It is unaccountable, but it is certainly true, that the moment a Guinea
captain comes in sight of this shore, the Demon cruelty seems to fix his
residence within him. Soon after we arrived, there came on board us a
master of a vessel, who was commissioned joint factor with our captain.
All that I could conceive of barbarity fell short of the stories I heard
of this man. His whole delight was in giving pain.
While our captain was placing buoys and other directions on the
dangerous bar of the river, for the purpose of crossing it, he used to
order the men to be flogged without an imputation of the smallest crime.
The steward, for serving out some red wine to a sick man, by the
doctor's direction, was flogged in such a manner, as not to be able to
let his shirt touch his mangled back; and after his punishment, making
an attempt to explain the matter, he was ordered to the shrowds again,
and the same number of lashes was repeated.
It was his common practice to call his cabin-boy to him, and without the
smallest provocation, to tear his face, ears, and neck, in the most
brutal manner. I have seen him thrust his fingers into his mouth, and
force them against the inside of his cheek till the wound appeared on
the outside of the same. He had pulled his ears so much, that they
became of a monstrous size. The hind part of them was torn from the
head. They had a continual soreness and running, and were not well near
a twelvemonth after his infernal tormentor's death, when he deserted
from us in the West Indies. I heard many and uncommon stories of the
barbarity of this monster to his own crew, but had an opportunity to see
but little of him, for he lived but eleven days after he came on board
us; he killed himself with our wine and beer; of which he had not tasted
any for a long time before our arrival there.
At the commencement of our trade, I went up to the factory, where I
continued about eight months. In the course of this time most of the
crew fell the sacrifices of this horrid traffick, and its inseparable
cruelties. One evening only was I on board during this period: but this
was sufficient to give me a strong idea of the misery I had so happily
escaped. The vessel, as Mr. Falconbridge aptly and emphatically
observes, was like a slaughter-house. Blood, filth, misery, and disease.
The chief mate lay dying, calling out for that comfort and assistance he
had so often denied to others. He was glad to lay hold of me to bring
him a little refreshment—no one else to take the smallest notice of his
cries. The doctor was in the same condition, and making the same
complaint. The second mate was lying on his back on the medicine-chest;
his head hanging down over one end of it, his hair sweeping the deck,
and clotted with the filth that was collected there; and in this
unnoticed situation he died soon after I came on board.
On the poop the appearance was still more shocking—the remainder of the
ship's crew stretched in the last stage of their sickness, without
comfort, without refreshment, without attendance. There they lay,
straining their weak voices with the most lamentable cries for a little
water, and not a soul to afford them the smallest relief. And while all
this horror and disease were preying on the lives of the poor seamen,
the business of purchasing, messing the slaves, and every circumsance
relative to the trade, was transacting with as little interruption, and
as much unconcern, as if no such people had ever been on board. I passed
a night of misery with them, and got up the river with the morning's
boat—another night might have sealed me among the number of the devoted
crew.
To provide against this mortality, and to convey the purchase to the
West Indies, (which makes the answer to the second query of my fourth
letter) a fine large ship, and a fresh crew, were sent out to us. The
new captain, and a few to make trade, (as I remarked before) were left
behind in the factory. About five of the old crew, all that were now
_left_, and in the last stage of illness, were brought off with us. In
this fresh ship, and with this fresh crew we left the coast, and entered
on what is called the _Middle Passage_.
This horrid portion of the voyage was but one continued scene of
barbarity, unremitting labour, mortality, and disease. Flogging, as in
the outward passage, was a principal amusement in this.
The captain was so feeble that he could not move, but was obliged to be
carried up and down: yet his illness, so far from abating his tyranny,
seemed rather to increase it. When in this situation, he has often asked
the persons who carried him whether they could judge of the torment he
was in? and being answered, No—he has laid hold of their faces, and
darting his nails into their cheeks with all his strength; on the
person's crying out with the pain, he would then add, with the malignity
of a demon, “There,—that is to give you a taste of what I feel.” He had
always a parcel of trade knives within his reach, which he would also
dart at them with ferocity on the most trifling occasions.
The bed of this wretch, which he kept for weeks together, was in one
corner of the cabin, and raised to a good height from the deck. To the
posts of this bed he would order those to be tied that were to be
flogged, so that their faces almost met his, and there he lay, enjoying
their agonizing screams, while their flesh was lacerated without mercy:
this was a frequent and a favourite mode of punishment.
The chief mate, whom we brought off the coast, died soon; the second
mate soon after: their united duties devolved upon me. While the latter
was in his illness, he got up one night, made a noise, tumbled some
things about the half-deck, untied a hammock, and played some other
delirious but innocent tricks. The captain, being a little recovered at
that time, came out, and knocked him down. I do not at this time
remember the weapon, but I know his head was sadly cut, and bleeding—in
short, he was beat in a most dreadful manner; and, before the morning,
he _was dead_. This man had not been many weeks on the coast, and left
it in remarkable good health.
The cook, one day, burned some meat in the roasting: he was called to
the cabin on that account, and beaten most violently with the spit. He
begged and cried for mercy, but without effect, until the strength of
his persecutor was exhausted. He crawled some where—_but never did duty
afterwards_. He died in a day or two!
The poor creatures, as our numbers were thinned, were obliged to work
when on the very verge of death. The _certainty_, that they could not
live a day longer, did not procure them a grain of mercy. The boatswain,
who had left the coast a healthy, hearty man, had been seized with the
flux: he was in the last stage of it, but no remission from work was
allowed him. He grew at last so bad, that the mucus, blood, and whole
strings of his intestines came from him without intermission. Yet, even
in this situation—when he could not stand—he was forced to the wheel, to
steer a large vessel; an arduous duty, that in all likelihood would have
required two men, had we had people enough for the purpose. He was
placed upon one of the mess-tubs, as not being able to stand, and that
he might not dirty the deck. He remained at this painful duty as long as
he could move his hands—he died on the same night! The body was, as
usual, thrown overboard, without any covering but the shirt. It grew
calm in the night, and continued to be so for a good part of the next
day—in the morning his corpse was discovered floating along side, and
kept close to us for some hours—it was a horrid spectacle, and seemed to
give us an idea of the body of a victim, calling out to heaven for
vengeance on our barbarity!
As the crew fell off, an accumulated weight of labour pressed upon the
few survivors—and, towards the end of the middle passage, all idea of
keeping the slaves in chains was given up; for there was not strength
enough left among all the white men, to pull a single rope with effect.
The slaves (at least a great number of them) were therefore freed from
their irons, and _they_ pulled and hawled as they were directed by the
inefficient sailors. We were fortunate in having favourable weather: a
smart gale of wind, such as with an able crew would not have created us
more trouble than reefing our sails a little, must have inevitably sent
us to destruction, and added us to a numerous list of people, that have
perished in the same circumsances; but which list has been kept from the
public eye by the most studied circumspection.
In this state of weakness, it may be readily supposed, that but little
attention can be paid to those whose approach to the last stage of their
misery renders them helpless, and in want of aid: I remember that a man,
who was ill, had one night crawled out of his hammock; he was so weak
that he could not get back, but laid himself down on the gratings. There
was no person to assist him.—In the morning, when I came upon the main
deck—(I shudder at the bare recollection) he was still alive, but
covered with blood—the hogs had picked his toes to the bone, and his
body was otherwise mangled by them in a manner too shocking to relate.