The wind had been fairly light all day as people trickled down the dock, over the gangway, and onto the barge along which AMISTAD was moored. Families, church groups, and the random tourist stood, looked, and gingerly moved forward on the steel surface that gently moved beneath their feet; they were there to see the ship they had heard about in the local news.

Today was the last day and the schedule was shortened to allow the vessel to depart on the turn of the tide. The crew busied themselves removing unwanted gear and securing storage barrels, gangway extensions, and anything else that could come adrift in a seaway.

AMISTAD was heading home today. Fuel was topped off, water was put aboard, and Dani arrived with three dock carts full of fresh provisions. Queen Mother Blakely from Harlem, NY, and Carolyn “Jabulile” White, a Gullah Storyteller from St. John’s Island, waited on the dock until everything was ready to go to sea. Then they came aboard for the Farewell Libation and Blessing. The crew assembled amidship and with honor to the ancestors given, and prayers for a safe voyage rendered, they quietly went about the business of the final touches before leaving the dock. The Sierra Leoneans came aboard to bid good-bye to their shipmates who they would not see again until New Haven, because they were going on their own voyage of discovery of the United States. The East wind began to freshen as Captain John Beebe-Center started the Big Yellow Cats that would move AMISTAD’s long, low hull away from the barge and into the current that caused the multitude of motorboats on the river to slide sideways as if on ice.

The Captain had called for a three o’clock departure and it was now five minutes before the hour. Last-minute hugs and handshakes were exchanged and we all scurried ashore to help tend the lines. With power and helm position deftly applied, AMISTAD swung into the wind and current and was free of the bonds that have kept her from the place where she performs best, the sea.

I must admit, there was a twinge in my heart when I saw the saw the stern reading: “AMISTAD New Haven” grow ever smaller as the vessel headed out towards Sullivan’s Island and Fort Sumter. Soon they were in the channel steaming toward the sea buoy, passing port-to-port with a giant container ship—dwarfed in size but distinctive in silhouette. Soon they were out of sight, and most likely preparing to set sail now that they had sea room. AMISTAD was heading home.  

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