Old Jack

by William Henry Giles Kingston

The encouragement the captain had given me helped to raise my spirits, and I endeavoured further to keep them up by whistling and singing occasionally, but it was with a heavy heart that I did so. My great consolation was all the time that my friend Peter Poplar was not in the same predicament. He would have felt it more than any of us. He had long been prepared for any misfortune which could happen to him at sea, but he had not made up his mind to undergo hardships on shore as well.

At last I began to grow very weary of walking so far over such rough and uneven ground, and I was glad to find that the blacks were approaching their encampment or village. It consisted of a number of rude huts, built on the summit of a high rock, with steep precipices on every side. A narrow causeway led to it from another rock, which jutted out from the side of the hill. It was a very strong place, for it extended too far into the valley to be reached by musketry from the hill; and the hill itself was too rugged to allow cannon to be dragged up it. The rock appeared to have rude palisades and embankments, to serve as fortifications, over a large portion of its upper surface. As I examined it, I saw that our chance of escape from such a place, by any method I could imagine, was small indeed. I do not know what the captain thought about the matter, but he was not a man to be defeated by difficulties, or to abandon hope while a spark of life remained.

As we went along the causeway, a number of women, and children, and dogs came out to meet us, our welcome consisting in a most horrible screaming, and crying, and barking, which, I suspect, as far as the prisoners were concerned, was far from complimentary. Among them were some dreadful old crones, who came stretching out their withered, black, parchment arms, shrieking terrifically, and abusing the white men as the cause of all the misery and hardships it had been their lot to endure. Their accusations were, I believe, in most respects, too just. Certainly white men had torn them or their ancestors from their native land—white men had brought them across the sea in the crowded slave-ship—white men had made them slaves, treated them with severity and cruelty, and driven them to seek for freedom from tyranny among the wild rocks and fastnesses where they were now collected. The other prisoners seemed to feel, by their downcast, miserable looks, that they were in the power of enemies whom they had justly made relentless, and that they had no hope of escape. The old crones went up to them, pointed their long bony fingers in their eyes, and hissed and shrieked in their ears. What was said I could not understand, but they were evidently using every insulting epithet they could imagine to exasperate or terrify their victims.

I have often thought of that dreadful scene since. How must the acts of those white men have risen up before them in their true colours—the wrong they had inflicted on young and innocent girls—the lashes bestowed on men of free and independent natures—the abuse showered on their heads—the total neglect of the cultivation of all their moral attributes! Oh, you Christian gentlemen, did it ever occur to you that those slaves of yours were men of like passions as yourselves; that they had minds capable of cultivation in a high degree, if not as high as your own; that they had souls like your souls to be saved—souls which must be summoned before the judgment-seat of Heaven, to be judged with yours; and that you and they must there stand together before an all-righteous and pure and just God, to receive the reward of the things you have done in this life? Did it occur to you that, had you made those people true Christians; that, had you taught them the holy religion you profess—a religion of love and forgiveness—that they would not now be taking pleasure in tormenting you, in exhibiting the bitter vengeance which rankled in their souls!

I could not help thinking that some such accusing thoughts as these rose to the consciences of the planter and his companions. I know that I would not for worlds have changed places with him, though he was the owner of rich fields and wealth long hoarded up, which he was on the point of returning to England to enjoy.

Either on account of my youth, or because, as they saw, I was a sailor, the rebels must have known that I could not have treated them cruelly, and I was allowed to remain quiet. After the whole population had given vent to their feelings by abusing the prisoners in every possible way, they were thrust into a hut together, and a guard placed over them. The captain and I were then put into another hut, and ordered not to stir on pain of being shot.

“Not bery good chance of dat!” observed one of our captors, a grey-headed old negro with a facetious countenance, looking at the numerous lashings which confined our limbs.

“Better chance than you suppose, old fellow!” thought I to myself; but I kept as melancholy and unconcerned a look as I could assume.

I concluded, that as the other prisoners were guarded so were we, and that we should have very little chance of effecting our escape, unless our guards fell asleep. The difficulties were, at all events, very great. We should, in the first place, have either to scramble down the sides of the rock, or to cross the narrow causeway, where one man as a guard could instantly stop us. There was every probability that the Maroons would place one there.

For some hours there was a great deal of noise in the village. The blacks were rejoicing over their victory, and there was no chance of our guards outside the hut being asleep. I waited, therefore, without moving, till the sounds of revelry subsided, the tom-toms were no longer beaten, the trumpets ceased braying, and the cymbals clashing. Then I could hear the guards talking to each other outside. The few words I could comprehend out of this jargon were not very consolatory. I made out clearly that they proposed to shoot all their prisoners the next day, and that, besides those already in camp, they expected a number more from other estates which were to be attacked. There appeared only a possibility that our lives might be prolonged another day, till all their forces out on various expeditions were assembled. Little did those at home, looking at the map of Jamaica, fancy that, in the very centre of that beautiful island, there existed so numerous a band of savages in open revolt against the authority of the king.