The Guinea Voyage: A Poem in Three Books / To Which Are Added Observations on a Voyage to the Coast of Africa

by James Field Stanfield

LETTER V.

It is unaccountable, but it is certainly true, that the moment a Guinea captain comes in sight of this shore, the Demon cruelty seems to fix his residence within him. Soon after we arrived, there came on board us a master of a vessel, who was commissioned joint factor with our captain. All that I could conceive of barbarity fell short of the stories I heard of this man. His whole delight was in giving pain.

While our captain was placing buoys and other directions on the dangerous bar of the river, for the purpose of crossing it, he used to order the men to be flogged without an imputation of the smallest crime. The steward, for serving out some red wine to a sick man, by the doctor's direction, was flogged in such a manner, as not to be able to let his shirt touch his mangled back; and after his punishment, making an attempt to explain the matter, he was ordered to the shrowds again, and the same number of lashes was repeated.

It was his common practice to call his cabin-boy to him, and without the smallest provocation, to tear his face, ears, and neck, in the most brutal manner. I have seen him thrust his fingers into his mouth, and force them against the inside of his cheek till the wound appeared on the outside of the same. He had pulled his ears so much, that they became of a monstrous size. The hind part of them was torn from the head. They had a continual soreness and running, and were not well near a twelvemonth after his infernal tormentor's death, when he deserted from us in the West Indies. I heard many and uncommon stories of the barbarity of this monster to his own crew, but had an opportunity to see but little of him, for he lived but eleven days after he came on board us; he killed himself with our wine and beer; of which he had not tasted any for a long time before our arrival there.

At the commencement of our trade, I went up to the factory, where I continued about eight months. In the course of this time most of the crew fell the sacrifices of this horrid traffick, and its inseparable cruelties. One evening only was I on board during this period: but this was sufficient to give me a strong idea of the misery I had so happily escaped. The vessel, as Mr. Falconbridge aptly and emphatically observes, was like a slaughter-house. Blood, filth, misery, and disease. The chief mate lay dying, calling out for that comfort and assistance he had so often denied to others. He was glad to lay hold of me to bring him a little refreshment—no one else to take the smallest notice of his cries. The doctor was in the same condition, and making the same complaint. The second mate was lying on his back on the medicine-chest; his head hanging down over one end of it, his hair sweeping the deck, and clotted with the filth that was collected there; and in this unnoticed situation he died soon after I came on board.

On the poop the appearance was still more shocking—the remainder of the ship's crew stretched in the last stage of their sickness, without comfort, without refreshment, without attendance. There they lay, straining their weak voices with the most lamentable cries for a little water, and not a soul to afford them the smallest relief. And while all this horror and disease were preying on the lives of the poor seamen, the business of purchasing, messing the slaves, and every circumsance relative to the trade, was transacting with as little interruption, and as much unconcern, as if no such people had ever been on board. I passed a night of misery with them, and got up the river with the morning's boat—another night might have sealed me among the number of the devoted crew.

To provide against this mortality, and to convey the purchase to the West Indies, (which makes the answer to the second query of my fourth letter) a fine large ship, and a fresh crew, were sent out to us. The new captain, and a few to make trade, (as I remarked before) were left behind in the factory. About five of the old crew, all that were now left, and in the last stage of illness, were brought off with us. In this fresh ship, and with this fresh crew we left the coast, and entered on what is called the Middle Passage.

This horrid portion of the voyage was but one continued scene of barbarity, unremitting labour, mortality, and disease. Flogging, as in the outward passage, was a principal amusement in this.

The captain was so feeble that he could not move, but was obliged to be carried up and down: yet his illness, so far from abating his tyranny, seemed rather to increase it. When in this situation, he has often asked the persons who carried him whether they could judge of the torment he was in? and being answered, No—he has laid hold of their faces, and darting his nails into their cheeks with all his strength; on the person's crying out with the pain, he would then add, with the malignity of a demon, “There,—that is to give you a taste of what I feel.” He had always a parcel of trade knives within his reach, which he would also dart at them with ferocity on the most trifling occasions.

The bed of this wretch, which he kept for weeks together, was in one corner of the cabin, and raised to a good height from the deck. To the posts of this bed he would order those to be tied that were to be flogged, so that their faces almost met his, and there he lay, enjoying their agonizing screams, while their flesh was lacerated without mercy: this was a frequent and a favourite mode of punishment.