Amistad Read online

  “Easy. Easy.”

  Konoma let loose another raging howl. He grabbed the chain at his neck and pulled at it, ringing the links against themselves and screamed wildly. Celestino came out of the galley holding a knife.

  “What is happening?! What do you do to him?”

  The captain walked out from behind the wheel and drew his pistol.

  “Ruiz. Control that nigger.”

  Singbe bent down, picked up the nail, and placed it under his arm and stood. No one had seen.

  “Thank you, Konoma,” he whispered. Then he made a wiping motion with both hands. Konoma saw it. Just as quickly as he had begun, Konoma stopped. He sat back down on the deck, picked up his cup of water, and drank as if nothing had happened. The whitemen froze, still nervous and bewildered.

  “Whatever the hell that was, I don’t want to see it again,’ Pepe said.

  “It starting to get dark, anyway. Let’s lock them up for the night, Juan.”

  “Si, Señor Montes. Si.”

  Later after they were all locked down and the whitemen had left the hold, Konoma called through the darkness.

  “Was that what you wanted, Singbe?”

  “That was perfect, Konoma.”

  “Why? What was the reason?”

  Singbe reached under his left armpit and pulled out the nail. He raised it to the chain link running through his collar and began to pry.

  “The reason, my friend, is that now, we have a plan.”

  Within a half hour, Singbe had broadened the gap enough to slip the link forward and away from the collar. He sat up in the dark and used the nail to loosen the metal bolt fastening his ankle manacles. He found Grabeau in the dark, gave him the nail, and showed him how he had loosened his bonds. A light rain began striking the deck overhead.

  “Get everyone free.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the other part of the ship where they keep the cargo,” he whispered. “Perhaps I can find us some weapons. Make sure they keep quiet.”

  Singbe walked down the aisle, leaning forward so that he was nearly on all fours. He went slowly, holding the chain that ran between the manacles. The darkness of the hold was complete. He did not want to stumble or let a sudden roll of the ship cause him to make a sound that would alert the whitemen. He reached the far end of the hold where the cargo was stored. His hands traced the rough splintery outline of a barrel that was roped tightly against the other cargo. He found the lid and slid it aside carefully. His fingers reached inside gently, touching something that felt like a rough fabric. The aroma of salt and spice filled his nostrils, causing his hand to recoil sharply. It was dried meat like the kind the cook had shown him. A sudden wave of nausea pushed through his stomach. He replaced the lid and slid his hands along the rope to the next piece of cargo. It was a large wooden crate. He eased the lid open and felt inside. A thin layer of smooth cloth met his hand. Beneath it sat cool ridges of metal. Singbe pushed away the cloth and tried to find something to grab. Something sharp bit into his fingers. He brought his hand up to his mouth and tasted blood. He reached back in the crate carefully. It was filled with caning machetes, wide and sharp with two foot blades.

  Singbe took two and made his way back to the stern. Grabeau, Burnah, and four others were free. Singbe handed Grabeau a machete.

  “There is a whole box of these swords.”

  “The spirits are with us. Still, we must get the others free.”

  “Use the swords to pry loose the neck chain. I will take Burnah and Kimbo and get more. Make sure everyone remains silent.”

  Grabeau felt his way down the platform until he found the back wall and the cleat where the chain was moored. He wedged the machete blade down between the cleat and the wood and began to work it back and forth. By the time Singbe returned, everyone was free.

  “All of you, listen to me.”

  Singbe squatted down in the middle of the aisle.

  “We have the opportunity we need for surprise and the gods have blessed us with weapons. I have found a box of swords over where they keep the barrels and crates. There are enough for all of us. You asked for a plan. Here it is. We kill the whitemen as they sleep, take control of this ship and sail it back into the sun toward Africa. Is anyone opposed to this?”

  Singbe paused. All he could hear was the sea and the rain.

  “Good. I need two men to stay here and guard the children. Kinna and Yah-nae. The rest of you, follow me toward the ladder. Quietly.”

  Singbe balanced his fingertips against the hatch and, very carefully, eased it open. A thick rain, blowing into his face, glistened on the deck in the dull light of the lantern by the galley door. He knelt down and reached back into the hold. Grabeau handed him a machete. Singbe moved to the railing, flattening his body on the warm, wet deck, and looked up to the raised stern. A sailor stood at the wheel under a canvas tarp, his eyes focused on a point beyond the other sailor who slouched near the lantern burning at the bow. Singbe watched them both but neither sailor saw the tribesmen coming out of the hatch, one by one.

  The storm, mostly rain, and not much wind, had nearly passed. It was about 4 A.M. The captain had retired to his cabin an hour ago, content that his men could handle the boat until dawn.

  The ship hit a swell, dipping the bow down and then up a few feet. Fuliwa, the twelfth man out of the hold, fell forward, his machete slapping against the deck. All the tribesmen froze. The sailor at the wheel did not react. Either he didn’t hear it or he discounted the sound as part of the storm. Singbe watched him for a few seconds more and then signaled Grabeau. Grabeau tapped the hatch’s frame and another man began to come out, and was struck by a bright flash of light. The galley door was open. Celestino looked out with a lantern in his hand.

  “What’s dat? Juan, did you hear dat?”

  “Shut up. You’ll wake the captain.”

  “I tink I hear someting. I tink some tackle may be loose or someting.”

  “So check on it.”

  He took two steps before a swell threw him forward into a bulkhead, just a few yards from Singbe.

  “You is de sailor, man. I is just de cook. I ain’t going up no mast in dis seas.”

  “Just do it, Celestino.”

  The ship dipped again, lurching Celestino forward. He reached out with one hand, catching the rail. The lantern in his hand swung forward, splashing light on Singbe’s face.

  “Lord Christ! Da niggers is loose!”

  Singbe let out a war cry and dove at the cook. The other tribesmen rose up and ran across the deck. Celestino fell back into the galley where he grabbed a knife from the sideboard. Singbe jumped on top of him. Celestino slashed and drove his knee into Singbe’s stomach. Singbe rolled with the kick and swung his machete up to block the knife. Celestino let out a shrieking howl as he saw his hand, still clutching the knife, fly from his wrist. He tumbled back into the galley, his other hand desperately searching for another weapon. Singbe rose quickly and plunged his machete up through Celestino’s belly and chest. He pulled it out and swung down hard. Celestino’s head fell to the floor.

  The sailor at the wheel grabbed a musket and fired it at the tribesmen rushing up the stairs. Grabeau, in the lead, lunged at the sailor’s knees as the weapon flashed. The blast was deafening and Grabeau felt a hot wind rush past his back. The heavy shot caught the next man flush in the face. Grabeau rose from the deck, only to have the rifle butt thrust into his chest, driving him back down. He rolled as he hit the deck, slashing out wildly with the machete. The sailor screamed and fell, dropping the musket over the railing into the sea. Cut behind the knees, he struggled to stand, grabbing the wheel. Grabeau stabbed again, slicing into the kidneys. Two other tribesmen ran up screaming and hacking.

  Ferrer burst out of his quarters with a pistol in one hand and a dagger in the other. He fired into the raging tribesmen. One fell forward, dead before he hit the deck. Others tumbled back. The attackers froze. Ferrer reloaded desperately.

  “Throw
them some bread!” he yelled to Antonio, who was cowering behind him in the cabin. “Do it!”

  Antonio broke a loaf into a few clumsy chunks, flung it at the Africans, and then tumbled back into the cabin. Ferrer held the pistol out ready to shoot anyone who took a step. He kicked a piece of bread to Burnah.

  “Eat! Take the bread and get back in the hold, the whole fucking lot of you!”

  Burnah squatted down slowly, never taking his eyes off Ferrer. He picked up the bread and stood.

  “It is not bread we want, whiteman. We want our freedom. And we will have it.”

  Burnah bit the bread and dropped to one knee, bowing to the captain. He held out his machete flat on his palms as if to surrender.

  “Take it, boy. Antonio! Antonio?” But Antonio had scurried back into the cabin and dropped through the hatch in the captain’s floor.

  “Shit.”

  Ferrer shuffled forward a step and motioned slowly with the pistol.

  “Okay, nigger. Just put that machete down on the deck. Down I say. All of you.”

  Burnah leaned forward. Ferrer’s foot inched toward him. Burnah tossed the machete lightly into the air, high and flat. Ferrer’s dagger hand rose up instinctively to grab the long knife. Burnah lunged forward, knocking the pistol from Ferrer’s other hand. They were all on him at once, hacking.

  “Stand back, brothers! Stand back!’

  Burnah looked down at Ferrer, who was bleeding badly from the face and chest. He held the pistol over the captain’s face. Ferrer cried out.

  A blast ripped into the night. Burnah pulled the trigger a few more times, but the pistol was empty. They threw Ferrer’s body into the water. Across the deck there were wild screams.

  Montes and Pablo were pinned between one of the longboats and the deck rail. Montes had killed two of the Africans with his pistol but one of them knocked it out of his hand as he lunged, sending it over the railing. Montes was thrusting at the men with a machete; Pablo was swinging and jabbing at them with an oar. They were holding off about ten of the tribesmen. Singbe jumped on top of the boat and thrust at Montes. Montes parried the strike and slashed one of the lines holding the boat. It tipped and rolled off its mount, knocking Singbe back into some of the other attackers. Montes turned. Singbe stood and dove again. A sharp blow from his machete handle caught Montes behind the ear, dropping him to the deck. The longboat fell on him, covering his body.

  Pablo didn’t see this. All he saw was the Africans in front of him. And now, from across the deck, Burnah’s group was running toward him. A tribesman slashed at Pablo’s chest, just missing. Pablo jammed the oar into the man’s throat, pushing hard, hoisting his own body onto the railing. He rolled into the sea. It was at least twenty miles to the shore, but Pablo, a good swimmer, figured he could make it. He didn’t realize that blood was flowing from a small gash in his side. In a few minutes sharks were swarming.

  Pepe was at the bow, holding out his pistol and the keys to the manacles. Grabeau stood over him, holding his head by the hair, the machete’s blade raised.

  “Please! I beg of you. Spare me!” Pepe pleaded. ‘With God as my witness I will set you all free. Just don’t kill me. Please!”

  Grabeau raised the machete to strike but his hand hesitated.

  “He cries like a child. Look, Yaboi. There are tears on his face.”

  “He is one sorry son of a pig. Kill him. Put him out of our misery.”

  “And he whipped Burnah so hard.”

  Grabeau slammed Pepe’s face into the deck and knelt beside him, still clutching the hair.

  “You made him bleed!” Grabeau screamed. “You rubbed vinegar in his wounds! And now look at you! Crying like a whelp!”

  He threw Pepe down and raised the machete again.

  “No! Please, God, no!”

  “This is disgusting.”

  “You’re right, Grabeau. There is no honor in killing such a man.”

  Grabeau reached down and picked up the keys. He unlocked the manacles, shook them off and rubbed his ankles.

  “Bind him with his own chains,” he said wearily. “We will talk of his fate later.”

  Singbe ran up to Grabeau.

  “Is he the last of them?”

  “Last that we know of.”

  “The captain, the cook, and the one who was at the wheel are dead. The other sailor jumped into the sea. I do not know where the other slave trader is, or the boy slave. If they are here, we will find them. Regardless, the boat is ours.”

  Grabeau smiled and hugged Singbe. Singbe jumped up on the raised deck in the bow and held his machete over his head.

  “We have done it, my brothers. The boat is ours. We are going home to our families. We are freemen again!”

  A great cheer rose up from the tribesmen into the thinning rain. The Amistad drifted in the small waves, carried away from the coastline by a light wind from the south.

  East and West

  “I say we kill them all.” After he spoke, Singbe looked down at Ruiz, Montes, and Antonio. All three were bound by chains and shackles to the ship’s anchor, which sat in the front of the bow deck.

  Montes had been found below, hiding under a tarp. He had fallen into a hatch near the longboat unnoticed after being struck on the head and lay unconscious until dawn. He awoke and dragged his body to the hiding place. But when he beard the Africans searching below decks, Montes could not hold back his fear. His shaking body and heavy breathing gave him away. They brought him topside. His body was covered with several deep gashes and muddy purple bruises. Antonio, too, had slipped below. He had propped himself behind the secured cargo with a musket in his hand. Two tribesmen found him just after sunrise. As they approached, he pulled the gun’s trigger. However, the boy did not know how to load it properly. There was a flash and then nothing.

  The tribesmen had voted Singbe their leader. He stood over the captive now with Grabeau and Burnah, who had been made sub-chiefs.

  “Singbe, no. We cannot just kill them for no reason.”

  “No reason? They would have killed us, Burnah. They were getting ready to trade us to cannibals. I think that is reason enough. I say we throw the anchor over the side with all of them chained to it.”

  “No, Singbe. Burnah is right,” said Grabeau. “We have no reason to kill them. They were defending themselves. As for selling us to cannibals, I do not like the idea of that any more than you or any other man among us. But I will not kill for that. It is not right.”

  “They took our freedom, our lives.”

  “No. No, they did not,” said Burnah. “They were only the last to participate in a chain of events. We were all taken slaves, by different means and by different men. We are all here now because of these two men, but they are just accomplices.”

  “So, we make them pay for the sins of the others. Besides, how many tribesmen have they bought and sold? How many have they flogged? How many have they seen off to their deaths, either to cannibals or to slave-holders who work their slaves to death? I say we balance the scales with their lives.”

  “These men may have wronged us, but they no longer can do so. They are our captives now.” Grabeau lowered his voice and leaned in close to Singbe. “Singbe, you fought for your freedom, but you are not a killer. You are more of a man than that. It is time to put your anger aside. We are going home now.”

  “Grabeau, Burnah, listen. I respect your words. I agree to spare the boy. But I do not believe these men deserve to live. Besides, if we do not kill them now, it will come back at us later. They will try to kill us all at their first chance. I am sure of it.”

  “How?” Burnah laughed. “They have no guns and there are nearly fifty of us. Your hate is clouding your judgment.”

  “No. It is providing me with clarity.”

  “Singbe, killing them like this would make us just like the whites. We would be cowards without honor or dignity. That may be their way, it may be who they are, but it is not who we are, my friend.”

  Singbe looked
from Grabeau to Burnah. Rage and frustration boiled through his limbs. He knew in his heart he was right, that leaving these men alive would only serve to bring everyone pain later on. And Singbe could feel the hate in his belly, hate burning on months of anger, fear, abuse, and humiliation. But this was only a feeling. Grabeau and Burnah spoke reason.

  “Fine.” He sighed. “We do not kill them. What, then, do we do with them?”

  Burnah walked over to Pepe and pried his mouth open.

  “He has good teeth, but I think the body is flabby and weak.”

  He slapped Ruiz’s legs and buttocks the same way it had been done to the tribesmen in the slave market.

  “He is soft like a baby. Maybe the cannibal whites will trade for him, though. What do you say, brothers?”

  A great roaring laughter went through the tribesmen.

  “I do not know,” said Grabeau. “Perhaps they will be of some use later. But more important I think is that we must learn how to sail this ship. Yes, we know that to get back to Africa we must sail into the sun, but we do not know how to work the sails or the ropes. We do not know how to make the ship sail against the wind. I am not even sure how we steer this thing.”

  “We use the wheel in the back. That much I have seen,” said Singbe. “But you are right. We do not know how to use the sails. Do any of the others know?”

  They called the tribesmen together. Some had been busy scrubbing the blood from the decks. Others came up from below where they were cleaning out the stench of the hold. Singbe began asking what they knew about the ship’s operation, but no one could offer much. Few of them had ever been in a boat before being taken slaves, and of those who had, their experience was limited to canoes. The sky was clearing and the wind from the west had picked up. The sails were still trimmed for the rough weather; only the jib was unfurled. The ship drifted aimlessly in the choppy surf.

  As Singbe and Burnah listened and talked to the tribesmen, Grabeau glanced over at the captives. They, too, watched Singbe and Burnah, perhaps wondering if their fate was being discussed. But he saw something interesting in the older man. While the young man and slave boy followed their every move, the older man was looking about. His eyes moved from the wheel to the sails to the sky. His head turned to the side of the ship where the land had been, and then back to the wheel and the sails. Then his eyes met Grabeau’s glare.