Blake or The Huts of America

by Martin R. Delany

  “Yes, ’ndeed, mighty dange’ous; case da larn de dog, an’ sometime ’e so famish’ dat ’e break in de hut an’ tare our po’ children to pieces!”

  “I must go with you, let come what Will!” concluded Henry.

  “Well, me frien’, I try an’ do all I kin for yeh!” finally replied the old man, conducting him from the main road leading to Matanzas into a road to the right, which led them directly to the place of Jenkin, which they reached in safety sometime after nightfall, the man immediately leaving.

  This family proved to be a choice one, on which Henry fixed his memory for future movements, he being then in search of a wife, to him at the time the greatest domestic concern on earth; made no seclusions, nor organized gatherings among his brethren of this class in Cuba. The hut was of superior construction to those of the slaves generally in the colony; the family of a superior order, proved to be native African, having learned English on the coast, French Creole at New Orleans, and Spanish at Cuba; but ten years having elapsed since they were kidnapped, the whole family by chance getting together. Their African name was Oba, the Cuban, Grande. Grande was foreman on the plantation of Jenkin, probably because of his superior intelligence; but most probably because of the fact that from the day of his advent on the place, the bloodhounds were known to fondle with his family, and never could be made to attack or even bay after one of them. This gave them reverence among brother slaves, which must have induced his attainment to this post.

  During the night bloodhounds were heard yelping, but none approached the old man Oba’s hut.

  Secrets were exchanged concerning dog charming between Henry and his new friend Grande, and much information was obtained concerning the character of Cuban planters, as well as the designs of the slaves. They were ripe for a general rising, said the old man, but God only knew where they would find a leader. These things and many more were made known to him during three days’ secretion in the family.

  “I have been with you three days and nights, Father Oba, and now must think about going,” said Henry.

  “How, me son, ye ’scape ovesee; that wat trouble me mos’,” replied the old man.

  “Your good friend Carl who brought me here, told me that Albertis had a plantation not more than ten miles from here.”

  “Yes, me son, he great frien’ to Jenkin. They both ’Merican men.”

  “Then leave the matter with me, Father Oba, and I’ll risk the chance with the overseer.”

  “What you goin’ do, me son?”

  “I’m going directly to Jenkin himself.”

  “Sho, chile, he aint goin’ to give you a pass.”

  “I’ll risk the matter; just leave it to me, father.”

  “Spose he come ax me who you is; what I goin’ tell ’im, chile?”

  “Just tell him that I called myself a slave from the next plantation; what is the name?”

  “Buena Terra Hacienda is the name, me son; the mausta name Faries.”

  “That’s enough, father, I must go. Farewell!” said Henry, directing his course across the place towards the mansion some three miles off.

  “Good-bye, me son, good-bye! Sorry you go in daylight, but hope you fool ’im good!” concluded the kind old Father Oba, gazing after him as far as he could see.

  It was dinner hour when Henry reached the mansion, and inquired of a servant if Mr. Jenkin were in, being answered in the affirmative.

  “Can I see him?” inquired Henry.

  “He’s engaged with company,” replied the servant. “Sit down here under the verandah.” Henry, thanking him, took a seat.

  The dinner being over, after two hours waiting, the master appeared on the back verandah, preceded by the servant to direct him.

  “Well, my boy, to whom do you belong?” saluted Mr. Jenkins.

  “I belong to Señor Faries of Buena Terra Hacienda, sir.”

  “Señor Faries’ boy, hey! What is your errand, my boy?”

  “To ask, sir, if you have some of the Chinese sugar-cane seed sent you from the patent office in America, that you will oblige him with a small sample.”

  “Yes, my boy, you shall have them. Stay and take your dinner with my people.” Henry, politely bowing, resumed his seat at the withdrawal of the master.

  On a visit from America was a gentleman by the name of Postlewaite, formerly of Kentucky, his body servant George, a tall, finelooking, manly, intelligent fellow, being quite a favorite with his master.

  When called, the servant approached with a dejection and submission of manner, which seemed at the moment to affect even the master himself who had caused it.

  “George, hold up your head, and don’t look down as if you were condemned to be hung!” said Postlewaite; the servant raising his eyes with a look of irrecoverable humiliation.

  “Your Negro seems to be pretty well broken; how did you manage it?” remarked Jenkin.

  “I did as you advised me; sent him to a professional whipper, who charged him with the misconduct of making free with his master.”

  “I always thought him the most confounded forward, impudent Negro I ever saw!” said Jenkin.

  “You are mistaken, Mr. Jenkin, it was not impudence nor even forwardness, as he was most delicately sensible of what was due to others, especially superiors; but I and he being raised up from childhood together, he was accustomed to look upon and treat me more as a friend and equal, than a master and superior.”

  “You may thank me, then, Mr. Postlewaite, for the change!”

  “Certain it is, sir, that had you not repeatedly called my attention to it, insisting that I must persist in punishment until he was broken, I never should have noticed his conduct.”

  “Do you think he’s completely cured?”

  “He’s completely broken, sir, and as humble as a dog. The last chastisement that Goodman gave completely reduced him, taking out the last remnant of his manhood, so that he’s as spiritless as a kitten!”

  “Who was the whipper?”

  “Goodman is his name, an American, from Pennsylvania I believe; one of your real poor white men, whom our Negro slaves so much despise and hate to have over them.”

  “He’s certainly the fellow for his work, Mr. Postlewaite; he does it well, I assure you!” concluded Jenkin.

  Postlewaite was a man of very generous disposition, and always had been indulgent to his favorite servant George; but as a master, by the force of circumstances was compelled to yield to the whims of those whose judgment, as successful planters, were reqarded as superior.

  The seed being obtained, with a note directed to “Señor Faries, Buena Terra Hacienda,” Henry left late in the afternoon, making his way toward the hacienda of the anxiously sought-for Peter Albertis.

  CHAPTER 38

  Impatience

  “Good evening, my friend! Is this the hacienda of Señor Peter Albertis?” inquired Henry, who had made good speed of some twelve miles distance since leaving the place of Jenkin; startling a man who stood at the entrance of a large gateway waiting the approach of a herd of goats from an adjoining open plain.

  “Dis si his’n,” was the reply.

  “Is he at home?”

  “No; ’e gone ’way.”

  “When did he go?”

  “Dis mornin’.”

  “Where has he gone?”

  “ ’E gone to Habana.”

  “When will he be back?”

  “I do’no.”

  “Have you an overseer?”

  “Yes, my fren’, dat we has!”

  “Where is he?”

  “ ’E gone to Tanzas to de bullfight.”

  “To Matanzas-when did he start?”

  “E jus’ gwine long down de road dar now.”

  “When will he be back?”

  “In de mornin’.”

  “In the morning–why, when does the fight take place?”

  “It take place arly, jus’ at daybreak; afteh it oveh den he come home.”

  “Who attends to the place when he
and your master are away?”

  “Black man name Dominico.”

  “Is he strict?”

  “Ah, my fren’, dat ’e is–mighty strie’!”

  “Can I see him?”

  “I do’no, my fren’, if yeh kin or no. Stop, I go see fus!”

  “How far is it to his hut?”

  “Way up yondeh, ‘bout half mile.”

  “Do you keep Negro-hounds on the place?”

  “Yes ’ndeed, dat de am, plenty on ’em!”

  “Can’t I go with you?”

  “No, my fren’, betteh stay whar yeh is, ’case de houn ’ont be out dis two hours, sich a matter yit,” replied the herdsman, supposing Henry to be afraid of the dogs, about which he cared but little, having fully learned to subdue the most ferocious of them.

  The herd, which had been slowly approaching, grazing as they moved, passed through, when the gate was securely locked, and the herdman left with his message for the hut. Half an hour having ensued, the approach of a person was seen at some distance in the clear twilight of a most beautiful West-India evening, which appeared like a shadow. As the figure drew near, Henry receded a few paces close in the corner of a hedge-fence near the gateway, partially screening himself by the overhanging branches.

  “Who is here?” inquired a voice in intelligent Creole, as the person came to the gate, discovering no one in waiting.

  “A friend!” replied Henry, the man starting at the voice.

  “If you be what you say, come forth like a man, and show yourself!” was the reply, Henry immediately coming out from the bramble.

  “Is this Dominico?” he inquired of a stalwart, fine looking black man, past the middle of life.

  “I answer to that name.”

  “Can I rest with you tonight?”

  “What is your name, and who are you?”

  “Jacob, sir,” replied Henry, cautiously concealing his nom de plume of “Gilbert,” that no traces of his rambling might be detected should he fall in with treacherous blacks disposed to betray him.

  “Where are you from, and where do you live?”

  “I cannot tell you that.”

  “What is your errand, then, that you come here at such an hour?”

  “If you’ll take me to your quarters and have a little talk till I learn more about you, then I may be ready to answer that question.”

  “My friend, I think I understand you; come with me,” concluded Dominico, starting down the lane with his friend.

  Henry soon became acquainted with this family, who were true to the cause of their race and people. Dominico and wife were the pride and counsel of all the slaves in their immediate neighborhood. The overseer was passionately fond of sporting, and always sought the absence of the master, who himself resided on the plantation, to indulge in recreation. At such times he left his trust to revel in the games and sports at Matanzas, the most of the master’s time being spent at Havana and Principe. The understanding between them seemed mutual, that Henderich, might go when he pleased, which gave an opportunity to the Dominico family to counsel and prepare the slaves for the future.

  The man who stood at the gate, apparently awaiting the goatherd to pass, was a good and trusty outpost spy, keeping the herd in check as a ruse. By this arrangement of their duty, even in the absence of the master, the privileges of the whole plantation were left entirely to themselves. This evening presented an especial privilege by the occasion of Henry’s visit.

  “What sort of a master is Albertis?” inquired he of the intelligent Dominico.

  “A mighty hard master indeed when he takes it into his head.”

  “Does he whip much?”

  “When he has been drinking or loses by gambling he is very severe and cruel.”

  “Does he drink and gamble much?”

  “Whenever he’s at home and has company. But he’s a great deal away, else some of the people wouldn’t stand him.”

  “Where is he from?”

  “Louisiana, in America.”

  “Has he a wife?”

  “No indeed; but he’s always buying handsome slave girls.”

  “Why does he buy so many?”

  “They don’t seem to like ’im. Some won’t stay with him, and them that does he soon falls out with. All such he generally sends off to America, where they bring better prices than if he sold ’em here.”

  “You say some won’t stay with him at all?”

  “No indeed they won’t. The last one he got was a mighty fine woman, I do assure you; she wouldn’t even stay in the great house where he was.”

  “Where did she stay?”

  “She stayed with my family, and he couldn’t make her go out.”

  “Did he not punish her very severely for such disobedience?” inquired Henry, becoming almost impatient with anxiety.

  “He beat her like a dog; and one evening just at dusk he came in and ordered her to leave and go over to the great house; when she refused, telling him she would not, if he killed her. He then struck her in the breast with his fist, knocking her against me, when I kept her from falling. He next gave her a kick in the side, which brought her with a scream to her knees, where for some time leaning against the bed, she was unable to speak from pain, and when she could speak she screamed whenever she drew her breath; when he ordering her with a dreadful oath to get up; and knowing what he was, as she couldn’t she put up her hands to beg him, when he jerked down that piece of iron there, and struck her across the side of the head, nearly splitting the skull, when she fell, we thought, for dead, and he walked indifferently away.”

  Henry now became so anxious concerning the fate of his wife, that for a time he suspended the inquiry, dreading the conclusion.

  “What was the name of this woman?” after some minutes reflection, which had been observed by the family of Dominico, he inquired.

  “Lotty, he called her,” was the reply; when Henry involuntarily started from his seat to the door, returning again as if unconscious of what he did.

  “Where is she now–did he sell her?” with great anxiety he inquired, the emotion being such as to almost betray his interest in her behalf.

  “He put her with his sister to break her.”

  “Who is his sister?” continued Henry with unabated anxiety.

  “Madame Garcia, at Castilian Hacienda, near Habana,” concluded Dominico, the perspiration breaking upon Henry, who spent a night of torturing impatience.

  CHAPTER 39

  The Discovery

  The morning came and with its dawn Henry was an impatient waiting spectator. Leaving one of the most interesting slave families, he reached the great road leading to Havana, where taking a diligence without interruption, in three days arrived in the precincts of Castilian Hacienda. On arriving at the mansion, the family were all in the garden, recreating among the shrubbery, enjoying an atmosphere freighted with odor, and vibrating with the melody of the feathered inhabitants.

  Late that afternoon, a sultry day, in the bower verging on a stream which fell abruptly into a craggy gully, at the extreme back part of the great thicket, sat Captains Garcia and Paul, Lieutenant Seeley and passed Midshipman Spencer, Mesdames Garcia, Bonselle, and Seeley. Henry approached them, made his respects to the gratification of the young Madame Seeley, who had been doubtful of his return; then went where the maid and children were, some distance off, though in sight in a rude pathway leading through a ravine under a rugged fence into the adjacent wildwood.

  The maid smiled as he approached, reached out her hand which was prevented from taking his by their being simultaneously raised to absorb with a white handkerchief, the tears which at that moment obscured his sight and dampened his cheeks.

  The terribly scourged little Pomp, was dejectedly playing near his young masters Miguel and Ferdinand, and Henry having cast a look upon him, the maid reasonably supposed that his emotion was a manifestation of sympathy for the child. Recovering from the emotion, he quietly stood with eyes fixed upon her.

&n
bsp; She had a careworn expression of irreconcilable trouble, unhappiness and sorrow, sunken eyes, a full suit of crimpy hair, but carelessly worn, well mixed with grey, the scar of a deep cut wound on the right angle of the forehead, and her appearance was that of a woman ten years the senior of his wife.

  “Have you any children, Lotty?” said Henry, the first word spoken, after sometime gazing upon her.

  “One!” was the only reply, when she turned away with choking emotion.

  “What is it, a boy or girl? I mean no harm in asking you.”

  “Boy, sir,” she sobbed.

  “Where is he?”

  “In Mississippi, in America.”

  “What is his name?”

  “Joe! Oh my dear little Joe!” she replied convulsed with smothered wailing.

  “Have you a husband?”

  “O! I once had a dear good husband! But O Lord, I’m now a poor wretched woman here in a strange country!”

  “Where is your husband?”

  “He’s there too, in the Mississippi.”

  “What was your husband’s name?”

  “Henry Hol——”

  “O! My God! Is this my wife!” he exclaimed, at the moment when was heard the frightful yelping of approaching dogs, having in chase a large guana,* which rushing pass, brushed the skirt of her dress, when screaming, Maggie stood supported in the arms of her husband.

  “O Henry! O me, what shall I do! O, this ain’t you! O, what shall I do! Mistress will kill me! O Henry! O Henry, is this you!”

  “Yes, yes, my poor wife! this is your——”

  “Do you see that jade?” said Madame Garcia, Henry stopping to catch the words. “In spite of all I can do, she will put on airs in the presence of white persons, and I’m determined to break her, if I have to break her neck!”

  “Poor thing, she couldn’t help doing so! I’m sure that ugly creature is enough to frighten any one. I’m as afraid of them as death,” replied Madame Bonselle.

  “She’s not afraid of them; she only wants to show herself before that Negro man of Madame Seeley, that’s all!”

  The game being caught, the baying of the dogs and noisy jabber of the slaves who poured in eager pursuit to the lawn in large numbers, was such that the company retired to the Verandah to escape the annoyance.