Blake or The Huts of America

by Martin R. Delany

  “I thank God for this interview. Henry, I thank God. Come, let’s go and see your wife,” said Placido in conclusion, when they left the poet’s study for the hut of Zoda Ghu, back of the Plazas.

  CHAPTER 43

  Meeting and Greeting

  The poet having been introduced as the cousin of Henry, Maggie was without ceremony taken to Henry’s father, the uncle of Placido, and there introduced as the wife of an old friend of his, it being understood that Henry was to remain incognito, as they could not possibly have the slightest idea of him. Madam Blake was to remain as a guest, till the return of her husband from a voyage at sea, with which fact the poet was familiar.

  Here everything around was strange to Maggie, who found herself suddenly transferred from wretchedness as a slave on the hacienda of Emanuel Garcia, to that of the happiness of a lady in the elegant mansion of one of the wealthiest and most refined black merchants in the West Indies. Everything was kindness and affection, and but for the thought of the absence of her husband for a time, she would have been the happiest of women. But now she had reconciled herself to his course, for since meeting with the poet, she was satisfied that he was not alone in the important scheme for the redemption of his race.

  CHAPTER 44

  Seeking Employment

  With an affectionate leave of his wife, concealing from her his real movement (she rather suspecting his return to America), with sack in hand Blake started ere a member of the family stirred.

  Early this morning a soft rap at the door aroused the poet, who lodged in his study.

  “It is not possible,” said he on opening the door, “you are off already?”

  “Yes, cousin, I must be off to meet the vessel in time, as she’ll make no delay.”

  “That’s right, but tell me how you know of the situation, when you were here yesterday?”

  “I knew the place was vacant and a black preferred to fill it, and none other to take it than myself; whom if they could not secure, they intended to sail without the office being filled.”

  “That explains. Well, I must say——”

  “Goodbye, cousin!” interrupted Blake, reaching out his hand.

  “Goodbye!” responded Placido, when soon Blake was in a diligence hastening on towards Matanzas.

  The next morning he approached the vessel lying at her moorings in the harbor; a burly Portuguese, an excellent seaman, standing on her quarterdeck.

  “Ship ahoy!” cried the black in familiar nautical phrase.

  “Aye, aye!” answered the Portuguese.

  “Master aboard, sir?”

  “I answer to that name; what’s the matter?”

  “I wish to speak to him.”

  “Come along, my hardy!” he replied in true sailor language.

  Taking from his pocket a certificate of his marine qualifications, obtained when he left the slaver at Florida, and which he always managed to keep from Franks, who had lost sight entirely of it-he presented it, soliciting the situation of sailing-master, having learned that the proprietors preferred black seaman.

  “You are the very black that I’ve been looking for,” said the Portuguese.

  “Have you known of me before, sir?” enquired Blake with no anxiety.

  “No,” replied the Portuguese, “but I’m in want of just such a larky as you; a likely good-looking black to wrestle with the storms and uptrip the hurricanes. By your looks a grin from you would fascinate a mermaid; the flash of your eye obscure the most vivid streak of lightning, and the sound of your voice silence the loudest clap of thunder. Have you ever stayed a tempest and quieted the raging seas?”

  “No sir,” was the simple reply to all this tirade. “You are the master commanding, I believe?”

  “No; my name is Señor Jose Castello, first mate of the ‘Vulture.’ Can you remember that?” assumptiously said the Portuguese in the true style of a slaver.

  “I can, sir,” answered Blake.

  “Can you read?” continued Castello.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Henry, sir,” Blake now adopting his own name instead of Gilbert, the name by which he went to Cuba.

  “Henry what? can’t you afford another name? Your daddy must have been a poor man.”

  “Blake, sir.”

  “Ah! I thought you would be able to raise another. Are you English? I see you have an English name.”

  “African born, sir, and Spanish bred,” was the reply.

  “How in the name of St. Peter did you come by that English name of yours?”

  “Henrico Blacus was my name in Spanish, but being much among the English, they called me Henry Blake.”

  “Ah ha! I see” replied Castello, with seeming satisfaction from the interview. “Been on the coast, I see by your papers.”

  “Yes,” said Blake, “I have.”

  “The coast is divided into three trades; ivory, gold, and slave. Which of them have you been in? Do you take?” knowingly explained the Portuguese, concluding with that quaint expression.

  “I cannot inform you, sir,” replied Blake, seizing the opportunity to gain a point. “In this my honor is at stake; I cannot betray my trust!”

  “Good man, and good talk!” exclaimed the Portuguese, who had the employment of the hands on board. “You’re the sailing-master of the ‘Vulture’ at your own wages! Doff duds!”* When making a low bow, wheeling around, going down the gangway to the quay, Blake picked up his luggage which had been left ashore, went on board, entering immediately on duty.

  *Doff duds–a nautical phrase, meaning “pull off clothes,” or “get ready for work.”

  CHAPTER 45

  Coastward Bound

  The old ship “Merchantman” fitted up at Baltimore and brought to Matanzas, had been changed in name to “Vulture,” and a slight alteration from the original intention had been made in the arrangements. Lieutenant Seeley, who was to have filled the post of supercargo, through the influence of his lady abandoned the enterprise entirely; passed Midshipman Spencer being appointed in his place. Captains Paul and Garcia, and Royer and Castello, were to be respectively commanders and mates in the order of the list, to represent their national character, as occasion required them to sail under either American or Spanish colors. The most active preparations were being made, and besides the officers already named, there were thirty other whites, many of whom were Americans, all shipped as common seamen, but in reality were supernumeraries retained to meet a contingency and check an emergency such as might ensue, as the real working hands of the vessel were blacks.

  All eyes seemed fixed on Blake. His movements were of the most energetic and decisive character, being those of one adapted if not accustomed to give orders. From point to point, giving orders; sometimes scaling the shrouds among the rigging, at another moment mounting the topmasts with an ease and dexterity that astonished the superior officers. An expression of deep concern and anxiety marked the motions of his countenance.

  Presently a boy on shore approached, to whom he beckoned, the lad passing quickly up the gangway handing him a note which hastily opening he read, saying in answer, “Tell her I shan’t be gone long!” tearing it into fragments and casting them into the water; the boy bowing left the ship.

  A fragment of this note fell upon the deck unobserved by Blake, which through curiosity was picked up by Castello, the words on which read:

  Faithfully yours to the end of the war

  PLACIDO

  “A letter from his wife I reckon!” said Captain Paul who had just come on board behind the boy. “I’m glad you secured him, he’s a good fellow, all things considered.”

  “You know him then?” enquired Castello.

  “Yes, yes–he came to Cuba with my company.”

  “What in St. Peter can she mean by this termination of the letter! ‘Yours to the end of the war!’ This I can’t understand: ‘Placido,’ as its signed, I suppose is her father’s name.”

  “I don’t know; h
is name is Gilbert,” replied Paul.

  “Gilbert! He shipped as Henry Blake,” said Castello.

  “No matter; I suppose he wants to conceal his identity in the business!” suggested Paul.

  “Yes, yes!” replied Castello. “I noticed he had a good deal of feeling about the thing, and talked about his ‘honor’ being at stake.”

  “That explains,” said Paul, “why his wife covers herself under a fictitious name, and conceals the business he is in, as if he was going to ‘war.’ ”

  “That explains it!” concluded Castello, satisfied with the tattling fragment of the billet.

  The vessel was arranged to carry two thousand slaves, with full provisions for a nine months’ voyage. All things being in readiness and all hands to their posts, with the Spanish colors flying from the peak, under the stern command of Emanuel Garcia, who boldly stood upon the quarterdeck to take her out of the harbor, she sailed in April, near the first of May, for the Western Coast of Africa.

  CHAPTER 46

  Trans-Atlantic

  Scarcely had the “Vulture” reached the outside of the harbor before Paul appeared with glass in hand, aside of Captain Garcia, at whose orders the Spanish colors were run down and the American hoisted in their stead. Paul was an able and experienced officer, who, according to usage in the trade, had taken this position as protection against the British West India cruisers, it being a disputed point that they have a right to search American vessels for slaves, however suspicious the vessel.[29]

  “A fine breeze!” remarked Paul.

  “Quite so,” replied Garcia, who still stood at his side.

  “What do you think of the black?” continued Paul, referring to the sailing-master.

  “A strange fellow indeed! I cannot understand him. I hope he may turn out all right. I can’t understand as you do that signing of the note sent him, ‘till the end of the war.’ ”

  “That may have been caused by the ignorance of his wife who sent it,” explained Paul.

  “Not a bit of it! I know her well. She’s far from being ignorant, and knows only too well what to say and how to say it. Besides, the note was not from her, but the noted Negro or mulatto poet, Placido, an educated fellow who visits among the first white families in Havana, and even attends the levees of the Captain General. I noticed this blunder, but feared to excite the suspicions of Castello and others,” explained Garcia.

  “Well really, well really!” said Paul with a tuck of the lips and a sigh.

  ‘There’s certainly something brewing among the Negroes, as it is not long since much sensation was produced by the appearance of a prayer written by the mulatto poet, in which Heaven was invoked in the name of the slaves of Cuba.”

  “It then must mean something more than a Negro blunder,” remarked Paul.

  “I fear so, really; and we should, in self-defence, if nothing more, keep a strict eye upon him and the Negroes on board.”

  “I’ll go bail for that! Blame me if he escapes the sight of my eye!” said Paul. “I can see a nigger through the decks.”

  “Yes, but you can’t regard him as a common Negro, Captain Paul–one who possesses his intelligence–and I shall never forget the shrewdness with which he managed the purchase of the girl Lotty. Peter Albertis is regarded as one of the most discreet men, and anyone who outdoes him is not to be trifled with, I do assure,” said Garcia, “but——”

  “A sail!” cried a voice from aloft,* Paul immediately sweeping the ocean with his glass.

  “What of a sail, Captain Paul?” inquired Spencer just emerging from the companionway.

  “I see a vessel in the distance; a brigantine. British flag, by Harry!” replied Paul.

  “How does she stem?” asked Garcia.

  “She quarters our starboard bow.”

  During this time the black sailing-master stood upon the forecastle viewing with a steady eye all that passed, while the blacks on board all turned their attention toward him. A change suddenly came over his countenance–a stern look of grim satisfaction; while great anxiety, with flushes of excitement and fear, were apparent among the whites. The secret soon revealed itself. The British cruiser “Sea Gull,” which had suspected and been watching the movements of the “Vulture,” had now entered chase after her, gaining most rapidly, when the shaft broke, and the screw was disabled for service. On spreading her sails she was found inadequate to vie with the Baltimore clipper, and was consequently left in the distance, while the slaver proudly riding the waves arrogantly defied her approach.

  “There has something gone wrong about her,” said Paul. “As you see she has hoisted the canvas.”

  “If she could catch us every man would be hung,” said Spencer with fright.

  “All except the Negroes, you mean. These they’d take to the colonies, and put them in office to rule the whites,” sarcastically replied Paul.

  The whites raised a shout at the accident to the “Sea Gull,” which was then very evident. In this the blacks did not participate, being governed entirely by the apparent feelings of their head on board, upon whom they invariably cast a look at every incident. Did he but smile or give a look of approbation, the bland grin was seen to light up the dark gloom of their sombre faces; but did he look grave or ignore by notice passing events, then they too appeared as sad as pallbearers in a funeral train. All this to the whites was significant and foreboding; but whence the beginning and whither the end, was incomprehensible to them.

  The Negroes fully understood themselves, as arrangement had been made with the old stevedore, Zada Ghu, who, in connection with the loading the vessel, also procured for the “Vulture” Negro sailors, which having obtained, were assembled at his house ready to start for Matanzas, when fortunately Blake made his appearance just in time to instruct them. They knew their man, and understood themselves, and, so understanding, acted well their part.

  For several hours pushing the chase without advantage, the “Sea Gull” tacked about and was suddenly lost to view. Paul eagerly surveyed the seas, when not but sky and water could be seen. Scaling the shrouds, Blake for an hour or more sat on the mizzenmast scanning the ocean.

  The clouds which partially curtained the zenith had disappeared, the sun was fast receding from the horizon, the prospect which had been doubtful now seemed definite, and the beautiful crimson sky splendidly contrasted with the sublimity of the black and gloomy gulf beneath. It was then that the vastness of Omnipotence was felt and realised in all its grandeur; it was then the human heart manifested its most delicate sympathies; it was then that the soul poured forth from its hidden recesses those gifts of God to man; the Divine sentiment of benevolence, philanthropy and charity in tender accents of compassionate regard in Christian solicitude. The soul then dives into the mysteries of godliness or soars to the realms of bliss, when the reflector, for the time, is lost entirely to external objects.

  Orders being given for the evening, and Garcia on watch, Paul entered the cabin, taking his seat with more than ordinary soberness, being closely eyed by his ship fellows. Here, quite unexpectedly, he acknowledged his error in a matter which all had forgotten, manifested remorse, making admissions which surprised them all. He renounced the traffic in slaves as vile, accusing parties in New York for his participance in it. They first induced him to engage in it, when, finding it lucrative, he had subsequently made it a livelihood. But he would offend Heaven no longer–he had gone his last voyage, and then would have quit, but could not get from the vessel. He would relinquish all agency as far as he could in the interest of the voyage they were then making.

  “At an unguarded moment,” said Paul, “when self-interest was all prevalent with me, I suffered myself, through political motives, to be forced into this thing, who, like Satan, not content with his own rebellion against Heaven, but corrupted some of the Angels, dragging them from Paradise with him.”*

  Spencer, who was young, regretted the part he had taken in the affair at New York, and hoped that one who had proven herself a
n honor to her sex, whose heart knew nothing but goodness, having, in his estimation, no other attribute than kindness, would forgive him. He had just entered the business of slave trading; knew nothing about it, and should abandon the enterprise on his return, and sooner, did he have an opportunity of leaving the vessel.

  So explaining and understanding each other, they went to their berths to await with anxiety a return of morning. But the blacks and Spaniards, though not intended for their ears, had caught every word that fell from the Americans, to the joy of the one, and the sadness of the others. Joy to the Negroes who designed upon the Spaniards and sadness to the Spaniards who feared the Negroes. Though they paced the decks in their respective quarters, as if picket guarding each other, they mutually withdrew for the evening, and rested quietly till duty required their presence.

  *Slavers always keep a “lookout,” aloft, as the person is termed.

  *The author met with an old slave-trading master of a vessel, who admitted his wrongs, and seemed sorely to repent his great sins.

  CHAPTER 47

  Significant

  Early next morning, the first indication of the kind since the ship set sail, was the attention of the whites being arrested by a merry sea song of the blacks, which they chanted with cheerful glee, and rather portentous mood and decisive air:

  My country, the land of my birth,

  Farewell to thy fetters and thee!

  The by-word of tyrants–the scorn of the earth,

  A mockery to all thou shalt be!

  Hurra, for the sea and its waves!

  Ye billows and surges, all hail!

  My brothers henceforth–for ye scorn to be SLAVES,

  As ye toss up your crests to the gale;