Rough Passage to London(117)

Morgan said nothing, too astonished to react. His knuckles tightened on the augur he was still holding.

As if he was recounting a bad dream, Taylor continued, his eyes now becoming moist. He began speaking faster, his voice strained.

“Blackwood then turned on me and ordered me to do it. All the men were crowded around. They wanted to see what I would do. All those eyes were looking at me, Captain. I was so frightened. I tied that hawse line around the chains on the first slave and then ran it back through the long line of Africans, finally attaching the end to the kedge anchor. The slaves were moaning and wailing. Blackwood then ordered me to throw the anchor overboard, and ‘make the sharks ’appy.’ That’s what he said.”

“Make the sharks happy?” Morgan repeated in disbelief. “What kind of animal . . . ?” He shook his head in amazement at this tale of human brutality. “What did you do?”

“I told him I wouldn’t do it, but he came at me with his rope, laughing like a madman.” Taylor’s face was now moist with perspiration. His body trembled and shook. He started weeping. His voice cracked.

“To my eternal shame, I did what he asked.”

“Lord sakes” was all Morgan could say.

“The anchor fell like a boulder with a loud splash. I watched spellbound as those slaves, screaming and wailing, were pulled over the bulwarks, their eyes white with fear. I watched as one by one, all two hundred of them fell to their death, the splash of each body hitting the water, the sharks swarming around the ship turning the sea red, and then finally silence.”

“Did the other slaves see this?”

Taylor nodded slowly.

“I have never forgotten the way they looked at me as they shuffled by, their chains clanking on the deck, their eyes piercing into my soul like sharp daggers. I can still hear the women sobbing and moaning.”

He paused before continuing.

“I tried to tell you before, but I couldn’t bring myself to confess.”

Taylor looked over at Morgan, his eyes seeming to plead for forgiveness. Despite his revulsion of this pitiful, broken man, Morgan began to feel sorry for him. He took the cigar out of his mouth, and looked down at its glowing tip. His voice softened somewhat.

“What happened next?” he asked.

Taylor looked down at his hands, which were shaking uncontrollably, and continued with his story.

“That foul disease spread all over the ship. We were cursed. Soon enough, it was mostly Blackwood and me sailing the ship along with a few other men.”

“How did you avoid getting it?”

“I drenched my hands and face with rum and put tarred mittens on my hands.”

“What about Abraham?”

“I gave him food and water in the hold each day. Most of the other sailors were lying on the deck with bandannas around their eyes. Even Big Red, the mate, was of little use. Blackwood told me where to steer. Toward the end, he was losing his eyesight, which made me all the more important to him.”

“What about the storm? Where were you when it struck?”

“We thought we were somewhere to the north of Puerto Rico when it started blowing hard. I was clutching onto the wheel as tight as a barnacle on a whale’s back. The wind was howling and the waves rolling across the ship. They were like mountains. Must have been twenty feet high. We sailed westerly under one topsail, we thought, toward Jamaica, the winds coming in hard from the north. I spotted Cape Mole and I could barely see the mountains of Haiti as we laid a course through the Windward Passage. All the time, I could hear the moaning down below decks. That was the last time I ever saw Abraham. I gave him some hard biscuit that morning and he handed me his journal, making me swear I would give it to his mother.”

Taylor paused, stumbled, and then lowered his eyes.

“Go on,” Morgan said impatiently.

“It was in the middle of the night when we felt the first jolt. The ship reared up like a horse, and then came crashing down. That was when we heard the breakers. Blackwood told me to bear off. I did as he asked, but it was too late. The ship drove right onto the reef, the keel lodging itself in between rocks and coral. I could hear the cracking and splintering of wood and the cries of desperation from inside the ship. We were slanted over like a sloping hillside due to the force of the waves and Blackwood told me to lower the quarter boat. He grabbed Big Red and a couple of the other sailors who could still see and told me to load them up. We left behind most of the blind sailors on deck, crawling on all fours pleading for help, clutching any rope they could find. All the time I could hear the wailing from the belly of the ship. It was like the ship itself was crying out.”