Daniel

by Richard Adams

  “There seem to be a lot of canoes and small boats,” said Mr. Dawes. “I’ve seen fishing nets drying, too.”

  “Yes, that’s really enterprising,” answered Mr. Clarkson. “They’ve been trading with the natives for canoes and nets. About the only thing they’ve got to offer is their own labour, but the natives find that quite acceptable, apparently. They trade for the canoes and nets by offering so many days’ labour.”

  That afternoon I got Mr. Clarkson’s approval to taking a walk by myself. Freetown was full of activity; carpentry, building and gardening going on at a great rate. It particularly pleased me to hear people speaking with southern accents — Virginian right down to Georgia, or so it seemed. I was walking along one of the half-built “streets” near the coast when I was plucked by the shoulder and turned to see a man of about my own ago looking at me with a broad smile.

  “Daniel, surely,” said he. “Daniel, from of Massa Reynolds’s plantation, ain’t that right?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “Yes, certainly. Are you from there, too?”

  “Sure am,” said he. “Mah name’s Jacko — ’worked in the carpenter’s shop. Ah recognised you, no danger; you was a messenger, weren’t you? Runnin’ all over the village. And you killed that dirty Flikka fellow, didn’t ya? Good riddance that was.”

  I shook him warmly by the hand.

  “How d’you come to be here?” I asked.

  “You must ’a left Massa Reynolds before the war, Ah guess.”

  I nodded. “Well, when the war began, ol’ Massa Reynolds give it out that anyone that wanted could jine up for a soldier. On the Britishers’ sahd, of course. There was abaht thirty of us, taken off to enlist by one of Massa Reynolds’s sons. Ah soldiered right through the war. Ah was at Yorktown when we surrendered.”

  “And you went to Nova Scotia?”

  “Sure did. But you didn’t, did ya?”

  “No way,” said I. As we strolled along together, I enquired about my family, but he had no news to give me. I told him about Lady Penelope and then about Captain Hawkshot.

  “On a slave-ship, were ya?” said he. “Ah’ve heered tell of Massa Wilberforce all right. So you’ve jined up with the white men for Abolition. Do ya reckon we’ll ever get it?”

  “I’m certain of it; only I don’t know just when.” We both laughed.

  “Ah’m in a gang,” he said. “Farv of us. We’re building a house for ourselves. You’d better come and meet them.”

  His four friends were all Virginian, and big, strong fellows at that. The building they were putting up looked impressive and I could readily suppose that no one was likely to pick a fight with them. They took a break and sat down to talk to me.

  “So ya work for the white men, do ya?” said one of them by the name of Ben. “How does that suit ya?”

  “Well, in England, if you want to work for Abolition, you more-or-less have to work with white men,” I replied. “The thing is that before they can abolish the Slave Trade, there has to be a law passed by their Parliament, and that’s what the white Abolitionists are pressing for. My boss in England was one of the leading people: Thomas Clarkson, the elder brother of your white man, John Clarkson.”

  “The time’s comin’,” said another man they called Shooter, “when black men’ll order their own affairs without no need of white men.”

  “Well,” said I, “the white men have put an end to slavery in England, and it was white men who set up this colony for freed slaves where we are now.”

  “Well, that’s all very well in its way,” said Ben, “but the white men give us all that like they’d give a bone to a dog. Who made the black men slaves, drove them from their native country, put them aboard their goddam ships and whipped them and beat them and worked them to death, eh?”

  Of course, I had no answer to that; nor did I look for one, either. “We’ll get Abolition quicker if we let the white men do it,” I said “Your leader, Mr. Peters, isn’t that what he thought?”

  “Peters was a good man,” said Shooter. “We all sorry he died. But even he wouldn’ have been able to stop black men taking over the Government the way things are looking now. Who’s your white man, anyway, Dan — the one you work for?”

  I told them about Mr. Macaulay and the Clapham Sect. They’d got hold of some rum from somewhere and we all had a drink, which made them a deal more friendly.

  I made a point of coming to chat with them every day, and this was how I met a good many more of the Settlers, including the five or six elders who were in authority. I attended their church services too, but never tried to join their conferences in case they should think I was a spy. What one and all of them resented was that they had been promised twenty acres of land apiece by Clarkson but hadn’t got them.

  For the rest of the year things remained peaceful. The building of Freetown continued and the Settlers’ lives became more comfortable and productive. Many of them went into trade with the natives in rice and camwood, and about fifty, who had come to own canoes or small vessels, went in for fishing and for commerce up and down the coast. They made no trouble and got on well with the natives.

  In December John Clarkson resigned as Governor and returned to England. Not only we but most of the Settlers were sorry to lose him. He had achieved a great deal in putting the colony on its feet during its difficult beginning, and he had been largely instrumental in setting up Freetown as our recognised capital. He had also encouraged the building of three places of worship and had done much to make Christianity influential throughout the Colony. After his farewell service, movingly conducted by Mr. Gilbert, a large number of the Settlers gathered round him to shake his hand and wish him well.

  The post of Governor was now taken over by Mr. Dawes. From the outset I had feared that there might be friction and I was proved right. It was not easy to succeed Mr. Clarkson. He had gained a devoted following among the Settlers, beginning with his work in gathering them together in Nova Scotia. He had a natural gift for getting on with people, both black and white, and now he had gone he was greatly missed. Mr. Dawes, though hardworking and sincerely well-disposed, lacked the common touch, and in his work among the convicts at Botany Bay had come to be severe with people who opposed his will.

  It was about this time that I received a letter from Lady Penelope. She hoped that all was going well with me, and that I was not finding the adverse climate of Sierra Leone too oppressive. She was writing to tell me that she and Mr. Hardwick were to be married on 25th January, and felt sure that I would wish them well. She hoped that when I returned to England, I would be sure to pay a visit to Clepton St. Peter. In a postscript she added that Fahdah, who was going on well, had asked her to send me her best wishes.

  I, of course, in my reply, sent my warm congratulations; thanked her for her kindness in writing to tell me her good news, and wished her and Mr. Hardwick every happiness. I was glad to hear well of Fahdah and sent her my best wishes in return.

  Mr. Zachary did his best to persuade Mr. Dawes to adopt a more lenient manner in his daily dealings. Although the Settlers had forborne to challenge Mr. Clarkson directly about the land, they were ready enough to criticise Mr. Dawes, blaming him for failing to keep the promises made to them in Nova Scotia. Matters were not improved by his rather insensitive style. It did him no good when he raised prices at the Company store, and still less good when he was found to be watering the rum. After some six months of his rule, the Settlers drew up a petition of complaint, which was taken by two of them to the Company in London. The directors found their complaints unacceptable and conceded nothing. This led to still more ill-feeling and Mr. Dawes, although in the normal way a strong, active man, began to feel the strain and to find it harder day by day to endure the hostile climate, at its worst during the months of the rainy season.

  Bad luck increased his difficulties. The Colony’s store ship was destroyed by fire, a calamity coincident with a fall in the dark, which broke his wrist. In spite of the admirable care of Dr. Winterbot
tom, our medical officer, it became plain by March of the following year that Mr. Dawes’s health had deteriorated to the point where he had. no alternative but to resign the Governorship and return to England.

  “I shall have to take over as Governor, Dan,” said Mr. Zachary — as I now thought of him – while we were sorting through Mr. Dawes’s residual bits and pieces. “The worst of it will be maintaining good relations with the slave dealers. They laugh at me behind my back because I can’t conceal my pity for the slaves. We’re surrounded by these terrible slave depots, and the evil men who grow rich from them could stamp out our Colony whenever they had a mind to.”

  He was right to the extent that it was impossible to avoid periodic friction between the slave dealers and ourselves. Mr. Zachary nursed a passionate belief in the future of the Colony, but he had no choice but to moderate his idealism in the face of the danger all around us. One day, for example, a certain Mr. Horrocks sailed into the estuary to deliver some rum that we had bought in the Islands. The day after his schooner had berthed, a group of Settlers brought five of his slaves to Mr. Zachary, begging him to take them under his protection. Mr. Zachary was obliged to refuse, and to tell the slaves to return to their ship. A day or two later, Mr. Horrocks came ashore to lodge a complaint that his slaves had been enticed away. The Settlers’ defence was that from the outset Mr. Clarkson had told them that any slave who set foot in our Colony automatically became free. Mr. Zachary had to tell them, albeit with great regret, that if Mr. Clarkson had really said that, he had been wrong. The Settlers were hard to convince, but yielded at last when we pointed out that if they persisted, the slave traders would unite and come down on us with fire and sword. Mr. Horrocks’s slaves, however, refused to go back to him and as the Settlers had given them arms, they made it clear that they were ready to fight. Mr. Zachary’s Christian conscience would not allow him to capture them and send them back to be punished by Mr. Horrocks. He said as much in a report to the Company’s directors in England, but they would have none of this, pointing out that a blockade by the slave-traders would bring us to starvation. In the event, the trouble blew over and the slaves remained with the Settlers, but only after Mr. Zachary had suffered much anxiety.

  Nevertheless, he achieved a considerable degree of goodwill with the slave dealers, particularly with Captain Tilley, whose depot was at Bance Island at the upper end of the estuary, and Captain Cleveland, who controlled the depot on Banana Island. This called for skilful diplomacy by Mr. Zachary, and I seriously doubt whether anyone else could have succeeded.

  With one of his most successful ventures I had a lot to do. Having received a message from the Foulah people in the hinterland that they would welcome a trade agreement with us, he persuaded Mr. Watt — he of the agricultural estate – and Dr. Winterbottom to go to Timbo, the Foulah capital, and negotiate. He sent me with them, because he thought the team ought to include a black man.

  We stayed two or three weeks in Timbo, and I enjoyed myself immensely; also, I played a crucial part in the agreement we drew up, because I knew a lot more than the white men about the goods the Settlers hoped to get in exchange for what they had to offer. When we got back from Timbo we found a deputation of Foulah grandees already arriving in Freetown.

  One of Mr. Zachary’s finest achievements was the strong support he gave to building schools and to the education of the children. Knowing also that many of the adults could neither read nor write, he called for volunteer teachers and made arrangements for them to take evening classes.

  He had been Governor for only four months when he was faced with a threat of open insurrection. His reaction was swift and effective. In no time at all he arrested the ringleaders and shipped them off to stand trial in England. His courage and practical commonsense put him in so commanding a position that he was strong enough to grant a free pardon to the rest of the offenders — the best step he could have taken. Ben, Jacko and their friends were so favourably impressed that from that time forth they became some of his staunchest supporters.

  The amount of work that Mr. Zachary performed personally was almost incredible. He was to be seen in the law courts, the schools and the places of worship. He was his own secretary, his own paymaster and his own envoy. He was continually writing reports to the directors of the Company at home, and, taking me with him, often visited neighbouring chiefs on goodwill missions; jaunts which, as Dr. Winterbottom remarked to me, “made up in danger what they lacked in dignity.” As we had nowhere nearly enough clergymen, he preached sermons and performed marriages. He built up a fund that was used for aid to orphans, widows and people who met with accidents preventing them from working. One of his canny practices was to allot the lightest work to people who had learned to read and write. The result of all this activity by himself and his representatives was that the Colony progressed as never before.

  It was at some time during late July or early August of 1794, that we received the unhappy news that Mr. Thomas Clarkson had suffered a total collapse, brought about by overwork and too little sleep. For some days it had been thought that he would die. Then we heard that although he had made a partial recovery, he still remained very weak. He had been compelled to give up speaking tours, together with strenuous activity of any kind, and had retired altogether from public life. This was depressing news for the Clapham Sect and for the whole Abolitionist cause. We knew that his forceful personality and wide influence among the public were going to be greatly missed.

  After Mr. Zachary had been Governor for about seven months we had reached a new peak of prosperity, when there occurred a shocking disaster that demonstrated our vulnerability – indeed, our helplessness — when faced with armed hostility. A certain Captain Newell, a slave-trader who had come to hate our Province and its population of liberated black people, piloted a French fleet into Freetown harbour. Eight French ships, with guns, were a force with which we could not hope to contend. There was a general panic and flight. The ships opened fire and swept the streets, but killed no more than a woman and a little girl. Then the French landed, and Captain Newell led them to the Governor’s house, where Mr. Zachary and myself, together with the principal officials, had stayed put.

  Newell threatened Mr. Zachary with his pistol, demanding compensation for slaves who, according to him, had run away and were now under our protection. Mr. Zachary, after trying in vain to reason with him, set off with me for the French commodore’s ship. As we walked down the wharf we saw the French sailors, who had come ashore in rags, dressed in our looted stock of women’s clothes, and busy stealing everything else they could find. As the two of us came on board the French flagship, we were surrounded by the crew — yammering, threadbare ragamuffins, dirty and stinking beyond belief. With difficulty we pushed our way through them and found the commodore who, in reply to all we had to say, merely professed himself helpless to control his men.

  When we got back to Freetown, we found the pillage in full swing, and the labour of years being wantonly brought to nothing. The French sailors were emptying cases of wine and looting the stores, burning the houses and killing the livestock. Our citizens lost everything they possessed. We were helpless to prevent their building work being demolished. In Mr. Zachary’s office, we saw telescopes, barometers and other valuable precision instruments lying about in fragments. Every desk, shelf and drawer had been ransacked in search of money, and the Company’s papers were destroyed.

  When I tried to intervene, the looters rounded on me, calling me a “fucking nigger” (they knew that much English) and knocking me about.

  That night Mr. Zachary and I remained under guard in his house, together with several of the Company’s servants. Next day he arranged for us to join the officers’ mess on one of their ships. The filth and bad behaviour at meals were revolting, and our sleeping quarters were just as nasty.

  Every morning I accompanied Mr. Zachary ashore and we did what we could to save something from the wreckage. All the Company’s buildings, including the Ch
urch, were burnt to the ground. Freetown had had to be abandoned. The terrified people dispersed haphazardly, to the woods, the caves, the farms, anywhere they could.

  Within a few days fever was everywhere; and nearly all our stocks of medicine had been destroyed. The whole colony was short of food as well.

  The French remained for eighteen days and when eventually they departed, they abandoned 120 sick English prisoners on shore.

  Our plight was now desperate. The slave-traders themselves took pity on us and sent in provisions, which we were only too glad to accept. If it had not been for Mr. Zachary’s courage and leadership, the whole society would have collapsed. He had the fever, but refused to go to bed, and in view of the short supply would not even take quinine. I fully expected him to die and never left his side, even for five minutes. I have never seen anyone set so magnificent an example. Without him, all order would have broken down. He had no arms to compel obedience, but nevertheless he imposed his will on the seditious and the fainthearted alike.

  When we were at length able to begin the dreary work of rebuilding, he was continually among the workforces by day and night, and (although he took care to conceal it from everyone but me) often going for hours without sleep.

  But even on him the strain proved at last too much. As soon as reorganisation had reached a workable state, Dr. Winterbottom put his foot down hard, saying that unless Mr. Zachary went back to England for an extended break, the consequences could be fatal. Mr. Dawes was sent for to take over, and Mr. Zachary and myself were ordered by the Company to go home.

  I do not know why the route he took back to England (which I shared) did not kill him. At times I thought it was going to. What he said to me was that since he had gained expert knowledge of both ends of the Slave Trade, he now meant to experience the Middle Passage. We sailed on a slave-ship bound for Barbados. To me our journey was all-too-familiar; the dreadful “dances” of the prisoners on deck, the cat for any slave who showed resistance, the leg-irons and handcuffs, the iron collars fastened with chains to ring-bolts on the deck; the daily pitching of dead bodies into the sea. One night I spent in the hold, watching over a crowd of sick slaves huddled together; the stench was worse than anything I remembered.