Amistad Page 9

  It took them nearly ten minutes to walk from one end of the ship to the other. Infection was spreading through Beliwa and his body was quickly growing weaker. Despite this, they spent an hour, Pepe translating from Montes, Beliwa translating from Pepe, talking about the ship. Singbe heard the basics about handling the sails, tacking, and hardships brought about by crosswinds. Montes saw no problem with this. It was better to give the Africans some knowledge and let them take the vessel into shipping lanes where a British or American flag might spot them and board. But there was one point on which Montes was not forthcoming.

  “Tell me how to sail east in the night.”

  Montes looked up at Singbe.

  “I find my way in the stars.”

  Singbe looked from Beliwa to Pepe to Montes, puzzled.

  “He looks to the sky to find path in the sea? He lies.”

  Montes smiled. “Let me do this. Let me pilot the ship tonight and the bow will be pointed at the sun as it rises in the morning.”

  Singbe leaned in close and put the blade to Montes’s chest. “Tell him we will let him pilot the ship. But if the sun comes up and we are not sailing into it, or if we find ourselves close to the whiteman’s land, I will cut out his heart.”

  Beliwa relayed the message as best he could. Pepe translated, Montes nodded.

  Pepe twitched nervously. “Pedro … I hope to Christ it doesn’t rain tonight.”

  But as night fell the sky filled with stars and a glowing crescent moon. Singbe had run a chain from the railing to Montes’s waist, giving him just enough slack to reach the helm. There were also shackles around his ankles with a chain running between them. Singbe had taken a berth in the galley to sleep. Burnah stood guard, watching Montes.

  Montes stood with his hands on the wheel. He looked down at the great compass embedded in a wooden frame in front of him. The glass had been smashed and the compass destroyed, probably during the uprising. All the better, Montes thought. If the Africans knew how to use it the voyage might go against his plans. Once he had enough of their trust to pilot the ship every night, he would see if he could get a look in the captain’s quarters for charts and other navigation equipment. For now, he figured they were probably on a rough heading toward the Bahamas. Fine, the British could have them. His losses were minimal on this voyage, and, despite all his moaning, Pepe’s personal resources were extensive. Even with this voyage being a total wash, he could handle the hit to his finances. Hell, he would probably be able to make it all back within two voyages. The key was getting back to Cuba alive. They couldn’t get back directly. The Africans would know. But if he could keep the Amistad in shipping lanes, perhaps they would be spotted and hailed by another freighter or a British or American naval vessel. He wouldn’t think twice about going over the side if they got close enough, even with the chains at his ankles.

  Montes found Jupiter and the Southern Cross and marked his heading. The wind blew up from the southwest. He turned the wheel slowly, bringing the ship about two degrees every minute or so. Burnah could not have noticed even if he wanted to. The gradual change in direction was imperceptible in the rolling sea. About an hour and a half later, Montes fixed his course and held steady. They sailed on this way, at about 15 knots, through the night. Montes kept an eye on the sky and turned the wheel accordingly At around 5:30 the sun began filling the horizon. It came up right over the bow. Singbe, Grabeau, and Burnah stood behind Montes watching.

  “Fine. He can pilot the boat at night,” said Singbe. “But we still guard him and leave him chained to the rail.”

  “Where can he go?” Grabeau said. “Especially with one of us guarding him?”

  “What if he decides to go over the side? He could bring us close to some land, some island, and jump. Then we would have no pilot for the nights.”

  “So, just keep the ankle chains on him. That will be enough to drag him down if he jumps into the sea.”

  “I don’t know. I do not trust the whites. Any of them.”

  “I think it will be all right, Singbe,” said Burnah. “I do not trust the whites, either. But that does not mean we have to treat them as they treated us. The ankle chains will restrict his movements enough. And if he tries to commit some transgression, we shall kill him. We have two guns and the swords. He cannot escape us.”

  Singbe gave in. He walked over to the rail, unlocked the chain, and then went over to Montes and unfastened the links from his waist.

  “Give him and the other white and the slave boy the same rations as the rest of us, too,” Singbe said.

  Grabeau smiled.

  Ka came up the stairs.

  “The sky will be clear and blue today, and I see we are sailing east this morning.”

  “Yes,” Singbe said. “Apparently this whiteman can tell the truth when he has to.”

  “Good. It will be good to get back home, my brothers.”

  “Yes. Yes.” Singbe nodded. “And when Beliwa wakes we should get him to talk to this one again. If he can read the night sky, then he certainly can teach that skill to us.”

  “Singbe, Beliwa died in the night. Both he and Lintahma. From their wounds.”

  Singbe looked from Ka to Grabeau and Burnah. He could feel his rage building. The other men could see the muscles in his jaw rippling, the veins in his neck thickening. They waited, but Singbe was silent. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft and low.

  “Take the whiteman down with the other one and feed them. The slaveboy, too. Same rations as us. Throw the dead into the sea.”

  Burnah led Montes down the stairs. Grabeau followed with Ka. Singbe put his hands on the wheel. Already the sun was climbing in the morning sky.

  Later that day, after a nap, Montes ate and talked with Pepe about piloting the ship through the night.

  “I’m glad you were able to keep it pointed to the east,” Pepe said.

  “I wasn’t too excited about the alternative.”

  “Well, the niggers seem to appreciate it. Now we’re only wearing shackles and they’re feeding us better. Although not by much. This rice isn’t even cooked and it’s barely enough for a dog.”

  “I think they’re going to let me sail the ship at night from now on.”

  Montes looked out at the ocean and lowered his voice. Antonio was sleeping but Montes still didn’t want to take any chances of him hearing.

  “I didn’t, you know.”

  “Huh? You didn’t what?”

  “I didn’t keep it pointed east.”

  “What do you mean? What heading did you take?”

  “West. For nearly eight hours. I turned the ship slowly until we were headed west by northwest. About an hour before dawn I brought her slowly back around to the east.”

  “What’s your plan? I mean, other than not sailing us to Africa?”

  “We’re traveling at between twelve and fifteen knots. That means each day we’ll be heading about a hundred and fifty miles toward Africa. Each night I can buy us back about one hundred and thirty-five. At that rate we can sail up the American coast. Within two weeks we’ll be in the shipping lanes. In three to four weeks we’ll be off the coast of the Carolinas, I think. The American Navy is bound to pick us up.”

  “The Americans would be more sympathetic to slave owners than the British. Then again, will they believe us? It’s our word against the word of these savages.”

  “Be serious. Who do you think they will believe, white men in chains, victims of a rebellion held against their will, or a bunch of ignorant, half-naked bush natives?”

  “True. But if the Americans find out that these aren’t really landinos, we could lose everything.”

  Montes turned back to Pepe. “They may not find out. British or American.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That little one, the one who spoke to you in English. Bellywah. I think he’s dead. The witchdoctor came up just after sunrise and I heard him say ‘Bellywah’ and the others looked saddened. I think he’s dead. So they’ve lost their transla
tor. Besides, translator or not, the Americans are slaveholders. You are a Christian whiteman schooled in their country, a man who speaks their own language.”

  Montes looked around at the tribesmen on the deck and shrugged. “Even if they do realize this lot is a bunch fresh from Africa, I think the Americans are reasonable,” he continued. “They will lock them up, give us the key, and an escort back to Havana. Hell, if we do this right we will return home as heroes.”

  Pepe smiled. “Keep us alive, my friend. Alive and headed west.”

  Landfall

  And so it went.

  Every night Montes sailed the ship west, bringing it about each morning before sunrise and turning the wheel over to Singbe, Burnah, or Grabeau. Their trust of him was limited, but it grew after the first week when they were overtaken by a huge tropical storm. They rode the gale’s raging winds and churning seas for nearly two days, at times with both Singbe and Montes bracing the wheel together. The hard sailing was made more difficult because the tribesmen were terrified by the high seas and roaring winds. Many of them retreated to the hold. Others tried bravely to work on deck, but none knew what to do, and Montes’s commands were rarely understood. They had taken down all the sails save for a jib and tried to hold the helm steady as the ship was tossed through the waves at the mercy of the sea. They held their own until late in the afternoon of the first day. The sea had become so vicious and the waves so large that the Amistad was being pushed sideways. Montes and Singbe had lashed themselves to the wheel and were trying desperately to bring the ship about. The rain was blowing sideways, stinging their faces like shards of glass. They had almost got the ship pointed into the wind when a huge wall of water crashed down on the bow, driving it under the sea and catapulting the stern forward and into the black sky. In an instant, Montes and Singbe were pinned against the wheel, the entire stern lifted out of the water and thrust sixty feet into the air. They stared helpless down the deck into the sea. Above the screaming skies and pummeling seas, Montes found himself in a second’s flash, straining to hear for the sound of the beam shattering, searching to see one of the masts shear off, feeling for the ship to roll over onto its side and break in two. But none of this happened, nor did the sea suck them under the waves. Instead the ocean heaved and exploded, spitting the bow back into the air and slapping the hull down against another wall of water. The Amistad rolled starboard as if to list, but the sea shoved the ship over and hard to port. It brought them upright again, though bobbing wildly. The whole exchange between ship and wind and waves had taken less than thirty seconds. Singbe and Montes clung to the wheel stunned and breathless.

  That was the worst of it. By morning of the next day, the rains had stopped and the winds lessened, though the seas still swelled and boiled, throwing waves ten, twenty, thirty feet high at the ship. By the evening of the second day, the seas had grown more manageable, and by the next morning the ocean was eerily calm, almost placid. The only traces of the storm were on the ship itself – its ripped jib, snapped lines, and stunned crew. A head count showed that two men were missing, presumably lost over the side. The young boy, Ka-li, had also been killed when he was struck in the head by a tumbling water keg that had been jolted loose in the hold.

  But Montes’s guidance of the ship raised his stature among the survivors. They realized that his efforts were nothing more than self-preservation. However, they also recognized that without Montes at the wheel during the storm, they would likely have drowned in the wild seas. Many offered Montes their food rations for days after the storm’s passing, but he refused. Other squalls and rainstorms came up over the next few weeks, but they were nothing like “The Storm” and were weathered without much difficulty or any loss of life.

  More of a concern than the weather were rations. The Amistad was only carrying food for a five-day trip, plus a few barrels of meat, bananas, and yams to be sold at market in Puerto Principe, and a few kegs of fresh water which doubled as ballast. They had been on the ocean now nearly fifty days. Singbe had twice ordered the ration size cut for all but the children. Water rations were now at less than half a cup per day. Many drank water from the sea, though it made some sick and others thirstier.

  A week earlier, thirst, hunger, and the hot sun had even conspired to drive two men into madness. Ka had found a wooden box in the captain’s cabin filled with bottles of colored liquid. He suspected the bottles were medicines used by the whiteman. Some smelled familiar and proved helpful with wounds. But there were bottles which he had no knowledge of and believed to be closer to poison than medicine. He put them aside, but two of the tribesmen, knowing that the bottles were being kept in the captain’s cabin, took two of the large bottles without Ka knowing. They believed that medicine would be as good as water at this point. At least it would be something. They drained the bitter tasting liquids into their bodies. Both died within a day. After the incident, Singbe talked with Ka. They decided to throw all the bottles with unknown contents into the sea. It was Ka’s suggestion, even though the thought of disposing of possible cures left him uneasy. A fever had set in among some of the tribesmen and Ka was hoping to find a cure. But using what was in the bottles was too dangerous, as was the temptation to some who were becoming “water mad.”

  The threat of dying from thirst had been abated somewhat, however, from a large three-masted ship. They had encountered it four days ago, about two hours before sunset. It was not the first ship they had seen. They had come across a few others during the weeks past. One was an especially close call. Singbe awoke from his sleep to the sound of a voice hailing. He went on deck only to find that Montes had steered them close to a two-masted ship about the same size as the Amistad. Singbe took the wheel from Montes and steered them away from the ship. The ship followed for a few hours but broke off after Singbe ordered the tribesmen to stand on deck and wave their machetes and yell their fiercest war cries. It must have been a curious sight for the crewmen of the other ship.

  Singbe had wanted to head away from the foreign sails of the large three-masted ship, too. He feared it may be a slaver or warship from the land of the whites. But Grabeau and Burnah had talked him into getting closer so that they may try to trade for food and water.

  “We can put out in one of the row boats and trade with them,” Grabeau said. “If they are hostile, then we will sail away.”

  “What of the men in the rowboat?” Singbe asked.

  “They will have to take their chances. I will go. I and three others.”

  “I will not leave men behind,” Singbe said.

  “It is our only chance. We are starving and dying of thirst. We do not know how far we are from land. We must do something.”

  As they spoke, the ship had gotten closer. The tribesmen had become excited and many stood on deck with their machetes in hand. Singbe decided that Grabeau’s plan, though dangerous, was reasonable.

  “One difference in the plan, Grabeau. I will go on the rowboat. You will stay here.”

  “You cannot. You are our chief.”

  “As chief I must assume the risk. It is only right.”

  “But it is my plan. I am willing to take the risk. Others joining me will be volunteers. No one is going into this with their eyes closed, Singbe.”

  “If something wrong does happen, Grabeau, the tribesmen will need your good sense and wise judgment to lead them back home. Besides. I am chief, yes? It is my will that I go and you stay.”

  “I will go with you,” said Burnah. “Yaboi and Bagna will join us.”

  “Good. Prepare the rowboat and inform the tribesmen of what we are doing. Put an empty water barrel in the rowboat, as well. And take the two guns.”

  Singbe turned the wheel toward the other ship. As he got closer he could hear someone calling at them from their deck but he could not understand the words. He looked across the deck to Montes and Ruiz who had begun talking together excitedly.

  “Grabeau, take the whites below and have Konoma and two others watch them. Make sure they s
ay nothing. I do not want them crying out to this other ship.”

  Ten minutes later the two ships were within one hundred yards of each other. Singbe and the others climbed down the rigging into the longboat and rowed out toward the big ship.

  The other ship was the Emmeline, a freighter out of New Bedford, Massachusetts. It was on a return trip from China and had just off-loaded half its cargo two days earlier in Charleston. The captain and crew found the Amistad a curious sight, its sails in tatters, some flapping loose in the breeze, and no colors flying from its mast. However, the oddest thing was the all-black crew. The captain had never heard of such a thing, not even putting out of a port in Africa. And this crew, many of whom were nearly naked and stood on the ship’s rails holding what appeared to be cutlasses, did not look like a seafaring lot at all. The Emmeline had a single small swivel-mounted cannon on the foredeck. The captain had a crewman follow the longboat with the gun as it came across.

  As they got within ten yards of the Emmeline, the captain called down to them, but Singbe could not understand the words. In response, Singbe stood up in the boat and held the water keg over his head, then turned it upside down to show it was empty. He pointed to his mouth and squeezed his stomach. The captain nodded and yelled back to one of the crewmen.

  After a few minutes two men appeared at the rail of the Emmeline with a large barrel. They looped a rope around it as Singbe and the others rowed closer and came alongside the ship and then a line was thrown down. The tribesmen tied it off through a ring in the bow but the boat bobbed madly next to the ship’s hull. Quickly the crewmen lowered the water keg down.

  The captain also held up a burlap bag and then threw it down to the boat. Burnah caught it wrong and apples spilled out the top and rained down all over him. Singbe and the others began laughing and bowing in thanks to the captain and his crew. The captain called down to them but he could see they didn’t understand. Then two of the crewmen started to lower themselves down ropes to the rowboat. Singbe couldn’t take any chances. He cut the bowline with the machete and pushed the small boat away from the hull, bidding Burnah and the others to row hard. As they did Singbe smiled and bowed and waved at the Emmeline with his machete. The first mate stood at the ship’s rail with the captain and watched them.