Destined for the Deep

father an old wooden ore. Ramone would often read the inscription his grandfather had etched on it side, knowing how to use it. It said, you will never be hungry. Your ancestors have always survived thanks to the sea. This is your destiny.

The America had been racing another ship, and the crew had pushed her too hard, causing a steam pipe to burst. As flames spread, the ship descended into pandemonium. Passengers fought for space on the lifeboats, not yet touched by fire. Ramone watched the chaos in terror, and the America groaned as it sank. They were only a few miles from the coast, and he could see the lights of his hometown,

beckoning it was just too far to swim. Caught between flames and the sea, Ramone remembered his grandfather's words, and he made a choice. He leapt overboard into the frigid water. He was fished out soon afterwards, soaked and freezing, but still alive. Of the America's one hundred and sixty four passengers, he was one of only sixty five survivors. Many of the others sustained horrific burns. But while Ramone escaped these physical scars, the experience marked him in a less visible way.

He was traumatized, forced to relive the experience over and over in vivid nightmares. He described them in a letter that he wrote to a cousin. I wake up in the middle of the night, he said, with terrible nightmares, and always hearing the same fateful word fire, fire, fire, And so for years after the sinking of the SS America, Ramone avoided setting foot on a ship. He moved to Argentina,

trading the shores for a landlocked farm. While his peace atsd never completely faded, he maintained a peaceful life, safe from the waves that tormented his dreams. Still, the seafarer in his blood would not go quietly. As time passed, Ramon felt a growing desire to travel to see Europe and North America, and when he was seventy one years old, he decided that fear had gotten the better of him

for far too long. In nineteen twelve, he booked a transatlantic passage to Europe, a trip that would force him to face his trauma head on. It was not an easy voyage, and he spent most of it on deck, flotation belt already fastened in case there was any trouble. His sleep was haunted by nightmares. But after a week at sea, he arrived safe and sound in Europe. After visiting a nephew in Berlin, he prepared for a second

transatlantic crossing, this time to America. As he boarded the massive, modern vessel, he couldn't help but feel buoyed by his success. Forty one years had passed since the sinking of the SS America. It had taken most of life to overcome the trauma from that experience, but he had done it. He'd followed his grandfather's advice and embraced his destiny at sea. Unfortunately, the words etched on his family or were more prescient than Ramone could have guessed. He would never set foot

on dry land again. Four days after embarking, his ship struck an iceberg and capsized. This time, Ramone was not among the lucky few who were rescued. He went to meet his destiny beneath the waves of the North Atlantic Ocean. He drowned on April fifteenth of nineteen twelve, along with fifteen hundred other tragic passengers of the RMS Titanic. It's a familiar feeling that most of us have gone through. We order something online and then for days where checking

and rechecking to see if it's on its way. Whether it's a diamond ring or just deodorant, the urgency is the same, and the second that purchase goes through, you better believe that I'm tracking that package. And some things never change. Back in seventeen seventy three, Phyllis was also worried about her packages getting safely across the Atlantic. You see, these were part of a historic delivery, the very first book of poetry by an enslaved black woman published in America.

But Phyllis had heard rumors swirling that another historic event just might deliver her pristine poetry to the bottom of the sea. Phyllis had a hard journey to get to this moment. She was just seven or eight years old when she was kidnapped from the West coast of Africa in seventeen sixty one. Forced aboard a ship by human traffickers, she and ninety four other captured Africans endured months of

sailing across the stormy Atlantic in cramped, squalid conditions. By the time the boat arrived in Boston, nearly twenty five of her shipmates had died. In Boston, Phillis was unceremoniously thrust into a new life of enslavement. A merchant took a liking to her and bought the little girl as a gift for his wife, Susannah. Phyllis began working in the household, but it soon became clear that she was

destined for different things. Not only had she learned English quickly, but she soon also mastered reading and writing the language as well. Recognizing Phyllis's talent, the family encouraged her to pursue an education. At the time, very few young women went to school, let alone in slave women. Many enslaved people were purposely denied education for fear that if they were able to read and write, they may discover a

way to escape their enslavers. And this family were in some ways progressive for the time, encouraging her to study Latin Greek history, theology, and poetry, but they did not believe in abolishing slavery, and in fact kept Phyllis separate from the other enslaved people who worked as laborers and servants in their house. Phillis quickly fell in love with Homer, Virgil and John Milton, and began writing her own stanzas. By age fourteen, she published her first poem, called to

the University of Cambridge in New England. Phyllis was a prolific poet and often wrote about the topical issues of the day. Living in Boston, she saw and heard the angry rumblings of revolution echoing among the colonists. In seventeen seventy she wrote a poem in honor of the Boston Massacre, one of the first salvos in the war against the British. In her letters and other poems from the time, it's

clear that the irony was not lost on her. Here in Boston, colonists were calling for freedom from an oppressive master in England while condoning the slavery of Phyllis and her countrymen. The prejudice against her even kept her from publishing her book of poetry. While she had been praised and celebrated by many notable New Englanders, America's printers refused

to publish a black woman's writings. English publishers, however, felt differently, so in seventy three, Phillis traveled to London accompanied by her son. She was met with acclaim and was even invited to meet King George the Third, although she was forced to return before that could happen. While in England, a countess who had been impressed by her work agreed

to fund the publication of Phyllis's poems. And all of this led up to November twenty eighth of seventeen seventy three, the day that Phyllis's freshly printed books were scheduled to arrive in Boston Harbor. But with the rumors that Phyllis had been hearing lately, she was worried that they would never get to shore. A group of prominent Bostonians had gathered in Phyllis's church, the Old South Meeting House, Frustrated by the harsh taxes that England was levying on the colonies.

They were supposedly plotting something so big King George wouldn't be able to ignore their demands, and rumor had it that they had their eye on the Dartmouth, a ship

arriving that night from England the same ship carrying Phyllis's books. Thankfully, Phyllis Wheatley was able to retrieve her manuscripts, saving three years of work, because just a few days later, the Sons of Liberty descended on the Dartmouth and tossed all of the tea and other goods still on board into Boston Harbor, throwing King George and the rest of the world a party they would never forget. Luckily, for Phyllis and for the rest of us, her poetry was not

their cup of tea. I hope you've enjoyed today's guided tour of the Cabinet of Curiosities. Subscribe for free on Apple Podcasts, or learn more about the show by visiting Curiosities podcast dot com. The show was created by me Aaron Mankey in partnership with how Stuff Works. I make another award winning show called Lore, which is a podcast, book series, and television show, and you can learn all about it over at the Worldolore dot com. And until next time, stay curious.