The Voyage of Promise (3 page)

S
creams pierced the morning air and the pungent smell of burning flesh wafted through the open window. With an irritated sigh, Jasper Hathaway pulled himself away from the looking glass and crossed to the widest of the three windows in Zulina’s corner room.

Down below was a courtyard where the breeze blew comfortable and cool off the water. There a clutch of men and women from Grace’s village huddled together, their clothes stripped from them and their hands bound tight. Tawnia, Ama, and Safya wept together on the far side of the courtyard. Between the three women and the other captives, a fire glowed white-hot. A trustee grabbed Tetteh and dragged him to the fire. Tom Davis, Hathaway’s assistant, pulled a glowing-hot metal rod from the embers and seared it into the young man’s shoulder. As Tetteh howled, Davis thrust the rod back into the fire and shoved Tetteh toward the women. Already the trustee was dragging Ama’s brother, Oku, to the fire.

With a sigh of disgust, Hathaway slammed the shutter closed. “Noisy beggars!” he muttered. Well, he would not allow them to distract him. Not today. For five years he had
anticipated this moment, and nothing was going to ruin it for him, especially not the whining of slaves.

As soon as Jasper Hathaway turned back to the looking glass, the scowl on his face smoothed into a look of satisfied approval. He had brushed his hair back slick and smooth and tied it at his neck with a fresh ribbon. New silk stockings and buckled shoes perfectly set off the fine cut of his breeches. Carefully Mister Hathaway adjusted the lavishly embroidered jabots at his neck, making certain that each ruffle was perfectly positioned so as to display it elegantly through the opening of his new silk waistcoat—a handsome garment indeed. How unfortunate that unsightly bulges caused the pocket flaps to protrude in such a distracting way. Well, never mind, he reassured himself. His new “smart coat” would cover up all those tell-tale results of his dining room indiscretions.

He struck a casual pose and stared hard at his reflection. No, it was not quite the look he desired. He picked up a carved walking stick and, with one foot slightly crossed over the other, jauntily leaned against it. No, no, that gave him the look of a lame man. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached into his desk drawer and took out a discreetly hidden pot of ceruse makeup power. He dabbed it on his cheeks, gagging only slightly at the foul odor. Then he stepped back to consider the matte-white results. Perfect! Ten pounds, twenty-two shillings it had cost him for the new suit of clothes, but it was worth every last farthing. For what Jasper Hathaway saw reflected back at him in the looking glass was an ideal English gentleman of impeccable taste.

“I’ll pay yer price fer the young ones,” Captain Hudson was saying to Tom Davis down in the courtyard. “But not fer them two.” He motioned toward Sunba, then knocked Cabeto to the ground and kicked him. “Lame, he be. Is you trying to trick me now?”

“He’s a strong buck,” Davis argued. “A plantation owner could work him hard for more than a year before he’d drop. Maybe two years—three even. Fully worth two iron bars, he is.”

“Two bars!” Hudson said with a sneer. “I only buys what I can sell, and it ain’t him! And that one…” he motioned to Sunba. “Look at his back. He be a troublemaker, that’s fer sure!”

In the end, Captain Richard Hudson bought the whole lot, though he paid just half the going rate for Sunba and Safya, and only a third for Cabeto. The captain smiled to himself, but so did the trader. Each was certain he had gotten the best of the other.

When Tom Davis saw Mister Hathaway descend the steps, he paid no attention to the striking silk clothing that bedecked his boss. Instead, he launched directly into a recitation of the slave sale. But Mister Hathaway pushed him aside.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

“She… who?” Tom stammered.

“Grace, of course!” Mister Hathaway said.

After Grace had spurned his marriage proposal, when her father blamed Jasper publicly for enabling her to escape her parents’ grasp, when the whispers and jokes began to circulate through the white population all up and down the Gold Coast, he started to lay his plan. Five years is a long time to wait, but now at last he was ready to claim both his revenge and his prize.

When Tom brought Grace before Hathaway, she was washed and perfumed, and dressed up in a yellow and green silk frock with a filmy skirt that rustled when she walked. Jasper Hathaway had rehearsed this moment many times in his mind: when Grace entered, he intended to cast her the briefest of glances, and to maintain an air of disinterested
disdain. But now, with her standing before him, he could only gape at her willowy beauty. He had forgotten the loveliness of this daughter of an English sea captain and his royal African wife. The splash of fire in her hair, the golden hue of her skin, the intense flash in her eyes—Jasper Hathaway reached out an unsteady plump hand and ran his shaky fingers along the charming pleats of her fitted bodice.

Grace cringed and pulled away. “I will not marry you, Mister Hathaway,” she said.

Jasper Hathaway shook himself back to his senses.

“Marry me?” he exclaimed, his eyebrows arched in mock surprise. “My, but you do think highly of yourself! I have not the slightest intention of taking you as my wife. You, Grace Winslow, are my slave. My personal slave. I shall take you with me to London and put you on display for all to see. You shall do my bidding—at all times, in all ways. And should you be so foolish as to try anything daring, I shall clamp a metal collar around your tender neck and fasten you to the wall.”

As he had promised, Jasper Hathaway returned to the Gold Coast kingdom, only this time it was not bouncing uncomfortably on the seat of an open wagon in the heat of the day, certainly not perched next to his slave and drenched with sweat. This time he did not make a show of speaking about respect for ancestors. Ancestors concerned him not in the least. This time Mister Hathaway came as an English gentleman—a master of African slaves—seated in a comfortable English carriage with a beautiful slave girl positioned beside him. This time he came victorious and with his head held proud and high.

Jasper Hathaway did not put out his hand to help Grace from the carriage, nor did he offer his arm as they walked through the sacred territory toward the royal hut. “King Obei is expecting me,” he announced brusquely as he waved away the king’s
okyeame
who had rushed forward to intercept him. “And Princess Lingongo as well. She also expects me.”

Bowing, the
okyeame
stepped aside.

Inside the royal hut, King Obei was seated on his gold-encased royal chair just as if he had not moved a hair since Mister Hathaway walked out the day before. Only this time a second royal chair sat alongside the king, one even more beautiful and elegant than the king’s own chair. But Grace didn’t look at them, nor did she acknowledge her uncle, the king. All she saw was her mother, Lingongo.

“Mother, I thought perhaps… that is, with the fire and all that happened…” Grace stammered.

Lingongo ignored her daughter completely. It was as though Grace were not even in the room. Instead, Lingongo fixed her eyes on Mister Hathaway, and it was to him alone that she spoke.

“Did you sell the slaves, Mister Hathaway!” This was a demand rather than a question.

“Yes,” he answered. “Every one of them to Richard Hudson, captain of the
Golden Hawk
. I have insisted he sail for the Indies tomorrow to coincide with my sailing for London on the
Willow
. Excuse me, I should say when
Grace and I
sail for London.” He flashed Grace a victory grin.

Mister Hathaway paused, hoping for a reaction. He got none. So, with a vicious edge to his voice, he added, “I do thank you, Lingongo, for persuading me to reconsider entering into a marriage with so headstrong a half-breed as your daughter. How much preferable it is to be sailing with her
as my own personal slave. As a slave trader yourself, you do agree, do you not?”

King Obei’s feet stiffened where they rested on the
sika’gua
, but Mister Hathaway failed to notice. Nor did he see the twitch in the king’s tightened jaw. He was much too busy bathing himself in congratulatory praise.

“The next time we do business, the price will be double the number of muskets,” Lingongo announced in a searing voice. “And never again will you try to cheat us by filling space in your wagon with cheap cloth and watered-down alcohol.”

“I will be spending my time in London with one Lord Reginald Witherham,” Hathaway continued. “Lord Witherham is a renowned financier and the owner of a magnificent and extremely influential shipping empire—which, as it happens, now owns Zulina slave fortress.”

“Your presence here causes disturbances in the land,” Lingongo said. “Do not return to our kingdom unless your presence is requested. And because your talk causes the king unrest, you are not to speak to him again unless it is through me.”

Jasper Hathaway had intended to end their time together by striking a powerful pose, then pronouncing some sort of an ultimatum or threat. But considering the current direction circumstances had taken, he thought better of it. Instead, he took hold of Grace’s arm and pulled her toward the door. But Grace jerked free and turned back to face Lingongo.

“Please, Mother!” Grace wept. “They killed my son… your grandbaby! My husband they carried away. Please! Do not let this happen to me!”

Lingongo’s eyes, hard and dark, never left Jasper Hathaway’s fleshy face. “Leave now!” she ordered. “This kingdom is for the sons and daughters of Africa, and none other.”

I
am not an expert on ships, but I must say, the
Willow
seems to be a particularly small vessel,” Jasper Hathaway groused to the impeccably dressed and exquisitely mannered captain, Clayton Ross. Mister Hathaway gazed up a bit uneasily at the twin masts. “It does not even approach the size of a schooner, I dare say. Nothing like our sturdy sister ship, to be sure.” Here he gestured with pride toward the
Golden Hawk
, a slave ship anchored alongside the
Willow
.

For almost two weeks the
Golden Hawk
had lain at anchor in the harbor. Already packed with slaves and fully stocked with provisions, it only awaited the order to set sail for the Middle Passage and the slave markets of the New World. Now, at last, it looked as if the ship was being readied for departure.

Captain Ross turned his back on the slave ship and cringed ever so slightly at the moans of misery that carried over from it.

“Aye, but this brigantine is swifter than a schooner,” he said with the lilt of a Scottish burr. “And easier to maneuver she be, as well. If the winds stay fair, she will give you a
smooth sail all the way to London. We should dock in two months and a half, God willing.”

“Humph!” replied Mister Hathaway. “That is too long for my taste. Is my suite of rooms prepared for me and fully stocked according to my orders?”

“Certainly, sir,” said the captain with a polite bow. “But whilst we shall do everything in our power to see you safely and comfortably to England, I do ask you to keep in mind that this is a ship, and as such, it does have its limits. There is only so much—”

“See here, if I am to be cooped up in this hulk for nigh unto three months, I shall expect your crew to see to my comfort,” Mister Hathaway replied in a most disagreeable tone.

“That we shall,” Captain Ross hastily agreed. “I only meant to say that the limitations of sea travel…”

Four crewmen struggled across the deck lugging an overstuffed trunk, then two more followed with lidded crates.

“There now, already I am displeased!” Mister Hathaway huffed. “I specifically instructed that my quarters be set up a minimum of twenty-four hours before I was due aboard the ship. Now, less than a day before we sail, it still is not done. I am in the midst of overseeing the loading of a slave ship, sir. Suppose I should find it necessary to take my rest in the heat of the day only to discover that my suite is not ready for me? Lord Witherham shall hear about this. He shall indeed!”

Captain Ross was spared the obligation of conjuring up a polite response because just at that minute Lukas Fisher’s frustrated voice rang across from the deck of the
Golden Hawk
. “This ship already be packed full!” the first mate called out. “There ain’t room fer no more slaves!”

“These are to go on that ship,” Tom Davis yelled back. “Mister Hathaway’s orders!”

“Well, then, Mister Hathaway can jist come on over and find a corner to fit them in,” Lukas shot back. “This ship been loaded and supplied and ready to sail fer a week, and Capt’n Hudson says they’s no more waitin’. An they’s no space for them slaves of yours, neither.”

“I’ve got no more than thirty Africans here, all told,” Tom said. “And all good men and women they be too. No children, no old ones. All prime slaves… or very nearly so.”

“They… be… no…
room
!” Lukas repeated, his frustration rising. “I ’as to tell ye no, no,
no
!”

“Mister Hathaway says they go,” Tom insisted. “And he speaks for Lord Witherham, and Lord Witherham owns the ship. So tight-pack your slaves and make ready, because these others are coming on board, whether you like it or not!”

“We’ll run out of provisions,” Lukas said.

“Then choose now who you will toss into the sea, because the new slaves are ready at the gate.”

Although he was not a man given to compliments, Jasper Hathaway did admire the persistence of Tom Davis in getting the slave ship packed profitably. Mister Hathaway usually insisted on having his own hand in such transactions, but it was not something about which he cared to bother himself this day. As soon as he set foot on board the
Willow
, he insisted that the captain release the first mate—young Jonas Brandt— from his duties long enough to dispatch the lad to Zulina to collect Grace and see her to the ship. She would not be bringing any of her African belongings with her, he instructed. That would never do. Mister Hathaway had already assembled a nice supply of English frocks, each with a hat and a pair of fine shoes to match. Grace was to be seen with him. She must impress herself so deeply upon the minds of all who cast eyes upon her that when they saw she belonged to Jasper Hathaway, they would burn with envy.

Mister Hathaway loosened his waistcoat and sank into the armchair beside the desk in his so-called suite. His accommodations disappointed him immensely. It could not rightfully be called a suite at all. Two small cabins, each opening onto the main deck; that was all. Each room had a bunk bed—although Mister Hathaway had already demanded that his be replaced with a feather bed. His room had a small desk and a rather uncomfortable desk chair, as well as an armchair pushed up against the tiny wardrobe. That armchair proved to be surprisingly comfortable. The other cabin—Grace’s cabin—had even less room, furnished only with a small table next to the bunk and a straight-back chair against the far wall. Plenty luxurious for a slave, in his opinion. And unlike the larger room, the only bolt on Grace’s door was on the outside—a feature Hathaway found most appealing.

Hathaway’s thoughts were interrupted by a tap at the open door.

With a formal bow, Jonas Brandt said, “I present Miss Grace Winslow,” and ushered her through.

It both angered and pleased Jasper to note the unwilling spark in the eager eye of young Jonas.

“She is a slave, my good man,” Mister Hathaway said brusquely. “
My
slave. You would do well to remember that.”

“Yes, sir.” A deep flush burned to the top of Brandt’s head. “That she is, sir. Good day, sir.”

Mister Hathaway waved the young man away. So this was how the voyage was going to be, was it?

And yet, not an altogether bad herald of things to come.

“Hurry!” Tom Davis’s voice echoed across from the
Golden Hawk
. “Move forward now!”

“Why, I do believe my man is preparing your friends for their sea voyage,” Mister Hathaway said to Grace. “I hope
their accommodations are as comfortable as our own. Come, let us stroll out on the deck and bid them fair travels.”

“Force him onto the ship!” Tom shouted to a white man in the back of a longboat packed with all the captives from Grace’s village. They had been rowed out to the
Golden Hawk
and, with the help of African trustees, Tom and the other man prodded and coaxed them to climb aboard. But Oku, who was at the front of the boat, refused to move.

“Your musket! Use it!” Tom ordered.

A tall trustee with a blank face pointed a gun at Oku’s head. “Move, slave,” he said.

Oku moved. He jumped over the side of the boat and sank into the dank water of the harbor.

Hathaway leaned over the ship’s railing and yelled, “Tom, you fool! Do not lose the choicest among them before you even set sail! Get those slaves loaded now!”

Ama, sobbing, screamed for Oku. Her other brother, Kome, bellowed in rage. In a flash, the trustee pointed his musket at Ama, but it was to Kome that he spoke. “Move to the deck,” he ordered.

Kome, rooted in place, blinked in confusion—from Tom to Ama, to the water where his brother had disappeared, then back to Ama.

“Now!” the trustee insisted.

“Go,” Cabeto urged Kome. “Go or we all die here.”

As Jasper Hathaway chuckled in satisfaction from the deck of the
Willow
, Kome climbed aboard the slave ship the
Golden Hawk
, followed by Safya, Hola, Tetteh, and last, Tawnia, who stumbled and fell.

Tears filled Grace’s eyes and ran down her cheeks and onto the front of her yellow and green silk dress. Her legs trembled and she grasped the railing to keep from falling.

“Ah, the good smell of sea air,” Jasper Hathaway announced jovially. “A perfect day to do business, do you not agree, my dear?”

Grace didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t help herself. She looked back as Cabeto climbed up from the boat and onto the ship’s deck. She choked back a sob, then leaned forward and cried out, “Cabeto! I will see you again!”

Cabeto turned toward her, but immediately a white man knocked him forward and forced him toward an opening in the deck.

“I
will
see you again!” Grace yelled again. This time it was a defiant promise.

A slave on her way to England vowing to meet again with a broken slave bound for the plantations of the New World? Ridiculously impossible! Foolish beyond belief! Jasper Hathaway wanted to laugh in Grace’s face. He longed to position himself on the ship’s deck and mock her long and loud for everyone to hear. But the strength of her defiance had so unsettled him that he staggered and grasped the railing. Like a blow to the stomach, it knocked his breath away. He had no choice but to hold his tongue.

Mister Hathaway grabbed Grace by the arm and forced her back to the rooms.

“It would have been best had your used your last moments to say a final farewell,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Because you will not see any one of them again. Upon my life, you will not see
him
!”