The Pull Of Freedom (5 page)

Chapter Twelve

After a month of walking, Nanny and her men had finally reached a spot on the blue looking mountain that they liked. It was ideal. They had plenty of level ground to plant cassava and yam and there were fruit trees everywhere. The place was picturesque and awe inspiring in its beauty, the undulating rolls of mountains towered over them, greens blended into greens and the thick canopies of trees sometimes showed a brightly coloured yellow plant or a dash of red. It was cool in the mountain; in the mornings, sometimes you could see your breath as a cloud in the air.

Nanny was happy and her slim body quivered with excitement. On the way to the blue mountains, as she liked to call the place in her mind, they had picked up ten more men, all run away slaves. They were grateful to be apart of a band of people that looked confident in what they were doing.

“This is it,” Nanny said, her slightly husky voice rang out in the morning. “This is the spot.”

“This is very thick bush,” Ibo snorted.

“We will have to clear some of the bush then.” Nanny looked at him fiercely without any formal word spoken, all the men had looked to her as the leader.

Ibo nodded, he was a bit afraid of the fierce look and the determined gleam he saw in her eyes.

“The trees are thick and go all the way to the bottom, we can post look outs along the way,” Nanny said clapping her hands gleefully, “the white man will never find us. We are going to build this village like the village back home.”

“There is a river down there.” Quao went to the ridge of the hill and looked way down into a green rush of water that was snaking itself to the other side of the hill.

“When can we go back to Spanish Town for Rita?” Adofo asked loudly. He was determined that he would retrieve his wife from the plantation in Spanish Town.

“Remember the maroon we picked up along the way said that they had extra guards. Be a little more patient,” Quao said looking at Adofo reprovingly. The man needed to understand that they were trying their best. They didn’t even have a village yet. Nanny was determined that if she couldn't go back to Africa she was going to create a piece of Africa right here in this land.

“The houses will be over there,” she pointed to an area densely covered with greenery, “over there will be where we farm.” She pointed to some trees in the distance. “We will get the same plants the plantation owners have and some clothes,” she rubbed her arms. 

She was in a very threadbare dress, which was once white. Her attempts to keep it in its original condition had failed abysmally. As the only woman in the group of men, she was careful to cover herself as best as she could even though she knew they had too much respect and fear of her to even think of touching her.

“And some animals,” Quao intruded on her thoughts, “roasted chicken sounds good.”

The other men licked their lips.

“And some women,” Ibo said. He had given up on Nanny returning any feelings for him in the past month.

“There is a plantation a days walk from here,” Aman said sniffing the air, “I could smell boiling pimento when we started the hill.”

Nanny nodded, “we will take everything we need to start up here. Including cutlasses, we need to work hard to make this spot into a village. Don't take anyone against his or her will. She looked at each man in turn. If a man or woman wants to remain a slave we can’t stop them.”

The men nodded.

Nanny looked at their barely covered bodies, the nights in the mountains were almost freezing cold. “We have to get the clothes as soon as possible. If we start walking tomorrow we can reach there in the night.”

Chapter Thirteen

They trekked behind Aman. He held his nose in the air as he sniffed and stopped and sniffed and pointed. Ibo walked behind the group of men and woman. He covered their tracks as their barefoot slid through the slightly damp grass. They were heading to a large plantation that they had seen in the dying rays of the evening sun. Smoke was coming from the heavily populated slave quarters.

“We could join the slaves for supper,” Aman said licking his lips.

Nanny stood quietly on the trail, her body tense. She looked over the plantation, rows of cane were planted to the west and to the east side had pepper trees, their sturdy bodies green in the evening, little red and yellow fruit peeped from under healthy looking leaves. To the right of the peppers were corals where the horses exercised. There were a group of overseers on horse back in front of the house. They had guns slung over their shoulders and were chewing tobacco. They watched as the slaves gathered around what obviously was a food shed. Sometimes they laughed and spat on the ground, their expressions were indistinguishable to her. The front of the house had two white columns and a wrap around veranda. The red and yellow hues of tropical flowers lined the driveway as a carriage canted up to the front of the house.

“This is the plan,” she said to her loyal posse.

Everybody huddled together.

“You Aman,” she pointed at Aman, who was now sporting a thick beard after a month of having nothing to shave with. His eyes were quizzical as he looked at her.

“You are going to pretend that you are a slave and just came in from a long days work. I want you to get some gentleman’s clothes for Kes.”

“Me?” Kes looked scared his Caucasian features was deeply tanned, his dark brown hair ruffled.

“Yes, you are going to pretend that you are a visiting friend from England. Aman will get all the relevant information about the plantation owners and then we plan what you will say. Scope out the place for a day.”

“Are ye sure you want to test my acting skills at that level?” Kes asked with the English accent he had tried so hard to extinguish the minute he had been sold into slavery. He doubted that he could go back into the world of the white man without showing his hatred.

Nanny grinned, “you can do it, you were one of them for years. Remember we want supplies for the village, anything that is suitable make a note. This,” she pointed to a finely ground powder that she had in her bosom; the pouch was made from her dress material. “I want you to give this to the people on the plantation even the dogs. They should sleep for a whole night, when you are sure that they are all sleeping we will come and take what we need.”

Kes took the pouch and sniffed.

“Don’t do that,” Nanny hissed, “it is strong enough to knock you out if you sniff it too long. However, it is tasteless in drinks. Do not put it in water it will give it a yellow colour.”

He hastily took it from his nose and looked at her with wide eyes. “I would never want to be your enemy.”

“We need the horse and carriage that I just saw leaving the plantation, the white man going in the carriage looked slightly drunk,” Nanny said ignoring Kes’ comment, “we will tie up the white man and put him in an ants nest and then let the driver go, you can take Ibo as your slave.”

“Not me.” Ibo said trembling. “Suppose we fail, suppose they … ”

“Stop it with your fools talk of failure,” Nanny said staunchly, “God don’t want no slaves he will look out for us.”

Nanny and Quao and their posse rubbed up in herbs that would detract from their scent and waited on the dusty road near the plantation for the open topped carriage which was drawn by two horses to come around the corner. The carriage was the standard way to travel in the country. Many of them looked the same, a square back with a slab for a bench and a driver who was usually black. Though there were a few white men who drove a carriage when they had their family with them and for church.

The horses trotted around the corner of the hill, their flanks seemed near to the group that was huddling at the roadside awaiting their approach.

Nanny stepped out in the middle of the track; the horses stopped canting and reared up their forelegs in the air. The black driver who was driving them in his little box seat was thrown from the cart.

“What is going on?” The white man in the passenger seat asked blearily. “Titus you old nigger, where are you gone?”

The cart capsized just then and he was thrown in the middle of the trail, his fat belly giving a sickening thwack as he landed on his face.

Titus looked up and saw the maroons and grinned, he got up and brushed off his clothes. “That there is Jim Berry,” he said pointing to his Massa. “He's as drunk as a bat in a fruit.”

Nanny nodded and walked over to Jim Berry. Quao whistled to the horses and soothed them by murmuring in his African dialect.

“What are you going to do Titus?” Quao asked.

“Come with you of course,” Titus grinned, “I'm free, I earned my freedom last year but the white men don’t care for that. It’s too uncertain, this freedom, when you don’t live near the sea. They will treat you as if you is there slave.”

He helped the men to lead the horses into the bushes.

“We have the horses and the cart, Aman now it’s your turn to get the clothes.” Nanny said bending down and lifting up the limp head of Jim Berry. “He’s out like a camp fire.”

They tied up Jim Berry. His limp body rolled from side to side and his tongue stuck out obscenely as they carried him to a tree with a large ants nest. “Put him in the branch,” Nanny commanded and they struggled up the tree, with the fat ants nest, and deposited Jim’s body close to the querying ants.

“We don’t have to go to the plantation to find clothes,” Aman squealed from the other side of the road, “he has a bag in here with clothes and gold.”

They all gathered around the cart and checked the bag.

“The clothes are too big.” Kes said stoutly, “the man had a big gut. You will have to see if you find any on the plantation that is more my size.”

Nanny grunted, “try them on anyway. Get ready to leave now Aman, you have to join the slaves before dinner time.”

Chapter Fourteen

They waited in the trees overlooking the plantation until they could see that it was dinnertime from their vantage point. They watched as Aman darted into the food area and blended in with the slaves. The slaves shielded him from the approaching overseers and kept their expressions bland. It was after roll call, more than likely the overseers wouldn't find anything amiss until morning.

By then Aman would be gone and would be ready with his report.

“What do you know about the plantation?” Nanny asked Titus who was on a branch below her.

“The Massa’s name is Braithwaite, he has a missis who is the sister of the man you tied up in the ants nest. He just went to her for a visit; his plantation is two days away from here.”

Nanny grunted. “How many white men are on the plantation?”

“I don’t know.” Titus replied timidly. He was not used to such a forceful personality in a black woman. Even though the woman was perched in the branches of the trees he could sense her power. The rest of the men certainly treated her with respect.

“Aman should be here by first light,” Nanny whispered to Quao “by then we will be able to do further planning.”

Aman approached their hideout at first light. He paused because he couldn't see anyone. He was starting to wonder if he was in the right spot when Nanny materialised beside him grinning. “If we can fool a maroon we are good.”

Aman grinned, relieved that he didn't have to go looking for them. The men gathered in a half circle around him.

“There are twelve white men and three white women on the plantation. The Massa is Lucas Braithwaite, his wife is Serena, they have two daughters Hilma and Hilga—they is twins. Hilma is hitching with a soldier from the army and Hilga is still single. They treat their slaves terribly and many are willing to follow the maroons. They have many slaves. We would have to move them slowly.”

Nanny nodded at that, “maybe five at a time every other week.”

“I couldn't find any clothes for Kes,” Aman’s face dropped, “they is strict with field slave going near the house. The housekeeper is a fat mulatto named Daisy.”

“No problem my good man.” Kes came from behind a tree leading the horses. He looked very ‘Englified’, he had on a black wig, its curls bounced on his shoulders, a hat with a single feather rustled gently, as he walked it sat jauntily on his head. He also had on a three-piece suit that was a tad too big.

“You look like a white man,” Quao grinned. “What is your name Massa?”

“It is Sir Floyd Kesington of the Kesingtons in London.”

The group started laughing.

“Come my dear slave,” Kes pointed to Ibo, “carry me to the plantation of the Braithwaites forthwith, I need to pay them a visit regarding their fortunate windfall, he jiggled the gold that he had in the pouch left behind by Jim Berry. I'm a barrister from London.”

“I ain’t no slave,” Ibo muttered grabbing the reins of the horse.

“You can’t go with that attitude,” Nanny said sternly. “That’s a good idea,” she nodded to Kes who bowed, sweeping off his hat with a flourish.

“But what about your papers? Barrister papers?” Quao asked, “all barristers have papers.”

“I was attacked on the road by slaves.” Kes said straight-faced, “they took my luggage and all my other pieces of identification.”

“Your name in African must mean born a liar,” Ibo muttered.

“Stop that slave,” Kes said striding confidently toward the cart, “it actually means born to be free or that’s what my mother said before they sent her back to … England.”