LETTER I.
SIR,
Having had the dishonour to be employed in the Slave-Trade, and having been for some time resident in a factory up the country, observations and facts have occurred, that may add a little to the mass of materials, your humanity has been at such labour to collect; and which has already thrown so much light on a traffic, that from its commencement to its close, is marked with a rapacity and oppression, unequalled in any, the most horrid process of individual or collective guilt, that has stained the page of history. The epistolary form will be an apt medium for a few observations, where there is no time for a logical arrangement, and my addressing of them to a Gentleman, to whose energy and elucidations the cause is so much indebted, will be allowed the claim of propriety at least, and I hope will meet with your excuse. Without taking up your time by a longer preface, I will hasten to my remarks, commencing with as early a stage of the bussiness as possible, so that they may, as far as circumstances will allow, connect the whole round of a Guinea Voyage.
I have been the readier to take up my pen, when I consider the impenetrable veil that has been thrown over this traffic for such a number of years. Its principle, its process, and its effects, have been with-held from the public eye by every effort that interest, ingenuity, and influence, could devise. It would be but a natural question in this place, were it asked, How it is possible that a trade, which has been carried on so long, and in such an open manner, whose effects are every day before us, and to continue, which such a number of people are employed, can be marked with such uncommon circumstances of cruelty, injustice, murder, and oppression, as have been usually laid to its charge?
That the remark is specious, I do not mean to deny; and many, I fear, have too hastily made up their minds on the subject from this consideration alone. But let me also ask a question or two in return. From whom is it expected that this information should be derived? Who are the persons qualified to produce the authentic evidence? Will the merciful slave-merchant step forward, and give up the long catalogue of rapacity, murder, and destruction, his own avarice has framed; Will the humane Guinea-Captain produce his fatal muster-roll,—and for once impelled by justice, change that useful disease,—Flux, Flux, Flux, which has hitherto so conveniently masked the death-list of his devoted crew, to the real, the mortal causes, that have thinned his ship? Will petty officers, bravely despising all thoughts of preferment, disregarding the opinion of owners and agents, and nobly resolving to pass their lives in labour, wretchedness, and servile dependance—will they disclose the horrid scenes they have been witnesses to—the barbarities they have seen practised, and the cruelties, of which, they themselves have been, perhaps, the unwilling instruments? And yet we have information on the subject: information in newspapers, in pamphlets, in coffee-houses, and on 'change; on the warrantable, the political, the humane process of the Slave-Trade. Heavens!—Through what channels must flow the sullied accounts that are thus thrown before us? Through the self interested affirmations of Traders; through Captains, whose continuance in the employ depends on their open attachment and defence of the proceedings of their owners; through Captains, I say, who hope to be Traders, and through Mates, who hope to be Captains.
Why those, who through inclination, and having no favour to purchase, nor interest to support, and who might be supposed to give the truth in plain, unbiassed information, are not produced in such multitudes as our adversaries demand, I shall endeavour to prove impossible, from the nature of the trade, and the unremitting pains taken to prevent their returning to the port from which they sailed.
For this purpose, I must pass over all the destruction and barbarity of the voyage, and meet the few meagre survivors on their arrival in the West-Indies. Here they are bound by their articles[[1]], to receive half their wages in the currency of the island. This is a two-fold grievance. They are robbed of as much hardly-earned money, as makes the difference between currency and sterling, which is far from being an inconsiderable loss. But there is a farther mischief attendant on this injustice. Imagine to yourself, Sir, a poor worn-out wretch, after the miseries and sickness of a slaving voyage—after a long want of every cheering beverage—now first set ashore—his own master—among people of his own colour and language—with money in his pocket, and temptations to excess on every side: picture this—and for a moment recollect the unsuspecting, thoughtless, dissipated propensity that marks the character of a British sailor, and must you not conclude the consequence as anavoidable—that the feeble remains left, by the cruelty and disease of an African voyage, are speedily sacrificed by West Indian intemperance?
From death and desertion, thus encouraged, few escape. I went out in a certain vessel; the crew consisted of thirty-two or upwards; she was designed to be left on the coast as a floating factory. A fresh ship of 300 tons, was sent out to bring off the purchase to the West Indies, with a crew to replace our dead. The captain of the latter, and a few to make trade were left on the coast; the rest embarked with us for the West Indies—of the two crews, there came home but the captain, the carpenter, and myself.
By such means, they get rid of those who might call them to an account for their barbarities—and the money due to those, whom they have obliged to desert, is saved to their owners. The mortality, usually ascribed to a Guinea voyage, stops or lessens the proper inquiries about the fate of the crew. Besides, improvident, heedless sailors, seldom give their friends a line of advice, relative to the port they sail from, or on what particular voyage they are bound; especially a voyage that is held in so much dishonour and contempt. Though I remained a long time in Liverpool, after our arrival, there were inquiries but after four persons out of the two crews above mentioned, and one of those was from Falmouth, and the other from the farther part of Wales. And I am convinced, (for I managed all their little accounts) that of the first crew, officers excepted, not one of them had sent their friends the smallest account of their destination. Thus, silently, does the nation lose her most useful subjects: and in this manner is the public deprived of an impartial channel of information, and of the means of developing a system of iniquity, from the flimsy web, in which it has so long been veiled by sophistry and misrepresentation.
[1] The practice of Liverpool, the only port I sailed from in that employ.