Amistad Page 10

  “What do you make of that, Captain?”

  “You said you saw them through the glass taking two whitemen in chains below?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “I’m not sure what we’ve got here. The ship is in a queer state. I can’t quite see the name. It looks like ‘Hempstead.’ And I’ve never seen a crew like that one.”

  The captain yelled to the bridge while still watching Singbe and the others row back.

  “Get us underway, Hanson. Original heading.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “I think we should get out of here fast. I don’t think water and apples is what they really have in mind. My guess is that they’re a bunch of black pirates, maybe come up from the Indies.”

  “Pirates, sir! There ain’t been pirates on this coast in more than a hundred years.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t think we’ll be hanging around to see if there’s a renaissance in thieving going on. Hanson! Be quick now.”

  The Emmeline lowered its sails and pulled starboard. By the time Singbe and the others were back on the Amistad’s deck, the big ship was nearly a half mile away. The next evening, when they weighed anchor, the captain sent out his mate with a message for the local Naval office. It spoke of a suspected contact with a “pirate ship,” manned by a crew of blacks. The captain gave the longitude and latitude of the encounter and his best guess of the ship’s course. It was the fourth such report in the last three weeks of a suspicious black-hulled ship. The Navy had already dispatched two ships to investigate the reports.

  The apples and water satiated the Amistad’s occupants for a few days. But Singbe knew their position was tenuous. He also was pretty sure that Montes had been deceiving them and that they were not on course for Africa. He decided to kill Montes. After a long discussion, Grabeau and Burnah agreed, but they would not carry out their plan until Montes could provide them with one more useful service.

  Singbe roused Montes from his sleep with a kick. Montes’s whole body twitched, startled and awake at once. He looked up. Singbe, Burnah, and Grabeau stood over him, blocking the sunlight. All three held machetes.

  Singbe squatted down and drew on the deck with a piece of chalk. It was a crude drawing of the sea, the ship, and a patch of land. Singbe tapped the land with the chalk.

  “How long to get to the closest land?”

  Montes didn’t have to understand the words to know what he was being asked. They were starving and almost out of fresh water. He looked up at Singbe and held up two fingers. Singbe grabbed him by the collar and stood up. He lead him to the wheel, chained him to its base and ran another chain from his waist to the rail.

  “Take us to the land.”

  Montes turned the wheel hard to port. His hands shook. He wasn’t sure if was from hunger or the certainty he would be dead soon.

  By noon of the next, day a pale thin shadow of land had become visible on the horizon. Montes took them in, finding a small inlet almost right away. They dropped anchor about a mile from a sandy beach. Singbe went into the captain’s cabin and came out with two pistols and two small canvas bags filled with gold coins taken from a chest. Burnah, Yaboi, and nine other men waited for him in the rowboat they had lowered into the water.

  “We will look for food,” Singbe said. “Try to trade these coins for it. If we are not back by the time the sun begins to set …”

  “We will come after you.” Grabeau interrupted.

  “No. Take the ship and sail up the coastline. Look for a safe place.”

  Grabeau laughed nervously. “What would that look like, my friend?”

  Singbe shook his head. “Just do it.”

  “I will not leave you behind to become a slave again. Any of you.”

  “I will not be a slave again. I will die first.”

  “The spirits did not keep us alive this long to suffer such a fate.”

  Singbe smiled. “We will find food and water, my friend. I promise.”

  He lowered himself into the boat and the four of them rowed through the choppy surf to the beach.

  Grabeau waited on deck nervously. About an hour after Singbe and the others left, Kimbo came up to the bridge to tell him that Ka had died. It was the fever.

  It was midafternoon when they got the rowboat pulled up out of the water. The beach was long and flat stretching away from the sea about thirty yards before breaking into rolling, high-grassed dunes. It was not like the beach at Lomboko, but neither was it like the whiteman’s land called Cuba. There were no huts or dwellings of any kind to be seen. Singbe and Burnah decided to split the group in half. Singbe and Yaboi would take four others and head up to the right. Burnah would take his men down the beach to the left. Both of the leaders had a small canvas bag of gold coins from the captain’s chest.

  The men were dressed in billowy duck pantaloons and cotton shirts they had found in crates in the hold. Some of the men decided to leave their shirts behind in the boat but Singbe wore his, dull red and collarless, unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up. He told the men to keep their swords hidden. He and Burnah had each taken a pistol. They would meet up again at the boat when the sun was two fists from the horizon.

  Singbe and his group made their way up the dunes through the tall grass. At the top of a small hill they could see the Amistad riding anchor in the calm tide. In the other direction, the beach grass and sand gave way to a small thin forest of low pines. They headed toward the treeline. About halfway through the woods they came upon a few small houses set in a circle.

  When they returned to the rowboat about an hour and a half later Singbe was worried. Neither group had found much food. His group had only been able to trade for a few chickens, a bottle of rum, and a bag of sweet potatoes. Burnah’s group had not done much better. They had two dogs, a jug of apple cider, and four beets. Together they had only been able to find six houses. The people they encountered, all white, had been frightened. One old woman who had two goats would not even look at the gold in Burnah’s hands. Instead she took the goats and herself into the house, locked the doors, and stood at one of the windows with an old musket in her hand.

  But despite the lack of food, Singbe’s group had found a brook that flowed into the sea. The water held only a hint of salt, which Singbe thought would dissipate as they moved back from the stream’s mouth. The brook was also filled with fish and crabs, which he was sure they could catch if they could fashion a net of some sort. Perhaps tomorrow. He told the men to get in the boat. They would row down to the brook, fill the water keg, and head back to the Amistad. The food they had would have to get them through the night.

  It was an odd sight to be sure, Henry Green would later say. A dozen blacks, black as coal and some nearly naked, standing around a rowboat holding a few chickens and a pair of dogs. Green, a local fisherman, had taken his wagon out to the dunes with four friends to shoot birds. They were going down to the mouth of Shelt’s Brook, which would be thick with birds of all kinds feeding on the aquatic life stranded in pools left by the receding tide. But when he saw the Africans and the tattered black schooner anchored off shore, he slapped the reins hard. Singbe and the others didn’t have time to get into the boat before the whites were upon them.

  “What do we do?”

  “Give me the coins and have the others hide their swords.”

  Singbe buttoned his shirt so the pistol stuck in the waist of his pants was hidden. Green and another man, Peletiah Fordham, hopped down from the wagon seat. Green walked up to Singbe slowly, stopped and smiled.

  “You fellas lost?”

  Singbe smiled as well but took a step back. He pointed to the ground.

  “Koo-ba?”

  “What?”

  Singbe pointed to the dunes and the land beyond it in both directions.

  “Koo-ba? Here Koo-ba?”

  Green looked around and then realized what the black was asking.

  “Naw. America. This is America. The United States.”

  Singbe had heard the word Ame
rica before. At the slave factory in Lomboko, he had heard it many times. He pointed to the ground again.

  “Slave here? Slave?”

  Green shook his head.

  “No, sir. This here is Long Island. It’s part of New York. We don’t have slavery here no more.”

  Singbe stared at him not sure what the answer had been.

  “I don’t think he believes ya, Henry,” Fordham said.

  Green turned to the wagon.

  “Boys, we got slavery here?”

  The men all said “No.” Green turned back to Singbe and shook his head hard.

  “No. Got no slaves here.”

  A huge smile exploded across Singbe’s face. He turned to the other tribesmen.

  “The whiteman says they do not have slaves in this land.”

  The tribesmen broke into laughter and shouts. Some began jumping up and down excitedly and waved the machetes over their heads. Green and Fordham took a few steps back. The others in the wagon had become a bit nervous too and fingered their guns.

  Singbe was screaming as loud as the others. But when he turned and saw the apprehension on the face of Green and the others he dropped to his knees and took Green’s hand shaking it madly. Seeing this made Green even more nervous, Singbe reached under his shirt, took out the pistol, and handed it to Green.

  “We mean you no harm, my friend.” Singbe said the words in Mende, but the meaning was clear.

  Green looked from the tribesmen and pointed out to the ship.

  “Your ship looks like she’s seen better days.”

  Singbe turned toward the Amistad and smiled.

  “Ship. Ship Africa.”

  “Africa, huh?”

  Singbe looked back to Green and made the motion of turning the ship’s wheel.

  “You ship?”

  Green nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been fishing these waters since I was a boy. Got my own boat, Lisa Marie, up the coast aways.” He wasn’t sure Singbe understood so he made the same motion of hands on the wheel and nodded his head repeatedly. “Sure, I’m a sailor.”

  Singbe smiled and walked over to Burnah and the others.

  “This whiteman knows how to drive a boat. The driver we have has deceived us. Maybe we can get this one to drive the ship for us.”

  “How?”

  “We pay him with the gold and anything else he wants. He may have the ship for all I care if he can get us back home.”

  “How do we trust him?”

  “He will he on the ship with us. He will have the money once we are underway and can claim the ship when we reach port. It will be different for him than the whites we have. It will be an issue of trade and property. It will be as much in his interest to complete the journey as it would be in ours.”

  “And what of the two whites and the black slave boy?”

  Singbe hesitated. The slave boy had been condescending and contemptuous of them all during the journey, but he hated seeing any man a slave. He would offer to let him come with them, back to Mende or whatever tribe he chose. If the boy did not want that, he would be free to go in this land of the whites without slaves.

  The slave traders were a different matter. Singbe wanted to kill them, especially the older one, who had been deceiving them all these weeks. They deserved to die. But Grabeau’s words echoed in his head. Singbe knew killing the whites would be justified, but it would also serve no useful purpose beyond revenge.

  “I would do this. I would give the slave boy his choice of freedom, either here or in Africa. And I would set the whites free, too, but not right away. A day after we are underway, we give them one of the long boats and enough food to get back to this land. From there they will be on their own.”

  “Where do we get enough food to finish our journey?”

  “We give this whiteman some of the gold for food. He can go among the whites and buy what we need.”

  Burnah nodded. “This is a good plan. I think Grabeau would agree.”

  He handed his bag of gold to Singbe. Singbe walked back over to Green.

  “You ship Africa? You Africa?”

  The statement caught Green off guard and tickled a laugh out of his throat.

  “Me sail to Africa? With you fellas? I don’t think so, lad.”

  Singbe took Green’s hand gently and turned it over so the palm was up. He opened one of the bags and poured out about a dozen gold coins into the sailor’s.

  “You ship Africa?”

  Green felt the cool heavy coins against his weathered palms. The doubloons were Spanish but they were gold, at least two hundred dollars worth judging from the weight. And there was more in the bags, and probably more on the ship. Green looked at Fordham as he began to speak to Singbe.

  “You want to pay me to sail to Africa? In gold?”

  Singbe smiled and shook the bag. He pointed to Green and to the gold. He turned toward the Amistad sitting in the water, held up the bag and made a motion several times as if to capture it in the bag. He turned and held out the bag to Green.

  “Henry. I think he wants to give you the gold and the ship.”

  “I think you are right, Peletiah.”

  Green reached out to take the bag from Singbe, but Singbe pulled it back.

  “You ship Africa.”

  “I’m thinking about it, lad.”

  “Henry, you’re not serious.”

  “Shut it, man. I’m thinking about it, I says.”

  “Henry! Henry! C’mere.”

  “Not now, Jack. I’m negotiating.”

  “Henry, yes. C’mere by the wagon, dammit. I got something to tell you. Before you do any more negotiating.”

  Green smiled to Singbe and walked back to Jack at the wagon. Fordham and the other whitemen followed.

  “It’s the pirates!”

  “Where? What pirates?”

  “The blacks. They’re the pirates they talked of in the paper.”

  “Jack! Did you drink the whole bottle while we’ve been standing here talking?”

  “They’re pirates I tell, ya. There was a report in the news just yesterday. Frederick Blanchard was reading it to me out on the docks while me and Corker were mending nets. He read it right out of the paper. ‘Pirates,’ it said, running up and down the Atlantic in a low-hulled black schooner with no flag. Ships had reported it to harbor masters in New York, Philadelphia, and Baltimore. And it said the pirates was black.”

  “These men ain’t no pirates. In case you ain’t been paying attention, they ain’t even sailors. Look at their ship, for God’s sake. It’s a shambles.”

  “Yes, look at the ship, Henry,” Fordham said. “Look at it well. A low-hulled black schooner. No flag. And the gold. Them is Spanish coins. Came from a Spanish ship they pillaged, I reckon. And the pirates is black. Well, these men are certainly the blackest coloreds I’ve ever seen. Like they’re fresh from Africa itself.”

  “Well, of course they are. That’s why they want to go there. Bad enough, it seems, to give me gold and their ship. Naw, they ain’t pirates. Just a bunch of ignorant savages who’ve lost their captain. Maybe to illness, maybe to somethin’ else.”

  “Maybe from hunger. From the dogs and chickens and whatnot, it looks like they came ashore to scrounge some food.”

  “C’mon, Henry,” Jack persisted. “Where’s a bunch of coloreds get a schooner, no matter what shape it’s in?”

  “I don’t care and I ain’t asking. However their case may be, it’s sure they’re looking for a captain and I’m disposed to taking the job.”

  “What!? Are you mad?”

  “Not at all. In fact, I’m about to become a rich man,” claimed Green. “But goin’ to Africa?”

  “I ain’t goin’ to Africa. I’ll take ’em to New York harbor.”

  “New York?’

  “Sure. It’s an uncaptained ship. By law I can claim salvage rights. That means I have rights to a percentage of ship and cargo, whether these boys like it or not. It won’t cost me no middle passage to Africa. Just a day’
s sailing up the sound. You boys help me crew her and I’ll cut you in for a percentage.”

  The men agreed with Green instantly.

  “Now, no laughing, no messing about,” he cautioned, “no letting on, and by tomorrow night we’ll all be rich men.”

  Green turned to Singbe with a smile. But the smile melted, replaced by a look of anger. Singbe turned following Green’s stare to the sea. A large ship with broad white sails and a huge American flag flying from the middle mast had just come around the point and was headed toward the Amistad.

  “Shit, lads. It’s the government.”

  At that moment all of the men saw a puff of smoke appear just above the big ship’s bow. It was followed almost immediately by a loud thundercrack and an explosion of water about two hundred yards behind Amistad’s stern.

  “Holy Christ,” Jack whispered. “It is the pirates.”

  Singbe and the other tribesmen broke for their boat. Green followed after them. Grabeau already had the anchor out of the water and they were beginning to lower one of the big sails.

  “Wait! Wait! Take me with you!” Green yelled.

  Green ran up to the rowboat as the men were pushing into the water. He tried to get in but a flash of a machete in Burnah’s hands changed his mind. The tribesmen got all four oars in the water and began pulling hard. Green watched them, and then turned and began jumping up and down in the water.

  “Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!”

  The sun was beginning to burn and bleed just above the top of the dunes. The eight men pulling the oars stared into it, watching the distance grow between them and the raging whiteman on the shore. Singbe stood so far forward in the bow that his front foot was almost in the sea. The big ship, three-masted, wide and solid, had a huge wave cresting from its bow and a fat wake trailing behind. It was gaining quickly and Singbe thought it would be on the Amistad soon if they could not get her underway. He had Burnah steer the boat ahead of the Amistad so they could meet it as it was moving. Grabeau could throw them down lines and they could scramble on board with the food and leave the rowboat behind.