Cinque’s Tale - A Personal Story from the Amistad

By Luke Wilmshurst

 

I sat there chained, like a dog to his master never leaving his side. I’m Cinque. Not that it matters, but my story is all I have left. The time? I don’t know. The date? I have no clue. All I know is that it had to come to a plan. The plan that was going to set me and my people free.

 

My journey began back in the Mende of Sierra Leone. I was known to be the man among men, for what, I did not know. It was supposedly because I stood up to the great beast. It had taken many people from my village.

 

On one starry night, the beast approached me and my family. My father was ill and could not fight. I knew I had to react swiftly. The beast and I stared at each other for ages, trying to anticipate each other’s move. I knew I mustn’t show any signs of fear as I knew it could smell it from a mile off. There was a stalemate for quite some time.

 

I had acquired a long rod from my father, so when he came at me, I came at him. Only one of us could be the victor and the other the victim. I don’t know where I got this surge of strength but I hit it. It then retreated. From then on I was treated as a chief, given the finest clothes and grain. I took it, I accepted all the gifts that were passed onto me. My friends were jealous and they knew as well as I did that I didn’t deserve it.

 

Then one solemn peaceful day something stirred. I was going to collect water. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I was cast under a net and carried away. I screamed to my family in desperation but my mouth was compressed by a man of my skin. Traitor. Just for money, he would capture his own people.

 

I was sent to this big place, it could only be described as an impenetrable kingdom. It was where I saw many others just like me but from many tribes around the great kingdom of Africa. They were all chained, tired and hungry. And we were brutalised, beaten to a pulp, lashed with the whip and shown our nakedness.

 

We were put on these big sailing boats; the white man calls them ships. We were cast down to the bowls of the ships which I found out to be decks. Many a man and woman were mistreated but I was somewhat lucky. I was still in chains. Having to fight for food wasn’t the priority, but protecting it was. Only certain men and women were given food. The ones that looked able to work were fed, whilst the others looked on in despair. I felt ashamed for them, but I knew if I ever wanted to see my family again, keeping alive was the best thing I could do.

 

I can only describe this damp, smelly place as a pit of despair.

 

My first task was to free myself from this inconceivable bondage. The chains were black like the ash from a fire. I saw something. Even in this darkness of night it still caught my wandering eye. It was a peculiar looking thing, used to keep the wooden floor of the ship together. There were many of these things hammered into the floor. I have even seen them being driven into peoples hands by the white man. I think they called them nails but they look nothing like the ones stuck to my fingers.

As I scratched the surface of the wood my fingers began to bleed. Wooden splinters engulfed themselves into my nails, penetrating under my fingers. It was sourly painful but I progressed in my search to be free from these shackles of despair.

 

I managed to free myself from the chains, prying open the lock. I did so with the others. There were no white men around on the lower deck of the ship. With some of my tribe and a neighbouring tribe, the Temne, we found the place where sharp tools and swords were kept. This was our opportunity. We had to grasp it with both hands, literally.

 

 We rose from the darkness. In the wake of night we took arms against the white man and struck with a mighty blow to the head. As we seized the deck, I came face to face with the captain; the one who had made my life, and many others, such a misery. It was time for justice. When I came at him he watched me all the way. He stood their watching, watching every move I made.

 

We tussled in the deep night on the rocking ship. I caught him off guard then struck him with the plank of wood I had picked up from the room. Once, twice, I don’t know how many times but I’m sure he was dead after the first blow.

 

This was the beginning of my story. I heard many a time as a young boy how many men and women were kidnapped and mistreated but never fought back. I guess I have changed that. I am a part of history. Although that history may have begun here in America, I intend to end it at home. To once again feel the sun beat on my face and the lion’s pride rest in the shade.