The Last Slave

Corbis via Getty Images (Zora Neale Hurston); Amistad Press (book)

Zora Neale Hurston wrote Barracoon in 1931.

He was 85 years old, walked with a cane, and lived alone in a small cabin in Mobile, Alabama. From his appearance alone, Cudjo Lewis, who also went by the name Kossala, wouldn’t have stood out on the streets of his city in 1927, but this elderly man with a gray goatee and a pipe in his mouth had an extraordinary story to tell: He was the last known living person to have been captured in Africa and brought to the U.S. as a slave.

In the summer of 1927, Lewis greeted a visitor from New York City, a budding writer named Zora Neale Hurston. Hurston would later pen the famous novel Their Eyes Were Watching God, which today is read in English classes across the country. But before she was a novelist, she’d been a cultural anthropologist and collector of folklore, and she had come to meet with Lewis and write a book about him.

“I want to know who you are,” Hurston told Lewis, “and how you came to be a slave; and to what part of Africa do you belong, and how you fared as a slave, and how you have managed as a free man?”

The book, Barracoon: The Story of the Last “Black Cargo,” is based on a series of interviews Hurston conducted with Lewis in 1927 and 1931. (Barracoon is a word for the barracks built along the west coast of Africa, where enslaved Africans were held before they were herded onto ships.)

He was 85 years old, walked with a cane, and lived alone in a small cabin in Mobile, Alabama. Cudjo Lewis, who also went by the name Kossala, had a gray goatee and a pipe in his mouth. From his appearance alone, this elderly man wouldn’t have stood out on the streets of his city in 1927. But he had an extraordinary story to tell. He was the last known living person to have been captured in Africa and brought to the U.S. as a slave.

In the summer of 1927, Lewis greeted a visitor from New York City, a budding writer named Zora Neale Hurston. Hurston would later pen the famous novel Their Eyes Were Watching God, which today is read in English classes across the country. But before she was a novelist, she’d been a cultural anthropologist and collector of folklore. She had come to meet with Lewis to write a book about him.

“I want to know who you are,” Hurston told Lewis, “and how you came to be a slave; and to what part of Africa do you belong, and how you fared as a slave, and how you have managed as a free man?”

Hurston titled the book Barracoon: The Story of the Last “Black Cargo.” It’s based on a series of interviews Hurston conducted with Lewis in 1927 and 1931. Barracoon is a word for the barracks built along the west coast of Africa. It’s where enslaved Africans were held before they were herded onto ships.

But nobody would publish the book at the time. Most of it is told from Lewis’s first-person point of view and in his dialect. At least one publisher objected to the book being written this way. But Hurston refused to change it. She’d taken great care to transcribe Lewis’s interviews in the way he spoke, believing in the value of black people telling their own stories in their own words. As a result, Barracoon remained unpublished for nearly a century.

Now Lewis’s story has finally found an audience. The book was published for the first time in May, nearly 60 years after Hurston’s death.

In Barracoon, Lewis recalls the horrors of slavery in vivid detail. He was born around 1841 in what is now the nation of Benin. By that time, international trafficking of Africans to the U.S. had been banned for more than 30 years, but slave traders still smuggled Africans to America (see map, below).

When Lewis was 19, his village was raided by the neighboring Kingdom of Dahomey, which was capturing Africans to sell to white slavers. In 1860, he and more than 100 other Africans were packed onto the Clotilda, the last known slave ship to sail to the United States (see “Searching for the Clotilda,” below). Lewis was enslaved in Alabama for more than five years before being told by Union soldiers that he was free.

“Of all the millions transported from Africa to the Americas, only one man is left,” Hurston writes in the introduction to her book. “This is the story of this Cudjo.”

In the following excerpts, Lewis discusses being captured, crossing the Atlantic, being enslaved, and forming a community called Africatown outside downtown Mobile upon gaining freedom.

But nobody would publish the book at the time. Most of it is told from Lewis’s first-person point of view and in his dialect. At least one publisher objected to the book being written this way. But Hurston refused to change it. She’d taken great care to transcribe Lewis’s interviews in the way he spoke. She believed in the value of black people telling their own stories in their own words. As a result, Barracoon remained unpublished for almost a century.

Now Lewis’s story has finally found an audience. The book was published for the first time in May, nearly 60 years after Hurston’s death.

In Barracoon, Lewis recalls the horrors of slavery in vivid detail. He was born around 1841 in what is now the nation of Benin. By that time, international trafficking of Africans to the U.S. had been banned for more than 30 years. Still, slave traders continued to smuggle Africans to America (see map, below).

When Lewis was 19, his village was raided by the neighboring Kingdom of Dahomey. Dahomey was one of the kingdoms capturing Africans to sell to white slavers. In 1860, Lewis and more than 100 other Africans were packed onto the Clotilda, the last known slave ship to sail to the United States (see “Searching for the Clotilda,” below). He was enslaved in Alabama for more than five years before being told by Union soldiers that he was free.

“Of all the millions transported from Africa to the Americas, only one man is left,” Hurston writes in the introduction to her book. “This is the story of this Cudjo.”

In the following excerpts, Lewis discusses his experiences. He starts with details of his capture, crossing the Atlantic, and his time as a slave. Then he talks about forming a community called Africatown outside downtown Mobile upon gaining freedom.

“It bout daybreak when de folks dat sleep git wake wid de noise when de people of Dahomey breakee de Great Gate.” [The town’s eight gates were supposed to provide escape routes in case of an attack.] “I not woke yet. I still in bed. I hear de gate when dey break it. I hear de yell from de soldiers while dey choppee de gate. Derefore I jump out de bed and lookee. I see de great many soldiers wid French gun in de hand and de big knife. Dey got de women soldiers too and dey run wid de big knife and make noise. Dey ketch people and dey saw de neck lak dis wid de knife den dey twist de head so and it come off de neck. . . .

“One gate lookee lak nobody dere so I make haste and runnee towards de bush. But de man of Dahomey dey dere too. Soon as I out de gate dey grabee me, and tie de wrist. . . .

“While dey ketchin’ me, de king of my country [who is named Akia’on] he come out de gate, and dey grabee him. . . . Den de king of Dahomey say, ‘Git in line to go to Dahomey so de nations kin see I conquer you and sell Akia’on in de barracoon.’

“Akia’on say, ‘I ain’ goin’ to Dahomey. I born a king in Takkoi where my father and his fathers rule before I was born. Since I been a full man I rule. I die a king but I not be no slave. . . . ’

“De king of Dahomey doan say no mo’. He look at de soldier and point at de king. One woman soldier step up wid de machete and chop off de head of de king, and pick it off de ground and hand it to de king of Dahomey.”

“It bout daybreak when de folks dat sleep git wake wid de noise when de people of Dahomey breakee de Great Gate.” [The town’s eight gates were supposed to provide escape routes in case of an attack.] “I not woke yet. I still in bed. I hear de gate when dey break it. I hear de yell from de soldiers while dey choppee de gate. Derefore I jump out de bed and lookee. I see de great many soldiers wid French gun in de hand and de big knife. Dey got de women soldiers too and dey run wid de big knife and make noise. Dey ketch people and dey saw de neck lak dis wid de knife den dey twist de head so and it come off de neck. . . .

“One gate lookee lak nobody dere so I make haste and runnee towards de bush. But de man of Dahomey dey dere too. Soon as I out de gate dey grabee me, and tie de wrist. . . .

“While dey ketchin’ me, de king of my country [who is named Akia’on] he come out de gate, and dey grabee him. . . . Den de king of Dahomey say, ‘Git in line to go to Dahomey so de nations kin see I conquer you and sell Akia’on in de barracoon.’

“Akia’on say, ‘I ain’ goin’ to Dahomey. I born a king in Takkoi where my father and his fathers rule before I was born. Since I been a full man I rule. I die a king but I not be no slave. . . . ’

“De king of Dahomey doan say no mo’. He look at de soldier and point at de king. One woman soldier step up wid de machete and chop off de head of de king, and pick it off de ground and hand it to de king of Dahomey.”

“Soon we git in de ship dey make us lay down in de dark. Dey doan give us much to eat. Me so thirst! Dey give us a little bit of water twice a day. . . .

“On de thirteenth day dey fetchee us on de deck. We so weak we ain’ able to walk ourselves. . . . De boat we on called de Clotilde. Cudjo suffer so in dat ship. Oh Lor’! I so skeered on de sea! De water, you unnerstand me, it makee so much noise! It growl lak de thousand beastes in de bush. De wind got so much voice on de water. Oh Lor’! Sometime de ship way up in de sky. Sometimes it way down in de bottom of de sea. Dey say de sea was calm. Cudjo doan know, seem lak it move all de time.”

[After 70 days, the Clotilda arrives in Alabama, but because international trafficking of Africans is illegal, Captain William “Bill” Foster, and his shipmates, the three Meaher brothers—Jim, Tim, and Burns—have to sneak them onto shore.]

“Dey tell me it a Sunday us way down in de ship and tell us to keep quiet. Cap’n Bill Foster, you unnerstand me, he skeered de gov’ment folks in de Fort Monroe goin’ ketchee de ship.

“When it night de ship move agin. Cudjo didn’t know den whut dey do, but dey tell me dey towed de ship up de Spanish Creek to Twelve-Mile Island. Dey tookee us off de ship and we git on another ship. Den dey burn de Clotilde ’cause dey skeered de gov’ment goin’ rest dem for fetchin’
us ’way from Affica soil.”

[Lewis and the other Africans are forced to hide in a swamp, and are later divided up amongst the captains.]

“Soon we git in de ship dey make us lay down in de dark. Dey doan give us much to eat. Me so thirst! Dey give us a little bit of water twice a day. . . .

“On de thirteenth day dey fetchee us on de deck. We so weak we ain’ able to walk ourselves. . . . De boat we on called de Clotilde. Cudjo suffer so in dat ship. Oh Lor’! I so skeered on de sea! De water, you unnerstand me, it makee so much noise! It growl lak de thousand beastes in de bush. De wind got so much voice on de water. Oh Lor’! Sometime de ship way up in de sky. Sometimes it way down in de bottom of de sea. Dey say de sea was calm. Cudjo doan know, seem lak it move all de time.”

[After 70 days, the Clotilda arrives in Alabama, but because international trafficking of Africans is illegal, Captain William “Bill” Foster, and his shipmates, the three Meaher brothers—Jim, Tim, and Burns—have to sneak them onto shore.]

“Dey tell me it a Sunday us way down in de ship and tell us to keep quiet. Cap’n Bill Foster, you unnerstand me, he skeered de gov’ment folks in de Fort Monroe goin’ ketchee de ship.

“When it night de ship move agin. Cudjo didn’t know den whut dey do, but dey tell me dey towed de ship up de Spanish Creek to Twelve-Mile Island. Dey tookee us off de ship and we git on another ship. Den dey burn de Clotilde ’cause dey skeered
de gov’ment goin’ rest dem for fetchin’ us ’way from Affica soil.”

[Lewis and the other Africans are forced to hide in a swamp, and are later divided up amongst the captains.]

“Capn’ Jim he tookee me. He make a place for us to sleepee underneath de house. . . . Dey give us bed and bed cover, but tain ’nough to keepee us warm.

“Cap’n Tim and Cap’n Burns Meaher workee dey folks hard. Dey got overseer wid de whip. One man try whippee one my country women and dey all jump on him and takee de whip ’way from him and lashee him wid it. He doan never try whip Affican women no mo’.

“Capn’ Jim he tookee me. He make a place for us to sleepee underneath de house. . . . Dey give us bed and bed cover, but tain ’nough to keepee us warm.

“Cap’n Tim and Cap’n Burns Meaher workee dey folks hard. Dey got overseer wid de whip. One man try whippee one my country women and dey all jump on him and takee de whip ’way from him and lashee him wid it. He doan never try whip Affican women no mo’.

“De work very hard for us to do ’cause we ain’ used to workee lak dat. But we doan grieve ’bout dat. We cry ’cause we slave. In night time we cry, we say we born and raised to be free people and now we slave. We doan know why we be bring ’way from our country to work lak dis. It strange to us. Everybody lookee at us strange. We want to talk wid de udder colored folkses but dey doan know whut we say. Some makee de fun at us. . . .

Cap’n Jim gottee five boats run from de Mobile to de Montgomery. . . . Every time de boat stopee at de landing, you unnerstand me, de overseer, de whippin’ boss, he go down de gangplank and standee on de ground. De whip stickee in his belt. He holler, ‘Hurry up, dere, you! Runnee fast! Can’t you runnee no faster dan dat? You ain’t got ’nough load! Hurry up!’ He cutee you wid de whip if you ain’ run fast ’nough to please him. If you doan git a big load, he hitee you too. Oh, Lor’! Oh, Lor’! Five year and de six months I slave. I workee so hard!”

“De work very hard for us to do ’cause we ain’ used to workee lak dat. But we doan grieve ’bout dat. We cry ’cause we slave. In night time we cry, we say we born and raised to be free people and now we slave. We doan know why we be bring ’way from our country to work lak dis. It strange to us. Everybody lookee at us strange. We want to talk wid de udder colored folkses but dey doan know whut we say. Some makee de fun at us. . . .

Cap’n Jim gottee five boats run from de Mobile to de Montgomery. . . . Every time de boat stopee at de landing, you unnerstand me, de overseer, de whippin’ boss, he go down de gangplank and standee on de ground. De whip stickee in his belt. He holler, ‘Hurry up, dere, you! Runnee fast! Can’t you runnee no faster dan dat? You ain’t got ’nough load! Hurry up!’ He cutee you wid de whip if you ain’ run fast ’nough to please him. If you doan git a big load, he hitee you too. Oh, Lor’! Oh, Lor’! Five year and de six months I slave. I workee so hard!”

“It April 12, 1865. De Yankee soldiers dey come down to de boat and eatee de mulberries off de trees close to de boat, you unnerstand me. Den dey see us on de boat and dey say ‘Y’all can’t stay dere no mo’. You free, you doan b’long to nobody no mo’.’ Oh, Lor’! I so glad. We astee de soldiers where we goin’? Dey say dey doan know. Dey told us to go where we feel lak goin’, we ain’ no mo’ slave. . . .

“We meet together and we talk. We say we from cross de water so we go back where we come from. . . . But it too much money we need. So we think we stay here. . . .

“But we say, ‘We ain’ in de Affica soil no mo’ we ain’ gottee no lan’.’ Derefo’ we talk together so we say, ‘Dey bring us ’way from our soil and workee us hard de five year and six months. We [should] go to Cap’n Tim and Cap’n Jim and dey give us de lan’ . . . ”

[Because Lewis is the best speaker, the Africans choose him to ask Tim Meaher for land. Meaher refuses. Lewis and the others then band together to buy land from him outside downtown Mobile.]

“We call our village Affican Town. We say dat ’cause we want to go back in de Affica soil and we see we cain go. Derefo’ we makee de Affica where dey fetch us.”

[Lewis goes on to work as a farmer and laborer. He marries, and he and his wife have six children. Lewis outlives his wife and all his children, and dies in 1935 at around the age of 95. Some of his descendants still live in Mobile today.]