Richard Phillips: A Captain's Duty

Even Young Guy got tired of the game. “What’s the point?” he yelled at Musso and Tall Guy. They went right back at him.

“What’s the matter? You want to be an American sailor? Huh? We’re Somalis, we’re twenty-four/seven.”

The tension was mounting. The Somalis were arguing constantly, Young Guy vs. the other two. Around noon, the navy dropped off more food, but that didn’t relieve the atmosphere on the boat.

The Leader had been off the ship for an hour. He’s bailing, I thought. He sees something is coming and he’s selling these guys down the river. I learned later that he went to discuss ransom and conditions with the navy, but I don’t believe that. I think the Leader got off that boat because he saw bad shit coming down the pike.

All the while, the other three pirates were still continuing the tutorial on Somali knots. But I’d had enough of that, too.

“That’s it,” I said, “I’m done.” It was 3 p.m. At that moment, I didn’t care if they killed me, I wasn’t going to tie another knot or take another command.

Suddenly, I felt weak. All the strength seemed to drain out of my body. I slumped back into my chair and things went blurry. I couldn’t focus on anything, it was like my mind had let go. I felt dizzy and lightheaded.

The pirates got nervous.

“You need doctor, you need doctor,” Musso said. He got on the radio and demanded that the navy send one to the boat. The Somalis brought water over to me and I drank some and I poured the rest over my head. They had gone from rationing my water to giving me all I wanted.

I was scared. I’d never felt this way before in my life. My heart’s giving out, I thought. This is how it happens. It must have been heat fatigue. I’d always hated heat, but it’d never gotten to me like this.

The navy doctor arrived about an hour later.

“How are you doing?” he called to me from the inflatable.

“Well, I’m fine now. I think I just had a little heat stroke or something.”

“How are the sanitary facilities?”

“Well, you’re looking at it.”

“Can you show me where you go? We want to make sure it’s okay.”

I didn’t get it. I’d told them the pirates wouldn’t let me near the door for anything.

What I didn’t know was, at that moment, there were guns hidden under blankets on that Zodiac. The navy guys were trying to get me near the rear door, where they would have gestured for me to jump. Then they would have opened up on the Somalis. But the pirates weren’t letting me anywhere near that hatch.

They also used the nonduress password “suppertime.” But I didn’t know they had that code—Shane had given it to them.

Before the navy corpsmen left, they handed over more food, some fish and plums, and they told the pirates, “Make sure the captain gets this food. This is not for you. Captain only.” So I tried to eat it, even though I still wasn’t hungry. Those plums were the most delicious things I’d ever tasted. They’d brought four, one for each guy on the boat. I’d wolfed down two before I realized what I was doing.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I eat yours?” I said to Musso. “Here, have my fish.”

He just waved his hand. They were scared I was dying or something, so they were just happy I was eating.

The navy had also sent a pair of blue pants and a bright yellow shirt. I didn’t want to put the clothes on, because I was filthy and the thought of getting this clean shirt dirty somehow offended me. I said to the pirates, “I’ll put it on after I take a shower.” But the pirates insisted. I put them on and the shirt immediately got wet and dirty from the water I was pouring over my head and the general filthiness of the boat.

It didn’t occur to me that the navy gave me a bright yellow shirt so the sharpshooters could tell me apart from the pirates. My brain wasn’t that sharp. I felt like a sluggish animal.

There also was a bottle of A.1. steak sauce. I didn’t find out until later, but a navy crewman had written a message on the label: “Stay strong, we’re coming to get you.” I was devouring the plums and never saw it. And I didn’t have my glasses, either, so I wouldn’t have been able to read the message even if I had spotted it. I did wonder why they gave me A.1. sauce with fish—I think that’s all they had aboard the ship as far as sauces go—but I quickly dismissed the thought and handed the bottle to the Somalis.

The Zodiac came back into view. “We’re going to tow you,” one of the navy guys called out.

“Tow us?” I said. I turned to Tall Guy. “What did you do, did you kill the engine? Is the rudder okay? What did you break now?”

The pirates quickly agreed to the tow, which was strange. Why would you want your adversaries to control your movement?

Unbeknownst to me, we were now within twenty miles of the Somali coastline. The navy didn’t want us to land, because the Somalis could have called for reinforcements or tried to sneak me off the boat. But the pirates didn’t want to land either because we’d drifted far from their home port and were nearing land controlled by a rival tribe. They didn’t want to land there because they thought their reception would be a violent one.

By 5 p.m., we were tied up to the Bainbridge ’s winch that sat on its fantail, a metal line connected to our bow.

Finally, before they left, the navy handed something to Tall Guy. “Give this to the captain,” they said. He took it, gave it a glance, and handed it to me.

It was my watch.

“Where did you get this?” I said. The last time I saw it the Leader had it in his hand.

“From the pirate,” the navy guy called.

My mind reeled.

The tension on the boat mounted by the minute. As we were being towed from the Bainbridge ’s stern, we began to hear splashes, then saw black shapes floating by, one after the other.

“What’s that?” the pirates cried into the radio. “No action, no action.”

I couldn’t make out what the shapes were, but I had an idea. Merchant ships can’t dispose of plastics on the ocean, but the navy can.

The navy confirmed it. They told the pirates it was just garbage floating away.

With the Leader gone, the cohesion among the pirates frayed even more. Tall Guy and Musso turned on Young Guy. Maybe it was the stress or the fact that he didn’t seem to be as gung-ho as they were—that had become clear when they were talking with the navy negotiators. Now they started to bully him.

“What, do you want to go drink a beer like an American? Do you?”

“No. I’m Somali.”

“ We’re Somali sailors, we work around the clock. We don’t stop. You’re like one of those lazy Americans, drinking beer and going to the movies. You want to go to the movies?”

“Go to hell.”

“You go to hell, American. We’re here for the mission.”

And then they called him a nigger. I was shocked.

“Do you want to be an American? Are you a nigger?”

The Young Guy shot back at them in Somali and English. All three of them were seething with anger. And they each had a gun within easy reach.

I fell asleep for a few hours and woke up with a start. The idiots were still arguing.

“I feel better now,” I said. “But I want to go swimming.” I did want to hit the ocean again. The memory of that cool water had stayed with me.

To my astonishment, the Somalis began to untie me. My hands were swollen and painful as they undid the ropes, but relief just flowed through my body. They left a loose tangle of ropes around my feet so I couldn’t run and dive out the hatch.

“Come on, just let me dive in there,” I said. I just wanted to cool off.

“No, you’re too weak.”