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    Shackles From the Deep: Tracing the Path of a Sunken Slave Ship, a Bitter Past, and a Rich Legacy
    Shackles From the Deep: Tracing the Path of a Sunken Slave Ship, a Bitter Past, and a Rich Legacy
    Shackles From the Deep: Tracing the Path of a Sunken Slave Ship, a Bitter Past, and a Rich Legacy
    Ebook116 pages1 hour

    Shackles From the Deep: Tracing the Path of a Sunken Slave Ship, a Bitter Past, and a Rich Legacy

    By Michael Cottman

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    A pile of lime-encrusted shackles discovered on the seafloor in the remains of a ship called the Henrietta Marie, lands Michael Cottman, a Washington, D.C.-based journalist and avid scuba diver, in the middle of an amazing journey that stretches across three continents, from foundries and tombs in England, to slave ports on the shores of West Africa, to present-day Caribbean plantations. This is more than just the story of one ship - it's the untold story of millions of people taken as captives to the New World. Told from the author's perspective, this book introduces young readers to the wonders of diving, detective work, and discovery, while shedding light on the history of slavery.From the Hardcover edition.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherNational Geographic
    Release dateJan 3, 2017
    ISBN9781426326677
    Shackles From the Deep: Tracing the Path of a Sunken Slave Ship, a Bitter Past, and a Rich Legacy

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    • 5/5
      Avid scuba diver and journalist, Michael Cottman is sharing the remarkable discovery of a sunken ship that carried slaves to Europe and North/South America during the late 1600's. The ship was the Henrietta Marie and in early 1700, it sank in a storm off the coast of Key West, Florida. Nothing was known about this ship until 1972 when underwater treasure hunter Moe Molinar finds the wreckage while looking for some treasures from another ship. Hurricanes often stir up the sand around sunken treasures and this time, he came across something new....shackles, heavy manacles designed to handcuff slaves while traveling across the ocean to an unknown world. Ten years later, marine archaeologist, David Moore had heard of the shipwreck and began studying the slave trade. He made it a mission to find out more about this ship and the purpose of its journey. In 1983, during an underwater exploration, he came across the bell. During that time, every ship had a bell with the ship's name on it to use as a watch bell that signaled changes to the crew on board of the ship. This find was a huge break because it helped them reveal the name of the ship, the Henrietta Marie. Cottman and Moore united to retrace the ship's journey around the world. For Cottman, it is quite an emotional journey as an African American man, wondering if there could have been his own ancestors that perished on this journey. His most upsetting find wasn't just finding the shackles made specifically to handcuff the slaves during the long journey across the ocean, but the numerous child-sized shackles. "Who would make child-sized shackles?", Cottman wondered. While this is a non-fiction account of the fascinating finds related to this ship, Cottman willing shares his personal feelings while conducting this research. This reads as a narrative non-fiction and contains amazing photographs of both underwater images as well as the shackles and bell brought to the surface. He travels to several countries to access every piece of the story related to slavery trade during the 1600-1800's. While reading this book, I was reminded of the story of Olaudah Equiano, a slave who came across the ocean on a ship much like the Henrietta Marie (maybe even one of the previous journeys) and landed in London. He was eventually freed by his owner after being allowed to trade and buy his freedom. I've often taught this story while subbing and I now have new knowledge to add to my lesson on the slave trade. Having never heard of this sunken ship, I was fascinated by this amazing find. The level of research Moore and Cottman conducted to understand what happened to the ship, who perished on this ship, and the history of shipping slaves across the world was extensive.If your child likes reading true historical stories, then this will be right up their alley. At just 120 pages, it isn't overwhelming for younger readers. If the reader becomes interested in this topic, the back of the book includes other books and websites to find more information about slave ships. scuba diving, and marine archaeology. Maybe this book will inspire them to become a researcher some day.
    • 4/5
      Growing up during pre-integration period of American history, I knew some but not a lot about our past history as it relates to the treatment of slaves and how they came to be here in America or in other areas of the world. I have since learned more about this dark period in mankind's history. But this is not the only people to have been enslaved throughout history. Enslavement has been rife throughout history. It is a rich heritage, indeed, that the abolition of slavery was sought and fought for. In Shackles from the Deep the transport of an enslaved people - those of African nationality, is shown for it's brutal reality.As the author, a black man who loves deep sea diving, unites his love of diving, his love of history, and his own unique history to research and bring forth this story evidential layers of brutality come to the forefront. Originally written for an older audience and in more detail, "Shackles" is shorter and directed to the age 10 to 16 audience. The story is still intack with the author's realization that his own forebearers might have been wearing shackles just such as those found at the bottom of the sea, encased in rust, and within the bowles of the Henritta Marie.The photographs and illustrations bring the reality of the ship's history and that of the human cargo it contained. This book would be a superb addition to libraries.DISCLOSURE: I received a complimentary copy to facilitate a review. I was not compensated.Opinions are my own, alone.

    Book preview

    Shackles From the Deep - Michael Cottman

    PROLOGUE

    WHERE IS YOUR VILLAGE? the young girl asked me. It was 1997 and I was traveling through Timbuktu, which is a city in the country of Mali in West Africa.

    While there, I met this girl, 10 years old, with brown skin and tiny earrings. She lived on the banks of the Niger River.

    She was curious about me. She probably noticed my unusual clothes and correctly concluded that I wasn’t from there.

    I’m from Detroit, in the United States, I told her.

    She paused, then told me that she came from a family of kings and queens, that the men in her tribe were the village elders, and that the women taught young girls to read and write.

    Who are your people? she asked.

    This time I paused. I didn’t really have an answer to her question. I told her about a slave ship called the Henrietta Marie and how I was led to Africa because of this ship. And I told her that we’re all connected through the spirits of our African ancestors regardless of where we live or which villages or towns we come from.

    She smiled and whispered to her friends in her West African dialect. I didn’t understand what she was saying, but all of the children smiled and waved to me as I left their village.

    Are my people Igbo from Nigeria, or Fulani from Mali, or Wolof from Senegal, or Ashanti from Ghana? Sadly, I may never know. But somehow, as I stood on African soil, I felt at home.

    CHAPTER 1

    Instruction in youth is like engraving in stone. ∼ Moroccan proverb

    I ZIP

    UP MY

    WET SUIT, adjust my mask, strap on my steel scuba tanks, breathe into my regulator, and slowly descend into a vast underwater world of translucent jellyfish, wide-winged manta rays, and giant sea turtles.

    The gentle underwater currents nudge me along the colorful reefs—past the deep purple sea fans, the bursting orange coral heads, and the white tubular anemones that sway in the sea silt.

    Bright yellow angelfish swim a few feet above me in synchronized rhythm.

    Nearby, a shiny barracuda crosses my path with a snapped fishing line dangling from his mouth. He had no doubt stripped the bait from an unsuspecting fisherman and fled quickly into the deep.

    In the distance, I watch the ocean’s most feared predators zig-zagging in and out of the shadows—the saw-toothed blacktip sharks that are more interested in observing the bubble-breathing scuba divers than confronting them.

    I exhale and drop slowly to the sandy ocean floor.

    I am a deep-sea scuba diver.

    My love of the sea started when I was young. I grew up in a mostly black, middle-class neighborhood in Detroit, Michigan. In the evenings, I would sit in the living room watching Sea Hunt, an underwater adventure television program that aired when I was a boy in the late 1950s and early ’60s.

    I enjoyed Sea Hunt because it was unlike anything I had ever seen. It featured ocean exploration and sunken ships and treasure—and I decided right then that I too would one day explore shipwrecks in distant oceans.

    There was just one problem. Little boys from Detroit didn’t know much about scuba diving.

    I was the only kid in my neighborhood who talked about diving, and I never missed an episode of this television show. My friends played basketball, football, and baseball. I enjoyed playing sports, too, but I yearned for travel and adventure.

    For me, Sea Hunt was an escape of sorts, something to help me cope with the atmosphere surrounding the violent civil rights marches and demonstrations that were happening in Detroit at the time.

    I didn’t know how to swim, but luckily my mother was not only supportive, she was also an excellent swimmer. She took me to the local pool and, in the protective shallow end, she taught me the front crawl and the breaststroke. Eventually she felt I was ready to master the deep end of the pool. I wasn’t so sure.

    As I stood tentatively at the edge of the pool, looking into 10 terrifying feet of water, without warning, she pushed me in! I wish I could say that I swam around the pool with the grace of a delicate swan, but no—I sputtered and flailed to the side of the pool and clutched the cold tile as if it were a lifeline, gaping up at my mom and her sly smile.

    But then, once my heart stopped racing, I looked back at the water and took a deep breath. I slipped under the surface and swam the entire length of the pool for the very first time. My mom told me how proud she was, and we drove home laughing about my first experience in the

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