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Authors: Kay Marshall Strom
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flung himself into the ocean and drowned. The very next day, Joseph Winslow received a summons to appear before the great African ruler.
Joseph had not planned to marry. No, no. He intended to live a carefree life, earning just enough on his slave voyages to keep him in gambling money, and then sailing off in time to escape the consequences of any possible misdeeds. But the African king did not ask Joseph his plans. The king stated his own will and declared that it be done.
Oh, yes, Joseph understood his position in the partnership. Lingongo was certain of that. Much was not to his liking. She was certain of that as well. Yet Lingongo brought alliances along with her, and she brought Joseph vital information — such as the news of the upcoming wars among the African kingdoms.
It was only because of her father's great influence in personal matters, and because of Lingongo's great influence with her father, that Joseph had been able to secure Zulina as his own. Owned by Joseph and controlled by Lingongo, that's what the slave fortress was. For, as both of them well knew, she was the only reason he could gather up the gold that fed his ever-growing hunger for a fling of the dice and the all-night sprees of lanterloo accompanied by his growing taste for rum.
Lingongo looked back at her husband. His eyes were on her. Just as she knew what he was thinking, he knew exactly what was in her mind. They had been together too long. Yes, they did need each other. Although neither would admit it out loud.
“No one anchored at Zulina is offerin’ muskets o’ pistols o’ gunpowder fer sale,” Joseph said.
Lingongo's eyes flashed with irritation. “Of course, no one offers it to you. But if you were to show them you had gold, then you would find it for sale. Everything is for sale if you are willing to pay the price.”
Her husband, owner of the largest, most powerful slave-trading compound on the Slave Coast! Yet the riffraff that sailed white man's death ships into Africa dared to argue and dispute with him as though they were his equal. And all because of her foolish husband's penchant for making bets on cards and drinking rum as he rolled the dice.
“But, me darlin’, they is no gold fer payin’ ’em,” Joseph said.
“Find Jasper Hathaway. If he wants to marry Grace, his loyalty should lie with us. Tell him if he wants to be the husband of your daughter, he must lend you the money you need. Then use it to buy the firearms.”
“No, I won’t do it!” Joseph said. But he hastened to add, “Anyway, it ain’t fer sure ’e’ll even …”
“Do it!” Lingongo snapped. Then slipping back into her conspiratorial tone, she cautioned, “But do not tell him anything about the upcoming wars, Husband. That is only for the two of us to know.”
Giving their daughter to Jasper Hathaway as his wife was one thing. Trusting him with the secrets of their business was quite another.
“Them muskets and powder’ll be in our storeroom tomorrow, me darlin’,” Joseph promised.
He was out the door and on his way across the courtyard when Lingongo called out, “The slaves who bring it—after they finish their work, they must die.”
10
B lowing grit dusted the sun-baked road as Grace picked her way through the rocks and the clumps of dead grass. Clouds of sand shrouded the sun in a yellow-brown haze. Grace paused to catch her breath, then she lifted the hem of her skirt and wiped at her perspiration-soaked forehead.
It was not the suffocating sun that distressed her so or even the endlessly blowing sand. It was the desperate, wailing moans—as though the very stones of Zulina fortress were crying out in agony.
Why did I ever set my feet on this accursed road? Grace moaned to herself.
Because she’d had no choice. Because it was either this way or back to her mother's house and then to Jasper Hathaway. And so what if people are
Joseph had not planned to marry. No, no. He intended to live a carefree life, earning just enough on his slave voyages to keep him in gambling money, and then sailing off in time to escape the consequences of any possible misdeeds. But the African king did not ask Joseph his plans. The king stated his own will and declared that it be done.
Oh, yes, Joseph understood his position in the partnership. Lingongo was certain of that. Much was not to his liking. She was certain of that as well. Yet Lingongo brought alliances along with her, and she brought Joseph vital information — such as the news of the upcoming wars among the African kingdoms.
It was only because of her father's great influence in personal matters, and because of Lingongo's great influence with her father, that Joseph had been able to secure Zulina as his own. Owned by Joseph and controlled by Lingongo, that's what the slave fortress was. For, as both of them well knew, she was the only reason he could gather up the gold that fed his ever-growing hunger for a fling of the dice and the all-night sprees of lanterloo accompanied by his growing taste for rum.
Lingongo looked back at her husband. His eyes were on her. Just as she knew what he was thinking, he knew exactly what was in her mind. They had been together too long. Yes, they did need each other. Although neither would admit it out loud.
“No one anchored at Zulina is offerin’ muskets o’ pistols o’ gunpowder fer sale,” Joseph said.
Lingongo's eyes flashed with irritation. “Of course, no one offers it to you. But if you were to show them you had gold, then you would find it for sale. Everything is for sale if you are willing to pay the price.”
Her husband, owner of the largest, most powerful slave-trading compound on the Slave Coast! Yet the riffraff that sailed white man's death ships into Africa dared to argue and dispute with him as though they were his equal. And all because of her foolish husband's penchant for making bets on cards and drinking rum as he rolled the dice.
“But, me darlin’, they is no gold fer payin’ ’em,” Joseph said.
“Find Jasper Hathaway. If he wants to marry Grace, his loyalty should lie with us. Tell him if he wants to be the husband of your daughter, he must lend you the money you need. Then use it to buy the firearms.”
“No, I won’t do it!” Joseph said. But he hastened to add, “Anyway, it ain’t fer sure ’e’ll even …”
“Do it!” Lingongo snapped. Then slipping back into her conspiratorial tone, she cautioned, “But do not tell him anything about the upcoming wars, Husband. That is only for the two of us to know.”
Giving their daughter to Jasper Hathaway as his wife was one thing. Trusting him with the secrets of their business was quite another.
“Them muskets and powder’ll be in our storeroom tomorrow, me darlin’,” Joseph promised.
He was out the door and on his way across the courtyard when Lingongo called out, “The slaves who bring it—after they finish their work, they must die.”
10
B lowing grit dusted the sun-baked road as Grace picked her way through the rocks and the clumps of dead grass. Clouds of sand shrouded the sun in a yellow-brown haze. Grace paused to catch her breath, then she lifted the hem of her skirt and wiped at her perspiration-soaked forehead.
It was not the suffocating sun that distressed her so or even the endlessly blowing sand. It was the desperate, wailing moans—as though the very stones of Zulina fortress were crying out in agony.
Why did I ever set my feet on this accursed road? Grace moaned to herself.
Because she’d had no choice. Because it was either this way or back to her mother's house and then to Jasper Hathaway. And so what if people are
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