The dark clouds and winds appeared in a rush from the north. The storm was so sudden, the crew did not have time to lower the sails and drop anchor. Within minutes the ship was being shoved southward and back out to sea. The waves were five feet, then ten, then crashing into the ship and spraying water across the deck. Everyone was ordered below. The gusts were stronger and louder and sustained for long periods of time.
Captain Lankford had survived hurricanes in the Caribbean, but he’d never seen such a storm come from the north. He found it impossible to steer the ship as the wind whipped it about. Though there was virtually no visibility, he could tell when the mainsail was ripped and began whipping the foresail and back sail. Larger waves were hitting broadside and drenching the deck. His ship was taking on enormous amounts of water. When the aft mast snapped and broke in two, the captain ordered his men to unlatch the lifeboats and begin lowering them. With the ship bouncing violently from side to side, it was an impossible task. Any fool who attempted to cross the deck was certain to be swept away. Lankford worried that the Africans might somehow break free from below, swarm the deck, and commandeer the lifeboats. He ordered the hold-hatches locked shut, entombing the 400-plus Africans and guaranteeing their deaths if the
Then the winds and waves were back, stronger than before, and the
Below deck, Nalla and the women clutched the children and tried to protect them from the fury of the storm. They held each other tightly as the ship rolled and pitched and seemed ready to break into pieces. They were tossed about and banged into walls and each other. They were crying and praying and often screaming when heavier waves hit. All candles were out and the holds were pitch-black. Below them they could hear the men yelling desperately. Above them, water was seeping through the cracks. They knew they were about to die.
The storm intensified after dark. Several women made it up the steps but couldn’t open the hatch. They realized they were trapped below and would certainly drown. Water was a foot deep and rising.
A huge wave took the ship up and slammed it back down. It broke in half, spilling its cargo into the ocean. None of the Africans could swim. The men were doomed because they were shackled together. The women tried to grab the children but the storm was too fierce and it was too dark.
Nalla found herself clutching a jagged piece of a splintered mast. She and several other women clung desperately to it as the waves lifted them high then submerged them under the water. She urged them to hang on, to be strong. They had survived so far. They were away from the ship and they were not going to drown. Hang on. There were desperate voices everywhere, the last words of dying people, of anguished mothers, of sailors trying to save themselves. Their cries were lost in the howling winds, the crash of waves, the utter blackness of the ocean.
As if its mission had been to destroy the ship, the storm began to subside. The waves still rocked them along but they were not as fierce. The winds were losing their strength. Minutes were passing and Nalla was still alive. She held on and realized that the mast might just save her life. She kept talking to the other women, two of whom she could not see. Others were behind her, still desperately hanging on.
The ocean was calm, still, flat as glass, with no trace of its fury only hours earlier. On the horizon a small orange ball appeared and began to grow as the sun rose for another day.
Nalla and five other women huddled around three children at the foot of a dune. The water was not far away and its quiet waves lapped at the sand. The beach stretched right and left as far as they could see.
They were cold and hoped the sun would rise quickly. They were naked again. The cheap burlap skirts they’d been given after they bathed were lost in the storm. They were starving and had not eaten in hours. The children whimpered in their discomfort but the women just stared at the ocean, too traumatized to think about their next move.
Somewhere out there, far beyond the horizon, was home. Nalla thought of her little boy and fought back tears. The dreadful ship that brought them here was gone. Could they ever find another to go back?
The splintered mast that saved their lives was wedged in the sand nearby. Nalla thought of the others who had clung desperately to it but had been swept away by the crushing waves. Their anguished cries rang in her ears. Were they all dead or had some managed to find the shore?
