The Pull Of Freedom (2 page)

Chapter Two

Cudjoe looked at the white man pacing before him, he silently willed his brother not to cry. Jelani was so little and still such a baby. He glanced at Nanny; she was thrusting out her chin and looked ready to jump on the back of the white man as he belittled Jelani.

She caught his eyes and his fierce expression and she winked. They were plotting, for months now, to run away and join the others in the hills.

Nanny was the planner; she wanted to go to the east to the blue tinged mountains closer to the horse ranches and the plantations. And he wanted to go west, where the plantations were fewer and the food plentiful.

Cudjoe was wary of waging war on the white men with their guns and dogs but his sister insisted that it was the only way. They had three days to escape from this new plantation, they had worked it out on their journey from Spanish Town and they were almost ready execute the plan. Nanny would go with Quao, but he (Cudjoe) would go with Accompong, Jelani and Cuffy. His hand itched as the mosquitoes bit him, bringing him out of his reverie.

He had barely glanced at the plantation since they were dumped in the front yard by the white men that carried them from Spanish Town. The plantation was a big one, and prosperous too. He looked at the white painted corals for the horses, there were some slaves exercising the beasts and he couldn't help noticing that the horses looked much healthier than the men.

Cudjoe gritted his teeth and felt the lack of freedom chafing him. He was the oldest child for his parents and was used to making decisions and looking after his siblings. The white men had only captured him and his siblings because they were hunting too close to the coast. He had encouraged them to track the wild boar and they had taken up his dare, especially Nanny who had a friendly rivalry with him.

He felt a sense of guilt that he had suggested the hunt, they would have still been safe in the village away from the Denkyira men, who were constantly fighting the Ashanti and who were unscrupulously selling men and women from his tribe into slavery.

His countrymen were ruthless with each other. Only now, in this new world, when the common denominator among them was the colour of their skin, did they consider each other as allies.

He was happy though that the six of them had survived thus far. At times he had worried about Jelani but the boy was now all right after being hit with a whip, the puckered scar from his shoulder blades to mid-back was the only indication that he was injured. For days, at the bottom of the slave ship, he had gone in and out of a fever, with Nanny unable to help him much, but he had survived.

Cudjoe closed his eyes and squeezed them tightly. The white man, who called himself John Smith, was spouting some nonsense about them working until sun down and where they were to sleep.

Cudjoe was grateful at the attempts to teach him English by a house slave from the plantation in Spanish Town to which they had been sold after the horrifying voyage across the sea. She had learnt it with the children of the house. Never giving away the fact that she knew how to write and speak the language almost as well as the Massa. She tried to teach all the slaves that came on the plantation and Cudjoe had been a fast learner. He just pretended that he could not understand the language to frustrate the white men.

“Martha,” John bellowed.

Cudjoe jumped and opened his eyes, the bellow felt close to his ear.

“Yes Missa Smith Sar.”

The young girl answered coming towards them.

“Show these idiots where they are to work. The women are to work in the fowl pen and the men, all of them, are to clear that area down to the border for the sugarcane.”

Martha nodded.

“I told him that we needed more slaves for the large scale sugar production he wants but he didn’t want to listen.” John muttered.

“What did you say Sar?” Martha asked her eyes wide.

“Go now, show them where they are to go.” John bellowed, swiping off his hat, a blood vessel trembled at the side of his head. He felt hot, angry at his boss for buying the lot of them and jealous that he was not invited to the house with the missus for tea.

“Come with me,” Martha muttered and the twenty new slaves followed her.

She was beautiful. Her eyes were a very light shade of brown and her hair was twisted into ropes down into her back, she had honey-toned skin and a tinkling laugh. She was probably a half-breed. The whites called them mulatto. They were the ones that worked in the house.

She glanced back at him and gave him a half smile. He had to look behind to see if she was laughing with Quao or even the man who was standing beside him. She saw his expression and grinned.

“This here, is where you will clear, down to the stream.” She said pointing to a thick, bushy area populated with trees.

She pointed to some other men; their black flesh gleamed in the sun as they toiled on an incline very far away. “They will join up with you and then when everything is according to plan, Massa John will tell you more.”

She looked back at the slaves behind her and most of them nodded. Except the five boys and the girl, who caused Massa John to be angry.

“You mus’ follow the rules,” she whispered to the oldest looking one.

“Or what?” Cudjoe asked.

“Or they will kill you, hang you on the tree.”

The slim wiry girl snorted, “we will not be here long enough for that. We are free, not slaves.”

“Hush your talk,” Martha said frantically. “Over there so, is where you will sleep, there are empty huts. You can find out who has space and stay with them, if you can’t find any place to sleep.”

“Be careful,” she touched Cudjoe’s hand and ran back to the house.

Chapter Three

“How many times I mus’ tell you not to be friendly with the field slaves?” Mamee was stirring a pot on the fire when Martha found her in the outbuilding that was used to do the cooking. “How many times mus’ I tell you that Massa don’t like to see house slave and field slave mingle?” She tasted the stew and made a face.

“I need more peppa, pick some outside and don’t tarry. I want you to dus’ the Mistress room. Last night she complained that she see one speck of dus’ on her vanity table.”

“How can you see one speck of dus’?” Jamilia asked in the corner as she chopped the freshly killed chicken. “That woman should go back to where she come from. The Massa was a better person before she came here.”

Mamee shook her head and snorted, “I won’t say a thing. I think the whole a them is the same. Yesterday, I had to spit in the Missis tea. After I made the tea how she wanted it, the woman tell me that it not right. So I came back in here and spit in it. When I carried it back out, she pronounced that it is just right. I almost laughed, till I drop.” She looked at Martha who was staring at her interestedly.

“Martha what you staring at, go for the peppa. Then I want you to bring some clothes over to the new slave them. The Missis mentioned that this morning.”

Martha nodded eagerly; she wanted to see the short boy with the big hands again. He looked wise and he had a tender look in his eyes when he had gazed at her.

She smiled while she picked the pepper from the tree. She liked him. She had not liked anyone since they sold Fred. She lost the baby she was carrying for him, so the Massa had declared that Fred was not a good stud and sold him to Massa Williams.

She was sad to see him go, he had such quaint ideas about freedom and living in the wild. She was not cut out for that, she liked the security of the house. She was born in slavery, she had worked in the house of an English plantation owner and then was sold to the Simmonds when the lady of the house saw that she was a mulatto and that she could get more money for her.

She wondered if the short boy would stay. She remembered the sharp jut of his chin when she told him that he must be careful. Her heart fluttered when she thought of his big hands. His hands looked as if they could easily span her waist. She would see him tonight, despite the warnings from Mamee. What did the old woman know anyway?

Chapter Four

The six of them found an empty hut—they stood gazing at each other.

Cudjoe smiled at his siblings, “this place will be easy to escape from. Were you paying attention to the place when we arrived?”

Quao grinned, “yes I was, I am going with Nanny to the top of the blue looking mountains. So we go that way,” he pointed to the east. “Cudjoe, you are going toward the hills near here, so you will go that way,” he pointed to the west. Remember what the old slaves at the previous plantation said?”

“We should avoid the black regiment and stick close to the men they call the maroons. They killed the faithless betrayer called Juan de Bolas who headed the black regiment,” Nanny snorted. “I woulda killed him too, if I was here when he betrayed the people like that.”

“Okay, let’s discuss the details once more,” Cudjoe said glancing at Jelani. “We have two days, I won’t be staying in this place one moment longer.”

They huddled together and whispered in their own language.

“What is this?” Martha stood at the doorway of the hut, her head hanging to one side. “Are you people aware that the Massa can hang you for just sitting down like that?” She grimaced, “field slaves are so senseless.”

She glanced at Cudjoe under her lashes.

He swallowed as she placed the bundle of clothes on the ground. “Massa John want to see you properly dressed and in the field soon, if him come in here he will bring the whip.”

She watched as the group of them got up quickly, all except the short one. He rose up leisurely and grabbed the white shirt and britches that she held slackly in her hands.

“What’s yer name?” Martha asked shyly.

“Cudjoe.” He said abruptly. He pulled on the shirt; the others were snickering as they pulled on their clothes.

“Wo din de sen?” Cudjoe asked, ignoring his brothers and sister and their whispering.

“Huh?” Martha asked puzzled.

“What is yer name? I asked you in my language,” Cudjoe said smiling, “I sometimes forget that I have to speak the language of the foreigners all the time.”

“My name is Martha,” she folded her hand in front of her.

“Yer real name.” Cudjoe said, his forehead wrinkling.

“Martha,” she insisted, “I was born here in this land.”

“Born a slave,” Cudjoe looked at her intently, “do you want to be free?”

“Cudjoe,” Accompong said, “lets go.” He pulled his brother toward the door.

“I like things the way they are,” Martha looked at him sadly. “Please don’t let the Massa catch wind of the fact that you are planning to run away.”

“How do you know that?” Nanny asked.

“Massa John said that you are too brazen and Massa Robert agreed. They are going to watch you people, especially you.” She pointed at Cudjoe. She gazed at him, at his dark mahogany skin and his strong features. He was a determined man; she could sense this and felt a sliver of fear for his safety.

He nodded, met her stare with a wink and followed his brothers and sister outside.

Chapter Five

They worked until sundown. Jelani’s fingers were blistered from clutching the cutlass; it was his first time in the fields, at the plantation in Spanish Town he had been responsible for the horses.

Nanny had chicken feathers in her hair and the rest of the brothers flecks of dirt on their faces and hands. They lined up behind the other slaves at the central kitchen that was near the bunkhouses.

The overseer stood to the side with six men; they lounged on their horses as they watched the slaves; there were more than a hundred on the plantation. The slaves were sweat soaked from working all day to clear the fields. Some of them were so tired that they were sitting in the line.

“You, get up,” John Smith pointed at Jelani who was sitting. He remembered the little boy from earlier. He had called him Johnny and the little head had nodded with acceptance.

The other slaves who were sitting in the line hurriedly got up but the little boy who was working in the fields for the first time was slower to his feet.

“Are you defying me nigger?” John Smith bellowed

“Nnnn … no … no sar,” Jelani stammered.

“You are one of the new ones.” John Smith looked around for the short one with the defiant expression. Now would be a good time to teach him a lesson. Let him see what would happen to him if he defied the overseer, his sneering look had stuck with John all day. He had seen from earlier that the short slave had cared for the little boy with the big fearful eyes. Now would be a good time to punish him for the slight earlier.

He saw him near the back of the line, his fist tightly folded, his teeth bared in a scowl.

“You nigger,” he pointed to Cudjoe, “do you want to see what happens to blackies when they do not obey their betters?”

Cudjoe tightened his lips; he was hungry and slightly faint from toiling in the sun all day. Now the white man was about to beat his little brother. He knew he was trembling with hatred. He could taste the nasty bile of helplessness leap within him.

“Answer me, you ugly, old piece of nothing.” John Smith shouted.

The rest of the line was very quiet. The slaves around hardly dared to breathe as the overseer got into a rage.

“I hate the whole lot of you,” he roared, “but you,” he pointed to the short, muscular youth with the expression of defiance, “you, stand for all the things that are going wrong in this country. You represent all the slaves who do not know their place and are now preying upon your betters. You are an ungrateful lot. I'm going to show you who wields the whip around here.”

The white men behind him laughed.

Jelani cowered when the overseer reached for him. John Smith laughed at the boy in his hands and then swivelled his head to gaze at the trembling lip of the other one. The older slave boy was looking at him with enough hatred to send him to hell.

“Leave him alone,” Cudjoe said between clenched teeth.

“What?” John Smith pushed Jelani to the ground. “What did you say Nigger?”

Cudjoe stood quietly as the overseer approached him. His bulky body seemed to cast a shadow over him as he stared down at him with a satisfied look.

“This slave has defied me and for that I'm going to have to give him ten lashes.”

There was a collective gasp in the food line. Most of the slaves stared at the ground, hardly daring to breathe; ten lashes could render a man useless for days, not to mention the pain.

“He said you should leave the little boy alone,” a female voice echoed in the line.

John Smith spun around, smiling lasciviously at the slim young woman with the same look of hatred in her eyes.

“Another idiot nigger,” he laughed, “ten lashes for you too.”

Nanny flinched when she heard the number of lashes. She could take that much because she would not die in this situation. She would not see her brothers beaten either.

“I will have to be beaten too,” Quao stepped out of the line near the back.

“And me too,” Accompong was near the front.

“Me too,” Cuffy looked at his siblings.

“Me too,” the slaves who were brave enough started stepping out of the line slowly.

“What the hell is going on here? You intend to start a war.” John Smith grabbed his cap that had fallen from his head and backed away from the slaves.

This was getting out of hand; the six men there could not manage the slaves if they decided to get serious. Until the new bunch of twenty arrived today he pretty much had them under control. Now one man came into the midst and even the cook, who always seemed so jolly, was looking at him with defiance in her eyes.

“Get back in line,” he bellowed.

His men fired their guns in the air. The sea of men women and children stood where they were. He flicked his whip and the tip of it caught the hand of the defiant one named Cudjoe.

The defiant slave looked about him and as if he resigned himself to obeying, he stepped back, clutching his hand, one by one the sea of people stood back in line.

John Smith breathed a sigh of relief, for a moment there; he had thought they were going to have an uprising on their hands. He shoved the young one that he had threatened to whip back in the line. He would find a creative way to punish him later.

The slave called Cudjoe stared at him intently an evil light in his eyes. His charcoal black skin highlighted the whites of his eyes. It seemed as if he was sending a message to the overseer. His intent stare never wavered and John Smith had to look away.

John could feel the danger that the young slave represented. In a short time span he had garnered the support of the entire slave population, he was wielding too much power. He was to be watched. He would give him three days and then he would kill him.

“No one is to be seen outside of their huts after nine o’ clock,” he bellowed. He had to show them who's in control.

He walked up to Cudjoe. “I am going to beat you. Hang you up on a tree and whip you until you know what obedience means and when I break your spirit, I'm going to spit in your face and wipe my shoe bottom on your ugly face.”

Cudjoe looked at him blankly, his hand was rapidly swelling from the touch of the whip but his heart was singing from the one show of defiance and the realisation that when many black people stood up to fight the white man would be powerless. He blocked out the snarling face of John Smith from his mind's eye and focused on freedom instead. Ashanti people were fierce fighters that would not change, though he was in this strange land.