By Charles Johnson
It's 1830. Rutherford Calhoun, a newly treed slave and irrepressible rogue, is wanting to break out unscrupulous invoice creditors and an drawing close marriage to a priggish schoolteacher. He jumps aboard the 1st boat leaving New Orleans, the Republic, a slave send en path to gather participants of a mythical African tribe, the Allmuseri. therefore starts off a bold voyage of horror and self-discovery.
Peopled with brilliant and unforgettable characters, nimble in its interaction of comedy and critical principles, this striking smooth vintage is an ideal mixture of the picaresque story, old romance, sea yarn, slave narrative, and philosophical novel.
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It was the language of the Adolf Hitler Schutzstaffel Panzer Division and the Grossdeutschland Panzer Grenadier Division. The door was flung open, and men tramped in, spitting out their many crowded consonants and flashing torches about. ” The four Americans cowered and held their breath. Their talk was of the day’s adventures, and their mood was of exultation—mind triumphing over the exhaustion of the body. Sieg Heil! It seemed certain that when sleeping time came—and that would be but a few minutes— some of these men would climb into the hay.
They turned and ran toward the road and came out into sight of it, holding their hands in the air. It would hold the Tigers for at least a couple of hours. The three introduced themselves to the sergeant in command, who saluted and gave his unit: Task Force D, 10th Armored. “We are holding on at Longwilly,” he said. Like all Americans below the commissioned ranks, he was contemptuous of French pronunciations. If they wanted you to say “Lonhveeyee,” why didn’t they spell it that way? These GIs, no doubt, thought of this village as belonging to somebody named William who happened to be tall and thin.
When they came to an open spot they would stop before emerging from the brush and stand with their ears cocked, listening attentively. A twig crackling beneath their feet would make them jump; a partridge taking flight would leave them with hearts pounding. It was Indian fighting, which all four of them had read about but had enacted only as children at play. Now it was reality, and far more deadly, for no Indian had ever dreamed of such weapons as the enemy here had made. These and other things you had to learn, and your first mistake might be your last.
Middle Passage by Charles Johnson