Despite the high waves, Morgan was able to bear down on the doomed vessel on an emergency rescue mission. He could now make out what was happening. Men and women were clinging precariously to the rigging, hanging over the ship’s sides, and crawling on their hands and knees on a slanted deck. Everyone was sliding and slithering as if they were on a pitched roof. He watched in horror as a fierce gust of wind pushed the foundering ship over on her beam ends as waves crashed over the windward rail. It was clear that ocean water was pouring through the hatches. The masts cracked and the yards snapped as a large wave hit the ship broadside, hammering the cabins. They were close enough to hear the cries of desperation, the shrieking and yelling. He could see dark men and women jumping off the ship holding onto pieces of wood. It was only then that he realized none of the passengers had any clothes on. They were naked, men and women alike, and they had heavy chains around their ankles.
“I warrant that be a slave ship, Captain,” Mr. Nyles said as he looked through the spyglass. “Yup, that’s a guinea ship, Cap’n. No doubt about it. That’s the slave cargo we’re looking at.”
Morgan didn’t reply. He was too horror stricken by the sight of men and women, their wrists and ankles still manacled together jumping into the water to almost certain death. He looked around for any signs of telltale fins. In these warm waters, there would be a danger for sharks. There was not much time left. In fact, they were too late to offer much assistance. The damaged ship began a slow spin downward as if it were caught in a whirlpool. The stern sank first, disappearing under the waves as the bow pointed upward. Morgan looked at the rapidly sinking bow, and then, amazed at what he saw, he raised the spyglass, again pressing it closer to his eye. It was unmistakable. There, underneath the bowsprit, was the ship’s figurehead, a carving of a sea serpent. It was just like the Charon’s figurehead.
Parts of the sinking vessel now shot upward, broken spars, hatch covers, pieces of doors, even brown bodies burst to the surface. There were shrieks for help, all in a strange tongue Morgan couldn’t understand. He could see heads tossed about in the waves, hands clutching upward momentarily, then disappearing. The ship was now swallowed up by the ocean. All that was left was floating debris, and about four dozen survivors who were clinging to pieces of the deck or hatch covers as they rose and fell amidst giant ocean swells.
Morgan gave the order to round the ship up into the high waves and wind and lower the quarter boats. The screaming had been replaced with an eerie quiet, interrupted only by faint pleas for help. He and Icelander went out with four other sailors in one of the boats and began rowing through the debris, pulling aboard the survivors who were clutching pieces of the yards and the spars. Their gaunt, anguished faces were filled with fear as they were hauled aboard. Along with the other quarter boat, they were able to save about thirty people before they gave up the search as futile and rowed back to the ship. It was one of the ship’s younger sailors who spotted a board with some writing on it and snared it as they went by. It appeared to be the ship’s name, Serpente Preta. Morgan wondered if the Charon’s name had been changed or maybe this was another ship owned by Blackwood. Once aboard the packet, he instructed Mr. Nyles to mark the latitude and longitude of this place.
“That will be the only marker these poor souls will ever have.”
With the weather now improving, the Philadelphia raised half of its sails to head north toward the Canary Islands and then England. The ship’s crew continued to repair the rigging so the going was slow. Morgan quickly assessed the situation. He had Whipple examine the survivors, who were sprawled out on the deck in the center of the ship. Fortunately there was no sign of disease like smallpox. Many of them had been branded like sheep with a scalding-hot iron. A large O was burned into the men’s skin, and the same brand was imprinted on the women’s breasts. A few of them had welts and scars on their backs. They’d been shackled in pairs, and some of them were still wearing leg irons and handcuffs.
Morgan ordered Whipple and Icelander to try to remove these shackles. He told Scuttles and Lowery to make sure that these people were clothed and fed. The still-weary cabin passengers, who had not yet recovered from the trauma of the storm, stood on the quarterdeck looking down in amazement at this surreal sight of survival at sea. Without asking anyone, Eliza helped Scuttles and Lowery bring towels and clothes to the Africans. Morgan could see she was wiping away tears as she moved from one survivor to the next.
He was wondering what he should do with these unexpected passengers when Lowery approached him, his face tense and serious.