Newton and Polly

by Jody Hedlund

  “I’ve been told by the Pegasus crew that John showed open disrespect to the captain, that he undermined the captain’s authority with his insolence and disobedience. Not only that, he engaged in all manner of corrupt and vile behaviors—none of which is fit for a lady’s ears.”

  “I’m sure John was angry after all that had happened to him,” Susanna offered as she refilled Captain Newton’s cup with more tea, which he took gratefully. “Being impressed against his will and then flogged would be enough to make any man bitter.”

  In an attempt to be polite, Polly picked up her tea and sipped the now tepid liquid. However, confusion and misery rampaged through her chest. She wanted to be sympathetic toward John like Susanna was, but John had been given a second chance by Divine Providence. He’d been released from the navy, which was exactly what he wanted. Why had he behaved so badly on the Pegasus? Surely he would have been relieved and grateful for the transfer.

  “Unfortunately,” Captain Newton continued, “Captain Penrose died suddenly in Sierra Leone, and the new captain, his first mate, despised John and was making plans to exchange him back to the Royal Navy as an impressed common sailor again. But apparently John made other arrangements before that could happen.”

  Captain Newton explained to them that while on board the Pegasus John met a man by the name of Amos Clow who’d become a successful businessman in Africa, owning and operating a large slave factory. John had signed up to become Clow’s employee, and Clow had arranged for his release from the crew of the Pegasus.

  Although Susanna hadn’t been involved with her Quaker friends since Mary’s birth, her shoulders now stiffened in protest at John’s new line of work.

  “From what I’ve been told,” Susanna said indignantly, “the worst of the worst are the slave factory workers who separate families and strip, brand, fetter, and whip the poor helpless souls. Then they finally drag them aboard waiting ships where many of them die in deplorable conditions not fit for animals during their voyage to the slave markets.”

  Captain Newton stared into his teacup a moment before responding. “In all my years as a sea captain, I never got involved in the slave trade. I couldn’t stomach the stench, the filth, or the ruthlessness.” He didn’t have to say that he was disappointed in John’s choice. It was clear from every slumped bone in his back.

  Susanna shook her head, her mouth pursed in disgust. “If he’s hoping to make his fortune in such work, he’ll only lose his soul in the process.”

  “And possibly his life,” Captain Newton said softly.

  Polly stiffened. This was the news he’d been leading to during the course of their conversation. Polly was certain of it. John had gotten himself into trouble again. Life-threatening trouble.

  Captain Newton glanced up finally and looked at her with tenderness, as though he knew how much John had loved her and how much it would pain her to hear the truth.

  She swallowed the growing ache in her throat and nodded at him. “What happened to John next, sir?”

  “His letter doesn’t tell me much,” Captain Newton replied. “And no one I’ve talked to can give me additional information about John’s situation after he left the Pegasus. But from what I can tell, he did something to anger his new employer, and as a result Clow put him in chains and locked him up.”

  “Then he’s in the gaol again?” Polly asked.

  Captain Newton began unfolding one of the letters. “He said he’s enslaved by Clow, beaten and forced to work in the fields to exhaustion. He has to dig up roots and eat them raw in order to prevent starvation but has grown sick and weak.”

  “How long ago did he write the letter?” Susanna asked.

  “Months.” The captain’s word echoed like the slamming of a coffin lid. For a moment no one spoke, the gravity of John’s predicament too awful to grasp.

  Captain Newton handed Polly two other folded pieces of paper. “He somehow managed to have my letter smuggled out of the Plantains along with these two for you.”

  Polly took the folded sheets of paper. They’d clearly been opened and read. But her heartbeat picked up pace. The paper had come directly from John. His hands had touched the sheets. His fingers had penned the words. His thoughts had been fixed upon her. “I’ve beseeched an old friend of mine in Liverpool, Joseph Manesty,” Captain Newton said. “Manesty runs a shipping business and has alerted the captains of his African sailing vessels to make inquiries about John wherever they can. If they find him, they’re to do whatever is necessary to bring him home.”

  If he’s still alive.

  The unspoken words hung over them.

  “We shall pray that someone finds him,” Susanna finally said, squeezing Polly’s hand.

  “One of Manesty’s ships is leaving for Sierra Leone soon. I’m sending a letter with the captain.” Captain Newton cleared his throat before continuing. “I wanted to inquire—at the very least I wanted to offer to have the captain deliver a letter from you, Polly. If you should choose to write. Although there’s no obligation.”

  When he met Polly’s gaze, his warm eyes were alight with hope.

  Her first reaction was to tell him that she’d be delighted to pen a letter to John with the expectation that he was still alive and that the letter might encourage him to persevere.

  But she’d come to finally accept that as much as she’d cared about John, a future with him was out of the question. Not only had her father and mother both cautioned her against it, the distance away from John and her own maturing had helped her realize that a union with John would have been fraught with frustration and disappointment.

  She’d loved so many things about John. But the hard truth was that they didn’t share the same values or faith, not when she tried so hard to earn God’s favor and John didn’t care about God at all. From the description of John’s life in the last year, he’d only sunk deeper into sin. Thus any union would be uncommon.

  Of course, after her time at Mrs. Overing’s, she’d come to understand even more the need to find someone who could provide for her the lifestyle to which she was accustomed. Even though her father had never regained his officer position, she realized her family was still comfortable compared to the poverty she’d witnessed in London. But with someone like John who couldn’t hold a job? What would her life be like then?

  “I’m sorry, Captain Newton.” She shook her head, the weight of her denial heavy. “It pains me to have to say so. But I will have to decline your invitation to write a letter. I cannot disobey my father or go against my conscience and offer John hope of a future.”

  The light in the captain’s eyes faded, replaced with a grief that made her want to cry. She suspected the depth of his emotion wasn’t directed at her but was instead the despondency of a parent with a wayward child who has caused much heartache. She had the feeling that not only was he grieving the loss of his son in a physical sense but even more he mourned the loss of hopes and dreams and plans for John’s future.

  “I understand completely,” he said. “As much as I wish John were worthy of your love, I fully realize he’s not.”

  Her fingers trembled so that the letters she was holding rattled.

  “You are a good and kind woman,” he said. “And I can see why John loves you. I’m only sorry that he’s caused you so much heartache.”

  “I will continue to pray for him, that wherever he is God will spare him and return him to you, and more importantly return him to the One who holds all things in his hands.”

  Captain Newton rose and placed his hat on his head, adjusting it over his wig. As he took his leave, Polly felt as though her heart had been ripped out of her chest all over again. All the talk of John had brought him straight to the forefront of her hopes and desires.

  But she’d closed the door on a life with John Newton. And now she had to keep it closed.

  February 1747

  Sweat trickled down Newton’s bare back. The African sun blazed with a heat that he still couldn’t get used to, esp
ecially in February. On sweltering days like this, he missed England’s cooler winter climate, although in a few months the rainy season would begin and bring some relief to the heat.

  He dipped a hand into the Sherbro River and splashed his face with the warm salty water. Below the surface, the shiny silvery scales of a tarpon flashed in a glint of sunlight. The tarpon’s large eyes seemed to peer up at him and accuse him, and its lower jaw protruded in a grim line as though in disapproval of his work.

  The shallop swayed against the lapping tide that brought the ocean water upriver. The sailboat sat low, already filled with bundles of cloth, iron bars, brandy, and copper pots that he and his partner, Devon, would use to trade with local chiefs for their captives.

  “I think we can squeeze in one more bundle of brandy,” Devon said, shifting a pack under a bench to make room.

  Newton shrugged, too hot to care. “I’ll wait.” He moved away from the tangled mangrove roots along the shore to the shade of a tall patch of ferns. As he sat down in the swampy grass, several striated herons took flight. Even though he knew he needed to keep an eye on the handful of chained slaves who would help man the shallop, he was ready for a nap. It was only midmorning, but the drinking and revelry from the previous night made him sluggish with a hangover as it usually did.

  Once he got moving, he’d gain the energy he needed. But it always took awhile. Thankfully his partner didn’t mind. In fact, they made a good pair, the two of them. Devon did all the organizing and administrative work. And Newton took care of wooing the chiefs at the villages deep in the countryside. He knew how to relate to them, and they in turn liked him enough to invite him into their homes, feed him, and even offer him his choice from among the concubines at night, all of which Newton accepted.

  The local chiefs loved trading for the British goods and weapons that would help them gain superiority over rival tribes. In turn, the chiefs provided Newton with captured enemies that he and Devon would then bring back here, to their coastal base at Kittam.

  Newton didn’t care that they were cheating the chiefs. Each of the slaves they purchased inland cost them about three pounds of traded goods. But a single slave in good condition could be sold in the Caribbean for about twenty-five pounds.

  At a nearby shout, Newton opened one eye and glanced toward the barracoon where he and Devon kept the slaves awaiting transport to foreign markets. The shed was nothing more than a square pen made of stone walls with a thatched roof. They’d recently had to expand with a fenced area for overflow. Most of the slaves had ropes tied around their necks or intertwined in their hair and then tied to the roof beams overhead. Some of the more aggressive men had to be put in rough-hewn stocks fastened to their legs or hands.

  The first time he’d seen a slave factory, back when he was still working for Clow, he was so nauseated by the sights and smells that he retched into a nearby ditch to the laughter of his companions.

  “I see sails,” came the shout again, this time clearer and from Devon, who was striding toward the white sandy beach that led to the ocean. “I’ll get closer and let you know.”

  Newton nodded, his head groggy and his limbs as heavy as the iron fetters that had bound him not many months ago. He didn’t like to think about those first months in Africa. He’d started out with such high hopes after the transfer from the Harwich to the Pegasus and then to his working arrangement with Clow on the Plantains. He’d been consumed with the possibilities of all the quick money he would be able to make as a land-based slave trader. Clow himself had become a very wealthy man through buying and selling slaves and had promised him the same.

  He had visions of returning to England attired in a fancy new suit, walking into the Catlett home, and shoving a bag full of gold crowns in front of Mr. Catlett’s face. He would say, “What do you think of me now, mate? Think I’m finally good enough for your daughter?” The man wouldn’t be able to refuse him because John would have everything necessary to give Polly the kind of stylish and comfortable life she deserved.

  During the first weeks with Clow, they’d made a couple of voyages upriver to Rio Nuna, and Clow had introduced him to the process of buying slaves from inland tribes. They would view slaves already captured by natives, pick out the strongest ones most likely to fetch a profit, and then pay the tribal leaders with the goods they’d brought with them.

  At first Newton had struggled with the idea of buying people like one would buy tea or coffee. But over the weeks he eased his conscience by telling himself that the tribal leaders were to blame. They were the ones sending raiding parties into neighboring lands with the sole purpose of kidnapping people to sell to the Europeans. He’d heard tales of one African king in Dahomey who was making close to two hundred fifty thousand pounds a year selling other Africans into slavery. Newton figured if the Africans wanted to sell people, then he needn’t feel guilty for his role in the slave trade.

  Things had gone well working with Clow for a while. But then, during one of their upriver trips, a fellow trader had accused Newton of stealing rum out of the bundles of trade goods. Newton had been adamant in his innocence, but unfortunately, Clow had believed the other man. Newton could admit he was guilty of all kinds of other vices in his life, but he hadn’t stolen this time. Not even one drop.

  Nevertheless, Clow had chained him to the deck of the shallop for the remainder of the voyage. Of course it had been the rainy season, so he’d been constantly battered by downpours and had been wet and miserably cold. Clow had also denied him food, except for the smallest possible rations of rice. When they’d returned to the Plantains, Clow had treated him no better than he would a slave. And of course his mistress, Princess Pi, had relished joining in the persecution. She claimed to be a princess of her tribe, from an important family that had helped Clow get started in his business as an African trader. But she was nothing but a sadistic fiend.

  Pi had taken great pleasure in thinking up new ways to torment him. One of the worst was keeping him on minimal water rations and allowing him almost no food. She summoned him into her presence while she was feasting and made him watch her. She’d toss him scraps, which fell to the floor, but she wouldn’t allow him to pick up the dirty food and eat it. Instead she mocked and laughed at him. She forced her servants to throw stones and limes at him and heaped all kinds of verbal abuses upon him.

  There had been plenty of nights during that time when he’d wanted to die. Sick with vomiting and diarrhea from the roots he attempted to eat, he’d lost all resolution to live. He could easily say that those months in captivity on the Plantains had been the lowest point in his life, even lower than when he’d been flogged and forced to leave England.

  The only thing that kept him alive was his hope that his smuggled letters to his father would reach England and that his father would somehow manage to find a way to free him so that he could be reunited with Polly. He’d written a couple of letters to her too. But after months of not hearing anything in response, he’d given up hope that anyone was coming to rescue him. His father had failed him again.

  Thankfully, a fellow slave trader, Smith, had persuaded Clow to release him. He wasn’t sure why Smith wanted him—perhaps because he’d gained a reputation among tribal leaders for his ability to liven a party. As a result they liked and trusted him, and he could often manage to make deals that others couldn’t.

  Newton had been lucky—very lucky—that Clow agreed to Smith’s exchange. He still didn’t understand why the tyrant decided to let him go. He’d concluded that Clow and his wife had finally tired of belittling and humiliating him. The game had grown old, had no longer been fun. And Pi had likely found a new person to torment with her devious ways.

  Whatever the case, he’d been freed from his long months of bondage and suffering and had been working for Smith in his Kittam slave factory for several months. Early on when working for Smith, he’d considered abandoning his new employer and boarding the first passing vessel that would take him back to England. But again t
he lure of easy money had kept him there. He could make more in a month in Africa doing this wretched work than he could in England in a year.

  Nay, he was determined not to return until he’d amassed a fortune and could finally return to Mr. Catlett with his head held high. Surely he could do that within the next year or two. Already Smith had made him and Devon partners, which meant they had the right to own a percentage of the slaves they brought in and could then turn around and sell them to slave-ship captains for their own profit.

  “Ahoy, Newton! There’s a ship!” His partner was running back up the beach and stumbling in the ankle deep sand. “I’ll start the bonfire.”

  “Do you want me to help?” Newton called without moving from his spot in the shade.

  “Aye,” Devon shouted. “Her sails are full and she’s moving fast.”

  Newton struggled to his feet and tried not to stagger even though he was dizzy. He waved at the Africans still waiting in the shallop and motioned them ashore. Their chains clanked as they crawled out of the boat, and their ebony skin glistened with sweat after having sat in the tropical sun for the past hour waiting to leave.

  “We’ll set sail later,” he explained, although none of them spoke English. With the barrel of his pistol he prodded them back to the barracoon, to the outer fenced area, and made quick work of binding them. The stench emanating from the nearby slave hut was putrid since most of the slaves sat in their excrement. Every few days, he and Devon would force a couple of the women to clean out the hut as best they could. They had to keep the slaves strong and alive until they could sell them to a passing ship. But the fact remained that it was highly impractical to loosen the slaves bonds every time they needed to relieve themselves. After all, he and Devon weren’t being paid to be nursemaids. They were being paid to sell valuable stock.

  Newton dragged his heavy feet through the hot sand until he reached the wide-open, level spot on the beach that they used for lighting large fires. When men on passing ships saw their smoke, the captain would know they had slaves to sell. If the ship was a slave trader and had room for more cargo, then the captain would send a longboat ashore to make purchases.