Then it was the Wednesday, and the Dutch ship had finished its trading here, and made ready to depart. As did I. I think my heart did beat in double time all that day long. The hours crept on snail’s feet, but I danced through my chores.
In late afternoon I went to my cottage, and took Matamba to me, and in my chamber did draw her clothes from her, and look for the last time on her youthful vigorous body, her high full breasts and sturdy thighs and sleek dark skin, and the tribal marks on her face and the brand of the Portugals on her thigh and the scratches of Dona Teresa here and there.
She smiled and said to me, “You are strange of mood today, are you not?”
“Nay, I am most jolly.”
And O! it was not easy to hold back the truth from her.
I cupped her and caressed her and we did hold close and I begged from her a kiss, which she gave, seeing, I think, that something out of the ordinary was about to befall. And then her body opened to me and I went in unto her and we thrust and grappled and played the game of pleasure, which brought me close to weeping, for the knowledge that I was to disappear from her without favoring her with a word of explanation. Yet did I tell myself that I owed her nothing. I had bought her out of slavery and spared her from shipping to the New World, which was no small favor, and though I knew not what would happen to her in São Paulo de Loanda after I was gone, at least she was within range of her native land and might again return to it. So my account with her was balanced in my favor. And I did not want her lamentations, nor her pleas that I remain, which I was sure she would utter most piteously.
Almost did I tell her the truth, as we clothed ourselves after that lovemaking, that I was leaving that night on board the Dutch vessel. But I thought me of all the tears and sorrow, and forbore. Also I thought it was best she knew nothing, for the Portugals would surely question her about my vanishing, and they would easily see she was ignorant of it, but if she tried to conceal something they might torture it out of her: better that I planted no knowledge at all in her.
Darkness came. I summoned no bearers. I took my last look at São Paulo de Loanda and, by a roundabout route, went in the shadows through the back streets, and out the pathway to the harbor, where, in the sudden and complete blackness of night, I made out with joy the lights of the Dutch ship standing out by the roadstead. I whistled: it was the signal. There was the splashing of oars, and the longboat came for me, and soon I was on board the ship and Warwyck embraced me and himself took me through the vast cargo hold of that huge vessel, and we had one more round of genever to celebrate. And then I crouched down between the casks and bales of merchandise, all that stuff that I had helped to tally on the register-sheets in the days just past, and secreted myself in a hiding-place to wait for sunrise and the departure.
England! Home!
I bethought myself how strange a figure I would seem, with my scars and my sun-darkened skin and my gaunt hollow face well weathered by exploits, as I went sauntering through the streets of my native town. And I imagined conversations with the friends of my childhood, telling them tales of man-eaters and giant coccodrillos and the mines of King Solomon. A few hours more, and it all would have come to pass, too.
But then I did hear oars lashing the water, and a commotion on deck, with Captain van Warwyck loudly shouting in Dutch, and Portugals shouting back at him just as loudly, and no one understanding the other, but I understanding alclass="underline" which was that they knew I had stowed away, and they had come here to look for me.
How was it that I had been betrayed?
I did not know. I made myself small and did crawl into the least visible place that I could see, while the dispute raged above me. And then were thumping footsteps, and torches, and the sounds of men prowling and poking nearby, and Warwyck still grumbling and protesting, and at last the lights were bright in my face and I saw six Portugals, all armed, staring down at me.
“Here he is,” they cried. “The traitor, the renegado!”
They dragged me to my feet. The torches gave such a raging light as to blind me, but when I shielded mine eyes a little from the hot glare I saw that Captain Fernão da Souza himself had led the arresting party, and he was dressed now in no fancy breeches, but with armor and helmet, and his face was steely set and harsh with rage. And beside him was none other than Gaspar Caldeira de Rodrigues, who had given me no trouble worse than sour glares at a distance for a long time, but who now was puffed up with triumph and vindictive joy. For it was he—so I did learn afterward—that had discovered the secret of my escaping, by talking with some Portugals in the crew of Captain van Warwyck— those rogues, those poxy bastards!—who had overheard the preparations being made to stow me on board the vessel. And it was he who had denounced me to Captain da Souza. So it was that the hornet had had his sting into me at last, and revenge was his, for I was undone.
Souza, maddened with fury, struck me across the face with such force it nearly twisted my neck apart, and struck me again that split my lip and cost me a tooth, and he called me dog and traitor and more, and said, “Is this how you repay our kindness, with this treachery? Oh, you will be repaid yourself, for this!” And when he had done with me it was the turn of Caldeira de Rodrigues, who did punish me most severely for the death of his brother, striking me in the ribs and the gut while others held me, and in other shameful craven ways tormenting me, so that I became a mess of blood and puke everywhere on me.
Then was I taken and bound both hand and foot and pulled to the deck, and most ungently cast into the Portuguese longboat. When we reached the shore there was waiting, instead of native bearers with hammocks, a party of horses, and I was flung across the back of one as if I were nothing more than a sack of beans. They trussed me down, and into the city we rode, giving me such a jouncing and jostling as was like to break every rib. Up to the presidio we went, and into the dungeon was I conveyed, with many a kick and a slap.
It was the same filthy beshitten loathsome hole of a place where I had been when first I came to São Paulo de Loanda—I the brave pilot, I the useful interpreter, I the heroic survivor of the Kafuche Kambara massacre, I the this and I the that, now all of it wiped out, and back to the miserable starting-point for me. I lay sleepless all night, astounded by this reversal of my fortunes. And when morning came, the time of the departure of the Dutch ship, I knew it was gone although I could not see the harbor, and I felt such pain in all my vitals as could scarce have been caused my beating, or even by the thrust of a spear. For Warwyck and his Dutchmen now were standing out to sea, and I was still here, and all my hope of England was torn from my grasp just as I had been within a few hours of setting forth. That was the greatest agony, to have been so close, and to have failed.
What would become of me now?
From the severe anger of the mild and courteous Fernão da Souza I knew I was in high trouble. I wondered if my friendship with Don João, such as it was, could aid me now. For I had betrayed his trust by fleeing. I had promised to serve, and he had had need of me, and then I had slipped on board the Dutch ship after all, and that must have wounded him. And yet, and yet, he could surely understand my longing for England. He was kind of heart; he liked me; he did not need to have it explained that a homesick man would take any opportunity to depart, no matter what pledges he had given. During that long bleak night I told myself this again and again, that Don João would have me freed in the morning with no more than a reprimand, and return me to my former pleasant life among the Portugals.