First Mate James Kelsall’s Journal (1807) On a setting sun, bequeathed a freedom few men had ever beheld. A rekindling of elevated thoughts soothed by subdued whispers of the ocean, and in such tranquil restoration laid a peace from deep within. A moment of relief from the undeniable guilt which I cannot escape, even in kipping. The rattling of chains and fateful moans of the four hundred and forty-two souls aboard brings upon an abhorrent disgust. A case of the ‘blue devils’
I'm wondering if a person writing this would use the "" around the blue devils, or if they'd just write it, seeing as it's not particular jargon to them and is common language?
(I'm assuming this - I don't know for certain about the regular use of this term, I'm just assuming it's contextual I can no longer deny. Beyond the horizon looms a rolling sea of grey and my dear Liverpool is now a monstrous town whose pitiful theft of its own humanity is of grave concern. I cannot truly console myself when men such as Sir Richard Arkwright are still revered as creative geniuses. For in his opening of Shudehill Mill in Manchester came the subsequent sacrifice of the free will of mankind. Yet, I do have hope, for past the thick plumes of smoke there must be a sea of marigold, a voice to be heard. Rousseau’s words echo a boundless source of promise that we can break the shackles of poverty and rise above injustice, for I too prefer liberty with danger than such peace with slavery.
This is all very clear - despite the fact that I don't engage with texts following Romanticism conventions, like,
ever, I'm following this really well and even when I don't 100% understand something (purely from my background), I can still imagine what it means, the setting is just enough to transport me there. James Kelsall’s Journal Captain Luke Collingwood, of steady age and character,
Love this description. rarely had second thoughts about any given matter. Any discrepancies were scarcely made public, and, if so, Mr. Collingwood prided himself in simple facts and realities which disproved what few ideas opposed the constancy of his opinions.
“British-built ships typically carry 1.75 Black Ivory per ton of the ship's capacity…” he would recount with absolute precision, “on the Aurore, our ratio is 4.0 per ton.”
Sir Collingwood worshipped his creator and, for his own amusement, found occupation for an idle hour by compelling the poor wretches to sing psalms – which often entailed melancholy lamentations of their exile from their native country. When weather permitted, they would be obliged to dance, which, if they go about reluctantly, was punishable by whipping.
James Kelsall’s JournalMy beloved Lucy, it has occurred to me that the pathway from slavery to freedom is founded in the gift of education, which is something I have taken for granted for much of my life. Such lofty ambitions, however, are not without danger, for I feared that if I disobeyed Sir Collingwood’s orders, I may too come to the same fate as these forlorn foreigners we transport. Only once the below decks were obscured by darkness, did I begin teaching them the basics of a good Christian education. I scarcely had much time to do so however as the rest of the crew would often rise suspicious as to my location. Surprising as it may seem, I found myself somewhat indebted to the slaves. They were noble souls; who not only possessed loving hearts, but contained brave ones. Although secured together by iron legs, they were more strongly interlinked by the mutual hardships that they were subjected to in their condition as slaves. Soon they grew in wisdom as the sea of marigold appeared ever closer.
James Kelsall’s Journal At this stage, I'm thinking that the only thing that I would gain from them signing off the journals, is perhaps a little bit of context through language, but maybe I'd also have an idea about how much time elapsed between each. So maybe, "Much time has passed since I last entered these pages, I hope next time we meet it will be much sooner." I mean, I agree with you in that I like it even without signing off. But, if you chose to sign off, that would be the benefit. My dearest Lucy, perhaps Rousseau was quite correct in saying that “man is born free, but is everywhere in chains” for it brings me no deal of pleasure to open to you such events as what unfolded only a few nights ago:
The messengers which had gathered since dawn slowly sank to smother the winter sun. The storm, as it always does, appeared in various parts of the heavens and echoed across the Pacific Ocean, the most violent storm hung just north of Cape Verde whilst the Azores were enlightened by a series of faint flashes, playing on the peaks of Mount Pico in the most beautiful figures. I could not logically explain the sensation, as, although it was approaching ever so quickly, I had no urge to retreat. Yet, even as the messengers hung ominously in the distance, the lashing winds slowly soothed into a soft melody similar to that of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Such splendour of nature, however, were disturbed by piercing screams from the hold. What horrors that I beheld with my very eyes! The slaves were growing restless, fifty or sixty… fastened to one chain, I thought I must have been off my onion! Unfortunately, such was not the case. Frail, scurvy-infected bodies limped over one another as if a bunch of Lushingtons. Futile cries rang out from the front deck, distorted by undulating waves as human limbs were soon swallowed whole under a deep swell of sickly indigo, as Mr Collingwood, once a man of great respectability, simply watched. The few that remained sprang disdainfully from Mr Collingwood’s grasps and leaped into the ocean, triumphantly embracing death rather than tyrannical subjugation.
James Kelsall’s JournalThe wind descended in the south now as restless waves ascended to magnificent heights while the tempest raged within the heavens. Mr. Collingwood has disposed of even more of the hapless souls below and now only few remain. Even the echoing tempest cannot divert my mind from the awful truth of this cursed voyage, for it too seems to scorn down upon us. Perhaps it is only in the most natural of states that we can truly experience contentment? I only hope that these poor souls view their tragic end with similar sentiments.
James Kelsall’s JournalDearest Lucy! How I will covet the day when this grave sin against humanity is at last eradicated! The news of the passing of the Abolition of the Slave Trade Act in March gave me new life and spirits; a hope felt even by the poor few slaves who still remained. Alas, months have passed and still their cries for liberty remain ignored. I share with you a letter I found from Quaco, one of my more learned students:
I cannot help but feel as if learning had been a curse rather than a blessing. Freedom has now consumed my greatest desires, breathing in every wind and echoing in every storm, calling us to come and share in its hospitality. Yet, it also tormented me with a sense of my wretched condition. Is it not enough that I have been torn from my own country to toil for the luxury and lust of another man’s gain? The restless waves frighten me no more; rather they seem to understand. In them, I may finally find the peace I have been longing for.
At this point, I imagine, Quaco was swept away by the waves and lost in darkness and distance.
James Kelsall’s JournalI can hear it coming. Its roar echoes across the ocean floor to the peaks of Blue Hills, a signal that nature is decreeing its retribution, the Aurore will not reach the ports of Liverpool. It is not long before we shall plummet into the vast, empty abyss, reunited in death with the two hundred and forty eight already below. From a dense blanket of grey shines a light so glorious words cannot encompass, opening the depths of the heavens to my very soul. Yet, the light is now engulfed by the wrath of the raging forces above. Man is a sinful creature, but redemption awaits him if he repents his wrongdoings. How sad to think that nature speaks and mankind does not listen.