Chapter 40 - Ran Away to Sea by Mayne Reid
Of the cutter we never saw more. When the sun rose there was no sail in sight, and the slaver alone upon the ocean, was standing upon her westward course, under a soft gentle breeze and a cloud of sail. No doubt the cutter had abandoned the chase near the coast—for her former experience had taught her, that under such a light wind she was no match for the barque. She saw that the later had escaped—that it would be useless to follow her out into the Atlantic—and she was constrained, therefore, to go in search of other slavers that might prove less fleet than the Pandora.
Under these circumstances the chase was abandoned, and the barque was now free to traverse the wide Atlantic ocean, and deliver her human cargo on the Brazilian shores. It would be a mere accident if she met with further interruption. Possibly, an English man-o’-war of the South American squadron might yet overhaul her; but far more likely she would find her way into some quiet little Brazilian harbour—or into Cuba if she preferred it—where she would be entirely welcome, and where her owner would find not the least difficulty in disposing of his five hundred “bales,” or ten times the number if he had had them.
This then was the probable destiny of the Pandora. Her voyage was to be a success; five hundred more unfortunate beings were to swell the ranks of slavery—her captain would be enriched—her crew would receive bounty and live for a time in riotous debauchery—and all this at the expense of every right of humanity—every principle of morality.
What cared they for this, either captain or crew? They knew that governments winked at their transgressions—that some openly approved of them—some of these rough fellows were even intelligent enough to know, that the apparently earnest endeavours on the part of the government of Great Britain to suppress slavery and and the slave-trade were only mock-earnest after all—a mere political pretence—a ruse against the republicanism of America. Yes; some of these rough fellows knew it, to be sham—knew, too, that the sums annually expended by Great Britain on the barbaric luxuries of an idle court would have been sufficient to have stopped slave-dealing over the whole world—but that, instead, this profuse waste only created slaves—white slaves, and a far greater number than all the blacks that ever crossed the Atlantic. Yes; many of these rough fellows had wit enough to understand such matters; and it is, therefore, less to be wondered at that they should fall into this life of reckless outlawry. Moreover, success once obtained there would be no outlaws on the further side. The rich skipper would take rank among merchant-princes there. He would go into the best company—and be well entertained. No matter that his hand was stained with blood and his brow stamped with guilt. Kings, princes, and emperors of our day are similarly branded, but for all that, the dainty white hand of woman is contented to grasp theirs in the cordial embrace of amity and approval. With such high examples before the world no wonder there are slavers—no wonder there should be pirates. It is only singular there are not more of them.
Joyful and jolly were the crew of the Pandora when they beheld the cutter hull down upon the horizon, and saw that she abandoned the chase. Their labour would now be of the easiest kind, for a run across the Atlantic, from the Gulf of Guinea to the Brazils, is one of the easiest of voyages to the seaman. The trade-winds blow almost constantly in his favour. The trim vessel sweeps smoothly along, and the sails but rarely require shifting. It is more like floating with the current of some gentle stream, than making way across the broad billowy bosom of the Atlantic.
Alas! smoothly as we ran, it was far from being a pleasant period of existence to me. I was called upon to witness a scene of constant suffering, daily—ay, hourly—my heart was wrung with pain, for there was not an hour in which some agonising spectacle did not transpire among the wretched denizens of the “half-deck.”
I need not here describe the ordinary sufferings of the slave-ship. They are recorded in many books; and I believe the most heartrending tales that have been told are not a whit exaggerated. My own experience convinces me that most of them are within the boundaries of truth. On board the Pandora these poor wretches were treated as is usual on other slave-vessels. They were kept below, close packed and without any accommodation as to sleeping, or even for lying down. They were obliged to huddle together and lie over one another! They had not even space enough to be all seated at one time; and the air which they were compelled to breathe was foul and exhausted of all healthy principle. They were fed and watered just as a farmer would provender his hogs or cattle; and in fact they were treated in all respects as cattle are, when transported across the sea—perhaps not quite so well as these. Even brutes would scarce have been used so cruelly. They were only permitted on deck four or five at a time, and only for a few minutes, after which they were forced without ceremony to plunge back into their loathsome quarters, and the merciless grating was shut down upon them.
Over this stood a sentry with loaded musket and bayonet—the latter of which was called into requisition in the most wanton and cruel manner. The object was to awe the poor wretches into such fear as would paralyse all efforts at conspiracy or mutiny, for these are sometimes dreaded on board the slaver.
Of course such treatment speedily produced its effect. In a few days a change was apparent upon both the faces and forms of the unfortunate victims. Their bodies became attenuated, their cheeks emaciated, and their eyes sunk far into their sockets. Their high cheek-bones rose higher, and gave to their features a gaunt, wolfish appearance that was hideous to behold; while the shining black departed from their complexions, and their skin assumed a whitish powdered appearance, as if they had been rolling in meal.
It was indeed an awful spectacle, this transformation of the image of God into what had more of the semblance of the Devil—an awful spectacle; and hourly was my heart wrung with grief and pain.
Not so the crew of the Pandora. They ate and drank and were jolly all the way. They never even thought of the sufferings of the poor wretches below, whose groans often echoed their laughter. No, these blacks were but brutes, to be bought and sold, and as such did they in reality regard them.