by David Pesci
“Your Honor,” Holabird said, “while certain members of this band of blacks have shown themselves to be cunning and clever, it is well known that the black race is not a very bright one, and it is entirely possible that these men only comprehend the field dialect that they were raised with.”
Staples shot to his feet.
“Objection, Your Honor! Mr. Holabird’s statement is not only crass and derogatory, it is totally without merit and slanders my clients.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Staples,” Judson said. “As much as some of us may hate to admit it, I believe what Mr. Holabird has said has strong basis in scientific facts and observations. Though some blacks do quite well, the race in general is not highly intelligent. Your objection is overruled.”
“Your Honor,” Baldwin said. “I would like to follow up on Mr. Holabird’s point, if I may.”
A low roar of surprise ran through the courtroom. Judson slammed his gavel down hard.
“Quiet in my court. You may proceed, Mr. Baldwin.”
“Dr. Gibbs, have any of the blacks learned to speak English since they have been tutored by you and the other representatives of Yale?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How many?”
“All of them.”
“Objection!” Holabird said standing. “They do not speak English. If they did, why, then, have their defense attorneys enlisted the services of an interpreter?”
“I must say, Mr. Baldwin, that I was called on board the Washington when these blacks were brought into New London,” Judson said. “The leader, Cinqué, knew a phrase or two but none of the others questioned by the ship’s officers could speak any English.”
“They have all improved their abilities, Your Honor,” Gibbs said. “They cannot speak English as well as you or I, it’s true. But virtually all of them have learned a number of words and sentences over the past few weeks. And they comprehend what they are saying, too.”
“How many words, Mr. Gibbs?” Baldwin asked.
“I would say the average is perhaps between fifty and one hundred.”
“So these men have been in this country less than three months and they have learned between fifty and one hundred words, but the prosecutor claims that they lived in Cuba for as much as twenty-five years and couldn’t learn Spanish at all,” Baldwin stated.
“Objection! Objection, Your Honor!” Holabird cried. “This is ridiculous. We have seen no display of any of this ability by any of these blacks to speak English.”
“Mr. Baldwin, would you care to put your clients to a test before the court?” Judson said.
“Absolutely, Your Honor. Select a man, or better yet, Mr. Holabird, select any man from among my clients.”
Holabird looked to Judson. Judson nodded. Holabird walked over to the tribesmen. Most of them sat in the jury box or in chairs placed around it. Some squatted on the floor or leaned against the wall. Holabird stopped in front of the one he thought looked like the dullest and slowest of the group and pointed.
“You. What is your name?”
The tribesman stood slowly from his squatting position and looked from Singbe to Tappan to Covey. Holabird snorted.
“Name?”
The tribesman said nothing. Holabird smiled.
“Fifty words indeed.”
Holabird turned to the bench and opened his mouth to say something to Judson.
“My name Burnah.”
The people in the gallery gasped. Holabird wheeled.
“Who said that? Was it him? Was it you?”
“I Burnah.”
“Bur-nah? Bur-nah. Fine. He knows his name. That is hardly English.”
“It is more than the Spanish he knew when they were taken by the Washington,” Sedgwick said.
“Bid him say something else,” Judson said. “Bur-nah. Speak.”
“I Burnah. Burnah. I come Africa. I learn from Dr. Gibbs and Dr. Gal-a-det. I learn Jesus and God. Halleluia!”
Burnah looked around the room. He could see that every person had turned and was looking at him. He smiled and raised his right hand.
“One, two, three, four, five. God bless Amer-ca.”
Holabird’s face boiled with anger and embarrassment.
“Your Honor,” he hissed, “this man is simply repeating phrases that have been fed to him by his tutors. He has no comprehension of what he is saying.”
“Comprehension is not the issue here, Your Honor,” Baldwin said. “All we were trying to establish was that these men had learned some English during their very short stay in our country. Yet, they have learned no Spanish over a supposed lifetime in Cuba. It is simply another fact that casts aspersions on their alleged origins as landino slaves. Please, feel free to question any of these men. You will find they have all learned some English.”
Holabird was still skeptical and asked to interview more of the blacks. Judson consented but stopped the interrogation after the third tribesman. All who were questioned spoke at least a few sentences of English. None of this was doing the government’s case any good. The day was growing late but there was much anticipation among the observers. It was rumored that Cinqué was scheduled to testify soon with Covey as a translator. Judson was aware of the excitement among the people in the gallery, but he thought they and the press had been given enough to talk about for one day. He adjourned the court until the next morning.
The defense had planned to call Singbe the next day, but the slight cold that Covey had caught had degenerated into a deep-fevered, body-shaking, debilitating flu. He had shivered through the court proceedings over the last two days and had nearly passed out twice during the questioning of the tribesmen by Holabird. Now, on Friday morning, his condition was so severe he could not get out of bed. The tribesmen were extremely concerned, but Tappan kept them away, afraid that whatever it was that Covey had contracted would spread to the others.
Baldwin had juggled the witness list to accommodate the growing severity of Covey’s illness. He had hoped for a reversal of symptoms. But now, with Covey incapacitated, Baldwin was running out of people. Virtually all of the Yale faculty involved were called, as well as some of the students. Gedney and Meade had already testified. Antonio had been called as a prosecution witness and would add nothing to the defense. Aside from the tribesmen, Green and Fordham were the only ones left.
Green went first. He claimed that, despite the court survey, he believed the Amistad was less than five hundred yards from shore. He said the blacks had offered him the ship and chests of gold to sail them to Africa. He admitted that his plan all along was to sail the ship into New York harbor and claim salvage. Baldwin asked what condition the men were in when he came upon them.
“They were getting in a long boat. They looked like a hungry bunch. I could tell they ain’t had much to eat as of late.”
“How were they dressed?”
“Some wore pants. Others just looked like, well, like savages. Practically naked with just their privates covered by some rags.”
“Did any wear chains?”
“Chains? No, sir.”
“So they were free?”
“Aye, sir.”
Holabird stood and stated for the record that pirates and mutinous slaves do not wear chains, either.
Ellsworth went into extensive questioning of both Green and Fordham, trying to establish that they had come across the Amistad first. He insinuated that Gedney had perhaps run off with the chests of gold supposedly contained in the Amistad’s hold. Isham objected, saying such chests had never been seen nor were they listed on the manifest.
“Just because we have never seen them, does not mean they did not exist,” Ellsworth exhorted.
He went on to emphasize that Green did not wish to claim salvage on the slaves.
“My client is a resident of the free state of New York and wishes no truck with slavery. He is a true humanitarian and is interested only in his rights to a percentage of the value of the inanimate cargo and the ship.”
Testimony ended and court was adjourned. The next day Covey was no better. Baldwin had the dubious task of approaching Judson to ask for a postponement.
“For how long?”
“Until Mr. Covey is well enough to provide translation services for my clients. He is hard hit. I would say perhaps a week to ten days.”
“A week!” Holabird protested. “These are stalling tactics, Your Honor.”
“I cannot help it that Mr. Covey is ill,” Baldwin persisted.
“And I cannot help it that this court’s docket is full,” Judson said. “I have another case scheduled in a fortnight. This trial is near completion. We have already had one shortened week due to Thanksgiving. I can ill afford to grant any sort of extension. It would push the whole docket back.”
“Your Honor, Mr. Covey’s participation is essential to my clients’ defense.”
“I’m not completely convinced of that, Mr. Baldwin, but I am feeling generous today. I will grant a postponement. Until Tuesday. If you interpreter cannot present himself to the court by then, you shall have to press on.”
“But Your Honor, that is only three days!”
“Don’t test me on this, Mr. Baldwin, or we will continue on today without interruption.”
Baldwin started to speak but he caught himself. He bowed his head.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” he muttered.
Judson slammed his gavel down. “This court is adjourned until Tuesday, December fourth.”
Covey’s fever grew worse. He became delirious late Sunday night and shook uncontrollably. Tappan sent to New York City for his personal physician but Baldwin and Sedgwick thought it was too late. The local doctor who provided services to negroes predicted Covey would not live to see the morning. He did, but his condition was unimproved. The fever persisted. Covey actually tried to get out of bed early Tuesday morning, but his legs were too weak to hold him and he fell to the floor. He suggested they put him in a chair and carry him over to the courthouse, but even sitting up made him nauseous. His presence in court was just not possible.
The defense team entered the courtroom with heavy hearts. Baldwin walked over to Judson’s chambers and knocked on the door. Inside, the judge and Holabird sat in front of the small fireplace drinking hot cider.
“Come to gloat, have you?” Holabird sneered.
“Gloat? No, I came to speak to the judge about the postponement.”
“Well, you shall just have to live with it. There is nothing I can do. Both Governor Ellsworth and General Isham are as ill as that sailor. Ellsworth’s doctor says he’ll need at least two weeks. That takes us into the holidays. The earliest date I could set that was agreeable to the claimants and the prosecution was January the seventh. Are you here to tell me that doesn’t satisfy your clients, Mr. Baldwin? For if so, spare your words. You’ll get no quarter.”
“January seventh? January seventh. No. No, Your Honor. The seventh will be fine, sir. Gentlemen, good day.”
Baldwin stepped out of the chambers only to see the huge grin on Staples’s face.
“The clerk came over to tell us while you were in with the judge.” Staples laughed. “Providence is smiling on us.”
“Let’s hope her smile is big enough to cover James, as well,” Sedgwick said.
Two days after Christmas, Forsyth paid a visit to the White House at the invitation of President Van Buren. The weather all along the East Coast had been unusually cold and stormy. Though Forsyth’s home was only a few blocks away, he decided to be taken to the White House in a sleigh rather than walk. Upon entering, he was escorted to a room near the back of the building. Van Buren had pulled two chairs up very close to the fireplace and was drinking from a mug of steamy liquid.
“John. I’m glad you are here. Would you care for some blackberry tea?”
“Certainly, Mr. President.”
Van Buren signaled the butler who quickly came back with a large mug of tea. The butler left the room, closing the door behind him.
“John, the Attorney General has told me that the Amistad case looks like a lock.”
“I fairly well agree, Mr. President. Despite the delay, I believe we will have a verdict soon after the court reconvenes. And with Mr. Judson sitting at the bench, I dare say a proper verdict, at that.”
“Very good. I’ve also considered your suggestion about making this disappear thereafter. I wholeheartedly agree. What would you think if, as soon as the verdict is declared, we stick that whole pack of renegade negroes on a U.S. naval vessel and get them the hell back to Havana?”
“Mr. President, I think that is an excellent idea, save for one detail.”
“I know, I know. It denies the blacks their right of appeal. But for Christ’s sake, John. They’re not even U.S. citizens. For the love of God, if they’re slaves then they’re not even citizens, no matter where they’re from.”
“I agree, Mr. President, and I can see the sense in what you’re saying. You and I both know, however, that the abolitionists will raise a major row.”
“We’re returning Spanish subjects to Spanish territory for trial under Spanish laws. If they are in fact free men, then they can prove it in a Spanish court. We can even send Gedney and Meade down there as witnesses.”
“Plausible. But we will still feel considerable heat from the press sympathetic to the abolitionist cause.”
“A distinct minority. And no matter what we do, short of nationwide emancipation, they will never be with us anyway. Besides, we’ve given them due process. They will have had their trial and lost. What I want to know is how long would you say this whole thing will take to run its course in the papers, other than the abolitionist rags, I mean?”
“Three to four weeks, I would wager. If that.”
“And the diplomatic rumblings?”
“Well, the Spanish, of course, would be extremely pleased and in fact beholden to us for a great favor. The British may lodge a protest with us regarding the illegal seizure of blacks, but they really have nothing to base it on since this can be portrayed as a domestic issue for the Spanish. And once Spanish justice gets through with the slaves, I believe they’ll have no illegal blacks alive to point to. None from the Amistad, anyway.”
Van Buren stood and picked up a large brass-handled poker. He jabbed it hard into the biggest log in the fire, sending an explosion of sparks up the chimney.
“Well, then, I’d say this will do the trick nicely. I will have my secretary send a memorandum to the Secretary of the Navy, Mr. Pauling, to cut orders to have a ship standing by in New Haven harbor. As soon as Judson pronounces his judgment, we will be rid of this odious problem once and for all.”
Forsyth held up his glass. “Here, here, sir.”
Andrew Judson sat at the large oak desk in his study reading depositions for an upcoming trial. His head was tilted slightly back so he could see through the small half-crescent wire-rimmed spectacles that sat at the end of his nose. Two large oil lamps, fashioned to look like candelabra, burned brightly from the corners of the desk. Outside in the winter darkness, the temperature was well below zero, and despite the broad blanketing warmth that was being thrown from the wide brick fireplace across the room, the inside of the study’s windows glowed with a fine, white, frosty glaze.
Aside from the light crackling and the occasional pops of the flames and wood burning brightly in the fireplace, the room was silent, except for every few minutes when a grunt or a sigh would seep fromjudson’s mouth. The sounds escaped in nearly regular intervals and it was difficult to tell whether they were a response to something he was seeing in the transcripts or if the man’s body simply produced throaty spurts and hisses by habit with his silent reading. Whatever the case, it had been nearly two grunts and a loud dwindling sigh before he realized someone else was in the room sitting in one of the broad velvet-seated oak chairs by the fire.
“Good evening, Andrew. This is a lovely fire. Would you mind if I threw another log on?”
Judson took off the glasses an
d stood. “Thadeus! Good God, sir. When did you come in?”
“Your man Michael let me in out of this deuced cold about twenty minutes ago. I’ve been sitting here ever since. You were working so hard I didn’t want to bother you. And in truth, I was happy to take a moment to try and get some heat in my bones. It’s been so blasted cold outside for so long, I swear I’ll never be completely warm again.”
Judson smiled. “Brandy?”
“If you can spare a drop.”
Judson walked over to a cabinet, took out a bottle and two snifters and poured three fingers in each.
“Would you like this warmed?”
“No, no. It’s fine as it is, Andrew.”
Judson sat down in the other chair and the men toasted the New Year, which had come in two days earlier.
“So, Thadeus. What brings you out so late on such an evening?”
“God, it is awful, Andrew. They say hell is all flames and boiling heat, but I swear to you that Satan’s kingdom is a frozen, desolate place. However, I am not here to present my views on the hereafter or pilfer from your fine brandy stores, or even to test your always pleasant hospitality. I wish to discuss the Amistad case with you.”
Judson held his gaze at his friend while sitting back in the chair and taking a long sip from the glass. He said, “You know I am not at liberty to discuss particulars of the case.”
“I am not interested in particulars. I’m interested in the future. Your future, Andrew.”
Thadeus Moss rose. He still wore his greatcoat but it was unbuttoned now and revealed a fine English suit with a deep blue jacket and black pants. A bright red silk ascot was in his collar, a gold pin with a single diamond stud holding it in place. The glow from the fire washed his steel-colored hair with dark flickering orange and red. His face, which must have been devastatingly handsome in his younger days, was still stunning.
“You have done well,” Moss continued. “From selectman to prosecutor to congressman and now a federal judge. You have ambition for more still, yes?”
“Certainly there are other positions that I am sure I could execute adequately.”
“Andrew, it’s me! You need not be so modest. I am one of your most vigorous supporters. As I see it you should be able to choose your way from here, be it to the Senate and beyond, or the Supreme Court.”