John Barth - The Sot-Weed Factor

The whole company, despite their position, were amused by this apostrophe; but the Irishman resumed his discourse in a sober voice:

"Seeing that whores were not my medicine, I turned to rum and soaked myself to oblivion each night. My hands grew clumsy on the lute, my voice thickened and cracked, my ear went dull, and every night required more rum than the night before; so that anon I could not beg enough to drink on, and had perforce to turn to theft to gain my ends. Then one night — 'twas a full three months after your departure — a sailorman gave me a shilling to sing Joan's Placket Is Torn for him, and when I had done, declared himself so pleased that he filled me with rum at his own expense. 'Twas my guess he had some queer design — and little I cared, so he let me drink my fill! But I was wrong. ."

"God help ye, then," the Captain muttered. "I can guess the rest: Ye was spirited off?"

"I fell senseless in some inn near Baynard's Castle," McEvoy said, "and woke fettered in the 'tweendecks of a moving ship. At first I had no notion whither we sailed or to what end I had been kidnaped, but anon some among us, that went unfettered, declared they were redemptioners bound for Maryland and explained 'twas not uncommon for a certain sort of captain to fill out his cargo with wharf rats like myself and the half-dozen others who had waked to find themselves leg-ironed to a ship.

"Presently the first mate made us a speech, whereof the substance was that we were in his debt for being saved from our old profligacy and ferried without charge to a land where we might build our lives anew, and that any man of us who honored this obligation and pledged himself to act accordingly would be freed of his leg iron then and there. All the rest were glad enough to swear whatever lying pledge he pledged 'em, but when I saw that this pious first mate was the very wretch who had undone me the night before, I let fly such a grapeshot of curses that he ruined my mouth with his boot and swore he'd starve me into virtue or into Hell ere the voyage was done.

"Now a man like me, that hath been an orphan beggar all his life and feels neither shame nor poverty, is as free a man as any thou'rt like to find, and 'tis no wonder he grows most jealous of his liberty. 'Tis true I'd been jailed not long since for petty stealing, and once ere that when I posed as Laureate; but both times 'twas my own misdoings brought me to jail, and since by liberty is meant one's rights, 'tis no loss of liberty to be justly jailed for crime. Contrariwise, 'tis a gross offence against liberty to be fettered against one's wishes and for no just cause, and the wights who swore that scandalous oath to shed their leg irons, so far from gaining any liberty thereby, did but surrender the dearest liberty of all — the right to rail against injustice."

"There is much wisdom in what you say," Ebenezer remarked, considerably impressed by McEvoy's words and humbled anew, not only by his suspicion that under similar circumstances he would not have displayed such integrity, but also by his conviction — no less disquieting for its present irrelevancy — that McEvoy was far more worthy of Joan Toast than was he, and had been so from the beginning.

"Wise or foolish, 'twas my sentiment in the matter," McEvoy said, "and albeit I tasted the whoreson's leather oft and oft in the days that followed, at least 'twas ne'er by licking his boots I learnt the flavor. He did not quite starve me to death as he had promised, whether because he took such pleasure in kicking me or because he was loath to let me perish unrepentant. I was moved from the 'tweendecks into the hold lest I start a mutiny by my example, and I ne'er saw daylight again till the end of the voyage, when they fetched me up on deck to sell with the rest."

"Whereupon," Ebenezer put in, "if Tayloe told me aright, you straightway leaped into the river and made for your liberty — but they fished you out."

"Aye, and saved my life, for I learned too late I had not strength enough to swim ten strokes. And on reflection it seemed a fair choice to go with Tayloe; I judged his brains to be as swinish as his manner, and guessed 'twould be no great matter to outwit him at the proper moment. I only wish my friend Dick Parker had been less rash — but I've not told ye about Dick Parker, have I? No matter: we swim in an ocean of story, but a tumblerful slakes our thirst. Besides, the night's nigh done, is't not? To conclude, then, gentlemen; I bartered Tom Tayloe for a horse, as Eben hath told — and a foundered jade at that, but worth a score o' servant-brokers — and since I'd learnt I was in Maryland I resolved to ride out privily to Cooke's Point, merely to satisfy myself that Joan was there and happy in her choice." He laughed. "La, what rot is that? I rode out in hopes she'd had her fill of innocence! I knew my wretched case would move her to pity and I prayed she might mistake that pity for love. 'Twas a desperate piece o' wishing and proved false in two respects: her plight, I found, was far more wretched than mine, but neither pox nor opium nor cruelty, nor the face o' death itself — how much less pity! — could turn her from her course once she had set it.

"I did not tarry: Tom Tayloe, I supposed, would turn the country inside out to find the fugitive that gulled him. I resolved to make my way to Virginia, if I could find it, or Carolina, and haply join some crew o' pirates. To this end I joined company with a runaway Negro slave that had been chained with me in the ship's hold — one o' Parker's chief lieutenants, he was, named Bandy Lou, that had learnt a mickle English. 'Twas his idea we make for Bloodsworth Island, which he had heard was a-swarm with fugitives like ourselves. We didn't know they love a white man as the Devil loves holy water, and when we learned it, 'twas all too late: Bandy Lou they welcomed as a brother, but me, for all his pleadings, they trussed up and put aside against the day — "

"Hi there!" the Captain interrupted. "What's that I hear?"

McEvoy left his sentence unfinished, and the prisoners strained to listen. From far off in the marshes came a series of sharp cries, like the cawing of a crow, and the guard outside their hut responded in kind.

"Some new arrivals to the grand Black Mass," McEvoy murmured. "They've been coming in every night this week."

The signal cries were repeated, and then in the distance the prisoners could hear a deep, rhythmical mutter, as of many men rumbling a soft chant as they marched. The sentry outside sprang up and cried to the slumbering village some terse announcement, which effected an immediate stir among the huts. People chattered and bustled about the square; sharp orders were issued; new logs clumped and crackled on the fire; and the chant grew clearer and stronger all the while.

"I'faith, 'tis like no Indian song I've heard before," the Captain whispered.

"Nay, 'tis a black man's chanting, by the pitch and rhythm of't," McEvoy replied. "I heard Dick Parker and Bandy Lou sing the like of't in the ship's hold, and the Africans hereabouts have done the same for the last few nights. 'Sheart, but it makes the hackles rise! 'Tis no good news for us, me-thinks."

"Why is that?" Ebenezer asked sharply.

"They have been waiting for their two chief men to smuggle across the Bay," McEvoy said. "One is the leader of the blacks, and the other's the strongest of the salvage kings that the Governor hath unseated. That much I know from Bandy Lou, that whispered to me some days back through the wall of this hut. They've ne'er been reckless enough to sing so loud before: I'll wager 'tis their majesties have come to town, and the circus is ready to start."

And indeed, as the new arrivals filed into the common, the villagers took up the chant, cried out wild cries, beat drums to mark the rhythm, and — as best the prisoners could judge from sound alone — commenced some vigorous dance around the fire. Bertrand sucked his breath and moaned, and Ebenezer began to tremble involuntarily in every limb. Not even McEvoy could quite preserve his self-control: he fell to intoning oaths and curses in a hissing whisper, like paternosters recited with teeth on edge.