Captain Canot; Or, Twenty Years of an African Slaver
been detected in the desecration of colonial soil. Still I was
prepared for all emergencies. I never went abroad without the two
great keys of Africa--gold and fire-arms; and had it been my lot to
encounter a colonist, he would either have learned the value of
silence, or have been carried along, under the muzzle of a pistol,
till the gang was in safety.
While it was still dark, I left the caravan advancing by an interior
path to Little Bassa, where one of my branches could furnish it with
necessaries to cross the other colony of Bassa San Juan, so as to
reach my homestead in the course of three days. Meanwhile I retraced
my way to Monrovia, and, reaching it by sunrise, satisfied the amiable
colonists that I had just taken shelter in their harbor, and was fresh
from my dripping cutter. It is very likely that no one in the colony
to the present day knows the true story of this adventure, or would
believe it unless _confessed_ by me.
It was often my fate in Africa, and elsewhere, to hear gossips declare
that colonists were no better than others who dwelt amid coast
temptations, and that they were sometimes even willing to back a
certain Don Theodore Canot, if not absolutely to share his
slave-trade! I never thought it prudent to exculpate those honorable
emigrants who were consolidating the first colonial lodgments from the
United States; for I believed that _my_ denial would only add
sarcastic venom to the scandal of vilifiers. But now that my African
career is over, and the slave-trade a mere tradition in the
neighborhood of Liberia, I may assure the friends of colonization,
that, in all my negro traffic, no American settler gave assistance or
furnished merchandise which I could not have obtained at the most
loyal establishments of Britain or France. I think it will be granted
by unprejudiced people, that the colonist who sold me a few pieces of
cloth, lodged me in travelling, or gave me his labor for my
flesh-colored gold, participated no more in the African slave-trade
than the European or American supercargo who sold assorted cargoes,
selected with the most deliberate judgment in London, Paris, Boston,
New York, Philadelphia, or Baltimore, expressly to suit the well-known
cupidity of my warriors, kidnappers, and slave merchants.
Commerce is sometimes an adroit metaphysican--but a bad moralist!
CHAPTER LVIII.
It was my invariable custom whenever a vessel made her appearance in
the roadstead of New Sestros, to despatch my canoe with "Captain
Canot's compliments;" nor did I omit this graceful courtesy when his
Britannic Majesty's cruisers did me the honor of halting in my
neighborhood to watch or destroy my operations. At such times I
commonly increased the politeness by an offer of my services, and a
tender of provisions, or of any commodity the country could supply!
I remember an interesting rencounter of this sort with the officers of
the brig of war Bonito. My note was forwarded by a trusty Krooman,
even before her sails were furled, but the courteous offer was
respectfully declined "_for the present_." The captain availed
himself, however, of my messenger's return, to announce that the
"commodore in command of the African squadron had specially deputed
the Bonito _to blockade_ New Sestros, for which purpose she was
provisioned for _six months_, and ordered not to budge from her
anchorage till relieved by a cruiser!"
This formidable announcement was, of course, intended to strike me
with awe. The captain hoped in conclusion, that I would see the folly
of prosecuting my abominable traffic in the face of such a disastrous
_vis a vis_; nor could he refrain from intimating his surprise that a
man of my reputed character and ability, would consent to manacle and
starve the unfortunate negroes who were now suffering in my
_barracoons_.
I saw at once from this combined attack of fear and flattery, backed
by blockade, that his majesty's officer had either been grossly
misinformed, or believed that a scarcity of rice prevailed in my
establishment as well as elsewhere along the coast.
The suspicion of _starving blacks in chains_, was not only pathetic
but mortifying! It was part of the sentimental drapery of British
reports and despatches, to which I became accustomed in Africa. I did
not retort upon my dashing captain with a sneer at his ancestors who
had taught the traffic to Spaniards, yet I resolved not to let his
official communications reach the British admiralty with a fanciful
tale about _my_ barracoons and starvation. Accordingly, without more
ado, I sent a second _billet_ to the Bonito, desiring her captain or
any of her officers to visit New Sestros, and ascertain personally the
condition of my establishment.
Strange to tell, my invitation was accepted; and at noon a boat with a
white flag, appeared on the edge of the surf, conveying two officers
to my beach. The surgeon and first lieutenant were my visitors. I
welcomed them most cordially to my cottage, and as soon as the
customary refreshments were despatched, proposed a glance at the
dreadful _barracoons_.
As well as I now remember, there must have been at least five hundred
slaves in my two pens, sleek in flesh, happy in looks, and ready for
the first customer who could outwit the cruiser. I quietly despatched
a notice of our advent to the _barracooniers_, with directions as to
their conduct, so that the moment my naval friends entered the stanch
inclosures, full two hundred and fifty human beings, in each, rose to
their feet and saluted the strangers with long and reiterated
clapping. This sudden and surprising demonstration somewhat alarmed my
guests at its outburst, and made them retreat a pace towards the
door,--perhaps in fear of treachery;--but when they saw the smiling
faces and heard the pleased chatter of my people, they soon came
forward to learn that the compliment was worth a customary _demijohn
of rum_.
The adventure was a fortunate one for the reputation of New Sestros,
Don Pedro my employer, and Don Teodor, his clerk. Our establishment
happened just then to be at a summit of material comfort rarely
exceeded or even reached by others. My pens were full of slaves; my
granary, of rice; my stores, of merchandise.
From house to house,--from hut to hut,--the sailor and saw-bones
wandered with expressions of perfect admiration, till the hour for
dinner approached. I ordered the meal to be administered with minute
attention to all our usual ceremonies. The washing, singing,
distribution of food, beating time, and all the prandial _etceteras_
of comfort, were performed with the utmost precision and cleanliness.
They could not believe that such was the ordinary routine of slave
life in _barracoons_, but ventured to hint that I must have got up the
drama for their special diversion, and that it was impossible for
such to be the ordinary drill and demeanor of Africans. Our dapper
little surgeon, with almost dissective inquisitiveness, pried into
every nook and corner; and at length reached the slave kitchen, where
a caldron was full and bubbling with the most delicious rice. Hard by
stood a pot, simmering with meat and soup, and in an instant the
doctor had a morsel between his fingers and brought his companion to
follow his example.
Now, in sober truth, this was no casual display got up for effect, but
the common routine of an establishment conducted with prudent
foresight, for the profit of its owners as well as the comfort of our
people. And yet, such was the fanatical prepossession of these
Englishmen, whose idea of Spanish _factories_ and _barracoons_ was
formed exclusively from exaggerated reports, that I could not satisfy
them of my truth till I produced our journal, in which I noted
minutely every item of daily expenditure. It must be understood,
however, that it was not my habit to give the slaves _meat_ every day
of the week. Such a diet would not be prudent, because it is not
habitual with the majority of negroes. Two bullocks were slaughtered
each week for the use of my _factory_, while the hide, head, blood,
feet, neck, tail, and entrails, were appropriated for broth in the
_barracoons_. It happened that my visitors arrived on the customary
day of our butchering.
* * * * *
A stinging appetite was the natural result of our review, and while
the naval guests were whetting it still more, I took the opportunity
to slip out of my verandah with orders for our harbor-pilot to report
the beach "impracticable for boats,"--a report which no prudent sailor
on the coast ever disregards. Meanwhile, I despatched a Krooman with a
note to the Bonito's captain, notifying that personage of the marine
hazard that prevented his officers' immediate return, and fearing they
might even find it necessary to tarry over night. This little _ruse_
was an _impromptu_ device to detain my inspectors, and make us better
acquainted over the African _cuisine_, which, by this time was smoking
in tureens and dishes flanked by spirited sentinels, in black uniform,
of claret and eau de vie.
Our dinner-chat was African all over: slavery, cruisers, prize-money,
captures, war, negro-trade, and philanthropy! The surgeon melted
enough under the blaze of the bottle to admit, _as a philosopher_,
that Cuffee was happier in the hands of white men than of black, and
that he would even support the institution if it could be carried on
with a little more humanity and less bloodshed. The lieutenant saw
nothing, even through the "Spiritual Medium" of our flagons, save
prize-money and obedience to the Admiral; while Don Teodor became
rather tart on the service, and confessed that his incredulity of
British philanthropy would never cease till England abandoned her
Indian wars, her opium smuggling, and her persecution of the Irish!
In truth, these loyal subjects of the King, and the Spanish slaver
became most excellent friends before bed-time, and ended the evening
by a visit to Prince Freeman, who forthwith got up a negro dance and
jollification for our special entertainment.
I have not much recollection after the end of this savage frolic till
my "look-out" knocked at the door with the news that our brig was
firing for her officers, while a suspicious sail flitted along the
horizon.
All good sailors sleep with one eye and ear open, so that in a
twinkling the lieutenant was afoot making for the beach, and calling
for the surgeon to follow. "A canoe! a canoe! a canoe!" shouted the
gallant blade, while he ran to and fro on the edge of the surf,
beholding signal after signal from his vessel. But alas! for the
British navy,--out of all the Kroo spectators not one stirred hand or
foot for the royal officer. Next came the jingle of dollars, and the
offer of twenty to the boatmen who would launch their skiff and put
them on board. "No savez! No savez! ax Commodore! ax Consul!"
"Curse your Commodore and Consul!" yelled the Lieutenant, as the
surgeon came up with the vociferous group: "put us aboard and be paid,
or I'll----?"
"Stop, stop!" interposed my pacific saw-bones, "no swearing and no
threats, lieutenant. One's just as useless as the other. First of all,
the Bonito's off about her business;--and next, my dear fellow, the
chase she's after is one of Canot's squadron, and, of course, there's
an embargo on every canoe along this beach! The Commodore's altogether
_too cute_, as the Yankees say, to reinforce his enemy with officers!"
During this charming little episode of my _blockade_, I was aloft in
my bellevieu, watching the progress of the chase; and as both vessels
kept steadily northward they soon disappeared behind the land.
By this time it was near breakfast, and, with a good appetite, I
descended to the verandah, with as unconcerned an air as if nothing