The Triumph of Grace (11 page)

"I begged for mercy, but de whip kept fallin' on my back," Brister said. His voice was soft, his eyes half closed. "I thought I would die under dat accursed brute's whip. Even now, to remember it pulls de breath from my body, and I likes to die all over again. After dat whuppin', I lay on de floor two whole days afore I could get meself up again. De pain has not left me yet. No, not to dis very day."

Samson said, " 'Take him to de field and shoot him.' Dat's what my first massa told Albo to do with me. De massa, he said Albo should dig a hole and bury me after I was shot through. I tried to fight, but Albo had a whip, and he had dat gun, too. He would have killed me for sure, except dat Massa Dulcet come along den, and he was needin' a cheap slave. So he bought me for de price of a jug of whiskey."

One by one, the slaves spoke the horrors they had seen and felt and hidden deep in their souls:

"Branded our arms and our legs with hot irons, dey did, just like we was animals dat belonged to dem."

"Crop down our ears with a knife. Dey never even heard our screamin' cries."

"If dey be a runner, massa chop off his foot. Or if dey be one who tells a lie, massa says slice his tongue away. If he steals, it be his fingers dat gets cut off. Even though de white man run us here far from our homes, and lies to us ever' day we lives, and steals our lives away from us."

"Dey clamped iron collars on our necks and bound us up with chains so we could hardly move."

"De slave box. Dat is de worst place to ever be. Locked away in dat cramped-up place with only a few holes poked in for air. Dey calls it rightful punishment. We calls it a place to die."

"I have been hesitant to print too many details about the horrifying rebellion at Saint Domingue because it is all too repugnant for refined eyes," said Gaston with a shiver."Thousands of plantations burned and hundreds of white families killed, their bodies mutilated beyond imagination. The stories that came across on the boats with those who actually witnessed the awfulness are nothing short of terrifying.They are, quite simply, too horrific to be expressed in civilized words!"

"Ah,
oui!"
echoed Alain. "No more are we able to soothe ourselves with the assurance that slave insurrections never succeed."

"But they are not successful here," Pierre corrected. "Not in Charleston."

"No?" challenged Alain. "And how can you be so certain that is so, Monsieur Dulcet? Because local officials diligently search vessels that come to this harbor from Saint Domingue in order to prevent angry slaves from stepping onto these shores?
Pfth!
They are already here!"

"Of course insurrection is possible here," said Gaston. "We have only to look around us to see that it is entirely possible here."

"A slave insurrection in Louisiana was almost successful two years ago," Pierre pointed out. "It was suppressed, that much is true. And yet twenty-three slaves were hanged in the aftermath and three white sympathizers deported."

"Many more Negro slaves live in Charleston than white men," Gaston said. "And I ask you, which of us really knows who of our slaves we can trust with our lives? Or with the lives of our families?"

"
Mon Dieu!"
Jean-Claude exclaimed. "I can only give thanks to God that my Simone is not here to hear this wretched talk! It would throw her into an absolute panic!"

"I say the answer is to require that each slave owner remain in complete control of his own slaves," said Pierre Dulcet."As for those who belong to me, I can happily report that they are every one the picture of docility, contentment, and loyalty. I cannot speak for my neighbors, but I treat my own slaves well. They reward me with respect and, I dare say, with whatever affection they are capable of extending. I sleep soundly at night because I know I have not one thing to fear from my slaves."

"I know what happened on de French slave island," rumbled the angry man. "I heard de stories of murder and flames from those who were dere to see it with dey own eyes. I heard all about it from de ones dat fought against de white man and won."

"If slaves done it dere, slaves can do it here, too," said Dutch.

His voice dripped with such hatred that it sent a cold shiver through Samson.

"Dere be fightin' here, too, and soon," said the angry man."Overseers and drivers—dey be de first to die. Den be de white masters. Dem Big Houses will roar with flames, and de fields will burn around dem. Den we run to freedom."

"But we will not hurt de Quakers," said Brister. "De Quakers won't die. Dey be friends of liberty."

"We will fight every way," the angry man hissed. "White massas think we have no power, but we will fight against dem every way we can. What does it matter if dey kills us? Dey be doin' dat already, anyway."

Samson sat back on his heels. "It sure would be somethin' to be boss of mysef," he said. "Dat sure would be somethin'.First thing I do is find my brother Cabeto. Next thing I do is get me a boat and go back home to Africa."

W
e head due south to the Canary Islands," Marcus Slade, the ship's navigator, said in answer to another one of Grace's endless questions. "There the westerly currents will give us a downhill run all the way to the Caribbean. From there we head up to Florida and on to South Carolina."

Grace's eyes glistened at the sight of the map Mister Slade had spread out before him over a barrel top. How many times she had seen her father sit at his desk in the London house at their compound in Africa and pore over just such a map.Never once had she asked him if she could look at one of his maps, though. She did regret that.

Marcus Slade laughed at the earnest look on the dark young face before him. "A Folger's map. That's what this is called, Ashok," he said. "All these markings are words and directions. Perhaps one day you will learn to read. Then you will be able to decipher such a map for yourself."

"Yes," said Grace, careful to lay on her thickest Indiansounding accent. "Perhaps one day I will."

"I got this map in America the last time I was there," the navigator said. "In Philadelphia. That's the city where it was printed. By an American, name of Benjamin Franklin, in fact.He was a man who took great interest in the Gulf Stream. He studied it when he crossed the Atlantic Ocean by carefully noting the latitude and longitude of the ship's position several times every day. He would lower a thermometer over the side to measure the temperature of the water. When the water grew warmer, he knew he was in the Gulf Stream. I consider that rather ingenious. Do you not agree?"

"Well, sir, I—"

Grace's answer was interrupted by another commotion on the deck. Once again it was young Jackie, and once again Paddy Clemmons was after him.

"You clumsy excuse for a cook's boy!" Paddy bellowed.

He caught Jackie by the ear, and Jackie let out a shriek.Paddy raised his metal ladle and struck the boy across the face.

"Here, now, Clemmons!" exclaimed Mister Slade. "What has the boy done to deserve such treatment?"

"What
more
has he done, ye means!" roared Paddy. "Jist ruined me whole pot of porridge, is all!"

Paddy raised the ladle to give Jackie another whack, but Grace stepped between the boy and the furious cook.

"Outta me way, ye fool of a nabob!" Paddy ordered. "Or I'll blister yer black hide, too!"

"Stop the insolence this minute!"

The command came from Captain Hallam, who had hurried over in response to the commotion.

"Stop now! That is an order!"

The captain looked with disgust from Jackie to Ashok and back to Jackie. "I should have known it would be the likes of you two! Any more trouble from either of you and I will have you both locked in chains and secured belowdecks. Now, out of my sight!"

Had Captain Hallam been anything like Captain Ross of the
Willow,
Grace might have unwound the red rumal from her head and taken the risk to confide her secret to him. But Captain Hallam was nothing like Captain Ross. Captain Hallam was arrogant, proud, and bigoted. He was especially hard on Jackie, because Jackie was inept and prone to mishaps.And the captain was hard on Grace because he did not like having a crewman with dark skin.

"What happened?" Grace asked Jackie as the two of them lay side by side in their hammocks in the berth deck below.

"I hate working in the galley," Jackie sulked.

"You said that to the cook?"

"Of course I didn't! I'm not so great a fool as that. Cook told me to stand over the hot fire and stir the porridge, but when I did, it splattered on me and burned me hand. I didn't see as how the pot had to be stirred all the time, anyway, so I sat back and took me rest. It was cook's fault the porridge burned to a crisp, not mine. He was the one wot stoked the fire too hot. But it's me wot gets the blame now, ain't it? Always, it's me wot gets the blame."

Grace was quiet for a moment. "You and me," she said.

"Yes," said Jackie. "You and me. We has to stick together, you and me. We has to help each other so long as we be on this ship."

Long spans of nothing but ocean stretched the days at sea out to an endless expanse of time. When the sailors weren't at work or asleep, they made dice from bone and gambled away their meager possessions. Or they stole rum and entertained each other with drinking games and drunken songs. Or they told and retold tales, which grew more wild and exaggerated each time they were repeated. The sailors especially enjoyed any tale that would frighten Jackie and send him into a panic.

"Don't listen to them," Grace would say. But once a tale was begun, Jackie seemed unable to pull himself away.

One hot day, in the sun glare from the glassy ocean, a clutch of men sat together, deeply engrossed in something.Jackie crept closer to watch. Old Quin scraped at the top of Lucas's foot with the sharp end of a long needle. Carefully he dipped the needle into a blue concoction and poked at the lesion with it. Then he tipped the needle into a red concoction and stabbed some more at the fiery- looking wound on Lucas' foot.

"What you be doin'?" Jackie asked.

"Makin' a tattoo," said Mickey.

Jackie's curiosity grew, and he moved in closer in order to get a better view. A definite picture had begun to take shape on Lucas's foot, although Jackie couldn't tell what it was supposed to be.

Finally his curiosity got the better of him. "Mickey," Jackie blurted out, "what's Old Quin drawin' on Lucas's foot?"

"A rooster, of course," Mickey whistled through his two teeth.

The sailors exchanged quick glances and mischief danced in their eyes.

"Ye doesn't know?" Abner asked.

"Know what?" said Jackie.

"About the rooster and the pig," said Abner.

A warning tugged inside Jackie. He glanced around for Ashok, but he was nowhere to be found. Unlike Jackie, Ashok was careful to keep his distance from the other sailors.

"That be too bad," said Mickey. "Because wot ye doesn't know just might drag ye down to the bottom of the sea. Like it did to poor Collie."

An all-too-familiar panic began to rise up inside Jackie.The seamen could see it in his face.

"If'n the ship should sink in a storm, them animals in their crates would float on top of the water. Pigs and roosters and all," said Mickey, his eyes dancing with delight. "But not you. Oh, no, not you. You would sink in that ocean like a big rock."

Jackie opened his mouth, but fear strangled his words into a strained squawk.

"Now, Lucas here, he wouldn't sink. Not with that rooster Old Quin be stainin' on his one foot and the pig on the other.The spirits of them animals would keep Lucas floatin' on top of the water right along beside them animals in their crates."

"Really?" Jackie croaked.

"Ever' true sailor knows as much," said Abner. He pulled up his pantaloons and displayed the tattoos that decorated his own calves. "See? A rooster on the one side and a pig on the other."

"All done," Quin said to Lucas.

Lucas smiled and reached out his foot for all to admire.There it was, a crudely drawn but recognizable rooster.

"Come, boy, put out your feet for your own rooster and pig," Old Quin said.

Quin laid the needle aside and took out his knife.

Jackie gasped and pulled back.

"We hates to be floatin' in safety on the water and watch you alone sink in front of us," said Mickey. "Like poor Collie did."

"A little pain now or a watery grave tomorrow?" Abner said.

Jackie, near tears, gasped, "But why yer knife? Can't you use that needle on me, same as on Lucas?"

"Oh, no," said Quin. "See, Lucas here can swim some, so he don't need so much pertection. But, you . . . Can you swim, boy?"

"No," Jackie admitted.

"That's why I needs to carve the rooster and the pig deeper into you," said Quin. " 'Tis yer only hope to make it back to land alive."

Abner and Mickey grabbed Jackie and held him down.Lucas slapped his hand over the boy's mouth to muffle his screams.

When Quin finished his work, Jackie had a crudely drawn blue rooster carved into one foot with the knife tip and a red pig carved into the other. The sailors sat back and laughed as the sniffling boy wiped the blood from his feet and hobbled belowdecks.

"Why, Jackie?" Grace demanded when she saw what the men had done to him.

"Because I was afraid," he said.

Jackie wept through his evening chores in the kitchen, and he tossed in his hammock throughout the night from the pain.The next day was even worse, and the day after that his feet were fiery hot and swollen. Jackie lay helpless in his hammock crying with pain. Grace begged for the ship's surgeon to come and see to Jackie's wounds, but the surgeon refused. A new cabin boy was easy enough to pick up at the next port, he said. So Grace bathed the boy's feet as best she could, and she brought him food and drink.

"No one on this ship is as miserable as me," Jackie moaned to Grace. "No one is so tortured and alone."

Grace wiped Jackie's feverish face with a wet cloth and thought about her own life. Her despair in her parents' compound, especially at the prospect of marriage to Jasper Hathaway. Her anguish in the wretched dungeon at Zulina fortress. Her helplessness as the slave ship carried her Cabeto away. Her loneliness without little Kwate . . . without Mama Muco . . . without Cabeto.

And now, her terror at the unknown path that lay ahead.

"Jackie," she whispered, "you are not the only one."

She closed her mouth and said no more.