“Will you explain what you mean by more lawfully?”

  “I mean captain (for instance), that the father of that boy (pointing to one of the negro lads who waited at breakfast), was my slave; that he worked for me until he was an old man, and then I supported him for many years, until he died. I mean, that I took care of this boy’s mother, who, as she bore children, never did any work after her marriage, and has since been only an expense to me, and probably will continue to be so for some years. I mean, that that boy was taken care of, and fed by me until he was ten years old, without my receiving any return for the expense which I incurred; and I therefore consider that he is indebted to me as a bond, slave, and that I am entitled to his services; and he in like manner, when he grows too old to work, will become a pensioner, as his father was before him.”

  “I perceive the drift of your argument; you do not defend slavery generally.”

  “No; I consider a man born free and made a slave, is justified in resorting to any means to deliver himself; but a slave that I have reared is lawfully a slave, and bound to remain so, unless he can repay me the expense I have incurred. But dinner is ready, captain; if you wish to argue the matter further, it must be over a bottle of claret.”

  The dinner was well dressed, and the Madeira and claret (the only wines produced), of the best quality. Their host did the honours of his table with true West Indian hospitality, circulating the bottle after dinner with a rapidity which would soon have produced an effect upon less prudent visitors; and when Mr Berecroft refused to take any more wine, he ordered the ingredients for arrack punch.

  “Now, Mr Forster, you must take a tumbler of this, and I think that you’ll pronounce it excellent.”

  “Indeed — !” replied Newton.

  “Nay, I will take no denial; don’t be afraid; you may do any thing you please in this climate, only be temperate, and don’t check the perspiration.”

  “Well, but,” observed Newton, who placed the tumbler of punch before him, “you promised to renew your argument after dinner; and I should like to hear what you have to urge in defence of a system which I never have heard defended before.”

  “Well,” replied his host, upon whom the wine and punch had begun to take effect, “just let me fill my tumbler again to keep my lips moist, and then I’ll prove to you that slavery has existed from the earliest times, and is not at variance with the religion we profess. That it has existed from the earliest times, you need only refer to the book of Genesis; and that it is not at variance with our religion, I must refer to the fourth commandment. How can that part of the commandment be construed, ‘and the stranger that is within thy gates?’ To whom can this possibly apply but to the slave? After directing, that the labour of all the household, ‘man-servant and maid-servant,’ should cease, it then proceeds to the ox and the ass, and the stranger that is within thy gates. Now, gentlemen, this cannot be applied to the stranger in the literal sense of the word, the hospitality of the age forbidding that labour should be required of him. At that time slaves were brought from foreign lands, and were a source of traffic, as may be inferred by the readiness with which the Ishmaelites purchased Joseph of his brethren, and resold him in Egypt.

  “Nay, that slavery was permitted by the Almighty is fully proved by the state of the Jewish nation, until He thought proper to bring them out of the house of bondage.

  “If then the laws of God provided against the ill treatment of the slave, slavery is virtually acknowledged, as not being contrary to his divine will. We have a further proof, subsequent to the mission of our Saviour, that the Apostles considered slavery as lawful.”

  “I remember it: you refer to Paul sending back the runaway slave Onesimus. Well, I’ll admit all this,” replied Mr Berecroft, who had a great dislike to points of Scripture being canvassed after dinner; “and I wish to know what inference you would draw from it.”

  “That I was just coming to: I assert that my property in slaves is therefore as legally mine as my property in land or money; and that any attempt to deprive me of either is equally a robbery, whether it be made by the nation, or by an individual. But now, sir, allow me to ask you a question; show me where liberty is? — Run over all the classes of society, and point out one man who is free.”

  Mr Berecroft, who perceived the effect of the arrack punch, could not refrain from laughing as he replied, “Well, your friend Mr Kingston, is he not free?”

  “Free! not half so free as that slave boy who stands behind your chair. Why, he is a merchant, and whether he lives upon a scale of princely expenditure, whether wholesale or retail, banker or proprietor of a chandler’s shop, he is a speculator. Anxious days and sleepless nights await upon speculation. A man with his capital embarked, who may be a beggar on the ensuing day, cannot lie down upon roses: he is the slave of Mammon. Who are greater slaves than sailors? So are soldiers, and all who hold employ under government. So are politicians; they are slaves to their tongues, for opinions once expressed, and parties once joined, at an age when reason is borne down by enthusiasm, and they are fixed for life against their conscience, and are unable to follow its dictates without blasting their characters. Courtiers are slaves you must acknowledge.”

  “I beg your pardon,” interrupted Kingston, “but I perceive that you make no distinction between those enthralled by their own consent, and against it.”

  “It is a distinction without a difference,” replied the planter, “even if it were so, which it is not, but in particular cases. The fact is, society enthralls us all. We are forced to obey laws, to regard customs, to follow the fashion of the day, to support the worthless by poor-rates, to pay taxes, and the interest of a debt which others have contracted, or we must go to prison.”

  “And the princes and rulers of the land — do you include them?” inquired Newton.

  “They are the greatest of all; for the meanest peasant has an advantage over the prince in the point on which we most desire to be free — that of the choice in his partner in life. He has none, but must submit to the wishes of his people, and trammelled by custom, must take to his bed one whom he cannot take to his heart.”

  “Well, by your account there is nobody free, unless it be Liberty herself.”

  “Why, sir,” rejoined the planter, “to prove to you that I was correct when I asserted that there was no such thing in this world as liberty, paradoxical as it may appear, Liberty is but Liberty when in bondage. Release her, and she ceases to exist; she has changed her nature and character; for Liberty unrestrained becomes Licentiousness.”

  “Well,” said Mr Kingston, laughing with the rest at this curious remark, “as you have now arrived at your climax, with your leave we will go to bed.”

  “Have I convinced you?” demanded the planter, taking the tumbler from his lips.

  “At least you have silenced us. Now, if you please, we will put on our coats and retire to our apartments.”

  “Yes — do,” replied the other, who was not very steady “do — or you may check the perspiration. Boy Jack, where are the lights? Good night, gentlemen.”

  The negro led the way to a large room with two beds in it, for Newton and the master of the brig. Having first pointed out to them that there was a jug of sangoree, “suppose gentlemen thirsty,” he wished them good night, and left the room.

  “Well, Newton,” said Mr Berecroft as soon as they were alone, “what do you think of the planter?”

  “I think that, considering his constant advice to be temperate, he swallowed a very large quantity of arrack punch.”

  “He did indeed; but what think you of his arguments?”

  “I hardly can say, except that none of them were sufficiently convincing to induce me to be a slave proprietor. We may perhaps, as he asserts, have contented ourselves with the shadow instead of the substance; but even the shadow of liberty is to be venerated by an Englishman.”

  “I agree with you, my boy. His discourse did however bring one idea into my head; which is, that there is a remarkable connection between religion and slavery. It was in a state of bondage that the Jews were prepared to receive the promised land, and whenever they fell off from the true worship they were punished by captivity. It was through the means of slavery that the light of the true faith was first brought to our island, where it has burnt with a purer flame than elsewhere; for, if you recollect, the beauty of some English children exposed for sale at Rome, assisted by a Latin pun, caused the introduction of Christianity into Great Britain; and who knows but that this traffic, so offensive to humanity, has been permitted by an All-wise Power with the intent that some day it shall be the means of introducing Christianity into the vast regions of African idolatry?”

  “True,” observed Newton, “and the time may not be far distant.”

  “That it is impossible to calculate upon. He worketh by his own means, which are inscrutable. It was not the cause of virtue, but a desire that vice might be less trammelled, which introduced the reformation in England. The more we attempt to interfere with the arrangements of the Almighty, the more we shall make evident our own folly and blindness, and his unsearchable and immutable wisdom, — Good night, my boy.”

  Chapter Fifteen.

  Lucy.

  Are all these wretches slaves?

  Stanley.

  All sold, they and their posterity, all slaves.

  Lucy.

  O! miserable fortune!

  Bland.

  Most of them know no better, but were

  Born so, and only change their masters.

  Oroonoko.

  The party were up at an early hour on the ensuing morning, that they might enjoy the delightful freshness of the air, which so soon evaporates before the scorching rays of the tropical sun. They were joined at breakfast by the doctor who attended the estate, and who had called in to announce the birth of a little negro boy in the early part of the night.

  “Who did you say, doctor?” answered the planter, “Mattee Sally? Why, I thought Jane Ascension was in advance of her.”

  “They were running it neck and neck, sir,” replied the surgeon.

  “How is she — quite hearty?”

  “Quite, sir; but very anxious about the child’s name, and requests to speak with you as soon as you have breakfasted.”

  “We will go to her. You have no idea,” observed the planter to Mr Berecroft and Newton, “what importance these people attach to the naming of their children. Nothing but a fine long name will satisfy them. I really believe, that if I refused her, or called the boy Tom, she would eat dirt. I believe we have all done; Boy Jack, bring the sangoree. Doctor, I dare say that your clay wants moistening, so take the first pull.”

  This important commencement and finale to the repast having been duly administered, they proceeded to the range of buildings before mentioned, in one of which they found the lady in the straw, sitting up, and showing her white teeth at her master’s approach, as if nothing very particular had occurred.

  “Well, Mattee, how are you?” said the planter. “Where’s the piccaninny?”

  “Ab um here, sar — keep im warm,” replied the woman, pointing to a roll of blanket, in which the little creature was enveloped.

  “Let us see him, Mattee.”

  “No, sar, too cold yet — bye bye, massa, see um; make very fine sleep now. — Suppose white piccaninny, suppose black piccaninny — all same, — like plenty sleep. Um know very well, hab plenty work to do bye and bye — sleep all dey can, when lilly.”

  “But you’ll smother him,” observed Newton.

  “Smoder him? — what dat — eh? — I know now massa mean, stop um breath. — No: suppose him no smoder before, no smoder now, sar. Massa,” continued the woman, turning to the planter, “no ab name for piccaninny?”

  “Well, Mattee, we must find one; these gentlemen will give him a name. Come, captain, what name do you propose?”

  “Suppose we christen him Snub,” replied Berecroft, winking at the rest.

  “Snob! What sort a name you call dat, sar?” replied the woman, tossing up her head. “Snob! no, sar, you ‘front me very much. Snob not proper name.”

  “Well, then Mr Forster,” said the planter, “try if you can be more fortunate.”

  “What do you think of Chrononhotonthologus?” said Newton to the woman.

  “Eh! what dat? — say dat again, sar,” replied the woman.

  “Chrononhotonthologus.”

  “Eh! dat real fine name for piccaninny,” cried the woman, with delight in her countenance. “Many tanky, sar. Chroton-polygarse.”

  “No, no,” replied Newton, laughing; “Chrononho-tonthologus.”

  “Es, hab now — Hoten-tolyglass.”

  “No, that’s only part. Chronon-hoton-thologus.”

  “I see — very fine name — Proton-choton-polly-glass.”

  “Yes, that’s nearer to it,” replied Newton.

  “Well, then, that point’s settled,” said the planter to the woman. “Is it all right, Mattee?”

  “Es, massa; many tanks to gentleman — very fine name, do very well, sar.”

  “Doctor, put the name down opposite the register of the birth. Now, Mattee, all’s right, good bye,” said the planter, leaving the room, and followed by the others.

  “Do you really intend to call the child by that name?” inquired Mr Berecroft.

  “Why not? it pleases the woman, and is as good as any other; it is of no consequence. They almost all have names, certainly not quite so long as the present; but, as they grow longer, their names grow shorter. This name will first be abbreviated to Chrony; if we find that too long, it will be reduced again to Crow; which by the bye, is not bad name for a negro,” said the planter, laughing at the coincidence.

  Reader, did you ever perchance, when in a farm-yard, observe hen or other domestic fowl, who having pounced upon half a potato, or something of the same description too large to be bolted down at once, tries to escape with her prize, followed by all the rest, until she either drops it or eludes their vigilance? If so, you form some idea of a negro woman, with a hard word in her mouth; which, although she does not know the meaning of, she considers as an equal treasure.

  Newton had turned round to the court-yard, in the centre of which several women were sitting down at various employments; when one who had been busied in some little offices for the woman whom they had just visited, and had in consequence been present at the choice of the name, took her seat with the party in question. To several queries put to her, she replied with extreme hauteur, as if she considered them as impertinent, and frowned upon her companions most majestically.

  After a short time she rose, and turning round, with the look of an empress, said, “Now I shall go look after my Hoton-poton-polybass.”

  “Eh?” cried one, opening her eyes in wonder.

  “What dat?” screamed another.

  “How you call dat long ting?” demanded a third.

  “Eh! you stupid black tings,” replied the proud possessor of the new word, with a look of ineffable scorn, “you no know what um call Poton-hoton-poll-fuss. Me no tell you,” continued she, as she walked away, leaving the others almost white with envy and astonishment.

  Shortly after this Mr Kingston with his party took their leave of the hospitable old planter, and commenced their return to Bridgetown. They had not proceeded further than a quarter of a mile when, ascending little hill, Newton discovered that a negro was assisting his own ascent by hanging on to the tail of his mule.

  “How you do this morning, sar!” said the man, grinning, as Newton looked round.

  “I’m very well, sir, I thank you; but I’m afraid I shall not be able to keep up with the rest, if my mule has to pull you up hill, as well as carry me.”

  “Es, sar, mule go faster. Massa not understand; mule very obstinate, sar. Suppose you want go one way, he go anoder — suppose you pull him back by tail, he go on more.”

  “Well, if that’s the case you may hold on. Do you belong to the plantation?”

  “No, sar, me free man. Me work there; carpenter, sar.”

  “A carpenter! How did you learn your trade, and obtain your freedom?”

  “Larn trade board man-of-war, sar — man-of-war make me free.”

  Mr Berecroft, who had been listening to the colloquy, took up the discourse.

  “Were you born in this country?”

  “No, sar! me Ashantee man.”

  “Then how did you come here?”

  “Why, sar, ab very fine battle in Ashantee country. Take me and send me down to coast; sell me for slave. Go on board French schooner — English frigate take schooner, send me to Sarra Leon.”

  “Well, what did you do there?”

  “Bind ‘prentice, sar, to Massa Cawly, for farteen years — all de same as slave; work very hard; yam bad; plenty fever in that country — much better here.”

  “Then how did you get away from Sierra Leon?”

  “Go to sleep one day in de bush — tieves come steal me, take me down to coast, sell me again.”

  “Well, where did you go then?”

  “Bard schooner again, sar. Another man-of-war take schooner in West Indies; send her in prize. Keep and some on board becase want hands; keep me, becase speak little English.”

  “How did you like a man-of-war?” inquired Newton.

  “Man-of-war very fine place; but all slaves there — captain steal men every ship he come to. But sailor no tink so; ebery night we all sing — Britong nebber, nebber, nebber, will be slave. Make me laugh, sar,” continued the man, showing his teeth with a broad grin.

  “What was the frigate’s name?”