Savage Surrender

by Natasha Peters

  The second boatload of slaves came alongside with a little bump and a sailor on deck dropped a rope ladder into outstretched hands below. Five strong sailors armed with guns and sticks prodded twenty terrified Negroes up the ropes.

  "We have to bring 'em in in small bunches, Ma'am," a sailor had told me. "Else they might panic and overturn the boat, and we'd lose 'em. Their fear is catching, like a disease."

  I knew, for I had caught it. The previous day I had watched as a tall black man reached the top of the rope ladder, then suddenly turned and dove into the bay. A sailor fired at him and wounded him. As they rowed towards the struggling swimmer I saw a sudden turbulence and a pink stain spreading through the water. The men stopped rowing and watched while the sharks ripped the screaming man to shreds. I vomited my lunch over the side of the ship.

  When the slaves came on board they were herded towards the hold. Soon their cries and groans joined those of the other captives below. Frightened women with bellies distended in pregnancy clasped small children to their legs, and others suckled babies at their breasts. Tall warriors with bizarre tattoos and others with jewels set into their noses and earlobes stood quivering with fear like wild beasts, while young boys and girls who had no idea of their fate saw it as an adventure and laughed as they swarmed up to the deck. Most were stark naked, some wore tiny breech cloths of beaten and woven bark; all—except for the very young—had the same look of hopeless bewilderment on their faces.

  "How long will we be anchored here?" I asked one of the sailors.

  "Maybe three more weeks," he said. "Maybe longer. The Sultan told the Captain that he had some more coming in from someplace, maybe another hundred."

  I nodded without speaking.

  "I bet you're the first woman ever to witness something like this," he said, nodding proudly at the natives that shuffled past us under the watchful eyes of armed white men.

  "I sincerely hope," I said softly, "that I am the last." The sailor was watching the procession and seemed not to have heard. I moved to the other side of the ship and gazed at the horizon.

  We had sailed into the Bight of Benin in the Gulf of Guinea in early October, having enjoyed remarkably good winds and fair weather after we left Nantes. My ex-Marquis husband, Garth McClelland, had told me that the international slave trade had been outlawed two years before in 1808, but slavery was a necessity to planters in America and the Indies who relied on slave smugglers like Captain Fowler for cheap labor. The first thing we saw when we neared the port of Ouidah was an enormous hut built on stilts, standing in the waters of the bay not far offshore. This factory, as they called it, was accessible only by boat, and was used to house captives who were awaiting the arrival of a slave ship. The Sultan of Dahomy sold these captives to merchants, mostly American or English, for guns, powder, and ammunition.

  When the Captain had concluded his business with the Sultan he gave his permission for the crew to go ashore in small parties. Garth McClelland and I attached ourselves to a group of five sailors.

  The African jungle seemed to grow right up to the shoreline. The sailors beached our rowboat on a strip of white sand and we looked up at towering trees, thickly covered with vines and flowers and fruits. Birds in garish, bright colors darted through the treetops, calling loudly to each other. I thought I heard a lion roaring deep in the forest. A few huts nestled among the greenery, and one stood out as larger than the rest. The Sultan, an obese man with a wide smile who was set apart from his people by his corpulence and his air of command, emerged from the large hut and came forward to greet us. He had completed his business with the Captain to his satisfaction, and he looked forward to celebrating with us in grand style. His people crept silently out of their huts and refuges and came shyly forward to inspect us. They seemed particularly taken with Garth's golden hair and my own pearl-white skin, which had had almost no exposure to the sun since I had been on ship. The natives surrounded us, touching us timidly and giggling at our odd appearance.

  I began to think of the land as a sort of Paradise, and I forgot that the Sultan felt no compunction about selling his prisoners of war and those who had fallen out of favor with him to these slavers.

  He invited us to examine the village, which was no more than a random collection of huts around a communal fire pit. As we were walking around the crude structures, one of the Sultan's henchmen brought out a new captive for us to admire. It was a woman, small and black as midnight, with a fine, delicately featured face and smooth, well-shaped limbs. One of the sailors grunted approvingly and quickly extended his pistol and his dagger to the Sultan. The Sultan looked at the goods doubtfully and shook his head. It was not enough for such a fine woman. Then the other four sailors, apparently struck with the idea of owning their own slave, pooled their weapons and their coins and made a collective offering to the Sultan. This he accepted, and he turned the girl over to the sailors, who made much of her, petting and stroking and admiring her, although the poor thing was stiff with fright.

  As the sailors and their purchase moved away into the shadows of the trees along the water's edge, I saw the Sultan jabbering and gesticulating to Garth, occasionally glancing excitedly or pointing in my direction. Just as it came to me that the Sultan was trying to bargain with Garth for the beautiful white-skinned slave, we heard a desperate scream rising above the loud and raucous laughter of the American sailors.

  I ran towards the sound, and came upon them scarcely out of sight of the village, the girl on her back in the sand, screeching with fear, and one of the sailors on top of her.

  I made a movement towards them, but Garth, coming up behind me, caught my arm. "Don't be a fool. Leave them alone."

  "Stop them, you must stop them," I begged. "It's brutal, terrible. Please."

  "Do you want to be next?" he demanded. "I could do nothing to stop them if they decided they wanted you, too."

  The men roared and tumbled on top of the girl, one after the other. Garth held me back or I would have rushed at them, screaming, ordering them to stop. I was sobbing but unaware of the tears coursing down my cheeks. Powerless to look away, I watched them plunging their red and swollen weapons into the girl's bleeding loins. The Sultan and his men watched with amusement as the white savages performed for them. One of the blacks shook his head and made a disparaging gesture with his hands to show that the girl was too small in the hips to make good babies.

  In an incredibly short time the sex-starved sailors had satisfied their lust. Their laughter ceased and they stepped away from their victim. She lay spread-eagled on the ground, not moving. Her eyes were open and they stared sightlessly at the sky. The earth between her legs was stained with blood. I pulled away from Garth and ran to her. Falling on my knees at her side I picked up her limp wrist and felt desperately for a pulse.

  "She's dead." I spoke softly but my voice carried far in the awful stillness that suddenly filled the clearing. I turned on the sailors accusingly. "You've killed her, you—you beasts. I hope you hang for this."

  They looked shamefaced and resentful. They had been so intent on their pleasure that they had forgotten there was a woman in the audience. I saw a glimmer of hatred in their eyes. They would not soon forget, or forgive me for being present. I turned my back on them and ran to the edge of the sea. I was too numb to cry, too shocked by the horror of what I had just seen to feel anything.

  Garth came up behind me. "That was a touching display," he said disgustedly. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

  "Why didn't you stop them?" I faced him angrily. "You could have stopped them and you didn't. You're no better than they are, you filthy animal."

  His eyes were cool. "That should come as no surprise to you. Come, get into the boat and I'll row you back to the ship. Someone else can come back for these men later."

  "What will happen to them?" I asked as we pushed off from shore. I wanted to see them flogged until they were almost lifeless and hung from the highest yardarm on the ship.

  "Nothing." Garth
bent into the oars. "She was their property, after all."

  Paradise had become Hell. I did not go ashore again, but stayed in my cabin, afraid of meeting the five sailors who had taken us ashore, afraid of meeting anyone for that matter. Every man on that ship looked at me with ill-disguised lust, and I could feel their savage hatred burning into me whenever I ventured up on deck. Just because I was a woman. The only woman. And they couldn't have me.

  Occasionally I watched another pitiful parade of slaves come on board, and I wondered at human behavior. I had been so sheltered, so ignorant. My brain had been filled with Montaigne and Rousseau and the Noble Savage, and I was revolted by the way these flesh merchants could callously barter human lives. I felt that Hell existed on the Charleston Belle and that no one on that ship was free of the taint of evil, not even myself. Already I felt myself becoming hardened to their pain, inured to their suffering, and deaf to their cries.

  The sea gull swooped low over the ship and then whirled away again. I pressed my hands over my eyes and told myself that I would not cry, I would not pity myself, I would not dwell on the past.

  "Quite a change from the glitter of Paris and the pomp of the Imperial Court, isn't it?"

  Garth McClelland joined me at the rail. It was dusk and few of the men were on deck, so I had sneaked out for a breath of air. I dropped my hands to my waist. I did not look at him, but kept my eyes fixed on the smudged line that divided sea and sky.

  He went on. "Still, Captain Fowler is like a petty Bonaparte. You ought to feel quite at home."

  "You think this is all very funny, don't you?" I said bitterly. "Brilliantly funny and ironic and oh, so wonderfully amusing. You would have laughed at the Inquisition."

  He shrugged. The cynical detached smile never left his face. "I'm not responsible for your presence on board this ship."

  "You would like to think so, Mr. McClelland," I said intensely. "Neither are you responsible for what is happening here, or for what happened to that girl back there. If I hadn't been there you would have joined them, wouldn't you?"

  "Don't flatter yourself that you could ever keep me from doing what I wanted to do, Madame," he said. " But I've never gone in much for group activities."

  "Don't worry. I don't flatter myself that you are concerned about me at all. If you hate me so much, why didn't you let the Captain throw me into the sea?"

  "Perhaps I thought you might make the voyage more enjoyable. I couldn't have been more wrong."

  I flushed. "I don't owe you anything, Monsieur. I certainly don't owe you wifely loyalty."

  "Don't you? You married me in good faith—" I glared at him fiercely and he broke off. "Well, don't stay out too late if you don't want to feed the mosquitoes."

  He strolled on down the deck, pausing for a moment to puff on his pipe and to look up at the sky. The light wind ruffled his hair and the thick beard he had grown since we were at sea. He had said that of a choice between sweating under a beard as we neared the equator or trying to shave on a rolling ship, he would choose the first course, like most of the men on the Charleston Belle. He was so rough and uncivilized, so at home in this uncouth company, that I couldn't believe he was really the same man who had masqueraded brilliantly as a cultured, sophisticated French nobleman.

  Gone was every vestige of Armand Valadon, Marquis de Pellissier. In his place stood this American giant who called himself Garth McClelland, who refused to speak a word of French to me and always answered me in English when I addressed him in French. He spent his days on deck with the common sailors, or conferring with the Captain on a problem of navigation. He gladly climbed to the very tops of the huge masts to mend sail ropes that had come apart. He drank whiskey, spoke roughly, and smoked foul-smelling tobacco in my presence. He spent most nights in the Captain's cabin, drinking and gambling. He would come in very late, long after I had retired, undress and lie down on the berth. After our first night out he didn't touch me.

  My cheeks still burned when I recalled that night. I had spent that first day being very seasick. I had railed against my fate and berated Garth whenever I saw him for his part in what had happened to me. I refused all food and drink, and by the time darkness fell I was weak and almost feverish with agitation and fear.

  When he went out of the cabin I undressed and put on my muslin nightdress. I settled down in the berth and the rolling of the ship soon rocked me to sleep. I awoke to find him standing naked at my side, about to join me under the covers.

  "Don't you touch me," I yelped. I pulled the rough blanket up to my chin and drew my knees up to my chest. "Don't you dare touch me. Keep away from me, you filth! Keep away from me or I'll scream."

  He reached over and tore the blanket out of my hands. "It is my intention, Elise," he said, looming over me, "to avail myself fully of the opportunity you have given me. To do otherwise would be foolhardy." I could smell the whiskey on his breath. He's drunk, I thought helplessly. I had never seen him drunk before. He stretched out alongside of me and put his hand up to my face. "Kiss me, Elise," he murmured. "Come to me and kiss me."

  I was trembling so violently that I could hardly speak. He slid his hand down between my breasts. I felt his nakedness as he rolled against me and flung one of his legs over me. Then my brain exploded. I fought him as I had never fought before. I wanted no part of him and his lovemaking. I scratched, kicked, bit and snarled like a trapped beast, and he could not subdue me. Finally he got to his feet and looked down at me. His manhood pointed at me angrily.

  I sobbed incoherently and tried to tell him what I thought of him, while I tossed my head and flailed my limbs. I heard rapid footsteps outside our door, and then an anxious pounding. Garth slipped on his trousers and went to see who it was. I sat back, shivering from my frenzy, drenched with tears and sweat and saliva.

  I heard mumbling in the corridor. Then Garth said clearly, "No, there is nothing the matter. Have you ever known a woman to become hysterical when there was anything the matter?" Laughter. Mumble, mumble. "No, thank you, Bo'sun, a cat o' nine tails won't be necessary this time. Unless you think she would benefit by being flogged publicly. Personally, I doubt it." Mumble. Laughter. Mumble. "I quite agree with you. Good night."

  He closed the door and came over to the berth. I was breathing hard and still crying softly. My hair was standing on end and my face was red and blotched and tear-streaked. I looked awful, and I felt worse. He said, "You've been working up to that all day, and now it's done. Maybe you'll calm down now. I'm going out for a little while. But I will not sleep on deck, Elise, and I will not make a rude bed on the floor. We will share this berth—"

  "If you come near me again I'll kill you, I swear I'll kill you," I informed him.

  He grunted. "May I remind you that I am the original occupant of this cabin. You, Madame, are the interloper."

  "Interloper!" I squawked. "You—you abandoned me in that filthy pig sty in Nantes! You didn't care what happened to me, did you? Well, here I am and here I am doomed to stay, it appears. Since you have caused me nothing but heartache and misery, you owe me this berth."

  "I owe you a beating, Madame," he said hotly, "and nothing more. Someday you will collect it, you may be sure."

  He flung his shirt over his shoulder and stalked out of the cabin. As soon as he had gone I leaped out of the berth and looked for some way to barricade the door. There was no lock, only a latch that could be worked from the outside as well as the inside. The kegs were no good to me. They were too low and light to deter anyone, especially an enormous ape like Garth McClelland. Oh, why didn't this wretched ship have chairs?

  The table. If I upended the table I could hook its edge under the latch and effectively prevent his entry. I worked feverishly for a few minutes. When at last I felt secure I returned to bed and pulled the coverlet up.

  I hadn't even closed my eyes when I heard his step in the passage. He pushed against the door and jiggled the latch. My barricade held.

  "Open the door, Elise," he said wearily. "Now.
"

  I said nothing, but smiled grimly at his vain efforts to gain admittance. I hoped he would freeze up on deck.

  He threw his weight at the door. The bottom of the table slipped an inch. With a couple more blows he would have the door open. I jumped out of bed and ran to shore up my shaky buttress.

  "Elise," his voice was calm but dangerous, "if you don't remove the obstruction at once I shall break the door down."

  I moistened my parched lips. "Go ahead and try," I said bravely.

  He threw himself at the door once, twice. I was leaning with all my weight against the table and I could feel myself sliding with each blow. On the third try the table went flying and so did I.I sprawled on the floor with my legs in the air.

  "Better cover up," he said. "You might catch cold."

  I yanked my nightgown down and glared at him. He paid no attention, but stripped his clothes off and climbed into the berth.

  "Get out of there!" I shouted. "That's my berth!"

  "You may share it if you wish," he offered. "There's plenty of room."

  "Go to hell," I said through my teeth.

  I made a bed for myself on the floor in the farthest corner of the room from him. The straw mattress on the berth had been lumpy and uncomfortable, but the floor boards felt as hard and cold as marble. I gritted my teeth and silently catalogued the offenses he had committed against me. Someday, I vowed, he would pay for each one of them.

  When morning came Garth rose and dressed. After he had left I dragged myself to the vacant berth and lay down. I slept soundly until evening. After that I would frequently occupy the berth during the day and then lie awake all night, listening to the gentle thunder of his breathing. If he stayed very late with the Captain, I enjoyed the comforts of that horrid bed until his return, when I sullenly would take myself elsewhere.