"The words of a man who now resides in a nation which upholds slavery… in a state famed for its agriculture, and naval stores… all of which require Negro slave labour. In a town where such views are anathema, where, once the contents of Colonel Cashman's affidavit are known to his fellow citizens, he very likely faces social and financial ruin, sirs. Consider what courage that took for him to testify on Captain Lewrie's behalf," MacDougall posed to the jury.
"Milud," Sir George Norman said with a piteous smirk as he rose to his feet, "it would seem that my learned colleague has just admitted his principal's guilt!"
"To what specific crime, my lord, does Sir George refer?" Mr. MacDougall quickly retorted, plucking the front of his black court robe. "Does he maintain that Captain Lewrie instigated and premeditated the crime of Robbery, in the face of Leftenant-Colonel Cashman's confessing affidavit? Or does he wish to now reduce his accusations to Conversion of Property? The waters must be un-muddied upon this head for the clarification of the jury, my lord. Let us be specific."
Has he lost his fuckin' mind? Lewrie could but goggle quietly.
Lord Justice Oglethorpe scratched his scalp under his bag-wig with a pencil, scowled, pursed his lips, then impatiently waved both barristers forward to the front of his bench, where ensued a lengthy, hushed conversation; one that must have pleased MacDougall right down to the ground, for, when Oglethorpe shooed them away, he had a bright smile plastered on his phyz, whilst Sir George Norman was shaking his head.
"Ahem… upon reception of the confession from Mister Christopher Cashman, counsel for the plaintiffs has amended his accusations to a charge of illegal Conversion. Silence! Silence in the…!" He had to cry and gavel for order as the spectators raised yet another great cheer.
"Now, let us see how the event occurred, that dark night off the coast of Portland Bight, three years ago," Mr. MacDougall said in the relative silence, after the crowd had settled down once more. He waved to his clerk, Mr. Sadler, and another assistant, who stood up the easel and hung the bed sheet-sized roll of cloth upon the cross-piece, allowing it to fall open.
Wonder what that cost? Lewrie thought, shifting in his chair in the dock to look at it. MacDougall had gone to a chart maker's for an up-to-date map of that section of coast, compared the new one to the old one that Proteus's Sailing Master, Mr. Winwood, had used, and had an artist or sign painter do up a large-scale version in full colour; pale blue wash for ocean, rocky shoals in grey, sand bars in tan, and land in pale green, with forests and fields done in a darker green. A topographic map of the plantations in question surely must have come from Jamaica, as well, for the Beaumans', and Cashman's, plantings were delineated quite accurately, right down to the locations of the houses, barns, and slave quarters; all of them neatly labelled, as was the beach where the ship's boats had grounded; and all distances from specific points clearly marked, corresponding to a distance scale in the lower left corner.
"At this point, my lord, I call Lieutenant Adair to testify," MacDougall intoned, going all solemn, now that he was at the meat of the matter.
MacDougall worked his way down through the Commission officers to Mr. Winwood, and the Purser, Mr. Coote, showing how the "crime" was committed. Sir George Norman sat mum at his table through it all, a befuddled and seemingly disinterested air about him. Under English Common Law, he had no right to cross-examine witnesses, and, with no witnesses of his own to present in rebuttal, his continued presence was merely decorative.
Yet MacDougall did not stick to the distances, the times, or the particular actions that Lewrie's juniors had performed that night; to Lt. Adair, he posed the question of what he heard and saw on shore.
Had the other slaves been celebrating?
"They were, sir," Adair stated. "I was fearful that their cries might rouse the overseers." The form of it? "Tears, and hugging, and handshaking, sir. Joy and sadness, mixed. Soft singing, and such."
"And once into the boats and making your way back to Proteus, sir, did anything odd occur?" MacDougall asked.
"We heard barking, sir," Lt. Adair answered. "At first, I imagined that the overseers and their dogs were near the beach, but in a short time, we discovered that the barking came from seals, sir."
"Seals, Lieutenant Adair?" MacDougall said, striking a surprised pose, obviously with foreknowledge of what Adair would say. "In the West Indies? Are they not hunted out?"
"It was… eerie, sir," Adair declared. "Aye, seals are rare in those seas, but that night, they appeared all round us. Every man at the oars saw them, and commented on them. A dozen or more of them, swimming about our boats, just beyond the reach of the oars, right to the ship's side, sir, where the rest of the crew saw and heard them, as well."
"And what did you make of that, sir?" MacDougall crooned.
"God's blessing 'pon our action, sir," Lt. Adair solemnly said, then smiled. "Captain Lewrie and seals, well sid, 'als, wellr… 'tis mysterious how often seals have appeared in warning or… almost approval, sir, just before Captain Lewrie went into a fight. For so is the rumour in the Fleet about him, d'ye see, sir. A minor miracle, some say."
Did the dozen slaves sign aboard willingly? Were they fed and clothed, kitted, and paid, the same as any English sailor? Were any of them troublemakers, drunkards, discipline problems; were any of the Black sailors stupid, were any of them cowards? MacDougall asked him.
Willingly, aye; treated the same as any volunteer; very little trouble from any of them; the usual binges on runs ashore, which were rare, same as British tars; illiterate, but not stupid, for many went on from Landsman to Ordinary Seaman, two had been rated Able in short time, and, there were certainly no cowards among them. The runaways were as brave as lions, every Man Jack, Lt. Adair could swear.
Lt. Gamble and Midshipman Grace reiterated Adair's high opinion of them, whilst Mr. Winwood told of their muster-aboard baths under a wash-deck pump and hose, which he likened to their baptism into a new life; how little they'd been told of Christianity, and the sacrifice and resurrection of the Saviour (which had many a lady in the courtroom dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief) and how he had taken it on himself to minister to their spiritual needs and education, seeing as how HMS Proteus did not, at that time, rate a Chaplain willing to ship to the Fever Isles of the West Indies.
"Are you conversant with slavery laws in the Crown colonies, Mister Winwood?" MacDougall finally asked.
"Somewhat, sir. More so now, than previous," Winwood intoned in his sober and ponderous manner; and frowned when his comment was taken as slightly humourous by the spectators.
"What charge may be laid against a slave who runs away from his master or mistress, Mister Winwood?" MacDougall pressed.
"Uhm… that, since he is not a free man, sir, only property,… not reckoned a man at all, really… that he is guilty of stealing himself, I believe," Winwood replied.
"Guilty of stealing himself?" MacDougall pretended consternation in a loud voice. "And the punishment would be what? An hundred lashes? Pilloried in the stocks? Branded? His hamstrings cut so he may only limp? A foot cut off with an axe?"
"I have heard-tell that one, or all, of those punishments are awarded, sir," Mr. Winwood agreed in grave sadness, shaking his head sorrowfully. "A second unsuccessful attempt may result in death by the lash, or being hung."
"Do civilised people do such to cows that stray, horses that take the bitt 'tween their teeth and gallop?" MacDougall posed. "To a dog that piddles on carpet? A cat which climbs a tree?"
"Indeed not, sir!" Winwood said.
"Yet many slaves do risk such punishments each year, do they not, Mister Winwood? Steal themselves and run… on Jamaica, to the so-called Cockpit Country… to the Blue Mountains, and the jungles, don't they? What do they call them, Mister Winwood?"