The Pull Of Freedom (8 page)

Chapter Twenty

In the darkness of the night Ibo crept to the meeting place where Nanny and her men awaited him. He blew softly on the abeng and the lurid shadows into the bushes materialised into men.

“Tomorrow is the third day,” Nanny said beside Ibo.

Ibo tried not to show how nervous he was at her stealthy way of creeping up on him. He cleared his throat, “Kes said that one of the ladies wants to marry him.”

There were snickers in the darkness.

“He is too good a liar,” Quao mumbled. “Probably weaved a tale about his wealth and gains.”

“So what’s the plan,” Aman asked impatiently.

“The machetes are kept in the storage shed; there are no guns available, the men keep their guns close to their person.”

“We will have to use fire,” Nanny sneezed and rubbed her arms, the nights were very chilly, even though she had captured one of the fat man’s coat she still felt as if she was freezing. The thought of fire filled her with anticipation, not only to burn down the plantation but for its significant warmth.

“How many horses?” Quao asked.

“Fifty,” Ibo was getting used to the shapes in the darkness.

Quao was to his left, Nanny stood in front of him in a man’s jacket and Aman to his right. “Before I forget, here is the diagram of the plantation.  Kes said you should look these over tonight and tell him what to do.”

Nanny took the piece of paper from the Ibo’s hand and gestured for the men to follow her. They walked deeper into the bushes and one of the men lit a fire. Nanny hulked down in front of the fire and waited for her cold fingers to warm up.

“The guardhouse is here,” she pointed to the diagram and Quao looked over her shoulders, “there are only eighteen of us if we count Kes and sixteen guards with guns.”

“Four patrol the plantation at night with guns and dogs.” Ibo piped in, “if it weren’t for your herbs, Nanny, I couldn’t have come.”

Nanny squinted over the paper, “how many slaves are there?”

“Close to a hundred,” Ibo replied, “they are all ready to go free. The Braithwaites don't treat them right.”

Nanny stood up and handed the paper to Quao, “tell Kes to give the guards the sleeping potion, all sixteen of them.”

“How will he do that?” Ibo asked worriedly.

“He will figure out a way,” Nanny said confidently. “You will have to give the potion to the dogs too.”

Ibo nodded, “that would be easy, the man who feeds the dogs is very vocal about his plans to escape.”

“We will take the guns from the guards,” Nanny continued, “when they are heavily asleep. Tell the slaves to carry their machetes and to destroy anything that we cannot carry with us. We will plant food in our new settlement, so ask Kes to pinpoint grains and seeds and all the household things that will be useful for one or two men to carry. I need new dresses too,” Nanny smiled.

“What about the horses?” Quao asked, “we have to take the horses.”

Nanny nodded, “assign the taking of the horses to the men who are able Ibo. We might need them for trading purposes.” Ibo nodded, “when will we attack?”

“Tomorrow evening after sunset, I will blow the abeng. I will tell you where we are and you will tell me if the guards are down and if the people in the house are asleep.”

“What about the people in the house?” Ibo asked excitedly.

“Tell Kes to give them the potion,” Nanny replied, “a strong dose.”

Ibo rubbed his hands together, “wouldn’t a strong dose kill them?”

“Who knows?” Nanny answered nonchalantly, “they never cared if slavery would kill us.”

Chapter Twenty-One

The house was silent as Kes crept through the carpeted passageway that ran to the back of the house. After Ibo had relayed the message that he was to give the potion to the Braithwaites and the guards, he had suggested to Paul that he was going to give them the inheritance and that they needed to celebrate.

He jovially suggested that the guards should at least get a drink. A slave in the kitchen pinpointed by Ibo doctored the drinks. The plan had gone smoothly as the whole bottle of liquor was laced with Nanny’s subtle poison.

The time was now upon them, he slowly pushed the door that led to the sleeping quarters of Hilma and crept into her room. She had had only two glasses of laced wine but the substance had been potent enough to send her scurrying to bed earlier than everyone else.

Kes looked down at her pretty face; her pink lips looked moist and kissable. He smiled at the faintly petulant look on her slumberous features. He smiled as he reached down and snatched the gold locket around her neck. He had been watching it all night as she talked around the dining table. It was encrusted with diamonds. She had told everyone that it had cost her grandmother thousands of pounds. Her sister had been green with envy, her jealousy had confirmed to him that Hilma had been telling the truth; he vowed at that moment that he would have it.

Goodbye spoilt one, he thought to himself. She probably thought that he was attracted to her and couldn’t help himself because of her great beauty; he had leered at her bosom all night. He laughed silently as he dropped the gold chain in his pocket.

Hilga’s door was next to her sister’s; he pushed it open and went inside. She was sleeping with a cap on her head, tendrils of hair escaped it and feathered across her cheeks. She looked innocent in sleep; her freckles that looked like they tried to out do each other in the day seemed somehow dormant in the pale moonlight that filtered in the room.

Kes had made sure that she had more to drink than the others. He had even told Ibo to tell the cook to lace her food with Nanny’s potion. She seemed as if she was not breathing. Her chest was hardly moving. He tied her hands with the ropes that he had saved in his room especially for her.

When they lit the house on fire he didn’t want her to escape, he stared down at her and waited for the remorse for what he was about to do—none was forthcoming; instead he saw the naked fear in the face of the slave girl that she was about to whip and the fear in the words when she uttered Satan’s spawn, this girl believed that black people were not human. He touched her hair and then turned away. Retribution did not fill him with joy but it sure was profitable, he spotted her jewellery box and scooped up the cosmetics that she had on her table. The women who escaped would appreciate them.

Paul Braithwaite was sleeping on his back when he entered his room; a slave girl was curled into his side.

Kes sighed and touched the girl. She jumped, her eyes fearful.

“Get out,” he said harshly, disgusted by the look of fear on her youthful face. The girl could not be a day over twelve. Her young body was unripened and stick thin. She hurriedly dressed and then slipped out of the room as if she had much practice dressing in haste.

Kes followed her and stopped her in the landing, “tell the men to come,” he was not careful of being heard; even the dogs were drugged. The plantation was easy pickings for the slaves waiting in their cabins with bated breath.

The girl nodded, “tell Ibo to take the dresses and clothes that Nanny requested.” The girl nodded again and ran downstairs.

Kes went back into Braithwaites room and found the chest that he kept his gold. The heavy iron container felt full, he tied a rope around it and hauled it to the stairs. Ibo was running toward him along with other men who had a crazed look of anger on their faces.

“Plunder it all,” Kes said to Ibo grinning. “Do not burn down the house until you find everything that Nanny said you should find.”

“Where are you going?” Ibo asked curiously.

“I am going to get a gold studded mirror in the hall,” Kes said grinning, “and then I am going to take a ship to England where I will find my mother and we will live together in a moderate house and I will be a merchant or possibly go into shipping.”

Ibo stood stunned, “but I thought you would join us in the hills.”

Kes sighed, “staying here has taught me some things Ibo, I am a man with different races running through me. For a while I was angry enough with my father for selling me into slavery that I was willing to stay here and fight, but I'm not cut out for the life of a maroon. My life is somewhere else. I will fight for the cause in a different way; in my heart I'm a maroon. I will never forget that.”

Ibo swallowed, “Nanny said that you should meet her at the palm tree near the entrance.”

Kes nodded and hauled the chest packed with gold to the bottom of the stairs. The raiding was now in full swing as men rushed everywhere searching for what they could use for their new settlement. He dreaded going to see the formidable Nanny but he knew that he had to say goodbye to the woman who no doubt would be remembered, sometime in the distant future, as a brave warrior.

He approached her in the darkness; the plantation was a beehive of activity as slaves ran to and fro responding to the orders of Nanny’s loyal followers. She stood in the darkness and he panted as he hauled the heavy chest and sat on it away from the hectic activity.

“I thought you would be participating,” Kes whispered his breath whistled through his lungs.

“They know what to do,” Nanny said her voice husky and low, “I have no pleasure in robbing the white man but we have to eat.”

They stared at each other’s outline in the darkness. Kes felt as if her eyes were boring into his very soul.

“I … ” he cleared his throat and tried to speak again, “I … ” the silence dragged on, he felt as if he was betraying the maroons that he had grown to love, the little band of people who had fierce pride and the love of freedom flowing through their veins.

“Kes,” Nanny moved close to him and touched his hand, “I knew you would leave, I knew that freedom to us was not the same as freedom to you.”

“But I planned to stay and fight,” Kes said turning to her in the darkness, “I intended to live with your people in the blue hills and help with the cause but I thought about it and I realised that there are other aspects to me too and I … ”

Nanny chuckled in the night and they both turned toward the house as fire illuminated the night’s sky.

“Go with God, Kes. Do not worry, you have done much for us already, and you will do more. You are more valuable pretending to be a slave master than a slave. We will see each other again.”

She walked toward the house and he could hear her commanding her troops. Her slight body was barely discernible among the crowd of slave who were dragging their treasures toward the hills.

When he picked up the chest and headed toward the horse that he had tied on a post for his escape he saw a pouch made from Nanny’s dress material hanging around his horse’s head, he took it off and looked inside. It was filled with powder and a piece of paper was stuck in the top.

For your ship’s journey, was the barely discernible scrawl that he read when he finally deciphered the writing on the piece of parchment paper days later. He knew Nanny planted it but he never understood why she would have given him a pouch with her herbs until he was abed The Majestic, the first merchant ship he could find on his quest to leave Jamaica and to search for his mother in England.

The ship was swaying in the bad weather that had taken over the Caribbean Sea and he was suffering from seasickness, it was so bad that the captain and the crew were worried about him.

“You need ale,” the blustery captain had pronounced upon seeing him clutching the slop pot. He was dry hacking over the pot and very weak. He could barely lift his head, his body was so weak.

“Put some of that in there,” he pointed to the dirty pouch with the herbs, the captain looked at him puzzled.

“Where’d you get this?” He asked

“From a woman who seems to know everything,” he weakly said as he sipped the ale and the herb.

He was better in less than an hour.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Did you hear the news about the massive slave revolt at the Braithwaites plantation in the East?” Peter asked Robert Simmonds.

They were standing under the trees near the new batch of slaves that he had delivered to his friend to replace the twelve he had lost.

“That is bad business,” Robert had a concerned look on his face, “they set the house a fire and the Braithwaite’s died along with one of the girls.”

Peter nodded, “only Hilma survived, she got married last week despite the tragedy. Her sister was not as fortunate though. There are some rumours that she was so wicked to her slaves they ensured that she perished. Might be there is some truth to it, you are better off treating the slaves well.” Peter looked at Robert who stood contemplatively looking over the new batch of slaves that he had ordered. There was, only one girl, he hoped that that would appease his wife. His games with the slave girls were now so far and few between he doubted that Elizabeth suspected him of continuing in what she called his ‘sick practices’.

She certainly seemed happier these days and her threats of leaving him were near forgotten. She still had her weekly tea meetings with Bridget and this kept her entertained and happy for days.

“You seem far away my friend,” Peter grunted. “I hope you are aware that what happened to the Braithwaites can happen to you.”

Robert shrugged, “I have more overseers and tighter security I'm not going to let any of those maroons run me from my land. This plot of land is mine. I intend to live here and prosper. I am determined to become richer than Elizabeth’s annoying father.”

Peter guffawed and patted his stomach. “The Braithwaites were rich, Paul was a well known miser. It was rumoured that he had a chest that contained thousands of pounds worth of gold. When they searched around in the charred remains of the house they could not find it but they found him charred and burnt to a crisp. You just take care of yourself.”

“Tell the missus I cannot stop today, I have more slaves to replace over at Timothy’s plantation. The old bugger loses slaves faster than we can get them.”

He tipped his hat and walked away leaving Robert staring at his newly acquired assets. Over the past three months he had cleared the land and the new sugar cane plants could be seen row upon row in the fields.

He was going to export not only sugar but rum and molasses and all the by-products of the plant. His head ran with ideas and he stood immobile for a long time, he could already taste the success.

He shifted his stance and glanced at the new girl, she was plump, her bosom well developed. He smiled slightly; it was time to celebrate his newly acquired property. He glanced at the house; Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen.

“You,” he pointed at the new slave girl, she looked at him and smiled with an eager expression on her face.

“Do you know how to please your Massa?”

She shook her head, the little face looked uncertain; her mahogany skin was slightly wet from sweat.

“Follow me.” He walked toward the barn the little girl in tow.

Mamee was outside the house spreading out the whites on the clothesline when she saw Massa Robert heading toward the barn with the new girl. The girl was walking and hauling her foot reluctantly. The Massa had purposeful strides he stopped and broke off a branch from a tree and stripped it of its leaves to be used as a prop for his sick sex game. Mamee cringed when she thought about it.

Over the past months Martha had gotten quite close to Elizabeth, she was always going to their little tea parties and reporting back to her fellow slaves. Sometimes the information was good and sometimes nonsensical. The latest information was that the Massa was behaving himself and that he had promised his wife to be a better person.

Mamee shook her head and then paused, might be if she alerted the Missus it would be one less slave girl raped and left to carry the shame of the brutal act around in her head for the rest of her life.

She crossed to the back of the yard where the Missus was under a tree playing with Mark and reading stories.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Mamee said hesitantly, “I am confused.”

“What is it Mamee?” Elizabeth asked looking up, her eyes were lively and green; she looked playful and so relaxed that Mamee felt a twinge at her deliberate ploy to upset her. She wasn’t a bad person when she had settled down to island living and stopped acting like she still lived in England.

“Er … I washed a white chemise and I was wondering if it was the right one.” She paused, that sounded terrible but it was the best she could do in such short notice.

“It doesn’t matter Mamee,” Elizabeth said tweaking Mark’s nose, “do what you will.”

“I think I bleached out the roses on this nice soft cloth,” Mamee tried again.

“Oh no, let me see if it is the silk chemise that my sister Eileen got from India.” Elizabeth jumped up and followed Mamee to the side of the house, just when the reluctant slave girl was resisting being pulled into the barn. Tears were streaming down the young girl’s face and she was squealing.

Elizabeth stopped in her tracks; Mark who was running behind her collided in her legs.

“There isn’t a bleached out chemise is there?” Elizabeth looked at Mamee with tears in her eyes.

Mamee shook her head and hurried back to the clothesline.

“Mark go and find Martha,” Elizabeth said to her son, he beamed when he heard Martha’s name and ran into the house screaming her name at the top of his lungs.

Elizabeth walked toward the barn, she could imagine her heart breaking into smithereens; she had given him one more chance and he blew it. He couldn’t help himself; he was little more than an animal. She pushed open the barn door just when her husband was fumbling to release the buttons on his britches; the little slave girl was lying on the ground wild eyed and crying, a welt could be seen on her cheeks.

“Robert,” Elizabeth voice cracked, “I'm leaving on the morrow.”

He spun around shocked; his eyes were still fevered, as he was about to indulge his addiction.

“Elizabeth no,” he shouted, trying to button his britches as he hopped after her.

“Nothing you can say will stop me,” Elizabeth said coldly furious.

“Fine,” Robert said knowing that he was caught red handed a sense of fatalism gripped him; “I don’t need you or your father’s wretched money. I'm going to be rich and I'm going to carve out a piece of this world for myself. Leave if that’s what you want to do.”

“You are sick;” Elizabeth said quietly, she had passed the stage of crying. She wasn't going to turn a blind eye anymore.

“Liz,” Robert said cajolingly, “it was a lapse, I'm sorry.”

“I'm leaving,” Elizabeth said stricken, “even if I have to leave Mark. If I stay I will lose my soul to this place, like you have, and I can’t afford that happening to me. God help me, I would prefer to lose my son than to become one of those plantation wives who is empty and pain filled.”

Robert watched as she walked away, fury gripping him at his weakness and the unbidden feeling of dejection that had him in its grip. He stalked back to the barn; the slave girl was still there on the ground immobile and shaking in fear. He successfully unbuttoned his britches and took out all his fury and his inadequacies on her young body.