Maurício made a grand gesture. Heinrich Bender produced the key—taken from the second mate—and unlocked the shackles on the nearest slave. The poor fellow virtually collapsed, but Heinrich caught him. Henrique gave him water to drink, and another colonist led him down to a waiting dinghy for transfer to the shore.
Maurício motioned the next African forward.
* * *
“We are riding the tiger, Maria,” said Heyndrick softly. “We don’t know if these ex-slaves are warlike or peaceful, thievish or law-abiding. They are in a strange land, and they will have a hard time surviving. They will be tempted to prey upon us. Even if they don’t, their gratitude may ebb quickly, and we may find that they refuse to trade with us, and occupy lands which we could put to better use ourselves.”
“It is safe to ride a tiger if you have friends to help you dismount,” said Maria.
King of the Jungle
February–March 1635 to August 1635
Paramaribo (Gustavus), Suriname,
Short Dry Season (February–March, 1635)
“My children. Help find?” The Dutch words were painfully enunciated, clearly learned by rote.
Maria Vorst put down the chalk with which she had been drawing, and studied the questioner. The tall black man, by his markings, was Coromantee. They were the people living in what the up-timers called Ghana. He was one of the two hundred or so slaves whom the Gustavans had freed from the distressed slave ship Tritón when it had come hunting for drinking water.
Perhaps half of the slaves knew some Portuguese, either because their tribes had traded with the Portuguese, or because they learned it after their capture. Only a few knew Dutch, the Dutch presence in Africa being more recent and more limited.
Unfortunately, the Gustavans were mostly Dutch and German, and hardly any of them knew Portuguese. Maria, despite being far better educated than the rest of the colonists, didn’t know much herself, although she was trying to fit language lessons into her schedule.
Fortunately, her teacher was nearby. “Maurício, come here please!” Maurício, a freed mulatto, born in Portuguese Brazil, had been trained there as a scribe and interpreter. Because of the large slave population in Brazil, he knew African, as well as European, languages. Once, he and Henrique had lived in Recife, and Maurício had gone time after time to the dock to meet and greet, in his capacity as interpreter, the “wild” slaves, just delivered there to work on the sugar plantations. Most came from Angola, but there were slaves from all over Africa.
Maria remembered that there had been a few children among the slaves they had freed. She explained the situation to Maurício and had him translate. “What are your children’s names? How old are they? What do they look like?”
Maurício turned to the Coromantee. They spoke rapidly together, first in Portuguese, and then in the Twi dialect of Akan.
“I am Kojo of the Ashanti. My boy Manu has seen thirteen summers, and his sister Mansa, eleven.” Kojo described them.
“Where did you see them last?”
The answer was not what Maria expected.
“In Edina.”
“Edina?” interjected her companion, Maurício. “You mean São Jorge da Mina?” The man nodded.
Maurício turned to Maria. “He was separated from his children back in Africa, in the Portuguese fortress you Dutch call Elmina.”
“Elmina? My husband, may God rest his soul, spoke of it once, as a place of great trade. Somewhat enviously, I must say.”
Maurício nodded. “Enviously? That’s for sure. The Dutch tried to take Elmina in 1625.” He paused. “Where is this husband of yours, by the way?”
“He was lost at sea,” Maria said.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. It was years ago. And to be honest, I didn’t know him all that well.”
“Anyway,” Maurício continued, “Elmina was the first Portuguese base in Africa. On what we call the ‘Gold Coast.’ A century ago, it accounted for a tenth of the entire gold trade. There’s still gold mined in that area, but nowadays Elmina is mostly a slave depot. Dozens of slave ships visit every year.”
“Does he know which ship they were put on? Not the name, of course, but can he describe it? The number of masts? Or of its gunports? The figurehead?”
“I’ll ask.” He questioned Kojo further, then shook his head.
“Sorry, Maria. They don’t give the captives the run of the fort, you know. The children were taken first. He saw them at one point, in a different pen, so they were there when he arrived, but the guards didn’t let him join them and they were sold off before he was. When he was put on the Tritón, he hoped that it would take him to the same place.”