Enslaved: Action/Adventure on Board a Slave Ship Off the Coast of Africa In 1844

By Roy R. Emmett

An extraordinarily gifted black man from a warrior tribe in the interior of Africa and a mysterious princess, the daughter of a powerful African Chieftain, are both in the hands of slavers on a Portuguese slave ship in 1844. He is thought to be a bad omen, she is believed to be a curse. Vicious Arab pirates are determined to steal the princess away at any cost - the warrior is determined to save her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483503202

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The Year is 1844...a bold African warrior and an Ashanti princess find their destiny on a slave ship bound for Cuba

A historic novel by Roy R. Emmett, Copyright January 25, 2013

ENSLAVED

CHAPTER 1

Daybreak was an hour away from erupting throughout the interior of Africa. Well east of the Nigerian coast, eight rough-hewn canoes drifted steadily westward, carried by the swift current of a rain-swollen African river. Eventually that river would join multiple tributaries and run all the way west to the shore of the Atlantic Ocean. Just two oars from each canoe functioned as rudders, guiding the canoes and keeping them close to the southernmost banks as they moved along. Any of the high-strung wildlife that might sense an intrusion into their territory could sound a screaming alarm of potential danger, but all remained silent. Only the routines of nature made a sound. All manner of raucous parrots and shrieking birds were perched calmly on high forest limbs merely waiting for the right light to appear before exploding in high-pitched chatter.

The lofty banks on both sides of the river were congested with multiple varieties of tall forest trees, tangled in numerous spirals of dangling vines and spindly roots running down the banks and into the river and down to the riverbed itself. Each of the eight deep-carved canoes held 10 black-skinned warriors with alternating green and white streaks painted on their cheeks, foreheads and chests. Some of them also had red highlight streaks on their faces that indicated some act of heroism in battle. They were all armed with long, sturdy prodding sticks, a few carbines among them, and many handmade cutlasses bartered from the European slave traders. They also carried weighted throwing nets to help subdue their prey. Ancient style spears and bows were on board each canoe should they be needed.

Still with only a smattering of light that struggled to penetrate the jungle canopy, the warriors watched intently along the south side of the river for an opening in the thick foliage that bolstered the river banks. There it was. Several warriors in the third canoe came up on a short break in the jungle wall. They could barely make out some open fields in the distance. The war party’s chief in the lead canoe grabbed a sturdy, hanging root to slow his canoe’s progress. He signaled the others to follow suit and all eight canoes managed to silently pull tight into the thick underbrush. It allowed them to stay in place within the grip of the thick vines and roots that would hold them secure from the river’s strong current. They held still, waiting for the chief’s command.

Gradually, from the pre-glow, prior to the full sunrise, the warriors could make out fields of rice and cassava alongside clusters of Indian corn. As the reluctant light took on added courage, orange and lemon trees could be seen interspersed with plantains and bananas and the occasional tall stems of cocoas. A stone’s throw from the nearest planted field was a slight hill, more like a broad rise in the ground maybe 100 yards square. Across its expanse, conical shaped native huts dotted the area and small flocks of huddled sheep and goats, even cattle stood as peaceful sentinels.

A dense mist was just rising off the cool river to begin its creep across the night-meets-day period of the village’s placid existence. All 80 warriors stealthily emptied out of their canoes to come around and through the underbrush. Their goal was to re-group at the approach to the rise where the huts were clustered. They waited there until all 80 men were in place. In the eeriness of the morning mist while the village still slept, several young women arose to make their morning trip to the river to draw water.

The warrior chief’s arm rose up where all could see it and in that instant, following these peaceful and simple signs of life, hell rained down on the hearts of everyone in the village. The 80 screaming warriors fell upon the populace, sending horror and fear into every living soul. The flocks of animals ran amok in panic as men, women and children fell from their huts only to be netted or dropped in their tracks by the long prods the warriors stuck in their paths. Shots fired in the air from the warrior’s carbines added to the confusion. In less than an hour, over 200 men, women and children were captured, corralled and roped together around their necks. As the round-up concluded, some of the warriors went around and gathered stragglers while others went to find any who might somehow have managed to make it to the edge of the jungle.

Elderly men and women, along with small children were left behind but those as young as ten or eleven were taken with the adults. Half the attacking warriors headed back to the canoes to return to the Ashanti villages from where they had come four hours earlier. The remaining 40 attackers organized the captives into six lines of shocked, scared and hysterical human beings. The warriors prodded them toward a path that would eventually interconnect with a maze of trails to take them from the only life they had ever known, away from countless generations of family, customs and traditions that had comprised the fabric of life for their peaceful community. No one’s life could ever be the same.

Roped together about the neck in gangs of ten, they were pulled along by eight foot tethers, force-marched through the jungle to the southern coast of the Niger River area, three degrees from the equator. It would be a rough, 14 day journey. En route, they’d pass through every sort of jungle terrain known on the African continent. Survivors of the route would arrive at Bonny Island at the mouth of the Calabar River as it spills out into the Atlantic Ocean.

Once on this infamous island, the captives would be corralled in crude barracks, or lean-tos, called ‘barracoons’ by the Spanish. It would be their point of departure as soon as a slave ship would arrive from Spain, Portugal, England, France, Holland, Brazil or America. This year, 1844, the two main ports for the bartering of human cargo were in Cuba and in Portugal, though other countries continued to illegally participate in the slave trade. The world marketplace for slaves was still going strong even though England and the U.S. declared slavery illegal in 1807 and 1808. Most of the slave countries had condemned slavery by 1844 but the demand for slaves wouldn’t subside. The demand for cheap labor to work the fields or serve in the plantation homes of the European colonialists was more active than ever.

Only Cuba and Portugal though had readily accessible ports where blind eyes were turned at the arrival of slave ships filled with the wretched souls of those who had endured the deadly ordeal of the Middle Passage across the Atlantic. The value of a healthy slave kept increasing. The risk of slave trafficking became more worthwhile with every boatload. At the two bulging centers of the African slave trade, Cuba and Portugal, slaves continued to be purchased and smuggled away to any of the expanding colonial nations where the demand for cheap labor was growing.

Almost lost to history was the demand for African slaves by the Arabs who had been raiding the northern stretch of the African continent for over 100 years. Coming across the Arabian Desert into North Africa, the Arabs didn’t traffic as far south as Niger River area; they mostly bartered with northern tribes to catch other Africans or people of any race or color. The Arabs weren’t particular. They bartered the peoples from various tribes in the north and took their captives to the Muslim nations along the Mediterranean trade routes. Any captive, regardless of color, race or age, was worth something and buyers were hungry for more and more slaves – it was all a worldwide plague on humanity.

As the Ashanti warriors pushed their victims southward, their never-ending sobbing and wailing crowded out even their own soulful pleas for mercy. To the Ashanti, each live body in tow had a monetary value, based on age and condition. The trading of other peoples to the slavers was a known cash crop at both ends of the line though most of the trading was in barter. The pleas from the captives heard along the trail fell on deaf ears since the Ashanti captors didn’t understand their captives’ language or customs. As if to accent their plight when the lines of captives got underway, flocks of screaming, bright colored birds and exotic parrots chose that tome to explode out of the trees.

Half the poor souls on the tethers would die before they reached the coast. Half of the survivors wouldn’t make it across the sea. God bless them all.

CHAPTER 2

The actual count taken by the Ashanti raid was 265 Africans. Those lost in transit on the way to Bonny Island were 102. The 163 who survived were immediately sequestered on Bonny Island after their 15-day torturous trek through the jungle quagmire. Combined with the 202 Africans already in the barracoons, this 163 brought the total to 365 men, women and children. A slave ship was reported to be nearing the coast in a day or so according to a notice given by a supply ship passing through several weeks prior. It would be a Portuguese slaver that departed Cuba over two and a half months ago. Its timing should bring her to Bonny Island any day. That assumes, of course, she hadn’t run into any of the 30 ships of the British and American naval blockade that comprised the international fleet attempting to enforce the anti-slavery laws enacted by a growing number of countries. It didn’t really matter what slave ship arrived, except to the brokers who hoped to make a major profit from their ultimate sale. Whichever slave ship turned up first would have first pick to fill its cargo hold.

Even though 36 years had passed since most of the major countries currently active in the West African slave trade began the process of judging the trade to be illegal, not much had changed. Unfortunately, the laws by themselves did little to curtail trading in human flesh. The demand for slaves was increasing despite the illegality. European colonialism continued to expand and the demand for cheap labor grew along with it. Trying to halt slavery through enforcement wasn’t effective. The 30 assigned naval ships from the U.S. and Britain had over 3000 miles of African coastline and 5000 miles of South American and Caribbean coastline to cover if they were to interdict any slave ships. Despite that enormous area for the 30 cruisers to attempt to stop the illegal traffic, interdictions were made and their human cargo was always returned to the African coast.

The main ports of embarkation for African slaves were Sierra Leone and southern Nigeria, known as the Niger River area. The primary destinations for new slaves to be taken were the West Indies, the Americas and the Caribbean. A round trip from Cuba to any slave depot in Africa took between 65 – 90 days, depending on the weather and the size of the sailing ship. The areas at both ends of the voyage were like giant sieves that most slavers were able to easily slip through. As many as 30 slave ships of all sizes could be seen docked at Havana Harbor almost any time, having recently offloaded their cargos of slaves and trading goods.

Much more was going to have to ignite the hearts of man to effect real change in the commerce of slavery, a practice as old as mankind.

As the sun came up full over the thick jungles of the interior of the African continent, a Dutchman from a group of businessmen standing near the fenced holding pens known as the barracoons, (Spanish for ‘barracks’) could be seen scanning the horizon to the west with his spyglass fully extended. A half hour of scanning finally brought him a reward for his patience. A slowly moving but recognizable spot appeared, coming straight toward Bonny. If it was indeed the Portuguese slaver he hoped it would be, the spot would soon turn into the familiar silhouette shape of a sailing ship as it tacked into the wind.

He called out to the others who were standing farther back, close to the little hut where coffee was brewing in a steel pot sitting on a smoldering fire. The call-out was their alert that a ship was no more than a day’s sail from their shore, dead-heading toward Bonny Island. The Dutchman predicted arrival by nightfall. The notice brought no cheers or cries of excitement, just a quiet acknowledgement by the several white Europeans and black overseers who were conversing and smoking Cuban cigars in the shade of the meager lean-to.

The miserable souls already confined in the barracoons had no way of knowing what horrendous destiny was about to befall them. The innocent image of a sailing vessel approaching along the coastline meant nothing to them. They had never seen a sailing ship let alone been chained to one. Though the concept of slavery was well known throughout the African continent from countless generations of internal fighting and capturing one another, they likely only knew what it meant to be owned by another African tribe, to be forced to do their labor and remain subject to them. Their destiny in such internal conflicts might mean they could be sacrificed to a foreign god or traded off to yet another tribe in exchange for crops or European materials or weapons.

The market for cheap labor by the European colonialists had become so great, the sale of slaves became the principle export for all of Africa. There were no other exports proffered on such a grand scale as the sale of her people. Slavery had by default become Africa’s primary economic output. Despite Africa’s plentiful and rich natural resources, no effort was being made to capitalize on them by the major tribes and kingdoms that ruled the interior. The key tribal leadership of the most powerful tribes on the continent saw the slave trade as their only immediate means of achieving wealth and power. Those powerful tribal kingdoms by the year 1844, were controlling the whole of the interior of the continent.

Well before this time, African men, women and children were officially declared commodities with varying degrees of profitability. In the past, and now ongoing, it wasn’t uncommon for entire villages to be taken into slavery by another tribe which would then incorporate those captives into their own tribe. But with the increased value of an African man woman or child on the slave market, along with the increasing demand among Africans for modern European weapons and rich European goods, it was no wonder the slave trade was blossoming. Survival and competition were powerful driving forces among the tribes. With colonialist countries such as the Dutch (Holland), France, Spain, England, Portugal, and Brazil developing their colonial interests in the Caribbean, the West Indies, and in North and South America, the price in American dollars for a healthy slave could bring $250 to $500 dollars or the equivalent for fresh slaves in any currency. For the African market, those were huge dollars or pounds or large sums in any currency.

Throughout their history, if an African was captured by another tribe, it simply meant he had become the property of a different group of people. But to disappear into vast waters on a ship of horrors, to be taken to a strange place inhabited by white people or brown people existing beyond the sky itself, the impact was incomprehensible. Imagine anyone being pulled from a near prehistoric life to what they would find in a new world bursting with commercialism.

The powerful kingdoms in Africa, even the smaller tribes that only sought to sustain themselves, didn’t really care what happened to others that weren’t their own. Those who were captured, though of the same color and heritage as their captors, had become physical currency, a means to improve basic human needs and a growing desire for power and better things to support life. Africa’s people were being reduced even deeper into becoming a simple commodity for the blacks who took them and for the whites who bought them.

In this unbearable moment when the spot on the horizon was pointed out as approaching Bonny Island, 365 scared, black-skinned human beings were scrunched together in small groups, sweltering in the heat of equatorial Africa. In that very moment, the poor sequestered souls could think only about water, just a cup of simple life-giving water. Their lips and throats were parched beyond normal human endurance but this all-consuming misery would be just the beginning. With a very real slave ship approaching, the bulk of their merciless saga would soon begin.

Since the captives were marketable products, it suddenly became important to the brokers that they should attempt to clean up the captives right where they huddled in groups around the enclosure. They hadn’t been fed since late morning the previous day. They were only fed once a day about noon and today’s meal was still an hour away. A typical meal might consist of local dried fruit such as figs, nuts, dried meats from miscellaneous animals and a mixture of cassava and plantains boiled together with various spices in a large cooking pot. No dishes or utensils were available for so many mouths. It all had to be finger food. Gobs of finger food to lick from anxious hands, even from one to another

To clean up their human trading goods, the black captors pulled buckets of water from the Calabar River. It was fresh water but it was mixed with sea water since the island was situated right where the Calabar River fed into the Atlantic Ocean after trekking its way through the heart of the continent. The salty water was doused on them as they sat or lay in the snippets of shade such as there was. Thinking it was drinking water, those who could, rushed to the source, crushing against those who carried the buckets, hoping to get even a few drops. It was a shameful attempt to cleanse the dirty and sweaty lot of them in hopes it would help bring a better trading price from the slave traders.

Seeing their reaction, their overseers brought in buckets of pure fresh water and set them just inside the enclosure’s gate. Rushing en masse toward the buckets, they climbed and stepped over each other, desperate to get to the life-saving water. Cupping their unwashed hands to collect some water to drink, they unwittingly added to the future health issues that would soon overwhelm them. Just simple drinking water was all they needed. Some of the older ones, already near death from thirst and harsh treatment during the long passage through harsh jungle terrain – couldn’t last through the night. For all who would survive, this scene would be their last remembrance of the Africa they were born to.

CHAPTER 3

The dark spot on the horizon off to the west that showed up early in the morning as seen by the Dutchman, Frans, was now clearly recognizable as a ship under sail. It was coming in direct, through the Gulf of Guinea, heading almost due east in the direction of Bonny Island. Now, six hours after the sighting, the Portuguese merchant, Paulo, joined the Dutchman on the lookout, himself an investor in the slavery business. They watched the ship’s progress through their spyglasses all the while trying to identify her flag. Dividing their time between looking through their extended glasses and discussing the future of the slave trade, another hour passed quickly. Suddenly, as if on command, both raised their spyglasses and resumed their fix on the tiny vessel, now well within the range of their long lenses. There was a preliminary flash of red, white and blue that came into strong focus, flying from the top of the main mast. She’s flying an American flag, Paulo exclaimed in a voice heard across the beach and into the nether areas of the bush.

But, Frans hurried in with a potential disqualifying query, Is it a slave ship, Paulo, or is it an American Cruiser come to find an errant slaver slipping out into the Atlantic from the sneaky Calabar?

Impatiently waiting and watching throughout another slow-moving hour, the little spectacle of an icon of a sailing ship was now genuinely recognizable as a schooner showing two masts, but it wasn’t an American ship. As she continued making headway toward their position, the name painted on both the port and starboard bow showed clear. The name Andorinha was unmistakable. She was indeed a Portuguese slaver, illegally flying the American ‘Stars and Stripes.’ With jib sails fully rigged, its progress seemed to speed up as she showed herself full frame, tacking hard to the south to enable her to make the turn toward Nigeria’s extreme southern coast.

By dusk, as predicted, the Andorinha was right off Bonny Island’s coast. The Portuguese captain skillfully maneuvered her to within 100 yards of Bonny Island’s front ocean side before turning her inward to the northern access to the Calabar River. The Calabar River ran hard from the east, coming alongside Bonny Island’s northern and southern flanks of her triangular shape. It was the northern flank where she turned easily into the Calabar’s generous outlet. Her sails were already being furled save for the jibs which gave her sufficient motion to navigate. Her naked masts soon blended into the dense, treed foliage that bordered the northern shoreline, offering immediate cover from any prying spyglasses of British or U.S. Frigates on the hunt for a slaver.

The Portuguese Captain ordered the ship’s anchors dropped, one from the bow and one from the stern, as soon as the Andorinha could cozy up to the island without grounding. Parallel to her starboard side, and close to 100 yards off shore, a conveniently cleared beach of substantial size was awaiting the longboats to begin offloading their trading goods and to begin loading the 365 black human beings who would be the return cargo to Cuba’s slave markets. From 100 yards off shore, the sailors of the Andorinha could clearly see the suffering men, women and children who would soon be on their one-way trip of unconscionable hellish conditions to an uncertain life of the damned.

The crew lowered the jib sails as the anchors, fore and aft, found sufficient grit. The American flag was lowered and put away, replaced by a Portuguese flag taken from the storage cabin next to the Captain’s private quarters. Flying the American flag was an effort to ward off American cruisers in the open sea. The standard procedure was for an American cruiser to let any American flag vessel pass without incident. They were reluctant to hail any ship flying the American flag, as long as they adhered to proper protocol. Such protocol was well known to the sailors and was never a problem, illegal as their motives unquestionably were.

For now, as the sun had rapidly declined in the west, there were no other ships on the horizon nor had any been sighted by the officers of the Andorinha over the past two days as she made the last leg of her trip to arriving at Bonny Island. It would be well for the Andorinha, they were advised, to take advantage of such an opportunity to promptly offload the cargo of European and colonial trading goods and quickly fill her holds with as many slaves as she could manage and quickly take a prompt leave for Cuba while the coast was clear.

The Andorinha was a classic schooner with a 130 foot keel and two masts with square-rigged sails. The foremast also carried two triangular jib sails that extended from the top of the main mast all the way forward to the bowsprit, or jib boom. The jib sails were necessary for navigating the coastal waters along the African coast and for tight situations when avoiding the British and American cruisers. With its shallow draft and fully jib-rigged sails she even had the ability to navigate the middle passage, going across the equator and up into the North Atlantic and on into the Caribbean. As well, she was nimble enough to navigate and hug the shore along the Niger River coastal area. If necessary, she could go further inland by way of the Calabar River and disappear from sight to ward off a cruiser seeking to interdict the slaver as she departed the coastal area.

The Andorinha was built in 1836 in Gloucester, Massachusetts for an American merchandise broker who promptly sold her to a Portuguese company for use as a slaver. Since slavery had been illegal in the U.S. since 1808, ship builders in America wouldn’t sell to a slave enterprise. The merchandise broker acted as a mediator for the Portuguese company and made a tidy profit on the sale. He promptly ordered a duplicate for his legitimate merchandise business, selling European goods throughout the Caribbean.

The Andorinha’s architecture included a main, or top deck, and two below decks. The below decks were modified from a standard 66 inch high deck cut into two half-height decks to hold supplies and cargo on the passage over, and of course to double as stowage to pack in as many slaves as possible for the return trip. Below the modified two decks was the bilge, the inside bottom of the ship. Visible in the bilge from stem to stern along the keel, many heavy stones were stacked and piled for ballast. The added weight was necessary to keep the ship upright in harsh winds and when tacking hard to port or starboard.

A cabin situated at the stern on the main deck ran almost the same width as the schooner for about 12 feet from the stern bulwark. There was just enough room on both sides of the cabin to allow passage all the way along the deck rail to the extreme of the stern. The cabin had a flat roof, actually a finished deck with a sturdy rail that ran completely around the perimeter, save for an opening in the front, five feet off to the port side. The opening was for the stairs that led down to the main deck. From the main deck, a separate access with a hatch door on the cabin led down to the below deck by what looked like ‘ladder-stairs.’ From the below deck, which was at full stand-up height for 30 feet from the stern bulkhead, a man could actually stand, unlike the rest of the length of the ship which was comprised of the two half decks. A hatch door on the second deck floor accessed a ladder that led to the bilge.

Most of the area on the below deck at the stern was set aside for stowage of large casks of fresh water, known as ‘scuttlebutts,’ stacks of firewood for the cooks boiler and wooden casks of vinegar and rum. Additional casks of fresh water were kept in the bilge at the stern along with the ballast. The aft deck on top of the small cabin on sailing ships was also known as the ‘poop deck’ and underneath it was the ‘poop cabin.’ The word ‘poop’ is a bastardization of the Latin word ‘puppis’ meaning stern, or stern deck. It was the ideal point for the captain to survey the ship’s ongoing activity being carried on across the main deck. The helm, where the ship’s wheel was located, was where the helmsman steered the ship. It was front and center from the poop cabin by about ten feet.

So from the poop deck, more often referred to as the aft deck, or stern deck, the captain could view the ship’s activity and shout orders out to the crew as they prepared to sail or to direct the crew in preparation for a storm or any critical action. It was also where he would speak to the crew for any meetings or announcements as everyone gathered around. The cabin area below the aft deck was divided between the captain’s quarters, which was the largest portion of the space, and a storage room for flags, maps, charts and any weapons that needed to be secured on board. Only the Captain, the First Mate and the Boatswain had access to the room referred to as the chartroom, or the armory.

The Andorinha was considered a medium size ship for a slaver. At best, she could hold 400 slaves if packed tighter than bunched bananas as long as the captive women and children were stuffed in and around the main deck and against the bulwarks in tight groups. Women weren’t chained nor were they placed below in the cargo decks. They would occasionally be stowed in the passage ways between the stern deck and the forward bulwarks.

The Andorinha required a crew of 24: Captain Santos; his First Mate, Chief Macedo, also known as just Chief or Chief Mate when addressed by the Captain; a Boatswain and Boatswain’s mate; a cook and cook’s mate; sometimes a sort-of doctor, (on the Andorinha for this voyage the cook was also the doctor); a carpenter and carpenters assistant; a cooper; twelve saltwater sailors referred to in Spanish and Portuguese as bazals; and four negro slaves hired out by their master in Cuba, to