by Jody Hedlund
“We’re nearing capacity,” Devon said, as he tossed another log onto the flames, sending sparks shooting into the air along with the black smoke that they needed. “We’d do best to delay our trip inland for a day. If we sell most of the slaves we already have waiting, then we’ll be able to make room for the new slaves we bring back.”
“Aye. Good that.” Newton threw on a dried tangle of mangrove roots. The heat of the blaze hit him full in the face, forcing him to step back. Even so, the hair on his arms pricked, singed from the close contact.
He unhooked his shirt from his gun holster and used the linen to fan the flames and smoke higher until it was rising in billowing clouds.
In the distant northwest, he caught sight of the sails and rigging that Devon had already spotted.
They took turns adding wood for the next hour until finally the ship drew close enough that they could see several of the crew on the poop deck.
“Is she dropping her anchor?” Devon asked. His face was black with the smoke and streaked with sweat. The young man was serious almost all the time and reminded Newton of his fellow midshipman on the Harwich, Job Lewis. Whereas Lewis had been enamored with the Bible and God, Devon had begun dabbling in some of the local witchcraft, necromancies, and divinations. Newton had seen plenty of black magic and voodoo practices during his visits inland among the tribes. He’d witnessed dances and ceremonies that were fascinating, and he could understand why Devon was infatuated with some of the amulets and charms. He’d participated as well.
There were times he could almost believe Devon was under some kind of demonic spell—if that kind of thing was truly possible. Yet if he admitted that the strange things he’d seen were real and not just a figment of his drugged imagination, then he’d have to admit that a supernatural world really did exist and with it the possibility of God. After the past couple of years of denying the existence of God and living his life as he pleased, he didn’t want to think too deeply about all that he had witnessed in recent séances.
“I’ll paddle out and meet the captain,” Devon said, already dragging the canoe toward the water. “That way hopefully we can sell the slaves today and be on our way upstream tomorrow.”
“They’ll send in some men eventually,” Newton said, his exhaustion hitting him again. He could admit he was lazy. Why make the effort to row out to the ship when the crew would come to shore before the day’s end?
“I don’t mind going out to meet them.” Devon flipped the canoe over and shoved it into the relatively calm water that was lapping with a gentle rhythm against the shore. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Newton dropped the log he’d been holding back onto the pile. His attention shifted to a hammock tied between two palm trees. The spot was covered with blessed shade. He didn’t wait for Devon to reach the ship before he crossed to the hammock, climbed inside, and closed his eyes.
The first vision to float before him was Polly’s beautiful face, the fairness of her skin, the elegance of her cheeks, and the sparkle in her blue eyes. After all the time away from her, he could still feel the softness of her lips against his and the silkiness of her blond hair in his calloused fingers. He could still hear her angelic voice. He could still see her sweet smile. No one would ever compare to her. She was pure. Undefiled. And the picture of all that was good in this world.
He dug in his pocket and let his fingers trace the embroidered initials on her handkerchief. The linen that had once been so white and perfect was now dirty and frayed. And yet he still clung to it, still kept it with him everywhere he went.
He pushed aside the thought of all the women he’d been with during his time in Africa. None of them meant anything. None of them mattered. If he was honest with himself, he knew he was using them to sate his lusts and nothing more. He was, after all, a man with physical needs. He had no religious rules holding him back. He could live however he pleased.
Yet he squirmed at the guilt that flamed in his gut. What would Polly think if she discovered his unfaithfulness? Even if he wasn’t married to her, even if they didn’t have a binding commitment to each other, he couldn’t keep from feeling as though he’d betrayed her faith and trust in him.
He shouted a string of oaths and draped his arm across his eyes. The hammock swung back and forth. For a moment, he tried to conjure a feeling of peace and happiness. But instead he felt only discontent.
As time had worn on and as he continually gave in to the passions of his flesh without regard to anyone else, he’d experienced pleasure. He couldn’t deny that. But it never lasted. Like now.
His eyelids grew heavy, and he dozed until shouting on the beach awoke him. He pried his eyes open to the sight of Devon pulling the canoe back onshore. A glance at the palm tree shadows and the position of the sun high overhead told him that he’d rested for a couple of hours. Even so, he still felt lethargic.
He forced his feet out from the hammock and pushed himself up with a groan. Not far behind Devon, halfway between the ship and the shore, was a longboat.
“Looks like we’re in luck,” Newton called to his partner. “How many slaves do they have room to take on board?” He was always relieved to get rid of the slaves awaiting transport. Looking at them day after day, watching them waste away, listening to their pitiful cries and pleas always began to wear on him.
There were times early on when he was tempted in the middle of the night to sneak into the barracoon, loosen the ropes, and leave the gate unlocked so that the slaves would have the chance to escape, especially some of the women with infants. Those times always made him think of Susanna and her abolitionist friends. Mayhap they were made of stronger conscience than he was to be able to put their own lives at stake to free people they didn’t know.
He’d had to restrain himself on more than one occasion by drinking himself into a stupor. He always got himself dead drunk before Devon branded the new slaves so that he could avoid the screams of agony and the charred scent of burned flesh.
“Hopefully they can clean us out,” Newton called again to Devon.
“No such luck!” he shouted across the span of beach. “The Greyhound isn’t a slave ship.”
The relief Newton had experienced only a moment ago was replaced by a choking heaviness. If the ship wasn’t trading for slaves, she was likely trading for other African goods, like gold, ivory, beeswax, and camwood, of which they had none. All they had were slaves, and he wanted to get the slaves out of here, get paid, and then assuage his guilt. But it looked like they were to be stuck with the suffering mass of humanity awhile longer.
“Why are they coming to shore?” he called angrily. “I hope they don’t expect us to ply them with our rum if they have nothing to give us in return.”
“Nay, nothing like that.” For the first time Newton noticed the hint of excitement in Devon’s voice.
Newton stared at the longboat, which was almost upon the beach now. He searched the forms and faces of the sailors at the oars, but none impressed him with familiarity. “What do they want?” he growled.
Devon came closer. His long hair was greasy from unwash. His face was in a constant state of red, either from exertion or sunburn. And his sour stench preceded him by a league. Newton guessed he himself wasn’t much better. “Believe it or not,” Devon said with a rare smile, “they want you.”
“Me?” He scoffed. “Who the devil would want me?”
“Your father.”
All the dark noises in the recesses of Newton’s mind ceased to clamor. The breeze blowing off the Atlantic seemed to die, leaving him standing in a hot void of nothingness.
“Captain Swanwick of the Greyhound has been charged by his master, Joseph Manesty, and your father to find and rescue you from your imprisonment.”
Newton’s attention shifted to the tall man at the bow who was sitting stiff and erect. Eying his blue coat and waistcoat, Newton had no doubt he was the captain. Newton suspected that attired as he was, the man was dripping with sweat. Nevertheless, like
any good English ship captain, he’d come visiting in style.
Apparently Newton’s father had received his letter. His heart gave a leap like that of flying fish. But then just as quickly sank. After hearing of his plight, his father had clearly been moved enough to ask for help finding him. But as usual, the help was too little too late.
Nevertheless, he approached the captain and the crew eagerly, hoping for letters and news from home. They exchanged pleasantries, and Newton invited the captain and his mate inside the low stone home that belonged to his boss but that he and Devon lived in while in Kittam. Servants prepared them a large meal, and when the men had their fill and were reclining on the open front veranda that faced the ocean, Captain Swanwick finally broached the reason for his visit.
He’d removed his hat, coat, and cravat, and between puffs on his pipe, he explained how he’d come to be in Kittam. He’d been given orders by Joseph Manesty to make inquiries along the Guinea coast during his trading ventures. He called at the Bay of Sierra Leone and at Benanoes Islands and asked about Newton in both places. Although he talked to several people who remembered Newton, no one was able to give him clear information about his current location. In fact, one trader had said he’d last seen Newton many miles inland. With that news, Captain Swanwick had given up hope of finding Newton and decided to finish his trading mission without any further delays.
“After losing time already, I was planning to pass by your smoke signal,” the captain said. “We had a fair wind behind us, and I wanted to make use of it to further our progress.”
“Aye. Understandable. You had no need to stop here since you have no interest in buying slaves.” Newton sat on a stool near the captain, his back against the cool stone wall, his gaze on the sun beginning to set on the calm waters that met the horizon. “I’m lucky you decided to drop anchor. And you’re lucky I was still here. Devon and I were minutes from departing for an inland trading journey.”
“It wasn’t luck at all,” the captain countered. “It was clearly the hand of Providence that orchestrated our meeting. I still can’t explain the feeling that came over me that made me decide to drop anchor even against my better judgment, except that it was Providence miraculously intervening to bring us together.”
Their meeting was purely coincidental. But Newton held his mockery in check. Captain Swanwick was obviously a devout man and wouldn’t take kindly to any sacrilege.
Captain Swanwick handed him a letter, and Newton tried to reach for it calmly instead of snatching the sheet and tearing it open as he was wont to do. He hoped it was a letter from Polly, but was only slightly disappointed to see his father’s neat penmanship on the outside addressing the letter to him.
“Your father will be happy to know you’re alive,” Captain Swanwick said, as Newton unsealed the letter and perused it. The note was brief and to the point, indicating his father’s willingness to pay any fees that were necessary to free him from his bondage and return him to England.
“I’ve got orders to bring you home with us to England,” Captain Swanwick continued as he released a ring of tobacco smoke. “Your father promised to pay your passage in full if you should be found, and of course pay a handsome reward to the one who brings you home.”
Newton folded the sheet, his emotions suddenly swirling in a vortex of confusion. “My father is a generous man.” While the captain had done well for himself in recent years, surely such costs would require him to sacrifice of himself and his family. Why would his father do such a thing for him? Especially after the contempt Newton had shown him. It made no sense.
“I’ll write a letter this very night to your father,” the captain said. “He’ll be relieved to get the news we found you.”
Newton didn’t know quite how to answer. Was it feasible he hadn’t given his father enough credit for loving him? Mayhap his father’s love ran deeper than he’d ever known was possible. Newton’s throat tightened at the thought.
“We’ll need to set sail again on the morrow at daybreak,” Captain Swanwick said. “Think you can be packed and ready by then?”
The words jarred Newton’s attention from the horizon to the ship anchored offshore. Had the invitation reached him when he was sick and starving at the Plantains, he would have received it as life from the dead. But now…He was free. He was his own man. He was finally setting his own course for his life without anyone controlling him. And he needed more time to earn his fortune, especially considering the fact that he hadn’t saved much yet but had been spending it all too freely on his imbibing and gambling.
“Of course I still have some trading to finish up before I’m ready to set sail for home,” the captain continued. “I’ll be making stops at ports along the coast down to Cape Lopez before I catch the trade winds across the Atlantic.”
Newton nodded. Following the trade winds covered a greater distance and took ships to Brazil, then north to Newfoundland before pushing them back to England. Newton knew that Captain Swanwick was probably looking at another year before he’d be back in England.
Only one year and he could be reunited with Polly. He’d get to see her beautiful face. He’d get to talk with her and spend time with her and mayhap even hold her in his arms. The prospect was too tempting to resist.
He sat forward, his body tense with the need to go. Part of him was ready to run to the longboat and get on the ship before anything else happened to prevent him from going back home. The impulsive man he’d once been would have jumped at the chance to return to Polly regardless of the cost or consequences.
But another part of him—the cynical man he’d become—held him back. As eager as he was to see Polly, he doubted whether she’d be happy to see him. No doubt she’d heard about his desertion and flogging. He’d been disgraced, and what woman would want him with such a blemish on his reputation? He’d always known he wasn’t good enough for her, but now he was even worse.
Nay, the only way he could win her was by returning with a fortune. He had to stick with his plan to remain in Kittam, start saving his money more carefully, and then go home after he’d amassed enough to win Mr. Catlett’s favor.
“I can’t go yet, sir,” Newton said.
“How many days do you need to wrap up your business?” the captain asked. “I really don’t have much time to wait since all my querying after your whereabouts has put me behind.”
“I can’t go at all.”
Captain Swanwick took his pipe from his mouth and stared at Newton with surprised eyes. “I don’t understand. Don’t you want to be rescued?”
“My situation has changed since I penned that letter to my father. I’m no longer in such dire straits.”
“But you must be ready to go.” The captain’s features grew taut. “This pagan place is not appropriate for any decent, God-fearing man to live.”
He was tempted to tell the captain that he was safe since he wasn’t decent or God-fearing. But he knew what the captain was alluding to—the fact that inland slave traders had a less than stellar reputation. They’d gained a reputation as exploitative, self-serving, and cruel. Many of them had taken on the lifestyle and habits of the natives. Not only that, but the work was inherently dangerous and the death rate high. He would be putting his life in continued peril if he stayed.
“As much as I’d like to return with you, sir, I cannot leave yet.”
“May I ask why?” The captain returned his pipe to his mouth and took several quick puffs.
Newton stared at the dot of flaming red nearing the horizon, partially covered by pink and purple clouds that stretched across the sky. “I can’t go home empty-handed.”
The captain was quiet for a moment and then sat up so rapidly that it startled several flycatchers that had perched on a low post at the front of the house. “You have no need to worry about going home empty-handed. Not when you have a large inheritance waiting for you.”
It was Newton’s turn to be startled. “Inheritance?”
The captain’s st
oic expression became animated. “Yes, as a matter of fact, the inheritance is worth about four hundred pounds a year.”
Newton slid forward on the stool and nearly fell to the veranda’s stone floor. Then he caught himself and shook his head. “Nay. ’Tis impossible.” The amount was too large to be true.
“ ’Tis entirely possible,” Captain Swanwick insisted. “A distant relative has passed on during your absence and left you his estate.”
“Why are you just telling me this now?”
“I thought I’d have plenty of time to relay that information during the voyage.”
Newton’s heart began to pound at the thought of four hundred pounds a year. With that amount Mr. Catlett certainly wouldn’t be able to refuse him. Newton would be able to offer Polly a life far above anything she’d ever dreamed of. He would be able to give her anything she wanted—an enormous house, a country estate, the latest fashions, numerous servants, a new pianoforte, and luxury in every form.
He shook his head again. “Nay, this can’t be true.”
“I was instructed to pay a ransom for your release. Up to half the cargo of the Greyhound if need be. How do you think your father could afford that if not for the inheritance?”
His father would never be able to afford to repay half the cargo without some other means. Mayhap that was how his father could also afford to pay the reward for finding him. Even so, Newton couldn’t believe that such fortune would come his way. Nothing good like that ever happened to him.
“And of course, your father has also paid for your first-class travel home. You won’t have to work. In fact, you shall lodge in my cabin and dine at my very own table.”
Newton could only sit in stunned silence, the thudding of his heart echoing loudly in tempo to the waves lapping the shore. What if his great-uncle in Maidstone had died? He was a wealthy man, and since he had no children, he could have left his estate to Newton. That’s what his father had always hoped would happen and had been one of the reasons he’d sent Newton to Maidstone on occasion.
