The Slave Ship That Vanished: An Old Man’s Confession in Seattle

An Old Slaver's Story

I am an old man now, shipwrecked, and many years away since the occurrences which I am about to relate took place. But were I to live to be twice old, the remembrance of my first and last cruise on a slaver would never be obliterated from the tablets of my memory.

I left the port of Havana, West Indies, in the clipper bark Ariel, on the 12th of March, 18—, for the coast of Africa for slaves and gold dust. We had a crew of twenty-five men, mostly Spaniards and Americans. The captain had his two officers; they were Americans.

We made a quick passage to the coast. We drifted some time waiting for cargo by the absence of the chief. Upon his arrival, Captain P— made arrangements for loads of slaves which the chief promised to supply us with immediately upon the arrival of a band of natives who had sent out previously to capture prisoners. In a few days we received our cargo of human freight. They were mostly negroes from the neighborhood of the Congo river—large, athletic fellows, who glared revengefully upon us as they were put into their irons and were ironed. Few women being among them.

Our captain, deeming himself very fortunate at securing them at a low price, and hearing that an English vessel had been further up the coast a few days previous, made no mind to sail immediately for Cuba. So, after a day spent in watering and victualling the ship, we left the coast and headed for sea.

We were staggering along under a wholesale breeze, with every sail set that would draw, a few mornings after leaving port, when the watch on deck were startled by seeing the hatches fly open; and a hundred of the negroes swarming on deck, who had somehow broken loose from their irons. The yells of the savages had aroused the crew below, who, hastily coming on deck, were met by the 'slaves' and literally torn to pieces before they had a chance to arm themselves. Meanwhile the watch on duty, seeing the large number that had broken loose, retreated to the cabin, where the arms were kept.

We barricaded in the cabin fifteen of us. We barricaded our stronghold in the best way we could, and then waited for the attack from the slaves, which we knew would come. We had the advantage of having plenty arms and ammunition, while we knew that the mutineers had nothing to arm themselves with but handspikes and flat pieces of wood... So we fired a couple of volleys into their ranks, which made them retreat to the forward part of the vessel...

Soon one, who appeared to be a chief, was seen urging them into again attack the cabin. We stood calmly awaiting their assault... Very near the chief's words seemed to revive their drooping courage... They made a wild rush for our barricade. They received a volley of fifteen which killed the chief and several others... Knowing that the slaves must be dead or driven off before we could get up upon the deck, four of us took the initiative, hit the cabin and ascended the forecastle...

We discovered, on coming on deck, that they had broken into the captain's chest... Our captain, who was a scoundrel, unprincipled until his last hour, who was an African, and who could converse with those in the hold, sent for us to inform them that if they did not come up by pairs he would smoke them to death. Accordingly he addressed them in their own language, but received no reply.

While giving the necessary orders to prepare to smoke out the vessel, the captain was approached by our first officer Mr Johnson, who said in an under tone... 'Captain P—, there is fire below the magazine.' This proved too true. The blacks had not only fired the ship in the storeroom, but also sailed forward and after abandoning the water casks and the scuttlebutt, and making that it would be a hopeless task to undertake to sail in the flames with lots of howling savages for our crew, the blacks were, assisted by pieces of wood... The skipper and second mate disappeared in the cabin to await their return.

With a keg of powder which they carried forward around the fore castle... I got out from under the smoke... I saw a deep gulf till the ship was half sunk. It was a wretched sight... We were picked up by a schooner-bound sloop and brought to Charleston, S.C., from which port I for many years.

Some years later I brought to a knowledge of the wickedness of my past existence, and seeking for comfort in my religion, I found it was far more frequent than I had ever longed for since the day that fully two hundred souls perished in the slaving bark Ariel.