Voyage of Malice

by Paul C R Monk

  He had written to Jeanne when in Cadiz to inform her he ambitioned to escape from the Caribbean islands to London. He would send her word to join him when the time came. He had given one letter to a Dutchman and another to an Englishman to send on his behalf to the pastor in Geneva, where he knew his wife to have found refuge. By doing so he was increasing the odds twofold that his message would reach its destination.

  Contrary winds made the going slow, though the many marvellous views at least broke the monotony—no more so than when a group of dolphins accompanied them a short distance by making arches over the clear, teal sea—and took their minds off their thirst.

  By the twelfth of January, water was rationed to two cups per person. However, the following afternoon, even the guards thanked the Lord for the favourable wind that brought them relief, and pushed the pink into the bay of Guadeloupe for their first stop in the New World.

  *

  Guadeloupe is easily recognised on charts by its butterfly shape. The two wings were divided by a narrow channel that emerged on the south side into a large bay where French colonists from Saint Paul had established port villages.

  The bay, consisting of a large south-facing inlet between these two areas of land, offered a natural harbour well sheltered from the easterlies, and well out of the way of the swell. From the gun ports on either side of the pink, Jacob could see that the shape is where all similitude to a butterfly ended, for the topographical features of the two wings were very different.

  The land on the west side, Jacob was surprised to learn, was known as Basse-Terre, meaning lowlands. It actually offered splendid views of highlands covered in rainforest and gushing waterfalls. Delpech mused that given the clement climate and clear blue skies, the fresh water cascades and the luxuriant vegetation, it took no great leap of the mind to imagine this to be Paradise on earth.

  Grande-Terre on the east side presented low rolling hills and flat land ideal for crop cultivation. Jacob remembered hearing this was the island where fortunes had been made cultivating sugar cane and distilling it into sugarloaves. He was curious to find out how the transformation was carried out.

  But during the four-day stay, prisoners and slaves remained locked in their stifling cabins while cargos of pots, tools, and textiles were offloaded, and barrels of sugarloaves taken aboard. The captain may have been sozzled out of his mind on occasion during his forays on land, but he had certainly not lost his bearings when it came to trade, not by a long sea mile.

  It was from their cabin in the natural harbour that many Huguenots saw black men for the first time. On Guadeloupe, the European colonists, many of whom were seeking a new life free from religious and political persecution, were building a tried and tested formula by which to make a fortune, and there were no scruples when it came to worldly wealth. Be you Protestant, Catholic, or a Jew, it was what made the world go round.

  The men were rolling, humping, and hoisting barrels on the foreshore. One of them, a lad of seventeen—as black as a frigate bird—turned to an older man who was securing a load of sugarloaves onto a boat. It was to be transported the short distance to the ship where white faces peered out from the holes in the hull.

  In his native tongue, the lad said, ‘Who are they to keep staring at us working?’

  The older man, who knew better than to stop for a natter under a slave driver’s nose, continued securing the barrels as he said in a low voice, ‘They are slaves.’

  The answer came as no small surprise to the young man. His name was Imamba Kan, and he had once been a prince of the Akwamu tribe in West Africa. The bulldoggish slave driver gave the lad a stroke of his whip for daring to dawdle.

  ‘Gimme that black look again, boy,’ bellowed the slave driver, ‘and I’ll whip your black ass till it turns so red you’ll be beggin’ me not to make you sit on it, boy, let alone shit!’

  The young prince turned back to his chore. ‘I will get away from this wicked oppression,’ he said to himself. ‘I will get away from here.’ But for the moment, Imamba had no choice but to hurry his movements or else receive another lash of the whip.

  *

  Four days later, La Marie was leaving the sugar cane fields, the African huts, and the ox-driven mills of Guadeloupe. A steady southerly wind allowed her to make good headway, and in just two days, on the eighteenth of January, she dropped anchor in the roadstead of Saint Paul.

  Jacob knew from conversations with Professor Bourget that the first Frenchmen to set foot on this island were Huguenots back in the 1620s. They had long since moved on to the island northwest of Hispaniola called Tortuga, where they formed a small colony. But the island of Saint Paul had nonetheless come a long way in sixty years. For a start, the gentle slopes of the volcano, and the low-lying plain at its foot, had been cleared and given over to the lucrative sugar cane.

  And, as a testimony to its newfound importance and the size of its population, Catholic Jesuits had even built a monastery here. Jacob knew as well as anyone that those of this order were not known to settle in places of little interest. Such was their grandeur that when two of them set foot aboard the pink, they were given full honours.

  However, these reverent clerics did not deign to visit the Protestant heretics. There was, of course, no point. Besides, they only had time to inspect the casks of wine they had come to procure and to settle the sale of sugarloaves before it was time for vespers. They had two thousand African slaves to hammer the true faith into, which was no small task, especially when you considered that many scholars were still arguing whether or not the wretches had a soul at all.

  While negotiations were under way, Jacob noticed a cargo ship that flew the English flag. It was a normal occurrence in these waters, as the English occupied the central area of the island, and the two nationalities had found no better way to cohabit than by simply ignoring each other’s company. It had been the modus vivendi ever since the French and English joined forces some decades back to wipe the rich, fertile island clean of its populations of trees and savages. Neither of these life forms was compatible with the white man’s design. The vegetation was worthless, in spite of Carib complaints that replacing hundreds of healing plants with one crop was a senseless and disrespectful act against nature. But of course, these were savages who did not understand what made the world go round.

  The Europeans’ success had since enabled both nationalities to give themselves fervently to the intensive cultivation of their favourite crop, which the French called white gold.

  The captain had manifestly found the discussions agreeable. On the departure of his venerable visitors, they were honoured with a three-gun salute, normally reserved for a governor.

  On seeing the multitude of black slave workers going about their business on land, it suddenly occurred to Jacob that these islands that had once been the promised land for a few freedom seekers, had become a prison for so many. Surely this could not have been the intention of the first Huguenots, could it?

  Nevertheless, the ease with which the English ship had come sailing past, without so much as a puff of animosity, bolstered his hopes that escape to an English territory was indeed a viable option.

  *

  After the nine-day stopover in the bay of Saint Paul, victualled and watered, La Marie continued her voyage towards the French territory on Hispaniola, the island of her destination.

  The sea was dazzling and calm as they tacked north by northwest along the eastern side of Saint Eustache—a Dutch possession with lush volcanic slopes—and by the steep scarps of the little isle of Saba which belonged to the English. The Huguenots who were still eager and able took turns to huddle around the gun ports whenever they offered a new tableau of exotic vistas.

  By the twenty-ninth of January, they were sailing eastward three sheets to the wind, past the even plains of the south coast of Saint Croix. The prevailing easterly kept the ship on a steady course, while giving her the advantage of manoeuvrability as she swept past the treacherous reefs of the southeast ca
pe of Puerto Rico.

  The south-facing coast of this island presented a profusion of settlements: more slave shacks and villages amid the fertile plains that sloped down from the timbered mountains. Jacob was becoming aware of the extent to which whole African populations had been transported to these new colonies. Be it Dutch, French, English, or Spanish, every island harboured settlements of African huts.

  On rounding the southwest cape of Puerto Rico, they hit upon the tail end of a storm. The only safe place for non-crew members was lying flat on the floor on their canvas sacks. Even then Jacob and his eighty fellow inmates were often unable to keep themselves from rolling about like apples in a tub.

  But the captain refused to tack back to the southern coastline that provided numerous anchorage points away from the swell. Even if they did manage to negotiate the dangerous reefs, putting into a southwest inlet would be as good as stepping out of the briny broth onto a Carib barbecue. At least, so thought Captain Reners. Besides, the captain had no trading partners on Puerto Rico, and the odd sprain and bruise would not devalue the chattel. So he held the ship’s course, shortened her sails, and rode through the tail end of the gale to the northeast cape of Hispaniola.

  *

  At daybreak, the coast of Hispaniola came into view. Jacob was surprised to see they were barely half a league from the shoals where clumps of rock jutted treacherously here and there out of the water. During the night, the beacons that had appeared on shore had seemed to indicate that the island was much further away. However, upon examination, Delpech could see that the lights must have been lit on the far side of a bay which was protected by a spit of land. And this spit reached a good deal further into the sea.

  The mist rose, revealing a verdant landscape of singular beauty, and a ship wrecked on the rocks. Her sails had been struck. Debris was still dotted around her, which told Jacob the catastrophe must have happened recently, probably during the storm which the pink had met rounding the southwest coast of Puerto Rico. It was impossible to make out the ship’s colours from the gun port, let alone her name, although what was left of the three masts made some of his fellow Huguenots fear the worst.

  ‘Lord, let it not be La Concorde!’ said Marianne Duvivier, clasping her hands together. The whole congregation prayed for the lost souls and could only hope the ship they had seen was not the one with which they had sailed out of Cadiz.

  Realising that the men above deck did not share their concern, Jacob sent a message to Captain Reners, asking for a boat to be sent to investigate the wreckage. The captain, who until now had refused any moral, physical, or verbal contact with the prisoners, thought it best this time to meet their demand head-on. The whole voyage had gone incredibly well so far. He had only lost five galley slaves—two of whom had come aboard half-dead anyway—and no heretics, which was by far his personal best. It would be a pity to suffer any moral blight on his reputation so close to his port of delivery. And as for that wretched Huguenot chief, Reners did not doubt the man would not hesitate to make a nuisance of himself before the governor.

  So, flanked by two guards, the captain bravely entered the Huguenot cell like the top dog he was to deliver his answer, despite the stench and the risk of contagion. Though slightly smaller than most would have imagined, he stood as large as life before them in all his fine glory, which made the Huguenot leader and his band of bedraggled brethren look ragged and pale in comparison. It was the first time the Huguenots had seen the captain of their ship close up. They all stood silent at first. Some doffed their hats, speechless and in awe.

  Delpech, who had no hat to doff, levelled his eyes at the captain’s when he said: ‘But, Sir, are you not bound by Christian values, if not common decency, to investigate the tragedy? There might be survivors, by God.’

  The captain remained calm and firm. He said: ‘We are not a navy ship, and that wreck is in Spanish waters. My commission is to get you to port safe and sound, not for you to be captured by savages and Spaniards. I regret I cannot be held to account for other people’s failures. You must realise this is a very dangerous coast.’

  ‘But, Sir,’ returned Jacob, ‘have some humanity!’

  ‘I have plenty of humanity within this ship,’ said the captain, remaining the perfect master of himself. ‘The place reeks of humanity, and I do not intend to lose any of it!’ He thought that rather good and inwardly congratulated himself for his calmness and quick wit. Even his guards were infected by his superior reasoning and could not help their smug smiles. He continued, ‘If there are survivors, they will have been picked up by Spaniards or savages by now, so there is nothing we can do anyway. Now, I suggest you bear up and examine your conscience in preparation for your new domicile.’

  There, he thought, no one could accuse him of being dismissive or inhuman, or of failing to have a Christian heart. He was satisfied it would eventually sink into their scabby heads that he was acting for the good of all aboard. Moreover, he secretly looked forward to seeing the governor’s face when he brought his pink to port ahead of La Concorde.

  Despite Jacob’s insistence, the captain stoically stepped out of the dank jail, and without so much as a glance towards the other unfortunate cabin, he made his way to his quarters for some fresh air.

  Any captain ought to know to keep well away from that part of the island, he thought, not only because of the perilous rocks but because of Spanish wreckers who at night shone their lamps to provoke navigational errors. With a ship smashed and all aboard drowned or cut to shreds on the reef, they could tranquilly pick off the cargo that lay strewn along the shore. But Captain Joseph Reners, who well understood the practices and motivations of cruel people, never had trusted such lamps, even on his first voyage. He had always put double the usual distance between the shore and his ship.

  The whingeing heretics should thank their Protestant God they had been transported under his command, he said to himself back in his cabin, as he poured himself another tot of rum to take away the foul taste of squalor.

  *

  A north-easterly wind filled the pink’s sails as she bore westward along the north-facing coast of Hispaniola. This was the name Jacob knew Columbus had given to the island 196 years earlier. The French now occupied the western side which they called Saint-Domingue. Even a league from the shore, this, the longest Caribbean island Jacob had seen so far, was a spectacle of beauty. Dense forests of broadleaved trees that covered the foothills, palm trees that fringed the tracts of golden sand, and conifers that reached up the mountain sides gave it an aura of Eden.

  The island’s mountain ranges were some of the highest in the whole of the Spanish Main. Consequently, there were quick variations in climate. Sometimes a leaden mass of cloud would darken the horizon to such an extent that it seemed inevitable that the ship would be in for a deluge. But the threatening clouds yonder that flared up with great flashes of lightning invariably dissipated come nightfall, and more often than not, the waxing moon shone large and bright.

  The wind direction was not always constant and sometimes followed the morning sun, then blew westward again. But come midday the sea often became very calm, and progress was slow. Thankfully, this was not the hurricane season, and the last leg of the voyage passed by without further incident.

  On the eleventh of February, they dropped anchor between Saint-Domingue and Tortuga Island, where a contrary current and lack of wind obliged them to wait.

  The following morning, the pink weighed anchor for the last time with the Huguenots aboard. She anchored at midnight off Port-de-Paix, where the governor of Saint-Domingue had his residence.

  *

  Jacob had lost weight, his body was drained, and his joints were stiff, but his chances of escape were better than ever. He was looking forward to standing with solid earth beneath his feet after five long months aboard the ship in abominable conditions.

  However, the governor, Monsieur Tarin de Cussy, an orderly man of principle, only allowed sick Protestants and the galley slaves to d
isembark, the latter to be sold.

  It was not until three days after their arrival in the roadstead of Port-de-Paix that the rest of the Huguenots were able to leave the detestable pink, but only to embark on another vessel, coincidentally called La Maria, which had not long dropped anchor. She was under the command of Monsieur de Beauguy, a newly converted Catholic and captain of the king’s navy.

  The governor gave the order to assign the Huguenots to Leogane, a port village sixty leagues from Port-de-Paix, which lay along the west coast in Gonâve bay. From experience, the governor knew it was wise to mix slaves, indentured workers, and prisoners throughout the territory rather than congregate them in tightly knit communities. A concentration of one type would only lead to friction and the need for rigorous repression, which was good for no one. The idea then was to build communities with a mixed bag of subjugated subjects. “Divide and rule” was the governor’s motto. De Cussy was indeed a clever man, and what is more, well born. His excellent breeding and fine manners meant that his word was taken with solemnity, and it was so eloquently delivered that it was difficult for the commoner to contest his reasoning without seeming uncouth and coarse.

  With simple elegance he stood on the middeck steps before the group of bedraggled Huguenots and said: ‘This little voyage will last three or four days. I pray you will find some comfort at your port of destination, where you will live among many former Protestants who came here to start a new life. It is our hope that you will understand why they became Catholic, and that you too will become royal subjects once again.’

  Jacob had heard it all before, but before the governor returned above deck, he raised his finger and asked: ‘Sir, if I may. We are without news of La Concorde, which transported many of our brethren from Marseille. Would you be so kind as to light our lantern?’

  ‘I am sorry, my good man,’ said the governor, tactfully feigning to ignore the grubbiness of the well-spoken gentleman in front of him. How easily an individual could lose all trace of decorum and respectability, it was frightening, he thought to himself. Instinctively slipping a hand beneath the gold-braided edge of his red satin waistcoat, he continued: ‘I am unable to divulge information of the whereabouts of your co-religionists, or any of the king’s adversaries for that matter. I trust you will understand that I am under oath.’