The Pull Of Freedom (3 page)

Chapter Six

“I told you so,” Martha held his injured hand and bandaged it with the poultice that Mamee had sent her to administer to the injured.

She was not surprised to see that it was Cudjoe that was hurt. Since his arrival the plantation seemed tense. As if even the very air was anticipating something.

Cudjoe sniffed her lock of hair, she smelled clean and her liquid brown eyes were swimming with compassion.

“Don’t you want to be free?” he asked gruffly. “How can you live like this every day?”

“I live in the house, I take care of Massa Mark. I don’t have it as bad as you. I never have, I'm mulatto.”

“I hate your name.” Cudjoe said feelingly. “They strip you of your identity, water down your lineage and give you the name of a foreigner.”

Martha caressed his hand. “Which name do you like?” She could barely make out his features in the dark as they leaned against the cotton tree.

“I like the name Asha. It means life in my language and you are full of life.”

“It must be good having a culture,” Martha said wistfully. “Sometimes when Mamee lets me, I would come down here for the dances the field slaves have and they would tell stories of Africa and life in their tribes. I can only say that I was born to a mother, who was sold as soon as she had me, I was raised with the other children on the plantation but I was treated differently from a young age because I have a white father.”

“Who?” Cudjoe asked.

Martha laughed, her voice sounded melodious to him, “I do not know.”

“To the Ashanti, family is everything.” He grabbed a plait of her hair and inhaled, she stilled beside him. He inhaled her neck and put his hand under her skirt.

“Stop it,” Martha breathed. “It is near nine o clock, tell me more about you.”

“I'm the twelfth son of an Asantehene. My father had four wives and thirty children. My mother was the first wife.”

“Who is an Asantehene?” Martha asked intrigued.

“He is an Ashanti king,” Cudjoe looked at her impatiently, “everybody knows that.”

Martha shook her head, “I didn’t. That means you are a prince. A real live prince,” she widened her eyes and swallowed. “That girl you called Nanny is she a princess too?”

Cudjoe chuckled, “yes she is my little sister, our women are very fierce. Nanny is the first born of her mother and much loved by the king.”

“Tell me more about Africa,” Martha breathed.

“Do you want to run away tomorrow?” Cudjoe asked huskily. “I would provide for you in the hills. We could hunt animals together and sleep under the stars at night. I could tell you all about Africa. I feel for you what I haven’t felt for another.”

“No,” Martha shook her head adamantly, “I want to stay here. I can’t live in the wild.”

Cudjoe kissed her neck again and she shuddered. “Freedom is the best part of being human, without freedom we are like animals trapped at the behest of the white men.”

“I don’t feel trapped,” Martha whispered, “I like having three square meals and a roof to sleep under at nights, it's scary out there. I'm not a fighter like you are. I'm not African, I'm not sure what I am.”

“I think this is goodbye then, Martha.” Cudjoe nudged her legs apart and dropped himself on top of her.  He fumbled with the cotton ties of his britches and released his swollen manhood.

Martha lay down willingly under him and gazed at the stars. She clutched his back as he took his pleasure.

“We aren't going to be here another night,” Cudjoe whispered to his brothers and sister as he crawled back into the hut from being with Martha.

Five other men had joined them in the hut, yet he wasn’t afraid that they knew of the plan because they were coming too. They were from the Coramantee tribe—close neighbours of the Ashanti’s. The men would follow Nanny and Quao to the Blue Mountains. He felt better that his sister would have more company.

“I wish we could all stay together,” Nanny said in the corner of the hut, she was cradling Jelani to her. The little boy was happy for the attention.

“I think the split is a good plan,” Accompong said. “They will be searching in different directions for days.”

“Do you have the abengs?” Cudjoe asked the Coramantee man named Ibo. He was probably four times his height. The Coramantees were giants; they possessed a muscular build and an agility that made them the most coveted property on the slave route.

“Have them,” Ibo muttered, “we'll blow it when we clear the plantation land and then twice in the mountains when we are safe.”

“Are you taking the girl with you?” Cuffy asked Cudjoe, “seemed like you wanted to.”

“She doesn’t want to come,” Cudjoe said thinking of Martha and her inability to give up the slavery life.

“She loves being a house slave,” Nanny mimicked Martha’s voice.

Cudjoe closed his eyes he had gotten pleasure tonight. The first time in his young life, but that was not enough to keep him in the uncertain world of the white man. He was anxious to get moving. The overseer looked like he wouldn’t let another day pass without lashing him with the whip. If he were beaten, it would be harder for him to escape and easier for the dogs to track them.

“Okay everybody  …  listen,” Cudjoe leaned forward, “we will be the best slaves we can be tomorrow because we can’t afford any injuries.”

“Sounds like you should listen to your advice,” Nanny muttered.

“John Smith hates him,” Cuffy whispered in the dark.

They heard the hoof beats of horses outside the hut. And everyone lay in the darkness on the dirt floor and pretended that they were sleeping.

A head appeared in the doorway of the hut with a torch. The night watch man counted the bodies on the ground and grunted.

He moved away stealthily and waited to hear if the slaves were talking. Silence reigned and he moved away again to the next hut.

“Stupid men,” Nanny muttered when she heard him creeping away. “How can they even have slaves when they are so stupid. There are more black men here than white. Why are the blacks the ones enslaved?”

Silence greeted her question, everyone in the hut was wondering the same thing too.

Chapter Seven

It was sun down again and they were in the food line. John Smith was looking out for the defiant slave called Cudjoe. The defiant youth had worked hard today, he had watched him with an eagle eye for any sign of slacking off, but he had found none. He was now standing in line his eyes downcast a slight hunch to his shoulders.

He was no longer looking proud and defiant with that snare in his eyes. The air of subservience that shrouded his stance was pleasing to John Smith and he relaxed slightly. Obviously, yesterday had taught the young pup a lesson. He grinned to himself. The slaves were always subdued after they felt the whip. They would be okay again until there was a new batch.

Whenever they got new slaves its as if they realised that they were slaves and they wanted to do something about it. Just a crack of the whip would keep the new ones in line and the old ones remembering that they had no business being defiant.

The cook dished out the food on Cudjoe’s plate and gave him an extra helping.

“Come and see me before you leave,” she whispered below her breath, keeping her eyes downcast, “I have food for you and your sister.”

Cudjoe grunted his acknowledgement and went to eat with his siblings in the grass in front of the kitchen. They subconsciously sat in their escape groups. Cudjoe, Accompong, Jelani and Cuffy and the Coromantee called Zwela.

Nanny, Quao, Ibo and four others sat to one side.

The other slaves scattered around, they knew that there was an escape planned. There were some of them who didn’t want to know the details and others who wanted to know for when their time came. Because of the planned escape, there was a buzz of urgency about the group and they spoke in hushed voices and tried their best not to look suspicious.

They retired to their cabin after eating, barely restraining themselves from running eagerly towards the small building.

They rubbed themselves in a mixture of herbs. “That will prevent the dogs from sniffing your scent,” Nanny said knowledgably. “Remember that each twig and each blade of grass can be your friend or your enemy.”

The others nodded respectfully. Nanny seemed to think of every detail.

Nanny gave Cudjoe a handful of the herbs. “Rub up with them after you go into water or rain wet you. This will kill your scent.”

She hugged Jelani and handed him his abeng. “I will miss you, be brave.”

Jelani nodded, “I will miss you more.”

They all exhaled, they felt tense and nervous but a thread of exhilaration was running through the veins.

“May God above, help us,” Cuffy said, and they sat together open eyed and looked at one another with anticipation.

“We will be free or die trying,” Nanny grated harshly in the silence.

They took this as the declaration of war and grunted in response.

Burnice was the cook for the Simmonds since they bought the plantation from her old master, Massa Greensdale. She had made it a point of her duty to aid with food whenever there was a planned run away. On a plantation the size of the Simmonds' a planned escape was never a secret for long among the slaves.

She had watched as time after time different groups sought their freedom and she would contentedly look on and help them when she could. Her running days were over. Her body had long since gone to fat because she ate twice as much food as anybody else when she cooked for the slaves.

She packed bread and dried meat in a cloth and wrapped it with banana leaf. She then did the same with another piece of cloth—two groups and they were going to two different sides of the island. She looked for the watchmen in the night. There were just four of them, two on horseback and two patrolled on legs with four dogs.

They would not think it odd if she went to another hut. She pushed the food in her large bosom and marched to the hut of the short man and his determined sister. She wished she could have gotten to know them better. In two days, they had brought a sort of energy to the plantation that was rarely felt.

She looked in the hut, at first, she could barely make out their features, they had dyed themselves to look like the darkness.

“Clever,” she whispered and handed the one called Nanny a parcel and the one called Cudjoe the other.

“May God be with you,” she whispered and left the hut.

Chapter Eight

After Burnice left they could hear the night watchman doing his nightly ritual. He coughed and they could hear him hawking and spitting. He whistled faintly under his breath and swore profusely as he tripped over something outside.

They huddled in a group on the dirt floor as the watchman approached their hut. He held the torch up high and grunted after counting the bodies on the dirt floor. One of the slaves was snoring so hard spittle was at the corner of his mouth. He cringed and hurriedly left after making sure there was nothing unusual on the ground. Tonight would be the night that he beat Paul, another watchman, at cards.

The snoring slave got up when he heard the watchman’s retreating footsteps. “Bye Nanny,” he squeezed his sister's work roughened hand, Nanny squeezed back. She had blackened her teeth with charcoal so that they would not flash in the dark.

“I am smiling,” she said close to his ear. “Because by tomorrow, we will be called maroons.”

There was nothing much left to say and so the two groups melted away in the night. They kept close to the shadows. Cudjoe headed west with his group. They passed the dogs in the shadows. Cudjoe crooned to the beasts in his African dialect and the vicious looking animals wagged their tails as if they were energetic puppies. The watchmen were playing cards and drinking rum with blazing torches under the cotton tree.

Cudjoe looked longingly at the house and thought of Martha. He wished she was braver, that she was more like Nanny. But she wasn’t and he wasn’t going to give up his freedom for one mere woman.

They walked out of the Simmonds plantation without any problem. When they reached the thick cover of trees near the plantation Cudjoe blew his abeng.

“Where are you?” It asked.

The sound travelled in the stillness. The response came in the darkness. “We are free.”

Nanny was free and so was he.

They walked for hours, without stopping, up into the hills as they travelled to the interior of the country. Accompong had to carry Jelani and Cuffy had to cut sticks high in a tree branch so that broken branches wouldn’t be a clue to their pursuers. And they laboured on in the dark. In the dawn light they were standing in the middle of nowhere. Everything about them was green and bulky and looked ominous in the half-light. They were in the midst of the hills.

A tree moved from the middle of the clearing and Cudjoe blinked twice.

The tree started to laugh.

“Welcome maroons.” Then they saw men in loincloths appearing out of the hillside.

Cudjoe exhaled in relief, for a moment he thought that he was hallucinating from lack of sleep. “You people are wise in the ways of war,” he grinned.

The tree came towards Cudjoe, “we watched you for hours. Nobody has followed you.”

Cudjoe nodded, “we are heading further west, we will start a settlement there and then I will make the white men pay.”

“Oh sweet revenge,” the tree laughed. “We will follow you.”

“Just like that?” Cudjoe asked puzzled.

“We heard about your run in with the overseer on the Simmonds plantation, Burnice told us.”

“What!” Cuffy was the one to exclaim. “The cook?”

“We helped you and your sister to escape.” The tree replied, “the name is Ajani. We keep ourselves informed, we also take what we want from the plantations, it was while we were at the plantation pretending to be slaves that you showed up. You didn’t think those dogs were responding to your crooning were you?”

The men gathered around and Cudjoe counted them, there were close to fifteen men and ten women.

“When did you escape?” He asked curiously.

“About a year ago,” Ajani responded.

“Well let us go then, we can set up a settlement somewhere west and learn from each other.”