Blake or The Huts of America Page 30