A Sea Unto Itself (2 page)

“Cassandra,” he answered. He thought it a not particularly auspicious name for a thirty-two-gun frigate. At least it was feminine and derived from Greek mythology, which provided a little substance.

“Cassandra,” she repeated thoughtfully. “’Tis a pretty name. She hath the gift of prophesy, I recall, but no man shall heed her. I find it is oft so with men.”

Charles grinned. “No it isn't. I listen to you.”

“Thou dost not,” she answered. “Else thou wouldst remain at home.”

“Penny,” Charles began. “You know that I must . . .”

“Oh, stuff,” she said, then tilted her head to one side. “Shhh, listen.”

          
“Ye denizens of Liverpool,” a high-pitched voice sounded from across the square. “See what poor souls as suffer from yer iniquitous trade. Come forward and observe for yerselves the fruits of this ill-gotten, pernicious profit!” Charles looked to see a scruffy man in a threadbare coat and broad-brimmed hat mounting a box to address the passersby. Beside the speaker stood two black Africans in ill-fitting clothes, barely sufficient to preserve them from the chill. They were a man and a woman, and from the look of them seemed uncomfortable, whether from the climate or from being the objects of such scrutiny he could not tell.

“Gather ‘round,” the speaker shouted. “Cast yer eyes ‘pon these miserable wretches what have only newly escaped from the most cruel enslavement on American plantations, and what have only just regained their natural freedom that YE have aided to deprive them of.”

Charles knew himself to be no friend of slavery or slavers, but if the man wasn’t careful he would get his ears boxed for him, or worse. Liverpool was a port city notorious for its toughs and heavily invested in the transport of captured humanity to the Americas. There would be many in Liverpool who would not take kindly to his words. He glanced at Penny, her eyes on the speaker now risen to his full height on the crate. Charles knew from experience that his wife could become righteously indignant in her opposition to the institution of enslavement and even attended the meetings of a women’s committee in Chester dedicated to its abolition. It would be better if they moved along before some kind of trouble broke out.

“May we move closer?” Penny said, pulling on his arm. “I wish to listen.”

A crowd was already beginning to collect around the speaker. “I don’t think it such a good idea, my dear,” Charles said. “It would be better if we kept our distance.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” she replied. “He is making a testimony against slavery and we must display our support. Besides which, there are those wretched Negroes by him. Perhaps we can assist them in some way.”

Charles looked again at the reputed African slaves, or ex-slaves. They did indeed appear uncomfortable. Penny seemed to consider it her duty to intervene in the lives of everyone she came across who suffered from some inequity or another.

“Please,” she said. “This is England after all. Surely there can be no danger.”

Against his better judgment, Charles allowed himself to be led to the edge of the growing audience. He noted that it was mostly made up of the kinds of people one would expect along the waterfront: fish mongers, teamsters, a few shop clerks in their aprons, idle seamen, and other sorts of layabouts. Some were very rough looking indeed.

“The evil practice of slavery is the very antithesis of civilization itself.” The speaker gestured toward the sky with his finger. “It is abhorrent to the One True God for a man to enslave another. It is Satan’s own work to succor such trade in human flesh by transporting these poor souls from the comfort of their natural homes in Africa to harsh and penurious labors in the Americas.” He paused to add emphasis to his words. “The profits thus gained are the very wages of sin!”

Someone standing nearby yelled back, “Get ye down off that box, old bugger. Ye can bend over and I’ll show ye the wages of sin.” There was a good deal of laughter at this.

Penny turned to glare at the man who had called out. “I do wish he would not say such things,” she said primly. “Everyone knows that slavery is an evil practice.”

“Yes, my dear,” Charles said, his attention on the crowd. Still more people were emerging from the shops facing the square, and even off some of the long, sleek merchant ships moored farther up the wharf, to see what the fuss was about. Those ships, he knew at a glance, were termed ‘blackbirders,’ specially built for rapid transit of the Atlantic with highly perishable human cargos. He had crossed wakes with the foul-smelling transports on the high seas more than once.

The speaker seemed undeterred by the interruptions and continued his harangue on the errors of Liverpudlians’ ways. Charles’ focus turned to the two blacks standing by the man’s feet as if they were on exhibit. It must be difficult for them to be the subject of such hostile display. The male was large, heavily built, with skin as dark as ink. Charles wondered about him. He guessed that as a runaway slave he had experienced some frightening things in his life, perhaps more frightening than the crowd jeering sporadically at the speaker on the box. The man seemed to be surveying the assembled onlookers cautiously. For an instant their eyes met. Charles nodded reflexively in acknowledgement. The black tilted his head in return; his gaze moved on.

At that moment another man, a seaman by his appearance, shouldered his way past Penny and shouted through cupped hands, “Shut your fuckin’ gob, you nigger-lovin’ son of a whore, or there’s some of us that will shut it for you.”

The speaker on the box shouted ever louder over a rising chorus of derision. Penny, Charles saw with alarm, immediately turned to confront the offending seaman. “I will thank thee not to speak such rude and hateful things,” she said to him, clutching her package against her chest. “I think thou art not a loving Christian person.”

“Penny,” Charles said, trying to gain her attention before she went further. The burley, unshaven seaman scowled back at her. It was time to move his wife away before things got out of hand. The crowd had grown increasingly hostile and it wouldn’t take much to spark trouble.

“And I’ll thank you to tend to your own goddamned affairs, lady,” the man answered harshly. Charles could smell the waft of rum on his breath. He took his wife’s arm with the intention of leading her away.

Penny jerked herself free. “Thou art a rude, uncivil person,” she said with growing indignation to the seaman. “I do not abide that thou canst countenance this traffic in human flesh. It is a most despicable and hateful form of commerce and anathema to all Christians.” She looked to Charles for support.

“You will please mind your language in the presence of my wife,” Charles said firmly, more to appease Penny than to intimidate the seaman. He reached again for her arm. “We must leave now,” he said urgently.

The seaman glared back in response. Several people around them had switched their attention from the speaker to the more interesting confrontation between the seaman and the young woman.

“I think thou a pernicious, ill-natured, uncouth, callous lout that doth prey on the misfortunes of others,” Penny continued, resisting the pressure on her arm, her voice rising.

Charles thought that these were probably the severest insults she knew. He doubted that the seaman comprehended the exact meaning of much of it, but he would get the drift. “Penny,” he said to regain his wife’s attention. He forcefully pulled her arm to turn her away.

“So she’s your Poll, is she, Jack,” the seaman sputtered, turning on Charles. “You should teach her to shut her gob.”

This was too much. ‘Poll’ was a term for a common dockside whore, although he doubted his wife would know this. “I will not have my wife addressed in such fashion,” he growled, taking a step toward the man.

“Go bugger yourself,” the seaman responded. He placed his hands on Charles’ chest and pushed.

Charles staggered backwards then, despite Penny’s pulling on his coat to restrain him, lunged forward and pushed back. “You will mind your manners when addressing me, cully,” he said menacingly, “or I’ll mind them for you.” He found the man surprisingly difficult to budge. He was about to follow up with the potentially significant revelation that he was a captain in the Royal Navy and that the seaman had better be careful or he would find himself in serious difficulties. He didn’t get beyond the introductory, “Do you know to whom you are speaking?” The seaman's fist pounded into his solar plexus like the kick of a horse. The force of it took his breath away and doubled him over. Before he could react a second fist hammered against the side of his head.

Charles found himself on the cobblestones gasping for air in a sea of pain. He heard Penny shriek. He saw the seaman’s foot draw back and start forward. Charles rolled sideways as the boot shot past. He sensed more than saw that a general tumult had broken out with an uproar of shouting. Struggling to his elbows and knees, he saw the man step forward, preparing to kick at him again. Inexplicably, the foot jerked upwards, swinging harmlessly above. Charles found this unusual in an academic kind of way. He was additionally puzzled as the other foot that the man had been standing on also rose magically into the air.

His wife knelt on the pavement beside him, still cradling her package. “Charlie, Charlie,” she said. “Art thou injured? Canst thou rise?”

With her help he managed to push himself to his knees. His breath came in gasps and the side of his face stung painfully. It took a moment for him to collect his wits before he saw the seaman that had struck him dangling helplessly a full two feet off the ground. Holding him by the collar and the seat of his pants was the very large black man Charles had noticed standing by the anti-slavery speaker. He looked even larger close up.

“You keep afussin’ like that,” the man said to his flailing burden, “an’ Augustus gonna drop you on your head.” The seaman became still.

Charles managed to gain his feet. “Art thou damaged?” Penny said, holding onto his arm and helping him rise.

“I’m all right,” he answered, taking a deep breath. He turned toward the African. “I am in your debt,” he said.

“What do you want me to do with this one?” He shook the dangling seaman like so much loose clothing.

“Put him down, but keep hold of his collar.” He turned to face the seaman whose expression was now more one of contrition than hostility. “I’ve half a mind to see you swing for striking a king’s officer,” he began harshly.

“Oh, no,” Penny interrupted. “Thou canst do no such thing.
 
Too terrible a punishment for such a petty crime wouldst be against God’s law.”

Charles looked at his wife in annoyance. “That’s easy for you to say; you weren’t injured.”

“Whoever shall smite thee on the right cheek, turn the other also,” Penny said primly. “So sayeth the Bible.
 
In Matthew, I think. Revenge be sinful, forgiveness devi . . .”

“Yes, yes,” Charles said impatiently. “I wasn’t going to have him hanged. It was only a manner of speaking. But there must be some consequence if one man strikes another in a public square. What should it be?” He noticed that the seaman was following the exchange with an expression of interest, his head turning in one direction and then the other as each spoke.

Penny pursed her lips in contemplation. “He may apologize for the hurt he has caused thee, and promise to foreswear all violence in the future.”

Charles began a laugh that he quickly changed to a cough when he saw that she was serious. It would be better to have the thing over and done with, he decided, without a lot of chatter about fighting. He turned to the seaman. “Do you apologize for what you’ve done and promise to go forth and sin no more?” He said it with only modest sarcasm.

“What do ye mean?” the seaman answered, either not following or not believing what he was being asked. He cast a nervous glance at the black man still holding firmly to his collar.

“For Christ’s sake,” Charles snapped. “Just say you’re sorry and be on your way.”

“Aye, I’m regretful for smackin’ ye,” the seaman said readily. “Can I up me anchor now?”

“You must also apologize to my wife,” Charles said to make sure everyone was satisfied.

“I’m sorry fer callin’ ye a whore, missus. It’s fer certain yer not,” he said with some sincerity. Charles nodded to the African man to release him, and the seaman immediately edged away.

“Didst that man ever say such a thing?” Penny asked, staring at the retreating form.

“He did,” Charles said. “Don’t forget the ‘forgiveness is divine’ part.” He looked around him to see that the crowd in the square had largely dispersed and the speaker gone. He turned to the black man, now standing awkwardly with his arms at his sides. “I am Charles Edgemont. May I ask your name?”

“Augustus be what they call me, sah,” the man answered. A cautious smile showed white teeth against very dark skin.