Blake or The Huts of America

by Martin R. Delany

  Farewell to the land of the blood-hound and chain,

  My path is away o’er the fetterless main!

  George Royer, the American mate, full of ardor and patriotism, hastening on deck, commanded immediate silence. Aware of the change that had taken place in his superior, Captain Paul, he felt the more sensible that the song was a taunt by the blacks to the Americans. To this order the Negroes paid little attention, but continued singing the more cheerfully. Startling suspicions at once impressed him that the blacks designed a mutiny with the Negro sailing-master at their head, and Blake now became a dread. Hastening to the master’s room and imparting his convictions, Garcia, followed by Captain Paul, who also heard the message, was quickly on the deck.

  “Silence!” commanded the Spaniard. “What in the name of St. Joseph does all this mean?” when Blake, raising his hand, the blacks instantly ceased.

  “What is the meaning of this disturbance, Blake?” inquired Paul on the Negroes’ ceasing.

  “There has been none, sir!” was the reply.

  “Were not the commands of the second officer, Mr. Royer, disobeyed?” continued Paul.

  ‘They were not, sir. ‘Less noise’ was the command, and they sung easier though it may have been more cheerfully. My people are merry when they work, especially at sea; and they must not be denied the right to sing, a privilege allowed seamen the world over!”

  “Is that all?” asked Paul sharply, who, although declining a participance in the trade of the voyage, still held his commanding authority, representing the American interest.

  “It is, sir!” replied Blake with feeling.

  “Then I see no cause to fault them! Cheerily, then my lads, cheerily!” said Paul, who went directly to the cabin, when the Negroes at the command of their leader commenced more cheerfully to sing:

  O Cuba! ’tis in thee

  Dark land of slavery,

  In thee we groan!

  Long have our chains been worn,

  Long has our grief been borne,

  Our flesh has long been torn,

  Even from our bones!

  The white man rules the day,

  He bears despotic sway,

  O’er all the land;

  He wields the tyrant’s rod,

  Fearless of man or God,

  And at his impious nod,

  We fall or stand!

  O, shall we longer bleed![30]

  “Do you hear that?” exclaimed Royer, who also had gone to the cabin, but then stood in the companion way in a sulky mood at the course pursued by his superior. ‘These Negroes are determined on mischief, and we will have to keep a close watch over them, if we wish to keep gashes out of our throats!”

  “Let us neither invite nor provoke those gashes to be made, Mr. Royer. Our overzealousness sometimes, in a good or a bad cause, if you please, makes us aggravate the resentment we are endeavoring to stave off.”

  “Well, time will show who is right!” concluded Royer, pressing his lips to suppress the feeling.

  “And so it will as well prove who is wrong!” replied the captain in conclusion.

  Subsequently both Garcia and Royer became quite pleasantly disposed, treating with civility and even affability the entire ship’s company, frequently jesting with the common seamen with whom they met in the course of their duty. And the Negroes being mostly hired slaves,* and heretofore restricted in their movements about the ship, then boldly walked at will over the vessel, enjoying all the privileges of common seamen. The tone and sentiment of things had changed, and every one felt himself at liberty, and on terms of friendship with his fellows.

  Fine weather and fine sailing now sped the vessel swiftly over the bosom of the ocean, each heart rejoicing, and each feeling seemingly satisfied that–

  No mail clad serfs, obedient to their lord,

  In grim array the crimson cross demand,

  Or gay assemble round the festive board.

  Their chief’s retainers–an immortal band.

  Though Paul may, and doubtless will be censured for his course, and convicted of timidity and weakness, if not cowardice and want of integrity, but the sequel will prove him to have been right and his course suited to the circumstances.

  Among the blacks there was a singular character, comical in appearance, and comic by nature. His wit was surprisingly ready and almost unbounded, and provokingly ludicrous. Irony and satire abounded in almost everything he said, so that he became the attraction of all on board. Both Royer and Castello much disliked him and fain would have summarily disposed of him, had fears not prevented. Gascar was a youth in adolescence, and being of slightly curved spine, with rather long legs and broad shoulders, though low stature–all of which were congenital–when he spoke and looked up, his expression was most striking, and he knew it.

  “What are you doing there, you stack of black cats! Get up out of that!” said Royer, as the boy sat on a coil of rope upon the deck.

  “Take care dat black cat don’t scratch somebody!” responded the boy, throwing up his eyes in Royer’s face, at which there was a roar of laughter from the whites present.

  “There,” said the mate, “you see what I told you, Captain!”

  “I see nothing, sir; I see nothing!” tartly replied Paul.

  “If I had my way, I’d keep the Negroes in their place!” muttered Royer, which Gascar hearing, as though he had not noticed it, instantly commenced humming, loud enough to be heard by all,

  I’m a goin’ to Afraka,

  Where de white man dare not stay;

  I ketch ’im by de collar,

  Den de white man holler;

  I hit ’im on de pate,

  Den I make ’im blate!

  I seize ’im by de throat–

  Laud!–he beller like a goat!*

  Hastening away, Royer declared that the only place where a white man was safe and a Negro taught to know his place, was the United States; and he cared not to go, not to live anywhere else but there. Business alone compelled him to do otherwise, and did he but get back, he would never again leave his native country, as the last few days’ experience had taught him no other was equal to it. In his own country a white man was all that he desired to be; and out of it, he was no better than a Negro. Such a state of things would not do for him, and he determined never again to place himself in a position to bear them.

  “I see——” said Royer.

  “A sail!” cried out Gascar, interrupting the sentence, when every eye was again strained over the ocean, and anxiety once more arresting their attention.

  *Slaves are kept and hired to parties by the day or month, as a source of income to their master.

  *This song was sung by a little black boy, sitting by himself on a fence in the South, musing.

  CHAPTER 48

  Making the Coast

  This day anxiety pervaded, and every eye was put upon the sketch, not only to get a glimpse of the portentious coast of Africa, but also in fearful anticipation of a pursuit by the British cruiser “Medusa,” whose prowess along the Gulf of Guinea was fearfully notorious to the slaves. The Kings of Dahomi and Ashanti were compelled to respect it in a manner which gave terror to the traders. Though every glass at command was levelled at every point of compass over the seas, yet not a sail was descried, and a surmise was justly concluded, that the distant object had its origin in the productive imagination of the comic seaman Gascar. For his imposition the impertinent black would have met at the hands of the crude American a severe chastisement, but the words of the song still rang in his ears, that he was:

  Goin’ to Afraka

  Where de white man dare not stay.

  With this impression that “cats” however black, may “scratch” as well as others, the mate was contented to let things take their natural course, provided they grew no worse than they had been. The blacks were now closely watched, their every motion being noticed, and Blake was now looked upon with the greatest possible interest. On sailed the vessel like a goddess of t
he water, gracefully gliding every wave, riding the high seas like a waterfowl, nothing more transpiring to give alarm save the occasional drolleries of Gascar, which always might be considered ominous.

  The “Vulture” now entered the Gulf of Guinea and after several days of fair sailing put into a lagoon in one of the most secluded and least suspected places on the coast. Here was the trading post of the great factor, a noted Portuguese, Ludo Draco, the friend of Geza, King of Dahomi. Near but a short distance from the beach in the thickest of the bush, were situated the barracoons, many in number, being long one-story wooden houses, thatched with grass. One mile from the barracoons, in a beautifully cleared and elevated spot, was the residence of Draco, attained only by narrow footpath, through the densest of the forest.

  Scarcely had the vessel moored, till Blake was on shore and off into the forest. Cheers by the clapping of hands and as many grins as claps, were given in approbation of the arrival. The miserable victims who filled these coffleshambles of suffering humanity, having been so taught to do by their relentless and insatiable oppressor.

  Garcia was now more at ease, and having observed the unceremonious manner in which the sailing-master left them, he ordered the confinement of the others, to prevent the example being followed. But the blacks fully understood themselves, and did not design leaving the vessel.

  The family of Draco consisted of a wife, Zorina, a handsome native African,[31] and two daughters, Angelina and Seraphina, beautiful mulatto children, the former having just completed at Lisbon her education in one of the first convents. The residence was finely furnished, and the family pleasant and agreeable; but the circumstances surrounding them of the horrible manner in which their wealth was acquired, cast a gloom over the dazzling splendor of their gaudy mansion, making the noon day and sunlight of their brilliant abode as dark as midnight obscurity.

  In Zorina was that amiable and benevolent expression of countenance, so common to the native women of her race, and which always implies a welcome to the privileges of the house; but yet there was that absence of earnest gratification which usually characterizes those who anticipate gain from their visitors. Affable and sociable, she was still reserved and seriously thoughtful as though some weighty matter was struggling within.* It was the traffic doubtless in human beings, in which her husband was engaged, and already amassed a princely fortune, that disturbed her peace of mind. It was this which like a millstone had sunk deep to the bottom, and troubled the still waters of her peaceful soul.

  Though civilized, in early life a pupil in the Christian Missionary school at Badagry, and a professed convert, with afflictions such as these, Zorina was not the woman she would have been, and could not be such as her husband Ludo Draco desired she should be, a woman devoted as a wife to his pecuniary interests.

  “What are the prospects, Don Ludo; have you much stock in trade?” enquired Garcia of the Portuguese, after refreshing with brandy and water.

  “Only a moderate supply, señor–some five-and-twenty hundred in the pens–a little more than one good cargo,”* replied Ludo Draco.

  “Pretty good stock, Don Ludo! Assorted selection?”

  “They are prime what is of them; of both sexes, all sizes; men, women and children; and few or no old Negroes among them, señor.”

  “What are slaves now worth, Don Ludo?”

  “From twenty to forty dollars, señor; wish a large cargo?”

  “We have a double decker, and prepared for twenty hundred.”

  “What’s your destination, North or South America?”

  “We cleared from Matanzas, but shall import where there is the greatest demand. You have the best knowledge of the markets–where had we best import, Don Ludo?”

  “The Brazils are going down; that religious cant and nonsense about philanthropy and human rights has already reached there, and measures and restrictions have been decreed by the National Congress against importation.”

  “What of Cuba, Don Ludo?”

  “A little better, señor, but not what it should be. Taking advantage of the political signs of the time, the prohibition of the trade in Brazil, and the leniency of the home government toward the Negroes in consequence of their insurrectionary tendencies–the Cubans set their own price and pay what they please ahead, because of no competition in the trade. The United States is now decidedly the best market, because the supply is inadequate to the demand of the new territory continually opening up, without a heavy loss to the old states. Indeed the disciplined slave is preferred for the new states from their experience in labor, while the native African will do better in the old cultivated grounds. An American agency in Cuba is all you require to make the trade a most lucrative one.”

  “Fine, fine, by St. Joseph!” said Garcia. “Not being in the business for some time, I had lost the run of things. Old Key West, I suppose still holds her own?”

  “Key West is all right, señor!” replied Draco.

  At the mention of Key West, Royer looked knowlingly at Paul and Garcia with a wink, as to them this was a familiar place of safety in years past; but true to his previous convictions of wrong, Paul preserved his seriousness and ignored a cognizance of the hint.

  There was now a great point gained as there had been an unsettled opinion as to the best point to make with their cargo. Captain Emanuel Garcia and his Portuguese mate, Jose Castello, had at the start–previous to the convictions of Paul–insisted on Matanzas as the place, whilst Paul and his American officer only held Cuba as a dernier resort, preferring the United States as the market–Key West being the place of safety.

  “I am satisfied,” said Garcia, “that the United States is the market. Let us have a full cargo, and as little delay as possible.”

  At this moment a signal was given by the tapping of the bell suspended above the mansion.

  “Gentlemen, a large supply has just arrived rom the interior; walk with me,” said Draco; the party going directly to the “barracoons for reception,” secluded in a cloister near the mansion, those near the moorings being used only for shipping.

  *The character exhibited by the sister of the native wife of a once-noted slave trader on the Coast, whom the writer met in Africa-a very respectable, intelligent, Christian young woman.

  *They frequently prepare the vessels to carry 2000, which was the case with a slaver taken by the British cruiser, brig “Triton,” which the writer saw at Sierra Leone, in April 1860.[32]

  CHAPTER 49

  The Slave Factory

  “Hark!” exclaimed Angelina, unaccustomed, from her continued absence at school, to such a sound–“What is that I hear?”

  “It comes, my child, from the barracoons,” explained the mother, with a deep sigh.

  “Do you tell me, mother, that wailings come already, since the tapping of that bell? What does it mean?”

  “Preparing the slaves, my child, for packing, I suppose.”

  “How preparing them, mother? What do they do to them?” anxiously inquired the girl.

  “They whip and burn them, my child, to make them obey.”

  “And what do you mean by “packing”?”

  “Putting them down in the bottom of the ship, my child, so that they can’t move about.”

  “How can they live this way? Oh, mother, they can’t live!”

  “They can’t live long, my child; but many of them die, when that makes room, and some of them live.”

  “O horrible!–cruel, cruel!” exclaimed the more than astonished girl. “Pardon me, mother–I cannot help it–and is this my father’s business?”

  “It is, my daughter,” replied the mother, the brightness of whose eyes were glaring with the evidence of sympathy for the sufferings of her people.

  “Then forgive me, mother, I receive nothing from this day forth from my father’s hand.* He’s cruel, and——”

  “Stop, my child!” interrupted the mother. “Curse** not him from whose lines you came.”

  “Forgive me, mother, Heaven forbid! But I c
annot consent to go to Madrid to obtain accomplishments at the price of blood. The Lady Superior when at Lisbon, taught me to ‘love my neighbor as myself–that all mankind was my neighbor. I thought I was educated to come home and teach my race.”

  “My child, you must——”

  “Hark! Mother, don’t you hear?” again exclaimed the young affrighted girl, when another wailing came, more terrible than the other.

  “Have patience, my child.”

  “I can’t, mother–I can’t! How can I have patience with such dreadful things as these?”

  “God will give you patience, my child. Depend on Him.”

  “I will depend on Him, and go directly to the spot and beseech Him in mercy for the poor suffering ones. Come and take me to them,” she concluded, calling for native servants to carry her after them, as the party had now left the receptacles for the trading posts at the landing on the lagoon, nearly a mile distant.

  Soon she arrived near the dreadful scene

  Where fiends incarnate–vile confederate band–

  Torture with thumscrew, lash, and fire-brand.

  This most remarkable spot which for years had sent forth through the world its thousands of victims–a place repulsively noted in the history of wrong-was a dismal nook in the northeastern extremity of the lagoon, extending quite into the bush, forming a cove of complete security and quiet. In this position lay the “Vulture”; and near the barracoons, under cover of seemingly impenetrable undergrowth, sat the beautiful Angelina, the good-hearted natives who bore her there lying at her feet to protect her, as is their custom to strangers in the forest. In this position, quietly inspecting the whole proceedings, her soul became horror-stricken.

  “Hark!” again exclaimed Angelina in a suppressed frightened tone, unconscious, seemingly, of the half-dressed natives lying at her feet. “Don’t you hear? What in God’s name does it mean?”

  Scarcely had the awe-stricken girl given utterance, till a heartrending wail sent a thrill through her.

  “O! O! O!” was the cry from a hundred voices, as the last torture was inflicted upon them.*