Ama (44 page)

There was more applause and laughter.

“Fred Knaggs,” called out the Bosun, “That'll be enough o that now. Now get back to work, or yerl be learning a lesson yerselves.”

Ama leaned out to take a look at the speaker. He stood behind the rough wooden barricade which had been erected on the quarter-deck, blunderbuss at the ready. Beside him were two nine-pounders on swivels, trained on the main deck.

Why does the name The Love of Liberty strike a bell in my mind
? she wondered.
Mijn Heer spoke the names of so many ships. What is so special about this one?

* * *

“Man overboard!” screamed Joe Knox suddenly, attempting to outdo his mate in waggery.

Indeed two of the slaves in the canoe had managed somehow to free themselves from the chain and, manacled together, had jumped into the sea. With only one free hand each, they could do little more than tread water.

“Swim, swim,” shouted Ama, willing them to make for the shore; but the canoe swung round and they were soon dragged back on board.

The two culprits were the first to be pulled up onto the ship. At once, on the Bosun's orders, they were stripped of their remaining vestiges of clothing and securely bound to opposite sides of the main mast, bare buttocks facing outwards. Fred Knaggs was given the task of punishing them. His instrument was a cat o'nine tails, nine knotted log lines attached to a short handle. He swaggered around the mast, administering a lash to each man in turn, timing his strokes so that this was the first sight that greeted each new arrival as he gained the deck. And the first sound that each heard was the scream of the victim. The lesson was clear but it suited Knaggs to drive it home with a succinct homily after each stroke.

“That'll larn yer fer yer imprudence. Take that fer yer cheek. An' take that
on
yer cheek.”

The victims' backs were soon a mess of blood and raw flesh.

The women set up a great moaning and groaning which rose in protest at each stroke of the lash and fell as they flinched in anticipation of the next. Ama stood up and moved out of the shade. The others followed. Ama took a hesitant step forward. The others did the same. She had no idea what she would do but she felt driven to stop this outrageous cruelty. The problem was solved for her by an imperious command.

“Knaggs, stop that at once!”

Ama recognised the voice. It belonged to Captain Williams, Mijn Heer's cherished friend. She recalled now that she had been struck before by the irony of the name he had chosen for his ship.

Williams spoke angrily, but in a low voice, to the Bosun. By now the canoe had discharged the last of its load.

“Cap-tain, cap-tain,” came a voice calling from the canoe.

Williams strode across the quarter-deck.

“Cap-tain,” called out the other captain with a broad smile when he caught sight of his counterpart.

“We finish. Soon dark. Tomorrow.”

Williams raised his hand to his forelock in an informal salute.

“Cap-tain,” the man called out again.

“What is it?” Williams called back.

The captain of the canoe patted the cupped palm of his left hand with the back of his right hand several times, meaning “I beg you.” Then he lifted his loosely clenched right fist to his mouth and made as to drink.

“Bosun,” said Williams, “give the man an anker of rum.”

* * *

The seamen unshackled the men, one pair at a time. Then they stripped them of their clothing. The garments were added to a heap which would in due course be washed and stored for distribution on the eve of their arrival in Barbados. Under the watchful eye of an armed guard, Butcher, the surgeon, carefully re-examined each naked man. At his command, two of the crew grabbed a slave and tossed him into the air. He made no effort to land on his feet. They did it once, twice, again, giving him a last chance to qualify for a free passage to the New World. Each time the slave crashed to the deck. Butcher ordered that the faulty goods be sent back to the vendor. While this was going on, the shackles were thoroughly checked and re-riveted where necessary. A piece of tin embossed with a unique number was fixed to each leg-iron. African names were difficult for the Europeans: it was much easier to do the book-keeping if the slaves were numbered.

At last Knox handed each man a short length of coarse blue cloth and a cheap wooden spoon. This was the slaves' equipment for the journey: a loin cloth and a spoon each and a shared set shackles. The women and young children were allowed more freedom: all they got was a loin cloth and a spoon.

Once Butcher had completed his inspection, the new arrivals were herded to the centre of the main deck. Captain Williams stood on the quarter-deck, four steps up.

“Do any of you understand English?”

There was no answer to his question.

Arbuthnot, the chief mate, who was standing alongside him muttered, “We should have called at Cape Coast first, to take on a linguist.”

He knew from long experience how difficult it was to manage the slaves without the help of honest and competent interpreters.

“When I want your opinion, Smith, I'll ask for it,” Williams told him.

Arbuthnot looked down at his boots.

When Williams had first taken him on as second mate, on a previous voyage, he had told him, “Arbuthnot, eh? I reckon that's too long a name for a second mate. ‘Mis-ter Ar-buth-not.' That's all of five syllables. Much too long in an emergency. If you want the job, you'll have to answer to the name of Smith. Understood?”

Williams turned to the slaves.

“Well, I don't expect you would answer in the affirmative if you did, but I will say what I have to say to you anyway, because I am sure that if any of you do understand, you will pass my message on to your fellows. And, in due course, when we get to Cape Coast, we shall take on a linguist to tell you all this in your own languages.

“I am the Captain of this ship. On this vessel my word is law and subject to no appeal. But I am a just man. I pride myself on my fairness. My crew will tell you that I am a hard and demanding master. That is true. But I do not believe that any of them will accuse me of being unjust. If you follow the rules, you will have no trouble from me.

“If you break the rules, if you try to escape, if you refuse to eat, if you raise a hand against any white man, you will feel the full impact of my anger. Tomba, over there, has been punished because he is a stiff-necked fellow and refuses to do what he is told. He has chosen the wrong adversary, I can tell you. I will tame the beast. By the end of this voyage he will either be as gentle as a lamb or he will be dead.

“These two new arrivals have been given a good beating because they tried to escape. That I will not tolerate. If any of you should jump overboard and survive the teeth of the sharks, you will feel the teeth of my cat, I can assure you. You are now in my charge and I will deliver you to your destination, safely and one in piece, come hell or high water.

“If, on the other hand, you co-operate, I will protect you. If anyone on this ship should abuse you in any way, send your complaint to me through your overseer. I promise that the matter will be fully investigated and that justice will be done.”

The slaves were restless. Ama looked around. Judging from her companions' expressions she guessed that none of them understood what this white man was talking about. Most of them, indeed, did not seem to realise that his harangue was addressed to them. They began to talk amongst themselves.

One man said loudly in Asante, “This man has eaten too much okro. The words are pouring from his mouth like loose shit.”

There was laughter. Williams paused. Knaggs and Knox moved in, flicking their whips. Cowed, the men looked down at the irons on their feet and fell silent. Williams continued.

“Life on this ship will not be pleasant. We will be very overcrowded. That is true not only for you, but also for these white men, my crew. They have to sleep on deck, whatever the weather. I am the only person on this ship to have a cabin to myself. I know that you will not be comfortable in your quarters. However, it is up to you to make the best of it. Remember always that cleanliness is next to godliness. Keep your quarters clean and you will not be afflicted with disease, with smallpox or the flux.

“I know that many of you fear for your future and that some of you believe that you are being taken across the sea to be eaten. Nothing could be further from the truth. On the other side of the ocean you will be given work, often work that you already know well, such as tilling the soil; you will be given regular meals, clothing and a house to live in. Your conditions will be immeasurably better than anything you have experienced in Africa.

“I hope that we will all have a peaceful and trouble-free voyage and that you will reach Barbados, for that is where we are bound, in good health. Are there any questions?”

“No questions, it seems. Bosun, see that they are given their victuals. Give the men also a small draft of rum. Then show them to their quarters and bring those down below up for their dinner. And you may release the malefactors.”

* * *

The two seamen removed the hatch cover and put the ladder in position. One of them went down into the first hold. A third, armed with a pistol, stood by in case of trouble. The new men were helped down the stairs in their manacled and shackled pairs. To Ama it appeared that they were making the descent into some dark and terrible underworld. She recalled Van Schalkwyk's graphic descriptions of the torments which awaited sinners and unbelievers.

Then it was the turn of the women. One of the whites unlocked the padlock and swung the heavy door open. Another made the women form a line. They were exhausted and dejected, many of them in a state of deep shock. Resistance did not occur to them and they complied docilely with the young man's gestured instructions. Ama fell in near the back of the line. She was curious to see where they were going and peered past the shaven heads and bare backs; but beyond the open door there was only darkness. She fingered the brand mark on her breast. The scab was itchy. She examined her fellows. All had been relieved of their own cloths. Like the men, each now had a short length of coarse blue linen. It was barely long enough to wrap once about the waist and tuck in. Some had made a loin cloth, tucking the ends into their beads. One older woman, careless of all modesty, or perhaps more modest about her shaven head than the regions below, had fashioned hers into a head cloth.
She must be mad, poor thing
, thought Ama.

She had tried to stop them taking her own old cloth. It was the only link she had left with home. The one called Knocks had torn it from her with some lewd remark which she could not understand.
Knocks
, she thought,
what an unlikely name
.

The line moved slowly forward. Ama looked back towards the shore. Near the beach, small boys were riding the waves on broken pieces of a wrecked canoe, totally oblivious of the disaster which had struck Ama and her companions on
The Love of Liberty
. Over the roar of the surf Ama thought she heard fragments of their innocent shouts and screams. Today was just another ordinary day. To them the slave trade was part of the scenery, part of their little world. So it had been before they were born and so it would always be.

Five more ships were anchored in the roadstead. She had observed the activity on just such ships through Mijn Heer's spyglass. At the stern of the nearest one the sun glinted on a gilded representation of itself and she could make out the word
Amsterdam.
All the sails on the three masts were furled; a large flag hung limply from the top of the mizzen. On deck she could see some white seamen going about their business, but no blacks.

She noticed for the first time the crosses on the castle's roof.
So much for Jesus Christ
, she thought.

They were approaching the door.

“What more punishments have these white monsters prepared for us?” asked the woman in front of her of no one in particular. She spoke Fanti.

Ama replied, “I think they are just sending us into a dungeon. It surely cannot be worse than the one we have left.”

“I wish I could believe you, my sister,” replied the woman, “but since I was panyarred I have learned that things never get better, they always get worse. I fear that it will continue like that until we reach the white man's country and they slaughter us to serve in their palm soup.”

“Palm soup? White men?”

Ama laughed.

“Sister,” she said, “white men do not eat palm soup. And I can assure you also that they do not eat human flesh.”

“How can you be so sure? If they aren't taking us across the sea to make palm soup of us, what are they taking us for? Answer me that.”

Ama had no chance to reply for it was now the woman's turn to go inside.

“What is your name?” she called back.

“They call me Ama,” Ama replied as she prepared to follow.

“Wait, please,” said the white man at the door.

Ama looked at him. He was young, younger perhaps than she was. His hair was a strange red colour such as she had never seen before. The sun had burned his pale skin a deep crimson, almost the colour of a tomato, so that he seemed to be on fire. She wondered why he had said, “Please.” It was unusual: the language of these people seemed so full of violence. And there was no way that this boy could know that she understood English. Seeing that she was looking at him, he lowered his eyes. She toyed with the idea of addressing him in his own tongue. What should she say?

“Send in the next one, George,” she heard from the darkness within.

CHAPTER 25

The air inside the hold was still, hot, humid and foul. Light penetrated only from four tiny vents set above each platform and from the open door. The floor was full of women, women squatting, women lying down, one or two standing with their heads just grazing the boarding above. It seemed to Ama that a hundred pairs of eyes were gazing at her.