History That Doesn't Suck - 37: La Amistad Slave Rebellion and the Rise of Abolitionism

Episode Date: April 29, 2019

“Give us free! Give us free!” This is the story of a daring slave rebellion at sea and the long road to freedom. This is the story of La Amistad. It’s 1839, and the international slave trade is illegal, but that doesn’t mean it’s over. Hundreds of kidnapped and stolen souls are forcefully taken from Africa to Cuba aboard the Teçora. Upon their arrival on the Spanish isle, Pépé Ruiz and Pedro Montez buy 54 and take them on another ship, La Amistad. But what this Cuban duo doesn't realize is that they’ve just bought warriors. With Cinqué leading the way, the Amistad Africans break their chains, kill the captain, overthrow the ship, and change course, ending up in the United States. But does that mean freedom? It’s a debate that will go all the way to the Supreme Court while leaving an indelible impression on an increasingly divided United States. ____ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette  come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Find us at ancienthistoryfangirl.com or wherever you get your podcasts. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and as in the classroom, my goal here is to make rigorously researched history come to life as your storyteller. Each episode is the result of laborious research with no agenda other than making the past come to life as you learn. If you'd like to help support this work, receive ad-free episodes, bonus content, and other exclusive perks, I invite you to join the HTDS membership program. Sign up for a seven-day free trial today at htdspodcast.com slash membership, or click the link in the episode notes. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story.

Who is for war? The question, posed in a Mendi language by one of the captives crammed into the small, two-masted schooner's hold, cuts through the sound of the night's torrential rainfall splashing on the deck above. Nearly every one of the chained, enslaved men answers there for it. Those few who fear the punishment that will come if they fail, perhaps lashes from the dreaded cat-of-nine-tails followed by salt, rum, and gunpowder

being poured onto their mangled flesh are quickly rebuked. Would you prefer to be slaughtered and eaten by the cannibals or die fighting for life? An elderly man named Lubos passionately asks. Let me explain. The just over 50 imprisoned Africans are operating under a cruel lie.

Earlier, the ship's cook, Celestino, pointed to supplies of beef and used throat-slinging gestures to convince Cinque that he and all the others will be chopped up and served as food for white people. Now, the truth isn't much better. They're being transported to Puerto Principe, where they'll be worked to death as slaves on Cuban sugar plantations. But it's the claim they'll soon become food that's filled the kidnapped, underfed, physically abused, and psychologically scarred Africans

with such terrifying urgency. They must fight back. The rain continues to come down in sheets as the desperate men work to free themselves. The same man and natural leader whom Celestino lied to about being eaten, Cinque, uses a nail he snagged on deck earlier to pick the lock on the long heavy chain running between the thick manacles and neck rings detaining each prisoner. With the chain out of the way, they work together to pick or break the locks on their shackles. Working together over the next few hours,

several of the men manage to break completely free. It's now around 4 a.m. With rain still pouring from the cloud-covered blackened sky, Sinke and three other brave souls, Pakorna, Moru, and Kibo, open the hatchway and ascend onto the soaked deck. Arming themselves with nearby tools, such as a hand spike, they approach the longboat in which the half-black enslaved cook, Celestino, is sleeping. Sinque and his companions bash his head in. Celestino dies without making a peep. But things only ramp up from here.

The sound of Celestino's skull cracking and caving rouses nearby and slumbering captain, Ramon Ferrer. Attack them, for they have killed the cook, he yells out. His two crewmen, Manuel and Jacinto, spring into action, one armed with a club, the other with nothing but his fists. The two slave owners, Don Jose Pepe Ruiz and Don Pedro Montes, grab a knife, pump handle, and an oar. No, no, back into the hold! Pepe screams at the rebelling slaves. But Pepe's authority is already gone.

Even as he orders them back, more captives, free from their shackles, emerge from the hold. And they're armed with cane knives. Found by three young slave girls, the slavers intended to force their captives to use these long machete-style blades as tools while enslaved. Instead, the captives will wield them as weapons in their fight to reclaim their liberty. Talk about poetic justice. Better grasping the magnitude of the situation with every passing second, Pepe calls to Pedro to kill them.

Meanwhile, Captain Ferrer thinks he can appeal to the half-starved African's basic human needs and instructs his enslaved cabin boy Antonio to throw biscuits at them. It's of no use. With higher aims and greater discipline than biblical Esau, they completely ignore the food and follow Sinque's orders to attack the captain. It's a fierce and gruesome battle. Literally fighting for his life, Captain Ferrer slashes at the man approaching him. He hits his mark more than once, killing Dwevy on the spot. But it's no use. The insurgents might be weak from months of poor nutrition and abuse,

but many of them are warriors. They fall on the captain as a single unit, hacking at him until Sinke's blade kills their once abusive captor. In line with West African war customs, the captives turn soldiers cut off the dead captain's head. They celebrate victory as the still pouring rain mixes with the Spaniard's blood on the ship's deck.

But what of the others? Manuel and Jacinto are gone. As the battle got real, the injured sailors left their captain for dead by throwing a canoe into the water and jumping in after it, hoping they can make the nearly 20 miles to Cuba's shore. As for the two slave owners, well, former slave owners, Pepe Ruiz and Pedro Montes, they live. Disarmed and defeated by those they called their property, the two Dons are tied up along with the cabin boy Antonio. They plead for their lives. And yes, they'll live. July 2nd, 1839. This is the day that 53 enslaved Africans, 49 men, three girls, and one boy, representing nine distinct cultures, rebelled to reclaim their freedom. They are the new masters of this two-masted schooner called the Amistad. But in

truth, the certainty of their freedom is far from over. Within the next two months, the Amistad Africans will end up in the United States, where this saga will begin a whole new messy chapter. And that chapter, in which the story becomes American, is what makes this our story today. Because after a number of episodes out west, it's time to turn our attention to a growing social movement of the mid-19th century, the anti-slavery movement or abolitionism. The story of La Amistad and its captives plays an important role in the movement's evolution. Also, it's just an awesome story. So to start, I'll give you some background on the transatlantic

Africa to the Americas Middle Passage international slave trade, which continues to thrive despite being illegal in the mid-19th century. Then we'll follow the Amistad rebels from their capture in Africa to Cuba, New York, a Hartford, Connecticut courtroom, and finally to the Supreme Court of the United States. And in these last few legs, we'll see how this small group of roughly 50 Africans rocks American society and leaves a lasting impression on abolitionism. Oh, and one quick note. Please keep in mind that when I quote the Amistad Africans,

I am quoting transcripts of them speaking in imperfect, hastily learned English. I am being true to sources, and this is not done out of disrespect. So, ready to find out how Sinke and his fellow kidnapped Africans make a massive impact on the United States? Good. Then let's head across the Atlantic Ocean to the west coast of Africa and back in time several months to early 1839. Rewind. On the coast of the Sierra Leone region of Africa, the large Gallinas River empties into the Atlantic Ocean. High tidal ranges and strong currents send huge waves crashing against the coastline and the small islands

near the mouth of the river. But amid these tropical forest-lined riverbanks and national geographic-worthy hills sits a number of repugnant structures, slave barracks called barracuns. Infamous Spanish slave trader Pedro Blanco controls these barracuns in the 1830s. Pedro and his wives live in large mansions on the shore. This entire complex, which basically functions as a slave factory, is called Lomboco. At any given time, several hundred captured people inhabit the large, wooden, thatched-roof huts while awaiting transport to the Americas on a slave-smuggling ship. See, the international slave trade on which Pedro is lining his pockets with cash is illegal. Britain outlawed it in 1808, just days after the U.S., in fact, and then went around Europe strong-arming other imperialist countries like Spain into trade agreements and treaties that ban the international slave trade. And to

enforce these agreements, Britain's powerful, extensive navy patrols the African coast, looking for ships illegally transporting human captives across the ocean. Of course, what all of these treaties and agreements have failed to account for is simple supply and demand. After the international slave trading bans, plantations' demand for labor doesn't decrease. It's not like people are losing interest in cotton clothing or putting less sugar in their tea and coffee, right? And as the Cuban saying goes, Con sangre se hace azúcar. Or, sugar is made with blood.

Since sugar and other cash crop plantations continue to brutally work their slaves to death, slave smuggling is alive and well. Smugglers figure out all kinds of tricks to avoid the persistent British Navy that will search their ships and seize their illegal cargo. And frankly, it's paying off. Even if only one in four slave ships successfully avoids capture and sells its illicit human cargo in the West,

slave smuggling operations still make money. Damn. Yeah, you heard that right. A potential profit of 180% makes the risky business of illegally sailing captive humans across an ocean worth it to smugglers. So despite the international slave trading bans, in early 1839, Pedro's human trafficking business is booming.

Near Lomboco's slave factory, the plentiful coves and inlets on the islands in the Gallinas estuary give smugglers plenty of places to hide from the profit-cutting British naval patrols. He sells around 2,000 slaves a year, and that's just his little operation. All along the West African coast, in what will become the countries of Sierra Leone, Liberia, and Côte d'Ivoire, slavers illegally condemn people to slavery and ship them across the Atlantic in droves. In fact, between 1835 and 1840, Portuguese ships transport nearly 225,000 Africans to Western slaveholding countries like Brazil, Cuba, and yes, the United States. But how do slave dealers like Pedro Blanco get their hands on that many people?

Well, there are a few different ways, but I'll just give you a few examples of how the captives on La Amistad ended up in Pedro's barracons. Quimbo grew up in a wealthy household and had a powerful father. But when his father died, his king took short, muscular, and long-bearded Kimbo as a slave. From there, he was traded to another African tribe and finally sold to a Spaniard in Lomboko. Like Kimbo, tattooed, powerfully built, Gbatu grew up in his wealthy father's household in a small village upriver from the coast. The young man got ambushed while traveling from his small village to a nearby city to buy clothes. His captors sold him as a slave in Lomboko. Amistad rebellion leader Sinke has a similar story to Kimbo and Gbatu. The handsome rice planter with large round eyes lived with his

wife and three kids. But he was attacked on the road and in order to control the powerful young man, the attackers tied his right arm to his neck. Seems like he's been fighting against his enslavement from the start, doesn't it? Anyway, his kidnappers sold Sinque to King Sayaka, a powerful African king of the Valle people, in cahoots with Pedro Blanco. For these men, wealth and power didn't protect them from the prolific slave trade among tribes and eventually between African slavers and Europeans. But other captives ended up as slaves years before they got on La Amistad. Yaboy was captured by a slave-raiding party in his village around 1829. He lived as a slave with a slave wife and child until he was sold to a Spaniard in 1839 and marched to Lomboko. The short future

rebellion leader, Grabo, ended up enslaved to pay off his uncle's debts. From there, he was sold to a nameless Spaniard who in turn sold Grabo in Lomboko. Several other Amistad captives are also debt slaves, including a nine-year-old girl named Margru. So from paying off a debt to straight-up slave raiding, there are hundreds of people sitting in Pedro's Lomboco barracks awaiting shipment to the labor- hungry plantations in the Caribbean or on the American continents. They are no doubt terrified of what awaits them, but the barracks hold terrors of their own, from the daily beatings of rebellious captives to the humiliating, degrading, forceful physical examinations of every man, woman, and child. I'll trust you can read the horrors between the lines, right? But leaving the barracks offers no reprieve. Since buying and selling humans

internationally is illegal, slave traders have come up with ways to hide their illicit cargo. Most ships are much smaller than their 18th century counterparts. Up to 500 men, women, and children are crammed onto a two or three-masted ship with usually around 1,000 square feet of deck space. The claustrophobia-inducing slavehold is only between 36 and 48 inches high. That's where most of the adults stay hidden from the prying eyes of the

rule-enforcing British Navy. This small space sits above the legitimate hold and below the deck. If the ship is overcrowded, and most ships are, then children and some women spend all day and night on the deck, no matter the weather. This is the fate that awaits Sinke and several hundred other African men, women, and children as they're forced onto the Tesora in April 1839. This ship has two makeshift slave holds below the main deck with only about 22 inches of space each. And death is their constant companion.

Almost immediately after loading the slaves, the Tesora crew spots a British schooner. They immediately unload their scared, confused human cargo into an airless hidden cave. Several people at the back of the cave suffocate before the crew gives the all clear and the slaves can be put back on the boat. This doesn't bode well for the rest of the trip now, does it? Back on their way across the Atlantic, the fateful Middle Passage as it's called, the enslaved Africans can only tell that they are sailing day after day toward the setting sun as other horrors unfold. Sinke's shipmate Kina describes how, quote, on their way to Cuba, they had scarcely any water and were sometimes brought up on deck to

take the fresh air and chain down in the full blaze of a tropical sun, close quote. Worse still, food is scarce with meals of rice and maybe some vegetables served once or twice per day. Slaves who eat too slowly get whipped. Slaves who try to share food with their sick or weak companions get whipped. Slaves are forced to sing and dance on deck each evening to keep their strength up. Of course, even with this daily exercise, many of the adults spend so many hours crammed below decks that they develop permanent deformities. Imagine spending 16 plus

hours a day sitting hunched over with your knees tucked up to your chin, not being able to adjust your position without jostling the people all around you. It's a wonder any of these people survive. After a grueling, deadly eight-week journey, the Tesora, near Havana, Cuba. It's time for the captain and crew to pull off the most daring part of this whole illegal operation, selling their slaves. Of course, everything the crew is about to do is illegal,

so the records are more than a little murky, but the whole complicated process probably goes down like this. First, Captain J.R. Brown pulls out an American flag and hoists it up the mast. He then renames the ship Hugh Boyle and gets out his false papers claiming the ship is an American trade vessel. Now, this whole flag switching charade is crucial. Under the conditions of current treaties, Americans do not allow any British officers to board or search their ships.

Frankly, after the impressment debacle that helped cause the War of 1812, can you blame them? Listen to episode 23 if you want the backstory on that mess. Anyway, Captain J.R. knows his best bet to keep his illicit cargo hidden from the Queen's navy is old glory, so he boldly relies on the protective power of the stars and stripes. It works. J.R. and his banned cargo arrive undetected in Cuban waters. He unloads the kidnapped slaves on a quiet beach in the dead of night. Here, J.R.'s accomplices create forged documents that identify the contraband slaves as criollos, or people born into slavery in Cuba. While the ink dries on their false documents, the captives are marched off to the barracuns,

where slave dealers can buy them in what appear to be legal transactions. As the sun rises, the captives fully take in their dire situation. I'm going to avoid graphic details as best as I can, but there's no sugarcoating the awful conditions of these people. The Havana barracuns are open wood huts with thatched roofs which house men, women, and children, and cows, pigs, and sheep. The slaves are again treated with brutality and disrespect, facing dehumanizing and degrading physical, quote-unquote, inspections.

The debt slave, Grabo, reports that the people, quote, were separated from their companions who had come with them from Africa, close quote. They forged strong bonds on their harrowing journey, and as friends are sold away from friends in this foreign, scary new world, many people weep openly. But any chance of rebellion is quickly stamped out here in Cuba. A slave that fights back faces public whipping or hanging at El Jorcon, near the Havana harbor. And you can bet that the Tesora slaves witnessed many of these public executions.

After five days, slave buyer Jose Pepe Ruiz, who you heard about in the episode's opening, shows up to purchase healthy young men. He selects 49 of the Tesora captives and lines them up for inspection. According to Grabo, Pepe, quote, carried his examination to a degree of minuteness of which only a slave dealer would be guilty, close quote. Meanwhile, Pepe's more senior business partner, Pedro Montes, buys four kids from a smaller slave dealer in town. By the way, just to be clear, these two Cubans know full well that they are buying illegally transported Africans, not Criollos. This done, the two men then charter a ship to transport their slaves to

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Which is probably exactly why illegal slave-dealing Pepe and Pedro hire him. Born into the shipping business on the Spanish island Ibiza, Ramon started trading and smuggling at a young age. By the time he landed in Cuba as a young adult, this well-connected dairy man knew how to turn a profit on the high seas. The Spaniard runs a very lucrative, very illegal slave trade ring in Cuba. In 1839 alone, he and other smugglers bring nearly 80 slave-bearing vessels with over 25,000 captives into Havana. So in late June 1839, Ramon readily agrees to load Pepe and Pedro's slaves onto his ship

and make the short voyage to Puerto Principe. Ramon's ship, La Amistad, is relatively small. The deck of the two-masted schooner is only about 1,200 square feet, you know, about the size of a three-bed, two-bath apartment. And there aren't separate holds for the cargo and slaves, like on the Tesora. So the 49 men spend most of their time chained below deck, squeezing between the casks, barrels, and crates with no room to sit up straight, let alone stand. During the hours when all of the 53 slaves, four crew members,

two slave owners, and the captain are on deck. There's almost no room to move around. The short trip should only take a few days, but bad weather and rough seas could stretch it into two or three weeks. So Ramon, probably motivated by equal parts practicality and cruelty, immediately rations the slaves' food and water. Under the hot tropical sun, the grown men purchased by Pepe get only half a teacup full of water in the morning and one more half cup full at night. Less than two days into this torture, five unchained men sneak below deck and break into a cask of fresh water to quench their burning thirst. But Ramon catches them. The captain brutally orders his crew to punish the desperate-for-water quote-unquote thieves. The others can only watch as Fuli, Kimbo, Payet, Moru, and Funne are,

as Fuli describes, quote, held down by four sailors and beaten on the back many times by another sailor, with the whip having several lashes. Close quote. Each of the five men are subjected to four more beatings with the cat-of-nine-tails before being chained up again. And now we're back to where we started this episode. After the beatings, the enslaved cook Celestino tries to inspire fear-based obedience by telling Cinque that he and his fellow captives will be food for white cannibals. Ah, and as you know, this completely backfires by inspiring Cinque and his fellow warriors' successful July 2nd 4 a.m. uprising.

Celestino and Captain Ferrer end up dead, two other sailors jump overboard with a canoe, while enslaved cabin boy Antonio joins Pepe Ruiz and Pedro Montes in begging for their lives. You know, hindsight's 20-20, but I'll go out on a limb and call Celestino's lie a significant miscalculation. And as inspiring as their daunting, victorious rebellion is, the now-freed Africans aren't really that free. Sure, they control la amistad, but they aren't sailors. Can they navigate this thing? Can they, hope against hope, sail back to their homes in Africa? Recognizing their lack of nautical knowledge, the amistad Africans turn to their would-be slave-owner captives.

After all, Pepe and Pedro know how to sail this thing, so Antonio translates as Cinque and others demand that Pedro sell them back across the Atlantic. The Cuban slaver has no interest in helping them, but menacing cane knives convince him to comply. Good call, Pedro. Apart from Berna's kind heart, your sailing skills are the only thing keeping you alive. Thus begins a new two-month sojourn at sea. Not that they're actually going to Africa. See, Pedro is a sly one. By day, he sails as directed, away from the setting sun.

Recalling that they sailed the other way when forced to cross the Atlantic, the Africans correctly surmise this eastward bearing is generally the way back to their home continent. But the crafty Cuban takes advantage of the Africans' lack of sailing know-how and intentionally leaves slack in the sails to slow their movement. And when night falls, he tacks west and north, doing his best to stay in major shipping lanes with hopes the British will intercept him. The slaver who'd normally avoid the British at all costs now hopes they'll save his life. I know, it's ironic, but here we are. Meanwhile, rations are low. Remember,

this was supposed to be a little three-day jaunt from one Cuban port to another, not a weeks-on-end voyage. So when it rains, they collect every drop of precious precipitation. And when they think the coast is clear, they stop at a few different Bahamian islands and get fresh water. But it isn't enough. And while La Amistad does come across some vessels that could help, how can the self-liberators trust them? As far as they know, all white people enslave blacks. And speaking of trust, they certainly have their misgivings about their slaver-turned-navigator. More than once, Sinque correctly doubts Pedro as being honest about the ship's bearings and wants to kill him, but other council leaders within the ship's African government vote against it. Finally, after six weeks of this misery, Pedro asks the Africans,

quote, if they wished to go to a free country where there were no slaves, close quote. He means the United States. Now this is, of course, a half-truth, since that really depends on the individual state. And as you may have guessed, Pedro has every intention of sailing toward a southern slave state. But what choice do the Africans have? Some are literally dying of starvation and dehydration. If they stay out here much longer, they'll all be dead.

So they agree to it. And while several U.S. vessels spot La Amistad as it heads up the east coast, all think better of approaching the ship upon noticing what they take for a crew of cane-knife-wielding black pirates. This keeps them safe as the Gulf Stream pulls the Amistad north. But with the passage of another week or so, the Amistad Africans can no longer avoid going ashore. They need supplies. They finally drop anchor near a lighthouse. The next day or two, some Amistad Africans venture on land to collect much-needed drinking water. Then they get really bold.

It's now the morning of August 25th or 26th, 1839. Sources conflict. Sinke, Berna, and a few others make contact with some of the white people living here. Their English may be limited, but everyone speaks Spanish Gold doubloons, right? That morning, they buy some sweet potatoes, a bottle of gin, and one or two hunting dogs. Later that afternoon, four or five white Americans who've noticed La Amistad come to the coast. These include two captains named Henry Green and Palladia Fordham, and they make contact with the Amistad Africans. Using his limited, broken English, Berna asks what he and all his friends are dying to know. What country is this? Are the Spanish here? Is it a free country? Henry answers, this is America. No Spanish. Yes,

it's free. I'll add that Henry's right. This is a free country, but only because this is New York. We're near Culloden Point on the eastern side of Long Island, and the Empire State completely banned slavery back in 1827. Oh, the relief! After all they've been through, can you even imagine what it must be like to hear those words? Overcome with joy, the Amistad Africans jump, scream, and shout so much that Henry and his friends, who can't possibly appreciate their reaction, head to their wagons to grab their guns. But it's cool. Sinke gives Henry and his buddies some peace-offering gifts,

including two guns and a knife, and everyone calms down. The Amistad Africans now really go for the gusto. They ask these white men from this free country to help them sail back to West Africa. Well, that's not happening. I know this New York encounter has been giving you all the feels and whatnot, but the captains just see dollar signs.

Remember, the East Coast has seen the Amistad here and there for quite a while, and the rumor mill has Americans convinced the crew are indeed black pirates with a fortune on board. Hence, Palladia will later remark, quote, we determined to have the vessel at all hazards. with a fortune on board. Hence, Palladia will later remark, quote,

we determined to have the vessel at all hazards, forcibly if we can, peaceably if we must, close quote. So the captains tell the Africans, yes, but this is pure subterfuge. They want that schooner. The Africans have tricks of their own though.

They offer to pay the captains handsomely. A few row back to Lamistad, fill two chests with all sorts of metal crap, lock them shut, then head back to shore claiming the chests are filled with money. When they're back with the captains, they shake the heavy chest to prove their supposed valuable contents. Not a bad play, gents. Not bad at all. But they're also noticing that the captains seem a little too eager to get on board the Amistad. Huh. Yeah, that's a red flag, and the Amistad Africans see that. But the budding or perhaps dying bromance abruptly ends on August 26th when the USS Washington enters the scene. This large brig, which is the same model as the Portuguese slave ship Tesora that ripped them from Africa, mind you, is bearing straight for l'amistad. Cinque and his 20 plus men dash for their boats in a row with all their might,

but they're too late. All they can do is watch as U.S. Navy Lieutenant Richard Meade and his men board their ship. Meanwhile, Richard steps on board to find 15 or so sickly Africans with whom he can't communicate. Then his men find and free Pepe and Pedro. They are overcome with joy. Ave Maria, they cry, falling at the lieutenant's feet. Our Spanish-speaking naval officer now swallows up the Cuban's version of events, hook, line, and sinker. He then locks up the Africans on board down in the hole and sends men in pursuit of the other Africans who have watched the Amistad seizure, have reversed course, and are rowing like crazy back to shore. Yeah, no dice. Richard's men catch up to the malnourished rowers and discharge a pistol as a warning shot. That's it. Our friends

get it. Return to Lamestad or die. They reverse direction once again. I have to imagine they can feel their liberty washing away with every pull of the oar. But Sinque won't cave. This natural leader, who pioneered their rebellion on July 2nd, would rather die than wear chains again. And being an incredible swimmer, he figures he'll take his chances swimming for shore. Once back on La Amistad, Sinque dives off the ship, plunging into Long Island Sound's waters. He disappears for several minutes before coming up for air. He refills his lungs and again disappears. Repeating this process, he takes the Navy on a 40-minute wild goose chase,

but finally, they get him. Lieutenant Richard Meade and his superior officer, Lieutenant Thomas Gedney, now tow the Amistad and its imprisoned African occupants to New London, Connecticut. Now you might wonder, why Connecticut when the Africans landed at New York? Ah, well, unlike New York, slavery is still legal in Connecticut. I know, I know, it's a northern state, but the north is phasing out slavery through gradual emancipation. The details vary from state to state, but this generally means that, if you're a slave born after a certain date, you'll be freed in your 20s.

If you're a slave born before a certain date, you're just SOL. So although few African Americans are enslaved in Connecticut by this point, next year's 1840 U.S. Census will put the number at 17. Technically, slavery is legal here, and it will be until Connecticuters follow the example of New Yorkers by abolishing it altogether in 1848. So if these U.S. officers want to make serious cash by claiming La Amistad and its black passengers as salvaged cargo, which they do, they don't want a New York port. That's why they'll make birth at Lawrence Wharf in New London, Connecticut the following day, August 27, 1839. And it doesn't take federal district judge Andrew Judson long to rule against the Amistad Africans. Aboard the USS Washington, he listens attentively

as Lieutenant Richard Meade translates Pepe and Pedro's testimonies. The judge looks at the Cuban slaver's paperwork. It lists the Africans under Spanish names. Yep, looks good to him. But the judge has other concerns. Since slaves have no legal right to protect themselves from physical abuse or otherwise revolt, he decides not to hand them right over to the Cubans. Instead, the Amistad Africans will be tried for piracy and murder.

It now falls to U.S. Marshal Norris Wilcox to transport them 50 miles west along the Connecticut coast to the New Haven jail, where they're locked up on August 30th. Though Norris can't help note how odd it is that none of the captives seem to know their Spanish names. I know, it seems like the Amistad Africans can't catch a break, but there is a glimmer of hope. The growing abolitionist movement. Now, abolition had an earlier run, but it died down after the US and the UK banned the international slave trade in 1808 because everyone

thought that would kill this monster, as we learned back in episode 20. Well, obviously, it didn't. Not only have Americans realized that, but the second great awakening that we talked about in episode 32 spurred some into tackling social movements, like the effort to eradicate slavery. And finally, let me add that although he is no longer president and is a slaveholder, the influence of Andrew Jackson's super democratic ways has more Americans thinking about the need to really live up to the Declaration of Independence proclamation that, quote, all men are created equal, close quote. So in short, as we get into the 1830s, abolitionism has found new life. But don't get too excited. I said abolition is growing, not that it's mainstream. By 1838,

the largest abolitionist organization, the American Anti-Slavery Society has 250,000 members out of a U.S. population of 17 million. That said, abolitionists are a vocal, ardent bunch. As the Amistad Africans are marching into a New Haven jail, Connecticut abolitionists are already rallying to their aid by forming the Amistad Committee on September 4th. They then issue a call to, quote, the Friends of Liberty, close quote, to help them find translators, hire attorneys, as well as feed and clothe the Amistad Africans. Within days, James Ferry heeds the call. Kidnapped from his home in West Africa as a child, James was sold as a slave in Colombia and liberated by none other than El Libertador of South America, Simon Bolivar. Now living in the northeastern United States, he speaks Valle, which is one of

the 15 or so languages known by the multilingual Amistad Africans. With James's help, lawyer Roger Baldwin learns their side of the story and can defend them in court. The odds are still stacked heavily against them, but at least the Amistad Africans can finally put up some sort of fight. On Saturday, September 14, 1839, the Amistad rebels travel from their jail cells in New Haven to their courtroom in Hartford, Connecticut, where their abolitionist allies helped them advocate for their liberty as several competing parties, all of which see them as property, fight over them like a piece of meat thrown to ravenous hyenas. This is a multifaceted, complex case, but I'll break it down for you. First, the Africans are suing for their freedom and return passage to Africa. Okay, that's obvious.

So what legal obstacles stand in their way? Well, for starters, they face murder and piracy charges for their daring rebellion aboard La Amistad. Further, four parties claim these people in one way or another. One, and obviously, Cuban slave dealers Pepe and Pedro. Two, the enterprising and conniving salvager Lieutenant Thomas Gedney of the USS Washington who towed La Amistad into New London, Connecticut. Three, Henry Green and Pelletia Fordham, the two captains on Long Island.

And last but not least, number four, the Spanish consul representing the family of deceased Amistad Captain Ramon Ferrer is suing for the return of Ramon's enslaved cabin boy Antonio. Yeah, this is a mess, but I'm not done yet. To throw another log on this legal fire, Spain wants the Amistad and claimed slaves returned to Cuba so it can try them in its own colonial courts. District Court Judge Andrew Judson from the initial Amistad hearings last month and Federal Circuit Court Judge Smith Thompson face a legal Gordy not even Breaking Bad lawyer Saul Goodman would struggle to untangle in one episode. But these two judges and the Amistad committee's lawyers are up to the task. Within the first days of the hearings, judges Thompson and Judson drop the piracy and murder

charges against all the captives. That's one item checked off the court's mile-long to-do list. So on to the central issue of ownership. Can anyone legally claim these people as property? The testimonies of two key witnesses get right to the heart of the matter. First, free black, multilingual, Mendi African translator and sailor in the British Navy, James Covey, boldly and unequivocally testifies, This is crucial. If they are really Mendi, then they can't have been sold legally to Pepe and Pedro in Cuba. Then, abolitionist Dwight Jaynes attests that he went aboard La Amistad two days after it pulled into the Connecticut harbor and spoke with the Cuban slavers about the Africans. The anti-slavery Connecticut swears that he specifically asked Pepe,

quote, can they speak Spanish? Close quote. And Pepe answered him. And again, I quote, oh no, they are just from Africa, close quote. Based on that statement, the slave traders whole, we have papers proving these slaves are criollos and belong to us argument doesn't really hold water. But at Sinque's January 1840 testimony, it seems to have the most effect on the courtroom. Through his gesticulations and the help of translator James Covey,

the bold, determined African man tells his story of kidnap, torture, and illegal transportation to, and sail in, Cuba. But to end his testimony, Sinque doesn't need an interpreter. Give us free. Give us free, he pleads with the court in his flawed limited English. On January 12, 1840, Judges Thompson and Judson have enough information from the witnesses to make their rulings. They plainly state that the captives are, quote, each of them natives of Africa and were born free and ever since have been and still of right are free and not slaves, close quote. Judson also rules on the remaining pieces of the case. He finds that Antonio is in fact Ramon Ferrer's

slave and must be returned to Cuba. He also grants the Amistad cargo, but not the people as salvage to out to make a quick buck Lieutenant Thomas Gedney. Now that the Connecticut trial is over, Cinque, Grabo, Fuli, and the rest of the Amistad captives are free to book passage on the next ship sailing east, right? Not quite. So far, I've mentioned people like Dwight Janes and the Amistad Committee members who supported the Amistad captives' cause. But there are plenty of Americans who come down on the other side of this debate, including the President of the United States, Martin Van Buren. At his behest, the case gets appealed to the U.S. Supreme Court on January 23, 1840, only 10 days after the Hartford Trial rulings. This might seem an unlikely move for the Dutch-American New York native,

but the president is sympathetic to Spain's claim of jurisdiction and doesn't want to strain America's political ties with that powerful country. Further, Southern power players in the federal government don't like the U.S. courts backing a slave rebellion and want the Connecticut verdict overturned. So the 36 surviving Amistad Africans remain captives in limbo. The North American Daily Advertiser reports that the men and children are devastated by their current circumstances. It's quoted, Their hopes have been raised,

their hearts were set upon Africa. It is a sore disappointment to them to have their hopes deferred. Close quote. But they make the best of their drawn out jail time by having their portraits drawn for news stories, raising money for their cause, studying English and writing letters.

Brilliant 11 year old Kele picks up reading and writing quickly and becomes the group's unofficial correspondent with their lawyers. This is important since the Mendi Africans have a new lawyer for their Supreme Court hearings. See, abolitionist, well-respected Connecticut lawyer Roger Baldwin acted as the Africans' lead lawyer in Hartford. He argued passionately on behalf of the Amistad captives, and his arguments led to the favorable court decision. But the Supreme Court is a whole different beast, and Roger knows he needs help. In November 1840, he asks strident abolitionist

and brilliant legalist John Quincy Adams to join him for the SCOTUS trial. Seventy-something former U.S. President-turned Massachusetts congressional rep and practicing lawyer John Quincy accepts the offer, knowing that it's going to take more than the popular emotional arguments of the extreme American abolitionist groups to convince the Southern Supreme Court Chief Justice Roger Taney to rule in the kidnapped African's favor. In a journal entry on December 12, 1840, a month before the scheduled court date, John Quincy expresses his fear of overplaying to an emotional appeal. Quote, of all the dangers before me, that of losing my self-possession is the most formidable. Close quote. John Quincy isn't the only one losing sleep over the looming trial.

On January 4th, 1841, two weeks before opening arguments, young Cayley writes a letter to John Quincy from their Connecticut jail on behalf of the whole group. He reiterates to the committed lawyer and statesman the hopes and fears of the Mendi Africans. The boy writes, quote, Dear friend, we want you to know how we feel. We want you to tell the court that Mendi people know want to go back to Havana. We know want to be killed. All we want is make us free, not send us back to Havana. Cayley's final plea perfectly sums up the central issue of the Supreme Court case. In Hartford, the judges quickly determined that they had jurisdiction to hear the case and move on to the question of ownership. But the lawyers in this higher court case are going right back to the beginning, arguing over whether or not the Amistad Africans should be sent back to Cuba and

tried by Spanish courts. Of course, having spent five long days in Havana, the Amistad captives know all too well that there won't be a trial or justice in Cuba. Just a short drop and a sudden stop. The DC hearings are scheduled to begin on January 25th, 1841, but in a true display of government dependability, the date gets pushed to February 22nd. This gives abolitionists time to descend on the capital, along with pro-slavery and pro-Spanish contingents. To spread sympathy for the Africans' cause, the Amistad Committee sells prints of Sinque, in which the African leader looks peacefully into the horizon while wearing a white toga-like cloth that symbolizes his power and virtue. Meanwhile, the U.S. Spanish-language newspaper

Noticioso de Ambos Mundos, with obvious pro-Spain leanings, asks readers whether Americans consider quote, uprising, mutiny, and murder the best recommendation in order not to comply with the provisions of a treaty. Close quote. Looks like this case will be tried on the streets and in the courtroom. On the first day of the Supreme Court hearings, Federal Attorney General Henry Gilpin comes out swinging. He forcefully claims that based on the still-in-effect 1795 Pinckney Treaty between Spain and the U.S., Spanish schooner La Amistad and all of its cargo must be returned to its owners in the Spanish colony of Cuba. Henry calls the Africans, quote,

enemies of all mankind, close quote, labeling them pirates who stole the ship from its rightful owners. His cogent arguments, steeped in international law and legal precedent, last well over two hours. Now it's up to Amistad captive lawyers Roger and John Quincy to undermine his arguments. Roger's up first and he goes right for the jugular, explaining that according to an 1820 U.S. law, any citizen who trades slaves internationally, quote, shall be adjudged a pirate, close quote. Using that definition is the Spanish slave traders,

Pepe and Pedro, not the Africans who are the pirates. But since that law doesn't apply to Spanish citizens, Roger takes his argument further. He deftly connects the dots for the justices, explaining that the captives were victims of piracy who fought not for monetary gain, but for their freedom. They arrived in the U.S., quote, in a condition of freedom within the territorial limits of a free and sovereign state, close quote. And why does that matter? Roger clarifies that if the U.S. returns the Africans to Spain, it is essentially, to quote him one more time, re-enslaving them violate the U.S. Constitution. Boom! That's how it's done. Hashtag mic drop. One courtroom reporter calls Rogers' eloquent, logical, passionate speech, quote, one of the most complete, finished, conclusive legal arguments ever made

before that court. Close quote. What could John Quincy possibly add? When the respected aged lawyer and lawmaker stands, he compliments his co-counsel, saying that Roger's defense is so thorough, it, quote, leaves me scarcely anything to say. But as you'll hear, the child of verbose Abigail and John Adams, who is known these days as Old Man Eloquent, clearly defines scarcely differently than you or me. John Quincy begins first thing on the morning of February 24th. He knows that he has to overcome the southern slave-owning sympathies of the justices, and the dyed-in-the-wool abolitionist is determined not to leave anything to chance, so he talks for four and a half hours. He claims that the 1795 Pinckney Treaty has no bearing in the case, since the captives can't possibly be cargo and pirates at the same time. But before

he can finish his prepared argument, the court adjourns for the day. When the court convenes again on March 1st, the unstoppable John Quincy picks up his argument right where he left off. He talks on behalf of the Amistad captives for over three hours. Realizing that he needs to wrap things up or risk overstaying his welcome, Johnny Q squeezes the remaining hour of his speech into a few minutes and sits down. That night, several friends visit him, praising his compelling arguments. The exhausted lawyer writes, quote, Although I fell immeasurably short of my wishes, I did not utterly disappoint the public expectation. Close quote. John Quincy, Roger, the Amistad captives, and their supporters now wait for

the Supreme Court's decision. Will the pro-slavery court give in to their personal feelings to say nothing of the pressure from the White House and find in favor of Spain and the slave traders? Or have Roger and Johnny Q's arguments sufficiently proven the validity of the Amistad rebellion and the freedom of the kidnapped Africans. On March 9th, 1841, the court ruled seven to one in favor of the 36 Africans, explaining in the official majority opinion that, quote, these Negroes never were the lawful slaves of Ruiz or Montez or of any other Spanish subjects, close quote. Well, break out the champagne. It's time to celebrate. Ecstatic John Quincy immediately writes to the Connecticut members of the Amistad committee, exclaiming, the captives are free.

The captives take the news a little differently. After nearly two years in jail and three separate trials, Sinque and his comrades are a bit skeptical that this is really the end of their battle for freedom. And that skepticism is totally justifiable. See, the court's ruling also says that Ramon Ferrer's slave Antonio must be returned to Cuba. Antonio, aware that almost certain torture and death await him in Havana, hightails it out of town. Rumor has it he makes it to freedom in Canada, but I can't tell you that for sure.

I sincerely hope he found freedom and peace somewhere. The court also won't be forcing the U.S. government to pay for any of the now free Africans' passage back home. Looks like these guys are on their own. Or would be without the Amistad Committee. It helps the men get on the lecture circuit to raise money. Local chapters of abolitionist societies all over the northeastern states are eager to hear the story of the Amistad captives. After a few months of speaking engagements at packed-to-the-rafters churches and town halls,

they have enough money to pay for passage on a legit ship sailing out of New York City. On Friday, November 26, 1841, two years, three months, and one day after being found on Long Island, New York, the surviving Africans sail east along with two American missionaries. After a peaceful, uneventful voyage, so basically the complete opposite of their treacherous journey on the Tesora. The ship carrying the 36 surviving exonerated Amistad rebels drop anchor in Freetown, Sierra Leone. Having heard that the finally free captives are sailing home, about a hundred people stand on the docks ready to greet them. One of them is Sinke's brother, Kendi, who himself was kidnapped into the illegal slave trade, then rescued by the British, and now lives and works in Freetown. So what do we get from the story of La Amistad? First, let's talk about the captured-turned-insurrectionist Africans.

To say it's a sad tale is an understatement. While 36 of them ultimately escaped the illegal international slave trade, unlike their hundreds of transatlantic shipmates from the Tesoro sold in Cuba, none of them will ever be the same. Beyond the physical and psychological toll, some things can never be set right. Take Sinque for instance. He might make it back to Africa, but as far as we know, he never finds his wife and three children. Second, we have to note the way l'amistad impacts the United States. It galvanizes the anti-slavery abolitionist movement. Before l'amistad, being an abolitionist is a very radical thing to do. Now the case doesn't

change that image overnight, but it does chip away at it. For example, as some artists and writers depict Sinque as a virtuous folk hero, their work challenges the accepted racist pro-slavery narrative in the United States that blacks are childlike people who need masters. After all, Sinque's determined leadership, relentlessness, and intelligence utterly defy that false myth. So increasingly, some white Americans begin to say they aren't abolitionists, but they are opposed to slavery and in favor of human rights. Sure, that might sound contradictory, but what they're really saying is they are in favor of ending slavery, but don't want to be considered an unreasonable extremist. So the Amistad case doesn't change the United States overnight, but it will keep coming up

in the years to come. In Martin Van Buren's 1848 presidential run, in congressional debates, when hashing out issues with a still angry Spanish government, it's always there. And as the Amistad case amplifies the mostly northern abolitionist movement, we can see an aspect of the growing division in perspective and values to say nothing of economy between the northern and southern states. History That Doesn't Suck is created and hosted by me, Greg Jackson. Research and writing, Greg Jackson and C.L. Salazar. Production and sound design, Josh Beatty of J.B. Audio Design.

Musical score, composed and performed by Greg Jackson and Diana Averill. For a bibliography of all primary and secondary sources consulted in writing this episode, visit historythatdoesntsuck.com. Join me in two weeks where I'd like to tell you a story. HTDS is supported by premium membership fans. You can join by clicking the link in the episode description. I gratitude you kind souls providing additional funding to help us keep going. And a special thanks to our members whose monthly gift puts them at producer status. Merchant, Christopher Pullman, David DeFazio, David Rifkin, Denke, Durante Spencer, Donald Moore, Donna Marie Jeffcoat, Ellen Stewart, Bernie Lowe, George Sherwood, Gurwith Griffin, Henry Brunges, Jake Gilbreth, James G. Bledsoe, Janie McCreary, Jeff Marks, Jennifer Moods, Jennifer Magnolia,

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