CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The trip downriver to Charles Town from the backcountry went much faster than had the earlier, upriver journey. In little more than a week Isaac and The Panther were paddling their canoeload of slaves into the bay at Charles Town. This was no longer the quiet harbor into which Isaac had sailed when he had first arrived in Carolina in the dead of winter. A number of ships now lay at anchor in the roadstead, and periagos lined the wharves, rocking in the spring winds as their cargoes of deerskins and slaves were unloaded. The Panther deftly maneuvered the dugout canoe into a narrow space between two larger vessels. Isaac was glad to find a place to unload, but uneasy about its safety, and he was relieved when all four slaves were secure upon the wharf. With The Panther’s help he began herding them along, winding through stacks of deerskins, edging past grimy traders and their servants and slaves, both Indian and black.

Isaac’s slaves were so dazed by the bustling scene that there was no need to bind them anymore. The boy clung to his mother, and the young woman and the older one stayed close together, following The Panther simply because there was nothing else for them to do.

They had hardly left the wharf and set foot on the solid earth of Bay Street when The Panther came suddenly to a halt. “Nate Ramsay,” he said to Isaac in a low voice.

“Where?” said Isaac. “The man’s no concern of mine. He’s the one who should dread to show his face.”

“Nate Ramsay not afraid,” said The Panther.

Isaac looked in the direction toward which The Panther was looking and saw Ramsay coming boldly toward them. At Ramsey’s side was a gentleman of quality, a tall, lean man whom Isaac had met before, though it took him a moment to recall who he was. Then he remembered Thomas Broughton, the son-in-law of the governor.

“So you’ve made it down with your slaves,” said Ramsay, a sneer in his voice as he stopped directly before Isaac and planted his feet to block his way.

Isaac glanced from Ramsay to Broughton. The two seemed to be acting in concert, though Broughton’s manner was more refined. “I see you’ve wasted no time finding new employment,” Isaac said to Ramsay. He turned and tipped his hat to Broughton and made an attempt to be on his way.

Ramsay fixed himself the firmer. “You’re forgetting something,” he said in an unpleasant tone.

“And what is that?” asked Isaac, his anger beginning to rise.

“The governor’s tariff,” said Ramsay with a smile. “If you mean to trade in Carolina, you have to stay square with the governor.” He looked over the slaves. “I think the governor would settle for that one.” He nodded toward the youngest of the women. “What do you think, Colonel Broughton?”

Broughton nodded. “She will do.”

“She belongs to me,” Isaac said coldly. “As does the boy.” He endeavored to stay calm and keep his wits about him. These slaves were his entire fortune. To lose one would set him back to where he was when he first arrived from Jamaica, nothing gained for all his effort. “The other two belong to Sam Clutterbuck, and they’re none of the governor’s. They’re bought and paid for in legitimate trade.”

Ramsay looked down and spat a stream of tobacco juice that splattered against the side of Isaac’s boot.

“Well, that may be the way it seems to you, Mr. Bull,” he said, raising his eyes and fixing them directly on Isaac’s. “But when we tell that to the governor, he’s still going to be wanting his due.”

“Tell him whatever you wish,” Isaac said curtly. “If he has any grievance against us, he can bring it to the counting house of John Hawkins and we’ll answer it there. Now excuse me, gentlemen.” Again he made a move to leave, but Ramsay and Broughton stood firm.

“You’re new to Carolina, Mr. Bull,” said Broughton. “You lack familiarity with our laws. The simple fact is that any war expedition commissioned by the governor that results in the taking of slaves brings into play the governor’s right to a consideration. A return for his commission.”

“Commission?” said Isaac. “There was no commission. It was The Panther who led the war party, and Indians from the Ocmulgee Creeks who followed him. No Englishman was involved in it. Does the governor hand out his commissions to savages?”

“Of course not,” said Broughton. “But if what you say is true, it raises a more serious question than before. For if no Englishman witnessed the taking of the slaves, Mr. Bull, you may well be in illegal possession of friendly Indians. It’s a sad abuse by our traders that they encourage our loyal Indian nations to kidnap from one another and pass off their victims as legitimate slaves gotten from the enemy.”

“From all I hear, that’s an abuse you know well,” Isaac said hotly. “Your men are the ones who practice it, and it’s more than an abuse, it’s a danger to the province to goad our friendly Indians and tempt them into war against us. You have no grounds to accost me, Colonel Broughton. None whatever. These are Spanish Indians and no doubt about it. It’s all within the law and no concern of yours.”

Broughton looked at him narrowly. “You lack prudence, Mr. Bull. It may be you’re not planning to stay in the Charles Town trade, but if you are, you’d best learn how things are done. What we have here are four slaves who may well be English allies.”

“Indeed they are not,” said Isaac.

“You have no proof of it.”

“He has none at all,” Ramsay said testily. “And I do believe, Colonel Broughton, that I’ve seen ’em all before. In the Apalachee settlements in the Savano towns. They’re all of ’em loyal Indians. I’ll swear to it.”

“That’s a lie!” said Isaac.

“So these are not slaves at all,” said Broughton. “You know, of course, that the law forbids the enslavement of friendly Indians. But no doubt you’ve paid a large price for them. If we were to confiscate all of them, you would be hard pressed to recover your losses. We understand that. It’s the governor’s desire to promote the cause of commerce in the province. He would not wish to be the ruin of any man. Indeed, he might look the other way on this matter for a small consideration. It would be a penalty, you understand, a warning against the future, and though it might go hard with you, still you must admit that to lose one and keep three is not so grievous an outcome as to lose all four.”

“We’ll take this one, then,” said Ramsay, stepping past Isaac to seize the young woman by the wrist.

“You’ll not!” said Isaac, grabbing his arm.

Ramsay shoved roughly at Isaac, still keeping his hold on the woman.

“You’re interfering with the execution of the law, Mr. Bull,” said Broughton.

“Devil your law,” muttered Isaac, struggling to break Ramsay’s grip on his slave. “This is bloody robbery.”

Ramsay jabbed his elbow hard into Isaac’s stomach. Isaac staggered back, his breath gone out of him. But he regained himself, and in a fury now, he threw a punch against Ramsay’s jaw with all the force he could give it. Ramsay reeled and fell to one knee, the young woman pulling free from his grasp and moving back with the other slaves. As Ramsay tried to get up, Isaac gave him a shove with his foot and sent him sprawling against the legs of Broughton, who staggered and all but fell trying to extricate himself from the tangle.

Isaac turned to The Panther and motioned for him to go on with the slaves. Ramsay struggled to right himself. Isaac watched him, waiting, ready to punch him again. But Broughton put a hand on Ramsay’s shoulder to stay him, and without a word Isaac stepped around the two and followed after his cargo.

He glanced back several times and saw no one following, but only when the slaves were secure in the pen in the rear of John Hawkins’ counting house did he begin to breathe easily again. Hawkins was not in the office, and Isaac went out to find him, leaving the clerk to measure out The Panther’s payment in ammunition and cloth.

On the stoop of the counting house, Isaac paused for a moment and took in the bustle of Bay Street: the caravans of horses with jingling bells, the long trains of Indian bearers with packs of deerskins on their shoulders, the huddled groups of newly captured slaves, the traders and their helpers, leather-clad, unshaven, carousing and hallooing, enjoying what for many was their sole visit to civilization in the course of an entire year. Isaac made a point of remaining there for some time, serene in his manner, making a show to Broughton, or to any of his men who happened to know of the fracas, that he was unafraid, that he had acted within his rights and expected no further trouble—although in truth, he knew not what to expect. When he felt his point had been made well enough—if indeed anyone at all had been watching—he went down the steps and along the street to the Indian Queen.

Though it was yet morning, the tavern was already crowded and loud with drunken revelry. Isaac made his way among the rooms, searching the faces of the patrons in the dim light until at last he spied John Hawkins sitting with his brother Abraham at a table in a corner. The two merchants failed to notice him until he came up to them, but then they greeted him warmly and called for a bowl of punch.

“So you’ve been to Indian country and lived to tell the tale,” John Hawkins said amiably.

“I’ve a tale to tell, all right,” said Isaac. “But it’s set as much at the Charles Town waterfront as in the backcountry. Do you know a man named Nate Ramsay?”

John Hawkins nodded as the serving boy came with the punch. “Not a very dependable fellow. Clutterbuck has hired him a time or two when he could find none better.”

“He’ll not be hiring him anymore,” said Isaac. As he downed some punch, he warmed to his storytelling and had soon related the entire matter of the firing of Nate Ramsay, the getting of the slaves, and finally what he was beginning to see as his triumph over Ramsay and Broughton at the wharf.

The Hawkins brothers found entertainment in it. “You’re one of us now,” John Hawkins said merrily, pounding Isaac on the back. “You’ll have nothing but grief from that crew from this point forward, I’ll warrant you, but it’s no more nor less than the rest of us have. It puts you in good company, I’d say.”

“You’d do well to ship those slaves out of the province as soon as you can arrange it,” said Abraham. “An incident like this can go on for years, them hacking away at you, charging that the slaves, if they’re still about, are not truly slaves but freemen. But if the slaves are gone, there can be no call to free them, and the thing dies away.”

“Then all is well enough,” said Isaac. “I was planning to send them to Swade in his return cargo. I’m no expert yet in the business of slaves, but I believe he will be pleased with these. He claims he’d rather dig a grave for an Indian that cost him twenty pounds than for a Negro that cost him forty.”

Abraham Hawkins shook his head, overtaken for a moment by his New England sensibilities. “It’s a sad fate for a slave in the sugar islands. Seems a pity sometimes when one stops to reflect.”

“It does indeed,” said Isaac. “All for a bit of sweetening.”

“And for the rum you’re drinking,” said John Hawkins, refusing to join them in their high-minded excursion. “And for the commission you were paid for delivering a cargo of that sweetening. And for half the business of our shipping firm, which is to say for the very clothes we are wearing and the next meal we shall eat. Shall we call it quits, then? Reduce ourselves to paupers and send the wretches back to their pagan haunts?”

“I’d say not, on the balance of it,” said Abraham, rubbing his finger against his nose. He pushed back his chair. “Why don’t we go take a look at these new wretches and see how well Isaac has done for himself.”

“Good,” said Isaac. “I’d value your opinion. It’s the only way I’ll learn the trade.”

The slave-tender, a ragged fellow named Cobb, negotiated the several locks and bolts of the gate in the high board fence, swung it open, and stepped back to let Isaac and the Hawkins brothers go in before him. The three of them stood in the empty yard and waited while Cobb secured the gate and crossed over to the door that led into the back of the counting house. Here he lifted a bar, removed a padlock, and pushed open the door, calling out a command into the dim interior while motioning with his hand for the occupants to come out into the light.

The slaves came out slowly, blinking and squinting at the sunlight. There were seven in all. Besides the four Indians Isaac had brought in, there were three blacks—two men and a woman—fresh from the Guinea coast by way of Barbados, where they had been traded and moved from one ship to another without setting foot on land. Cobb brought the entire group of them to a halt in the middle of the yard and spread them out into a line.

“They appear sound enough at first sight,” said John Hawkins of the four Indians. “Though that one may be past her prime.” He pointed to the oldest of the women.

“But that one,” said Abraham, nodding toward the youngest woman. “What a fine creature she is.” He walked over to her and reached out and pushed her black hair back from her face. “She looks to be about the age of Charity.” He stepped back and scrutinized her. “Tall and strong.”

“She’ll fetch a handsome price,” John Hawkins agreed. “As much as thirty pounds. But for the old one, scarce fifteen, I’d say.”

“She’s not so very old,” said Isaac.

“But the good has gone out of her,” said John Hawkins. “She’ll age ten years for every year of plantation work. Unless Swade keeps her in his house. But I suspect he’d prefer the young beauty for that.”

“By God, I’m taking a liking to the young one myself,” said Abraham, making a slow circle about her, inspecting her closely. “Not for a bedfellow, mind you. I’ve the fear of God in me, a sentiment Theophilus Swade sorely lacks. I’ve never bedded servant nor slave, nor do I intend to. But she would be a pleasure to have about the place, now wouldn’t she?” He came back to stand beside his brother, rubbing his finger slowly against his nose as he watched the young woman, who bore all of this with a stiff face, her eyes looking deliberately past them. “Charity does need a maid for her chamber. I’ve given up on white servants. The last one I had I would have kicked bodily out the door and into the street had not my dignity prevented me.”

John Hawkins nodded, leaning heavily on his cane to relieve the pain he was suffering from standing about on his gouty leg. “It’s a sad truth about white servants in the colonies that they are completely worthless. Where does their arrogance come from? Always balking at the lightest duty, arguing and running away. There’s hardly a master in Carolina who will have one. We all of us prefer slaves.”

Abraham moved his hand to his chin, still watching Lucia, but shaking his head. “Thirty pounds. I could almost buy a black for that.”

“Only a raw one like that one there,” said John Hawkins, nodding toward the black woman. “If you want a black slave trained to civilization, you’ll have to pay dearly. These Spanish Indians can oft times be a bargain.”

“That is true,” said Abraham. “Some of my acquaintances in Boston own Carolina Indians and profess satisfaction in them. One fellow excepted—his Indian wench ran away and was never found. But for the rest, they’ve given good reports. It’s crucial, they say, to get one who has come under the influence of the Spanish Church. Though it be popish nonsense in their heads, yet it serves to civilize them halfway.”

“This one might well be a papist,” said Isaac. “She comes from Saint Augustine. Though I mean not to lean on you. It’s no matter to me whether I sell to you or to Swade, so long as I get my thirty pounds.” He rocked back on his heels with satisfaction. Sam Clutterbuck had told him to take no less than twenty-five, and here he had the prospect of doing better.

“The question, then,” said John Hawkins, “is whether she was baptized by a single pass of a priest through a pagan village or whether she lived in a mission and learned the ways of civilization.”

“We could settle it by trying her Spanish,” said Isaac. “Does anyone here know the tongue?”

“Not I,” said John Hawkins.

“Nor I,” said Abraham. “No more than a word or two. What about Cobb?”

“Not me, sir,” said Cobb. “But I can find you a sailor quick enough, if that’s what you want. There’s many a Spaniard that ships on our vessels, and more than a few of our boys learn to speak to ’em. I’ll fetch you one if you wish it.”

“Good, Cobb,” said John Hawkins. “Do that. We’ll wait.”

As Cobb hurried away, Abraham walked back over to the young slave woman. She was standing close to the older woman now. He reached out and drew her away from the others. For a moment there was a spark of anger in her eyes, but then she looked past him into the distance. John Hawkins walked over to inspect her more closely, Isaac following after him.

“She has no pockmarks,” said Abraham, shaking his head regretfully. “I’d be a fool to buy her. The next sweep of smallpox would take her away.”

“That’s true,” said John Hawkins. “It must be considered.”

Yet Abraham still looked her over, feeling up and down her arms, turning her several times about.

“Sam Clutterbuck examined her closely,” said Isaac. “He found her sound.”

“She’s not sickened in the meantime?” said Abraham.

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Have her run for you,” said John Hawkins. “That’s the way to determine it. See if she has stamina.”

Abraham gave her over to Isaac, who took her arm and began to lead her in a circle in the yard.

“Run!” said Isaac, stepping back from her and waving his hands, as if shooing a chicken before him. She stared blankly at him, seeming not to understand. He began leading her again, taking her arm as he broke into a jog, forcing her to run with him. He took her faster, circling around the little group of slaves and the two men in their silk coats and full wigs. As he started around with her a second time, he let go of her and slowed his pace, pushing her on ahead of him.

“Run!” he said again, waving his hands at her. She continued running alone while he, puffing slightly, walked over to stand with the Hawkins brothers. She kept a good pace, her face closed, revealing nothing of what she was thinking. Her breasts bounced with her stride, her short skirt giving glimpses of her thighs.

“Damn, look at her,” murmured John Hawkins. “It makes my balls ache.”

“It’s her health we’re supposed to be judging,” said Abraham. “She seems strong enough.”

“Is that all you see?” asked his brother with a smile.

“It’s all I’ll own up to,” said Abraham. “Let’s stop her now, Isaac, before John forgets himself and ravishes her in the dirt before our very eyes.”

Isaac laughed. “That would be a pretty spectacle,” he said, stepping out to intercept the woman.

The gate of the yard swung open and Cobb came in with a sailor he had found, a rough-looking fellow dressed in loose pantaloons and a tattered shirt.

“He says he speaks fair Spanish,” said Cobb, bringing him over to the place where Isaac and the Hawkins brothers were standing with the young slave woman, who was breathing hard from her run.

“We want you to speak to her,” Abraham said to the sailor.

“What is it I’m to say?”

“We want to know whether she’s a true papist,” said Abraham. “Whether she lived in a mission town. We reason that if she understands what you say and speaks back to you in Spanish, that will tell us enough. Say anything to her that you wish.”

“Do you want to know her name?” asked the sailor.

Abraham shrugged. “You might ask her that.”

“Where she comes from?”

“Anything,” Abraham said impatiently. “Ask her anything at all.”

The sailor looked down at the ground for a moment, considering, then he looked back at the woman and began to speak slowly to her in Spanish.

As the sailor spoke, Isaac watched her eyes and saw in them a light of recognition. She nodded slightly and made an answer to him, a few words quietly spoken.

The sailor turned to Abraham. “She says her name is Lucia, and she comes from Apalachee. She says there was a priest in her town, so I’d say she’s civilized, all right.”

“Do you think she tells the truth?” asked John Hawkins.

The sailor shrugged. “She speaks better Spanish than me. And she says the priest is dead. Why would she say it if it ain’t true?”

“I believe her,” said Abraham. He moved away a few paces and stood looking at her, his arms crossed. Then he looked at his brother. “I like her, John. I’m going to buy her and give her to Charity.”

“You could do worse,” said John Hawkins. “She might make you a good slave.”

“I believe she will.”

“Take time to consider it, if you wish,” said Isaac. “There’s no hurry.”

“Is that any way to make a sale?” Abraham asked good-naturedly. “You should have your hand out to take my money.”

Isaac smiled. “Were you a stranger, I’d do it right enough. But I’ve an interest in staying on the good side of you, and I don’t mind saying it.”

“Then sell me this slave,” said Abraham. “If I live to regret it, I’ll blame none but myself.”

“Thirty pounds, then?”

Abraham nodded. “Thirty pounds. And we’ll take her right along. I’ll present her to Charity tonight. It will be just the thing.”

“You must join us for the evening, Isaac,” said John Hawkins. “We’ve a gathering planned in Charity’s honor. She comes out of mourning tonight.”

“I’d be pleased to attend,” said Isaac, bowing slightly.

“Cobb,” said John Hawkins, motioning to his man, who was standing a little apart beside the sailor. “Bring this one to the gate. We’re taking her with us.”

“You want her bound, sir?” asked Cobb.

“No, we’ll walk her along between us. She’s too new yet to try to run.”

Cobb went over and took Lucia by her arm and began leading her toward the gate, Isaac and the Hawkins brothers following.

“She’s going easy enough,” said John Hawkins.

But Lucia was beginning to look around now, distress coming into her face. She looked ahead to the gate and then behind to the wigged Englishmen, and then back across the yard to the older woman, who watched her with lips parted and fear in her eyes. Lucia stopped suddenly and pulled back against Cobb’s grip, but Cobb held her tightly. She turned to the three English gentlemen and said something in her language, which was incomprehensible to them.

“Move her along,” John Hawkins said sharply to Cobb.

Cobb pulled at her, but she was resisting now, and she was strong. Cobb began to curse.

Struggling, she looked for the sailor, and seeing him near the gate, she called out to him in Spanish, speaking quickly, fighting against Cobb, motioning back across the yard toward the other woman.

“She says that woman there is her aunt,” said the sailor. “She don’t want to be taken without her.”

“There’s always something,” said John Hawkins. “You can’t listen to them. Move her on, Cobb.”

“I’m trying, sir,” said Cobb, attempting to catch both her arms to keep her from fighting. “She’s a strong one. You’d do well to bind her.”

“She’ll be all right once she’s out,” said John Hawkins. “You,” he said to the sailor. “Come lend a hand. Help Cobb get her out of here.”

The sailor stood motionless, watching Lucia as she struggled and pleaded in words that only he could understand. He shook his head. “It’s none of my affair, and I’ll have no part in it.” He turned his back to them, waiting for the gate to be unlocked.

Isaac stepped forward reluctantly to give Cobb a hand. This was the most unpleasant moment he had yet encountered in his new profession, worse than the fracas with Ramsay, and he wished he could do as the sailor was doing and stay out of it. But she was his slave, he had sold her, and he went now and took hold of her free arm. Together with Cobb they moved her on toward the gate, almost carrying her while she still struggled and made her pleas to the sailor. The sailor would not look at her now, and as soon as the gate was open, he slipped out and was gone.

Isaac and Cobb brought Lucia out into the alley, John Hawkins and Abraham following, the gate pushed to and locked. She turned and looked back at the high board fence, tears in her eyes. But she ceased her struggle. Her shoulders slumped, and when Cobb released her, Isaac led her with little trouble down the alley and out into the bustle of Bay Street.