Captain Canot; Or, Twenty Years of an African Slaver
probably have borrowed a couple of graves from the cholera, had not
the boarders interfered. All hands, however, were unanimous in my
favor, asserting that Du Jean had provoked me beyond endurance; and,
as _la belle Duprez_ joined heartily in the verdict, the doctor gave
up the contest, and, ever after, "cut" the lady.
CHAPTER LI.
In the first lull of the pestilence, the French merchantman was
despatched from Marseilles, and, in twenty-seven days, I had the
pleasure to shake hands with the generous friends, who, two years
before, labored so hard for my escape. The colonial government soon
got wind of my presence notwithstanding my disguise, and warning me
from Goree, cut short the joys of an African welcome.
I reached Sierra Leone in time to witness the arbitrary proceeding of
the British government towards Spanish traders and coasters, by virtue
of the treaty for the suppression of the slave-trade. _Six months_
after this compact was signed and ratified in London and Madrid, it
was made known with the proverbial despatch of Spain, in the Islands
of Cuba and Porto Rico. Its stipulations were such as to allow very
considerable latitude of judgment in captures; and when prizes were
once within the grasp of the British lion, that amiable animal was
neither prompt to release nor anxious to acquit. Accordingly, when I
reached Sierra Leone, I beheld at anchor under government guns, some
thirty or forty vessels seized by cruisers, several of which I have
reason to believe were captured in the "Middle Passage," bound from
Havana to Spain, but entirely free from the taint or design of
slavery.
I was not so inquisitive or patriotic in regard to treaty rights and
violations, as to dally from mere curiosity in Sierra Leone. My chief
object was employment. At twenty-eight, after trials, hazards, and
chances enough to have won half a dozen fortunes, I was utterly
penniless. The Mongo of Kambia,--the Mahometan convert of
Ahmah-de-Bellah,--the pet of the Ali-Mami of Footha-Yallon,--the
leader of slave caravans,--the owner of barracoons,--and the bold
master of clippers that defied the British flag, was reduced to the
humble situation of coast-pilot and interpreter on board an American
brig bound to the celebrated slave mart of Gallinas! We reached our
destination safely; but I doubt exceedingly whether the "Reaper's"
captain knows to this day that his brig was guided by a marine
adventurer, who knew nothing of the coast or port save the little he
gleaned in half a dozen chats with a Spaniard, who was familiar with
this notorious resort and its surroundings.
In the history of African servitude, no theatre of Spanish,
Portuguese, British, or American action has been the scene of more
touching, tragic, and _profitable_ incidents than the one to which
fortune had now directed my feet.
Before the generous heart and far-seeing mind of America perceived _in
Colonization_, the true secret of Africa's hope, the whole of its
coast, from the Rio Gambia to Cape Palmas, without a break except at
Sierra Leone, was the secure haunt of daring slavers. The first
impression on this lawless disposal of full fifteen hundred miles of
beach and continent, was made by the bold establishment of Liberia;
and, little by little has its power extended, until treaty, purchase,
negotiation, and influence, drove the trade from the entire region.
After the firm establishment of this colony, the slave-trade on the
windward coast, north and west of Cape Palmas, was mainly confined to
Portuguese settlements at Bissaos, on the Rios Grande, Nunez, and
Pongo, at Grand and Little Bassa, New Sestros and Trade-town; but the
lordly establishment at Gallinas was the heart of the slave marts, to
which, in fact, Cape Mesurado was only second in importance.
Our concern is now with Gallinas. Nearly one hundred miles north-west
of Monrovia, a short and sluggish river, hearing this well-known name,
oozes lazily into the Atlantic; and, carrying down in the rainy season
a rich alluvion from the interior, sinks the deposit where the tide
meets the Atlantic, and forms an interminable mesh of spongy islands.
To one who approaches from sea, they loom up from its surface, covered
with reeds and mangroves, like an immense field of _fungi_, betokening
the damp and dismal field which death and slavery have selected for
their grand metropolis. A spot like this, possessed, of course, no
peculiar advantages for agriculture or commerce; but its dangerous
bar, and its extreme desolation, fitted it for the haunt of the outlaw
and slaver.
Such, in all likelihood, were the reasons that induced Don Pedro
Blanco, a well-educated mariner from Malaga, to select Gallinas as the
field of his operations. Don Pedro visited this place originally in
command of a slaver; but failing to complete his cargo, sent his
vessel back with one hundred negroes, whose value was barely
sufficient to pay the mates and crew. Blanco, however, remained on the
coast with a portion of the Conquistador's cargo, and, on its basis,
began a trade with the natives and slaver-captains, till, four years
after, he remitted his owners the product of their merchandise, and
began to flourish on his own account. The honest return of an
investment long given over as lost, was perhaps the most active
stimulant of his success, and for many years he monopolized the
traffic of the Vey country, reaping enormous profits from his
enterprise.
Gallinas was not in its prime when I came thither, yet enough of its
ancient power and influence remained to show the comprehensive mind
of Pedro Blanco. As I entered the river, and wound along through the
labyrinth of islands, I was struck, first of all, with the vigilance
that made this Spaniard stud the field with look-out seats, protected
from sun and rain, erected some seventy-five or hundred feet above
the ground, either on poles or on isolated trees, from which the
horizon was constantly swept by telescopes, to announce the approach
of cruisers or slavers. These telegraphic operators were the keenest
men on the islands, who were never at fault, in discriminating
between friend and foe. About a mile from the river's mouth we found
a group of islets, on each of which was erected the factory of some
particular slave-merchant belonging to the grand confederacy.
Blanco's establishments were on several of these marshy flats. On
one, near the mouth, he had his place of business or trade with
foreign vessels, presided over by his principal clerk, an astute and
clever gentleman. On another island, more remote, was his residence,
where the only white person was a sister, who, for a while, shared
with Don Pedro his solitary and penitential domain. Here this man of
education and refined address surrounded himself with every luxury
that could be purchased in Europe or the Indies, and dwelt in a sort
of oriental but semi-barbarous splendor, that suited an African
prince rather than a Spanish grandee. Further inland was another
islet, devoted to his seraglio, within whose recesses each of his
favorites inhabited her separate establishment, after the fashion of
the natives. Independent of all these were other islands, devoted to
the barracoons or slave-prisons, ten or twelve of which contained
from one hundred to five hundred slaves in each. These barracoons
were made of rough staves or poles of the hardest trees, four or six
inches in diameter, driven five feet in the ground, and clamped
together by double rows of iron bars. Their roofs were constructed of
similar wood, strongly secured, and overlaid with a thick thatch of
long and wiry grass, rendering the interior both dry and cool. At the
ends, watch-houses--built near the entrance--were tenanted by
sentinels, with loaded muskets. Each barracoon was tended by two or
four Spaniards or Portuguese; but I have rarely met a more wretched
class of human beings, upon whom fever and dropsy seemed to have
emptied their vials.
Such were the surroundings of Don Pedro in 1836, when I first saw his
slender figure, swarthy face, and received the graceful welcome, which
I hardly expected from one who had passed fifteen years without
crossing the bar of Gallinas! Three years after this interview, he
left the coast for ever, with a fortune of near a million. For a
while, he dwelt in Havana, engaged in commerce; but I understood that
family difficulties induced him to retire altogether from trade; so
that, if still alive, he is probably a resident of "Geneva la
Superba," whither he went from the island of Cuba.
The power of this man among the natives is well-known; it far exceeded
that of Cha-cha, of whom I have already spoken. Resolved as he was to
be successful in traffic, he left no means untried, with blacks as
well as whites, to secure prosperity. I have often been asked what was
the character of a mind which could voluntarily isolate itself for
near a lifetime amid the pestilential swamps of a burning climate,
trafficking in human flesh, exciting wars, bribing and corrupting
ignorant negroes; totally without society, amusement, excitement, or
change; living, from year to year, the same dull round of seasons and
faces; without companionship, save that of men at war with law; cut
loose from all ties except those which avarice formed among European
outcasts who were willing to become satellites to such a luminary as
Don Pedro? I have always replied to the question, that this African
enigma puzzled _me_ as well as those orderly and systematic persons,
who would naturally be more shocked at the tastes and prolonged career
of a resident slave-factor in the marshes of Gallinas.
I heard many tales on the coast of Blanco's cruelty, but I doubt them
quite as much as I do the stories of his pride and arrogance. I have
heard it said that he shot a sailor for daring to ask him for
permission to light his cigar at the _puro_ of the Don. Upon another
occasion, it is said that he was travelling the beach some distance
from Gallinas, near the island of Sherbro, where he was unknown, when
he approached a native hut for rest and refreshment. The owner was
squatted at the door, and, on being requested by Don Pedro to hand him
fire to light his cigar, deliberately refused. In an instant Blanco
drew back, seized a carabine from one of his attendants, and slew the
negro on the spot. It is true that the narrator apologized for Don
Pedro, by saying, that to deny a Castilian _fire for his tobacco_ was
the gravest insult that can be offered him; yet, from my knowledge of
the person in question, I cannot believe that he carried etiquette to
so frightful a pitch, even among a class whose lives are considered of
trifling value _except in market_. On several occasions, during our
subsequent intimacy, I knew him to chastise with rods, even to the
brink of death, servants who ventured to infringe the sacred limits of
his _seraglio_. But, on the other hand, his generosity was
proverbially ostentatious, not only among the natives, whom it was his
interest to suborn, but to the whites who were in his employ, or
needed his kindly succor. I have already alluded to his mental
culture, which was decidedly _soigne_ for a Spaniard of his original
grade and time. His memory was remarkable. I remember one night, while
several of his _employes_ were striving unsuccessfully to repeat the
Lord's prayer in Latin, upon which they had made a bet, that Don Pedro
joined the party, and taking up the wager, went through the petition
without faltering. It was, indeed, a sad parody on prayer to hear its
blessed accents fall perfectly from such lips on a bet; but when it
was won, the slaver insisted on receiving _the slave which was the
stake_, and immediately bestowed him in charity on a captain, who had
fallen into the clutches of a British cruiser!