The Guineaman Read online

  Like the men, the women were all young and strong, the oldest still capable of breeding. Although they climbed up onto the decks nimbly enough, once there they huddled in a group, heads together, occasionally turning in anticipation of torment: nor did they have wait long. Mr Plantagenet strode in amongst them, his long whip in his hand, pulling the huddle apart and roaring instructions that they were to remove the loose, gaily coloured but now filthy cotton wraps from themselves. Here and there he gave a helpful indicator of his requirements by tearing garments off, exposing the women’s bare backs. They screamed, the seamen cheered and from below there arose a howl of pain and rage from their fettered menfolk.

  Intimidated by the muskets of the marines, the women stood and gasped as the remaining seamen plied their buckets and the sunlight sparkled on flashes of flung water. Hurriedly, the wretched women washed themselves down, a sight which infected Kite with an almost overwhelming lust. The sight of breasts and thighs, of the gleam of light upon wet skin and, most shocking of all, the feathered pudendae showing beneath the buttocks of the women as they squatted in the scuppers to pummel their besmirched clothing, sent a physical shock through him. It struck him that despite or perhaps because of their humiliation, their brown skin held a potence absent from the discomfitted white flesh of the Liverpool whore. In his arousal, he shunned all thoughts of poor, bloody Susan Hebblewhite. He could not yet admire these negro women as beautiful, for his sensibilities were suspended and his lust was tormentingly mixed with a self-loathing that he could even contemplate coupling with what, despite his natural compassion, he regarded as not fully as human as himself. This and his natural reserve held him back from any precipitate action, prompted by raw and primitive instinct, but in this he was almost alone.

  As the first two boat-loads of women finished their washing and hung their clothing in the rigging to dry, they squatted together, crying and wiping the tears from their faces with the palms of their hands, staring fearfully about them. Circling them, their jibes ended, the watching ring of seamen seemed poised for some act of violence. Then this momentary spell was broken. Mr Plantagenet’s whip cracked in the air and he roared something in the native tongue. The women began to stand uncertainly when from the quarterdeck, Makepeace’s voice called out, ‘Your examination, Mr Kite, and make it speedy, sir, make it speedy!’

  The captain’s impatient tone was reinforced by a murmur of anticipation from the men and a shuffling, instinctive recoiling from the women. Kite was suddenly confronted by the first woman, unaware of crossing the deck. He motioned her to stand and ran his eyes over her as the sweat poured from him and his lust lay half formed in his breeches. He twirled his hand and Plantagenet gave an order. The woman revolved and, at another barked command, she obediently opened her mouth. Kite peered at her teeth and looked into her eyes, touching her only to draw down the lower lid.

  He was about to tap her shoulder and pass on to the next woman, when Makepeace said from just behind him, ‘Look at her cunt, Mr Kite. We want no trouble from that source.’

  Kite turned, his face pale beneath his tan. Makepeace was close beside him, his face flushed and Kite could smell a sourness on his heavy breath. Kite thought of the ‘trouble’ the ‘Cable-Tier Rangers’ would bring to the women.

  ‘Captain Makepeace,’ Kite began, but Makepeace cut him short.

  ‘Do as I say, Mr Kite,’ he said, his voice purposeful as a sword-blade.

  Abashed, Kite looked at the woman as her eyes flickered from his own to Plantagenet’s. The mulatto was saying something to her, at which she gasped and her gaze came back to Kite. He felt the hatred in their slight but telling contraction, saw the ripple of muscle settle along her jaw and then her hands drew his own eyes downwards. She parted herself and he stooped to peer into her.

  ‘Properly, man, properly!’ Makepeace commanded. ‘An examination, for God’s sake! Not a damned sniff!’ Kite hesitated, then felt himself shoved aside while Makepeace bent in his stead, handling the women with his intrusive fingers, opening the red vulva with a coarse gesture, then standing, slapping her thigh and, moving to the next, to repeated the humiliating procedure. The first woman hurriedly squatted, her thighs so tightly pressed together that the muscles trembled and tears poured down her face as her whole body began to shake. Having examined the second woman, Makepeace straightened up and confronted Kite. ‘There, Mr Kite, I don’t keep a dog and intend to do all the barking, but that is how you attend to the matter. Look for a discharge, or sores…’

  ‘Yes, sir, I understand,’ said Kite, shaking himself, partly from rage, partly from his own humiliation, but his words were lost in the cheering of the men. He motioned the next woman and she turned and he touched her, briefly, with his finger tips, seeking to reassure her of his own innate kindness, shocked by the hatred in the woman’s eyes, hatred that was aimed exclusively at himself. Then, in emulation of his commander, Kite stooped.

  As he worked his way down the line, he heard Makepeace say, ‘put aside any with their lunar bleeding, Mr Kite,’ and in this way several woman were moved to one side. When he had finished, he felt no trace of the priapic urge that had quickened him at the start of his appalling task; he felt filthy, hot and begrimed, somehow paralysed by the experience and Makepeace’s nastiness. He despised himself for not having remonstrated with Makepeace that the very least they could have done for the poor creatures was to carry out the examination behind a screen of canvas, but he had only thought of the notion when he had almost finished the work. Another time, perhaps, if God-forbid, there ever was another time.

  What happened next he wrote down that night, when he could not sleep and the noises from the slave decks was not that of distress alone, but of lust and horror and degradation.

  When I had Completed my Examination those Women taken by their Lunar Periods were Removed below, the Seamen handling them with a Palpable Disgust. Then our Captain came forward and, Seizing Two Women he had Selected during the Examination, Withdrew to the Privacy of his Cabin. At this, as at a Signal, each of the Men who felt Inclined to Lust, took a Woman, According to the Precedence of Rank. Those Assigned to Guard, which Constituted Half of the Marines, Each Marked a Woman by placing a Hand upon her, and these were left on deck until those Occupied in Satisfying Themselves in Copulation returned to their Duty.

  I noticed a Few of the Men did not Avail themselves and Submit to Temptation, though for whatever Reason was not Apparent. Molloy Abstained, which much Surprised but Gratified me, but Gerard also removed Two Women once Captain Makepeace had gone below.

  This Event so put me out of all Sympathy with Captn Makepeace, for where the behaviour of the Men did not Shock me, that of the Captn most assuredly did, for he speaks often of his Wife and Three Children in Liverpool and his Character as a Gentleman seemed at Variance with this Unspeakable Display of Lust…

  A cry rent the hot and foetid air in the ship. It was not a scream, for there had been enough of those earlier; this was a plaintive wail of despair which was somehow the harder to bear than the shrill objections of the victimised. But it was the last noise of that noisome day. The ship became silent at last and most on board slept, the ravished and the ravishing sharing the slumber of the damned.

  Kite could not sleep. Silently he went up on deck, noticing the creeping stench that now began to pervade the interior of the vessel. About the deck the handful of guards were pale shapes in the starlight. Molloy had the watch and Kite wondered if he had forborne from rape in order to keep his watch, and that by some devilish arrangement in this ‘well-regulated’ trade, his turn would come later.

  ‘Not sleeping, Billy-boy?’ Molloy asked wearily.

  ‘No I am not!’ Kite answered with a vehemence that surprised himself.

  ‘Tch, tch, you are touchy. Gerard said you looked as if you could have murdered our gallant commander. The women upset you, eh? Well, if it’s any consolation, it’s always the same. When you were a little lad back in England, Englishmen were out here doing the
same thing. And if it ain’t Englishmen, its Dagoes, Portugooses, Frogs, Danes or square-headed Dutchmen.’

  ‘But not Irishmen, I take it,’ Kite said with a withering sarcasm.

  ‘Oh, yes, Irishmen, Scotchmen, Welshmen,’ Molloy responded quickly, ‘and what difference does it make, eh?’

  ‘Difference?’ Kite spluttered, ‘why, do we treat our own women like that?’ But he knew his protest was hypocritical, his mind’s eye had already conjured up the dead Susie and the stabbed whore.

  ‘B’God, Billy, you’re a touchy devil. Why certainly we may precede matters with a little flattery, or a financial agreement, but the substance is the same. And mark you, man that is made in God’s image don’t forget, is prompted by ungovernable lusts at such times of extreme provocation. Think now how long it is since we saw a woman. Surely we are allowed these little moments of creation…’

  ‘You were not so tempted,’ Kite responded swiftly, ‘unless you hold yourself in readiness for tomorrow.’

  Molloy chuckled. ‘Well, Billy, ‘’tis either that, or you’ll think the worst of me.’

  A dark and terrible thought crossed Kite’s mind and he looked sharply at the ghostly figure beside him. Molloy seemed unaffected by the turmoil of the impressionable young man beside him. Kite said, I hope I will not have to think the worst of you…’

  ‘Let me give you a word of advice,’ Molloy said kindly, turning towards him. ‘Mark my words well, Billy. You will spend the next few weeks in an agony of temptation. Whether or not you succumb to the beast within you remains to be seen but do not, I beg you, make this an issue with Captain Makepeace. These people may seem to you to be piteous, and perhaps by our own standard they are, but ask yourself what circumstances brought them here? Why nothing but war, war between their own chiefs and the Mandingos or the Ashanti, or the Wolofs. These are powerful tribes who bring the spoils of their victories to trade on the coast, from Sierra Leone all along this benighted bloody country, to the Bight of Benin. If the captured blacks are not cattle themselves, then they are treated as cattle, no worse than others in other places. The Guinea coast now, is no worse than the Irish coast a century ago and perhaps even the English coast before you were conquered by the Norman duke.’ Molloy paused and blew the air out of his puffed cheeks. ‘Pah, I sound like a damned dominie, do I not, eh? But surely it is all the work of God, Billy, foreordained and made by His Hand.’

  ‘You are a Papist?’ Kite asked.

  Molloy chuckled. ‘Does the notion of a papist officer at sea surprise you?’

  ‘No, no, I have never knowingly known one before.’

  ‘Never known a papist, eh? Well, well. I sha’n’t catechise you. If it suits you to see God’s Hand as providential, then so be it. You see, Billy, in company with most of my fellow creatures, Francis Molloy is incapable of untangling many mysteries, to be sure, but heed me in one thing. Do your duty by Captain Makepeace, Billy, as I have no doubt but that you will, and in due course you will earn your pay and an easy conscience.’

  Kite felt the touch of kindness in Molloy’s words. He had not expected such concern from so unusual a quarter. Mumbling his thanks, though unconsoled, he turned away and went below.

  The next day the slaves arriving were a mixture of the sexes, clearly a sweeping up of the emptying baracoons. Now there appeared a few older men and women and one could only guess how long they had been held prisoners before being shipped out. That afternoon a quantity of large elephant tusks and the smaller ‘scrivelloes’ arrived, along with a floating raft of camwood logs which was manoeuvred alongside by half a dozen gromettoes armed with sweeps who skilfully used the river’s current to assist them. More canoes arrived with woven baskets of manioc, food for the slaves during the middle-passage, and Kite was compelled to remark that the trade was indeed well regulated. The enervating heat, the lack of sleep, the tormenting insects and the incessant groans and cries of the slaves, the noise of their fetters and the stink of their confinement, despite the ventilating ports purposely cut in the Enterprize’s sides, all combined to desensitize Kite. His task became a distasteful routine. His constant proximity with the dark bodies of the slaves utterly dispelled all thoughts of sexual congress, while the stares of fear and hatred he received as the most prominent and primary agent of their distress, wore down his private sympathy.

  Among the slaves he found cases of medorrhea in both men and women and these were daubed with white lead by Kerr and shunned by the men. Otherwise the slaves seemed fit and, insofar as he could tell, healthy.

  As he carried out his duty on the fourth day, he was aware of Makepeace’s presence on deck. At the conclusion of his examination of the last of the slaves just brought aboard, the commander called him aft.

  ‘Well, Mr Kite, you seem to have settled to your work most commendably.’ Makepeace spoke without sarcasm. Kite found it difficult to meet the captain’s eyes, but he made the effort, coughing awkwardly. ‘I am not indifferent to your own sensibilities, Mr Kite, but caution you not to make judgements upon others. I do not require your respect, only your obedience. You are young and doubtless proper, but I have never asked why you were, like a fish out of water, in that filthy tavern in Liverpool. Seek not the mote in the eyes of others, Mr Kite, and miss the beam in thine own. A man’s eyes are the windows into his soul. Be sure there ain’t a futtock- timber or two stopping the clarity of thine own vision.’

  The sarcasm inherent in the use of the Quaker form of the pronoun gave sufficient of an edge to Makepeace’s pronouncement so that Kite knew the geniality had vanished from the captain’s attitude. Afterwards he wrote, Taken with Molloy’s kind Caution, I Attribute Captn Makepeace’s Altered Attitude to a shift in Purpose now that we are to Embark on that Portion of out Voyage that we call the Middle-Passage.

  Even as he waited for the ink to dry, re-reading the sentence he had just written, Kite failed to notice his own use of a significant pronoun. That he had written ‘we call’, signified his unconscious acceptance of his integration into a well-regulated trade.

  The oppressive conditions aboard Enterprize during those four days had so changed Kite that, while he remained aloof from the moral turpitude of most of his fellow shipmates, he might still have followed them under the shadow of damnation and ended up indistinguishable from them. But on the last day of their loading, when the number of slaves embarked approached its final total of two-hundred and eighty five, Kite found himself staring into a face that caught his eye with a shocking intensity.

  The curious, asexual propinquity that his duty had led him into, seemed suddenly brought to an end by this particular confrontation. Kite had found it impossible to judge the age of the blacks, merely categorising them in his ledger as ‘of about 20 yrs’, or ‘about 25 yrs’, occasionally making an additional note, such as ‘scarrd, possble warrior’ or, in three cases ‘Woman with child’, or to note seven females who were ‘accompd by suckling child’. These, unlike their menstruating sisters who were treated with a mild disgust, were almost tenderly handled by the seamen.

  Such Paradoxical Behaviour, Kite noted in his journal, mitigating the conduct of his fellows with evident relief, Argues some Influences of a Higher Civilisation amongst these Common Seamen, for here was a Manifestation of True Pity. But his own attitude appeared to him to be less simple. Certainly he had noted some of the women possessed an attraction beyond others, just as some of the men were handsome and well set up, bearing themselves proudly. One or two of these males had imprinted their pride upon his consciousness and, in walking the dark and dreadful length of the between deck, divided as it was into the male and female slave rooms, their eyes met with sparks of recognition. It was easier to accept the hatred of these young warriors than to acknowledge beauty in their women. The former was a direct consequence of the horrid confrontation brought about by the examinations, the latter was the antithesis to this intimacy, a result of luxurious contemplation and this he had been denied by the oppression and extent of his task.
/>   But on the last afternoon, when the final canoe was awaited, Kite felt relief in the approaching end of his demeaning work and the prospect of returning to sea, clear of the green and foetid Sherbro with its insect-laden air. Perhaps, too, he had become a little blasé, nevertheless he was sitting, sweating and uncomfortable on the carriage of a broadside gun as the last batch of blacks clambered down over the ships rail, fearfully regarding their destination. It occurred to him that the Enterprize must seem a most strange construction, beyond even their imaginings. It was then that he saw the young woman.

  She was tall and slender, and stared about her in a manner that was not without fear but was utterly without any air of submission. It was this, rather than any inherent beauty that first attracted Kite’s jaded interest and as Plantagenet began to shout his instructions, Kite was suddenly, impulsively, up on his feet.

  ‘All right, all right, Mr Plantagenet,’ Kite bellowed in so uncharacteristic an outburst that the men idling on deck, regarding this last consignment of slaves with satiated indifference, looked up and nudged each other. The linguistier turned and glared at Kite. ‘Tell them quietly, man, there is no need to bellow like that, and,’ Kite added sharply, ‘put that damned whip away!’

  ‘Mr Kite,’ Plantangenet expostulated, tapping his breast, ‘I am the man in charge of bringing aboard the blackamores…’

  ‘And I am the officer responsible for seeing they are in prime condition, now tell them quietly what we require them to do…’ He was looking at the girl and she was looking at him as he willed himself not to lower his eyes upon her bare breasts. Then she averted her gaze, and the merest suggestion of a relieved smile nervously twitched the corners of her mouth. It was an expression of such subtle sweetness, devoid of any coquetry, Kite felt, that his knees trembled and his guts churned with a powerful sensation of concupiscence. He swallowed hard and nodded at Plantagenet who glared at Kite with hatred at his imagined loss of face.