Yet, when I had left seen everyone, I was boarding the small boat headed for the dock in Falmouth, England to take Domonic Clayton back to the U.S.  It was a low ebb for both of us. I was disappointed that an unexpected turn of events had interrupted the rhythm of learning and sailing that the crew had settled into after we departed London.  Selfishly, I fought against my desire to experience the transit across the Bay of Biscay. More than anything else, I worried that Dominic’s spirit would be broken by the prospect of returning home too soon from a journey he had been waiting too long to experience.  I kept thinking just as it was about to get good, he will be deny a life-changing learning experience.  What could I do to keep his hopes up?  What could I do to ensure that he would sustain his interest in learning about public history, slavery, and navigation?  In the end it was Domomic who had sustained me.  The hope of his return had made flying back to Lisbon worthwhile. I was rewarded with such a wonderful sight today:  A young Black man, standing before a group of Portuguese school children telling the Amistad story.  His body spirit no longer broken and my hopes renewed.

 

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