Blake or The Huts of America

by Martin R. Delany

  *This cruelty of fastening slaves in a tight room, smoking them with burning rags, and burning them with a hot smoothing iron, has often been done in the South.

  *The time of Henry’s sale in Mississippi, and all of the circumstances, antecede the dates given by several years.

  *Manumitted, set free and enfranchised–terms used in the free papers of manumitted persons in America.

  CHAPTER 41

  Obscurity

  On their arrival in Havana, Henry found lodgings for himself and wife in an obscure but very respectable old black family, consisting of man and wife, with a half-grown adopted daughter, the wife too aged to do the active services of the family; the husband being a stevedore made his means by superintending the loading of vessels at the quay, by the employment of large numbers of men. The house was in an obscure and retired locality, the family being, seemingly, without acquaintances or visitors.

  This evening the Omnipotence of God was satisfactorily verified and established to depart from them “no more forever,” in the living reality, as they sat together in the neat and comfortable little back room, assigned them in the humble abode of old man Zoda and wife Huldah Ghu.

  Here was told that unparalleled tale of sorrow to a husband never expected again to be seen by the wife; and his narrated facts, unequalled in the living history of a slave; concerning the determined efforts of that husband to reach the wife, and rescue her from thralldom at the risk of every consequence.

  Goaded and oppressed by a master known to be her own father, under circumstances revolting to humanity, civilization and Christianity, she had been ruthlessly torn from her child, husband and mother, and sold to a foreign land, all because, by the instincts of nature–if by the honor of a wife and womanhood she had not been justified–she repelled him. Sold again to a severe mistress, then to a heartless, cruel man for the worst of designs, by whom she had been almost daily beaten, frequently knocked down, kicked and stamped on, once struck and left for dead; and even smoked and burnt to subdue her. During these sufferings and those untold, her faith had often faltered, and she had staggered at the thought of believing that “God was no respecter of persons.”

  Maddened to desperation at the tearing away of his wife during his absence from her child and home, he had confronted his master at the hazard of life, been set upon the auction block in the midst of an assemblage of anxious slavetraders, escaped being sold, traversed the greater part of the slaveholding states amid dangers the most imminent; been pursued, taken, and escaped, frequently during which time, he, too, had his faith much shaken, and found his dependence in Divine aid wavering. But God to them, however their unworthiness, had fully made manifest Himself, and established their faith in His promises, by again permitting them to meet each other under circumstances so singular and extraordinary.

  The heartbroken look, hopeless countenance, languid eye, and dejected appearance of the gray-haired, apparently aged, sorrow-stricken Lotty, the nurse of Adelaide Garcia, was now succeeded by the buoyant spirit, handsome smile and brilliant-eyed Maggie Holland, though the sunken sockets, and gray-smitten hairs still remained, which time and circumstances would doubtless much improve.

  “God be thanked for this privilege!” said Henry, as he sat with his wife leaning upon his knees, looking in his face, her right hand resting on his shoulder, his left supporting her waist.

  “God’s name be praised!” responded Maggie both laughing and crying at the same time.

  Henry here, as rapidly as possible, detailed to her his plans and schemes; and the next day imparted his grand design upon Cuba. At this information she was much alarmed, and could not comprehend that an ordinary man and American slave such as he, should project such an undertaking.

  “Never mind, wife, you will know better by-and-by,” was the only answer he would give, with a smile, at his wife’s searching inquiries.

  “Oh, husband don’t have anything to do with it; as we are now both free and happy, let us attend to our own affairs. I think you have done enough.”

  “I am not free, wife, by their acknowledgment, as you are, but have escaped; they can take me whenever they catch me.”

  “I think, then, you might let them alone.”

  “As God lives, I will avenge your wrongs; and not until they let us alone–cease to steal away our people from their native country and oppress us in their own-will I let them alone. They shall only live–while I live–under the most alarming apprehensions. Our whole race among them must be brought to this determination, and then, and not til then, will they fear and respect us.”

  “I don’t know, husband, I may be wrong, and I expect you will say so; but I think our people had better not attempt any such thing, but be satisfied as we are among the whites, and God, in His appointed time, will do what is required.”

  “My dear wife, you have much yet to learn in solving the problem of this great question of the destiny of our race. I’ll give you one to work out at your leisure; it is this: Whatever liberty is worth to the whites, it is worth to the blacks; therefore, whatever it cost the whites to obtain it, the blacks would be willing and ready to pay, if they desire it. Work out this question in political arithmetic at your leisure, wife, and by the time you get through and fully understand the rule, then you will be ready to discuss the subject further with me.” Maggie smiled and sighed, but said no more on the subject.

  CHAPTER 42

  The Interview–Blake

  Having placed his money in the keeping of his wife, Henry suggested that, having enjoyed a good rest of two days pleasure in her company, a visit in the city to make some acquaintances was indispensable at such a juncture.

  His first object was to find the residence of the distinguished poet of Cuba, Placido;[27] being directed to a large building occupied below, in the upper story of which was the study of the poet. On giving a light tap at the door, a voice in a somewhat suppressed but highly musical tone said, “Come in!” On entering: the stare of a person of slender form, lean and sinewy, rather morbid, orange-peel complexion, black hair hanging lively quite to the shoulders, heavy deep brow and full moustache, with great expressive black piercing eyes, with pen in hand, sitting with right side to the table looking over the left shoulder toward the door, occupied the study.

  “Be seated, sir!” said the yellow gentleman, as Henry, politely bowing raised his cap, advancing toward the table.

  “I am looking, sir, for the proprietor of the room,” said Henry.

  “I am the person,” replied the gentleman.

  “The poet, sir, I believe,” continued he.

  “I may not answer your expectation, sir!” modestly answered the gentleman.

  “Your name, sir?” inquired Henry.

  “Placido” was the reply; at which Henry rose to his feet, respectfully bowing.

  “May I inquire your name?” asked the poet.

  “Blacus, sir.” replied he.

  “A familiar name to me. Many years ago I had a cousin of that name, an active, intelligent youth, the son of a wealthy black tobacco, cigar, and snuff manufacturer, who left school and went to sea, since when his parents still living, who doted in him with high hopes of his future usefulness, have known nothing of him,” explained Placido.

  “What was his Christian name, sir?”

  “Carolus Henrico.”

  “Cousin, don’t you know me?” said Henry in a familiar voice, after nearly twenty years absence. “I am Carolus Henrico Blacus, your cousin and schoolmate, who nineteeen years ago went to the Mediterranean. I dropped Carolus and Anglicized my name to prevent identify, going by the name of Henry Blake.”

  “Is it delusion or reality!” replied Placido with emotion.

  “It is reality. I am the lost boy of Cuba,” said Henry, when they mutually rushed into each others arms.

  “Where in God’s name have you been, cousin Henry–and what have you been doing?”

  “My story, Placido, is easily told–the particulars you may get from one w
ho will be more ready than I to give you details.”

  “Who is that you——”

  “I will tell you presently; but first to my story. When I left father’s house at the age of seventeen, I went to sea on what I believed to be a Spanish man-of-war. I was put as apprentice, stood before the mast, the ship standing east for the Western coast of Africa, as I thought for the Mediterranean. On arriving on the coast, she put into the Bight of Benin near Wydah; was freighted with slaves–her true character then being but too well known–when she again put to sea, standing as I thought for Cuba, but instead, put into Key West, where she quickly disposed of her cargo to Americans. My expression of dissatisfaction at being deceived offended the commander, who immediately sold me to a noted trader on the spot–one Colonel Franks, of Mississippi, near Natchez. He seized me under loud and solemn protest, collared and choked me, declaring me to be his slave. By recommendations from the commander, whose name was Maria Gomez, that I would become a good sailor, I was left with him, to return as apprentice to marine services, making three voyages, returning with as many cargoes, once to Brazil, once more to Key West, and once to Matanzas, Cuba, each of which times I was put in irons on landing, and kept in close confinement during the vessel’s stay lest I ran away. The last cargo was taken to Key West, where Franks was in waiting, when a final settlement of the affairs resulted in my being taken by him to the United States, and there held as a slave, where in a few years I became enamored with a handsome young slave girl, a daughter of his (the mother being a black slave) married, have one living child, and thus entangled, had only to wait and watch an opportunity for years to do what has just now been affected,” narrated Henry to the astonishment of his intelligent auditor, who, during the time, stood pen in hand, with eyes fixed upon him.

  “Just God!” exclaimed Placido: “how merciful He is! Who could have believed it! And you are also a sailor, Henry?”

  “I am, cousin; and have served the hardest apprenticeship at the business, I do assure you; I have gone through all the grades, from common seaman to first mate, and always on the coast had full command, as no white men manage vessels in the African waters, that being entirely given up to the blacks.”

  “I really was not aware of that before; you surprise me!” said Placido.

  “That is so! Every vessel of every nation, whether trader or man-of-war, so soon as they enter African waters are manned and managed by native blacks, the whites being unable to stand the climate.”

  “That, then, opens up to me an entirely new field of thought.”

  “And so it does. It did to me, and I’ve no doubt it does so to every man of thought, black or white.”

  “Give me your hand, Henry”-both clasping hands-“now by the instincts of our nature, and mutual sympathy in the common cause of our race, pledge to me on the hazard of our political destiny what you intend to do.”

  “Placido, the hazard is too much! Were it lost, the price is too great–I could not pay it. But I read across the water, in a Cuba journal at New Orleans, a lyric from your pen, in which the fire of liberty blazed as from the altar of a freeman’s heart. I therefore make no hazard when I this to you impart: I have come to Cuba to help to free my race; and that which I desire here to do, I’ve done in another place.”

  “Amen!” exclaimed Placido. “Heaven certainly designed it, and directed you here at this most auspicious moment, that the oppressed of Cuba also may ‘declare the glory of God!’ ”

  “Have you thought much in that direction, Placido?”

  “I have, though I’ve done but little, and had just finished the last word of the last stanza of a short poem intended to be read at a social gathering to be held at the house of a friend one evening this week, which meets for the express purpose of maturing some plan of action.”

  “Read it.”

  “I will; tell me what you think of it:

  Were I a slave I would be free!

  I would not live to live a slave;

  But rise and strike for liberty,

  For Freedom, or a martyr’s grave!

  One look upon the bloody scourge,

  Would rouse my soul to brave the fight,

  And all that’s human in me urge,

  To battle for my innate right!

  One look upon the tyrant’s chains,

  Would draw my sabre from its sheath,

  And drive the hot blood through my veins,

  To rush for liberty or death!

  One look upon my tortured wife,

  Shrieking beneath the driver’s blows,

  Would nerve me on to desp’rate strife,

  Nor would I spare her dastard foes!

  Arm’d with the vindicating brand,

  For once the tyrant’s heart should feel;

  No milk-sop plea should stay my hand,

  The slave’s great wrong would drive the steel!

  Away the unavailing plea!

  Of peace, the tyrant’s blood to spare;

  If you would set the captive free,

  Teach him for freedom bold to dare!

  To throw his galling fetters by,

  To wing the cry on every breath,

  Determined manhood’s conquering cry,

  For Justice, Liberty, or death![28]

  “If Heaven decreed my advent here–and I believe it did-it was to have my spirits renewed and soul inspired by that stimulating appeal, such as before never reached the ear of a poor, weary, faltering bondman, Placido. I thank God that it has been my lot to hear it, culled fresh from your fertile brain. Were there but a smoldering spark nearly extinguished in the smothered embers of my doubts and fears, it is now kindled into a flame, which can only be quenched by the regenerating waters of unconditional emancipation.”

  “Ah, cousin, though you consider us here free–those I mean who are not the slaves of white man–I do assure you that my soul as much as yours pants for a draft from the fountain of liberty! We are not free, but merely exist by suffrance–a miserable life for intelligent people, to be sure!”

  “You, Placido, are the man for the times!”

  “Don’t flatter, Henry; I’m not.”

  “You are, and its no flattery to say so. The expression of an honest conviction is not flattery. When the spirits of the Christian begin to droop, to hear the word of life is refreshing to the soul. That is precisely my case at present.”

  “Then you have the vital spark in you?”

  “Ah, Placido, I often think of the peaceful hours I once enjoyed at the common altar of the professing Christian. I then believed in what was popularly termed religion, as practised in all the slave states of America; I was devoted to my church, and loved to hear on a Sabbath the word of God spoken by him whom I believed to be a man of God. But how sadly have I been deceived! I still believe in God, and have faith in His promises; but serving Him in the way that I was, I had only ‘the shadow without the substance,’ the religion of my oppressors. I thank God that He timely opened my eyes.”

  “In this, Henry, I believe you are right; I long since saw it, but you are clear on the subject. I had not thought so much as that.”

  “Then as we agree, let us at once drop the religion of our oppressors, and take the Scriptures for our guide and Christ as our example.”

  “What difference will that make to us? I merely ask for information, seeing you have matured the subject.”

  “The difference will be just this, Placido–that we shall not be disciplined in our worship, obedience as slaves to our master, the slaveholders, by associating in our mind with that religion, submission to the oppressor’s will.”

  “I see, Henry, it is plain; and every day convinces me that we have much yet to learn to fit us for freedom.”

  “I differ with you, Placido; we know enough now, and all that remains to be done, is to make ourselves free, and then put what we know into practice. We know much more than we dare attempt to do. We want space for action–elbow room; and in order to obtain it, we must shove our oppresso
rs out of the way.”

  “Heaven has indeed, I repeat, decreed your advent here to——”

  “Learn of you!” interrupted Henry.

  “No; but to teach us just what we needed,” replied Placido.

  “God grant us, then, a successful harmony of sentiment!” responded Henry.

  “Grant that we may see eye to eye!” exclaimed Placido.

  “Amen, amen!” concluded Henry when relinquishing hands they mutually clasped, embracing in each others’ arms.

  “Tell me now, cousin, to whom did you allude when you first came in, as the person from whom I should obtain details of your life?”

  “My wife.”

  “Is she here?”

  “She is,” replied Henry relating all the particulars of their separation and reunion.

  “Where have you got her?”

  “At the house of an old family, west of the Plaza; Zoda and Huldah Ghu are their names; the man is a stevedore.”

  “She must not remain there.”

  “Why?” asked Henry.

  “I deem it an unsafe quarter under the circumstances–that’s all,” suggested Placido.

  “Then she is committed to your charge. Come with me to see her.”

  “Gladly will I do so; but tell me this before we leave–whither are you bound, cousin?”

  “I go directly to Matanzas, to take out a slaver as sailing-master, with the intention of taking her in mid-ocean as a prize for ourselves, as we must have a vessel at our command before we make a strike. She is also freighted with powder for Dahomi, with several fine field pieces, none of which, I learned, were to be disposed of, but safely deposited at the slaver’s rendezvous in an island which I know off the African coast, for future use in trade. I am well acquainted with the native Krumen on the coast, many of the heads of whom speak several European tongues, and as sailing-master, I can obtain as many as I wish, who will make a powerful force in carrying out my scheme on the vessel.”