NAVIGATING MEANING:
VICISSITUDE AND VOICE IN OLAUDAH EQUIANO’S INTERESTING NARRATIVE
by
LESLEY GRAYBEAL
(Under the Direction of Doug Anderson)
ABSTRACT
Olaudah Equiano’s Interesting Narrative chronicles his various experiences coming from
the Eboe tribe from which he is kidnapped and sold into slavery. While enslaved, Equiano
works under a succession of masters as a sailor, develops a variety of skills, and uses his
entrepreneurial talent to eventually accumulate enough wealth to purchase his freedom, after
which he continues to work and ascend the ranks as a seaman. Equiano’s experience throughout
his narrative is varied and multifaceted as he moves through various identities as a slave,
freeman, sailor, hairdresser, Christian, and eventually a British citizen, and he provides a
paradigm for viewing this multiplicity of identity through the importance of language, the act of
naming, and the meanings of his own African name. Equiano sees himself as changeable,
fortunate and favored, and well-spoken—all qualities which combine to illuminate the way
Equiano navigates his own complexity of identity within his narrative.
INDEX WORDS: Olaudah Equiano, Slave narratives, Captivity narratives, Conversion
narratives, Adventure narratives, Colonial American literature
NAVIGATING MEANING:
VICISSITUDE AND VOICE IN OLAUDAH EQUIANO’S INTERESTING NARRATIVE
by
LESLEY GRAYBEAL
B.A., The University of Georgia, 2007
A Thesis Submitted to the Graduate Faculty of the University of Georgia in Partial Fulfillment of
the Requirements for the Degree
MASTER OF ARTS
ATHENS, GEORGIA
2007
© 2007
Lesley Graybeal
All Rights Reserved
NAVIGATING MEANING:
VICISSITUDE AND VOICE IN OLAUDAH EQUIANO’S INTERESTING NARRATIVE
by
LESLEY GRAYBEAL
Major Professor: Doug Anderson
Committee:
Electronic Version Approved:
Maureen Grasso
Dean of the Graduate School
The University of Georgia
May 2007
Elizabeth Kraft
Barbara McCaskill
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Page
CHAPTER
1
MEANINGS OF A NAME………………………………………………………..1
2
CHANGEABLE BONDAGE……………………………………….………….....4
3
TRIFLING PROVIDENCE……………………………………………………...14
4
THE TWO-EDGED BONDS OF LANGUAGE…………………… …………..25
5
STYLED NARRATOR OF A COLOURED TALE…………………………….37
iv
MEANINGS OF A NAME
When Olaudah Equiano arranged the publication of his autobiography, he chose as the
full title, The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, or Gustavus Vassa, the
African, portraying himself as an author with a dual identity separated cleanly into two names.
While he identifies himself first by his African name, it is by the name whites had given him that
he was most commonly called throughout his life. After splitting his authorship into the two
names, the reunification of Equiano and Vassa under the title “the African” and the statement
immediately following the title, “Written by Himself,” blend the two names back into a whole.
Even in the title of the narrative, Equiano’s reader confronts a complexity of identity for which
“interesting” is clearly an understatement. This acknowledgment suggests that the following
narrative involves the navigation of disunities that the reader must encounter in Equiano’s, or
Vassa’s, story; for the idea that there are simple answers even—or especially—in the way
Equiano characterizes himself is itself an interesting proposition.
The disjunctions of Equiano’s narrative and persona were rarely apparent to his
contemporary reviewers, who generally regarded the narrative as a simple, truthful, and thus
valuable chronicle, but to Mary Wollstonecraft the disjunctions were conspicuous and
disconcerting. In the May 1789 issue of The Analytical Review, she comments on what she
perceives as the wide range of development in Equiano’s thoughts, as well as the stylistic
heterogeneity of his language. While Wollstonecraft acknowledges that the account of his
efforts to regain his freedom “is very interesting,” she somewhat condescendingly asserts that
“the activity and ingenuity, which conspicuously appear in the character of Gustavus, place him
1
on a par with the general mass of men, who fill the subordinate stations in a more civilized
society than that he was thrown into at his birth,” and believes the narrative “should have closed
when he once more became his own master.”i Wollstonecraft senses an anticlimactic tension in
the story between personas and looks for a dramatic remedy in the clear distinction between
slave and free; in suggesting that the narrative should exclude Equiano’s life as a free man, she
implicitly eliminates some of the fragmented identity. She describes her specific complaint:
Throughout, a kind of contradiction is apparent: many childish stories and puerile
remarks, do not agree with some more solid reflections, which occur in the first pages. In
style also we observed a striking contrast: a few well written periods do not smoothly
unite with the general tenor of the language.
The clash between Equiano’s ideas and language causes a great deal of trouble for a reader able
to absorb more than simply an African slave’s tale. The narrative is simultaneously captivity
narrative, conversion narrative, and nautical adventure tale, written by an African British slave,
sailor, hairdresser, musician, and entrepreneur who obtains freedom by purchasing himself and
becoming his own owner. These entangled, conflicting, and never entirely separate genres and
roles disturb Wollstonecraft—but this same disorder of identities, even from the first moments of
the title and narrative, is key in how the author defines himself.
One of the first passages in which Equiano attempts to introduce himself occurs early in
the narrative within an explanation of the Eboe culture into which he is born. In describing some
of the Eboe religious and social practices, he mentions the significance of names in the culture
and the custom of naming children after an event or circumstance. His own identity is presented
through his name. Olaudah, he recalls, means “vicissitude, or fortunate also; one favoured, and
having a loud voice and well spoken” (41).ii While none of these characteristics seems
2
necessarily or explicitly consistent with any other, all are relevant to navigating the complexity
of Equiano’s narrative. He relies heavily on “vicissitude,” alternating readily from African to
English identities in order to orchestrate his goals. His relationship with fortune too is richly
varied, Equiano sometimes relying on fortune to assist him, other times taking fortune into his
own hands, but always appreciating the wheel of fortune as it turns. Favor, too, is not beyond
Equiano’s control, and he is often careful to see that others’ opinions of him are favorable.
Finally, Equiano’s voice provides arguably one of the most significant sources of complexity for
him as an author. Equiano is acutely aware of both the quality of his voice and of its
amplitude—not only must his voice be heard, but it must be determined, carefully constructed,
and refined. Equiano follows the description of his name with this anecdote about Eboe religion,
I remember we never polluted the name of the object of our adoration; on the contrary, it
was always mentioned with the greatest reverence; and we were totally unacquainted
with swearing, and all those terms of abuse and reproach which find their way so readily
and copiously into the languages of more civilized people.
Being well-spoken includes a number of responsibilities in Equiano’s mind—not only must he
use his words masterfully, but he must use them to convey his various values. Speaking well also
means a “purified” speaking, and Equiano must often do both simultaneously, as he does here,
praising his African origins while skillfully elevating himself above the white men who
subjugate him. In conveying to his reader the multiplicity of his identity through the many
aspects of his name, Equiano creates a framework for the reader to apply to his artistic
performance. Equiano is not only well-spoken or favored; he is not merely loud or fortunate; he
is all of the qualities of his name, and all the vicissitudes of his experience—he is Olaudah
Equiano, or Gustavus Vassa, but needs both to narrate himself.
3
CHANGEABLE BONDAGE
Throughout the experience he narrates, Equiano creates an identity for himself that is at
once African and European. As Vincent Carretta describes,
he adopts the cultural, political, religious, and social values that enable him to be
accepted as British. Yet he always retains his perspective as an African who has been
deracinated and thus has the advantage of knowing his adopted British culture from both
the inside and the outside, a perspective that W.E.B. DuBois calls the double
consciousness (IN xvii).
Not only does Equiano use his dual identity to view British culture alternatively as an insider and
an outsider, but he also calculates his oscillation between the two identities depending on his
goals within a certain situation. What Wollstonecraft saw as an inconsistency in thought and
language is in fact a fluidity of identity throughout the narrative. While Equiano ostensibly
follows a direct path of development from primitive African to sophisticated Englishman, he
allows his reader a glimpse of his developed logic and language early in the narrative when he
describes African culture and people in contrast to the moral reasoning and language he acquires
later in the narrative, which at times seems to degrade as the white world influences Equiano.
The potency of the contrast between the early and later parts of the narrative relies on
Equiano’s creation of distinct personas from which to stage comparison. A single Afro-British
identity implies a complex blend of qualities, the authenticity and purity of all of which are less
important than their vital interpretations. Instead, Equiano clearly embraces two separate
identities, signing his letter prefacing the narrative as “Olaudah Equiano, or Gustavus Vassa”—
4
the names are separated rather than joined by the conjunction, suggesting Equiano’s conviction
that rather than inhabit the two together, he must utilize them by turns. By using the two
identities alternatively, Equiano also shapes alternating perspectives of others towards him. One
recommendation letter from several gentlemen highlights his European identity at the exclusion
of the African. They offer “testimony to the good sense, intellectual improvements, and integrity
of GUSTAVUS VASSA, lately of that injured and oppressed class of men, the injured Africans”
(IN 9). In this letter, the men imply that the man they know as Vassa is not African at all—he
was only “lately” an African. Yet in recounting the horrors and atrocities of his experience,
Equiano takes the opposite position:
I believe there are a few events in my life which have not happened to many; it is true the
incidents of it are numerous; and, did I consider myself an European, I might say my
sufferings were great; but, when I compare my lot with that of most of my countrymen, I
regard myself as a particular favorite of Heaven (IN 31).
Here Equiano identifies himself as distinctly not European in order to accomplish two goals. He
displays humility, garnering the sympathy of his readership, and simultaneously suggests that the
suffering he not only disregards, but even takes as evidence of God’s favor for him, is far greater
than any European could bear, thus subtly elevating himself above his white oppressors.
Equiano specifically places himself in an African identity in this passage and at the same time
reminds the reader of his British identity in order to illustrate the injustice of a situation in which
he calls himself a “favorite of Heaven” only in comparison with the kind of atrocities typical in
the slave experience.
Equiano’s sometimes British identity begins with his own stark changes in attitude
toward and interactions with Europeans early in the narrative. He moves quickly from his initial
5
opinion of white men as “savage” to a state of awe and wonder at their perceived superiority, in
which he exclaims, “I was astonished at the wisdom of the white people in all things I saw” (IN
56, 68). When he eventually begins to adopt a British identity of his own, Equiano still reserves
his own changeability. Throughout the narrative, he is careful to build his British identity with
language that never completely integrates him into the white world. When first recognizing the
merits of white society, he claims, “I no longer looked upon them as spirits, but as men superior
to us; and therefore had the strong desire to resemble them; to imbibe their spirit, and imitate
their manners” (IN 78). Equiano does not claim to have desired to “imbibe their spirit” to
become a white man, but merely to “resemble” and “imitate.” He claims as well that, having
become more accustomed to his life at sea, he “soon grew a stranger to terror of every kind, and
was, in that respect at least, almost an Englishman” (IN 77). Complete transformation from an
African into a European is neither possible nor beneficial for Equiano; the power of his identities
is in his freedom to move between them. He carefully describes that he is only ever “almost”
English and “almost” included within white society. After attaining his freedom, however,
Equiano reverses this reservation in his identity with the statement, “I began to think of leaving
this part of the world, of which I had been long tired, and of returning to England, where my
heart had always been” (IN 147). As a freeman, Equiano no longer portrays himself as nearly
English, but instead suggests that his Englishness is inherent and longstanding.
While Equiano works to inhabit two identities, one African and one European, from
which to orchestrate his actions, he must also navigate his change in status from slave to free.
Although the accession from slavery to freedom seems the concrete and palpable result of a
written mandate, the difference between slavery and freedom as Equiano experiences it is far
more difficult to define. As a slave, Equiano often wishes to exchange his condition for any
6
other and discovers that slavery and freedom are not distinctly defined when he finds his
freedom subject to the whim of white men. Having first encountered white men, he describes the
terror of his situation and his desire to change it:
I was now persuaded that I had gotten into a world of bad spirits, and that they were
going to kill me. Their complexions too differing so much from ours, their long hair, and
the language they spoke, which was very different from any I had ever heard, united to
confirm me in this belief…if ten thousand worlds had been my own, I would have freely
parted with them all to have exchanged my condition with that of the meanest slave in my
own country (IN 55).
In his initial fear at being brought among white people, Equiano imagines a hypothetical
situation in which he might alter his circumstances, wishing for even the lowest status among his
own countrymen. Equiano employs his various identities while staging his imaginary exchange
of situation. He reminds readers that he is African in nationality while at the same time
portraying himself as so displaced as to be almost otherworldly, indeed possessing ten thousand
worlds himself. At the same time, he alternates between the roles of property and owner,
moving from a discussion of his own terrifying slave state to an exaggerated master role with the
hypothetical ownership of thousands of worlds. Within the owner role, Equiano suggests that he
can achieve an element of liberty by saying he would “freely” give all his possessions in
exchange for African rather than British colonial slavery—however, this alternation from slavery
to liberating ownership only serves to remind the reader of Equiano’s fundamental powerlessness.
Soon after this episode, he expresses a similar sentiment when he becomes sick on the
Middle Passage. Being too sick to stay below deck in the cargo hold, he is brought on deck,
where he imagines exchanging his condition with that of the marine life. He reflects,
7
Happily perhaps for myself I was soon reduced so low here that it was thought necessary
to keep me almost always on deck…Often did I think many of the inhabitants of the deep
much more happy than myself; I envied them the freedom they enjoyed, and often wished
I could change my condition for theirs (IN 58).
Here again, Equiano alternates between various states of being in a single passage. He ascends
from below deck by virtue of having been “reduced so low” in his illness—the extreme lowness
of his condition suddenly transforms into physical and emotional elevation as he is moved on
deck. Yet the change of state and comparative happiness that Equiano experiences on deck only
prompt him to contemplate further change. He wishes for the ability to change his condition for
that of the sea creatures, which would entail another, more drastic metamorphosis. Finally,
Equiano once again illustrates alternation between slavery and freedom, envying the freedom of
the animals while being held as livestock himself. Equiano begins the episode as chattel below
deck, ascends to a literally unfettered state of comparative liberty when his illness demands it,
and eventually descends once more, this time in spirit, when he realizes that even the beasts of
the ocean inhabit a state preferable to his own.
Equiano frequently finds himself moving between man and property in the eyes of others
as well. In one encounter with an angry customer, he recalls, “He went away, however, swearing;
and threatened that whenever he caught me on shore he would shoot me, and pay for me
afterwards” (IN 109). The man’s threat forces Equiano to confront his own material worth in
contrast with his mortality as human. While Equiano on occasion takes pride in his own material
value and his worth to various masters, here he faces the reality that having a value assigned to
his life allows it not only to be bought but also destroyed. The man appeals to Equiano’s fear of
8
death as a man, yet immediately transforms him into property by suggesting that the
repercussions for taking Equiano’s life are solely financial.
Even in his desire for freedom from slavery, Equiano gives some credence to his status as
property in his conviction that he must buy his freedom rather than escape, establishing multiple
positions for himself within the single idea of emancipation. In a pivotal passage in the
development of his plans to free himself, Equiano makes the following remarks:
My mind was therefore hourly replete with inventions and thoughts of being freed, and, if
possible, by honest and honourable means; for I always remembered the old adage, and I
trust that it has ever been my ruling principle, ‘that Honesty is the best policy’; and
likewise that other golden precept—‘to do unto all men as I would they should do unto
me’ (IN 119).
While Equiano understandably yearns for freedom at all costs and is consumed by machinations
towards such an end, his ethical sentiments place him among peers when considering the
interests of the white men involved in his plots for freedom. The maxims that guide him refer to
the interests of white others rather than himself—while honestly procuring his freedom is
certainly a safer and more secure way of ensuring that he will not return to slavery than escaping
would be, it seems ironic that Equiano should feel an obligation to deal honestly with people he
believes have no moral right to hold him captive.
The “golden rule” seems even stranger in its application—while Equiano may work to
honestly obtain his freedom with the hope that he will be treated honestly as a freeman, rarely if
ever in Equiano’s experience have good actions been reciprocated. Interestingly, the aspiration
to “do unto all men as I would they should do unto me,” implies that Equiano is performing an
action upon others by gaining his freedom—an action that he wishes to perform in such a way as
9
he would like it performed on himself. Such a situation is strange to consider, since one would
not imagine Equiano in the same situation as he presently finds his owner. He has, however,
been the owner of property—though not human property—many times over, and finds few
situations more unjust than when he has been bereft of material goods. While as a slave he
wants freedom by any method, as a businessman Equiano encounters a moral obstacle to theft.
When he does achieve freedom, Equiano realizes that he retains many aspects of his slave
identity in his attempts to find employment—suddenly, as a freeman, he must navigate multiple
identities as both human capital and businessman. He recognizes that he must “slave on as
before” even though he is not technically enslaved, a situation that necessitates movement
between slave and free personas (IN 141). Even his freedom itself is subject to change at the
hands of whites—when he describes himself as “in my original free African state,” Equiano
expresses not merely the fact that he has had his freedom restored, but also that the kind of
freedom he enjoys is constantly threatened by whites (IN 138). Just as Equiano’s free African
state as a child left him in constant fear of kidnapping, so too is his bought freedom a kind of
compromised liberty in which he is repeatedly accosted by whites who attempt “to play their
usual tricks…in the way of kidnapping” (IN 159).
The freedom Equiano purchases is a liberation as changeable as his own persona, and
furthermore he discovers that rather than transforming from slave to free, he instead must fulfill
dual roles as master to himself as slave. As a freeman who has purchased his own freedom, he
must take on the responsibility of self ownership. He soon realizes, “I should advertise myself,”
and laments that he must “submit to this degrading necessity, which every black freeman is
under, of advertising himself like a slave” (IN 162). Even the idea that Equiano has become his
own master reinforces his status as property despite being technically free, and he must lease
10
himself to other masters just as his former masters have leased him and his services. As owner
and property alternatively, Equiano describes events in which one persona acts upon the other as
if they are completely separate people, as in his passage to England, when he recalls, “I shipped
myself soon after” (IN 171). Equiano becomes not only the human cargo he was before on his
initial passage to the British colonies but also the trader of human goods who ships him to his
new destination as a simple matter of business.
Movement between slave and owner roles is not a foreign concept to Equiano at the time
that he regains his freedom. Both before and after being freed, Equiano experiences the cruelties
of the slave trade from the enslaver’s perspective. Equiano describes an episode early in his
nautical career where he and his master go with a press gang in order to acquire more sailors by
force (IN 76). Shortly thereafter, Equiano finds himself on shore attempting to escape a battle
engagement on horseback. Being placed in the position of master of the horse, the need to
employ violence suddenly seems to overcome him: “As soon as I was on the horse’s back I
began to kick and beat him” (IN 89). Yet his violent impulses as master lead only to his own
failure to control the horse, and when another man offers to assist him by beating the horse even
more severely, the horse “set off full speed with me towards the sea, while I was quite unable to
hold or manage him” (IN 90). On this early occasion, Equiano fails to fill the role of master
when he relies exclusively on violence. Much later, however, when he becomes the overseer of
a group of slaves in the West Indies, his biggest failure seems to be in his eventual departure.
When he chooses the leave, he describes how “they…were very sorry, as I had always treated
them with care and affection, and did every thing I could to comfort the poor creatures, and
render their condition easy” (IN 211). When he learns that, after he leaves and a white man
replaces him, all of the slaves have drowned in an escape attempt, Equiano must manage the
11
reactions of three separate identities. As empathizer with the slaves, Equiano laments the white
overseer’s ill treatment that enticed them to attempt an escape—yet the businessman and
overseer in Equiano cannot help but mention that, as a consequence, the plantation “was left
uncultivated,” and reports flatly that the owner “was now returning to Jamaica to purchase more
slaves and stock it again.” Furthermore, Equiano the sailor must comment that, however tragic
the death of the slaves may be, the sequence of events is simple: “not knowing where to go, or
how to manage the canoe, they were all drowned” (IN 218).
Apart from the bonds of slavery, Equiano describes a variety of bonds throughout the
Interesting Narrative and illustrates the ways in which he alternates between them. Equiano
describes how he has not simply entered into a state of slavery when he is kidnapped, but how
his experience in slavery and freedom has been an exchange of one bond for another. He says:
By the horrors of that trade I was first torn away from all the tender connexions that were
dear to my heart; but these, through the mysterious ways of Providence, I ought to regard
as infinitely more than compensated by the introduction I have thence obtained to the
knowledge of the Christian religion, and of a nation which, by its liberal sentiments, its
humanity, the glorious freedom of its government, and its proficiency in arts and sciences,
has exalted the dignity of human nature (IN 7).
Despite referring to them as “tender,” Equiano admits that the connections he had within African
culture were still a kind of bond, asserting the same idea later when discussing the mark of his
tribe, saying, “I was also destined to receive it by my parents” (IN 33). Destiny is a bond that
comes in the form of prescribed future events, yet Equiano is taken from Africa and never
receives the mark; he proves that his bond to his destiny is not absolute, but may be exchanged
for another.
12
Changeable bondage situations occur frequently in the narrative, beginning with
Equiano’s initial captivity experience. When a kidnapper first enters his village, the children
“entangled him with cords, so that he could not escape till some of the grown people came and
secured him” (IN 47). Here, the kidnapper is bound by the children, but this bondage soon
transforms into another when the adults take him into their custody. Shortly after the children
catch this kidnapper, other kidnappers “got over our walls” and take Equiano as their captive.
The kidnappers who take Equiano infiltrate the walls that tie the tribe together as a community,
enforcing an exchange of community bonds for the bondage of slavery.
Even after Equiano has been freed, he must still navigate alternate states of bondage. In
one case, a light after nine o’clock at night prompts the police to take him into custody, and they
subsequently charge him to “either pay some dollars, or be flogged” (IN 158). Held in legal
custody, Equiano may change these bonds for either a financial obligation, or a moment of return
to the degradation of his former slave state with the physical bond of flogging. He describes how,
as a free black, in breaking from the bondage of slavery he has also severed protective ties with
white men. “Some of these people knew that I was a free man; but, as the man of the house was
not free, and had his master to protect him, they did not take the same liberty with him they did
with me.” In using the word “liberty” to describe the way in which the white police have abused
his rights, Equiano ironically shows how he has not only exchanged forms of bondage, but in
fact adopted a form of freedom that is itself a kind of burden.
13
TRIFLING PROVIDENCE
Even as Equiano incorporates an account of spiritual conversion into his Interesting
Narrative, one of the key qualities he uses to define himself is “fortunate.” Fortune rather than
God frequently seems the primary cause behind even grave or miraculous events and
circumstances in his life. When, in an engagement with a French ship, he witnesses a scene of
widespread death, he attributes the demise of his fellow men to fate rather than divine will: “I
was a witness of the dreadful fate of many of my companions, who, in the twinkling of an eye,
were dashed in pieces, and launched into eternity. Happily I escaped unhurt, though the shot and
splinters flew thick about me during the whole fight” (IN 83). Equiano shows a concern with
spirituality and the afterlife through his mention of eternity, but, despite his Christian faith,
seems unwilling to consider an eternal heaven, instead calling it an “awful eternity” earlier in the
same passage. He refers to the deaths of his fellow sailors as “fate,” suggesting that their deaths
are predetermined and unavoidable, and his own survival he attributes to luck only. Through no
efforts of his own—for danger surrounds him constantly—he “happily” avoids death.
Equiano often links the concepts of fortune and otherworldly influence in such a manner
as to attribute to luck events that he might easily present as divinely authored. When confronted
with the possibility of amputation, he reports, “I always said I would rather die than suffer it; and
happily (I thank God) I recovered without the operation” (IN 71). While he defines luck as the
main cause of escaping the operation, he parenthetically thanks God, linking the two ruling
elements but grammatically emphasizing hap over God. He responds similarly when, later in the
narrative, he makes the good decision to purchase turkeys rather than steers as a business venture:
14
In the course of a few days more, the few bullocks that remained were found dead; but
the turkies I had, though on the deck, and exposed to so much wet and bad weather, did
well, and I afterwards gained near three hundred per cent. on the sale of them; so that in
the event it proved a happy circumstance for me that I had not bought the bullocks I
intended, for they must have perished with the rest; I could not help looking upon this,
otherwise trifling circumstance, as a particular providence of God, and was thankful
accordingly (IN 143).
Rather than end his reflection considering himself merely fortunate, he goes on to describe what
he sees as the obvious presence of God in the events; yet even as Equiano claims to regard the
situation as evidence of God’s providence, he simultaneously undermines this assertion by
calling it a “happy circumstance” and portraying the event as good fortune.
In evaluating events in his narrative, Equiano portrays fortune as largely responsible not
only for what he would otherwise see as divine acts, but indeed for actions he himself commits
and those committed by his fellow men. While still in Africa and serving as slave to an African
family, he recalls having carelessly killed a chicken with a stray stone, describing it as “an
unlucky event” in which he “happened to toss a small pebble” (IN 49). The language Equiano
uses to describe the episode points clearly away from himself and towards fortune, despite the
obviousness of his own impetus to act. Equiano responds in a similar manner to the actions of
other men when he is saved from drowning; he recounts in one case, “I should unavoidably have
been drowned, but for the assistance of some watermen, who providentially came to my relief”
(IN 79). Here Equiano attributes his salvation, which is clearly at the hands of the watermen, to
providential happenings, and calls the men’s action merely “assistance,” thereby trivializing their
role. He responds in an almost identical manner later, in a similar situation, when he says, “but
15
providentially some people were near, who gave me immediate assistance, and thereby I escaped
drowning” (IN 175). Once again, anonymous providence is the main force behind Equiano’s
salvation while the people merely lend assistance.
In another episode, Equiano subordinates not only his and his fellow sailors’ actions but
also God’s hand to the sway of chance. Afraid of being run aground in shallow waters, he recalls,
“Luckily for us the water was deep; and the sea was not angry, but…after having for some time
laboured hard, and being many in number, we were saved through God’s mercy” (IN 158).
Presumably, the ship escapes danger through the diligent labor of the crew, yet Equiano portrays
their efforts as inconsequential in their juxtaposition with the statement, “we were saved through
God’s mercy.” Even God’s mercy, however, is not the ultimate source of salvation, but rather a
vehicle through which the actual power, fortune, operates. It is only “luckily” that man and God
are even afforded the opportunity to act.
Attributing acts of man or God to fortune, essentially suggesting that the result of
conscious decisions, human or divine, happens at random, produces an uncanny effect for the
reader, but Equiano has an understandable motivation to subscribe to fortune as the ultimate
reality. He depicts fortune as a distinctly and reliably changeable element throughout the
narrative. In the beginning of the narrative, when sold away from the African family into which
he feels he has been adopted, he recalls his impression of fortune as a balanced and changing
force: “at the very moment I dreamed of the greatest happiness, I found myself the most
miserable: and it seemed as if fortune wished to give me this taste of joy only to render the
reverse more poignant” (IN 53). Despite his feeling in this moment that fortune lends him joy
only in order to enhance the effect of pain, his portrayal of fortune as moving in turns from good
to bad allows him to also preserve a sense of hope that future misfortune will pass. He explicitly
16
calls the reader’s attention to the variability of fortune towards the conclusion of the narrative,
when he reports, “My life and fortune have been extremely chequered, and my adventures
various” (IN 236). Fortune seems an appropriate active force behind the events in Equiano’s life
because fortune is, like Equiano, in constant motion and continually changing. The ever-turning
wheel of fortune is an embodiment of vicissitude comparable to Equiano himself, and thus
provides him with a useful structure for narrating his checkered existence.
In addition to being fortunate, Equiano describes himself as “one favoured,” and favor,
like fortune, is constantly changing. The passive structure of the description “one favoured”
creates uncertainty about who or what favors Equiano; while Equiano is dependent on others’
opinion of him in order to be favored, he maneuvers his actions at all times in order to secure
favor from readers, captains, masters, and God. Thus Equiano’s description of himself as
favored does not seem to require a benefactor at all—while others must favor him in order for
him to be favored, garnering favor from others seems to be inherent in Equiano’s nature.
He makes it clear, in fact, early in the narrative that even as a child he is naturally favored by
God. He describes the experience of first arriving in the British colonies:
I had been some time in this miserable, forlorn, and much dejected state, without having
any one to talk to, which made my life a burden, when the kind and unknown hand of the
Creator (who in very deed leads the blind in a way they know not) now began to appear,
to my comfort… (IN 63).
Equiano also experiences favor early in the narrative in observing God’s apparent
judgment of others. Equiano recounts an incident of the “judgment of God” upon a fellow sailor:
One morning a young man was looking up to the fore-top, and in a wicked tone, common
on shipboard, d—d his eyes about something. Just at the moment some small particles of
17
dirt fell into his left eye, and by the evening it was very much inflamed. The next day it
grew worse; and within six or seven days he lost it. From this ship my master was
appointed a lieutenant on board the Royal George. When he was going he wished me to
stay on board the Preston, to learn the French horn (IN 72).
In this situation, Equiano experiences what he perceives as simple cause and effect—the sailor’s
blasphemy displeases God and God punishes him. The man swiftly suffers the consequences of
falling out of favor with God and accordingly loses the favor of Equiano as well, who moves
quickly from the basic events of the incident, which he calls “trifling,” into a discussion of his
master’s rank and his peculiar desire that Equiano should learn to play French horn. Yet later,
Equiano witnesses a similar case in which a man named Mondle, whose behavior is also
questionable, instead escapes the destruction of his cabin through the favor of God. Equiano
describes how Mondle, a man of “indifferent morals,” seems visited by prophetic dreams:
One night, the 5th of April, being terrified with a dream, he awoke in so great a fright that
he could not rest in his bed any longer, nor even remain in his cabin; and he went upon
deck about four o’clock in the morning extremely agitated. He immediately told those
upon the deck of the agonies of his mind, and the dream which occasioned it; in which he
said he had seen many things very awful, and had been warned by St. Peter to repent,
who told him his time was short. This he said had greatly alarmed him, and he was
determined to alter his life (IN 86).
Convinced of the divine properties of his dream, Mondle immediately endeavors to alter his fate:
However, he made a vow that he never would drink strong liquors again; and he
immediately got a light, and gave away his sea-stores of liquor. After which, his
agitation still continuing, he began to read the scriptures, hoping to find some relief; and
18
soon afterwards he laid himself down again on his bed, and endeavored to compose
himself to sleep, but to no purpose; his mind still continuing in a state of agony. By this
time it was exactly half after seven in the morning; I was then under the half deck at the
great cabin door; and all at once I heard the people in the waist cry out most fearfully—
“The Lord have mercy upon us! We are all lost! The Lord have mercy upon us!”—Mr.
Mondle hearing the cries, immediately ran out of his cabin; and we were instantly struck
by the Lynne, a forty-gun ship, Captain Clerk, which nearly ran us down (IN 86).
Rather than punishing Mondle for his immoral behavior, God seems to favor him following his
change of heart. However, Equiano reminds the reader of how narrowly Mondle’s favor with
God has allowed him to escape judgment. While the rest of the ship is in very little real danger
when struck, Mondle comes very near to being killed:
However, before Mr. Mondle had got four steps from his cabin door, she struck our ship,
with her cutwater, right in the middle of his bed and cabin, and ran it up to the combings
of the quarter deck hatchway, and above three feet below water, and in a minute there
was not a bit of wood to be seen where Mr. Mondle’s cabin stood; and he was so near
being killed, that some of the splinters tore his face. As Mr. Mondle must inevitably have
perished from this accident, had he not been alarmed in the very extraordinary way I have
related, I could not help regarding this as an awful interposition of Providence for his
preservation…This escape of Mr. Mondle, which he, as well as myself, always
considered as a singular act of Providence, I believe had a great influence on his life and
conduct ever afterwards (IN 86-87).
19
While Equiano identifies Mondle’s survival as dependent on the good will of Providence, he also
clearly recognizes Mondle’s role in securing favor through his drastic change in behavior—a
memorable lesson for both Mondle and himself.
Equaino seems to remember this lesson of repentance soon thereafter, when his hopes of
attaining freedom are frustrated and his master sells him to Captain Doran. He sees his
continued state of enslavement as evidence of a loss of favor with God, recalling, “I wept bitterly
for some time: and began to think that I must have done something to displease the Lord, that he
thus punished me so severely” (IN 95). Having judged his situation as the result of unfavorable
conduct, he immediately begins to speculate as to the specific cause of his change of favor:
I recollected that on the morning of our arrival at Deptford I had rashly sworn that as
soon as we reached London I would spend the day in rambling and sport. My conscience
smote me for this unguarded expression: I felt that the Lord was able to disappoint me in
all things, and immediately considered my present situation as a judgment of Heaven on
account of my presumption in swearing: I therefore, with contrition of heart,
acknowledged my transgression to God, and poured out my soul before him with
unfeigned repentance, and with earnest supplications I besought him not to abandon me
in my distress, nor cast me from his mercy for ever.
In the moment that Equiano begins to feel that God is able to disappoint his hopes, he begins
immediately to repent in order to regain favor with God. Additionally, he goes on to speculate
that “trials and disappointments are sometimes for our good, and I thought God might perhaps
have permitted this in order to teach me wisdom and resignation,” suggesting that even when it
appears that Equiano is not favored by God, God is still acting for his good. In his efforts to
attain his freedom, Equiano is forced to acknowledge his dependence on the favor of others, but
20
the degree to which he portrays himself as favored grants him a kind of power even when God’s
actions on his behalf are not overt.
Equiano views being a favorite of God as beneficial because it lends him a kind of power
over his own situation, yet at times he wishes to use his status to employ a more expansive and
direct power. He recalls his thoughts upon arrival in the West Indies: “I called upon God’s
thunder, and his avenging power, to direct the stroke of death to me, rather than permit me to
become a slave, and to be sold from lord to lord” (IN 98). Why, if he is favored by God, should
he be allowed to be traded as a slave when the death he wishes for is such an easy request to
grant? Later, he redirects his request towards his oppressors, recalling, “I now, in the agony of
distress and indignation, wished that the ire of God, in his forked lightening, might transfix these
cruel oppressors among the dead” (IN 118).
While Equiano’s attempts to use his favor with God as leverage where human life is
concerned are unfruitful, he sees his business ventures as a far more accurate manifestation of his
favor with God. Despite his own adept efforts at trading various goods, he asserts that he
“trusted to the Lord to be with me” in business, suggesting that his favor with the God he trusts is
the reason for his success (IN 116). In one particular episode Equiano measures God’s favor in
concrete financial terms; he and another man have three bags of fruit to sell, which are
confiscated by some white men. After some debate, the thieves return two of the three bags,
both of which belong to Equiano, and keep the third, which belongs to the other man. Equiano
then describes how their situation changes:
The poor old man, he then did look up to God on high, which so moved me with pity for
him, that I gave him nearly one third of my fruits. We then proceeded to the market to
sell them; and Providence was more favourable to us than we could have expected, for
21
we sold our fruits uncommonly well; I got for mine about thirty-seven bits. Such a
surprising reverse of fortune in so short a space of time seemed like a dream to me, and
proved no small encouragement for me to trust the Lord in any situation (IN 118).
The men keep his friend’s bag because it contains both kinds of fruit and return Equiano’s bags,
which are unmixed. While the men’s choice is a matter of convenience and not the result of any
specific action on Equiano’s part, he still seems to feel completely entitled the two bags he has
regained by chance until he hears his friend’s prayer. The man prays to God, yet it is Equiano
who responds, offering the man a third of his own fruits out of the pity he feels at hearing the
prayer. While Equiano, not God, answers the prayer, God seems to display his favor later in the
sale of the fruit. The favor that Equiano grants his fellow sailor seems to make him more
favorable in the eyes of God, not only resulting in monetary returns but also reinforcing
Equiano’s belief in his own power to change his fortune through favorability with God.
In the case of his fruit sales, Equiano sees his favor for his friend as directly resulting in
favor with God, yet in other cases, especially as he works to achieve his freedom, he frequently
blends his own work with the work of God. In preparing for a voyage from Montserrat to
Philadelphia, he describes, “I worked with double alacrity, from the hope of getting money
enough by these voyages to buy my freedom, if it should please God; and also to see the city of
Philadelphia” (IN 124). While Equiano believes that God’s approval is requisite for him to attain
freedom, it is also clear that Equiano is in control of his efforts and that all God must do is
refrain from interfering. The same sentiment is compounded when his master suspects him of
meaning to attempt an escape in Philadelphia. He claims,
I now told my master, I did not say I would run away in Philadelphia, neither did I mean
it, as he did not use me ill, nor yet the captain: for if they did, I certainly would have
22
made some attempts before now; but as I thought that if it were God’s will I ever should
be freed it would be so; and, on the contrary, if it was not his will it would not happen; so
I hoped, if ever I were freed, whilst I was used well, it should be by honest means; but as
I could not help myself, he must do as he please! I could only hope and trust in the God
of heaven; and at that instant my mind was big with inventions, and full of schemes to
escape (IN 125).
As he defends himself, Equiano uses his dependence on God’s favor as evidence that he does not
wish to escape; the same claim, however, also suggests that if Equiano does obtain freedom,
whether by purchase or by flight, God is responsible. Equiano portrays himself as benefactor by
suggesting that, whatever plans God may have for his freedom, he hopes that it will be obtained
fairly through purchase, showing his own favor for his owner in his desire that he should be
justly compensated for the loss of his slave. In displaying favor for his master, Equiano may not
only hope to achieve, through his kindness, increased favor with both God and his master, but
also asserts the power he has over his master as a valuable possession. Equiano again combines
his intentions and God’s intentions with his final statement, in which, while claiming that he can
do nothing but trust God, he is simultaneously consumed by his own plans for escape.
Equiano frequently attributes the direct results of his actions and the actions of others to
God’s favor. In one case, he recalls, “I said, ‘Let us again face the winds and seas, and swear not,
but trust to God, and he will deliver us.’ We therefore once more set sail; and with hard labour,
in seven days time, arrived safe at Georgia” (IN 158). While Equiano directly attributes their
safe arrival to the sailors’ labor, this simple cause and effect only seems possible after they begin
to trust God and earn his favor by refraining from blasphemy. However, even if the ultimate
23
arrival is not a result of the sailors’ mere labor but God’s favor as well, Equiano clearly works to
establish their favorability by regulating their behavior.
Equiano in the same way works diligently to become favorable to his masters and
hopefully ensure better treatment, yet it is ultimately not his actions that establish favor but
God’s or even fortune’s favor. He claims at one point that “I had the good fortune to please my
master,” subjugating both his own actions and the favor of his master to the greater force of
fortune, which, though variable, works at this specific moment in his favor (IN 103). Later, in
the hands of a different master, he describes,
This gentleman was an excellent master; he was exceedingly kind and good-tempered;
and allowed me in the evenings to attend my schools, which I esteemed a great blessing;
therefore I thanked God and him for it, and used all diligence to improve the opportunity.
This diligence and attention recommended me to the notice and care of my three
preceptors, who, on their parts, bestowed a great deal of pains in my instruction, and
besides were very kind to me (IN 166).
He sees his master’s kindness as the product of God’s favor for him, yet he uses his own efforts
to enhance his situation and make every possible gain from his favorability, both to God and men.
24
THE TWO-EDGED BONDS OF LANGUAGE
A key distinction separating Olaudah Equiano from his contemporary slave narrative
writers is his mastery of written English. While other authors of similar narratives, such as
Ignatius Sancho, narrated their stories through a white editorial mouthpiece, leaving readers
unsure of the purity of the text at any moment, Equiano emphasizes his own voice in the subtitle
of his narrative, “Written by Himself.” At the same time, in order to avoid seeming
presumptuous, his address to readers portrays Equiano as an “unlettered African,” thus
establishing a varied self-portrait even prior to the text of the narrative. Equiano seems
interested not only in relating his progress from his African childhood to a published English
author, but more importantly in portraying his changing relationship to language.
As Equiano changes hands as a slave and eventually gains his freedom, he must navigate
a social environment that is constantly in flux. Language and Equiano’s ability or inability to
use it repeatedly determines his status and degree of freedom within a given group, and, as he
suggests is inherent in his character, he must both make his voice heard and use his voice
skillfully in order to capitalize on his connections. When his kidnappers deliver Equiano to an
African master, for example, he reports, “This man had two wives and some children, and they
all used me extremely well…these people spoke exactly the same language with us” (IN 48).
The family’s kind treatment of Equiano seems fundamentally linked to the experience of shared
language that enables the establishment of a human bond between Equiano and his captors.
Despite having been removed by force from his home and family, Equiano forges a critical
linguistic connection with his owners.
25
Even when Equiano changes hands, he explains of his second African owners, “all their
treatment of me, made me forget that I was a slave. The language of these people resembled
ours so nearly, that we understood each other perfectly…[I began] to forget by degrees my
misfortunes” (IN 53). Equiano has moved from a group that shares his language exactly to one
whose language merely resembles his own, yet the bonds of captivity once again transform into
human connection through a shared verbal bond. Despite his slave status Equiano once again
feels free because of his ability to understand and be understood.
Once he has moved into the hands of white owners, however, Equiano must learn the
intricacies of the English language. Early in his encounters with white men, Equiano as well as
his fellow Africans are at a loss to understand even the body language of their enslavers. He
recalls how “Several of the strangers also shook hands with us black people, and made motions
with their hands, signifying, I suppose, we were to go to their country; but we did not understand
them” (IN 57-58). This inability to understand even the hand motions of the white men
emphasizes the fundamental division between Equiano and his enslavers, dramatizing the
vastness of the linguistic divide that Equiano must bridge in order to attain any kind of power
within this new group. Equiano’s plight is further worsened by the loss of his ability to
communicate with the other Africans who surround him on the slave ship. The others have
apparently been brought from a different part of Africa and speak a different language—one that
Equiano cannot understand, for he recalls, “I was now exceedingly miserable, and thought
myself worse off than any of the rest of my companions; for they could talk to each other, but I
had no person to speak to that I could understand” (IN 62). While communication with his
captors is his ultimate goal, Equiano feels an even greater sense of detachment and
powerlessness because of his complete loss of connection through language.
26
Equiano emphasizes the integral role of language in achieving understanding later in the
narrative when he begins to gain a command of English, exulting, “I could now speak English
tolerably well, and I perfectly understood everything that was said” (IN 77). While he evaluates
his English speaking ability as only moderate, his understanding is flawless, providing a
connection with the sailors who surround him. Understanding is not initially so easy for Equiano
to achieve—before he can feel a sense of connection to those around him through language, he
must navigate his relationships with white men through a language of which he has an
incomplete understanding. As an outsider to the English language, Equiano is frequently
confused, and the division created by this gap in language ability concerns Equiano. One notable
misunderstanding occurs aboard ship, when “people told me in jest they would kill and eat me,
but I thought them in earnest” (IN 64). His confusion at the white men’s words not only causes
him to fear them, but furthermore allows the men to amuse themselves at his expense. He is
careful to point out, however, the difference between his misunderstanding at the time and the
understanding of the subtleties of insincerity with which he reads the experience in retrospect.
Even his master, whom Equiano sees as essentially benevolent, enjoys the same abuse of
language as the sailors on the slave ship:
He used to often tell him [Dick] jocularly that he would kill and eat me. Sometimes he
would say to me—the black people were not good to eat, and would ask me if we did not
eat people in my country. I said, No; then he said he would kill Dick (as he always called
him) first, and afterwards me. Though this hearing relieved my mind a little to myself, I
was alarmed for Dick, and whenever he was called I used to be very much afraid he was
to be killed (IN 65-66).
27
Equiano has difficulty recognizing the humor in his master’s remarks which, while he
acknowledges they are made in jest, are pointedly malicious and violent, and responds with
childish relief to the suggestion that his master will eat his friend first. While Equiano has the
power to understand the words that are spoken to him, he becomes the victim of his inability to
understand the unspoken meaning of the language. Once more he illustrates a discrepancy in his
understanding of his situation early in his exposure to white men and their language and later as
a master of language writing his narrative. By portraying his earlier self as especially naïve in
his understanding of his master and his master’s language, Equiano not only later appears more
well-spoken in comparison but also asserts his linguistic mastery in the narration of multiple
layers of implication.
Equiano does experience a sense of understanding with his friend, Dick, of whom he says,
“Dick used to be my interpreter; for I could make free with him, and he always instructed me
with pleasure” (IN 68). Through the exchange of language, Equiano establishes a connection
with his friend, and despite being held in captivity, Equiano experiences a kind of freedom as a
result of this connection. The ability to use language once again allows connections of
friendship to eclipse Equiano’s bonds of slavery, thus enabling a sense of freedom within
enslavement. Not all white men, however, establish a friendly connection with Equiano through
words, and the bonds created by language are, like the bonds of family ties and slavery,
alternatively beneficial and destructive. As he becomes more proficient in his use of language,
Equiano begins to encounter opposition from white men who feel threatened by his voice. When
he asserts that Captain Doran has no right to sell him after he has been baptized, for instance, he
claims:
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I have been baptized; and by the laws of the land no man has a right to sell me: and I
added, that I had heard a lawyer, and others at different times, tell my master so. They
both then said that those people who told me so were not my friends: but I replied—It
was very extraordinary that other people did not know the law as well as they. Upon this
Captain Doran said I talked too much English; and if I did not behave myself well, and be
quiet, he had a method on board to make me. I was too well convinced of his power over
me to doubt what he said: and my former sufferings in the slave-ship presenting
themselves to my mind, the recollection of them made me shudder (IN 93-94).
Here Equiano uses the words of others to overtly criticize the white men who treat him as
property when he believes he has been made immune to such treatment through baptism. He has
apparently gained enough experience with the English language and communicating with white
men to know which men and statements to trust—he subscribes to the logic of the lawyer who
has told him he cannot legally be held as a slave, and he soundly disregards Captain Doran’s
statement that this lawyer is not his friend. Furthermore, despite having only been acquainted
with Doran for mere moments, Equiano can judge their interactions well enough to know not to
doubt his words when he threatens Equiano. Earlier he might have been thrown into confusion
by the conflicting statements of white men, but the Equiano who speaks “too much English” can
not only make himself heard, but is also skilled enough to know how his voice will be interpreted
as well as how to interpret the voices of others.
Even as a free man, Equiano must continue to deal with the ramifications of his loud and
well-spoken voice existing in the language of his oppressors. When two white men in Savannah
attempt to kidnap him by pretending he is a fugitive slave, he recalls,
29
On this they made up to me, and were about to handle me; but I told them to be still and
keep off, for I had seen those tricks played upon other free blacks, and they must not
think to serve me so. At this they paused a little, and one said to the other—it will not do;
and the other answered that I talked too good English. I replied, I believed I did; and I
had also with me a revengeful stick equal to the occasion; and my mind was likewise
good. Happily, however, it was not used; and, after we had talked together a little in this
manner, the rogues left me (IN 159).
Equiano’s ability to defend himself verbally frightens the two men, who decide immediately that
they cannot successfully kidnap a man who will so readily and skillfully speak out against them.
His linguistic indomitability directly protects him from being forcibly taken, lending him a
physical advantage that he capitalizes on by further threatening the men with violence. Despite
his threats, however, Equiano is able to dissuade the men using words only, proof of the
effectiveness of his loud and skillful voice.
Just as Equiano must use white men’s language to assert a certain power within their
communities, he must also make decisions about what language he learns from the white men
who surround him. Beyond having a loud voice and being well-spoken, Equiano associates the
fundamental qualities of his name and personality with the cultural respect for language that he
inherits from his Eboe tribe. Surrounded by sailors, however, Equiano experiences a far
different linguistic culture, and on one ship in particular, the Hope, under Captain Richard
Strange, sailing from London to Cadiz, he recalls, “In a short time after I was on board, I heard
the name of God much blasphemed, and I feared greatly lest I should catch the horrible
infection” (IN 188). While Equiano takes pride earlier in the narrative in his propensity for
30
picking up languages—various African languages as well as English—he fears that the abuse of
language may become infectious.
Equiano sees having come from a culture unacquainted with swearing as integral to his
character, especially within his spiritual experience. Just as language serves as a connective
force between men, Equiano also sees a linguistic connection between the efforts of man and the
actions of God. Words seem capable of bridging this world and the next when Equiano’s captain
asserts his right to freedom—“This speech of the captain was like life to the dead to me, and
instantly my soul glorified God” (IN 126). The captain’s words when voicing Equiano’s
freedom not only connect the worlds of the living and the dead in Equiano’s metaphor but
concretely link Equiano’s world and the next world when the captain’s words spawn immediate
praise for God. The captain’s words have the power not only to dictate Equiano’s fate but even
more interestingly to inspire a connection between earthly actions and the divine.
Aboard a ship traveling from South Carolina, Equiano notes the mystical allure of
language, recalling the experience of witnessing the written word:
I had often seen my master and Dick employed in reading; and I had a great curiosity to
talk to the books, as I thought they did; and so to learn how all things had a beginning: for
that purpose I have often taken up a book, and have talked to it, and then put my ears to it,
when alone, in hopes it would answer me; and I have been very much concerned when I
found it remained silent (IN 68).
Written language seems distant and magical to Equiano, qualities he emphasizes with the
comical portrayal of his attempts to “talk to the books”—yet at the same time Equiano illustrates
that, while distant, language is never something he views as unattainable. From early in his
enslavement Equiano senses the importance of language, implying a command of divine power
31
by linking it to universal origins and truth. Knowing that he can and must grapple with the
English language, in this episode he makes his struggle quite concrete. Later, having learned to
read and write English masterfully himself, Equiano eagerly uses his skills to instill the same
kind of mystification in the West Indians that he himself once felt. He describes an experience
with rioting natives:
When I had formed my determination, I went in the midst of them, and taking hold of the
governor, I pointed up to the heavens. I menaced him and the rest: I told them God lived
there, and that he was angry with them, and they must not quarrel so; that they were all
brothers, and if they did not leave off, and go away quietly, I would take the book
(pointing to the bible), read, and tell God to make them dead. This was something like
magic. The clamour immediately ceased, and I gave them some rum and a few other
things… (IN 208).
Equiano once again portrays the book as commanding mystical power, this time more explicitly
divine. While his use of the written word to connote an otherworldly power is reminiscent of his
own wonder at seeing his master and Dick read, Equiano also suggests that not just the book
itself but rather his use of the book is “something like magic.” The Bible itself of course does
not command the power that Equiano claims it does; the way in which he utilizes the book
within his own rhetoric, however, creates the ultimate sense of potency. Equiano both
emphasizes the loudness of his voice, with which he purports to command God himself, and
illustrates the skill and even duplicity with which he now employs the spoken and written word.
Beyond using the divine power of words to intimidate unruly natives, Equiano commands
scriptural language from his very frontispiece, where he is pictured holding the Bible open to a
passage he quotes later in the narrative: “Neither is there salvation in any other, for there is no
32
other name under heaven given among men whereby we must be saved, but only Jesus Christ”
(IN 192). The emphasis that Equiano places on the name of Jesus Christ casts an interesting light
on the author’s names that come below it, suggesting a certain singularity even in the plurality of
the names Olaudah Equiano and Gustavus Vassa. The decision to appear holding the Bible open
to this verse not only portrays a spiritual conversion element of the Interesting Narrative, but
more importantly the choice of verse establishes the key importance of language. Mankind’s
salvation for all eternity depends upon a single name, and the name of Jesus Christ above all
other words commands this power to dictate the fate of all men. Equiano establishes his
narrative on this basis of the ultimate and universal power of language, and he, furthermore,
holds this power in a single hand on the cover of the book he authors, making his voice once
again both prominent and well-spoken.
Even as Equiano sees language as lending him otherworldly power, however, he
simultaneously portrays his own struggle with the destructive potential of the same divine force,
a duality he subtly (and comically) illustrates in his juxtaposition of events in the description of
Chapter IV: “The Author is baptized—Narrowly escapes drowning” (IN 77). The same force,
language, that has the singular power of salvation also has the power to invoke devastation. He
recalls one episode in which “I began to express my impatience, and I uttered with an oath,
‘Damn the vessel’s bottom out.’ But my conscience instantly smote me for the expression” (IN
148). Equiano is so convinced of the power of his own words that he feels immediate and
intense regret for his oath, and sees the danger that follows as a direct result of his words. As the
ship is surrounded by the ominous breakers and strikes the rocks, obliteration imminent, Equiano
claims,
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All my sins stared me in the face; and especially I thought that God had hurled his direful
vengeance on my guilty head for cursing the vessel on which my life depended. My
spirit at this forsook me, and I expected every moment to go to the bottom: I determined
if I should still be saved, that I would never swear again (IN 149).
Equiano generalizes his single curse to include not just one action, but all of his sins, making him
utterly guilty. Yet Equiano trusts the power of his words not only to destroy but to save, and
ensures his future salvation, should God spare him, by vowing never to swear again. In a poem
of “miscellaneous verses” reflecting on Equiano’s spiritual conversion, he writes,
“Sighs now no more would be confin’d—
They breath’d the trouble of my mind:”
I wished for death, but check’d the word,
And often pray’d unto the Lord (IN 195).
Equiano again expresses the fear that his words alone are powerful enough to invoke divine
destructive action and again attempts to negate his words in hopes that his language may also
ingratiate him to God. Convinced that his voice is heard in heaven, Equiano must be careful of
the language that he uses.
Not only Equiano, but his fellow sailors recognize the same kind of duality within the
divine implications of language. In times of trouble, many of the sailors swear that spells have
been placed on the boat, and they combat the evil power of these spells with words of their own
addressed to heaven. Yet even as these sailors pray to God, Equiano reminds us that they are the
same sailors who have abused language—when they fear death, “All the swearers on board now
began to call on the God of Heaven to assist them: and sure enough beyond our comprehension
he did assist us” (IN 156). The sailors who pray and whose prayers are answered are
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simultaneously the “swearers”—a word that in itself contains the dual connotation of either
swearing an oath in earnest or blaspheming and profaning. The act of swearing embodies a dual
notion of either cursing or appealing to God, which Equiano expresses more explicitly later when
his ship is in danger in Greenland:
Our appearance now became truly lamentable; pale dejection seized every countenance;
many, who had been before blasphemers, in this our distress began to call on the good
God of heaven for his help; and in the time of our utter need he heard us, and against
hope, or human probability, delivered us! (IN 175-176)
The same men who habitually curse God transform their language into supplications that
Equiano wishes to clearly show do not go unheeded. It is not a question of whether Equiano and
his sailors will be heard, but rather whether the desperation of their pleas will outweigh the
destructive power of the casual blasphemies of the past.
Not only can his own words command both saving and destroying power, but the words
of scripture seem to Equiano capable of eliciting both comfort and terror. In ruminating on a
sermon by Rev. Dr. Peckwell concerning a passage in Lamentations, Equiano recalls,
It was a wonderful sermon; he clearly shewed that a living man had no cause to complain
for the punishments of his sins; he evidently justified the Lord in all his dealings with the
sons of men; he also shewed the justice of God in the eternal punishment of the wicked
and impenitent. The discourse seemed to me like a two-edged sword cutting all ways; it
afforded me much joy, intermingled with many fears about my soul (IN 187).
The actions of God seem to Equiano to be simultaneously just and frightening, and just as
Equiano’s experience with language is alternatively empowering and victimizing, the words of
scripture describing God’s justice have a two-sided effect, eliciting joy and pain simultaneously.
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Equiano distinctly prefers this complexity of language, however, to the absence of language he
experiences among the Quakers. In Quaker services, members of the congregation speak
whenever they feel moved to do so, and when no one feels divine inspiration, which is often, the
congregation will remain silent, and as a result Equiano remains “as much in the dark as ever”
after attending a service (IN 179). Without language, Equiano can gain no new understanding,
and he recalls the experience tongue-in-cheek when he describes the love feast, where “much
was said by every speaker of the providence of God, and his unspeakable mercies to each of
them” (IN 184). These Christians, unlike the Quakers, readily vocalize their experiences of the
divine, despite their recognition of something inherently ineffable about the mercies of God.
Equiano prefers people who attempt to communicate experiences they know are impossible to
express to people who deny themselves a means of expression at all—for Equiano, to deny the
constant presence of his voice is to deny something inherent in his name and identity.
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STYLED NARRATOR OF A COLOURED TALE
Even as Equiano portrays himself as having certain fundamental qualities expressed by
the meaning of his name, his name itself becomes a various and changing entity. Beyond his
duality of African and English names, Equiano makes his reader aware that he has a number of
names or titles applied to him. When he meets Daniel Queen, for instance, who teaches him to
dress hair and to read the Bible, the sailors around him develop a different idea of his identity:
“In short he [Daniel Queen] was like a father to me; and some even used to call me after his
name; they also styled me the black Christian. Indeed I almost loved him with the affection of a
son” (IN 92). Equiano inhabits an interesting naming situation in which he obtains titles by his
association with a white man as well as his subscription to a white religion. Equiano’s language
describing the situation, however, does not allow his reader to forget his particular position
within the naming scheme; as human property aboard ship, the white men who surround him
have the power to stylize and thus transform his identity, and as a slave he can only “almost”
love Queen as a father.
Upon gaining his freedom, Equiano again obtains a new title. He writes, “In short, the
fair as well as black people immediately styled me by a new appellation, to me the most
desirable in the world, which was freeman, and at the dances I gave, my Georgia superfine blue
cloathes made no indifferent appearance, as I thought” (IN 138). While Equiano enjoys his new
title, others still define him. As a freeman, he is defined by white and black alike, yet he is aware
of how his outward title and appearance define him, and notes the role of the new clothes he
buys, and thus new appearance he puts on, in celebration of his new status.
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Equiano continues to gain status as a freeman in his work as a sailor. He writes of his
rise through the ranks, “I now obtained a new appellation, and was called captain. This elated
me not a little, and it was quite flattering to my vanity to be thus styled by as high a title as any
sable freeman in this place possessed” (IN 144). Equiano is quite explicit about the superficial
aspects of his new title—he describes himself as having obtained the title, portraying the title
itself as a kind of commodity, and rather than recalling having ascended to the role of captain,
emphasizes the fact that he has been given the new name of captain. And yet again, while
Equiano is pleased with his new title, he is again “styled” by the words of others.
The titles that Equiano acquires throughout his narrative are various, and he realizes that
they are not always descriptive of his fundamental identity or even flattering to his vanity. After
his conversion to Christianity, for instance, Equiano becomes quite passionate about discussing
the Bible and what God has done for him, and remarks,
When I got out of the cabin, and told some of the people what the Lord had done for me,
alas! who could understand me or believe my report! None but to whom the arm of the
Lord was revealed. I became a barbarian to them in talking of the love of Christ: his
name was to me as ointment poured forth; indeed it was sweet to my soul, but to them a
rock of offence (IN 191).
No one around Equiano accepts his spiritual message, and he is isolated in such a way as to make
his words offensive and even barbaric. Instead of being troubled by the people’s unwillingness
to accept his religion, Equiano makes note of his discomfort when, because of the people’s
response to him, he transforms from a Christian into a barbarian, and the name of Christ becomes
offensive rather than refreshing.
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Equiano furthermore does not speak negatively of the people who do not accept his
proselytizing. He simply remarks that people who have not shared his spiritual experience
cannot understand or believe him, recognizing the differences with which different people hear
the same words and, in a sense, validating his listeners viewing him as a barbarian. Even as he
feels misunderstood and misinterpreted, he emphasizes becoming a barbarian “to them,”
reminding us of his fundamental vicissitude and the changing faces of his identity. While
another core element of Equiano’s character is for him to be favored by others, he recognizes
that fortune, too, changes. In remembering an occasion when the winds were unfavorable for
sailing, and moralizing that “though the wind was contrary for us, yet it was fair for some others,
who perhaps stood in more need of it than we,” Equiano illustrates the wisdom that comes with
recognizing multiple perspectives as well as multiple identities (IN 201).
While his contemporary readers and critics may have praised his apparent truth and
simplicity, Equiano’s careful construction of the narrative is evident when one realizes how
necessarily intricate it must be in order to create the appearance of simplicity. In his own address
prefacing the narrative, he assumes a humble attitude to assert,
I am sensible I ought to entreat your pardon for addressing to you a work so wholly
devoid of literary merit; but, as the production of an unlettered African, who is actuated
by the hope of becoming an instrument towards the relief of his suffering countrymen. I
trust that such a man, pleading in such a case, will be acquitted of boldness and
presumption (IN 7).
Equiano conveys the humble content of the passage, however, in words that connote quite the
opposite message. He who claims that he “ought” to ask his readers’ pardon does not; he who
calls himself an “unlettered African” does so in the preface to a two-hundred-page book written
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“by himself.” Rather than place himself in the passage begging pardon for an action he does not
regret, he creates a hypothetical man and a hypothetical case to do the ingratiating for him.
Equiano concludes his narrative with a similarly misleading statement: “I am far from the
vanity of thinking there is any merit in this Narrative; I hope censure will be suspended, when it
is considered that it was written by one who was as unwilling as unable to adorn the plainness of
truth by the colouring of imagination” (IN 235). Equiano again operates on the principle that his
readers will make certain assumptions about him as a slave narrative writer. He is truthful not
only because it is natural and fitting given his meager abilities, but more importantly because he
values the “plainness” of what is true. His precise language, however, speaks a different
sentiment entirely—he is necessarily neither unwilling nor unable to embellish the truth of his
tale. He calls himself as unwilling as he is unable to orchestrate fiction. While accuracy drew
Equiano’s contemporary readership and continues to tantalize modern scholarship, it is precisely
the “colouring of imagination” he denies that makes his narrative great. The details of Equiano’s
African heritage are the points of the narrative that require the most fictionalization, even if they
are historically factual, simply by virtue of their remoteness in time and memory. His readers
require the “colouring” of Equiano’s identity and of the tales of his past because of their demand
that the writer of a slave narrative be not merely an English citizen, but an African. In
“colouring” himself, Equiano enables movement between his British and African identities and
ensures that he may navigate them in such a way as to ensure favor with his readers. While he
has been given many names and his name signifies many things, he is above all a skillful
narrator—so skillful, in fact, that we must be skillful readers just to notice.
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i
Quoted passages from Mary Wollstonecraft’s review are taken from the text of The Analytical Review, May 1789.
ii
Quoted passages from Olaudah Equiano’s text and Vincent Carretta’s introduction are taken from The Interesting
Narrative. New York: Penguin Group, 1995. Citation references to Equiano’s text will be abbreviated with the
letters IN.
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