me justice, I ask no more.” He drew his hand away, passed it over my
face as he was wont to do when I was an infant, and as his features
contracted with a long convulsive sob he added, “Henry, your mother!
Be good, be kind, be dutiful!” and turning round, he walked forward to
the bows.[8]
[8] The head of a ship.
I felt as if something was strangling me; my blood rushed to my head,
and a dread of I knew not what sickened my very soul. A death-like
stupor pervaded my faculties; but I was aroused from this state by the
voice of the marine shouting “A man overboard! a man overboard!” The
truth flashed upon my mind, and as the ship rounded-to (for the helm
was instantly put down) I ran to the lee cat-head,[9] and saw the dark
body as it sank in the gurgling eddy which the plunge had made. Yes, it
was Tom Brookes, and he never rose again. Some heavy shot were missing
from the place where he had been confined, and these he had no doubt
concealed about his person to facilitate the work of destruction. Poor
Tom, the waters closed above his head, and who can read his doom!
[9] A piece of timber projecting from the bows, by which the anchor is
hoisted up for security.
May my young readers learn, from his untimely end, to temper judgment
with mercy; and if power should ever be placed in their hands, to
receive it as a sacred deposit for which they must render an account.
May they use, but not abuse it; for a day is coming when the oppressor
and the oppressed will meet before the same tribunal; when the
individuals of whom I have been writing will stand with them at the bar
of Omnipotence, and hear the sentence of that Judge from whose tribunal
there is no appeal!
DADDY DAVY, THE NEGRO.
“A negro has a soul, an please your honour, said the corporal,
(_doubtingly_.)
I am not much versed, corporal, said my Uncle Toby, in things
of that kind; but I suppose God would not leave him without
one, any more than thee or me.”
STERNE.
“I have now no written memorandums of the storms, the battles, the
scenes which I have witnessed; no description of the beautiful shores
of the Mediterranean, the ice-bound rocks of Greenland, the burning
regions of the torrid zone, or the mild and salubrious climate of the
Rio de la Plata. In my youth I trusted to a retentive memory, little
thinking that time and the cares of the world would obliterate the
recollection of past events.”
Such was the apostrophe of my worthy grandfather, a veteran captain
in his Majesty’s navy, one winter evening, when a little orphan in my
seventh year I climbed upon his knee (which he always called one of his
timbers) and begged very hard that he would tell me some pretty story.
The candles were not yet lighted in the parlour; but the glowing fire
sent forth its red blaze, and its cheering heat seemed ten times more
grateful from a heavy fall of snow, which was rapidly collecting in
piles of fleecy whiteness on the lawn.
My grandfather was a man of a kindly and compassionate heart; and
though I used to play him many a sly trick and sometimes grieve his
spirit, yet he was always lenient to my failings; and now that he lies
in yonder village churchyard, this often causes me a pang of unfeigned
contrition for the past. It was my chief delight to hear him tell of
the roaring of the guns when ships met in deadly strife, or the howling
of the winds when the bitter tempest and the raging sea threatened
destruction to the mariner; and he would so mingle his stories with the
generous sympathies of his nature, that many a night has sleep dried
the tears from my eyes as I lay on my pillow after retiring to bed.
I had taken my favourite seat on the evening I have mentioned, just
as a poor negro with scarcely any covering appeared at the window
and supplicated charity. His dark skin was deeply contrasted with
the unblemished purity of the falling snow, whilst his trembling
limbs seemed hardly able to support his shivering frame; and there he
stood, the child of an injured race, perishing in the land of boasted
hospitality and freedom!
With all the active benevolence which my grandfather possessed,
he still retained the usual characteristics of the hardy seaman.
He discouraged every thing that bore the smallest resemblance to
indolence. The idle vagrant dared not approach his residence; but he
prized the man of industrious habits, however lowly his station, and
his influence was ever extended to aid the destitute and to right the
injured. On his first going to sea, he had been cabin boy on board
a Liverpool ship, which was engaged in that horrible traffic--the
Slave-trade; and towards the poor anathematized descendants of Ham he
had already imbibed erroneous prejudices, which after-years could not
wholly eradicate though they were chiefly manifested in the unmeaning
jokes so common among British sailors. He had also held an official
appointment for several years in the island of Trinidad, where the
negroes were more rigorously treated than in any other part of the West
Indies, and where their debased condition rendered them more depraved
in their habits and more treacherous in their actions. In England,
however, the very colour of the skin is a passport to commiseration,
and my grandfather no sooner saw the dark countenance of the perishing
creature than he hastily rang the bell, and a footman entering,
“Robert,” said he, “go and bring yon pale-face here directly.”
“Pale face, did you say, sir?” inquired the man.
“Yes, yes,” replied my grandfather, “yon black fellow; fetch him hither
to me.”
The servant quitted the room, and it was not without some feelings of
fear, as well as hopes of amusement, that a few minutes afterwards I
saw the poor African stand bowing at the parlour door. The twilight had
faded away, and except the reflection from the snow, night had thrown
its sable shadows on the scene; but as the bright gleam of the fire
shed its red hue upon the jetty features of the negro and flashed upon
his rolling eyes, he presented rather a terrific appearance to my young
mind.
“Come in!” exclaimed my grandfather in a shrill voice; but the poor
fellow stood hesitatingly on the borders of the carpet till the command
was repeated with more sternness than before, and then the trembling
African advanced a few steps towards the easy chair in which the
veteran was sitting. Never shall I forget the abject figure which the
poor black displayed. He was a tall large-boned man, but was evidently
bent down under the pressure of sickness and of want rather than age.
A pair of old canvass trousers hung loosely on his legs, but his feet
were quite naked. On the upper part of his body was a striped flannel
shirt, one of the sleeves of which was torn away; he had no covering
for his head, and the snow which had fallen on it having melted in
the warmth of the room, large transparent drops of clear water hung
glistening on his thick woolly hair. His look was inclined downwards,
as if fearful of meeting the stern gaze of my grandfather, who scanned
him with the most minute attention not unmingled with agitation. Every
joint of the poor fellow’s limbs shook as if struck with ague, and the
cold seemed to have contracted his sinews; for he crouched his body
together, as if to shrink from the keen blast. Tears were trickling
down his cheeks, and his spirit seemed bowed to the earth by distress.
“Don’t stand showing your ivories[10] there,” said my grandfather;
“but tell me, sir, what brought you to England, and what you mean by
strolling about the country here as a beggar? I have a great mind to
order you to be put in the stocks.”
[10] Ivories is a common term among the negroes for teeth.
“Ah, massa!” replied the negro, “Buckra[11] neber hab stocks for
nigger-man in dis country; yet nigger-man die, if massa neber give him
something for fill hungry belly.”
[11] White man.
Whilst he was speaking, my grandfather was restless and impatient. He
removed me from his knee and looked with more intense eagerness at the
black, who never raised his head. “But we have beggars enough of our
own nation,” said the veteran, “without having a swarm of black beetles
to eat up the produce of our industry.”
“Massa speak for true,” replied the African meekly; “distress lib every
where; come like race-horse, but go away softly, softly.”
Again my grandfather scanned the dark features of the negro, and showed
signs of agitation in his own. “Softly! Softly!” said he, imitating
the black; “that’s just your negro cant! I know the whole gang of you;
but you are not going to deceive me. Why, sirrah! I know you would
sacrifice me and all I am worth for a bunch of plantains.”[12]
[12] The plantain is a fruit which when ripe is very sweet; but roasted
when green, it resembles a chesnut in taste. It is a general article of
food instead of bread in the West Indies.
“Massa hab eat de plantains den,” responded the black; “and yet massa
tink hard of poor nigger who work for make ’em grow. Gor Amighty send
rain,--Gor Amighty send sun: but Gor Amighty send poor nigger too.”
“Well, well,” said my grandfather, softening his voice to its
accustomed tone of mildness; “the Omnipotent is no respecter of
colours, and we must not let you be put in the stocks till the
morning, daddy;[13] so Robert, tell the cook to get some warm broth for
this shivering piece of ebony; and bid her bear a hand about it.”
[13] Daddy is a familiar term of kindness used by the male negroes
to each other, as “Aunty” is used by the females; and it is nothing
uncommon to hear children, as soon as they can talk, calling one
another, “daddy” and “aunty.”
“Gor Amighty for eber bless massa!” exclaimed the negro; and his
countenance underwent an instantaneous change, as he listened to the
order, and keenly directed his eye towards the person who had issued
it; but my grandfather had turned his head towards me, so that his face
was concealed from the grateful black.
“So, I suppose you are some runaway slave,” said my grandfather harshly.
“No, massa,” rejoined the African, more assured; “no massa, me neber
run away; I free man. Good buckra gib freedom; but den I lose kind
massa, and--”
“Ay, ay,” replied my grandfather, interrupting him. “I think you said
something about Plantation Josef, in Trinidad?”
“Ky!” responded the negro as his eyes were bent upon his interrogator,
who again concealed his face; “de buckra sabby [knows] ebery ting; him
like angel of light for know de secret of de heart.”
“Come nearer the fire, Daddy Davy,” said my grandfather, as he extended
his hand to the poker and bent down his body to stir the burning coals.
Never shall I forget the look of the African; joy, wonder, and
admiration were pictured on his countenance as he exclaimed, whilst
advancing forward, “De buckra know my name too! How dis?”
My grandfather having rekindled a bright flame that illuminated the
whole room, turned his face carelessly towards the black; but no sooner
had the poor fellow caught sight of his features, than throwing himself
at his feet, he clasped the old man’s knees, exclaiming, “My own massa!
what for you give Davy him life? what for you give Davy him freedom?
and now de poor nigger die for want! But no!” checking himself, “neber
see de day for go dead, now me find my massa!”
“Confound the cold!” said my grandfather, thrusting his thumb and
forefinger to his eyes, “how it makes one’s eyes run! William, my boy,”
turning to me, “fetch that pocket handkerchief off the sofa.”
I immediately obeyed, and felt as if the cold had affected me too;
for I employed my grandfather’s handkerchief two or three times to
wipe the trickling drops from my face, before I delivered it into his
hands. At this moment the footman opened the door to say that the broth
was ready, but stood transfixed with amazement at seeing the half-naked
black at his master’s feet.
“Go, Davy,” said my grandfather, “go, and get some food; and Robert,
tell the cook to have a warm bath ready, and the housemaid must run a
pan of coals over the little bed in the blue room, and put some extra
blankets on. You can sleep without a night-cap, I dare say, Davy; and,
Robert, tell the butler to give you a bottle of Madeira; simmer half
of it over the fire, and when heated beat up an egg in it,--it will be
better than cold sangaree, Davy; and d’ye hear, Robert, grate a little
nutmeg on the top, and carry it to the pale face as soon as he gets
into bed. There, go along, Davy, go along!” and the gratified negro
left the room with unfeigned ejaculations of “Gor Amighty for eber
bless kind massa!”
As soon as the door was closed, and I was once more seated on my
grandfather’s knee, he commenced his usual practice of holding converse
with himself. “What can have brought him here?” said he; “I gave him
his freedom and a piece of land to cultivate. There was a pretty hut
upon it, too, with a double row of cocoa-nut trees in front, and a
garden of plantains behind, and a nice plot of guinea grass for a
cow, and another of buckwheat:--what has become of it all, I wonder?
Bless me, how time flies! It seems but the other day that I saved the
fellow from a couple of bullets, and he repaid the debt by rescuing my
Betsy--ah, poor dear! She was your mother, William, and he snatched
her from a dreadful and terrific fate. How these things crowd upon my
mind! The earthquake shook every building to its foundation, the ground
yawned in horrible deformity, and your poor mother--we can see her
grave-stone from the drawing-room window, you know, for she died since
we have been here, and left her old father’s heart a dreary blank.
Yet not so, either, my child,” pressing me to his breast and laying
his hoary head on mine, “not so, either; for she bequeathed you to my
guardian care, and you are now the solace of my gray hairs.”
“But the earthquake, grandpapa,” said I, “the earthquake.”
“And your poor father,” continued he, absorbed in his subject, “as
brave a lad as ever broke a king’s biscuit, to become a prey to the
sharks, with the ocean for his grave!--but there, don’t cry, my boy,
don’t cry; you shall never be wrecked upon a lee shore whilst I can
keep you afloat; and when this old hull is stowed away in the ground
tier, I shall leave you to the protection of Him, who gives the fleecy
coat to the tender lamb and feeds the young ravens when they cry. But
it puzzles me a little to think how this black rogue got to England,
and what he can have come for. He was a faithful servant, that Davy,
and I picked him up in a strange way too,--a very strange way,--for
in another half hour he would have been food for the fishes. It was
in ninety-eight I commanded the Zephyr sloop of war. We were cruising
off the river Plate, when a schooner hove in sight and showed American
colours; so I bore up to speak to her, and just as we got within
hail we heard the report of firearms, and saw a negro fall from the
schooner’s side into the water. At first I thought it was some poor
wretch relieved from his earthly misery whom they were burying. As
he sank in the ocean, the billow closed over his dark form, but the
next instant he rose struggling on the surface of the wave, and the
white foam around him assumed a red and gory tinge. Again he sank,
and again the sea rolled smoothly on; but that poor murdered wretch
arose no more. We were now close to the schooner, and I commanded her
crew to heave-to for a boat, which after some hesitation they obeyed.
Curiosity, and perhaps a little compassion, induced me to visit the
schooner; but oh, what a scene of horror presented itself! I have
witnessed in my youth enough to make my heart callous, if any thing
could, but this exceeded all I had ever seen. The schooner had a cargo
of slaves from the coast of Africa; but not men,--not women--no, no;
there were ninety-seven little children, from four to twelve years of
age, in the most horrid and emaciated condition. The space in which
they were kept was so confined that they could scarcely sit upright;
and having nothing but rough planks to lie on, the rolling of the
vessel had chafed their joints into wounds; they looked as if perishing
with hunger. You shudder, boy, and well you may. The helpless creatures
were ranged upon the deck, and close by the gangway lay four young
men, wounded and in fetters, but who did not seem otherwise much the
worse for the voyage. Another was placed astride the gunwale, with his
arms pinioned behind him. Seated on the companion abaft, appeared a
stout tall man in a white shirt deeply stained with blood; his head was
bandaged with new cotton, through which the blood was still oozing;
his left arm was bound up, and he seemed to have suffered in some
desperate conflict. This was the captain; and the crew, more or less
hurt, showing visible marks of a recent fight, stood near, and every
one displayed strong indications of intemperance. On the hencoop, by
the captain’s side, lay a long-barrelled pistol; the fellow to it was
grasped in his right hand, and with the rolling eye of intoxication he
first glanced at the instrument of death, and then at the poor wretch
who sat with an unmoved countenance on the gunwale. ‘You are just come
in time, sir,’ said the captain, ‘to witness an act of justice; for I
guess, though you have got the British bunting[14] at the peak, you
come from the land of the stripes and stars.[15] But you shall see,
sir, how cleverly I’ll put a brace of balls through that mutinous
rascal.’ He raised the pistol to a level with his eye; his fore-finger
was on the trigger, when I hastily struck it up with my hand, and the
bullets whistled over the negro’s head without doing him any injury.
But he had experienced only cruelty from white men; he had expected
death, and could not suppose that one of the fair-skinned race would
rescue him from the fate of his companion. As soon as he heard the
report of the pistol, he fell forward on his face; but my boat’s crew
ran, and saved him from going overboard. ‘What is the meaning of all
this?’ said I, ‘thou disgrace to manhood. I am a British officer, and
to me you shall be accountable for your demoniac conduct. What has
that poor creature done? and these too on the deck? Release them my
men,’ and my boat’s crew had soon broken off their fetters.
[14] Bunting is the stuff of which flags are made.
[15] The captain thought the vessel was in the service of the United
States, their colours being striped red and white, except the upper
quarter next the staff, which is blue, and bears as many stars as there
are states in the Union.
“The negro, whom I had saved from the murderous intention of the
captain, could not exactly comprehend the scene; but when he found that
he was safe and knew me for his deliverer, he clung round my knees--ay,
just as the fellow did to-night, for it was no other than Davy himself.
But I can’t think what brings him here to England away from the pretty
hut, and the cocoa-nut trees, and the guinea grass.”
“But what became of the little black children, grandpapa?” inquired I,
“and the other four men, and the wicked captain? and where did you take
Davy to? and--”
“Stop, stop, child!” said my grandfather; “don’t overhaul your
questions so fast, and I’ll tell you, for the sight of the dog is a
memorandum one cannot meet with every day. The captain had freighted
his schooner at Loando, in the Congo country, with one hundred and
thirty male and female children, and six fine young men. Thirty-three
of the children had died on the passage, and been thrown overboard. The
crew of the schooner fearing nothing from the poor emaciated innocents
and trusting to the half-starved weakness of the young men, indulged
in drinking to excess. But to the surprise of the captain, these
latter began to recover their sleek and healthy appearance, and he
was calculating upon getting a handsome price for them in the market;
when the very night before I fell in with the schooner, the young men
rose upon the crew, they attacked the captain in his bed, and inflicted
several severe wounds on his body and head. But what could these poor
creatures do against a superior force, who were well acquainted with
the use of arms? The negroes were overpowered and put in irons; and the
wretched man, whom we had seen shot before getting along-side, was the
ringleader. But now, mark me, my boy; on inquiry, I discovered that the
plan had been a long time in agitation, and these injured and devoted
children had daily set apart a portion of their own very scanty food,
to strengthen the men for the enterprise. Most of them knew of the
attempt, yet none betrayed the secret. I bought Davy of the captain,
and went up the Plate as far as I could, (for the schooner was bound to
Monte Video,) and then was compelled to quit her, for she was under the
flag of a neutral power: besides our own country was then engaged in
the same traffic.”
“And what became of the children, grandpapa?”
“All sold into slavery, my dear.”
“And Davy, grandpapa?”
“I took him with me: but what he has done with the hut and the plantain
ground, I can’t tell.”
“And the earthquake; grandpapa?” for I had not forgotten that.
“You want to know every thing, boy, and you forget that my memory fails
me; however, I’ll try and recollect that too for some other night; but
you must go to bed now, and to-morrow Davy will tell you all about it.”
I afterwards learned that Davy had rescued my poor dear mother from
destruction at the risk of his own life during an earthquake in
Trinidad, for which my grandfather had given him his freedom, together
with the hut and land. But the free black had no protection in the
west: the slaves plundered his property; sickness came, and no medical
attendant would minister to his wants without his accustomed fee; he
contracted debts, and his ground was sold to the estate on which it
was situated to pay the lawyers. He quitted the island of Trinidad to
go to Berbice; but being wrecked near Mahaica Creek, on the east coast
of Demerara, he lost his free papers, was seized by the government,
and sold as a slave to pay the expenses of advertising and his keep.
He fortunately fell into the hands of a kind master, who at his death
once more set him at liberty, and he had come to England in the hope
of bettering his condition. But here misfortune still pursued him; the
gentleman whom he accompanied died on the passage; he could obtain
no employment on his landing; he had been plundered of what little
money he possessed, and had since wandered about the country, till the
evening that he implored charity and found a home.
My worthy grandfather is now numbered with the dead; and I love to sit
upon his grave-stone at the evening hour: it seems as if I were once
more placed upon his knee and listening to his tales of by-gone years.
But Daddy Davy is still in existence and living with me; indeed whilst
I have been writing I have had occasion to put several questions to
him on the subject, and he has been fidgetting about the room to try
and ascertain what I was relating respecting him. “I am only giving a
_sketch_ of my grandfather, Davy,” said I.
“_Catch_, massa! what he call _catch_?”
“About the schooner, and Trinidad, and the earthquake, Davy.”
“And da old massa what sleep in da _Werk-en-rust_?”[16]
[16] Werk-en-rust, literally work-and-rest, is the name given to the
burying-ground at Demerara; but here it is meant to apply generally to
all places of sepulture.
“Yes, Davy, and the snow-storm.”
“Ah, da buckra good man! Davy see him noder time up dere,” pointing
towards the sky; “Gor Amighty for eber bless kind massa!”
END OF VOL. I.
Transcriber’s Note
- Punctuation and other obvious typographic inaccuracies were silently
corrected.
- Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
- Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.
- Text in italics is enclosed by _underscores_.
- Text in small capitals converted to ALL CAPS.
- Footnotes relocated close to the relevant material.
Correction
- Footnote 4 (p. 149), “dismissed the navy” to “dismissed by the navy”