Ama (51 page)

Up on deck the seamen hung on to the shrouds, drenched by the waves which threatened to sweep them overboard and scourged by the fierce cold wind. Night had fallen. From time to time lightning exposed a brief picture of their world to them; then they were lost in darkness again until the next flash. Hatcher called out to Bruce who was nearest to him but his words were carried away by the angry screaming and roaring of sea and wind. Arbuthnot had lashed himself to the wheel. He strove to keep the fragile ship's head into the sea as she laboured through the violence of the freak storm. There was little else he could do: such men as he had were beyond his command. He was not a religious man but now he prayed, shouting the Lord's Prayer into the teeth of the wind, again and again.

Inside the battened holds, insulated from the sounds outside, screams of pain and terror rent the air as the slaves were thrown back and forth. Bowels and bladders were involuntarily evacuated. Limbs broke, skulls cracked.

The Love of Liberty
had been driven by the north-eastern gale. Now at last the anchor dug into the sea-bed and the ship was brought to a sudden halt, propelling the women back towards the door.

And then, almost as suddenly as it had arrived, the squall had passed. The sea still heaved but there was no longer any wind. Now the black cloud deposited its burden. The rain came down in a sheet, washing the seamen's matted hair into their eyes and setting up a deafening drumming on the decks.

Inside the holds, the flicker of a flash of lightning penetrated the vent holes, briefly illuminating in its narrow beams a scene of utter devastation. The women were, without exception, in a state of shock. But now, at least, as the storm abated, the survivors could hold their places against the pitch and roll of the ship. Slowly, amid anguished groans, the living began to disentangle their limbs.

In the ornate reception room of Castle Brew, with its glass chandelier, its twenty three Windsor chairs, two settees, four mahogany tables and two bureaux; its bookcases with volumes by Pope and Swift, Addison and Cervantes; with its four looking glasses and sixty six pictures of various sizes; in this ornate reception room the ten visiting captains, dressed in their best, their laced waistcoats and shirts with velvet collars, their patterned silk breeches and silk stockings, sat and drank through the night, drank the late Richard Brew's liquor, drank toasts to the late Brew's memory, drank until there was nothing left to drink. To a man they were deeply concerned at the fate of their vessels but in view of the weather, there was nothing to be done until the dawn; and so they drank.

And in Anomabu town, the fishermen and traders huddled together under their thatched roofs, flinching at each lightning flash and moving the brass basins to catch the leaks.

Ama crept along the floor, over prone bodies, scared to stand, stretching out an arm to locate the platform. When she found it, she dragged herself up. There at least there was some space. She propped herself against the hull and set about examining her naked body. There was a huge swelling on her forehead where it had struck the edge of the platform. Every muscle ached and her skin felt as if had been scraped all over with a sharp cutlass. But at least no bones seemed broken. She stretched out on the hard board and tried to sleep. Gradually the groans subsided and the exhausted women drifted off.

CHAPTER 28

Ama was awoken by the noise of a splash. Struggling to her knees and looking over the gunwale, she was just in time to see the last body hit the water. Five female corpses floated naked on the surface of the sea, sightless eyes staring at the sun. The gentle swell washed over them, jostling them against each other and bumping them against the ship. One of them was Nana Esi. Ama closed her eyes and retched.

The fin of a great white shark sliced the water. She caught a glimpse of a mouthful of teeth fastening onto a leg. Then the first body was dragged down into the depths, leaving just a little crimson whirlpool in its wake. Ama screamed. All at once the water was alive with sharks, tearing the remaining corpses apart in a frenzied orgy of competition. The sea was threshed red; severed heads, limbs and human guts were everywhere as they tore the flesh apart. Ama sank back onto the deck and beat her head against the boards, unable to contain the violence of her sobbing.

* * *

The first pair of naked men was carried up on to the deck. One was already dead and his companion was too weak to walk. Jack Tar uncoupled their irons and dragged the corpse away.

Silently, Williams cursed himself for having left the ship in charge of his inexperienced Mate. Then he cursed Brew for timing his death to coincide with such a damaging freak storm.

“Look sharp, now,” he called, seeing his favourable balance sheet reversed by the cruel blow inflicted on him by perfidious nature.

Many of the seamen had, like Williams, spent the night of the storm drinking Richard Brew on his way. Those who had been left on board had also had a sleepless night. They were all weak, hungry and exhausted. Williams, refreshed by his few hours' sleep in the morning, urged them on regardless.

Ama dragged herself to the barricade to watch. Butcher stood back now and shouted orders. All hands except the cook and his assistants were applied to the task of extracting the men from the hold, unlocking and removing their irons, sluicing the blood and shit off their bodies, sorting the living from the dead and the living from the living.

Butcher conferred with the captain. What they were doing was contrary to all conventional wisdom. The situation was fraught with danger. The whites were heavily outnumbered. But Williams was anxious to ascertain the extent of the loss he had sustained. He decided to gamble. The slaves were in poor condition, weak and exhausted from the trauma of the previous night. He took the precaution of strengthening the guard. A bombardier stood by the quarter-deck guns with a lighted brand held high to let the slaves see his readiness to inflict an awful vengeance upon them should they venture to riot.

Ama became aware of someone beside her. It was the young girl whom she had saved from the clutches of Knaggs.

“So, Mara, you also survived the storm?” Ama said to her.

The girl replied with such a sweet smile, that Ama could not help but laugh at her innocence. She put an arm around her and held her close.

A sudden cacophony of voices drew her attention back to the scene on deck. The fit and curious women joined her at the barricade. As they watched, one male slave and then another sprang onto the port gunwale and dived overboard. The guards lashed out with their whips and swung their pikes and cutlasses, forcing a way through; but the other slaves did their utmost to obstruct their passage, all the time shouting encouragement to those who had escaped. Before the crew could take up their stations and enforce order, six men had leapt into the sea.

The women rushed to the gunwales, urging the swimmers on.

Williams' face was crimson.

“Lower the boat,” he screamed.

The slaves, free of their shackles, their spirits roused by the intrepid behaviour of their comrades, barred the way and jostled the crew.

Williams drew a pistol and used the butt to force his way through. Reaching the gunwales he fired into the water ahead of the first of the swimmers, intending to impede his progress until the long boat could be launched. The women jeered and hooted at him. Williams turned. Arm outstretched and eyes narrowed, he took aim at them. They drew back, screaming in alarm. He turned again to the swimmers. The women resumed their imprecations. Williams re-loaded and fired. The swimmers dived. Then, as Williams was re-charging his gun, one of them, surfacing, seemed the spring out of the water. He threw up his arms and screamed abuse at the captain.

The crew of the long boat recaptured two of the escapees. Two more they pulled in, dead. Ama saw one sucked beneath the swell, after which there appeared a red track in the sea, which widened, faded and then was seen no more. The last one might have reached the shore. Ama fancied that she saw a naked man standing on the distant sandy beach, shaking a fist at Williams.

Williams now had the Chief Mate arm all the crew. He would normally have considered this foolhardy, an invitation to mutiny, but he sensed that the incipient revolt of the slaves had evoked strong sentiments of solidarity amongst the whites.

The two recaptured escapees were brought back on board, and the corpses.

On Williams' orders the crew shackled the watching slaves in pairs and chained them.

“Where is the girl Pamela?” he asked.

Bruce took her by the arm and dragged her forward.

“Come along now, Madam Desdimony,” he told her.

“Ask them,” Williams told Ama, indicating the two bound escapees “how they came to mutiny.”

“Ask them yourself,” she replied sullenly.

He turned to her, his eyes dark. Then, slowly and deliberately, he raised his right hand and slapped her viciously, first, with his palm, on her left cheek and then, with the back of the same hand, on the other.

“Ask them,” he told her again, using the same words as before, “how they came to mutiny.”

Ama stared at him with hatred and contempt. She would have liked to have raised a hand to wipe her face but Bruce held both arms. Calmer now, she reflected that this was a battle she could not win. She looked at the two men. Both were clothed only in the ropes which bound them. One stood with his head bowed. The other, a man perhaps her own age, stared at her insolently.

She spoke in Fanti, assuming that because they could swim well, the men must be from the coast.

“The white man tells me to ask you why you tried to escape.”

“Tell your husband,” replied the proud one, “that he is a great rogue, firstly to buy us and secondly to carry us away from our own country. Tell him that we are resolved to regain our freedom by any means possible. Tell him that we would rather die than succumb to his wickedness.”

“He says to tell my husband . . .”

Ama spat the words at Williams and paused for them to sink in; but Williams merely narrowed his eyes. She translated the man's words.

“Tell him,” replied Williams, “and tell all his fellows who are assembled here, that it was not I who deprived them of their freedom. Tell them that each one of them either committed some heinous crime; or he was captured in a war that was not of my making; or was sold into slavery by his very own family.”

He paused for her to translate.

“Tell this scoundrel that even if he had succeeded in reaching the shore, his countrymen would have been waiting there for him. They would have captured him at once and sold him again either to me or to some other. Or he would have been killed to make fetish for his heathen gods.

“Tell them all what they have been told before, that if they behave themselves and give no further trouble, I will treat them well. Tell them that in the country where they are going, no one will kill them for fetish. Of course, they will have to work, but in return they will be given better houses than they have seen in Africa, they will be given fine clothes, they will be well fed.

“Ask him if he has anything to say.”

“My brother,” Ama told the man, “The white man asks whether you have anything to say. Consider carefully. If your answer is proud, he will surely have you killed. If you beg him, there is at least a chance that he will spare your life.”

“Wife of the white man, tell him what you like.”

Ama said, “He says he has heard what you have said. He begs your mercy. He speaks for both of them.”

Williams merely nodded.

“Bring the first corpse,” he said.

Knox tied a rope under the armpits of the dead man. Then he threw the other end out over a spar on a gallows tree the Chippy had constructed and brought it back with a grappling hook. He held it firmly, taking the strain as the corpse was thrown overboard, to hang suspended from the rope. Then, as he paid it out, the naked body descended slowly to the surface of the sea.

“Tell him,” Williams told Ama, “that I have heard his plea. Tell him that this once I will be merciful. Tell him and tell the others, that if I have any further trouble from them I will feed them alive to the sharks, just as I feed the corpses of their dead fellows.”

“Bring them to watch,” he told the guards, “and when they have seen, send them back to the hold.”

They brought the slaves to watch in batches. Knox held the end of the rope. For the education of each batch and in order to make his bait last as long as possible, he teased the sharks by allowing them to take a bite and then raising what remained of the dead man's body just beyond their reach.

“May I go now?” Ama asked.

* * *

The Love of Liberty
set off on its steady, dreary eastward way, calling at every fort and trading post along the coast.

Williams lived in constant fear, particularly at night. His nephew, whom he had taken on board at Anomabu, declined his offer to sling a hammock in his cabin; so he locked himself in and slept alone with a loaded pistol close at hand. But neither the gun nor rum nor laudanum helped him to sleep.

Butcher, often busy ashore examining potential purchases, left much of his work on board to Ama, with Bruce and Hatcher usually in attendance.

As Williams bought more slaves, so conditions in the holds deteriorated. The floor and platforms of the male holds were completely covered in bodies. Sometimes Ama could not find a place to put her bare foot as she moved about amongst the men. Each day they were packed more and more tightly together.

Bruce had a good ear and was picking up a few words of the language.

“
Pini do! Pini do!
” he would cry, meaning, “Shift up! Shift up now!”

So that was the name the slaves gave him, Pini-do.

“Pìni do! Pìni do
!” some wag would greet him in a falsetto voice, mimicking Bruce's broad Scots mispronunciation. And the wag's fellows would laugh and repeat the refrain.