Rough Crossings

Caryl Phillips, Caryl Phillips

• Éditeur: Oberon Books
• Année: 2017
• ISBN:
  9781786823328
• Édition: 1
• Sujet: Literatura
• Sous-sujet: Arte dramático británico

Simon Schama's extraordinary novel in a new stage adaptation by Caryl Philips.
As the American War of Independence reaches its climax, a plantation slave and a British Naval Officer embark on an epic journey in search of freedom. Divided by barriers of race but united in their ambitions for equality, their convictions will change attitudes towards slavery forever.
Sweeping from the Deep South of America to the scorched earth of West Africa, Rough Crossings is a compelling true story that marks the 200th anniversary of the abolition of the slave trade in the British Empire.
Rough Crossings was staged by Headlong Theatre Company which opened at Birmingham Rep in September 2007 and toured the Lyric Hammersmith, Liverpool Playhouse and West Yorkshire Playhouse.

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 SHIP’S BOY, in white shirt, knee breeches and bare feet, bursts onto the deck of the ship from below. He looks anxiously around.

SHIP’S 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.

SHIP’S BOY: I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t 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.

SHIP’S BOY: Yes sir.

CAPTAIN: Do you have a sweetheart waiting for you back in London?

SHIP’S BOY: London, sir?

CAPTAIN: You are a Londoner, aren’t you?

SHIP’S BOY: Yes sir. Bow bells, sir.

CAPTAIN: And do you have a sweetheart?

SHIP’S 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.

SHIP’S BOY: No, sir. Sorry, sir.

(Sound of shouting and heavy feet coming closer.)

CAPTAIN: No need to apologize. But don’t 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?

SHIP’S BOY: Don’t know, sir.

CAPTAIN: Profit, my lad. Not duty, or honour. Profit! (Pause.) You want to say something, lad?

SHIP’S BOY: Please sir, it’s the prime niggers. They’re bringing them up now, but there’s some sickness.

CAPTAIN: And the buck nigger?

SHIP’S 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 SHIP’S BOY.)

JOHNSON: (To SHIP’S BOY.) You little arse-rag, didn’t you hear me calling you? (He then sees the CAPTAIN.) Sorry sir, didn’t see you standing there. I was looking for laddie boy here. Prime niggers coming up for inspection and dancing, but we’ve some spoilt cargo to unload.

CAPTAIN: It’s all insured, Mr Johnson. Apparently, we can’t show mercy and risk infecting the whole cargo.

JOHNSON: ‘Apparently’, sir?

CAPTAIN: Well is mercy permissible?

JOHNSON: Sorry, sir. Not following you that well.

CAPTAIN: Fatigue, Mr Johnson. This voyage. All voyages. For heaven’s sake, Mr Johnson. You know what to do.

JOHNSON: (Shouts.) Bring ’em 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 one’s ailing, sir.

CAPTAIN: The man’s frightened, Mr Johnson.

JOHNSON: Don’t 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 nigger’s 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 ‘BUCK’ SLAVE refuses to dance.)

CAPTAIN: (To SHIP’S BOY.) The rum.

(The CAPTAIN has spoken into his handkerchief so the SHIP’S BOY is not entirely sure of what the CAPTAIN has said.)

SHIP’S BOY: Sir?

CAPTAIN: (Takes away the handkerchief.) The rum, boy. Now! (The SHIP’S 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 farmer’s daughter from Norfolk. Tess Warner.

JOHNSON: Sir?

(The SHIP’S 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: It’s God’s work, sir. The price of being an Englishman.

CAPTAIN: (To SHIP’S BOY.) You hear that boy? Are you ready to pay the price and exchange London for the ocean wide, the ocean blue?

SHIP’S 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.) He’s still not dancing, Mr Johnson.

JOHNSON: Can’t 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 ‘THOMAS PETERS’.) This one is too weak. (To the SAILORS with muskets.) Unchain him.

SLAVE / ‘THOMAS PETERS’: They are going to put me overboard.

JOHNSON: Shut it! (Lashes ‘THOMAS PETERS’.) And him. (Points to SLAVE 3. SLAVE 3 is also unchained.)

SLAVE / ‘THOMAS PETERS’: They are going to kill us. We must do something!

SLAVE 3: (To the ‘BUCK SLAVE’.) And are you now happy? You are to live and we two are to die!

(JOHNSON ta...