Hours later, crewmen entered with platters of fresh food. They loosed our shackles and pointed to the victuals and nodded. Then, with the exception of two, they left. We feared what seemed too good to be true, so at first we didn’t touch anything. However, starvation propelled us on, and, slowly, we began to consume foods we’d never known. Some of the meat tasted slightly familiar, but the fruits and vegetables were entirely new. They were tasty, so we ate our fill. It had been months since we’d had a decent meal; thus, we consumed everything with a vengeance. We considered that it might be poisoned, that this might be yet another means of our destruction, but hunger would not be denied. If we died, we thought, at least we’d die full. Two crewmen, with pointed rifles, stood guard over us but never interrupted our feasting. When we finished, they called for others, and together they reattached our chains and returned us to our horizontal cages. It was all very strange.

We remained in the dungeon of that ship for weeks, still counting days. The vessel swayed slightly with the movement of the water, but did not sail. Each morning and evening, we were given food in great abundance. Fruits of every kind and sweetness, vegetables of every possible color, meats favorable to our tongue. We still didn’t know why. It mattered less each day. We regained our strength. Some even began to look like themselves again. We believed our gods had moved upon the hearts of our captors. We had more water than we could drink. Several times a day, a tin cup met our mouths and we swallowed until satisfied. Some of the foods, we later learned, were mangoes, breadfruit, coconut, guava, jackfruit, papaya, pineapple, cassava, callaloo, ackee, arrowroot, figs, cabbage, plantain, rice, squash, sweet potato, and yam. We had rice and yam, too, but not like this yam. Each meal also consisted of healthy portions of chicken or pork and other unidentifiable meats. Our bellies were full, but our hearts were empty and laced with gloom. We didn’t know what to think. Or what our futures held. Or what became of those left behind. Or what they would do with those they took away. Or how, now, to plan our escape with so many gone. Or whether we should try to escape at all, knowing nothing about their land. We began to believe that they had fed us simply to distract us. To create in our spirits complacency that might usurp our desire to fight. If so, their plan did not work. In the midnight hour, we whispered across blank spaces, trying desperately to plan our getaway. We promised our gods that, if we were successful, we’d tell the story of our unthinkable journey and remind our people never to lose faith. We made all sorts of promises on that ship.

The plan failed before execution. We couldn’t agree on what to do, and, as strangers to the land, we didn’t know where to go or in which direction to run. Or even how to navigate the ship. We weren’t strangers to the Great Waters, but we knew nothing about the steering of their boats. So we thought it best to wait until the ancestors or God bent advantages in our favor.