Amistad

by David Pesci

  The next day, Holabird began his cross-examination of Singbe.

  “Joseph, is it true that you were a slaveholder in your native land?”

  Holabird’s question froze all the movement and coughing in the already chilly courtroom. Baldwin stood. “Your Honor …”

  “Instruct your client to answer the question, Mr. Baldwin.”

  Baldwin shrugged and nodded to Covey who relayed the question to Singbe.

  “No. I have never had a slave,” Singbe said through his interpreter.

  “But isn’t it true that you told James here that you had owned a slave?” Holabird continued. “Two slaves, in fact. And that you owed a man a sum of money and agreed to settle by selling him the slaves. But one of your slaves ran off, so the man took you and your remaining slave as well?”

  “No. This never happened,” Singbe continued.

  “So he says under oath,” Holabird said smugly. “We shall see the value of his word. No further questions, Your Honor.”

  As Singbe stood to leave the stand, Holabird asked to call the U.S. federal marshal, Norris Wilcox, who had been assigned to the slaves. Wilcox took the stand.

  “Mr. Wilcox, tell the court what you heard on December 14.”

  “The interpreter was talking to Cinqué, taking a statement. And Cinqué said that he had traded two slaves to pay a debt. But one of the slaves run off after the deal was done. So the man took Cinqué as payment for the debt. That’s how he come to be a slave.”

  “Are you sure of this?”

  “I was standing right at the bars when I heard it. Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  Wilcox stood and began to walk off the stand. Baldwin met him in front of the prosecution table. “Would it interrupt your day terribly if I asked you some questions, too, Mr. Wilcox?”

  The court broke into laughter. Judson was not amused. He knew Wilcox was well apprised of court proceedings. He pointed to the chair and reminded Wilcox he was under oath.

  “Mr. Wilcox, was there anyone else in the room with Mr. Cinqué and Mr. Covey?” Baldwin asked.

  “Sure. About ten of the other blacks.”

  “Any other white men?”

  “Yeah. There was one of those fellas from Yale.”

  “Would you know him if you saw him again?”

  “Sure.”

  “Is he in this courtroom today?”

  Wilcox took a moment and scanned the crowd. He stood to see better and then pointed to a man near the back.

  “That man, the short one in the black coat.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No further questions, Your Honor. But I would like to call that man, who is, in fact, one of the Yale Divinity faculty who helped us record the oral testimonies of my clients.”

  Baldwin was taking a chance. One of the Africans, Kimbo, had in fact said that he was taken because of a debt for which he tried to repay with two slaves. Wilcox had heard the story right, he had just gotten the face of the defendant wrong. The key was not to let those facts come out in court if at all possible.

  Baldwin questioned the man Wilcox had pointed out, George E. Day, a professor at Yale. He testified that he had recorded statements from Cinqué. Had Cinqué ever said he had owned slaves or sold them? No, in fact he went out of his way to mention that he had never owned a slave. Was this reflected in his statement? Word for word. Baldwin then offered to submit the testimony from Cinqué as Day had recorded it, as well as all other testimony from Cinqué taken down by others from Yale. Judson accepted the offer. Holabird cross-examined Day asking again about the slave incident. He did not ask about any of the other tribesmen holding slaves. Day left the stand without relaying Kimbo’s story. The transcripts later confirmed Day and Singbe’s testimony.

  The next day Burnah and Grabeau were called to testify. Both told their stories through Covey. Burnah went into great detail about being beaten for asking for more water. In his cross-examination of Grabeau, Holabird asked how the slaves had been treated since they had come to America.

  “Good,” Grabeau said in English.

  “Better than you were treated on the plantations?”

  “I have not been on a plantation,” Grabeau said through Covey. “And no matter how well we are treated, this is not our home. Cuba was not our home. We are African black-men.”

  Holabird asked to recall Antonio. Judson consented. Holabird asked Antonio when the slaves were loaded on the Amistad.

  “Just after dark,” Antonio said through a Spanish interpreter. “Perhaps eight o’clock.”

  “Eight o’clock, Your Honor!” Holabird said triumphantly. “Not the ‘late at night’ that was asserted by Cinqué.”

  Baldwin asked if Antonio had seen a watch or clock. Antonio said no, but that the slaves were loaded just after sunset, which, he thought, would be around eight o’clock. Baldwin had no further questions. Holabird beamed.

  The prosecution rested, as did the defense and the claimants. Closing statements were made. Holabird emphasized the documentation and the passages from the two treaties. Hungerford said that this was a case for Spanish law and demanded immediate release of the blacks to the Spanish authorities. Isham and Ellsworth talked about their clients’ rights to salvage.

  Baldwin stood and summed up the major facts as they pertained to the Amistads. He then turned to the questions of the blacks’ disposition and their origins.

  “They are men, Your Honor, not cargo. Even the Spanish Ambassador, Señor Argaiz, has admitted as much. In his diplomatic protest to the United States Government, which Minister Argaiz so kindly supplied to the nation’s newspapers, he said, and I quote: ‘I therefore request that the United States immediately surrender the ship, cargo, and slaves to the Spanish government so that justice can be carried out under Spanish law,’ end quote. Note he said ‘cargo and slaves.’ They are people, men, not inanimate objects. As men they are entitled to the same rights guaranteed to ‘all men’ in our Constitution.

  “But this case is also about the natural rights of all men who were born free and have lived as such throughout their lives. These men are citizens of African nations. I am certain we have proved at least that much. They were free men until they were illegally abducted and pressed into servitude. As free men illegally bound, they did what any free man would try to do. They exercised their rights to wrest themselves from false imprisonment and servitude. This is not an issue of race or property. It is an issue of natural law and a free man’s inherent right to maintain his liberty. The facts hold to this. It is only proper that their freedom be restored to them and that they be permitted to return to their homeland.”

  Judson adjourned the court until 10:00 A.M. on Monday, January 14, at which time he would issue his decision.

  Baldwin was trying to be optimistic but conceded that they would probably lose. In fact, he and Sedgwick had already begun drawing up the papers for an appeal.

  Tappan was now completely convinced that the government would be trying to get the blacks out on the Grampus the first night after the decision. He said as much to Baldwin and the others, but they refused to believe it. For the next two days, Tappan and Jocelyn tried to pull together the resources to get the tribesmen out of New Haven as soon as the trial ended. Their plan was to use a hundred or so devoted followers to start a commotion across the green as the tribesmen were being led from the courthouse to the jail. Upon seeing the commotion, Tappan would urge the guards to rush the tribesmen back into the jail. Once there, men posing as federal marshals would present the jailer with forged orders to transport the blacks out of the city to ensure their safety. Six large sleighs would be waiting at the back of the jail, and by the time anyone was the wiser, the blacks would be halfway to Farmington. It was a daring plan, more so because they had no backup. Much could go wrong and they would probably be traveling in broad daylight. But it was the best they could come up with, considering the limited time and the condi
tions.

  Holabird was also trying to leave nothing to chance. He instructed Lieutenant Paine, who received his revised warrant the day before, to have an armed contingent of Marine guards from the Grampus waiting outside the courthouse. When Judson read his decision in favor of the government, Holabird would request a meeting with Baldwin, Tappan, and the others to propose a “deal.” While this was happening, the blacks would be escorted back to the jail. Paine and the Marine guards would meet them at the courthouse doors, present the warrant, and take possession of the blacks. They would be loaded on the ship and be on their way out of the harbor within an hour. The plan had to be altered only slightly when Paine noted that, because of his abbreviated crew, he had no Marines on board. In fact, he only had thirteen men including himself. Holabird decided this would be enough, but instructed Marshal Wilcox to have ten more men ready to assist.

  “This whole thing will finally be out of our hair tomorrow,” Holabird said sighing.

  On Monday, though the sun shone brightly, the air was so cold that the beards of men waiting in line to get into court had turned white from their frozen breath. Judson entered the courtroom at precisely ten o’clock, sat down, and took out a small stack of paper from his valise.

  “To all in attendance, this is how I rule on the case of the U.S. government versus the occupants of the Amistad. First of all, with regards to jurisdiction. As it was discovered by survey, the seizure of the vessel Amistad took place on the high seas. As such, the commander, Lieutenant Gedney, was within his right to bring it to port in Connecticut, giving this court jurisdiction over the case.

  “With regards to salvage, I find that Mr. Green’s claim has no substance. He has no rights to salvage because he was never on board the Amistad. Further, Mr. Green believed he had a verbal agreement with negroes on shore, including their leader, Joseph Cinqué, to take command of the ship and sail it to Africa. However, Mr. Green’s intentions were not to honor that agreement, but rather to seek immediate salvage in New York.”

  As Judson read on regarding Green’s claim, Tappan felt someone tap him on the shoulder. He turned and saw Jocelyn, who had a look of horror on his face. Jocelyn pressed a note into Tappan’s hand. Tappan opened it slowly.

  Armed Navy guards outside the door. What do we do?

  An electric agitation surged through Tappan’s body. It was all he could do to keep from standing on his seat and begin screaming at the top of his lungs. Instead, he leaned back to Jocelyn and whispered as quietly as he could.

  “Go to the door. On my signal, leave and have our people begin their action, but at the courthouse door instead of across the green. We will take them out the back instead.”

  Jocelyn nodded, stood, and made his way to the back of the courtroom. Tappan folded the note carefully and passed it over to Staples. Staples held the paper for a few moments and listened to the judge. Finally, he glanced down at it absently. His face grew white and he quickly passed the note to Sedgwick with a hard push to the big man’s arm. Sedgwick read the note, looked from Staples to Tappan and then over to the tribesmen. His great back seemed to strain even more against the suit’s seams. He shook his head slowly and passed the paper to Baldwin. Baldwin looked down and his whole body straightened. He moved to the edge of his seat, getting ready to shoot to his feet and declare the government conspiracy as soon as Judson had finished.

  “With regard to the claims of Lieutenants Gedney and Meade,” Judson went on, “I find that their actions were in fact meritorious and saved a wayward, uncaptained ship from certain peril. It was in the hands of men who knew nothing of navigation or seamanship, and it was supposedly bound for Africa, a destination I believe would have never been reached given the state of ship and crew. I therefore rule that Lieutenant Gedney and his associates receive the fair compensation of one third the appraised value of the ship Amistad and its cargo as it appeared in New London harbor.

  “As for the question of slaves and cargo …”

  Covey had been translating quietly for Singbe and the others. He paused, listening to Judson’s words making sure that he got this part absolutely right. Singbe watched the judge as he spoke.

  “The slave Antonio, having been born in Cuba, should be restored to the heirs of his former owner under the Treaty of 1795, also mentioned in this court as Pickney’s Treaty. The Spaniards, Mr. Ruiz and Mr. Montes, have submitted genuine documentation that states the other negroes in question are in fact slaves, legally purchased on the Havana market. The court recognizes the validity of these documents and believes Mr. Montes and Mr. Ruiz thought they were purchasing domestically bred ‘landino’ negroes. However, this court has been influenced by the presentation of facts and compelling testimony by the defense. The evidence offered has convinced this court wholeheartedly that the men and children taken on the Amistad are freeborn Africans, who were illegally kidnapped from their homeland and unlawfully sold as slaves. Their alleged actions of mutiny were committed in a desire to win back their liberty and return home. While Mr. Ruiz and Montes may not have known that the negroes were freeborn and illegally imported into Cuba, it does not validate their purchase of said negroes. I therefore urge both men to return to their homeland and seek redress of this falsehood through refund of the money used to purchase the negroes from the party which sold said negroes to them.

  “As for the charges of murder, I rule that in the first part, the actions took place on a Spanish ship in Spanish waters and thus should be subject to Spanish law. In the second part, however, I rule that I will not order extradition to Cuba of the negroes participating in the mutiny, since, as stated, these men were trying to wrest themselves from illegal bondage and thus in the eyes of this court, acting in self-defense. Instead I rule that the negroes of the Amistad be handed over to President Van Buren under the guidelines stipulated in the Treaty of 1819, and be safely returned to their homeland.”

  A loud cheer went up from Staples. The tribesmen also began cheering. Sedgwick brought his hands up to his face and leaned back laughing. Baldwin was so stunned by the verdict he nearly fell off his chair. Judson banged his gavel trying to restore order. Holabird ran up to the bench, demanding an appeal.

  At the door, Paine heard of the verdict and began laughing.

  “Come on, lads. All this for naught,” he said. “Back to the ship with us.”

  That night the Grampus sailed out of New Haven harbor with only its skeleton crew on board. Two days later, on leave from his jail cell in New York City, Pepe Ruiz jumped bail and boarded a ship back to Havana.

  The Friend

  A week after Judson’s decision, a new painting was unveiled in New Haven titled, The Amistad Massacre. The canvas, more than 135 feet long, was based on “actual testimonies of the survivors.” It showed a variety of scenes on board the Amistad: the tribesmen using machetes to wildly hack away at two terrorized sailors; Pepe Ruiz standing in the bow, desperately fighting against seven savage tribesmen; Konoma baring his sharp “cannibal” teeth and leering hungrily over the blood-soaked and dying Captain Ferrer; and, in the center of the canvas, Singbe, insane with anger and a thirst for blood, being restrained by three other tribesmen from striking at a severely wounded Pedro Montes.

  It was decided after the trial that the Amistads would be moved to the new jail in the village of Westville, about two miles outside New Haven. The jail had just been completed and contained a single large holding room, thirty feet by forty feet, that had yet to house a prisoner. Marshal Wilcox believed that all the African men could be kept here comfortably under a reduced guard. City officials also thought that locating the blacks outside New Haven proper would cut down on the number of spectators and protesters that their presence kept drawing.

  On the night before the tribesmen were to be moved, a few minutes after the great bell of the Congregational Church on the green had signaled midnight, Colonel Pendelton walked into Singbe’s cell and poked him with the butt of a musket.

  “Cinqué! Cinqué! Get yer ass up.
Now!”

  Singbe jumped as the gunstock went into his ribs. He looked up into the flickering light being thrown by a lantern held by one of Pendelton’s men. The oily smoke mixed with the sticky smell of whiskey.

  “C’mon, boy,” the man said. “Do as the Colonel tells ya.”

  Singbe stood. Other tribesmen began standing too, but Pendelton jerked the musket around wildly.

  “Just Cinqué. The rest of yous stay put.”

  Pendelton pushed Singbe out of the cell and led him down the corridor past the common prisoners’ cells, down a small stairway and into a musty, windowless room rancid with the stench of urine and vomit. It was a part of the jail Singbe had never visited. As the lantern light filled the room he could see Grabeau and Burnah standing in a corner, naked from the waist up. Their hands were chained to a pole that ran floor to ceiling.

  “Get over there, nigger.”

  Pendelton pushed Singbe toward the pole. He could see fear in the eyes of his two friends. He turned back to Pendelton only to have the old man slam the gun butt into his crotch. Singbe dropped with the pain, nearly passing out. The cold steel of the gun barrel bit pressed into his temple as the other man placed manacles around one of Singbe’s wrists. He dragged Singbe over to Grabeau and Burnah and connected the chain to the other wrist, locking his hands around the pole.

  “Stand up!” Pendelton yelled. “Stand up, I say. Tim, stand that murderin’ pile a shit up.”

  The man jerked Singbe up and made him grab hold of the pole.

  “Now, I was in court for the whole thing,” Pendelton said. “Ev’ry day. An’ I heard the evidence. You niggers surely did get away with somethin’. And I don’t need no evidence to tell me this, either. No sir. I sees guilty men ev’ry day. All the time. White or black, I know when they’re guilty and when they’re not. Just like that English peacock that come in here and played with the bumps a yer heads. Right, Jack?”