“I don’t believe that violence is the best way to train them,” the Colonel said, as he sipped his brandy.
“Well, did you hear about that nigger that ran off from Johnson’s plantation?” asked Mr. Banks. “Stole four chickens from surrounding farms, and even caught him trying to scale the walls into the bedroom of a white woman down the road. They cut his foot off so that he wouldn’t run again. That’s the kind of lesson a nigger won’t forget.”
“I disagree with that,” said the Colonel. He waved Jupiter over to him and held out his glass. Jupiter poured the brown amber liquid into it. “I disagree with that wholeheartedly. Not only for their sake do I not think it effective, but I am more concerned with what it does to us.”
“To us?” asked Banks. “Why, it keeps our property in the proper context, and keeps them from running off.”
“Yes, that’s one outcome, but there’s the other. What does it do to us?”
“Colonel, what do mean?”
“It diminishes us, this slavery business, is what I mean.”
There were laughs and puffs of cigar smoke all around. Jupiter’s eyes danced between the white men as they drew in smoke.
“I believe it sullies our spirit,” said the Colonel. “It lowers us. Debases us. Takes us down from rational beings to beasts dominating other beasts.”
“Well, man is an animal.”
“No, man is more. Man is rational. And white men are the most rational of all men.”
“And you, sir,” said Banks, “obviously are the most rational white man of us all, for I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Well, we fool ourselves into treating the Negro as if he were just one step up from a beast in a farm or in a stable—this isn’t true. The Negroes are men . . . as we are men.”
There were gasps all around.
“Hear me out, gentlemen. Hear me out. The Negro is a man as we are men, but through education, culture, and history, we have cultivated our intellect and traditions. The Negro is raw. He needs our influence, not our scorn. We are superior because history has proven so. There is no need to enforce this through violence.”
Banks interrupted the Colonel. “So you are saying that if one of your slaves ran off, you wouldn’t put the lash to him?”
The Colonel sipped his brandy with leisure. “One of my Negroes would never run off. Do you see any shackles around here, or whips? You see how well behaved my Negroes are? I challenge you to name any other plantation where you were surrounded with such an atmosphere of culture and cultivation from the master to the servants, down from the big house to the slave house. Sirs, I challenge you; I defy you.”
None of the men responded.
“This is because I allow my Negroes to see the world as it is. To see the hierarchy that nature and history have established. And I do that by using the rationale that nature has provided all men that inherent ability to see things that nature has gifted in us. My point is that if you allow a Negro to live up to his capacity, you will learn that, yes, they have a fixed capacity. It may not be much, but it is enough to see that by nature, he is below a white man. If you treat him benevolently, with magnanimity, even though he knows that you can harm him, if you teach him benevolently, it only reinforces his inferiority and the white man’s superiority, and he becomes grateful to you for not using the power and strength that nature has given you. In other words, he will be grateful and loyal for your magnanimity.”
There were laughs all around.
“Good God,” said Banks. “Colonel, you give the Negro too much credit. First of all, I don’t think the Negro enjoys the sort of intellectual complexity that understands all that you have said.”
Jupiter poured the rest of the brandy, then stood in a shadowed corner of the drawing room so as to not be seen or influence the conversation.
“Of course they do,” said the Colonel. “They can understand it—we can just understand more. White men aren’t living up to their potential like we used to. We are diminishing our potential by handing out beatings and romping about in the slave house with our wenches and Negresses. Brute force is so unnecessary. There is plenty enough intellect for the Negro to understand magnanimity and gratitude.”
“Well, I haven’t seen it.”
“Jupiter, come here,” said the Colonel. He came over. “Now do you remember that book I gave you to read?”
Jupiter looked at the other men. All of them seemed to look at him with menace.
“It’s fine, Jupiter,” said the Colonel. “They won’t harm you.”
“Yes, Colonel. I remember.”
“You remember the name, don’t you?”
Of course Jupiter remembered. “It was Cicero’s discourse on rhetoric.”
“That’s correct.” The Colonel beamed.
“Why, he’s nothing more than a parrot,” said Banks. “And even a parrot can recite Shakespeare if you read it to him long enough.”
The Colonel looked at Banks and allowed his cigar ash to turn bright red. “Archer, come in here,” yelled the Colonel. A young Archer entered the drawing room. Jupiter watched him as the Colonel placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Come here, the two of you. Do you remember that book I had you read?” he asked Archer.
“Cicero, Father.”
“That’s right. Now what is Cicero’s basic thesis on rhetoric?”
Archer recited the premises and the aspects.
“Now, Jupiter, what do you think? Is Archer correct?”
Jupiter had already seen the flaws in Archer’s analysis, but he was hesitant to say so.
“It’s fine, go ahead.”
He revealed the flaws that Archer had stated.
“This is reprehensible,” said Banks. “Embarrassing your own flesh and blood with one of your slaves!”
Archer looked down.
“I am just presenting facts to you, Mr. Banks.”
“Facts?” Banks made some quip about facts in Latin.
Jupiter immediately recognized the quote from one of the Colonel’s books. Jupiter corrected Banks.
“What was that, boy?” Banks flared.
“You should use the masculine suffix.”
Banks stood up, gulped his brandy, walked over to Jupiter, and smacked him across the face. The Colonel stood up, grabbed Banks by the throat, and held his still lit cigar less than an inch from Banks’s face.
“You let your niggers talk to your guests like that?” Sweat formed on Banks’s brow.
“Correct, sir, you are a guest. This is Jupiter’s home. Wrong is wrong. It knows no color. If your Latin is inferior, his being a Negro doesn’t make your inferior Latin any better.” The Colonel let him go.
“I think we’ve seen enough here,” Banks said as he walked out with the other white men in tow.
• • •
Archer, still on the other end of Jupiter’s gaze, was having the same memory. Archer remembered the fever he’d felt around his collar, hot as coals. The eyes of all those white men in the room, seared into his forehead. He could feel the weight of their expectations on his shoulders. A strange and desperate telepathy emerged in his mind: Don’t embarrass us by letting a nigger embarrass you. You are a white man; act accordingly. But Archer had already felt defeated. Cicero wasn’t his strong suit. He knew that, and so did his father. But could he challenge his father?
The Colonel had asked Archer the same question in privacy days earlier. The situation played itself out just the same, but the Colonel had placed a comforting hand on Archer’s shoulder and instructed him to duplicate his responses at the upcoming party. I want to prove a point to my guests. Especially that blowhard, Banks. The Colonel chose to embarrass Archer to prove a point. Archer played along—he always played along, even while the Colonel claimed to be so virtuous, and Archer knew his secrets; he didn’t want to disappoint
his father under any circumstances. But this had been the first time that Archer, looking into his father’s eyes as he put his arm around Jupiter, truly wanted to kill him.
35
Somewhere in the Atlantic
That night in Sebastian’s cabin, the necessary materials for effective conjuring were scattered throughout: cards, Les Tours de Cartes, Witgeest’s The Book of Natural Magic, Antoine’s Theory of Chemical Trickery, and Balsamo’s The Rise of the Conjurer.
“They say a magician never shares his secrets. But if one can decipher a trick on his own, well then that is another thing altogether. Are you excited about being reunited with your father?”
Jacob shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve never met him.”
“Never?”
“Mamma says the war tore them apart before I was born.”
“Your mother never took another husband in all that time?”
“There was Uncle Titus, but I don’t think Mamma really liked him that much. She knew him from the plantation.”
“I see. Is your mother excited to see your father?”
“I don’t know. She doesn’t talk about him much.”
“I see. Well, this is still an exciting time for such a young man. Are you afraid?”
Jacob shook his head.
“If you are, I can teach you a spell that will ward off fear so that you are never afraid again.” Sebastian leaned in and whispered ancient words in Jacob’s ear—words in a language long thought dead, but still living in secret in the hearts and minds of powerful men. Jacob had never heard the language, yet he felt he understood, and his eyes grew wide.
36
“What can you make of it?” Barrett asked his man with the spyglass.
“She’s a naval vessel all right.”
“But she can still be manned by buccaneers,” Barrett said.
Time passed and they continued to watch. The watchman gasped as Jupiter was in earshot.
“What is it?” Barrett asked.
“Why . . . she’s unfurling the Union Jack.”
Singleton approached Barrett. “What does this mean, Barrett?”
“The British vessel is close to seizing upon us.”
“Should we worry?” Singleton asked.
“We have few items of contraband other than those we have indentured to sustain the ship. If they remain quiet, then nothing should happen. Our true business lies elsewhere, as you know. We must keep them from searching the hold at all costs.”
“Indeed. But what if the men do talk?” All eyes fell on Jupiter.
“Of the men that talk,” said Barrett, “we shall kill them first. And I mean upon the first word uttered shall death commence, stunning the naval officers into immobility with our sudden mercilessness.”
“My God, man, you are insane. Splendid,” said Singleton.
“Indeed, sir, I am serious. I don’t know if she still uses that Tower, but I have no intention of spending my last days in an English prison.”
“We are in agreement on that point,” said Singleton.
“’Tis a grisly business,” Barrett said, “but it is something we must do.” He looked at Jupiter as he addressed Singleton.
Jupiter grew uncomfortable and left them to join the other men. He questioned whether to say anything to the others. Who knew how they would act after the failed mutiny. Would now be the time to repeat another? Would the other men even trust what Jupiter had heard?
Jupiter watched Archer as he went below. Jupiter felt the strange urge to confide in only him. Despite all that they had been through, he would understand. The two of them would figure out what to do. He sat next to Archer and waited for the other men to be distracted.
Archer edged away from Jupiter as he sat down.
“They’ve spotted a ship on deck,” said Jupiter.
Archer glanced at Jupiter. “So?”
“She’s naval.” Jupiter could hear Archer’s heart pounding, the soft gasps he tried to conceal.
“Naval, you say?”
“Yes, and British.”
“British?” The optimism left Archer’s face.
“What’s wrong? You think they won’t hear our story?”
“It won’t matter. Usually other countries—especially Britain—tend to stay out of these things. For all intents and purposes, the Intono is a sovereign ship. She may as well leave us be.”
“That could be,” said Jupiter, “but she’s gaining on us mighty fast. She has some intention. What it is, we don’t yet know.”
Archer only nodded.
“All hands on deck!” they heard.
The men scrambled on deck to find Barrett looking through his spyglass. “All right, men,” Barrett said, “prepare the ship and do be on your best behavior, hospitable and such.”
“What is it?” asked Archer.
“She’s raised her white flag,” said Barrett. “Looks like we’ll be having guests.”
37
Somewhere in the Atlantic
The storm passed. Sonya reflected on how impressively Sebastian had handled himself during the storm. Watching the way Sebastian was with the boy—holding him steady as he pointed to something in the distance at the edge of the horizon, laughing in that way that men laugh with each other, a secret language that she never understood, finding humor in the strangest places. It warmed her heart seeing him like this, but she felt guilty for not providing it sooner. Anxiety. Fear. What was she to face in Liberia? What kind of man had Jupiter become? What kind of husband or father would he be? Would there be other moments like this for Jacob, or would this be the last time she saw him happy?
38
They watched the uniformed skeletons fall out of the naval vessel and into the skiff. There seemed to be about eight of them. The crew pulled them up to the Intono, and by the sight of them as they neared, it was as if they had reached into eight graves and retrieved eight corpses. They all wore the uniforms of the Queen’s Navy, but they may as well have been patriotic sacks—so gaunt and emaciated they were. Their leader introduced himself as Captain Quincy, and his first mate as Matthews.
Barrett introduced himself as well. “Well, Captain Quincy, please join me in my quarters. There you can tell me of your ordeal. In the meantime, your men will be fed.”
“Thank you,” said Quincy.
Archer noticed something strange about him. Quincy seemed weak and small and feeble, but no less weak and small than the ticks that had spread the black plague.
Gruel was prepared for them. The crew sat silently as they ate. Until the spoons began to scrape the bottoms of the wooden bowls. They ate ravenously. Archer thought of animals feeding on a carcass. He had to look away to keep his stomach from turning.
“Tell us your story, Captain Quincy,” Barrett said as they finished.
Quincy leaned back, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his uniform. “’Twas a horrible ordeal, Captain Barrett. We were on Her Majesty’s Provencia, transporting prisoners to Norfolk. It seems one of our first mates was corrupted and was able to free the prisoners. The prisoners overtook the ship—killed so many of our men, what you see is what remains. We fought them off, but it was weeks before we could. They exhausted our rations. We killed every last one of them. We were hit by a squall and drifted off course, our minds weak from fatigue and all, but then we saw you and followed, hoping that you would be kind enough to grant us some hospitality. And you have, sir. You have indeed. But to continue our journey we need some of your rations to get home.”
Archer didn’t like Quincy’s story. There was nothing of the honor befitting an officer in Her Majesty’s service in the story. The fact that he was asking for rations, never questioning Barrett’s intent or the Intono’s destination, seemed odd.
“Forgive my manners, Captain Barrett,” said Matthews, “but we didn’t come empty handed.” He
revealed a small brown sack. “A bit of tea. Not much, but it’s damn fine tea.”
Barrett held up his hand. “That isn’t necessary, Matthews. But might I offer you a cigar? Or perhaps you’d prefer something hand-rolled from Mr. Clark?”
Matthews smiled. “That sounds tempting.” Quincy looked at him. “But I think I shall decline.”
“Very well,” said Barrett. “We’ll discuss rations later. Continue your story. So you say you were caught unexpected by a squall?”
“That’s right,” said Quincy.
“And it took you off course?”
“I confess we were a bit unprepared. There was an incident onboard—a distraction that sent my attention elsewhere. An unfortunate mistake.”
Barrett nodded. “I would say so. Unprepared . . . and you had all sails set, of course.”
“Yes . . . yes, of course.”
“And you clewed up the flying jib and hauled down the royals and top gallants?”
“Correct. We did all of those things.”
“I see.” Barrett leaned forward. He spoke slowly. “And then you brought down the mainsail and hauled up the mizzen topsail?”
“We—”
“And when you got ahead of the wind, did you haul out the topsail yards and the reef tackles?”
The Brit swallowed.
Barrett stared. “You spent time on ship, but you are no officer. Your story’s a captivating one. Intriguing. I haven’t heard such captivating tales since I was a boy. Norfolk hasn’t been operated as a prison in over a decade.” Barrett laughed.
Quincy did not. “As far as civilians are concerned, she’s closed—but the monsters of the world are still sent there in secrecy . . .”
“I do thank you for your tale, but I think a tale such as that only deserves the meal we have already given you—nothing more.”
A deadly glow seemed to rise in Quincy’s eyes. “Why, Captain Barrett, you’ve seemed so hospitable till now. Why do I get the feeling that your hospitality is ending?”
The Abduction of Smith and Smith Page 13