It was my invariable custom whenever a vessel made her appearance in the roadstead of New Sestros, to despatch my canoe with “Captain Canot’s compliments;” nor did I omit this graceful courtesy when his Britannic Majesty’s cruisers did me the honor of halting in my neighborhood to watch or destroy my operations. At such times I commonly increased the politeness by an offer of my services, and a tender of provisions, or of any commodity the country could supply!
I remember an interesting rencounter of this sort with the officers of the brig of war Bonito. My note was forwarded by a trusty Krooman, even before her sails were furled, but the courteous offer was respectfully declined “for the present.” The captain availed himself, however, of my messenger’s return, to announce that the “commodore in command of the African squadron had specially deputed the Bonito to blockade New Sestros, for which purpose she was provisioned for six months, and ordered not to budge from her anchorage till relieved by a cruiser!”
This formidable announcement was, of course, intended to strike me with awe. The captain hoped in conclusion, that I would see the folly of prosecuting my abominable traffic in the face of such a disastrous vis à vis; nor could he refrain from intimating his surprise that a man of my reputed character and ability, would consent to manacle and starve the unfortunate negroes who were now suffering in my barracoons.
I saw at once from this combined attack of fear and flattery, backed by blockade, that his majesty’s officer had either been grossly misinformed, or believed that a scarcity of rice prevailed in my establishment as well as elsewhere along the coast.
The suspicion of starving blacks in chains, was not only pathetic but mortifying! It was part of the sentimental drapery of British reports and despatches, to which I became accustomed in Africa. I did not retort upon my dashing captain with a sneer at his ancestors who had taught the traffic to Spaniards, yet I resolved not to let his official communications reach the British admiralty with a fanciful tale about my barracoons and starvation. Accordingly, without more ado, I sent a second billet to the Bonito, desiring her captain or any of her officers to visit New Sestros, and ascertain personally the condition of my establishment.
Strange to tell, my invitation was accepted; and at noon a boat with a white flag, appeared on the edge of the surf, conveying two officers to my beach. The surgeon and first lieutenant were my visitors. I welcomed them most cordially to my cottage, and as soon as the customary refreshments were despatched, proposed a glance at the dreadful barracoons.
As well as I now remember, there must have been at least five hundred slaves in my two pens, sleek in flesh, happy in looks, and ready for the first customer who could outwit the cruiser. I quietly despatched a notice of our advent to the barracooniers, with directions as to their conduct, so that the moment my naval friends entered the stanch inclosures, full two hundred and fifty human beings, in each, rose to their feet and saluted the strangers with long and reiterated clapping. This sudden and surprising demonstration somewhat alarmed my guests at its outburst, and made them retreat a pace towards the door,—perhaps in fear of treachery;—but when they saw the smiling faces and heard the pleased chatter of my people, they soon came forward to learn that the compliment was worth a customary demijohn of rum.
The adventure was a fortunate one for the reputation of New Sestros, Don Pedro my employer, and Don Téodor, his clerk. Our establishment happened just then to be at a summit of material comfort rarely exceeded or even reached by others. My pens were full of slaves; my granary, of rice; my stores, of merchandise.
From house to house,—from hut to hut,—the sailor and saw-bones wandered with expressions of perfect admiration, till the hour for dinner approached. I ordered the meal to be administered with minute attention to all our usual ceremonies. The washing, singing, distribution of food, beating time, and all the prandial etceteras of comfort, were performed with the utmost precision and cleanliness. They could not believe that such was the ordinary routine of slave life in barracoons, but ventured to hint that I must have got up the drama for their special diversion, and that it was impossible for such to be the ordinary drill and demeanor of Africans. Our dapper little surgeon, with almost dissective inquisitiveness, pried into every nook and corner; and at length reached the slave kitchen, where a caldron was full and bubbling with the most delicious rice. Hard by stood a pot, simmering with meat and soup, and in an instant the doctor had a morsel between his fingers and brought his companion to follow his example.
Now, in sober truth, this was no casual display got up for effect, but the common routine of an establishment conducted with prudent foresight, for the profit of its owners as well as the comfort of our people. And yet, such was the fanatical prepossession of these Englishmen, whose idea of Spanish factories and barracoons was formed exclusively from exaggerated reports, that I could not satisfy them of my truth till I produced our journal, in which I noted minutely every item of daily expenditure. It must be understood, however, that it was not my habit to give the slaves meat every day of the week. Such a diet would not be prudent, because it is not habitual with the majority of negroes. Two bullocks were slaughtered each week for the use of my factory, while the hide, head, blood, feet, neck, tail, and entrails, were appropriated for broth in the barracoons. It happened that my visitors arrived on the customary day of our butchering.