Amistad Read online

  The older man quickly looked away, staring down to his own feet. Grabeau stood and walked over to Singbe.

  “I think I have found a use for one of the whitemen.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The older one. While the others watched you, he was looking about this ship and to the skies and the sea. I saw concern and understanding, as if he could see what was right and wrong. I think he knows about this ship. I think he may be a sailor, or at least have an idea of how all of this works.”

  Montes looked up and found Singbe, Burnah, and Grabeau staring down at him.

  “What is he saying, Pedro?”

  “How should I know? I don’t speak that bushman gibberish. Boy! Do you know what he’s saying?”

  “No, señor,” said Antonio. “I only speak Spanish, like you.”

  “They are going to kill us,” Pepe cried.

  “I thought so before. But now I’m not so sure.” Montes spoke without looking away from Singbe.

  “Yes, they are. They are going to cut us to pieces and feed us to the cannibal. They are going to …”

  “Shut up, Pepe. Shut up and watch him. Maybe we can figure out what he’s saying.”

  Singbe pointed to the yardarms and the jib. He walked over to one of the masts and undid a rope from a cleat. He slapped a block and tackle and pointed the machete at the ship’s wheel. The he turned and pointed the blade toward the rising sun.

  “I think they want me to show them how to sail the ship.”

  “What? Sail it to where?”

  “Probably one of the British colonies or some other place where there’s no slavery.”

  “Certainly you’re not going to show them.”

  “I don’t plan on it.”

  Pepe straightened. “Not that I wouldn’t welcome their intervention at this moment, but if the British discover where these niggers are from, they’ll take everything. The loss would be catastrophic. The ship, the cargo, and slaves. I’ll be lucky if I don’t come out of this completely ruined.”

  “If we’re not careful, we won’t come out of this. Period.”

  Singbe walked up to Montes and pointed again to the ropes and sails. Montes shrugged and shook his head. Singbe got close to his face and spoke louder. Montes shrugged again.

  “I do not think he understands,” Burnah said.

  “Or maybe he does but really does not know how to do what we ask.” Grabeau sighed. “Perhaps I was wrong.”

  “No. I think your instincts were true, Grabeau,” said Singbe. “I think he understands us well enough. He just needs to be motivated.”

  Singbe unlocked Montes from the anchor and stood him up. His hands and ankles were still bound.

  “Don’t give in, Pedro. The longer we drift, the more of a chance someone will see us and provide rescue.”

  Montes said nothing. His head throbbed. The gashes on his side and arms burned. Singbe grabbed him by the collar and led him over to the mast. He pointed to the sails and grabbed the sailropes. He pointed again to the sails, dropped his hand down, and then spread his arms wide.

  “Show me how to take these sails down and fill them with the wind.”

  Montes gave Singbe a confused look.

  Singbe drew up the machete and pressed the blade firmly against Montes’s throat. He pointed to the sails again with his free hand and drew the machete across Montes’s neck, touching the skin but not breaking it.

  “Show me now, or I will end your life.”

  Before Montes could move he heard Pepe screaming.

  “Pedro! Pedro!”

  Singbe grabbed Montes’s hair and turned his head so he could see Pepe. Grabeau had drawn his machete and held it at the base of Pepe’s skull, pressing the tip upward into the skin just hard enough to start a small trickle of blood.

  “For the love of Christ, Pedro! Do it. Show them what they want.”

  Montes glanced down at the blade against his own neck and then into Singbe’s eyes. He put up his arms as if to surrender. Singbe pulled the blade far enough away so Montes could move, but kept it near enough so that if the move was a rash or wrong one, the head would soon be gone from the shoulders. Slowly, Montes undid the knot tied around the cleat. The topsail began to unfurl. The wind hitting the canvas jerked the ropes forward, almost slicing Montes’s neck on the blade. Singbe dropped his weapon and grabbed the rope, helping Montes steady it. Other tribesmen rushed over to help. Montes tied off the line. The ship began to pick up a little speed. The other sails were lowered and tied down. The tribesmen went to the rails and raised decks and laughed at the water rushing past the hull.

  Singbe dragged Montes up to the wheel and pointed with his machete at the sun. Montes began turning the wheel until the ship came about and was headed east. He held it there.

  “The wheel is direction, yes? Yes?” Singbe said. “Let me try.”

  Singbe motioned Montes away with the machete and took the wheel. Turning it took more strength than he had thought. He could feel the play of the ocean through the cable that ran down to the rudder. He turned the wheel around several times clockwise. The ship’s how slowly followed around to the right, the deck arching up slightly to the left. Singbe spun the wheel around the other way and felt the ship roll back again. After experimenting for about fifteen minutes he lined the bow back up with the sun and held it there. He nodded to Montes.

  “Chain him back up to the anchor with the others.”

  Burnah and one of the tribesmen locked Montes down.

  “We are doomed now, Pedro,” Pepe said.

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not,” Montes mused. “It’s still days to any landfall and these waters are heavily traveled by other ships. We may get picked up yet. Besides, these savages may now know how to turn the wheel and drop the sails, but they have no clue about navigation. They seem to be sailing easterly, away from Cuba, but I don’t think they have a clear destination. It will be interesting to see what they do when the sun goes down.”

  “By the love of God, I hope we are intercepted by then.”

  Singbe showed Burnah and Grabeau how the wheel worked. The three of them took turns piloting the ship and teaching the other tribesmen how to raise and lower the sails. They also created work details to clean the ship and man the sails. Four men were killed in the battle; eight more were injured. Singbe and others helped move them into the captain’s cabin. Ka, a Mendeman knowledgeable in the ways of healing, had been put in charge of the wounded. The children were moved into the crew’s berth.

  Singbe believed it would take them between fifty and sixty days to get back to Africa. He put Burnah in charge of finding out how much food was on the ship and coming up with a reasonable rationing system so that it would last until they got back to Africa. They ate at sunset. The meals were essentially the same as what they had before, a potato, some rice, and water. They had dumped the barrels of meat into the sea, still believing they were filled with human flesh.

  Ka came out on deck and walked up to the wheel where Singbe stood eating his sweet potato. He was a small man just under five feet tall, but he had a torso like a water keg and muscled legs and arms. Although he was about ten years older than Singbe, he still had a boyish face. Shaw had ordered his head shaved, though, because wisps of gray hair had begun to appear, a detail which would certainly reduce Ka’s value on the slave market.

  “Singbe.”

  “Ka. How are the wounded?”

  “Not well. I can find no herbs or treatments on this boat, and I do not know what the whitemen use to stop fever. The men who were shot are especially bad. I pried out the metal from the gun wounds with a knife, but I think its poison has already spread through the men. We will have to wait and see who can survive.”

  Singbe nodded gravely.

  “Beliwa is bad, though he can speak. He said something interesting earlier. Perhaps you should talk with him.”

  Singbe saw a look in Ka’s eyes and nodded. He gave the wheel to Burnah and went down to the captain’s cabin.
Beliwa was lying on the floor. A broad cloth caked with dried blood had been wrapped over the bullet wound just below his right shoulder. Singbe walked in, squatted down, and took his hand.

  “Beliwa. How do you feel?”

  “I am strong, Singbe. Soon I will help you and the other tribesmen pilot the boat.” He tried to sit up but the pain drove him back down.

  “Do not worry, my friend. We have things well in hand. And you fought bravely. If it were not for your courage and that of the others who were wounded, we would not have prevailed. Rest. It will he our pleasure to serve you.”

  “I am ready to help whenever you need me.”

  “Perhaps you can,” said Ka. “Tell Singbe what you told me about your dealings with the whiteman from years back.”

  “I told Ka that for two summers I worked for a Bandi trader who had a booth in the city, the one they call Freetown. I tended his pack animals, and helped him maintain his stores. Oh, he had beautiful things. He traded bolts of cloth and wool, fine pots for cooking, knives and grains and even livestock and chickens and fighting cocks. I remember once we had over one hundred hens on a day when the market was filled and the …”

  “Tell him about your dealings with the whitemen.”

  “Oh, the whitemen sailors, they loved the cock fights. They would come and wager gold and silver and rum. I knew many of them and learned some of their language.”

  Singbe dropped one knee down to the floor and leaned in closer to Beliwa.

  “You can speak with the whites?”

  “Well, some of them. I learned the talk of the British. It was they who we saw most at the fights. The words are different from those of the whites who bought me in Lomboko, or those who brought us on this boat.”

  Singbe stared off to the side and nodded. He looked back to Beliwa.

  “Did you try speaking to these whites?”

  “No. No, I didn’t. I tried some of the British before, when I was on the long voyage, and later when they put me in the large cage with all the tribesmen. But I might as well have been speaking Mende.”

  “How much of their words do you know?”

  “A little. Enough to get by at a cock fight and in the market. But, as I said, it is not the language of these men.”

  “Grabeau speaks Mende, Yamani, and Vai. Burnah speaks Mende and two Mandingo dialects. Perhaps these whites know the words of your whites. Can you stand?”

  “Of course.”

  Beliwa tried to push his body off the floor but his legs buckled. Singbe and Ka grabbed him around the waist and lifted. Beliwa took a few steps. Ka handed him a broken oar from one of the long boats to use as a crutch. Burnah watched from the wheel as they came out of the cabin and walked slowly across the deck toward the captives chained to the anchor. Every few steps, Beliwa would take weight off the oar and try to walk on his own. He almost passed out twice before they reached the bow. Ka and Singbe nearly had to carry him up the few steps leading to the raised deck. Beliwa stopped and straightened, absently handing his crutch to Ka. Unsteadiness caused his shadow to waver slightly as it stretched across the anchor. Singbe and Ka stood close, ready to catch him.

  “What should I say?”

  “Just see if they speak any of the whiteman’s words that you know.”

  Antonio and Pepe looked up at the ragged, defiant warrior standing before them. Montes, chained with his back to the stern, whispered.

  “Pepe, what is it?”

  “I don’t know. The leader, another one, and one of the wounded men.”

  “Maybe they are going to give him some revenge.”

  Beliwa began speaking, “Do you talk the An-gleesh?”

  None of the captives heard him. Pepe had gone into a frenzy, spitting out Spanish so fast even Montes and Antonio could barely understand him.

  “God, no. It wasn’t us. I swear. We didn’t hurt you. It was the others.”

  “Do you likes cock fight?”

  “I know it wasn’t me. It was the others. I didn’t wound you …”

  “I got fine fabric, rum for trade.”

  “It wasn’t any of us. Please don’t kill us. We mean you no harm. Please …”

  Beliwa turned back to Singbe.

  “I do not understand a word out of his mouth. I do not know what he is saying. I think his mind is gone.”

  “I didn’t wound anyone.” Pepe went on. “None of us did. We barely fought back. We were just protecting ourselves …”

  Singbe sighed. “How can they hear when this one cries like a child?” He drew up the machete and the tip to Pepe’s throat. “Shut up. Shut up and listen.”

  The machete inspired immediate silence from Pepe’s mouth.

  “Try again, Beliwa. Just once more.”

  Beliwa shrugged. “One, two, three, four …”

  Pepe’s eyes grew huge. His lips stammered, the machete still pressing on his skin. “F-five, six, seven, eight.”

  “Ya, sir!” Beliwa cried. “He knows the words.”

  “You speak English!?”

  “Ya, sir. I talk good the words An-gleesh.”

  “For the love of God. Pedro, one of these savages speaks English.”

  “I didn’t know you spoke it.”

  “Yes. Yes. I went to school in the States. In Connecticut. Oh, thank God. You good sir. What is your name?”

  “I Beliwa.”

  “Belly-wah? Belly-wah? Right. I am Ruiz. Pepe Ruiz. This is my associate, Pedro Montes.”

  “What’s he saying, Beliwa?”

  “His name. He is Peperuiz. The other is Pedromontaze.”

  Singbe nodded. “Tell him our names.”

  “You are all free,” Pepe chirped before Beliwa could begin again. “All of you. You are no longer slaves. I give you all your freedom.”

  Beliwa looked at him and began laughing. His chuckle spread into a full wide shaking laugh until it broke into a great heaving cough and pain from his wound that drove him back into Singbe’s and Ka’s arms. He took the crutch and stood again.

  “No, sir,” Beliwa said, finally regaining himself. “We did that.”

  Beliwa told Singbe what Ruiz had said, and what had he said in return.

  “Tell him this: Tell him I am Singbe Pieh of Mende. Tell him I am chief of these men and we will sail this ship into the morning sun. To Africa. Tell them that we are freemen and they are the slaves, now.”

  Beliwa repeated the words as best he could.

  Ruiz’s face paled. “Oh my Christ,” he gasped.

  “What is it? What did he say, Pepe?”

  “Africa. He said we are their slaves, and that they are sailing us back to Africa.”

  “Good God,” Montes whispered.

  “YOU SLAVE NOW!” Singbe yelled now repeating Beliwa’s words. “You slave now!”

  Beliwa’s legs buckled again.

  “Beliwa …” Ka and Singbe reached out.

  “I am fine.”

  “No, my friend,” Singbe said. “You will rest now. We will talk with these men later.”

  “Wait! Where are you going? Belly-wah?”

  They said nothing else to the whitemen. Singbe and Ka helped Beliwa back to the cabin. After the sun went down, Singbe sent a man to feed the prisoners. Each was given a half cup of water and a handful of uncooked rice.

  Later, Singbe met with Grabeau and Burnah to discuss how to use their newfound form of communication. All agreed that the whitemen and their slave could not be trusted. It was essential, though, that they find out as much as they could about how to operate the ship, especially how to keep it on course at night when east and west were harder to distinguish. That night Burnah stood at the wheel. Singbe slept on deck close by. A canvas bag served as a pillow. He dreamed of Stefa and his children all night. The shadowy man of his past dreams never appeared.

  “Wake up. Wake up now. Both of you.”

  Grabeau pushed Pepe’s shoulder. His body jumped as if to get up, but the chains held him in place. Pepe looked up. The sun was barely break
ing into the horizon. Singbe, Grabeau, Beliwa, and Ka stood over him. Beliwa held the crutch under one arm. His voice sounded a little weaker than the day before.

  “Tell how to sail ship.”

  “What?”

  “Ship. Tell how it sail.”

  “I do not know.”

  “You friend know. Ask him.”

  Singbe brought the machete in close to Pepe.

  “Pedro. They want to know a little more about how to sail the ship.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “Nothing. I did not tell them you were a sailor.”

  “Tell them I showed them all I know.”

  “Pedro, the chief has a machete at my throat.”

  “Tell them that’s all I know.”

  “He said he showed you all he knows. Really, that was all.”

  Beliwa relayed the words to Singbe. Singbe stepped in closer to Pepe.

  “How do you say untruth in their language?” Singbe asked.

  “Lie.”

  “Lie?”

  Singbe pressed the machete into Pepe’s throat. “Lie,” he said forcefully.

  Pepe swallowed hard. They won’t kill me, he thought. I’m the only one who they can speak to.

  “No, I swear. He does not know.”

  Singbe looked to Beliwa. Beliwa shrugged. Singbe signaled to Grabeau, who reached down and stood on Pepe’s wrist so his hand was pinned to the deck. Singbe squatted down and touched the ringers lightly with the blade and then raised it and looked at Pepe.

  “Lie.”

  Beliwa smiled and pointed the fingers and spoke in English again.

  “One, two, three, four.”

  “God. No. All right. All right. I lied. He’s a sailor. We will show you how to sail the ship.”

  “He says he lied. The other one knows how to sail the ship,” said Beliwa. “I think you should cut the fingers off anyway.”

  Singbe looked from Beliwa to Grabeau and smiled.

  “Perhaps. But not this time. Unchain the two white men and bring them to the wheel.”