Ama (46 page)

“Where's yer shirt?” asked Arbuthnot of one as he clambered over the gunwales.

“Sold it,” came the mumbled reply.

The Mate shook his head wearily.

Then he grabbed the last man aboard by his wrist.

“Where's Knaggs?” he asked.

The seaman looked around for support.

When none was forthcoming, he said sheepishly, “Arrested.”

“Arrested?” asked the mate. “For what?”

“Murder,” said the other grimly.

“Murder, is it?” asked Arbuthnot. “Then hadn't ye better be reporting to the skipper?”

Ama tried to conceal her interest, but her dissimulation was unnecessary. The white men spoke as if the blacks did not exist.

The women began to come out of the hold in ones and twos, making their way up to their customary places on the quarter-deck.

Captain Williams emerged from his cabin with Butcher.

“Bloody Jensen,” he said. “In De Bruyn's time this couldn't have happened. His men were never allowed out into the town after dark. Jensen is unpopular and he is canvassing for support amongst his garrison by relaxing the rules. We'd better go ashore and find out how bad things are with the Dutch sergeant. Bring your instruments: you may need of them. And that demented woman: bring her along too. But truss her well: I don't want her causing any trouble. Jensen will have to give us a marketable replacement.”

* * *

When Williams and Butcher returned in the late afternoon, they had Knaggs in tow.

“Get to work, you rapscallion,” Williams told him as they came aboard, “or I'll be docking you a week's pay rather than a day's. And hear me well. I am tired of your villainies. Test me once more and I'll clap you in irons for the rest of this voyage. You're a bad influence.”

As soon as the Captain and the Surgeon were out of sight, Knaggs was surrounded by his minions.

“What happened, Knaggsy, ole feller?” asked one.

They were standing just below the quarter-deck. Ama moved closer so that she could hear.

Knaggs was swollen with pride.

“There was this ere Dutchy,” he told them. “Said e were a serjeant. We was drinkin punch together, nice an friendly like. Well, then e teks it into is ed to say sommat nasty bout our King George.”

“Whatid e say, then, Fred ole chap?”

Fred scratched his head.

“Don' rightly know,” he replied. “Twere in is lingo. But twere insulting, take me word fer it.”

“Whatid yer do then?”

“I tol' im where ter get off, course.”

“An then?”

“Silly fool challenges me to a jool, wit swords, min' you. I grees an we goes roun the back.”

“Someone gives me this sword and says ‘one-two-three.' But Fred Knaggs din wait fer ‘three.' No, not Fred Knaggs. At ‘two' I drives me sword strait inter the fool's belly. Then e falls on is back, grievous wounded, blood an intestins flowing from a ole in is ernatermy. An Fred Knaggs standin oer im wit me sword. ‘Teach yer ter insult King George,'' says I.

“Then e begs me not ter finish im off.

“ ‘Release yer sword, then,' says I, an e lets it go.

“ An I does the same. Thas me, Fred Knaggs, magaminous. I coulda killed im right there, but I lowed im is life, misrable Dutchy bastard.”

There was applause from the sycophants.

“Three cheers fer Fred Knaggs,” said one, but Fred put his finger to his lips, said, “Shh,” and pointed in the direction of the captain's cabin.

“What happened then, Fred?”

“Silly Dutch buggers assaults me. Like ten of em, all together. But Fred Knaggs gives em as good as e gets, e does. Only I were overcum by strength o numbers. By rights, King George should give me a medal, fer defendin Is Majesty's honner.”

“ Ear, ear. A medal fer Fred. But what'd they do wi you, Freddy boy?”

“Stuffd me in a filthy, smelly dungeon. Fit ony fer niggers, it were. An it
were
full o darkies too. Not a honnest Hinglishman hamongst them. I thought they'd slit me throat, bot they din do me no arm. An there I stays till Doc Butcher cums ter fetch me.”

“What'd e say?”

“'E says Ise lucky ter get orf. Dutchies woulda put a nalter round me neck, e says. Them were is very words. E says Ise lucky cos Dutchy serjeant's wounds is suprafishul an e were able ter sew is belly up, like.”

“Knaggs!” came a roar from the first mate.

Fred Knaggs was in trouble again.

Ama had got the gist of all this. She was bursting with the news but in order to tell the story to her friends, she would have to admit to understanding English. And if the slaves knew that, it would only be a matter of time before the English, too, knew. So she bit her tongue and kept her counsel.

* * *

Ama kneeled against the gunwale and rested her elbows on the rail. Overhead the gulls screamed and wheeled. Beyond the breakers and the rocks lay the mass of Cape Coast Castle. The latest arrivals had told of the terror in the dungeons there, underground, damp, dark, unventilated and infested with rats. Like Elmina, only worse, she guessed; if that were possible.

It was Sunday. She had been aboard
The Love of Liberty
for over a week. On the second day she had persuaded one of the canoe-men to take a message from her to Augusta.

“Tell her, I beg you, that Ama has been sold to the English and is on this ship. Tell her that I beg her to buy me back.”

“Ama? Every seventh woman is called Ama, my sister. How will she know you from every other Ama who has been unlucky enough to fall into servitude? What makes you think that she will remember you at all?”

“Oh, she will remember me. Just tell her that I am here, I beg you. Tell her, Mijn Heer's Ama.”

“Mijn Heer's Ama, you say?”

Once he had caught a glimpse of the late governor's almost mythical consort. She had been dressed in one of Elizabeth's gowns. A fabulous beauty, he had thought then.

“How I'd like to get my prick between that one's legs,” he had told his mate; and they had laughed at his bawdy fantasy. Now here was this slave woman with her shaven head, wearing only a narrow piece of coarse blue cloth.

“You must be joking, my sister.”

“I was never more serious. Please, please, tell her.”

She had watched out for him the next day. Now he looked at her with more respect.

“I told her. She said she wondered what had happened to you. She thought you might be dead. She is pleased to hear that you are still alive. She says to tell you that she has heard that it is the new Director himself who ordered that you should be sold. She says that you know that she and the new Director are not on good terms. It will be very difficult, but she will see what she can do.”

Every day he had come with another message. She was doing her best. It was extremely difficult. There were problems. Jensen had granted her an interview only to shower her with such insults that she had walked out on him.

“Tell Auntie Augusta that the Captain of this ship is an old friend of Mijn Heer's; that the last time the Captain was here she took him to see the King. Perhaps if she could get a message to him, he would do her a personal favour.”

Then Williams had decided that he had had enough of Jensen's arrogance. Perhaps he would get a better deal from his own countrymen at Cape Coast.

The women had been sent into their hold to give the sailors room to work on the deck. Ama had felt the ship heave and creak as the wind filled its sails. That was in the morning. The same afternoon Williams dropped anchor off Cape Coast. When they were allowed out on the deck again the sails had all been furled as before. They were anchored opposite another, different, castle.

Conditions on board had steadily worsened. There was little ventilation in the female hold. More and more women were crowded into the small space. By midnight the air became so foul that it was difficult to breathe. By the early hours of the morning the smell from the buckets was overpowering.

The women, at least, were allowed to spend the day in the light and fresh air. For the men it was much worse. They were kept constantly in irons and allowed up only for a short time twice each day. Loaded guns pointed at them as they ate. Tomba's men who had already been on board for several weeks, looked really bad. Ama could see how they were suffering. And they were clearly unhappy at having strange men from Elmina and Cape Coast appointed as their overseers. The women were strictly forbidden to speak to the men; but only the threat of the cat could dissuade Tomba's women from communicating with their country-folk. Ama guessed that they were giving them news of their leader. She wondered how it was that these people seemed to have such a sense of solidarity. She resolved to learn their language and hear their history.

She interrupted her own reverie. It was time to consider her options.

She might make herself known to Captain Williams. That was unlikely to do her any good. Indeed it might do her harm. She remembered his prejudice against the education of slaves and women. He would surely be suspicious of her.

She looked out at the edifice of Cape Coast Castle. With its cannons facing out to sea it seemed to threaten even at that distance. She knew no one in Cape Coast, except perhaps the drunken relatives of Jensen's Rose. Then she recalled the Rev. Philip Quaque. They had talked at Rose's wedding. He would surely remember her. With him, the fact that she knew English might be a point in her favour. Perhaps he would buy her. He might even employ her as a teacher in his school. She had heard that he was second in status only to the English Governor.

She felt a thrill of excitement. This was a real chance, if only a slim one. But how could she get a message to him? She might ask one of the canoe-men, but any message that might recall her to Quaque's memory would be so complicated that it would almost certainly arrive garbled. If only she could get her hands on ink and paper!

Ink and paper! That would mean stealing into the Captain's cabin. She wondered whether he left his door unlocked when he went ashore.

In the midst of these speculations she heard a muffled conversation. Turning, she saw that Knaggs and Knox and three of their cronies had gathered at the foot of the quarter-deck stairs. They were keeping their voices low. She could make out nothing of what they were saying but it looked as if they were up to no good. One of them climbed the steps and surveyed the territory. Then he beckoned and the one called Knox joined him. Knox looked carefully around. Then he let his eye wander over the ranks of the slave women, some sleeping, some sitting quietly. Ama sensed danger. Slowly she moved out of their field of view. Knox appeared to come to a decision. He pointed to one of the women. Then he and his companion strode across and grabbed her, each taking an arm. Knox stuffed a rag into her mouth to stifle her screams. Some women stood up, alarmed. The sleepers awoke, still not aware of what was happening.

The two white men dragged the black woman down the steps and over to the main mast. They forced her to stand against it. Knox's accomplice pulled her arms round to the back of the mast. Ama could see that the woman was wide-eyed with terror. The gag prevented her from crying out loud, but Ama sensed her muffled scream as her arms were brutally twisted. Knox fumbled with his trouser cord for a moment and then he was inside her. But she twisted to one side and in that movement expelled his organ. He took a step back and slapped her face so violently that her head struck the mast. She stopped resisting. Joe re-entered her. His mates cheered.

“Fuck,” they cried in unison at every thrust, “fuck, fuck, fuck . . .”

But even in their excitement they modulated their voices, looking back at the quarter deck from time to time. Then Joe made his final triumphant thrust. He withdrew and his accomplice released his hold on the woman. She slumped to the deck and the man dragged her to one side.

“You next, Fred,” said Joe Knox, licking his lips as he pulled up his trousers.

All this time Ama had stood gripping the shrouds of the mizzen mast, unable to act. Now, as Knaggs bounded up the steps, she moved forward, determined to mobilise the other women. If they did nothing to defend themselves now, they would surely be raped one by one, whenever these men chose. Knaggs was in a hurry. Williams or Arbuthnot or Butcher might appear on the scene at any moment and he was already carrying a suspended sentence for the previous Sunday's exploit. But he was aroused. Old Joe had had his Sunday afternoon screw and nothing would stop Fred Knaggs from having his. He grabbed the first female at hand. Ama saw that it was a young girl, one of Tomba's people, so young that her breasts were barely formed. Ama struggled to make her way through the crowd of women. They were protesting vociferously but doing nothing else to prevent the outrage. Ama saw that she would not reach Knaggs in time to try to drag the girl from his clutch.

Without thinking, she called out, “Fred Knaggs!”

He paused, astonished at hearing his name called out in a female English voice.

“Who called me name?” he demanded.

“I did,” said Ama, “Unhand that girl at once, you villain. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. She is young enough to be your daughter.”

For a moment Knaggs was immobilised by his astonishment. He recovered quickly and threw the girl aside.

“Young enough ter be me daughter, are she? But yous aint then, is yer?” he said.

Ama was now standing defiantly before him. He grabbed her wrist and dragged her off behind him. He was immensely strong. Ama felt quite helpless. He propped her up against the mast.

“Lay off,” he said to one of the men who volunteered assistance, “Fred Knaggs 'll andle this un isself.”

The women were shouting abuse at him, but he paid no attention.

Ama felt disembodied, as if she were a spirit, floating above, watching these events from on high. Her mind was sharp. The man was strong but he was foolish and he could not be aware that this was not the first time a man had tried to rape her. This time she was determined that things would turn out differently. He lent his chest against her, pinning her to the mast, as he released his trousers. He was panting. Then he took half a step back and thrust his lower left arm against her neck, again pinning her to the mast, while he sought to guide his organ into her with his right hand.