The Guineaman Read online

  ‘Well gentlemen,’ Makepeace said, raising his glass to his guests, Kite and Gerard, ‘to your continuing healths, I’m sure.’

  The guests reciprocated and they fell to their meat with alacrity. The two capons had had their necks wrung only that morning, and were exceedingly tasty to Kite, who enjoyed a young man’s appetite. After a short pause for assuaging their hunger, Makepeace said, ‘so, Kite, Mr Gerard tells me you have taken to the business of a sea-officer with commendable alacrity, diligence and understanding.’

  ‘That is generous of Mr Gerard, sir,’ said Kite, smiling at the first lieutenant.

  ‘’Tis no more than the truth,’ confirmed Gerard. ‘You were like a fish to water, Kite.’

  ‘It was not entirely disinterested tuition, Kite,’ Makepeace went on, ‘the dangers of the coast, due mainly to marsh ague, but with a score of subsidiary maladies, take any one of us at any moment and sickness, or even death, may ensue. It is therefore prudent to ensure that as many of us as possible are competent to manage the ship.’ Makepeace paused on this solemn note. ‘Now to other matters,’ he resumed cheerfully. ‘When we arrive in the Sherbro I shall require your close attendance upon myself, Mr Kite. Both as surgeon, in which capacity you have not yet been over-taxed, but also as my assistant. In this capacity, you will assist me in the trafficking which will occupy me for a few days. As few days as I can possibly contrive at a profit, of course, eh Gerard?’

  ‘Indeed sir, only that which is commensurate with the satisfaction of your partners…’

  ‘One of the advantages, Mr Kite,’ Makepeace explained with a condescending air of confidence, ‘of being no mere master, but a part-owner in the Enterprize.’

  ‘I see, sir. Well then, may I offer my best wishes for the voyage.’ Kite politely raised his glass. Both Makepeace and Gerard joined the toast, but Kite was uncomfortable, feeling the captain’s eyes upon him and with Molloy’s words lingering in his ears.

  As if divining Kite’s train of thought, Makepeace asked with a disarming candour, ‘are you fond of women, Mr Kite?’

  ‘Er, as, er fond as the next man, sir,’ responded Kite quickly.

  ‘But you are a young man…’

  ‘Though well enough acquainted with the pox, I hear,’ added Gerard.

  ‘The clap, Mr Gerard. Mercifully I have not yet encountered a case of the pox.’ Kite recalled an embarrassing evening in the serious company of his father when that worthy attempted a cautionary explanation of the diseases of Venus. Kite had most certainly not yet encountered the horrors, as wrought for him by his parent, of the ‘foreign disease’, attributable it seemed, to loathsome intercourse with the French and Spanish.

  ‘But you have had a wench, or two, I daresay?’ queried Makepeace with a disquieting persistence.

  Kite faced his interlocutor, a little flushed with the captain’s wine, and skilfully turned the question. ‘Surely, Captain Makepeace, you will recall our introduction was occasioned by my familiarity with the parts beneath a woman’s skirts.’

  ‘So it was, my dear fellow,’ said Makepeace smiling his charming smile and raising his glass, ‘so it was.’

  When he returned to his cabin, Kite was more than a little drunk. He drew his journal towards him, then rejected the idea of making an entry. He would be required on deck shortly and instead he lay down in his cot.

  ‘I fear I am to become an Egyptian,’ he murmured as he sank into sleep.

  Chapter Four

  The River

  Across the entrance to the Sherbro River lay a bar which, even on a day of light winds, caused the Atlantic swell to rear up and roll over upon the shallows with a menacing and forbidding roar. To Kite’s horror and, he noticed, to no little anxiety upon even the suave Gerard’s experienced face, Makepeace held Enterprize’s course boldly east, heading towards the line of roaring breakers, behind which the low, jungle-clad coast of Guinea could be seen. Makepeace stood beside the two helmsmen, from time to time raising his hand as if to restrain them from nervous or faulty movements of the helm, commanding them to keep their eyes upon the compass as he took Enterprize over the Sherbro bar. At that moment, Kite admired the coolness of Makepeace, glimpsing the degree to which a man must cultivate nerve and command over himself, before he was fitted to command a ship. The evidence of danger became suddenly obvious as the swell steepened and heaved beneath them, lifting the vessel and speeding her forwards, before dropping her in a hollow with such precipitation that Kite thought she surely must strike the bottom. Hardly had his conscious mind recognised the proximity of the sand beneath their keel from the thick sediment swirling about them, than the Enterprize was borne up on the succeeding swell. Propelled forward they now seemed to hurtle on the very crest of a toppling wave which broke with a roar, setting the ship down again and filling the clear warm air with a mist of spray. The breaking water rushed past them, disintegrating in a welter of white foam which slid ahead, over-running the blue-green surface of the shoal water beyond the obstruction of the sand-bar. Birds dipped into the turbulent shallows, picking off the bounty of the ocean and then the Enterprize broke free, clear of the bar, breasting the seaward flow of the Sherbro itself.

  The boatswain, standing in the starboard fore chains, swung the lead rhythmically, steadily called out the soundings as Makepeace sought the deeper water of the river’s channel. All about him Kite noticed the relaxation apparent in the men; the smiles and resumption of suspended tasks. A man who had paused in coiling down a rope finished it off with a twirl about its belaying pin; another, taking off the cover of the long-boat, pulled the last lashing clear and withdrew the canvas, to roll it on the deck. Gerard looked at Makepeace and grinned, while the captain, unconsciously betraying his own anxiety, removed his hat and flicked a linen kerchief across his brow.

  Beyond the confusion of the bar, the outward flowing Sherbro darkened the sea-water with its brackishness and the random flotsam of the interior jungle of the great, dark continent of Africa. Slowly they left the roar of the breakers behind them, the green line defined itself as dense and swampy jungle, and then the pale shallows also fell astern and they entered the river itself.

  Instantly the fresh sweetness of the ocean wind left them, though a breeze still filled their upper sails. A heavy heat fell upon them like a blanket, palpable in its weight. The air filled with the harsh whirr of insects and the occasional screech of a bird; Africa embraced them as the men clewed up the courses and went aloft to furl them.

  York Island lay some twenty miles upstream, a low place, clear of the denser vegetation, though covered with palms. At its inner extremity it subsided into a marsh, at its seaward end it bore the ruins of a fort which, been built in the previous century, had, for a score or more of years been abandoned when the trade in slaves fell off. A recent revival had reinvigorated the place, so that as the Enterprize dropped her anchor after a slow passage upstream against the green current of the river, she found herself in the company of four other Guineamen. Three of these ships were from Liverpool and all were swiftly recognised by the ship’s company.

  ‘There’s the Lutwidge…’

  ‘Aye, and the Nancy… and the Marquis of Lothian…’

  Hardly had the Enterprize brought to her anchor than Makepeace called away the long-boat. Kite made ready to join him and, as the majority of her hands went aloft to put a harbour stow in her canvas, the grinning boat’s crew began to ply their oars and drive the boat shorewards through the anchorage. It was blisteringly hot, and Kite felt his skin prickle with sweat. Though Makepeace and Kite were both in shirt-sleeves, their tight neck-cloths felt uncomfortably like hangman’s nooses.

  Makepeace looked at the anchored Guineamen, raising his hat to one man on the stern of the Lutwidge as they passed. This is not a good sign,’ he remarked to Kite, sitting beside him in the stern sheets of the boat. ‘It argues delays in loading which in turn means either the coastal chiefs have not brought down sufficient negroes, or the damned lançados are asking too high a
price for my fellow commanders to agree upon.’

  ‘The lançados…?’

  ‘Oh, men of mixed blood, mulattoes, quadroons, a very devil’s brew of half-castes, fathered by seamen from the slaving vessels and born to women of the country. They all want to trade and act as go-betweens and agents. Most merely make fools of themselves, comic characters posing as self-styled white-gentlemen who possess only the worst attributes of their fathers: they drink like fishes and whore like dogs.’ Makepeace dismissed the human results of miscegenation and slapped at a mosquito that landed upon his bare wrist.

  A few native canoes passed them, and Kite stared with unconcealed curiosity at the gleaming figures of the black men bending to their paddles. Their unfamiliar physiognomy struck him at once and Makepeace, noticing Kite’s fascination, chuckled. ‘Ugly devils, ain’t they? They’re gromettos, free blacks who are useful to us here as we await our lading. You’ll become used to them, even find their women capable of rousing your lust!’ The captain exchanged a complicit grin with the seaman pulling stroke oar, a small, wiry Welshman. ‘Eh, Jenkin. You love ’em, do you not?’

  ‘Aye, sir.’ Jenkin grinned back and winked at Kite; he was one of what Able-Seaman Thomas had ironically named the Cable-Tier Rangers. Kite suppressed a shudder.

  The broken down ramparts of the ancient fort fell astern and a low and sandy strand, backed by wooden buildings and grass-roofed hutments came into view. ‘Behold the true coast of Guinea…’ Murmured Makepeace, half to himself.

  In the ensuing hours, for all that he kept Makepeace constant company, Kite had only the haziest notion of what was going on. In the largest house on York Island, a clap-board, daub and wattle structure roofed with long grass thatch, they sat and spoke with a strange white man whose name, Kite learned, was Thomas Lorimoor. He traded in all manner of goods and, in what Makepeace afterwards facetiously called a ‘palaver’, exchanged information with them about the availability of slaves and other commodities. Although born a Scotsman, Lorimoor used English mixed with a strange argot, a mish-mash of English, Portuguese and native words taken from the languages of the Mandingo and Bulum tribes. Since Makepeace was familiar with this lingua franca, Kite could make little of the substance of the conference. He was left to bring himself to eat from a calabash of what appeared to be revolting worms, but which Lorimoor called bul and which Makeepeace assured him were good eating. Indeed the commander endlessly picked at the contents of the calabash until it was emptied, whereupon a native woman suddenly appeared, silently barefoot upon the floor of beaten dirt to refill it. She was flat-faced and bore about her neck a thick silver ring that Kite at first took for a necklace but later knew for a thrall-ring. Her large body was ungainly under the loose, brightly coloured cotton wrap she wore about it. She seemed to be a sister in all but colour, to the sad trulls that had inhabited the dark dockside tavern in which Makepeace had found him, except that she moved with a motion that Kite could only describe as dignified. That she was Lorimoor’s native concubine was confirmed as they pulled back to the ship, an hour before sunset.

  That evening Kite confided the day’s events to his journal:

  The Scotch trader Lorimoor lived with a Black Woman. He is a Sick Man, much taken with a Fever which, in the Season of Tornadoes, becomes Quotidian. His Pallor is Severe, his Eyes are Bloodshot and marked by Empurpled Shadows. Though having the Appearance of Age, his long Sojourn in this Countrie has Aged him far beyond his actual years which, I understand are about Forty. His Woman, whom he calls Elizabeth, Captain Makepeace Informed me, had lived with him a Slave for nigh Twenty Years and certainly All the Years that the Captain hath known Mister Lorimoor which is about half that time. Our Palaver lasted for five Hours in which we ate a Species of Worms of Disgusting Appearance but which Owned a taste not unlike Fresh Mutton and Quite Delicious after One has overcome a Natural Disinclination to Swallow them. We Drank also what I supposed to be Palm Wine which I was told is taken directly from the Bark of that Tree which grows well upon York Island. I am Disposed to suppose this some sort of Joke played against Persons without Experience in the Ways of the Countrie.

  I was much Mystified as to All the Deliberations entered into by the Captn and Mister Lorimoor, but the Captn was solicitous enough to offer me a Full Explanation which I but imperfectly understood, not being Conversant with the Manner of Trading in this Countrie.

  There is somewhat of a Currency which for Convenience is called a Barr. The Value of a Barr varies as to whether it be a Ship’s Barr, or the Trader’s Barr, thus a Quantity of Goods hath Two Values, a Matter of Speculation apparent to those familiar with it, but from which I could Derive no Satisfaction other than that it be a Method of Extracting a Profitt, at least upon invoice. This is more than Somewhat of a Mystery to Me. This Barr equates to the Value of Iron which is much Prized Hereabouts and which we have in Quantitie in the Hold.

  There was also some Discussion of the Countrie which I better understood, Mr Lorimoor spoke of a Native Chieftan whose Name translated meant the Great Son of a Woman on Account of him being a Bastard. This Chieftan who is styled in this Place a King, is of the Mandingo Tribe, a Warlike and Mahomettan People who reside some Distance from the Sherbro River, but who Seek to Convert the Bulum Tribe to their Religion. Since the Bulum are Pagan, Lorimoor spake as though Their Society would derive some Benefit from this Civilising Influence, and though I suppose it Better than to be Bound to Superstition, I cannot pass up the Opinion that it would be more Desirable that they should know the Gospel of Christ than the Teachings of Mahomet.

  This Mandingo King is waging War in the Interior of the Countrie and Delaying the Sending down to the Coast, of the Slaves. This Accounts for the Number of Guineamen waiting at Anchor Here. But there is another Reason, Captn Makepeace Opines, and that Mr Lorimoor put into his Mind with the Rumoured News of a Greater War. This is said to have Broken Out between England and France and Spain, tho’ how this is Known hereabouts but was not Known at the time of our Departure from Liverpool, I am at a Loss to Comprehend, as is Captn Makepeace. Perhaps the Turbulence with the French in North America has Precipitated Hostilities.

  But the Captn says with a Perfect Logick that, Mandingo War or Not, such Rumours, Whether or Not they become Proved by Time, are often Employed by the Traders, the Lanchadoes and Even the Native Chiefs, to Delay the Delivery of the Slaves to the Coast. This Raises the Price, Particularly as the Hurricane Season in the Indies Approaches and the Anxiety increases among the Commanders of the Various Ships to Depart. Such a Delay, in the Present Case, gives Time for the Enemy, if there be one, to Send down his Men-o’-War to Cruise in the Offing and to Trap Us in Leaving the Guinea Coast, whereby all our Endeavours may be Brought Swiftly to Disaster…

  I am Not Certain but that Captn Makepeace is not going This Evening to Concert his Intentions with his Fellow Commanders, Most of Whom are Liverpool Men and can thus be Depended upon.

  Kite set down his quill and slapped at the buzzing mosquito who flew about him. Sweat poured liberally from his body and as he raised his left hand from the pages of his journal, he left a damp stain upon the paper. A score of flies and moths, fluttered and buzzed around the candle flame. He went on deck. In leaving Lorimoor’s house, he had caught sight of the trader’s bed, a stout framework of camwood over which hung a tent of plain calico; he wished now he had some such thing to drape above his own cot to protect himself from the infernal pestilence of insects.

  Molloy, a pale shape in the darkness, had the anchor-watch and straightened up from where he had been leaning on the rail.

  ‘Not asleep then Billy?’ he asked.

  No-one had called Kite ‘Billy’ since he had been a boy and the familiarity caught him aback. Molloy seemed unaware of the impropriety.

  ‘Too hot for you, I imagine. Still, you’ll become accustomed to it.’ A few lights shewed on York Island, like small eyes piercing the blackness surrounding them. The chafing rasp of unnumbered cicadas filled the air, giving voice to the h
eavy oppression of the tropic night.

  ‘’Tis a little Hellish,’ Kite ventured, leaning on the rail beside Molloy. Both men stared out over the dark swirl of the river rushing by below them. Over the water wraiths of mist coiled, at once both sinister and yet unreal.

  Molloy chuckled. ‘Sure, you are a real Englishman, Billy. Tch, tch, a little Hellish. Now how can that be? Yes, it’s Hell, but put your conscience aside, Billy; see it as a little bit of God’s good earth for you to profit from. Hasn’t that stingy bastard Makepeace told you your interest?’

  ‘My interest?’

  ‘Your share; your dividend under the provisions of the articles. He might be a part-owner in the Enterprize but surely you’ve seen the agreement?’

  Kite had seen no agreement, though he did not like to admit it; all he had agreed, and that by word of mouth, was to sail with Captain Makepeace on the promise of a profit of a hundred pounds or so.

  ‘I suppose you didn’t read the damned thing and took it all on trust. How very English of you. Well, Billy, as the surgeon you’re entitled to one shilling per head on the blacks that are discharged on two legs in the West Indies…’

  Kite supposed that his profit of one hundred pounds derived from this source and, embarrassed he said quickly, ‘oh yes, yes, I knew of that.’

  ‘But did you know of your right to ship a quantity of scrivelloes?’ Molloy asked, mocking him.

  ‘Er, no, I confess I did not, nor do I comprehend what scrivelloes are.’