Sacred Hunger - Barry Unsworth [186]
These facts in synthesis were present to the captain’s mind as he sat alone in his cabin over his brandy. His counsellor, it seemed, had not altogether deserted him, but returned and spoke to him now again – it was for the last time. The counsel was more than rational, it was virtuous. Thurso knew he had nothing much to gain – only Kemp would benefit from the insurance money. He knew he would be retiring at the end of this voyage. He had money saved, he had a three-quarter share in the gold dust purchased with Barton. The negroes could live or die, it would not much matter to him. But he had his reputation to think of. He had always, throughout his long career, done everything in his power to give satisfaction to his owners … Mindful of the need for lawful proceeding, he called Barton, Haines, Davies and Barber to his cabin, these being the only men surviving with any status on the ship.
The results of this nocturnal conference were what Paris woke to in the early morning. He felt light-headed and insubstantial, but free of fever. He sensed that the ship was listing slightly and guessed there had been some displacement in her hold. As he lay there, not fully awake yet but grateful for the calmer weather and his restored clarity, he heard a series of sounds quite inexplicable: a heavy clatter of chains on the deck somewhere above him, then running steps of several men together, a single cry, sustained and strangely exultant, brief splashing to starboard. Before he could believe he was properly awake, it came again, the clattering of chains on the deck – it sounded like fetters falling. He had heard no voices other than that single cry. Possessed by nothing stronger than curiosity at first and a sort of disbelief, like a man following clues in a dream, he got to his feet, dressed as hastily as his weakness allowed and made his way up to the deck.
In all the years of his life remaining, Paris was to carry the impression of that emergence into light and space. It was to accompany his days, glimpsed again and again in the wake of experiences of a certain kind, increases of light, intimations of freedom, a sort of puzzlement too; he could not at first understand what was happening, he was bewildered by the placid sea and sky – a sky enormous and blank, sheltering and condoning everything.
His first impression was of a fight in progress. Haines and Libby were half facing each other with something of the wrestler’s crouch in their posture. Thurso and Barton stood on either side like seconds in a duel. Perhaps a dozen men, armed with the same short, heavy sticks, made a semicircle around them, as if to make sure neither combatant broke free.
But it was no fight, he saw now, there were no combatants. Two naked male slaves stood together side by side, unchained, up against the ship’s rail. He heard Thurso utter some words. Haines and Libby moved towards the negroes, joined now by Wilson. Three powerful men … The slaves were about to be manhandled over the side. Others had gone before them – it was what he had heard. That sound – they had taken the chains off them. Chains had a value still … All the people were absorbed in the business, no one had seen him yet. One of the negroes stood straight and impassive, but the other had given way to fear, he had brought his hands up to plead for him and thrust forward his head as if to make an obeisance before his oppressors. It was a posture beast-like, baited, derided, and Paris recognized it …
All thought of consequences departed from him. ‘No!’ he shouted. ‘No!’ He began to move rapidly towards them across the deck. Obeying an obscure impulse he raised his right arm to the fullest extent, as if in witness. With all the strength of his lungs, aiming his voice at the sky, he shouted again: ‘No!’
THIRTY-SIX
Erasmus expressed his belief that the ship was to blame some days later in the course