_Lucy_.
Are all these wretches slaves?
_Stanley_.
All sold, they and their posterity, all slaves.
_Lucy_.
O! miserable fortune!
_Bland_.
Most of them know no better, but were
Born so, and only change their masters.
OROONOKO.
The party were up at an early hour on the ensuing morning, that they
might enjoy the delightful freshness of the air, which so soon
evaporates before the scorching rays of the tropical sun. They were
joined at breakfast by the doctor who attended the estate, and who had
called in to announce the birth of a little negro boy in the early part
of the night.
"Who did you say, doctor?" answered the planter, "Mattee Sally? Why, I
thought Jane Ascension was in advance of her."
"They were running it _neck and neck_, sir," replied the surgeon.
"How is she--quite hearty?"
"Quite, sir; but very anxious about the child's name, and requests to
speak with you as soon as you have breakfasted."
"We will go to her. You have no idea," observed the planter to Mr
Berecroft and Newton, "what importance these people attach to the naming
of their children. Nothing but a fine long name will satisfy them. I
really believe, that if I refused her, or called the boy Tom, she would
eat dirt. I believe we have all done; Boy Jack, bring the sangoree.
Doctor, I dare say that your clay wants moistening, so take the first
pull."
This important commencement and finale to the repast having been duly
administered, they proceeded to the range of buildings before mentioned,
in one of which they found the lady _in the straw_, sitting up, and
showing her white teeth at her master's approach, as if nothing very
particular had occurred.
"Well, Mattee, how are you?" said the planter. "Where's the
piccaninny?"
"Ab um here, sar--keep im warm," replied the woman, pointing to a roll
of blanket, in which the little creature was enveloped.
"Let us see him, Mattee."
"No, sar, too cold yet--bye bye, massa, see um; make very fine sleep
now.--Suppose white piccaninny, suppose black piccaninny--all same,--
like plenty sleep. Um know very well, hab plenty work to do bye and
bye--sleep all dey can, when lilly."
"But you'll smother him," observed Newton.
"Smoder him?--what dat--eh?--I know now massa mean, stop um breath.--No:
suppose him no smoder before, no smoder now, sar. Massa," continued the
woman, turning to the planter, "no ab name for piccaninny?"
"Well, Mattee, we must find one; these gentlemen will give him a name.
Come, captain, what name do you propose?"
"Suppose we christen him _Snub_," replied Berecroft, winking at the
rest.
"Snob! What sort a name you call dat, sar?" replied the woman, tossing
up her head. "Snob! no, sar, you 'front me very much. Snob not proper
name."
"Well, then Mr Forster," said the planter, "try if _you_ can be more
fortunate."
"What do you think of Chrononhotonthologus?" said Newton to the woman.
"Eh! what dat?--say dat again, sar," replied the woman.
"Chrononhotonthologus."
"Eh! dat real fine name for piccaninny," cried the woman, with delight
in her countenance. "Many tanky, sar. Chroton-polygarse."
"No, no," replied Newton, laughing; "Chrononho-tonthologus."
"Es, hab now--Hoten-tolyglass."
"No, that's only part. Chronon-hoton-thologus."
"I see--very fine name--Proton-choton-polly-glass."
"Yes, that's nearer to it," replied Newton.
"Well, then, that point's settled," said the planter to the woman. "Is
it all right, Mattee?"
"Es, massa; many tanks to gentleman--very fine name, do very well, sar."
"Doctor, put the name down opposite the register of the birth. Now,
Mattee, all's right, good bye," said the planter, leaving the room, and
followed by the others.
"Do you really intend to call the child by that name?" inquired Mr
Berecroft.
"Why not? it pleases the woman, and is as good as any other; it is of no
consequence. They almost all have names, certainly not quite so long as
the present; but, as they grow longer, their names grow shorter. This
name will first be abbreviated to Chrony; if we find that too long, it
will be reduced again to Crow; which by the bye, is not bad name for a
negro," said the planter, laughing at the coincidence.
Reader, did you ever perchance, when in a farm-yard, observe hen or
other domestic fowl, who having pounced upon half a potato, or something
of the same description too large to be bolted down at once, tries to
escape with her prize, followed by all the rest, until she either drops
it or eludes their vigilance? If so, you form some idea of a negro
woman, with a hard word in her mouth; which, although she does not know
the meaning of, she considers as an equal treasure.
Newton had turned round to the court-yard, in the centre of which
several women were sitting down at various employments; when one who had
been busied in some little offices for the woman whom they had just
visited, and had in consequence been present at the choice of the name,
took her seat with the party in question. To several queries put to
her, she replied with extreme hauteur, as if she considered them as
impertinent, and frowned upon her companions most majestically.
After a short time she rose, and turning round, with the look of an
empress, said, "Now I shall go look after my Hoton-poton-polybass."
"Eh?" cried one, opening her eyes in wonder.
"What dat?" screamed another.
"How you call dat long ting?" demanded a third.
"Eh! you stupid black tings," replied the proud possessor of the new
word, with a look of ineffable scorn, "you no know what um call
Poton-hoton-poll-fuss. Me _no tell_ you," continued she, as she walked
away, leaving the others almost _white_ with envy and astonishment.
Shortly after this Mr Kingston with his party took their leave of the
hospitable old planter, and commenced their return to Bridgetown. They
had not proceeded further than a quarter of a mile when, ascending
little hill, Newton discovered that a negro was assisting his own ascent
by hanging on to the tail of his mule.
"How you do this morning, sar!" said the man, grinning, as Newton looked
round.
"I'm very well, sir, I thank you; but I'm afraid I shall not be able to
keep up with the rest, if my mule has to pull you up hill, as well as
carry me."
"Es, sar, mule go faster. Massa not understand; mule very obstinate,
sar. Suppose you want go one way, he go anoder--suppose you pull him
back by tail, he go on more."
"Well, if that's the case you may hold on. Do you belong to the
plantation?"
"No, sar, me free man. Me work there; carpenter, sar."
"A carpenter! How did you learn your trade, and obtain your freedom?"
"Larn trade board man-of-war, sar--man-of-war make me free."
Mr Berecroft, who had been listening to the colloquy, took up the
discourse.
"Were you born in this country?"
"No, sar! me Ashantee man."
"Then how did you come here?"
"Why, sar, ab very fine battle in Ashantee country. Take me and send me
down to coast; sell me for slave. Go on board French schooner--English
frigate take schooner, send me to Sarra Leon."
"Well, what did you do there?"
"Bind 'prentice, sar, to Massa Cawly, for farteen years--all de same as
slave; work very hard; yam bad; plenty fever in that country--much
better here."
"Then how did you get away from Sierra Leon?"
"Go to sleep one day in de bush--tieves come steal me, take me down to
coast, sell me again."
"Well, where did you go then?"
"Bard schooner again, sar. Another man-of-war take schooner in West
Indies; send her in prize. Keep and some on board becase want hands;
keep me, becase speak little English."
"How did you like a man-of-war?" inquired Newton.
"Man-of-war very fine place; but all slaves there--captain steal men
every ship he come to. But sailor no tink so; ebery night we all sing--
Britong nebber, nebber, nebber, will be slave. Make me laugh, sar,"
continued the man, showing his teeth with a broad grin.
"What was the frigate's name?"
"Very fine name, sar, call her Daddy Wise," [_Dedaigneuse_, we suppose.]
"How long were you on board of her?"
"Far year, sar; larn carpenter trade--go to England--pay off--get plenty
money--come out here in marchant vessel--England very fine place, too
much cold," said the negro, shuddering the bare recollection.
"Now tell me," said Kingston, "of course you recollect being in your own
country?--Which do you like best--that or this?"
"Ashantee very good country--Barbadoes very good country. Ashantee
nebber work, hab no money--here plenty work, plenty money."
"Well, but where would you rather be, here or there?"
"Don't know, sar. Like to find country where no work, plenty money."
"Not singular in his opinion," observed Newton.
"Men do all work here, sar: women only talk," continued the negro. "My
country, men nebber work at all--women do all work, and feed men."
"Then what does the man do?" inquired Berecroft.
"Man, sar," replied the negro proudly, "man go fight--go kill."
"Is that all?"
"Yes, sar, that all."
"So, you then mean to say, that if you could go back to Ashantee now,
you would remain there?"
"Yes, sar, stay there--do no work--sleep all day--make women feed me."
"How inveterate is early habit!" observed Mr Berecroft. "This man,
although free in a civilised country, would return to his idleness and
resume his former ignorance."
"And so would every slave not born in the country. It requires one or
two generations to destroy this savage nature," replied Kingston. "I
believe idleness, like gout, to be an hereditary disease, either in
black or white; I have often observed it in the latter. Now, until man
labours there is no chance of civilisation; and, improved as the race of
Africa have been in these islands, I still think that if manumitted,
they would all starve. In their own country nature is so bountiful that
little or no labour is required for the support of life; but in these
islands the soil, although luxuriant, must be nurtured."
"You do then look forward to their ultimate freedom?" inquired Newton.
"Most assuredly. Already much has been done, and if not persecuted, we
should be able and willing to do much more."
"The public mind in England is certainly much inflamed against you,"
said Berecroft.
"It is; or rather, I should say, the more numerous public composed of
those persons unable to think for themselves, and in consequence, led by
others, styling themselves philanthropists, but appearing to have very
jesuitical ideas with regard to truth. This I have no hesitation in
asserting, that if philanthropy had not been found to have been so very
profitable, it never would have had so many votaries: true philanthropy,
like charity, begins at home. Observe how the papers teem with the
misery of the lower classes in England, yet this affects not the West
India philanthropist. You perceive not their voices raised in behalf of
their suffering countrymen. They pass the beggar in the street; they
heed not the cry of starvation at home; but every where raise petitions
for emancipation; or, in fact, for the destruction of the property of
others. That it is an invidious property, I grant, and I wish I could
dispose of mine; but that is not so easy. My ancestors embarked their
capital in these islands upon the faith and promises of the country,
when opinions were very different from what they are now, and I cannot
help myself. How the time will come when England will bitterly rue the
having listened to the suggestions and outcries of these interested
people."
"I do not understand you:--How do you mean?"
"I said before, that it was on the faith of the country that we embarked
our property in these islands. You are not perhaps aware, that when in
the reign of Queen Anne the Assiento treaty was made, by which we
obtained the privilege of supplying all the islands with slaves, it was
considered as one of the most important acquisitions that could be
obtained. Public opinion has now changed; but if a nation changes her
opinion, she must at the same time be just. Let the country take our
estates and negroes at a fair valuation, and we shall be most happy to
surrender them. If she frees the slaves without so doing, she is guilty
of robbery and injustice, and infringes on the constitution of the
country, which protects all property, and will of course allow us to
decide upon our own measures."
"May I inquire what those would be?"
"Throwing off the yoke, declaring ourselves independent, and putting
ourselves under the protection of America, who will gladly receive us,
aware that we shall be a source not only of wealth but of security."
"Would America risk a war to obtain these islands?"
"She would be foolish not to do so; and England would be more than
foolish to engage in one. It is true, that if not immediately supported
by America, England might create a scene of confusion and bloodshed in
the colonies; but the world has too often had the severe lesson, that
colonies once detaching themselves are never to be regained. England
would therefore be only entailing an useless expense, however gratifying
it might be to her feelings of revenge."
"But do you think that this is likely to occur?"
"I do, most certainly, if those who govern continue to listen to the
insidious advice of the party denominated `Saints;' and I afraid that it
will not be until these islands are separated from the mother-country,
that she will appreciate their value. Our resolution once formed, white
slaves (for slaves we are) will not flinch; and the islands of the
Caribbean Sea will be enrolled as another star, and add another stripe
to the independent flag, which is their natural protector."
"I trust that will never come to pass."
"And so do I, Mr Berecroft, for I am an Englishman, and love my
country, and the loss of these colonies would be blow from which England
would never recover."
"You forget her extensive colonies in the East."
"I do not; but the West Indies add to her wealth and her commercial
prosperity, to her nursery of seamen and her exhausted revenue. They,
on the contrary, add only to her grandeur, for they cost the country
three millions a year; and I doubt whether at that expense it is worth
while to retain any colony, however vast and extensive it may be. I
consider, that if the East India ports were open to all the world, and
the territory governed by its former princes, England, with all the
competition which would take place, would yet be a gainer; and, on the
other hand, I know that by the loss of these islands, she would find a
decrease of millions in her revenue."
"Then the philanthropists must pay the national debt," observed Newton,
laughing.
"They be damned!" replied Kingston, who was warm with his argument;
"they would not pay a farthing."