Part 1 WHEN FISH FLY: The Revolt on the Slave Ship Creole

A SPINE-CHILLING SWEAT rolled down twelve-year-old Pleasant’s back. As the long line of enslaved men, women, and children shuffled toward the big ship in Richmond harbor, his grandmother’s frightening stories flew into his mind, forcing a low sob to escape his thin lips.

Grandma’s African name had been Adjwoa, which means peace. She had enjoyed a good life as one of the daughters of the chief in her small village. The day she was captured she had been farming in the fields on her own. Later, she was chained in the belly of a big boat with people she did not know. They lay on wooden planks head to toe, like shoes in a shoe box. There was not enough room to sit up, only roll over. The tight chains cut into her ankles as she lay frightened in the thick stink of the dark hold. At night she had to urinate where she lay. It was said you could smell a slave ship before you could see it.

During the day, the captive Africans