The Captives of the Amistad. Simeon Eben Baldwin

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       Simeon Eben Baldwin

      The Captives of the Amistad

      Published by Good Press, 2021

       [email protected]

      EAN 4064066446963

Table of Contents

       Section 1

       Section 2

       Section 3

       Section 4

       Section 5

       Section 6

       Section 7

       Section 8

      Section 1

       Table of Contents

      [Read May 17, 1886].

The most famous case ever tried in Connecticut was that of the Amistad. None ever awakened a wider interest or a deeper feeling. There is something dramatic in the story of every law-suit; but here was a tragedy of the loftiest character, an issue to which great governments were parties. It had a large political importance, and in reviewing our history for a quarter of a century that followed its decision, I think we may fairly deem it one of the first guide-posts that pointed the way to the yet unopened grave of slavery in the United States. Our late associate, Mr. John W. Barber, published in pamphlet form in 1840, a brief account of the earlier stages of the affair, and Henry Wilson in his Rise and Fall of the Slave Power in America, devotes a chapter to the case;^[1] but it seems worthy of a fuller record, in which both its legal and its political features can be described with greater precision and completeness.

In the Spring of 1839, a number of Africans living near the west coast, were kidnapped by some of their own countrymen, acting as the agents of Spanish slave-traders, and placed in a barracoon, at a place called Dumbomo. From thence, a Portuguese slaver, the Teçora, took them to Havana, where in a few days there were sold in two lots to a couple of Cubans, Don José Ruiz and Don Pedro Montez. Ruiz was the largest purchaser, taking 49 of them at $450 apiece.^[2]

      At this time the slave trade was no longer lawful in Spain. The law of nations did not forbid it, but in 1817, Great Britain, by a payment of £400,000, obtained the ratification of a treaty with that power, by which it was to be abolished throughout the Spanish dominions in 1820. A royal decree was promulgated to carry this stipulation into effect, but it remained practically a dead letter in her American colonies.

      The chief of these Mendi captives, was Cinquè, otherwise called Cinquez, Jinqua, or Sinqua, a tall and stalwart African of commanding presence and determined spirit. A little schooner of about sixty tons was chartered to take them, with an assorted cargo of merchandise, to Guanaja, another Cuban port, and Ruiz and Montez sailed from Havana on June 28, 1839. The vessel’s papers described the negroes as ladinos, a term meaning those who had acquired a foreign language, but commonly used to designate slaves imported before 1820; and to give this more color, Spanish names were also assigned to each, at random. This was done by collusion between the authorities and the slave traders, who usually paid the Governor at Havana hush-money at the rate of $15 a head, for each slave landed at the port.

      The Africans had been brought over on the Teçora in irons, but it was thought unnecessary to chain them down on this short coasting voyage. Their supply of provisions and water was scant, and two who went to the water-cask without leave were whipped for it. One of them asked the cook where they were being taken, and received for answer that they were going to be killed and then eaten. This ill-timed mockery was taken for earnest, and was the last incitement needed to rouse the captives to strike for liberty. During the second night out, they rose under the lead of Cinquè. Several of them had armed themselves with knives, of the kind used to cut the sugar-cane. The captain of the schooner was attacked, killed his first assailant, and then fell himself by a stroke from Cinquè’s knife. The cook paid for his pleasantry with his life, also at Cinquè’s hand. Montez was severely wounded. The cabin-boy, a mulatto slave of the captain, named Antonio, and Ruiz, were secured and bound. The rest of the crew escaped in one of the boats.

      It was a sharp and sudden struggle. Mr. Barber made it the subject of one of his quaint wood-cuts, as a frontispiece to his history of the Amistad Captives already noticed, and Mr. Hewins, a Boston artist, painted a large picture of the scene, which is now deposited in this building, the property of our associate, Mr. Wm. B. Goodyear.

      The cane-knife, of which the negroes made use, is a formidable weapon, and does its work something after the fashion of a hatchet or short bill-hook. The handle is a square bar of steel an inch thick, and the blade, which is some two feet long, widens regularly out to a breadth of three inches at the end. In the grasp of a strong arm like that of Cinquè, it is as sure and deadly as the guillotine.

      It was his design, if the rising were successful, to attempt the voyage back to their native country, of which they only knew that it was “three moons” distant and lay toward the east. One of the negroes could speak a little Arabic, and another a few words of English. By signs and threats they made Ruiz and Montez take the wheel by turns, and steer to the eastward. By day, they kept this direction, but as soon as the tell-tale sun had set, they would bring the vessel gradually about and head for the north. Two months of these zig-zag courses brought the little schooner at last to a shore far from that which the Africans hoped to see.

      On Sunday, August 25th, they cast anchor off what proved to be the northern coast of Long Island, not far from Montauk Point.

      A reconnoitering party came ashore, some with nothing on but a handkerchief twisted around their loins, and others with blankets thrown over their shoulders. They went to the neighboring houses for water and provisions, and paid for what they got in Spanish gold, buying among other things a couple of dogs for a doubloon apiece.

      The schooner had been sailing about the entrance to the Sound in an aimless way for two or three days before the landing, and the newspapers had mentioned it as a suspicious craft. On Monday, while some of the negroes were cooking on the beach and others lying down in the long grass, a party of the neighboring inhabitants drove up to find out who they were.

      Banna, the new one who knew a few English words, tried to communicate with them. His first inquiry, I regret to say, was “Have you rum?” and the first information he volunteered was they had money, some of which was promptly accepted by their visitors in exchange for a bottle of gin. Cinquè who was at the time on board the schooner, was now sent for, and as soon as he was rowed over, he told Banna to ask whether this country made slaves. The reply was, “No. This a free country.” “Are there any Spaniards here?” was the next question. Again they said, “No,” and at this Cinquè whistled and all his followers sprang up and gave a shout of joy. The white men were frightened and ran to their wagons for their guns, but the blacks soon showed that they had no hostile intent, by shaking hands and presenting them with their own guns, of which they had two, a knife, a hat and a handkerchief. They asked one of their visitors, a Capt. Green, who was a sea-faring man, if he would