The Pull Of Freedom (6 page)

Chapter Fifteen

They canted up to the front walk of the plantation. The sun was just peeping out of the horizon; it was going to be a good day—Kes loved to imitate the white man, to beat them at their game.

He had been born to a white woman and her black lover. Luckily, he looked like his mother or his stepfather would've killed him at birth. After his stepfather found out that he was not white but mulatto and that his wife was fooling around with a slave, he sent the wayward woman back to England and sold him to the plantation in Spanish Town.

After meeting Nanny and Cudjoe he decided that he would chance running away. He knew more about the white world than he allowed his companions to think, he was a part of it for years. He spent twelve years as one and only eight as a slave.

“Ibo, take the carriage to the stable and glean as much information as you can,” he told Ibo as he walked up to the impressive front door. The place was painted in white. It looked like a typical plantation home with its front pillars and square front.

He knocked and a woman squinted up at him, she had iron-grey curls and a wide smile.

“Hello Sir, is Massa Braithwaite expecting you sar?”

Kes cleared his throat, “No, he’s not.”

“May I ask yer name sar?”

“Sir Floyd Kesington, barrister for his distant cousin Garfield Braithwaite.”

“Oh,” Daisy hurriedly opened the door wider and Kes stepped through. The hall was impressive. There was a square gold mirror in the entryway, its edges fashioned with intricate patterns. Kes eyed it thoughtfully.

“Follow me this way sar, let me announce you.” Daisy walked to a large sitting room, which overlooked a pristinely kept lawn, and pointed to an elaborately designed chair, she drew the drapes and the beginning rays of sunshine spilt into the room.

Kes sat down and looked about him, the sitting room had more mirrors and heavy oak furniture. There was a small desk near the window with a feather and ink, a picture of two sour faced girls hung over the desk in black and white.

“Sir Kesington,” Paul Braithwaite walked into the room, his waistcoat clumsily buttoned and his wig askew showing a part of the skullcap he had beneath it. He looked as if he just woke up. Obviously, he was just a gentleman planter—spoilt and greedy.

“Mr. Braithwaite,” Kes said stiffly.

Paul sat down and Kes followed facing him. Paul Braithwaite looked very pale with a finely chiselled nose and a stiff upper lip.

Was he wearing his wife’s face paint? Kes smiled slightly at the image of the man before him applying face paint.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Braithwaite asked his voice cautious.

“Your cousin Garfield Braithwaite mentioned you in his will. I sent the particulars by ship but since I was in the island viewing land I thought I would stop by.”

Paul perked up, “I did not know I had a cousin named Garfield”. He furrowed his brow and squinted one eye, “it must be from Aunt Edna’s branch of the family. We didn't get along. Why would he mention me though?”

Kes looked at the banked up excitement in his eyes. The man was really greedy.

“Unfortunately, my papers were stolen by slaves on my way here.” Kes said easily resting back as far as he could in the uncomfortable chair. “I barely escaped with the shirt on my back and my gold.”

Braithwaite stood up, “not to worry my dear man. We can accommodate you here as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” Kes nodded.

“So how much has he left for me?” Braithwaite asked excitedly.

“Fifty thousand pounds,” Kes folded his arms and watched as Braithwaite stilled and spun around and looked at him. He was practically salivating.

“But … but … that’s amazing.”

“There is a clause in the will though. It says that you have to free one hundred slaves before you can receive the money or the money goes to the abolition movement in England.”

Kes was enjoying himself; this was too easy. Before his mother’s husband found out that he was not really his child he had gotten a good education. The advantages were just coming to light.

“That’s preposterous.” Braithwaite stuttered, “my cousin was a nigger lover then?”

Kes nodded. “He was very passionate about the freedom of slaves here in the colonies.”

“But this is the colony,” Braithwaite stuttered, “we can’t do without them here. Who would plant the cane or work in the house, everybody has slaves here. I couldn’t live without them.”

Kes shook his head, “I don’t know what to say then. I asked my man to go to your stables with my horse, I guess I’ll just tell the … ”

“No, wait don’t go.” Braithwaite said anxiously. “I wish my wife’s brother was here, he left for his plantation last evening, he was a barrister in England before he came here, I'm going to ask my wife what she thinks.”

Kes murmured, “or I could stay on here for the day and you have all that time to make up your mind.”

Braithwaite nodded vigorously, “can you stay a week? My daughter will be getting married next week Sunday to Captain Stoddard a soldier in the army.”

“Congratulations,” Kes said, “I will stay for that auspicious occasion.”

“Good, good,” Braithwaite said almost feverishly, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do then. Daisy will show you where you are to stay and I will find some clothes for you since the slaves took them. I had no idea we had runaway slaves near here, I will have to send out some of my men with dogs to track them down.”

“Thank you,” Kes said politely, “lay off on the hunting of the slaves though, I'm embarrassed to say it was one slave that overpowered me.”

Braithwaite nodded, he was relieved. A massive slave hunt would render his plantation vulnerable until his armed men came back.

Kes stared at the relief in the eyes of the gentleman before him and had to stop himself from snickering. This was going better than even Nanny could plan. In one week, Paul Braithwaite wouldn't have any slaves, whether he decided to free them or not. He paused beside the gilt tipped mirror in the hallway as he followed Daisy up the wide staircase, that mirror was his.

Chapter Sixteen

“How could you be so stupid?” Mamee asked Martha.

They were in the nursery, Martha was bathing Mark.

“Look here Martha,” Mark pointed to the bubbles he was making with his mouth.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Martha said obstinately. “I was there to fan Miss Bridget and they asked me to join them at tea. Miss Bridget asked if the baby belonged to Massa Robert, I said no.”

“They know who your baby’s father is?” Mamee asked vexed.

“Yes.” Martha scrubbed Mark’s hair and he squealed.

“You are a fool girl. Don’t ever trust white folks.”

“I mustn’t trust white folks or field slaves or the people in the kitchen. Who should I trust?” Martha asked.

“No one,” Mamee spat, “the whites feel they own us and will turn on us when it suits them, so will a slave with a whip across his back.”

Tears came to Martha’s eyes. Lately, she was  prone to cry over the smallest thing. She should have ran away with Cudjoe had she not been such a coward. At least then her baby would have been born free. She was inflicting upon her unborn child the same thing that was inflicted upon herself; bondage to another people. She sniffled and rubbed down Mark.

“Don’t cry, Martha,” Mark whispered. His green eyes were serious, he looked so grown up at that moment that Martha just had to hug him.

“I is alright little one,” Martha patted his back.

“You aren't alright and too blind to see it,” Mamee snorted, “you better hope that yer baby isn't dark skinned like its father or it will be a field slave fo’ sure.”

Martha ignored Mamee and continued to dress Mark. The silence was fraught with tension.

Mamee walked up to her and patted her shoulder, “I love you, that’s why I'm so concerned.”

Martha nodded.

*********

Robert and Elizabeth Simmonds were having dinner in the dining room.

“I had tea with Bridget today.”

Robert grunted. He wasn't interested in the trivialities that she concerned herself with during the days. He had more pressing matters at heart. He was going to have to order more slaves, the twelve that ran away left a huge gap. He needed to expand operations.

He had successfully bred and sold some slaves in previous years. Unfortunately, that was risky, many of the women died in childbirth. Not only did he lose a good breeder but the offspring as well. If he hadn’t sold Minto, his major stud, he would have more slaves than he had now. Some of them would be of working age. Probably he should mandate like some of his neighbours that women of childbearing age should have at least one child per year. Surely that would put a stop to his shortage problem. But it brought him right back to his problem of the good breeders dying.

The colony was such a challenge, labour was so expensive, the slave traders were asking more for the scraggly looking men they carried back with them each year. He hoped the growth of sugar cane as a crop would be viable or else he would be broke, he had sunken all his money into it.

“Did you hear me?” Elizabeth asked.

“No, I was thinking that the price of slaves had gone up,” Robert said absently.

“Why do we need them anyway?” Elizabeth asked.

“Why don’t we just go back to England and leave this place behind.”

“No,” Robert looked at her earnest expression. She was really becoming a nuisance. She bothered him every day about going back to England. His fortune was here, he could feel it. Sugar is going to do well, it had to. Then, he would be rich. Richer than he had ever dreamed, richer than her father, all he needed was more slaves.

“You don’t listen to me anymore,” Elizabeth whimpered beside him.

“Elizabeth! stop the whining and the tears,” Robert’s grey eyes flashed in anger. He picked up his fork to eat, “I'm tired.”

“You are always tired,” Elizabeth wailed, “I barely see you anymore. I have to beg for attention.”

Robert snorted, “you see me all the time. You sneak around as if you suspect me of doing some wrong.”

“You are doing wrong!” Elizabeth’s expression turned sour, “you have human beings in captivity, you impregnate them then sell them when they look like you.”

Robert got up and flung down his napkin, “stop talking foolishness woman.”

The footman hurriedly picked up the napkin and stood silently in the corner, his eyes snapping from one to the other.

“I know its true Robert,” Elizabeth sighed, “I sneak around because I know the sick games you play with the little slave girls. I sneak around so that I can rescue them from you. You are an animal,” she sobbed, “I hate you.”

Robert frowned at her, “then go back to England where you belong.”

“If I go I take my son,” Elizabeth said determinedly.

“Then I guess you will have to stay and witness my sick games then,” Robert said his eyes blazing; he was partially glad that Elizabeth knew about his addiction, at least now he would not need to hide around as he had been doing lately. “I will not allow you to take my child.”

Elizabeth ran from the room sobbing, her fashionable head dress that she had worn for dinner bounced on the doorjamb as she went through the door, which was opened for her by another footman.

“Claudius,” Robert snapped to the footman, “bring a brandy to my study now.”

“Yes sar, Massa Robert sar,” Claudius said obediently. He had many things to tell the other house slaves tonight.

Chapter Seventeen

Kes stared at Serena Braithwaite; she was just as he thought. Another colonist woman who was struggling to keep up with the current fashions in London. She was in a big tent like dress and her face heavily powdered. She had pale grey eyes and looked like an old woman, the weather obviously did not agree with her skin.

Her daughters, Hilma and Hilga looked like they could hardly breathe in their ridiculously corseted dress. Hilma couldn’t stop talking about her upcoming marriage. Hilga, on the other hand, kept looking at him and giggling. They were very opposite in appearance. Hilma was blonde haired and blue-eyed and was obviously the favorite of her parents while Hilga was a red-head with myriads of large freckles. Their brown spots made her appear as if she was a floral piece.

“This is the dining room,” Serena simpered, “and all of this gorgeous silver is real.” She pointed to a cabinet where a slave sat on the floor polishing the silver, he jumped up when he saw them coming.

“These stupid slaves do not know how to behave,” Serena said looking at Kes.

“Do you have any slaves Sir Kesington?” Hilga asked quickly.

Kes almost laughed aloud at her expression. No he didn't have slaves, he was once a slave, now he is a maroon.

“No I don't,” Kes answered sternly, “man should not be shackled to serve. He should work of his own free will and get paid for it.”

“I suspected you thought so,” Serena sighed, “I told my husband that there was no possibility that we could convince you to change your mind and give you half the money if you overlook our slave ownership.”

“Well …” Kes said, pretending that he was thinking, the wig that he had donned upon coming into the house was scratching him fiercely. Why did they shackle themselves to this ridiculous fashion?

“Well what?” Hilma snapped. She was not the most patient of women obviously. He felt slightly sorry for the old bugger she was marrying.

“Well, I could overlook it, if you freed all the slaves and paid them a salary if they wanted to stay on.” Kes was thinking fast. This was a golden opportunity, it would probably signal the end of slavery on their plantation.

“No, never,” Serena said impatiently, “they would laugh us off this island—paying slaves.”

“They would be free,” Kes said patiently, “and you would still be getting their services.”

“They are not really human,” Hilga said hesitantly, “it would be like letting animals loose.”

Kes felt his temper rising, his head thrummed and he felt like pummelling Hilga. So that meant that he was half human. He tried to calm down.

He cleared his throat, “I do not hold that view Miss Brathwaite.”

Hilga looked down at the ground timidly. The slave who was polishing the silver gave him a fleeting smile.

He smiled back.

Serena saw that he was not amused and quickly showed him upstairs; he mentally took note of every item that he wanted for himself and for the maroon community.

Kes found Ibo in the stables brushing the mane of the horses.

“My good man, may I have a word.” Kes said for the benefit of  the other men who were in the stable brushing down horses. The conversation had stopped abruptly when he entered the high roofed building made of logs. It was large and airy; the horses were obviously well cared for.

“Yes sar Massa sar,” Ibo got up quickly from his seat on the ground and followed him outside, he bowed low and winked at Kes.

“Tell Nanny,” Kes whispered, “that I'm invited to stay here for a week but I will only stay for three days.” He straightened up and looked around, there was an overseer on horseback heading towards them; he had a squealing slave girl in front of him.

“No Sar no,” the girl squealed her coffee coloured face was screwed in consternation and tears streamed down her face.

Ibo stood still, his eyes ablaze.

Kes glanced at him and then looked at the overseer who was dragging the girl from the horse.

“What has the poor girl done?” Kes asked.

“Girl?” The overseer shouted, “this heifer wasn't present at roll call this morning, when I went to find her, she was holed up in her cabin proclaiming sickness. I'm going to give her four lashes for her impertinence.”

He grabbed a whip that was hung on the side of the stable and holding the girl by her hair he proceeded to lash her.

Kes and Ibo looked on with varying degrees of anger. If Kes intervened his cover could be blown, if Ibo intervened he would be whipped as well and probably killed.

The loud screams emanating from the girl drew the attention of Hilga.

She came around to the stable her polka dotted face alive with interest.

“Leave her Morton,” she said to the overseer smugly.

Morton who had raised his hand to deliver another blow stilled. His face which was red with anger, paled. He dropped the slave girl and the whip on top of her.

Kes swung around to see a grinning Hilga.

“Hello there Sir Floyd,” Hilga curtsied and then picked up the whip and rubbed it.

The slave girl started to howl harder as she backed away toward the stable door. “Please no,” she screamed, “not her the spawn of Satan.”

Kes looked again at Hilga who was laughing at the screaming slave.

“Lady Braithwaite,” the overseer whispered. “The last time you punished one of the slaves he died from the beatings. We are short as it is.”

“Shut up,” Hilga’s eyes looked unfocused, “get back to work.”

Morton grunted and jumped back on his horse.

Kes was slowly getting over the shock of the events that just unfolded before his eyes. He had seen slaves being beaten before, he was even beaten once but never before had he seen such pleasure anticipated at another’s pain. It’s as if they weren't there and Hilga was alone with her last meal.

“Miss Braithwaite,” Kes said feelingly, “if you subject that slave to more punishment I'm leaving right now and the money promised to your father will no longer be an issue.”

Hilga gazed at him still stroking the leather of the whip. “Why Mr. Kesington, I was just saving the poor girl's life, she looked at the sobbing slave. I hate the abuse of these cretins as much as you and Uncle Garfield, God rest his soul.”

Kes looked away from the insincerity in her washed out blue eyes. She was staring at him shrewdly as if she had been testing him. He sighed in relief. She couldn’t suspect that there was no Uncle Garfield could she?

Ibo breathed out beside him as if he too had felt the full-blown assessment that Hilga Braithwaite had just made him endure.

She dropped the whip, daintily curtsied and went back across the grounds to the house.

“Watch that one,” Ibo mumbled, “she is trouble.”

“Remember to tell Nanny tonight, we stand to gain much more by me staying than if I leave tomorrow.”

Ibo nodded and said loudly, “yes sar, massa sar.”