Coffins (28 page)

Last night I prayed (though I have no Bible), and in my prayers pledged that should I survive, the enterprise will be abandoned. Becky has long wanted me to give up the slave trade, and I've been partway inclined to please her, but now I am certain in my mind. Should I live,
Whippet
will be my last voyage as slaver.

[later]

Everything has changed!

At noon I'm summoned into the presence of Gezo, Skull King of Dahomey. The amazement begins at once. I'd expected to meet me a dim-witted tyrant, a blackish monkey man with bloody fangs. Instead I'm presented to a large, imposing fellow with mild, aristocratic manners. Gezo is at least six feet tall and remarkably fat, with many jowls, and piercing, gold-flecked brown eyes sunk deep into his face. His small, round mouth purses like that of a fish. My first thought—somewhat crazed by my anxiety—is that the King of Skulls resembles a great black codfish grown fat on a diet of herring. But there's nothing “fishy” about the king's manners, which are like any other king.

Gezo speaks many languages, none of 'em English, and he commands one of his advisers (a blood cousin) to act as translator, so that, as he soon says, “His Highness may address my guest and be understood.” In that manner, with a translator keening out the words, the Yankee captain is welcomed to the Land of the Dahomey, also knows as Land of the King's Fathers. The Yankee captain has come with a favorable recommendation from Señor de Souza, and since Señor de Souza has helped make all of Dahomey rich, and all of Dahomey belongs to King Gezo, his recommendation counts for much. Lucky for me it counts for more than my association with the scoundrel Monbasu, since white men are assumed to be innocent of courtly intrigues.

In truth, Gezo explains, many of his clan had an association with the wretched Monbasu, but they've been forgiven for their poor judgment because they had the good sense to show loyalty by denouncing the foul viper, who not only violated the royal taboo, but may have had eyes on the throne itself.

The translator barely gets that out, about a conspiracy for the throne, when Gezo himself makes clear, by waving his hands, that the very idea is ridiculous. “Many scheme for my throne,” he tells me, “none so far have succeeded. Look upon them, Yankee captain! Observe how their skulls are empty. Because only empty-headed fools intrigue against the great Gezo! And when they are, inevitably, denounced, their small, stupid brains are fed to the wild dogs!”

By some signal, the king has called for his skulls, and they are brought out in a great woven basket. Gezo paws through them, a thoughtful expression on his face, very like an old woman fingering apples, and culling the ones gone bad. He solemnly holds up skull after skull, poking his fat fingers in the eye sockets, and showing me where the brains have been taken out and the bone boiled clean. It's a very impressive collection, and serves to make me even more desirous of hanging on to my own stupid skull.

Gezo then commences to give out a lecture, all the while rubbing at certain skulls, as if for luck. “You have come here to treat with me for slaves,” says he, prompting the translator. “Only last month the new English queen, who has no slaves, begged me yet again to outlaw the trade. Gezo refused! Why should the Father of Dahomey trade in palm oil when the lives and fortunes of his people depend on the selling of captives. The slave trade has been the ruling principle of my people. It is the source of their glory and wealth. Their songs celebrate their victories and the mother lulls her child to sleep with notes of triumph over an enemy reduced to slavery. Can I, by signing a treaty, change the sentiments of a whole people?”

I beg to remind him that I'm no Englishman, and pay no allegiance to English queens, new or otherwise, and he takes that as affirmation of his sovereignty, as I intended, and looks on me with approval.

Already, though, I've begun to have some pity for poor Monbasu, whose skull may soon join the others in that woven basket. To be the object of Gezo's wrath is surely the most horrible of fates, and all because the handsome young fool fancied a woman whose name the fat king can't seem to remember. How could he, as she's but one of three hundred wives?

At a sign from Gezo the offending pair are dragged before the throne. Monbasu and his lady love have been stripped naked and manacled about the neck and ankles, and linked by heavy iron chain. Monbasu's gold tooth has been extracted and presented to the king, who wears it on a fine golden thread around his plump neck. Both prisoners have been severely lashed, but that is not the worst. Each has had one eye put out, and the wound crudely cauterized. They must be in great pain, but betray no hint of it.

I'm put in mind of my mate, Black Jack Sweeney, whose eye was extracted for cheating a Senegalese slave merchant at cards. But at least Sweeney kept his head, and the two young lovers are about to lose theirs. They know it, too. It shows in their faces, which already seem to be calmly looking at the other side of death.

The executioner, a powerful eunuch equipped with a ceremonial sword, waddles forward and looks to the king for a sign.

I am determined not to flinch when the sword falls, as I must not betray sympathy for the sinners, but Gezo surprises me yet again. He surprises everyone in attendance, when, with a wave of his fat hand, he stays the executioner and turns to me.

“Yankee captain,” says he, “what exactly is the fate of the captives you carry away? Are they treated like animals? Are they starved and beaten?”

I know better than to lie, and determine to speak the truth. “Oh, yes,” I tell him. “A slave is treated like an animal because he is, for all purposes, an animal. Starvation and beating are, of course, useful methods to obtain obedience.”

Gezo's little mouth makes a smile. “Are they whipped regularly?” he wants to know.

“Certain they are whipped. Regular whipping is common practice, particularly on the field hands.”

“Are the women raped?” say he.

“If the female is attractive, or even if she is not, she will be made use of by factors, enforcers, and owners.”

Gezo nods, very pleased with my answer. “Are the men emasculated?”

“Any male slave who shows the least sign of spirit is first beaten, and if that doesn't suffice, he is cut, the same as is done with horses and cattle, Your Highness.”

“Ah, very good. And how long might a slave live?”

“In Cuba, where my cargo is destined, a slave who works the cane fields may live a year or two, or even three. Much depends on weather and pestilence.”

“And such a field hand suffers until he dies?”

“Oh, yes, Your Highness, he suffers most horrible.”

Gezo rattles a few of his empty skulls, and thinks over what I've told him. “Can a slave take a wife?” he asks slyly.

“No. Marriage between slaves is forbidden. The Cuban grandees discourage any lingering association between males and female slaves, believing it can only lead to trouble, and because a slave with wife and child will fight for them.”

“Ah, very wise. And may a slave keep his own name?”

“No, Your Highness. It's easier for a slave owner to name them himself, as he would a dog or a horse.”

Gezo nods, and I must suppose that nothing I said was unknown to him, as he is well acquainted with slavers and slavery. What he says next surprises me yet again. “Does the Yankee captain know that Gezo is himself the son of a slave?”

This unexpected confession makes me fearful. Have I offended the Skull King somehow? But no, he merely wants to relate the peculiar circumstances of his ancestry. It seems his mother was sold into the harem of the previous king, and through her beauty and intelligence impressed that king, who made her his queen. Then, alas, she fell out of favor and was sold and transported to Brazil.

“When Gezo became king,” he says, “he put out a search for his mother, offering a great reward, but nothing was found. If a famous queen can vanish so absolutely, imagine the fate of a mere concubine, ha ha!”

That “ha ha” put a chill down my spine, and not because I think the fellow is actually amused by his mother's disappearance. It is the laugh of a man capable of anything, the laugh of a man who smiles gently while he fingers the skulls of those who have offended him.

Gezo seems pleased by the effect he's had on the assembly, and on me, and calls for the prisoners to be brought closer to the Yankee captain for inspection. Guards grab them by the ears and hold their heads up. Even with his one good eye, Monbasu will not look at me, out of shame and what little remains of his pride. The woman, not surprisingly, is beyond fright, or pain, and something awful oozes from her vacant eye socket.

“Would a male slave with one eye be employed as a house servant?” Gezo wants to know.

“No, Your Highness, very unlikely. If he is young and strong he will certainly be used in the cane fields.”

“Would a female with only one eye find a place in a fine house and live a long, comfortable life?”

“No, Your Highness. Female house slaves are used as maids or concubines, and tend to be comely, so as not to offend the owner, his wife, or their many guests.”

Gezo grins. “What would they do with a one-eyed wretch like this, Yankee captain? Would they send her to the cane fields and let the men use her?”

“Yes, Your Highness, very likely.”

This “Yankee captain” has only a little schooling, but I am no man's fool, and pretty certain where the king has been leading this strange conversation. Indeed, I have helped him lead it there, for my own purposes, and so am not surprised when he pronounces his final judgment.

“Gezo, King of Dahomey, Father of his People, has decided to let this worthless wretch and his worthless whore keep their heads, because losing one's head is, after all, quite painless. Over in an instant, ha ha! Gezo's revenge will be much sweeter and more satisfying if the offenders suffer most horrible for a year or two. Therefore, if the Yankee captain agrees, Gezo will sell him Monbasu and the woman for a trifle, a few cowrie shells, which is all they are worth. Will the Yankee captain do the Skull King this favor?”

I glance at Monbasu, but he will not meet my eyes. “It would be my honor to serve Your Highness in this matter.”

“They must suffer!” Gezo insists. “Make certain they suffer, and I will sell you all the slaves you desire.”

“Oh, they will suffer, Your Highness. Be sure of that. All slaves suffer. It is their fate, in your religion as in mine.”

*
Francisco Feliz de Souza, the notorious and very wealthy Portuguese slave merchant. By royal decree of Gezo, King of Dahomey, de Souza controlled Whydah, and collected a tax on every slave dispatched from the port. [Editor]

11. Madness

July 4, 1837

All is well.
Whippet
lies in port, loaded with cargo, ready to depart on a favorable tide. In the end King Gezo was in no mood to bargain, and sold me 180 of his best slaves, for a price lower than had I purchased from de Souza directly. As to the “Count,” he demanded three more barrels of gunpowder, and the remainder of the iron bar as compensation for his supposed efforts to keep the American patrol at bay. I suspect he lies, that the
Stars & Bars
has not been sighted, but I do not argue. My ledger is even, the tally matches, and I have my cargo for the price anticipated. With any luck I shall never see Señor de Souza, or Dahomey, again.

As I write, Monbasu and his lady love are chained to the slave deck stanchions, along with the rest of the captives. Monbasu's behavior has been somewhat strange. During the fifty-mile march to the coast, I attempted to engage the young man in conversation, but he refused to respond. At first I was puzzled, and then I understood. He fears that Gezo will change his mind if he thinks the Yankee captain had taken pity on him, and so would as soon be treated cruelly.

He is much changed, and his spirit broken.

July 5

Got clear of Whydah without incident. No sign of d——d Beale. Once land is down and the ship trimmed, I have Monbasu brought up on deck. The iron collar remains about his neck. The chain fixed to the collar is held by Sweeney, who remarks that once he had a pet monkey that was better-looking, and didn't need to be leashed. I order Sweeney to go about his business.

For Monbasu I've a proposition. In exchange for his freedom he must act as factor of the slave deck, keeping calm among the captives. My plan is to have us a passage uninterrupted by outbreaks of panic, which can be time-consuming and expensive, due to loss of life.

At first he assumes the Yankee captain is playing a cruel trick. Why would a man free a valuable slave, legally obtained? Monbasu owned many slaves, and never freed any of them, says he. But he's soon persuaded of my sincerity in this matter, and by the time the iron collar is struck from his neck, Monbasu has miraculously recovered his poise, and his previous confident bearing. He even has the gall to ask if I'll give him a legal manumission. “With papers, a man of experience can find a position as an overseer. Monbasu can't go back to Dahomey, so he must make a new life for himself. A legal manumission will make all things possible.”

The man has nerve! Blinded and beaten and robbed of all he owns, and yet still he dreams! And he talks like a Philadelphia lawyer.

I agree to give him such a letter upon safe arrival in Havana.

July 29

We are becalmed, and worse, set back by contrary currents! Delay is to be expected on the western passage but still it makes me rage against the air and sea, for every extra hour at sea is an hour away from White Harbor, and Becky and my boys.

The one bright spot is my bargain with Monbasu. With him in charge there's been not a peep from the slave deck. The captives are terrified of Monbasu and believe that he, like his cousin the king, is a great sorcerer, a god of the drums and a drinker of blood. That he managed to free himself from captivity they take as proof of his great power. Such a man is to be dreaded and obeyed.