Gumbo

by E. Lynn Harris

  No, he didn't just feel free, he was really free on his ship with his men. He'd once been a slave. A man of bondage. He shuddered whenever he remembered it. For nearly twenty years he'd been nothing more than a thinking work animal. But providence had intervened. Or more accurately, it was the meeting of providence and preparation. Arrow, then known as Luke Dunly, had, under the tuteladge of an uncle on the same plantation, developed a skill in knife throwing. He practiced every minute he could behind the outer ring of slave quarters. He'd knifed up the back of so many shacks people took to pleading with him to practice farther out in the woods. And then, one night as he was sneaking back to the men's quarters, three of his friends had dashed past him. He'd called to them, but they hadn't even turned around. So he'd taken off after them. After about twenty strides, one named Jingo had stopped and faced Arrow.

  “Boy, get back.”

  “Where y'all goin'?”

  “We'se gonna freedom.” With that Jingo had turned and taken off again. Arrow had just stood there listening as their footfalls disappeared into the woods. And then he'd heard new footsteps and realized he would be taken for a runaway. And just as this thought had formed in his head, he'd seen Breathin' Heavy, the overseer's bloodhound, come galloping down the path. He'd instinctively brought Breathin' Heavy down with one of the two knives he had in his hand. And then he too had taken flight along the same route as those who'd gone before. The point where preparation and providence came together.

  That was a bit more than five years ago. How things had changed. He'd found his way to the sea. They said it was the water that had brought him here. Maybe water could take him away. And it had, in a way. He now knew that Africa was on the other side of the world and he wasn't sure that's where he wanted to go. He had six Africans in his crew. Pulled them from a slave ship on a previous voyage and offered them a place. He always offered black men a choice. They could join him or they could try to make their own way. Most chose to be let go, not realizing that on this side of the world, when a white man wanted a black man he almost just had to claim him. He never saw or at least recognized any of those he set free. But ten had stayed with him. Four of them had died, two in battle, two from sickness.

  Fortune had brought him to the Caribbean and now the Caribbean was his fortune. He plied it like the best of his ilk.

  There was no feeling like being out on the high seas, trying to command movement when the sea itself had such a great will. An overwhelming will. No maps and all the instinct in the world could not save you from an angry sea bent on your destruction.

  And he'd not sailed them in peace. Far from it. Arrow and his crew had taken two ships on this voyage. The last being the ship he was now putting into port, the Starry Eye. When he'd ousted its English captain, a Mister Downs, he'd asked politely if the good captain minded if he rechristened her. And of course Downs, seeing clearly that he was at a large disadvantage joyfully assented.

  “Yes, yes . . .” He spat, trying to smile docilely, “Please sir, if I may insist. Name her as you will.”

  At which moment, Arrow graciously swept his upper body forward, bowing at the waist, uncovering his hat in the manner of the fine European gentlemen he'd had the great pleasure of knowing. And he'd known them all. From royalty to the lowest Jack Tar he knew them. He'd been a slave to one. And now he was teaching them the wrongs of their ways. They could no longer keep him down. Not the Black Arrow.

  Arrow leaned close to the puffy face of Captain Downs, “I see by ya clothes that you be a gentleman, sir. And by your manner, of which I do approve, sir, I would love to accommodate your request for leniency, sir.” They were in Down's quarters. Arrow, Downs and Dirty Bill who was Arrow's quartermaster and de facto, the ship's mediator and dispenser of justice. Dirty Bill was completely loyal to Arrow, seeing as how it was him who'd saved his life more than once and who'd taken him on in the first place. But, as was usual when Arrow was present, Dirty Bill stood back, calmly, watching.

  “I truly would like to see a fine gentleman like yo'self to be free to strut about with those fine clothes and all the things you dearly love. I truly would. But you see, I must . . . you see,” Arrow stopped abruptly and turned his back on Downs. He walked toward Dirty Bill, whose sun burned, muscled face in the shadows looked demon-like to Arrow. His eyes, dark from the previous night's celebration, stared blankly ahead of him. Not really looking at Arrow. He knew what was about to happen. He knew Arrow had no choice. Poor Captain Downs was to meet his destiny in the form of the Main's most notorious colored pirate captain. Arrow could no more let the good Captain live than throw his gold in the drink.

  With a sudden swoosh, Arrow whirled around, in the same motion unloosing one of his blades and still, even to Dirty Bill—who'd seen this same motion so many times he'd could never account for them all—in the very same movement of torso and arms sent that same blade into Down's heart. The man slumped immediately. Arrow continued his turn until he was again facing Dirty Bill. “You see, sir, I must increase the fear of me. I must make it legendary or I will not be respected. I did not ask for this life and its needs. I truly did not. Tell him Bill. Tell him that if this world were different, I'd be different too. Isn't that true Bill?”

  “Aye, Cap'n.” Dirty Bill stood perfectly still.

  “But, forgive the immodesty, sir. I am the Black Arrow, and in this world of legendary thieves and brigands of all sorts, fakers mostly, men of limited skill whose reputations seem so great in the pubs when I goes to 'em and hear about all these exploits and how many ships they takes and all this fancy talk, I figured I had to follow suit if you know what I mean to say. But,” Arrow tuned now to the dead captain, “I want to thank you for your clothes which I will take good care of and especially those boots you got on. Yes. Well, Bill, get Mobley and Frenchie to clean this place up. We got permission to rename this lady.” And with that he walked by Dirty Bill and went above decks to survey the loot.

  And now he was returning to a port in which his safe passage and accommodation were all but assured. The gold and jewels the ship carried, even after the split, along with bolts of materials and other sundry items, would be more than enough to grease the palms of various officials and provide for a little relaxation before they took to the seas again. Besides there were four other ships of questionable registry already sitting in the harbor. Tortuga looked to be busy with the brethren of the sea.

  The crew had decided before the drinking started on the previous night to take two long boats into port, leaving behind a skeleton crew for protection. It was also decided that Arrow would be in the first boat so as to make the appropriate arrangements. They'd not been to Tortuga in nearly a half year. And on the Spanish Main, officials changed with the whim of queens and kings thousands of miles away.

  Arrow changed into an outfit he'd picked from Captain Downs' locker. His pants were a tough but smooth broadcloth, dyed dark blue. His shirt was a dingy white made from the same material. It, as were most of the shirts Arrow favored, opened two inches above his navel and flared out to its rather long collars. Over this he flung his knife belts. As he strode briskly past his men in Captain Downs' scuffed, but still quite fine leather boots, Arrow felt a feeling he knew well. He was in fact, the captain. These were his men. Men who he'd fought alongside, ate and drank with and, in moments when someone had to say what to do, commanded. He knew that some of them resented his leadership, but Dirty Bill kept them honest and there had been only a few minor purges. Besides no man aboard the Starry Eye was willing, in his right mind, to go against the Black Arrow.

  As he passed through the crew on his way to the ladder to climb down into the boat, he felt strong, prideful. His knives gleamed and showed all of the effort Frenchie had put into the their polish. He was greeted with the rising energy of a sea crazy crew an hour away from the beach.

  “Ayyyyyy,” Dockson called. “Look at the captain, here. Decked out he is. Tryin to get there 'fore we do, eh Cap'n? Wants 'em all for hisself, he does, dressed like
that.”

  “You'll have your turn, Dockson,” Arrow said smiling. Dockson was a tall muscular man, English and mean. Dirty Bill had often reminded Arrow that Dockson might one day prove a threat. But today, Dockson's salt-worn face showed levity. Arrow smiled back. “And if I remember correctly you already have a ‘lady' waitin for you. And if I can say it plainly in front of your mates, here, she was a mighty powerful little somethin'.” Laughter began to bubble around them.

  “Aye, Cap'n you've made your point.”

  “I thought I might, Dockson, for you're much more the scoundrel everywhere but here. And since I go ashore before you do, if I were you, I'd keep my trap shut and go in peace when your turn comes.” That was Arrow at his best. And his men appreciated it. He could give as good as he got.

  “Now you dregs,” Arrow went on, now in full voice, “We've come a full circle. And we've got the profits of it in our belts. But do not let land lull you to sleep. We will not grow root here.” Arrow craned his neck to see to the back of the group. “How long will it take you to drink up this here loot, Bracken? How long?”

  Everyone turned to look at Bracken, an Irishman who could drink a stone to sand. He was propped against a storage locker, barely able to stand after last night's binge. “Well Captain, after I settles a few previously made notes I won't have enough to make it to more than two-three months. At least best I can gather with my head spinnin' the way it is.”

  Arrow laughed. “Hear that, mates? Three months. We all know that if we stay here that long, you'll be dead, Bracken. And we won't have that will we?” There were shouts of agreement. “No, we will be under weigh in a fortnight. So, stay out of jail. Try to keep from getting married. And keep your legs seaworthy because before you know it we'll be fightin' the swells.”

  The crew cheered its agreement and the first boat was loaded and disembarked.

  Four hours later, Arrow was seated in the shadows of a rum house, stomach full, head spinning, picking at his nails with one of his knives. But he was only half focused on his fingers, his gaze kept cutting across the hazy room. From one group of sailors playing cards, to the games of other sailors, to the women who bounced about like buoys in a storm—from one man to the next—to the sullen loners, like himself who were content to drink themselves into empty moments of empty mindlessness. It was odd how they could come ashore in the afternoon and by night have steadied their legs well enough to feel some semblance of normalcy. It was also strange the way the crews of the various ships knew each other, had fought with or in some instances against each other, and yet there was a sense of family between them. Although most were European—Frenchmen, Englishmen, Dutchmen, Norse—there were a smattering of runaways, Indians, Caribs, Africans, even a few Asians jammed into the tavern. And they understood at least one thing that bound them all together. They knew that each one of them depended on the seas and the weakness of the Spanish or the arrogance of the British merchants for their livelihood.

  “Cap'n.” It was Dirty Bill suddenly standing off to Arrow's side. He waited there, asking with his body for permission to sit.

  Barely turning his head toward him, Arrow nodded his assent. “How goes it, Bill? Where were ye?” Arrow was a self-educated man. Most of his book learning came from one slave or another who'd had the courage to defy the law and teach him. He knew how to read and did when he could find something to read. And even more significantly he could write. Not many of his mates could claim that. But when he spoke, you wouldn't necessarily figure he'd grown up on a southern plantation. More likely you'd think he'd been an urchin in the streets near the docks of London. Arrow had learned early among the pirates, that the more like them he talked, the better they treated him.

  “The Flyin' Fish. There's more of our men there than here. Cap'n Flagg's crew is there besides. Much merriment over there. More women and ah . . . a looser sort than here.”

  “Ah.” Arrow could imagine the bacchanal that was probably in progress. He hoped that he'd be able to reassemble his crew when the time came. “Nothin like one of our heathens loose in the world with his pockets full of gold. Nothin's safe, Bill. Not a farthing or a silk slip.”

  “Aye, that's for sure.” He paused, Arrow could feel him trying to decide whether or not to say something. And then, before Arrow could command him to do so, Dirty Bill continued. “Ah . . . Cap'n, there's some men that's a little worried about what you said last night before we got our shares. . . . about going to St. Domingo to help those nig . . . ah. . . . to . . . well . . . just about going there.”

  Arrow was motionless. He'd known when he'd told them of his intentions there might be disagreement. He held his rigid pose for a bit, then leaned his chair back against the wall. Most of what it meant to be captain of a pirate ship was the ability to keep the crew together. They did nearly everything by majority decision. He was captain when there was a battle. He was captain when it came time to chose leeward or windward approach or when it came to the decision to spare someone's life or not. But for the decisions concerning the actual business of the ship, everyone wanted to have their say. It was his chore to listen and make his case. The proof that he had their ears and their hearts was in the fact that they always agreed to do what he wanted. Now he wanted to go to Haiti to help the black people there in their fight for freedom. He wanted to go because he could see the beginning of the end of slavery there. There, in Santo Domingo, was a powerful force just coming together under the leadership of Jean Jacques Desalines. There were stories floating about that black sailors were making their way there, especially runaways, because a liberated Haiti would probably provide legal relief from slavery.

  “So, they's worried are they?” Arrow asked finally.

  “We are white men, Cap'n. What in the world we want to go there for? We're out for the loot. If we wanted to fight for the sake of fightin' we'd have stayed in Her Majesty's Royal Navy, prison though it is. No we come out for ourselves. For the gold and the chance to get some fortune in this paradise.”

  Arrow looked up at him. “Sit down, Bill.” He watched the hulking man as he labored into the chair. “Now you know I'd cut off my arms for my men. You know that.”

  “I do, Cap'n. I know that. But . . .”

  “And I ain't white, Bill.”

  “Aye, that's a fact.”

  “But I am the captain, unless something's happened I don't know about.”

  “No Cap'n, you still Captain.”

  “That's good Bill. That's real good. Because when we weigh anchor I'm bound for Haiti.”

  “But Cap'n, it's just gonna make . . .”

  “Worried? Scared?”

  “Not scared, Cap'n. Not scared. We ain't scared of nothin'. It's just . . . well . . . as you said, you as sure as God is black and they don't hold that against you because you served our former captain well and you've shown your true colors to us on many occasions. But that don't make us blind. These islands is full of blacks. You the only one I ever met on the open water.

  “You know yourself, Bill, that there are many black pilots.”

  “Port pilots, yes, but ship captains?” He sucked his teeth. “I been all over the Caribbean and I ain't never seen no other black man but you at the helm of a ship.”

  “Well, seein' as how I have this great distinction, Bill, as your captain I order you to tell me what the devil this is all about.”

  “You see, Cap'n, up to now, the fact that you're a . . . ah . . . black wasn't a concern. You did good by us and you're one of the best sailors I know. Able. Very able. But now, you're askin' us to give comfort to those niggers in Haiti and that don't sit well.” He paused again, relieved to have said it. “It don't sit well at all. Where's the profit in that?”

  “When we took the Drury, loaded with slaves, and I say let them go or let them join us . . .”

  “We ain't slavers, Cap'n. We didn't want nothin' to do with that. That was fine by us. Let 'em go. Some white man would kill or claim them, anyway. That's just the way the world is. T
hat's not our business. We're”—again he paused, searching for a word when he knew all the time what he had to say—“we're pirates.”

  “Mind you.” Arrow put an edge in voice.

  “But we are, Cap'n. I know you don't like that word, but that's what we are. We're pirates, not mercenaries. Besides our fellow brothers are starting to laugh at us. There were two fights over at the Flyin' Fish before I left.”

  “Laughing? Why?”

  “They say we're being led by a monkey. ‘Captain Monkey' they called you, and the one who said it paid dearly. But the laughter was still there.”

  “I see.” Arrow sighed. “And the crew is affected by this talk?”

  “Aye.”

  “Bill, that ship out there is mine. Those men are mine. You,” he righted his chair and now leaned into Dirty Bill's face, “You are mine.” Their eyes locked. In Bill's he saw, for the first time a fear. At first he wasn't sure what the fear was, but as he stared into those eyes, Arrow could feel the meaning. Dirty Bill was afraid that they were approaching a parting of the way. And then the fear loosened and Dirty Bill smiled.

  “I am Cap'n Arrow. I am yours for the time. And I don't want that to change.”

  Arrow slowly brought his strong right arm up to Dirty Bill's neck, his charcoal fingers encircling the thick throated man. “I can squeeze the life right out of your empty head.” Dirty Bill tried to say something, but Arrow, swiftly brought his other hand up and put in it in front of Dirty Bill's mouth. “You needn't utter one more word, Bill. Not one more or you won't ever say momma. Or Jesus or anything. I have not killed and plundered this small world, nor served our fine Captain Threatcher 'til his untimely death with every breath I had to be bullied by you or any man. White or whatever. Now, I love you Bill, like a brother. And I will die for you. But I demand the same. Or I'll kill you right here. Right now. Do we see eye to eye?”