Amistad

by David Pesci

  While the excitement was still rippling through the room, Singbe leaned into Burnah and whispered a few words. The smile faded slightly from his face as he listened. Singbe stood back and smiled. Burnah nodded and began moving through the others. Within two minutes, everyone had heard and nodded. Grabeau walked over to Singbe.

  “Why tell them this? That we are of tribes other than Mende?”

  “I am glad that we finally have someone to talk with who can make our story known to the whites,” Singbe said. “But I do not trust the whites, at least none outside of this room. If they find out where we are from, perhaps they will try to go to our villages and steal or kill our families and clansmen. So let them think we are Mandingo or Genduma who can speak Mende.”

  Grabeau nodded. Covey walked over and put his hand on Singbe’s shoulder.

  “Mr. Tappan would like to speak with you. He wants to hear your story in your own words.”

  Singbe stepped forward. The room became quiet. The tribesmen squatted down or sat on the cell’s dirt floor.

  “What is your name?” Covey asked. “They call you Joseph Cinqué.”

  “They may call me what they like, but my name is Singbe-Pieh. And I am a free man.”

  “Tell us how you came to this situation, how it is that you are among the Americans now?”

  Singbe told them everything, the story of his capture, of his time in the Lomboko factory and the voyage on the Teçora, how he and the others had been kept in the baracoons, seized the slave ship, and tried to sail back home. Tappan, Jocelyn, Baldwin, and Sedgwick stood in the cell’s doorway and listened in rapt amazement. It took nearly two hours for Singbe to provide all the details.

  “All I want is to get back to my wife and my family. That is all any of us want. To get back home.”

  When Singbe had finished, Tappan walked up and gave him a great hug.

  “We are your friends, truly. And we shall do all we can to help all of you get back to your homes and families.”

  Covey translated the words. Singbe shook Tappan’s hand firmly.

  “I will trust you, my friend.”

  It was decided that Covey would interview each of the tribesmen while the Yale divinity students served as recorders. The stories could then be compared and elements used for the court defense as well as to bring out more facts to the public about the horrors of the slave trade.

  Later that night, Sedgwick, Tappan, and Baldwin discussed the events over dinner.

  “Though he says his name is Singbe, I should like to keep referring to him as Cinqué in court and whenever we speak of him,” Tappan said. “That identity has been built in the press and in the minds of the populace, and we should do nothing to confuse or alter that.”

  Both Sedgwick and Baldwin nodded.

  “I also like the fact that he is a rice farmer and not a warrior chieftain or prince,” Tappan continued. “It shows a certain commonality that everyman in the street can identify with.”

  Sedgwick skewered a huge chunk of steak with his fork and shoved it in his mouth before he began speaking.

  “If anything, I’ve found the man to be more noble and heroic because he isn’t highborn or a chief. Hell, he just wanted to get back to his wife and little ones. Anyone can lend sympathy to that.”

  “Exactly. This will be a boon to our defense,” Tappan said, smiling and raising his burgundy glass. “To our much improved chances.”

  Sedgwick drained his mug of ale and signaled the tavern keeper for another. He said, “I will drink to that, but we still have quite a fight. The court will take these words into account, sure. But they are the words of black men against those of white men. We know who wins that one, court of law or not. And regardless of what these men have said today, Judson will still be looking at them as slaves, especially with the documentation held by Ruiz and Montes.”

  “I’m afraid Theodore is right, Lewis,” Baldwin said. “This is good information, but it is not a lever that will move this case in our favor.”

  Tappan was undeterred. He knew that this would play well in the papers. He could see the headlines in his mind: “Cinqué speaks!” “Africans Tell of Atrocities!” “The Amistads’ Heroic Odyssey Revealed!” But he sensed that there was something more that could be extracted from all of this. Something that would be unprecedented.

  “How can we use this to our benefit?” Tappan asked. “Other than in the district court, I mean?”

  Baldwin and Sedgwick looked to each other and then back to Tappan. Both lawyers were tolerating the public relations carnival that Tappan had brought to the case. After all, they, too, believed in the cause and wished to see slavery ended, and they knew how important this case could be in bringing that about. It had already instigated debates nationwide of varying intensity on slavery. In many communities, sympathy with the Amistads ran high, which could only help when the court convened in November. But it was going to be a considerable task to redefine their defense and anticipate the prosecution’s response when they discovered the blacks would be testifying. The idea of further “usage” was beyond them.

  Tappan read their faces. He smiled and reframed his question.

  “Suppose for a moment that the Amistads are white. This has been the basis of our defense thus far, correct? Equal treatment under the law with disregard for color. Well, then, let us continue to think in those terms. Now, we have the information we heard today from Cinqué, Grabeau, and the others. What else do we put in the tray to make the scales tip even further in our favor?”

  Baldwin sipped his wine, lost in thought. Sedgwick took a whole potato in his hand, bit it in half, and washed it down with some ale.

  “How far do you want them to tip, Mr. Tappan?”

  “If possible? Further than they’ve ever gone before, Mr. Sedgwick.”

  Sedgwick winked at Baldwin and held his tankard over his head so the tavern keeper could see it was empty. “Then, sir, I think I have an idea that may satisfy your needs.”

  Two nights later, at a posh Manhattan restaurant, Pepe Ruiz, Pedro Montes, and two female escorts were sharing dinner with one of New York’s City Councilmen and his wife. They had just begun their third bottle of champagne when a city sheriff approached the table, flanked by Lewis Tappan and a dozen reporters.

  “Mr. Pepe Ruiz?” The sheriff said. “Mr. Pedro Montes?”

  Ruiz tipped his glass to Tappan. “Mr. Tappan,” he said, “defender of pirates, murderers, and runaway slaves. I would ask you to join us but they do not serve from the swill trough at the tables. Perhaps if you went around back, accommodations could be found that are suitable for yourself.”

  The group at his table fluttered with laughter. Tappan smiled and turned to the sheriff.

  “These are your men, constable.”

  “Mr. Ruiz and Mr. Montes, I have here warrants for your arrests, pending appearance in New York Superior Court.”

  “What! On what charges?” scoffed the councilman.

  “Assault, battery, and false imprisonment,” the sheriff continued. “The claims are made by a Mr. Joseph Cinqué and a Mr. Grabeau.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Ruiz said, still laughing.

  The councilman snatched the warrants from the sheriff’s hands.

  “Let me see those! This is outrageous! These are spurious claims. It’s all a sham. Trumped up charges made by that man. By Tappan.”

  “I am happy to say that everything here is legal and true, Councilman Hyde.” Tappan smiled. “And before you utter a single word more, please consider that these gentlemen represent some of the city’s finest newspapers.”

  “What does this mean?” Ruiz asked.

  “It means, sir,” the sheriff said, “that you and Mr. Montes are under arrest and to be escorted to city jail pending hearing before a state judge.”

  “What!?”

  “You heard the man,” Tappan said. “You’re being sued. Welcome to America.”

  Judson’s Court

  Pepe is a fool, Pedro Monte
s thought.

  Montes tried to walk quickly, but the cold November rain made the cobblestone street slick and slippery. The wind blew up from the water, spraying his face with its wet, icy breath. He was sure the sun had been up for over an hour but the hard black sky had barely brightened since the dawn. He pressed his hands deeper into the pockets of his great coat and hugged his body for warmth. God, how he hated this country. Foul laws, prudish women, bland food, and bad weather. It was all so uncivilized. It would be a blessing to leave.

  The situation was becoming untenable, anyway. Pepe had convinced him that the trial would vindicate them and they would be treated as heroes, and for a while it seemed as if his predictions would come to pass. But with the lawyers and the judges and the courts having say over the country’s president, and now this, a lawsuit brought by the slaves – slaves suing their owners! What kind of a country was this? Were the Americans truly mad? It was all too much.

  Their lawyer had persuaded the judge to reduce the bail to a nominal fee, but they had spent three days in jail in the interim. And for what? For surviving savagery and almost certain death at the hands of their own property, only to have that same property sue them? It was insane!

  Pepe was insane, too. Pedro was sure of it. The Spanish minister told them they should both stay in jail, make an issue of the matter, and embarrass the Americans. He said Her Majesty would look favorably on such a sacrifice. It could lead perhaps to a knighthood when this was all over and done with. That was enough for Pepe. He refused bail and instead called in members of the press to say he would endure confinement because the fact that he, a white slave owner, was being sued by his own slaves for the conditions of their captivity, was a “national matter with which all Americans should heed and take notice.” Of course, the federal government had persuaded the New York officials to make his confinement extremely palatable. They gave Pepe a private cell and allowed him to come and go during the days and early evening as he pleased. The American Secretary of State had also instructed the New York District Attorney to provide legal services for both of them free of charge.

  Still, Pedro thought, it is all madness. None of it is worth contesting ownership of three brat slaves, or a knighthood, or one more day in this wretched country. He had resigned himself to cutting his losses long ago. Pepe may have more at stake, but he is a rich man and could well absorb all that has happened. He would do best to leave, too, and let the Americans do what they would with the niggers. May they all burn in hell together.

  Pedro got to the gangplank of the ship, the Texas, and showed his bill of passage to the porter. He went down to his cabin and shut the door, not opening it again for anything except to receive food and pass the chamber pot until the ship weighed anchor in Havana harbor.

  Sedgwick’s idea had worked to perfection. The lawsuits brought by Cinqué and Grabeau were a masterstroke. The suits hinged on whether the blacks were the legal property of Ruiz and Montes, and hence would have to wait until the district court rendered a decision on that issue. But a little time in jail and the prospects of having to mount a defense would give the Cubans a taste of their own sour medicine and offer a harsh counter-perspective to the rest of the country. As Sedgwick saw it, the Amistads were foreign nationals seeking refuge and justice just as the Cubans were, and the defense’s claim all along had been that the law did not specify difference based on color. So, why not let the Amistads pursue the same action any white man would follow if the tables were turned? Sedgwick didn’t expect to win the suits. Then again, if the cases were dismissed, he had thirty-three other clients who could bring identical actions against Ruiz and Montes, one by one. Sedgwick could tie the Cubans up in court until the end of the century.

  Tappan was equally pleased with the lawsuits, but for a completely different reason. It had thrust the Amistad case back into the front pages of virtually all the newspapers in the nation. It was also receiving notice in England, France, and Spain. Unfortunately, most of the stories sided with the Cubans. The Southern papers lambasted both Tappan for being a “puppet master who uses ignorant savages,” and the federal government for permitting “two foreigners seeking asylum from murderers to be enslaved by their torturers once again.” The New Orleans Times Picayune ran a large derisive front-page story with a thick black headline: TAPPANISM! Even the more liberal Northern papers expressed outrage at the action and identified it as an obvious manipulation by Tappan and the abolitionists. One paper, the New York Express, went on to pose a most prescient question: “How long will it be now before a Southern gentleman traveling with his servants is immediately sued by his property as soon as they cross over into a Northern state where slavery has been abolished?”

  Tappan was undeterred, as were most of the abolitionists. The most important thing was that people were talking – about the case, about slavery, and about the virtues and vices of abolition and the current American system. Sure, right now the effect was tumultuous and perhaps even a little dangerous. But danger was not a consideration when doing the Lord’s work. And besides, when the frenzy calmed, the issues would still remain. A smart man would know how to use all of this – how to cultivate it, shape it, perhaps even control it to a certain degree – to spur it on and forward. The great debate they had been trying to ignite for a decade was finally burning. Tappan would do everything he could to keep the coals hot and glowing.

  The morning of November 19 blew into New Haven gray and windswept with a raw stiffness that had been gripping Connecticut and the other New England States through most of the shortening late autumn days. Despite the weather, the green held a crowd of thousands. Every seat and place fit for standing in the courthouse had been filled. People cheered and jeered as the tribesmen and Antonio, bundled in blankets and donated coats, were led from the jail to the court building. Off to one side, a man with a large wooden sandwich board draped around his body stood on a small platform lecturing to the nearly one hundred people who had gathered around him. The sandwich board read: “Equal Treatment for Whites!” As the full crowd reacted to the tribesmen emerging from the jail, the man turned and pointed.

  “Look, now! There they are! Look at how they are dressed! Fine coats, wool pants, socks and shoes on their feet. Gloves and hats they’ve been given, too! And have you seen their quarters? Every man has a blanket and plenty to eat! I say the white men in this jail or any other jail in this state ain’t been treated near as good. Why not? Ain’t they citizens of this state? Don’t they deserve as good if not better than a bunch of motley niggers fresh from the bush?”

  As the tribesmen passed, the man spit in their direction and continued to yell, “Equal treatment for the whites in jail! Equal treatment for the whites!” Many in the crowd joined in with his chorus until well after the tribesmen had disappeared into the courthouse.

  The three girls were brought in through the back door by Colonel Pendelton. When preferred incarceration had been declared in the last trial, his wife had offered to take the girls into their home rather than have them exposed to the filth and “criminal elements” of the jailhouse. Judge Thompson had readily agreed so long as the Yale students were allowed in on a regular basis to provide tutoring.

  Andrew Judson convened his court at 10:00 A.M. and asked for opening statements from all parties. As he listened to the arguments he took special note of where Lewis Tappan and the other abolitionists sat. He planned to cite any outburst from that group as an action in contempt of the court and have the offending person or persons dismissed for the remainder of the trial.

  Before they even opened, the district court proceedings generated a substantial amount of new excitement. Henry Green had added his name to the claimants for salvage and obtained as his lawyer William Ellsworth, who was also Governor of Connecticut at the time. It was unusual but not unprecedented for a sitting governor to he involved in active litigation during his term. The Amistads had been big news since they had set foot in the state, and being a smart politician, Ellsworth had tried fr
om the beginning to become associated with the case in some way. He was also friends with Lewis Tappan, having served as the defense lawyer for Prudence Crandall. Even though he was seen by many state residents to have been on the “wrong side” of that case, the counsel he provided was admired. Many say that the notoriety he gained propelled him to the Democratic nomination and the governorship. Ellsworth had approached the Amistad Committee asking that he be allowed to lead the defense. They declined, preferring Baldwin and also believing that Ellsworth’s presence would be more about his needs and lust for attention than the needs of their clients. Undeterred, Ellsworth then approached Gedney and Meade, and later Ruiz and Montes. All had found suitable council. Ellsworth could do nothing except attend the circuit court proceedings. But when he did, he heard about Green’s encounter with the Africans. He had also heard through a New York friend that Green felt he was entitled to the salvage, or at least a percentage, since he had “discovered the Africans and their ship.” Ellsworth contacted Green, listened to his story and, convinced the man had a case, filed the necessary papers to be included in the salvage claims before the district court.

  Along with entertaining the claims of Ellsworth and Green, the court would also be hearing the testimony of Dr. Richard R. Madden, the British Superintendent of Liberated Slaves in Havana and a self-appointed observer of the Cuban slave trade. A staunch anti-slavery man, Dr. Madden was returning to England after ten years in Cuba. He had beard about the Amistad case and had written to Tappan offering to testify about the conditions of the Havana market, as well as to offer his own evaluation as to whether the blacks were bozales or landinos. During a trip to the States five years before, Madden had gained a reputation as a fine writer and orator and a passionate opponent of slavery. He had even been invited to dinner by President Jackson, who nearly laughed the old Irishman out of the White House when he suggested that the President work to abolish slavery in the United States.