Act One
SCENE ONE
We hear the sound of the loud engine of the sea, the creaking of wood, and the clanging of metal chains. Lights slowly up. An occasional voice is raised in misery. A SHIPâS BOY, in white shirt, knee breeches and bare feet, bursts onto the deck of the ship from below. He looks anxiously around.
SHIPâS BOY: Sir? (Pause. To himself.) Oh bloody hell. (Shouts.) Sir?
(Out of the gloom steps the CAPTAIN. He is formally dressed, in a naval jacket. He presses a handkerchief to his nose and mouth.)
CAPTAIN: I can hear you, my lad.
SHIPâS BOY: Iâm sorry, sir. I didnât see you over there.
CAPTAIN: If you desire to live long enough to take a young girl for a wife, you had better learn to stand upwind on a slaving ship and away from disease.
SHIPâS BOY: Yes sir.
CAPTAIN: Do you have a sweetheart waiting for you back in London?
SHIPâS BOY: London, sir?
CAPTAIN: You are a Londoner, arenât you?
SHIPâS BOY: Yes sir. Bow bells, sir.
CAPTAIN: And do you have a sweetheart?
SHIPâS BOY: A sweetheart, sir?
CAPTAIN: A creature who you love and cherish, and who you might one day be joined together with in holy matrimony.
SHIPâS BOY: No, sir. Sorry, sir.
(Sound of shouting and heavy feet coming closer.)
CAPTAIN: No need to apologize. But donât end up like me, with no wife, and no children, and only a mistress called the ocean for company. (Pause.) And why are we here on the ocean, my lad?
SHIPâS BOY: Donât know, sir.
CAPTAIN: Profit, my lad. Not duty, or honour. Profit! (Pause.) You want to say something, lad?
SHIPâS BOY: Please sir, itâs the prime niggers. Theyâre bringing them up now, but thereâs some sickness.
CAPTAIN: And the buck nigger?
SHIPâS BOY: Not ailing sir, but not broken either. He has the look in his eye, sir.
(JOHNSON, an older sailor in his thirties, and of a low rank, emerges on deck from below. He sees the SHIPâS BOY.)
JOHNSON: (To SHIPâS BOY.) You little arse-rag, didnât you hear me calling you? (He then sees the CAPTAIN.) Sorry sir, didnât see you standing there. I was looking for laddie boy here. Prime niggers coming up for inspection and dancing, but weâve some spoilt cargo to unload.
CAPTAIN: Itâs all insured, Mr Johnson. Apparently, we canât show mercy and risk infecting the whole cargo.
JOHNSON: âApparentlyâ, sir?
CAPTAIN: Well is mercy permissible?
JOHNSON: Sorry, sir. Not following you that well.
CAPTAIN: Fatigue, Mr Johnson. This voyage. All voyages. For heavenâs sake, Mr Johnson. You know what to do.
JOHNSON: (Shouts.) Bring âem up.
(We hear the sound of a drum being beaten and then see a white DRUMMER BOY emerge from below. Behind him are six male SLAVES all chained together, attired only in loincloths. Their bodies are scarred and pockmarked, their hair bushy and unkempt, and they are escorted by four WHITE SAILORS with muskets who keep a close watch and prod them when necessary. The SLAVES line up and JOHNSON takes a piece of metal and begins to force open their mouths and inspect their teeth and gums. One SLAVE among them, THOMAS PETERS, looks particularly weak. He is being examined.)
This oneâs ailing, sir.
CAPTAIN: The manâs frightened, Mr Johnson.
JOHNSON: Donât like to think of them as men, sir.
CAPTAIN: Surely fear is a human disease? Curable, even.
(JOHNSON continues to inspect the SLAVES. The final and strongest-looking SLAVE is defiant as his mouth is forced open.)
JOHNSON: Captain, the buck niggerâs real trouble.
CAPTAIN: Then you must tame him, Mr Johnson.
(JOHNSON puts away his piece of metal. He unfurls a whip and begins to thrash at them.)
JOHNSON: Dance, you bastards. Dance!
(Some among the SLAVES clearly have little energy to move and they are ailing badly. The âBUCKâ SLAVE refuses to dance.)
CAPTAIN: (To SHIPâS BOY.) The rum.
(The CAPTAIN has spoken into his handkerchief so the SHIPâS BOY is not entirely sure of what the CAPTAIN has said.)
SHIPâS BOY: Sir?
CAPTAIN: (Takes away the handkerchief.) The rum, boy. Now! (The SHIPâS BOY scampers away. To the DRUMMER BOY.) Keep a steady beat, man. This is not some jungle ceremony. (JOHNSON continues to thrash the slaves who have difficulty dancing.) Tell me, Mr Johnson. From where in England do you originate?
JOHNSON: Norfolk, sir. Born and bred.
CAPTAIN: I thought so. Your accent. (Somewhat reflectively.) Tess was her name. A farmerâs daughter from Norfolk. Tess Warner.
JOHNSON: Sir?
(The SHIPâS BOY reappears with a flask of rum which he hands to the CAPTAIN. The CAPTAIN grabs it and takes a deep drink.)
CAPTAIN: (Laughs.) This civilizing mission can be damned exhausting work.
JOHNSON: Itâs Godâs work, sir. The price of being an Englishman.
CAPTAIN: (To SHIPâS BOY.) You hear that boy? Are you ready to pay the price and exchange London for the ocean wide, the ocean blue?
SHIPâS BOY: I was pressed into service, sir.
CAPTAIN: (Laughs. To JOHNSON.) The young boy claims to have been pressed against his will. Like a delicate flower in a book. (Offers a toast.) To England.
JOHNSON: To England!
CAPTAIN: (Points at the strongest-looking SLAVE.) Heâs still not dancing, Mr Johnson.
JOHNSON: Canât break the buck, sir.
BUCK SLAVE: (The SLAVES all speak in a West African language.) I will kill you, white man. All of you.
CAPTAIN: What did he say?
JOHNSON: (Whips him.) Quiet!
BUCK SLAVE: (To his fellow SLAVES.) Once we cross this mighty river we shall be free of these men. Look at them, they are no match for us. Even in this condition we frighten them.
JOHNSON: Time to cut our losses, sir.
SLAVE 2: But we must fight them now. We can take their guns.
SLAVE 3: He is right. They will kill more of us if we do not act.
BUCK SLAVE: No. We must act only when we are sure of victory.
SLAVE 2: And meanwhile we live as cowards? My death must mean something.
BUCK SLAVE: My life must mean something!
SLAVE 2: But you are not in control of your life! Our death must mean something or this pain and suffering has been for nothing.
JOHNSON: (Points to âTHOMAS PETERSâ.) This one is too weak. (To the SAILORS with muskets.) Unchain him.
SLAVE / âTHOMAS PETERSâ: They are going to put me overboard.
JOHNSON: Shut it! (Lashes âTHOMAS PETERSâ.) And him. (Points to SLAVE 3. SLAVE 3 is also unchained.)
SLAVE / âTHOMAS PETERSâ: They are going to kill us. We must do something!
SLAVE 3: (To the âBUCK SLAVEâ.) And are you now happy? You are to live and we two are to die!
(JOHNSON ta...