In August 1839, a rickety double-masted ship was wandering in the sea off New York. Sailors who got close enough to it claimed that strange scenes were taking place on board. Newspapers began running sensationalist stories about a pirate ship full of black people, and it wasn’t long before the US Navy stepped in and captured the suspicious intruder. On its stern, in large letters, was written La Amistad , which means ‘friendship’ in Spanish. Relations between the occupants of this 37-metre double-masted ship were anything but friendly. La Amistad was a Spanish slave ship carrying a group of Africans who rebelled against their masters, took control of the vessel and, after a series of dramatic events, found themselves off the coast of New York instead of their homeland. Because of its unusual “cargo”, La Amistad soon became the subject of social, legal and political debate in American society.
For two years, on the backs of Africans, spears were broken between the pro-slavery side and its abolitionist opponents. The former included Martin Van Buren, then President of the United States, who argued that the “cargo” should be returned to its rightful owners. Former President John Quincy Adams, on the other hand, took the opposite view and personally fought for the rights of Africans. The fate of the people of La Amistad was ultimately decided by the highest court in the USA. For weeks in the spring of 1841, the American public anxiously awaited news from Washington, where the US Supreme Court, in one of its most famous sessions, would rule on private property, slavery and, last but not least, freedom.
Sugar, cotton and blood
The story of the slave revolt at the La Amistad double-masted shipyard and the events that kept many Americans on their toes for several weeks can be traced back to the other side of the Atlantic. The coasts of West Africa have always been a pool from which European countries drew labour for their colonies in the New World. The demand for slaves was at its peak at the end of the 18th century, because from Louisiana to present-day Uruguay, there were not enough people to work the plantations there. In Europe, however, demand for American cotton, Cuban sugar and Brazilian coffee was extremely high.
In the 18th century, slavery was an acceptable and normal phenomenon. In the transatlantic trade between Europe, Africa and the Americas, human beings were mere commodities, like sugar or tobacco. But at the beginning of the 19th century, there was a growing movement in Britain against slavery on religious and moral grounds. Abolitionists, as they were called, believed that all men are born free and that no one has the right to own his fellow man. In 1807, they won a major victory when the English Parliament outlawed the slave trade. Under British pressure, other countries soon passed similar laws, for example the USA the following year.
It is worth pointing out here that only the external, transatlantic slave trade was banned, but slavery itself still existed. In other words, it was forbidden to import new slaves into UK and US territory. Slavery was finally abolished in Britain in 1833, but not in the USA until 1865.
But the ban could not be effective because the economy of the European colonies was still based on a forced and seemingly inexhaustible labour force. As a result, many slave ships made their way secretly across the Atlantic from the shores of West Africa on a daily basis. The British decision simply relegated the slave trade to the realm of the black economy. For the merchants, this meant greater risk, as the British navy was on the lookout for slave ships and intercepted many of them. In this case, the shipowner had to pay a fine of £100 for each slave he carried. The risk was high, but, as with any illegal activity, the rewards were extremely tempting. One British diplomat calculated that in those days the return in this industry could be as high as 180% per year.
The desire to make a heady profit has attracted adventurers and mixers of all kinds to West Africa, the centre of the human trafficking trade. African tribal chiefs also made a fortune out of enslaved and branded slaves, kidnapping their own countrymen and selling them to Europeans. People became the most valuable commodity on the black continent. The unsuspecting inhabitants of a vast area stretching from present-day Senegal in the north to the coasts of Angola in the south could become victims of the slave trade from today to tomorrow.
Havana bargain
All the slaves who worked on American plantations to supply Europe with sugar, coffee and other goods came from there. Most of them were ordinary people who had been uprooted overnight and turned into commodities. They became victims of the increasingly established trade links between Europe, Africa and the Americas, fuelled by the banal desire to make money.
The entry points into slavery were ports in West Africa, from where Portuguese ships alone transported more than 220,000 African slaves across the Atlantic from 1835 to 1840. The brutal conditions on board meant that the journey of several months, also known as the ‘Middle Passage’, was fatal for one in eight of the captives. Those who survived this brutal ordeal usually ended up in Havana, Cuba, the most important port in the Caribbean.
The same route was followed by the unfortunate heroes of our story, who arrived in Cuba on the Portuguese ship Teçora, crowded with around 500 would-be slaves. Confused and frightened, the Africans were immediately taken to the shacks on the outskirts of Havana known as “La misericordia” – the mercy. They slept among sheep and cows, wondering what plans their white masters had for them. Like the cattle with which they shared space, Africans were mere commodities to be sold to the highest bidder.
The business plan of Teçora’s Portuguese owner could not have been simpler – he intended to sell the goods he bought in faraway Africa for a profit in Cuba. The new owners were Spanish merchants Jose Ruiz and Pedro Montez. They often went to Havana’s slave auctions looking for good bargains. The former bought 49 adult men, while the latter decided to make a more long-term investment and bought four children. Within a few months, these 53 Africans were filling the front pages of every American newspaper.
All were born in what is now Sierra Leone, then a British colony. Most belonged to the Mendi people, an ethnic group hitherto unknown to Westerners. It was only with their unplanned arrival in the United States that the world first heard of the existence of this African people. Like the other unfortunates who crowded Havana, they were victims of an epidemic sweeping through West Africa: human trafficking.
Unlike millions of anonymous slaves, the Africans of La Amistad have been given the opportunity to tell their story. Young Burna, who earned his living as a blacksmith, was caught committing adultery by a tribal chief and sold to European traders as punishment. The tattooed Grabeau was an ivory trader who was kidnapped by strangers while returning home from a neighbouring village. A few weeks later, he was in the Teçora sub-deck, somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic. Sengbe Pieh, known in the USA as Cinque, the leader and face of the La Amistad rebellion, was a farmer in his hometown. One day, as he was leaving his rice field, he was attacked by four bandits who put chains on him. Soon he too joined his fellow travellers on their way to the New World.
The New World was a harsh and inhospitable place for Africans. The incomprehensible language, the merciless flogging, the unbearable Caribbean heat – the situation seemed even worse than in Teçora. Meanwhile, their time in the Havana shacks was running out. The new masters, Ruiz and Montez, had decided to sell their goods to the big landowners at the other end of the island. For this purpose, they hired a reliable and modern ship. It was the last stop on the Africans’ way to their new home – the sugar cane plantations of eastern Cuba.
He who sows the wind …
On Friday 28 June 1839, the double-masted La Amistad left Havana and sailed eastwards. The crew was less numerous than on the large slave ships heading across the Atlantic from Africa. The captain, Don Ramon Ferrer, was in command of just four people – two sailors, the cook Celestino and young Antonio, his mulatto slave. The most important members of the expedition were Ruiz and Montez, who organised and paid for the whole voyage.
For a nimble double-hulled boat, this should have been a routine voyage of a few days, but bad weather unexpectedly prolonged the trip. Just three days after setting sail, food and water became scarce. Each slave was given only a glass of water a day, while ascetic standards did not apply to the crew.
Under the scorching Caribbean sun, the thirst was unbearable and frustration was growing among the huddled Africans. Especially the cook, Celestino, whose cruel behaviour was etched in the minds of all the Africans of La Amistad, who often washed their clothes in a canteen of drinking water in front of them and then poured it into the sea. He also liked to take up the whip and punish anyone who dared to complain. The bottom fell out of the barrel when he threatened the slaves with a kitchen knife. He put it to his own neck and made a meaningful gesture that he was going to slit everyone’s throat. He then opened the lid of a wooden container containing pieces of beef and tried to tell the death-struck Africans that these were the remains of the slaves who had preceded them on La Amistad.
Celestino tried to restore order on board, but the opposite happened. The people of Sierra Leone, where the slaves from La Amsitada came from, believed that all white people were man-eaters. It was a widespread and deep-rooted belief. The local tribal chiefs also used stories of bloodthirsty whites to spread fear and discipline among their subjects. Celestine’s unfortunate gesture made the Africans’ blood run cold, and that evening an unusual, ominous silence reigned in the lower deck.
The slaves were whispering as they forged an escape plan. The thought of dying in battle was much more pleasant than the thought of ending up in a cauldron of white man-eaters. A nail appeared from somewhere and the locks on the chains began to unlock one by one. Soon there were 53 free men ready to fight in the hold of La Amistad.
… reaping the whirlwind
A few hours later, as night fell over the ship, the moment of truth arrived. Under the leadership of Cinque, the most trusted of his compatriots, the mutiny began. The Africans first unleashed their fury on the most hated person on board – the cook, Celestin. They beat him to death with wedges and boards while he slept in his cabin. Captain Ferrer was the next victim – his decapitated body lying in a pool of blood on the deck. The two sailors escaped death by fleeing the ship in time in a lifeboat.
Ruiz, Montez and Mulatto Antonio were spared in the massacre. Not out of pity, but for purely practical reasons. The new masters of La Amistad wanted to return to their homeland, but that was anything but easy. None of them had seen where they were, let alone had anyone among them who knew how to run a ship. The two former masters, who were experienced seafarers, were their only hope of returning home. Antonio, however, had become an interpreter because of his African roots. The roles were reversed – the martyrs overcame the torturers. Cinque pointed eastwards, remembering from Teçora that the homeland is where the sun rises, and La Amistad sailed towards Africa.
The cunning Ruiz had a different plan. During the day, with Cinque’s suspicious gaze following his every gesture, he sailed eastwards, and at night he turned the ship imperceptibly back westwards. In this way he was buying time, hoping that sooner or later a friendly ship would intercept him and rescue him from the hands of the pagan savages.
La Amistad had been on the road for weeks, but Africa was nowhere to be seen and the new masters were slowly losing hope of ever setting foot on home soil again. Meanwhile, the double-hulled ship had already sailed deep into the Atlantic Ocean, but Ruiz skilfully diverted her northwards. There were busy shipping lanes off the east coast of the US and Ruiz rightly assumed that it was only a matter of time before the US authorities intervened.
In mid-August 1839, La Amistad’s odyssey finally came to an end when she was intercepted off the coast of New York by the Washington, a US Navy ship. When the soldiers boarded the double-masted ship, order was immediately restored – Ruiz, Montez and Antonio were freed, while the Africans were rounded up and taken ashore. Their new home was a prison in New Haven, Connecticut. As in the shacks of Havana, the Africans once again wondered where they were and what plans their white masters had for them.
Black stars in the American sky
The story of the slave revolt at La Amistad immediately made the front page of every American newspaper. News of the “pirate ship” and its African crew reached Washington and Boston. The New Haven prison, where the Africans arrived on 31 August, became a major attraction in Connecticut. On the first day alone, two thousand people visited to see for themselves what the heroes of the newspaper headlines looked like. Some sympathised with the downtrodden Africans, others were saddened by their fate. If for no other reason than the fact that you had to pay an entrance fee to visit the prison, it had turned into an amusement park. Warden Pendleton, into whose pockets the money flowed, was rubbing his hands contentedly.
Interest in this incredible story continued unabated; on the contrary, plays based on the events of La Amistad were staged on theatre stages in New York, and one could even see wax puppets of Cinqeu and company in a Broadway museum. While the whole country was talking about them, the voices of the Africans were inaudible, or rather, no one understood them. Although they collectively spoke at least a dozen minor African languages, this did not help them one bit in the remote America. Their communication with the outside world was only by hand. Although they were surrounded by many people who wanted to help them, their inability to communicate made them lonely in reality.
Fortunately, Dr Gibbs, a linguist from Yale University, visited the New Haven prison one day and, with an ingenious and simple approach, broke down the linguistic wall that separated them from the outside world. He learned to count to ten in their language, using his fingers, and went to a place where people from all over the world could be met – New York harbour. There, he walked from pier to pier, counting out loud to ten, until he was approached by two young men who looked at the white man speaking their language in amazement. When they learned that a group of their siblings were in prison in New Haven, they did not hesitate to offer their help. This gave the Africans of La Amistad a voice.
Cargo has the floor
With the new-found gift of speech, life was infinitely easier. They could finally tell their story and the world around them suddenly became more understandable. The most famous prisoners in the USA have gained many sympathies. Opponents of slavery wanted to put a human face on abolitionism through their story. It is easier to identify with a true story than with an abstract idea, they reasoned. If it is a moving story, so much the better. The abolitionists, led by Lewis Tappen, a hardened fighter for the abolition of slavery, became the greatest allies of the Africans of La Amistad, who, in the meantime, still did not know exactly what they were doing in prison and what plans their white masters had for them.
We can only guess what they thought when Tappen explained to them the mess they were in. They had become the subject of a complex legal dispute. Subject is the right word, because a Connecticut district court was deciding who was the rightful owner of the cargo from La Amistad, which included some of the most famous Africans in the United States. The two US Navy officers who intercepted the mutineer ship claimed that they were entitled under maritime law to a share of the cargo salvaged from La Amistad, but Ruiz and Montez defended themselves by arguing that the “cargo” was their personal property and, as such, could not be part of the compensation claimed by the officers.
Ownership disputes in the US have been no exception. Trials in such cases usually lasted no more than a few hours, but thanks largely to the abolitionists, the La Amistad trial was stretched to five days. Lewis Tappen, with the help of his supporters, organised what would now be called an extensive media campaign. The courtroom in New Haven was packed with abolitionist supporters who had turned the provincial town into a focal point for the fight against slavery. In addition, Tappen hired an experienced lawyer, Roger Baldwin, to take the fight for the rights of Africans into the courtroom.
The abolitionists did something amazing – they convinced the judge that “cargo”, which by definition cannot be a party to legal proceedings, can at least tell its story. To the great delight of all their supporters, Cinque, Grabeau and other Africans lined up in front of the judge. They spoke with enthusiasm about life in Africa, the “middle passage”, the shacks in Havana and the La Amistad rebellion. People looked with teary eyes at Cinque, who was kneeling on the floor of the auditorium, trying to illustrate as vividly as possible the situation in which he had spent two months, chained, in the underbelly of Teçora. The testimony of each of the Africans ended with the same words: “We just want to go home”.
On 11 January 1840, after five days of hearings, testimony and arguments, the trial of La Amsitad came to a close. “Africans were born free men, and have been free men ever since, and not slaves”, declared the Honourable Andrew Judson, Judge of the Connecticut District Court. His decision took everyone involved by surprise.
Anticipating an unfavourable outcome, the abolitionists had a plan in place to help the Africans escape from prison and then transport them by ship to Canada, where slavery was banned. But the opposing camp, rallied around US President Martin Van Buren, was so confident of victory that a US Navy warship was already waiting in New Haven to take the “cargo” in the opposite direction, to Cuba, to be handed over to its rightful owners, Ruiz and Montez.
On that day, the walls of New Haven Prison were shaking. Loud songs echoed through the corridors and many people cried. Justice had triumphed and Africa had never been so close. The people of La Amistad can finally go home.
Symbiosis
Despite the historic verdict, Tappen did not give in to the euphoria. He knew his opponents well and knew that they were not going to sit idly by. The abolitionists had won an important victory and gained many new supporters, but this did not dishearten the pro-slavery side. The most prominent of them sat in the White House. The eighth US President, Democrat Martin Van Buren, was firmly convinced that abolitionism was a threat to the stability of the country. He could hardly be disputed, for the debate on the nature of slavery was indeed causing friction in American society, culminating in the Civil War twenty years later. Van Buren was a pragmatic politician who did not bother with questions about the moral acceptability of slavery.
Meanwhile, the presidential elections were approaching, and Van Buren was seeking a new mandate. As a sworn supporter of slavery, he did not want to offend the part of his electorate for whom the word abolitionism sounded like a swear word. By then, the story of the Africans of La Amistad had long since spread beyond Connecticut and had become a national sensation. President Van Buren therefore began to score political points, as we would call it today, at the expense of the unfortunate Africans.
Immediately after the historic verdict in New Haven, he instructed the Attorney General to challenge it. The Attorney General therefore appealed the La Amistad judgment to the US Supreme Court on 23 January 1840. This time, the abolitionists and the Africans were not only fighting two Spanish merchants, but were joined by a new, highly motivated opponent – the President of the United States, who was seeking re-election.
The Africans had been free for less than two weeks when they received the news that they were legally required to go back to prison. No one knew how long they would spend behind bars this time before a new trial began. No one could explain to them complicated words such as “unfounded judgment”, “appeal” and “political points”. Thoughts of Africa quickly gave way to apathy and sadness.
Fortunately, Africans were surrounded by people who still believed that all was not lost. Lewis Tappen fought for their freedom with the same zeal as on the first day. New Haven was still the American capital of abolitionism, and interest in them in American society had not waned. Meanwhile, New Haven Prison had been transformed from an amusement park into a place of spiritual and cultural transformation. Abolitionists sought to turn pagan savages into civilised and virtuous Christians.
“They have abandoned most of their savage tendencies and have adopted the habits of the civilised world,” Tappen explained with satisfaction in February 1840. They have begun to dress in western clothes and have learned to read and write. But they also came to terms with more abstract concepts such as God, sin and guilt. The Africans were good students, but they saw the education they received somewhat differently from their teachers.
“If you were in my country and couldn’t speak to anyone, you would probably start learning our language. That’s why I want to learn yours,” Cinque explained to Tappen. The abolitionists wanted to show the savages the light of civilisation, while the latter had a more practical goal. They wanted to return home. Even if it meant dressing up in strange clothes and praying to an unknown deity.
Despite the cultural gulf, a kind of symbiosis has developed in their relationship. Without the help of their protectors, the Africans would have ended up on the gallows somewhere in Cuba long ago, but the abolitionists unexpectedly got their hands on a powerful tool that gave new impetus to the struggle to abolish slavery.
Help is coming
Meanwhile, a politician of national stature has also joined their camp. Shortly after the first verdict, John Quincy Adams, former President of the United States and one of the country’s best-known abolitionists, visited the New Haven prison. During what he called a “pleasant visit”, he too recognised the great political potential that lay in the story of the La Amistad rebels. He was aware that the Supreme Court would not only decide the fate of the imprisoned Africans, but also the future of a fractured American society. Slavery apologists and abolitionists would be pitted against each other. The prospect was of a clash between two Americas – one that clung to traditional values and one that fought for change. At the heart of this conflict were the Africans of La Amistad.
As the trial approached, anxiety crept into the New Haven prison. Cinque and company knew that their lives were in the hands of nine people wearing white wigs and always dressed in black. The US Supreme Court, which ruled on the La Amistad case, was the highest court in the country. In February 1841, in one of the courtrooms in the Capitol, where the Court was then based, a trial began that overshadowed all other events in the USA for several weeks. Journalists, politicians and the curious flocked to Washington from all corners of the country.
Meanwhile, behind the scenes, a diplomatic battle was being fought between Britain, where slavery was abolished in 1833, and Spain and the US, where slavery was still legal. The British pressed their opponents, demanding that the Africans of La Amistad be freed. They reminded their former colony of the 1814 Joint Agreement, in which both countries undertook to fight the slave trade. Britain had made a similar agreement with Spain, paying it $40 million, but Madrid seemed to have forgotten about it. British pressure failed and the battle moved from the diplomatic to the legal arena.
A moment of truth
The trial began on 22 February 1841. Henry Giplin, the Attorney General of the United States, was the first to appear before the judges, effectively representing Spain’s interests. He asked for the judgment of the Connecticut District Court, which had ruled more than a year earlier that Africans were free men, to be overturned. Giplin argued that the Africans were bandits and pirates who had taken control of La Amistad by violence.
At the same time, he submitted documents to the court to prove that the Africans were in fact slaves born in Cuba. This was to avoid accusations that Ruiz and Montez were involved in illegal trafficking. His reasoning was simple – the Africans with La Amistad were slaves and therefore the private property of Spanish merchants. He demanded that the infamous double-masted ship and all its “cargo” be returned to its rightful owners. All those involved knew full well that for the Africans, a return visit to Cuba would mean certain death. Giplin concluded his address after two hours, leaving the floor to the Africans.
Roger Baldwin, the lawyer who represented them in New Haven, spoke on their behalf. At the beginning of his defence, he wanted to outline to the court the hopelessness of the situation in which his clients find themselves. He argued that the Africans were fighting for their lives and their freedom against two infinitely more powerful opponents – the Kingdom of Spain and the USA. He then presented arguments that were well known and well tested. After all, Baldwin had already persuaded the Connecticut District Court with them. He concluded by saying that the trial “is being watched with great interest throughout the country and, I dare say, throughout the civilised world”.
John Quincy Adams then rose from the bench and first praised his predecessor, whose address was “so comprehensive and well articulated that I shall hardly have anything to add”.
The speech of the sixth US President therefore lasted only seven and a half hours. The old fox, who had dozens of marathon sessions in Congress under his belt, was a master of rhetoric. His linguistic acrobatics earned him the nickname “Old Man Eloquent” in Washington. The old man, who could express himself with skill, first pointed out the holes in the arguments of his opponents. They argued that Africans were both cargo, that is to say, a passive object, and bandits, that is to say, an active and, on top of that, aggressive subject. So what happened when the Africans took control of the ship? Did the cargo hijack itself?
Adams continued in a similar vein, and then went on to attack President Martin Van Buren, accusing him of interfering in the work of the Court. Adams, 47, was barely on his feet by the end of his speech. With tearful eyes and a shaking voice, he gave the room a few more rousing sentences on equality between human beings and said goodbye.
Epilog
A lull followed. The judges retreated to their chambers and went about their work. Meanwhile, the American public anxiously awaited their decision. In New Haven, the Africans trembled for their lives. They looked out of the window at passers-by and asked them what was happening in Washington. No one knew when the judges would make their decision.
On 9 March 1941, after seven long days, the Supreme Court finally handed down its verdict in the case “USA v. La Amistad”. “Africans were never legal slaves of Ruiz and Montez or of any other Spanish citizen. They were born in Africa, kidnapped there, and illegally transported to Cuba,” declared Judge Joseph Story. This ended the legal calvary of the Africans of La Amistad. Nine people in Washington ruled that Cinque, Burna, Grabeau and the rest of the unfortunates could go home.
When the news reached the New Haven prison, the Africans were happy, but this time they did not dance and sing. The memory of the disappointment that followed the first verdict was too fresh. It was only after a few days that they realised that they were truly free and that they could finally return home. Despite the victory in Washington, the black continent was still far away. Transporting a few dozen people from the USA to Africa was a not inconsiderable financial undertaking.
They were helped by their abolitionist friends, who came up with a solution in true American spirit. In May 1841, the Africans of La Amistad set off on a tour of American cities in an attempt to cash in on their fame. There were more than enough people willing to pay to see Cinque and company live. Africans told their life stories to packed houses and answered questions from a curious audience. In between the performances, the singing of lively African songs alternated with earnest Bible recitations. The symbiosis between Africans and abolitionists was still alive. Within a few months, enough money had been raised to begin preparations for the return home.
On November 27th 1841, in New York, Africans bid farewell to their friends and boarded the Gentleman. They were joined on board by five missionaries. Cinque had promised Tappen that he would help the divine messengers to establish a mission on African soil. He fulfilled his promise and the evangelisation of the Mendi country began. The missionaries expected that the Africans of La Amistad would also help them spread the word of God, but this did not happen. They were disappointed to find that as soon as they arrived, they threw off their western clothes and returned to their “savage ways”. In reality, they had just returned home.
