Drum (10 page)

One by one they took their turns. The light collars were taken off, they knelt on the floor, slid down to fit their bodies into the curves of the man already there, then felt the snap of the shackles on their feet and the ring close around their necks. When it came Tamboura's turn, fortified by the knowledge of the strength of his dual spirits, he glared back at the white man and would not kneel. But the sting of the quirt, cutting across his chest, then Ufted again and biting into his legs, proved to him that his combined spirits were no match for the impersonal brutality of this man with the whip. He knelt as he had seen the others do and accommodated his body to that of the man already there, a Mandingo whom Tamboura had spoken with once or twice in the barracoon. He felt his legs become immobilized by the shackles, and his neck restricted by the heavy collar and the hard boards under him. Within a matter of breaths, M'dong was down on the floor beside him and Tamboura felt the welcome as-sm^ance of M'dong's strong arm encircling him. With no place to put his own arm, he laid it across the shoulders of the Mandingo.

The feeble illumination of the lantern departed with the white man and they were left alone in the blackness, with the smeU, the heat, the wailing and the fear. The hard boards of the deck were beneath them, a body pressed closely against their bellies and another against their backs. Ay, this was far worse than the canoe! This was the end, Tamboura felt. He had lost his faith in his own spirit as well as the one he had left behind on the Mongo's canvas. Now he could only pray for one thing—death. He started sobbing, adding his wails to the hundreds of voices which were moaning in a long-drawn-out cadence of utter despair.

He felt M'dong's arm tighten around him.

"Do not be afraid. Little Hunter. We are strong. They do not want to kill us. Remember, we are to be breeders of men."

"And do not believe all that those hyenas in the canoe told you." The Mandingo in front of Tamboura half turned his head to speak. "Those Km bastards are craven cowards. They have sold their spirits to the white man for strong drink. Cowards they are, not hunters. All they know is to paddle canoes." He paused for a moment and his hand groped in the darkness for Tamboura's. "No, do not be afraid, Little Himter. My name is Omo. In my village I was the apprentice to the witch doctor and already I know much magic. Now you will be quiet and you wiU sleep and not be afraid."

"I fear only one thing." Tamboura felt somewhat reassured by the Mandingo's words and his sobbing subsided to a whimper.

"And what is that?" M'dong asked.

"That the big man with the red beard will—" Despite himself Tamboura broke into sobs again. "—^that he will eat those which I have tomorrow morning."

"Then fear no more." Omo managed to laugh despite his own fear and discomfort. "Think you that they would be taking us across the water to be breeders of men if they were to despoil us of those very things which would make us so?"

M'dong, who was himself fearful, found courage in the Mandingo's words. "Ho, ho," he laughed himself, echoing Omo's laughter, "Omo is right, Tamboura. The Knis were just trying to frighten us. See, Little Hunter, we have not been harmed. 'Tis true that this place stinks like the armpits of an old woman; 'tis true that these boards are hard and my legs already ache from the irons; 'tis true that your butt makes a hard lump against my stomach and that the fellow

behind me forces himself up against me, but do not despair. Little Hunter. We are not women that we should weep and wail and demean ourselves."

"You speak words of wisdom," Omo replied. "What is your name? I would know you for you are brave."

"My name is M'dong and he between us is Tamboura."

"Then sleep, M'dong and Tamboura. And I will give you dreams of a fair land, watered by a broad river, abounding with beasts that are awaiting your spear. Or I will give you dreams of beautiful women, taken at the full of the moon."

"May I have those?" Tamboura asked. His sobbing had Stopped.

"You may. Little Hunter, but if I give you those dreams, you must promise me one thing." Omo managed another laugh which sounded almost sacrilegious amid the univeral moaning.

"And what shall I promise you, O Giver of Dreams?"

"That in your dream, you do not think I am the woman you are holding in your arms."

It was M'dong'« turn to laugh. "Ay, but you would be sorry, Omo. Take my advice and give him dreams of wild beasts and spears. It would be safer for you."

Whether it was Omo's magic or his own natural recuperative ability from mental as well as physical pain, Tamboura slept on the hard boards with his feet chained, an iron collar pinching his neck and the sweaty bodies of his companions pressed tightly against him. He slept in the heat and the reeking miasma that rose from hundreds of beslimed bodies. Sometime during the night the air freshened and a breeze came through the opened ports. There was a rattle of chains as the arichors were hoisted. The rocking of the ship increased. Africa receded to a dim dark line on the horizon i and then vanished. t

chapter viii

Tamboura had slept only fitfully in the new and strange surroundings. Despite Omo's boasted witchcraft, his dreams were not of beautiful maidens under the tamarisk bushes but rather of discomfort from sleeping without his pillow of wood, trying to adjust his legs so that the irons would not chafe him, and shifting his cramped body to accommodate it to the pressin-e of Omo's body in front and M'dong's at his back. AH the men were lying on their right side and they discovered that slipping their right arms under the necks of the men in front of them eased their neighbor's head as well as their own arms. Their left arms lay stretched alongside their body or across the man in front of them. Their position was the result of an eflBcient study made in Liverpool to determine the minimum space a sleeping man could occupy. It was found that by sleeping the slaves on their sides space would be conserved, because four men on their sides took less room than three men on their backs. The right side was chosen because it was felt that that position would be less damaging to the heart. Yes, Negroes had hearts the same as other cattle.

In those days when slave trading was legal and even English royalty dipped their fingers in black profits, the conditions of the slavers were not regulated by humane methods but merely by those that were considered the most efficient. Later, when public opinion had overruled the rich merchants of Bristol and Liverpool and banished the slave trade forever, at least legally, the smuggling of slaves brought indescribable suffering to the transported blacks. But while Eng-hsh law upheld the traffic, slaves were not knowingly ill treated. They were a cargo and it behooved the master of the vessel to stow his cargo as compactly and as efficiently as possible. Slaves were valuable and it was most important that as many as possible should survive the hardships of the Middle Passage in good condition in order to bring a good

price. To this end, the ships were kept scrupulously clean; the men were fed as well as the limited variety of foods which were then transportable allowed; and they were given as much fresh air and exercise as possible. Some small efforts were also made to entertain them. They were treated with all the consideration of valuable livestock, which is exactly what they were. Certainly in the eyes of the slavers they were not human. Only white men were human beings— Negroes were cattle, more valuable than a milch cow or a steer but not quite as valuable as a fine horse. They possessed a certain amount of intelligence, it was admitted, which enabled them to speak ^nd possibly think in a limited way, but it was kgreed that they were certainly devoid of human emotions. A good slave was like a good dog—obedient and faithful with a dumb love for his master and, like dogs, he was permitted three pleasures—eating, sleeping and fornicating—all three, of course, at the will and discretion of his white master.

A watery green light penetrated the open ports of the slave deck of the Augustus Tait the morning after she sailed from Yendo Castle. When Tamboura awoke, the stability of land had vanished and now there was such a rolling and pitching that at one moment he was pressed tightly against Omo, with M'dong's weight against his back. In the next moment, he was lying against M'dong and Omo was pressed against him. The movement was continuous: over, pause, back, with unerring regularity. Tamboura's head ached with dizziness and his stomach churned in resurgent nausea. It was hard to contain his swollen bladder, and when he felt the warm stream from M'dong spattering his legs he too let go and, in turn, copiously watered Omo. There were no recriminations for each realized the other was powerless. Tamboura felt relieved and now he had only to fight the rising nausea and hope that he would not cover Omo's back with the filth of his vomit.

By this time they were all three wide awake but in their misery and sickness they did not speak, afraid to open their mouths for fear of disgorging the puke that rose in their throats. The wailing had died down but there was a continuous, restless moving of legs and rattling of chains. After a long while they heard the heavy wooden grating being removed from the hatchway and saw the thick-soled leather boots of a white man on the steps. Above the boots there came blue pantaloons, then a red sash, a white shirt and

drom 71

finally the face of the same man who had chained them the night before. He was followed by two other white men—these in white pants and striped shirts. Without looking at the slaves, one of them went to the forward bulkhead and waited for the other to go aft. There was the sound of metal scraping against metal as the long chain was unlocked, followed by its clanking progress as it was pulled through the leg-irons of the men. Sometimes the chain caught and would not pass throu^ and then one of the sailors would have to free it, with a hberal amount of cursing and a few well-directed kicks at the slave involved to make him straighten out his legs. The collars were also removed, and this took even longer. But the men were deft in their work through long experience, and before many minutes had passed, Tamboura and his companions heard the Hausa words 'get up.' They tried to stand, clutching at each other to keep from falling with the roll of the ship, even more nauseated now that they were standing than they had been lying down. But it was a relief to change their positions, and when they heard the thimiping of a drum they fell into step as they had on the long trek before they reached the canoes. The chained wretches on the other side bemoaned the fact that their turn had not arrived to be freed, while the long line which included Tamboura slowly snaked along the deck. He had to duck his head to avoid hitting it against the crossbeams, for the space between decks was only a finger's breadth more than his height. His footsteps, paced by the drum, shuffled along in the dim light of the 'tween-decks, then up the steep stairs and out onto the main deck where the bright sun, shining on the white deck, dazzled him and caused him to put a shielding hand to his forehead.

Tamboura's control of his stomach was more difficult now and the vomit surged up in his throat, making it almost impossible to restrain it. His eyes sought the consolation of something steady and immovable but he saw only the prow of the ship, rising and falling, and beyond that nothing but water, white-flecked and bright blue, shimmering under the incandescent sky and the blaze of sim. He brought his eyes back to the sloping deck. A huge cauldron, with the embers of a dying fire in the pit beneath it, sent up clouds of steam. Standing beside it were two other sailors, one with a long wooden ladle and the other with a supply of wooden bowls. As the line shuffled past, each slave was handed a wooden bowl which he presented to the sailor with the ladle, who

filled it with a steamy mixture of boiled yams, thickened with manioc. The sight of the food was too much for Tamboura. With the wooden bowl in his hand, he reached out to have it filled but when the food was slopped into it, he could restrain himself no longer. The vomit that was in his throat gushed out, spattering the white trousers of the sailor and making a puddle of sour slime on the white deck.

"You goddam nigger bastard!" The sailor's face was purple with rage. "Puke on me, would ye, ye savage son of a bitch." The wooden ladle crashed against the side of Tamboura's head stunning him so that he fell to the deck. Omo, who had already filled his bowl and started away, turned quickly, slipped in Tamboura's vomit and lost his balance, the bowl spilling its contents to mix with Tamboura's defilement of the white deck. M'dong, his own bowl upraised, stood still, not daring to move.

The sailor, now incoherent from cursing at Tamboura, kicked at the recumbent form beneath him, and with each kick Tamboura yelped like a tortured dog. The confusion brought the blue-trousered man running.

"What's happened here, Belknap?"

"That goddam nigger puked all over me and I let 'im 'ave it across 'is bloody 'ead. Cain't let them get away with nothin' like that, Mister Moore. If they sees that one pukes on me, the whole fuggin' line will puke on me when they pass— jest fur spite."

"All right, Belknap." Moore, the second mate, reached in his red sash and drew out a silver boatswain's whistle, whose succession of shrill notes brought several sailors running.

They were a brutal-looking lot, recruited from the docks and shanghaied from the alehouses of Liverpool. Their quick response to the boatswain's whistle was prompted by their sadistic hope of wreaking vengeance on someone—or, as they thought in their own minds, something, for Negroes were not human—more unfortunate than themselves. That the something they were about to harm had feelings, felt pain and could scream and sob with anguish only made it all the more interesting.

"String him up to the grating and give him ten lashes." Moore pointed to Tamboura, still stretched out on the (ieck. "A taste of the cat will teach him to swallow his puke after this. Let me know when he's strung up." He turned to the two sailors at the cauldron. "When this lot has finished eating, cook up another mess for those below and send Mr.

dram 73

Johnson to me so that he can get this lot to sluicing out the slave deck while the others are eating."

The sailor grabbed Tamboura's ankles and pulled him across the deck to where the heavy wooden grating which had covered the hatchway was upended and belayed against a bulkhead. Tamboura felt his body scraping across the deck; felt himself lifted and held against the grating; felt ropes passing around his wrists; felt the strain in his groin as his legs were spread far apart and his ankles tied. His spread-eagling took but a few moments but it was long enough to make him feel how alone he was—a single entity of hopelessness in a sea of fear. The fear had chased the sickness from his body; his nausea had departed, crowded out by fright. He stramed at the ropes but they were secure, and with each futile straining he heard the white men laugh. Fear gave way to hatred; as fear had superseded sickness, so now hatred cast out fear. His eyes saw nothing but the white painted boards of the bulkhead through the little squares of the grating, and soon he heard the voice again of the man they called Moore.

"Trussed up, is he?"

"Ay, sir!"

"Then ten lashes. Count ten between each lash. If he faints, douse him with a bucket of water and wait till he comes to. Never lash a man after he passes out. The discipline is wasted. I will count. Get readyl"

Tamboura heard the single word "one."

There was a whistling sound and from out of nowhere a streak of flame coursed along Tamboura's back. It bit deep into his flesh, searing him with a stinging pain that caused him to contract his whole body in a spasm of agony and throw his head back in a howl of torment. He heard a meaningless staccato of evenly spaced words—"One, two, three. . . ." After a few more words, the pain hit again, only this time it was sharper, for it had struck on flesh that was still quivering from the previous lash. He experienced another convulsion and his howl turned into a piercing shriek.

Again the fateful words started, "One, two three . . . ," and this time Tamboura sensed how many more there would be. But the full quantity was never spoken.

"One minute, Mr. Moore!" Tamboura recognized the burring voice of the man with the red beard. Now it had come! Now what he feared even more than the lashes on his back was about to happen. He could not see, but he was sure that

the man had a knife in his hand. It was as he had dreaded-he would supply the captain's morning meal.

"Why are ye a-poonishin' this mon?" The captain's voice continued.

"Beggin your pardon, sir, it was necessary to discipline him. He puJked all over Belknap as he was being served his meal."

"Puked, eh? The bairn's nae but seasick. Once when I was a-sailin* in the passenger trade, I had a grand English ladyship puke on me brand-new uniform. But think ye that I trussed her up and lashed her? Furthermore, are ye nae aware, Mr. Moore, that all pimishment on this ship is by me own orders?"

••Yes sir."

••Then why did ye take it upon yeself to order this 'ere floggin'r'

"Because you were 'aving breakfast, sir." Moore was humbly respectful with an oily subservience. "I didn't want to disturb you. You 'ave always said that the punishment must immediately follow the crime because the niggers don't know what they are being punished for if it is delayed, so I "

'•So ye yoosurped me authority, Mr. Moore! Ken ye not that the mon ye have strung up there is valuable? We transport him all the way from Africy to Cuby for sale. Nae mon wants to buy himsel' a nigger with sweUin' welts on his back. It forewarns that the slave's a stubborn, wicked one."

Tamboura could hear the tramp of shod feet on the deck coming nearer to him. He felt a warm, rough hand passing over his back but its touch was gentle. The captain's voice spoke again.

"Fortune was along wi' ye, Mr. Moore. The varmint's hide has nae been broken and the welts will disappear. From now on, Mr. Moore, confine you pimishments to short rations and chains. I will attend to other discipline. As this is your first voyage wi' me, I'll only warn you this time. Now, untie him.

The ropes slackened and Tamboura's body slid to the deck on his stomach. He turned over on his back and looked up. It was exactly as he feared. The captain stood over him, a white cloth tied aroimd his neck, a knife in his hand, whose brightly polished steel blade caught the sun and reflected it in a dancing point of light on the deck.

"No, Mongo man, no!" Tamboura's Hausa words soimded

strange even to himself, but in his fright he had wits enough to point to the knife,

"Nae what, me lad?" L "Do not cut them off and eat them."

f "Cut what oflf and eat what?" MacPherson occasionally allowed himself to smile and he did so now.

"My balls."

MacPherson's smile broadened and he started to laugh.

"Ye've no cause to think me a cannibal, boy. I've no desire to chew on your knockers, be they fried or bUed." He looked down at Tamboura. "But if I had, undootably yours would be the first I'd choose." He flourished the knife, then stuck it in his pocket. "Them demned Km boys been a-scarin' ye? Then fear nae mair, lad, your knockers are safe as fur as me appetite is concerned. Come, get to your feet."

Tamboura managed to stand.

MacPherson looked at him, scrutinizing him carefully, r "I've seen ye a-fore."

i^ "Yes, Mongo man." With the knife hidden in the captain's pocket, Tamboura felt braver. "You passed your hands over me in the compound."

MacPherson scratched his head. "It's nae there that I saw ye. One nigger always looks pretty much like another but somehow, lad, ye look familiar to me." His hand continued to scratch "Ah, now I ken," he laughed again, "ye're the same mother-nekkid laddy that poor Mongo Don was a-paintin' when he died. I saw the picture back at Yendo. Yes, ye are, the verra one."

"I am, Mongo man. That is my spirit which remains in Africa."

"And a demned good likeness too." He beckoned to one of the sailors.

"MacQuoid, carry on as usual. Have the niggers pull up the buckets of water and douse each other. I want them clean —as clean as sea water can make them. Issue them fresh water and limes. We'll have no scurvy on this trip. Then take the varmints below as soon as the other gang is readied to come up. Sluice the slave deck and have it stoned. There's a fair wind and it will blow some of the demned stench out. During the two days in port it got pretty filthy below, but get it clean. See to it that the varmints put some elbow grease into the stonin'. When they are through, bring them back up here on deck for an hour of sunshine after the second lot has finished a-stonin' this deck."

"Aye, aye, sir." MacQuoid stepped lively to issue the metal buckets, each one on a long rope, which were lined up alongside the rail.

"And you, Tangley," MacPherson beckoned to another sailor. "When this lad has been doused and scrubbed, take him to the infir mary and spread ointment on his back. Excuse him from work today. Let him sit here in the sun till chain-up time."

Tamboura's back pained and smarted from the two bites of the cat but he welcomed the pailful of salt water that M'dong poured over him and Omo's fingers were gentle as they scrubbed the sensitive welts. He felt clean and refreshed and afterwards, when the sailor called Tangley had applied the ointment, the fiery sting subsided. Back on deck, he found a sunny comer and seated himself on a capstan. Much to his amazement, he saw black women, dressed in shapeless, faded cotton garments, walking back and forth on a small upper deck aft, partially screened by a wooden grating. They interested him so intensely that he saw little else, although he noticed a dark look on the second mate's face whenever he walked by. Tamboura was reassured once again. His spirit: was working for him. He touched the little plaited amulet I at his neck with the soil of Africa in it. This time, the spirit that he had left behind in Africa had helped him, even at a distance.

Tamboura's gang were below, holystoning the slave deck. He watched the other gang come up, line up for their food and then douse themselves with water as he had been doused. Not a few of them puked over the rail but none of them besmirched the deck as he had. Then—and this was something he had never seen before but was to learn well during the voyage—some of the men were issued square bricks and knelt down with them on the deck, scrubbing the boards as others poured water over it. The water dried quickly in the hot sun and the purity of the deck's whiteness attested to Captain MacPherson's excellent housekeeping.

Tangley, the sailor who had taken Tamboura aft to the infirmary, came to fetch him. He was a young chap with a trace of the purple heather of Scotland still coloring his cheeks. His face had not as yet been coarsened by the vices of the Liverpool docks and the Havana waterfront. He studied Tamboura for a moment before Tamboura became aware of his presence. Tangley's unconscious reaction to the slave's savage beauty and the unexpressed desire it engendered ii

him made him almost gentle. He knew few Hausa words so he spoke haltingly, but his words were soft-talking.

"You come along with me, boy." His hand reached out, felt the warmth of Tamboura's shoulder and, attracted by the sun-warmed soft pliancy of the skin, slid down Tamboura's back, gently fingering the welts. "Vou feel better now, boy?"

"I and my spirit are both better." Tamboura resented the white man's fingers on his flesh. Although they did not molest him, there was something about them that was unwelcome. It caused his skin to crawl, but he endured them. He rose and followed Tangley below. The slaves on Tamboura's side had been already chained down and the second section were now lying down to have their fetters fastened. Tamboura pointed to the vacant space between M'dong and Omo.

"That is mine." He walked to the narrow space and inserted himself between M'dong and Omo. Tangley snapped the fetters around his ankles, then knelt and secured the collar. He could not resist touching Tamboura's cheek before he stood up and left. Tamboura watched him go, hating him as he now hated all white men; hating them despite Mongo Don's creation of his other spirit, despite Captain MacPherson's kindly intervention and the implied caress of Tangley's hands. White men, Tamboura had discovered, were his enemies. He was suddenly aware of the vast, unbridgable gulf between black and white. A white man could be kind if he wanted something. Mongo Don had wanted to paint him and he was kind; Captain MacPherson wanted to sell him, so he was kind. Tangley was kind because he wanted something, too, but just what it was, Tamboura did not understand.

He pillowed his head on M'dong's arm and slipped his own arm under Omo's head. M'dong's fingers pinched his nipple but it was only playful evidence of camaraderie, not like the Ungering fingers of Tangley. Omo turned his head as much as possible to look at Tamboura.

"Yours is a strong magic. Little Hunter, far stronger than any I know."

"Yes, my spirit is strong," Tamboura admitted, "but it is not strong enough. Had it been really strong, I would not have received the whip twice. I must work to make it even stronger."