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Packed like animals in the holds of slave ships, Negroes bound for America were prey to disease, brutal masters, and their own suicidal melancholy.
February 1962 | Volume 13, Issue 2
Dr. Isaac Wilson, a surgeon in the Royal Navy, made a Guinea voyage on the Elizabeth, captain John Smith, who was said to be very humane. Nevertheless, Wilson was assigned the duty of flogging the slaves. “Even in the act of chastisement,” Wilson says, “I have seen them look up at me with a smile, and, in their own language, say ‘presently we shall be no more.’” One woman on the Elizabeth found some rope yarn, which she tied to the armorer’s vise; she fastened the other end round her neck and was found dead in the morning.
On the Brookes when Thomas Trotter was her surgeon, there was a man who, after being accused of witchcraft, had been sold into slavery with all his family. During the first night on shipboard he tried to cut his throat. Dr. Trotter sewed up the wound, but on the following night the man not only tore out the stitches but tried to cut his throat on the other side. From the ragged edges of the wound and the blood on his fingers, he seemed to have used his nails as the only available instrument. His hands were tied together after the second wound, but he refused all food, and he died of hunger in eight or ten days.
Besides the propensity for suicide, another deadly scourge of the Guinea cargoes was a phenomenon called “fixed melancholy.” Even slaves who were well fed, treated with kindness, and kept under relatively sanitary conditions would often die, one after another, for no apparent reason; they had simply lost the will to live. Dr. Wilson believed that fixed melancholy was responsible for the loss of two thirds of the slaves who died on the Elizabeth . “No one who had it was ever cured,” he says, “whereas those who had it not and yet were ill, recovered. The symptoms are a lowness of spirits and despondency. Hence they refuse food. This only increases the symptoms. The stomach afterwards got weak. Hence the belly ached, fluxes ensued, and they were carried off.” But in spite of the real losses from despair, the high death rate on Guineamen was due to somatic more than to psychic afflictions.
Along with their human cargoes, crowded, filthy, undernourished, and terrified out of the wish to live, the ships also carried an invisible cargo of microbes, bacilli, spirochetes, viruses, and intestinal worms from one continent to another; the Middle Passage was a crossroad and market place of diseases. From Europe came smallpox, measles (somewhat less deadly to Africans than to American Indians), gonorrhea, and syphilis (which last Columbus’ sailors had carried from America to Europe). The African diseases were yellow fever (to which the natives were resistant), dengue, blackwater fever, and malaria (which was not specifically African, but which most of the slaves carried in their blood streams). If anopheles mosquitoes were present, malaria spread from the slaves through any new territories to which they were carried. Other African diseases were amoebic and bacillary dysentery (known as “the bloody flux”), Guinea worms, hookworm (possibly African in origin, but soon endemic in the warmer parts of the New World), yaws, elephantiasis, and leprosy.
The particular affliction of the white sailors after escaping from the fevers of the Guinea Coast was scurvy, a deficiency disease to which they were exposed by their monotonous rations of salt beef and sea biscuits. The daily tot of lime juice (originally lemon juke) that prevented scurvy was almost never served on merchantmen during the days of the legal slave trade, and in fact was not prescribed in the Royal Navy until 1795. Although the slaves were also subject to scurvy, they fared better in this respect than the sailors, partly because they made only one leg of the triangular voyage and partly because their rough diet was sometimes richer in vitamins. But sailors and slaves alike were swept away by smallpox and “the bloody flux,” and sometimes whole shiploads went blind from what seems to have been trachoma.
Smallpox was feared more than other diseases, since the surgeons had no way of curing it. One man with smallpox infected a whole vessel, unless—as sometimes happened—he was tossed overboard when the first scabs appeared. Captain Wilson of the Briton lost more than half his cargo of 375 slaves by not listening to his surgeon. It was the last slave on board who had the disease, says Henry Ellison, who made the voyage. “The doctor told Mr. Wilson it was the small-pox,” Ellison continues. “He would not believe it, but said he would keep him, as he was a fine man. It soon broke out amongst the slaves. I have seen the platform one continued scab. We hauled up eight or ten slaves dead of a morning. The flesh and skin peeled off their wrists when taken hold of, being entirely mortified.”
But dysentery, though not so much feared, probably caused more deaths in the aggregate. Ellison testified that he made two voyages on the Nightingale. On the first voyage the slaves were so crowded that thirty boys “messed and slept in the long boat all through the Middle Passage, there being no room below”; and still the vessel lost only five or six slaves in all, out of a cargo of 270. On the second voyage, however, the Nightingale buried “about 150, chiefly of fevers and flux. We had 250 when we left the coast.”