Tula

by Jeroen Leinders

  ‘We have to find out where they’re heading,’ Van Westerholt growls as he paces up and down the living room of the manor house at Porto Marie puffing on his pipe. ‘All we did was chase them away, but they can still regroup. We need to know what they’re planning.’ Van Westerholt is in the company of two of his lieutenants and the two soldiers taken prisoner by Tula earlier in the conflict. The chandeliers have been lit and the candles flicker in the wind blowing freely through the bullet-riddled shutters. ‘You were with them,’ he says to the two soldiers, ‘you must know what they’re thinking. Where would they go from here?’

  ‘They spoke Papiamento when they were around us, captain,’ says one of the men. ‘But I don’t think they expected this. All they said to us was that the situation with the French meant they were free. There was no talking them out of it.’

  ‘I understood the same from Father Schinck.’ Van Westerholt turns and gives one of his lieutenants instructions to send a scout after the slaves. ‘You, gentlemen,’ he says turning back to the soldiers, ‘are free to sail back to Punda with the wounded.’ He walks to the window and gazes pensively at the last rays of the setting sun as it slowly sinks into the sea.

  The wounded are helped out of the carts next to the barn on plantation Fontein where a provisional hospital has been set up and women are scurrying back and forth, doing whatever they can to treat them. Fires are lit outside and huge pots are filled to prepare a meal. Tula, Bastiaan and Louis are sitting on the edge of a well. ‘I don’t understand how this could have happened,’ says Bastiaan. ‘They just walked all over us and killed our people. What do we do now?’

  ‘We have to fight back. This is unfamiliar territory to them here and we have the advantage. We have to make use of it,’ says Louis, ever ready to fight.

  Tula stares at the ground, listens and says nothing. He then gets to his feet: ‘We have to ask the people. We don’t have the right to make life and death decisions on their behalf. How many of our women have lost their husbands, how many children their father? It’s not up to us to speak for them. We have to consult the people. I’ve done enough. It was me who brought this misfortune on them. I only hope they can forgive me.’

  ‘Tula.’ Louis turns to his friend and looks him in the eye. ‘This is not your fault. You’re not responsible for this. You gave your people hope again when they had lost it. You gave them a reason to live. It’s not your fault that the whites refused to play by their own rules. You have nothing to feel guilty about. You didn’t force us into this conflict, the whites did. Your goals have always been upright.’

  ‘But I don’t understand why the whites have reacted with such aggression? Is there something I overlooked? We set out to negotiate on the basis of their own laws; in response they treat us like rebels, criminals, when all we ask is what we have a right to: freedom and equal treatment.’

  Bastiaan rests his hand on Tula’s shoulder. ‘They don’t want to give us our rights, Tula. They’re afraid… afraid of what our freedom will mean for them.’

  ‘But there’s no reason to be afraid, none at all. We didn’t lay a finger on anyone until they attacked us. My goal has always been to live with the whites in freedom and in peace, side by side, as equals.’ Tula raises his hands to the heavens. ‘What do we do now?’ he roars. ‘What must we do?’

  It’s evening as Tula climbs onto the back of a cart surrounded by his people. Camp fires illuminate the garden of the plantation. Louis and Bastiaan stand on either side with burning torches. Tula addresses the people:

  ‘Today the whites revealed their true nature, killing and wounding many of our people when they set their army on us unprovoked. I stand before you in the awareness that all this is my fault. I have no words to express how I feel and how sorry I am that you have been part of this. I was foolish to think that the whites would listen to us. I was foolish to think that they would actually respect their own laws and grant us our freedom. It was short-sighted of me to think that we would leave the city as free men and women and that the big Shon would agree with us and grant our demands. I have failed. I have risked your lives for a dream that will never be realised. All I can do is ask you to forgive me.’

  A deathly hush descends on the group like a damp blanket. No one speaks as Tula stands in front of the assembled crowd, his head hung in humility.

  ‘Igualdat!’ A sonorous voice breaks the silence. A lonely figure steps into the light from the shadow of the barn. ‘Igualdat! Libertat y aliansa!’ Tossijn lifts his hands in the air and turns to the crowd. ‘Tula ta nos bòs. Libertaaat!’ The people start to applaud spontaneously, to whoop and scream. ‘Libertat!’ they shout, hundreds in unison. Tula turns to Tossijn with gratitude in his eyes. He opens his arms and tries to calm the crowd, but the explosion of emotions is hard to hush. The frustrations of the day, the bloody conflict, the anxious moments as they fled, all surface at once. The people stamp, clap, scream. Some collapse in tears, overwhelmed by a gulf of intense sadness and desperation at the situation in which they now suddenly find themselves. Tula also has trouble suppressing his tears, but he gives the people time to express their powerful feelings and waits until the emotions subside. He then gets to his feet.

  ‘Today we have seen that we will have to fight for our freedom. The whites set their army against us and revealed their unwillingness to grant that freedom. That leaves us with a choice. We can return to our plantations and pick up our old lives, the lives we have known for so many years, or we can stand up and fight for our rights. Each of us must make this decision for himself. But be sure of this: if we stay here the whites will attack us again. We can stay here and fight. We have the people, the strength, the conviction, and above all the right. But we can only succeed if we fight together, and that is why I ask you here and now: Do we fight together or do we retreat?’

  An excited roar rises from the crowd. Men thrust their fists in the air, wild and enthusiastic.

  ‘There’s no right or wrong decision here,’ Tula continues. ‘We have the difficult task of choosing one of two ways, the one we think will be best for us. But neither option is easy, and both will leave profound traces on the soul of our people. If you choose to return home, line up here on my left; if you choose the uncertain path to freedom, line up on my right.’

  The group begins to move. Women walk at their husbands’ sides, some resisting as their partners tug them against their will to Tula’s right. Only a few line up on the left. ‘Equality, freedom, brotherhood,’ some begin to chant, and their words are quickly taken up by the entire group. Tula smiles and adds his own voice to the resounding call for freedom.

  XXI

  Van Westerholt paces up and down in the garden at Porto Marie in the early morning light. The dead have been cleared in the meantime and the wounded returned by boat to the city. The army’s losses are reasonable: twelve dead and twenty or so wounded. He plans to set up camp here at Porto Marie to allow the soldiers to rest and enjoy their rations while they wait for the scout to return from his mission. News arrives that afternoon that the slaves have regrouped at Fontein. Van Westerholt decides to discuss tactics with his staff.

  ‘The hill at Fontein is a strategic place, the very place I would choose myself if I wanted to cordon off the western part of the island. They’re clearly not stupid.’ Van Westerholt seems concerned, preoccupied. At that moment, a sergeant knocks on the door and pops his head inside the room. ‘Excuse me, captain, but there’s a certain Mr Van Uytrecht here asking to speak with you.’

  The captain gets to his feet to welcome the visitor.

  ‘Willem van Uytrecht, I presume? What can I do for you? If you want to return to your plantation I’m afraid you’re a little early. We still have a problem to solve with the rebels, albeit a minor one.’ Van Westerholt smiles affably. ‘I’ve come to offer my services,’ Willem responds, evidently aggrieved. ‘The revolt started on my plantation and I know the rebel leader Tula personally. He’s one of my slaves.’

  ‘Ah, so yo
u know Tula. What can you tell us about him?’

  ‘He’s the son of the senior elder in the village. The quiet type, almost inconspicuous. But he’s been causing problems of late. After the sudden death of his brother he appeared to have lost his mind completely. His head is full of stories about all slaves being free because the French are now in charge on the island. Nonsense, of course, the drivel of a dumb nigger, but dangerous nonetheless if it spreads to the entire island. I put an end to it right away and despatched his wife to another plantation. You know how these things are dealt with.’

  ‘Fortunately, I don’t,’ Van Westerholt responds cleverly. ‘But what I do know is that you can only needle a dog for so long before it bites. Apparently that is what has been going on at your plantation.’

  ‘I didn’t come here to be insulted,’ Willem answers indignantly. ‘If you have no need of my assistance I’ll be on my way.’

  ‘Not at all, that was not what I meant,’ says Van Westerholt, his tone conciliatory. ‘You’re more than welcome. Please, take a seat.’ Somewhat appeased, Willem accepts the captain’s offer.

  ‘Whatever information you can give us about the rebellious slaves will be of immense value. We were just discussing tactics,’ Van Westerholt continues. ‘The slaves have taken over the manor house at Fontein and the adjacent hill. Not an easy place to capture, if you ask me.’ Plegher gets to his feet. ‘May I speak, captain? If the place is as strategic as you say, wouldn’t it be easy to close off all its access roads?’

  ‘What are you trying to say, lieutenant?’

  ‘What I wanted to say was this: if we lay siege to Fontein and make sure the slaves have no lines of supply, they’ll be forced to submit.’

  ‘Interesting idea, lieutenant,’ says Van Westerholt. ‘But there’s still a problem. The slaves know the mondi like the back of their hands and have no need to use the normal access roads. An interesting thought, nonetheless.’ He reflects for a moment and then makes a suggestion. ‘What if we empty all the barns on the western part of the island and make the drinking water unusable? We would no longer have to patrol the area and it would save a great deal of manpower.’

  ‘And how do we get rid of provisions?’ Plegher asks.

  ‘By sea, my good fellow, by sea. We already have Captain Wierts’ ship at our disposal and I imagine we can commandeer a few other ships for the purpose. Let’s send a request to the governor.’

  Louis has positioned a number of men in a field on the edge of plantation Fontein, armed with clubs, machetes and carbines. A cart with Bastiaan on the perch has been loaded with barrels of water and other provisions. Louis explains to the men that they plan to wait for the whites to attack on the hill adjacent to the plantation. Its steep incline offers a good view of the territory in which Van Westerholt and his troops must be encamped. The eastern side of the hill is also difficult to access, making the place ideal for countering an army assault. The western side is easy to negotiate and a perfect supply route. It also offers a natural barrier, protecting the women and children assembled nearby on the plantation. Louis then signals that the men should make their way to the top of the hill. He carefully charts the places where they can take cover, designates the positions to be used for shooting, and has the path leading up the back of the hill cleared. If they have to beat a retreat, the path can provide an easy escape route to the densely overgrown western part of the island. A camp is set up under Bastiaan’s leadership, while Louis explores the terrain at the bottom of the hill in an effort to assess where an attack by the whites might be expected. He has barricades set up and organises a look-out rota. Carts with arms and provisions shuttle back and forth between the hill and the plantation. Everything is made ready to intercept the imminent attack.

  ‘What does Van Westerholt want?’ De Veer jumps to his feet behind his desk. ‘Has the man lost his mind completely?’ The soldier in front of his desk feels awkward and far from easy. ‘It’s bad enough that he has to enlist almost the entire army to send a few slaves back to their plantations. But now he’s gone too far. Lieutenant, assemble the council.’

  De Veer holds up a parchment scroll. ‘I have a message here from Captain Van Westerholt. He says that he has managed to force back the slaves from Porto Marie and that they are hiding in the mondi near Fontein. The captain is now insisting that the provisions and livestock on all the plantations on Bándabou be brought to the city in order to starve the blacks into submission.’

  ‘Isn’t the army capable of simply escorting the blacks back to their plantations?’ Romer gets to his feet, takes the parchment from De Veer, reads what is written and looks up, clearly displeased. ‘What kind of nonsense is this? Are we now being asked to put our own property on the line? Tell Van Westerholt that his task is to keep the slaves away from the plantations.’

  ‘I agree with the honourable gentleman,’ says the man sitting next to Romer. ‘If this expensive army of ours can’t even protect our property, what use is it to us?’ The rest of the assembly nods in agreement.

  ‘Much too risky,’ says Romer. ‘Everything will have to be brought in by sea. Why should we take such a risk? If the captain is unable to control the situation, perhaps we should send in more troops and more weapons?’

  ‘Not a bad idea,’ says De Veer. ‘We must give the captain’s request due consideration, but in my opinion he’s gone too far by suggesting we empty our barns. More troops should solve his problem.’

  On Porto Marie, Van Westerholt appears to be in no great hurry to give chase to the fleeing slaves. He lets his people regain their strength and sends out scouts to keep a close eye on the rebellious blacks. As time passes, reinforcements are brought in and the captain drafts a plan of attack based on the information his men have supplied. The following morning they intend to make a final attempt to persuade the slaves to return in peace to their plantations. ‘Isn’t that much too dangerous, captain? If you go in person to negotiate with them you’ll be a walking target,’ one of the lieutenants objects.

  ‘We’ll carry a white flag,’ says Van Westerholt. ‘If the slaves want to avoid violence, and that’s what they’ve insisted up to now, then I presume they’ll at least respect a white flag.’

  In the morning, at the crack of dawn, and waving a white flag, Van Westerholt sets off on horseback around the hill in the direction of plantation Fontein with two lieutenants and Willem van Uytrecht in his wake. A sudden gunshot rings through the air as he approaches the gate to the property.

  ‘Stop, don’t move,’ someone barks. Van Westerholt isn’t sure where the shot came from and the man behind the voice remains invisible. He tugs on the reins and his horse stops in its tracks. ‘I’ve come to negotiate,’ he shouts. ‘Bring me to your leader.’

  ‘Don’t move or you’ll be going nowhere,’ the voice barks again.

  Time ticks by for at least an hour without any apparent reaction from the manor house.

  ‘There!’ Willem points to a group of men walking directly towards them. ‘Tula,’ he whispers loud enough for the others to hear. Van Westerholt sits upright on his horse and when the men are within earshot he says: ‘I’ve come to make a final offer. You are free to return to your plantations and nothing will happen to you. This offer applies to everyone…’ He glares coldly at Tula and continues. ‘except for your leaders. They will have to give an account of themselves and their actions.’

  Tula stares searchingly into Van Westerholt’s eyes then turns with contempt towards Van Uytrecht. ‘We’re here to win or to die. This is not what we set out to do. You attacked us when all we wanted was to talk about our freedom. You have turned our peaceable march to freedom into a blood drenched war. And now you tell us we should go back to our plantations.’ He pauses for a moment. ‘It’s too late for that,’ he continues resolutely. ‘We demand our freedom. If you want to put an end to this bloodshed, you have no other option than to give us what we ask. The choice is yours.’

  ‘Alas, the choice is not mine,’ says Van Wester
holt. ‘What you have just heard is the governor’s final offer. The choice is now yours.’

  Having spoken, Van Westerholt turns his horse and rides away from the plantation at walking pace. ‘If you change your mind you know where to find me,’ he says spurring his horse into action. Van Uytrecht and the two lieutenants follow, but before the men have left the plantation a second shot is fired. In a matter of moments, bullets are flying in every direction. ‘I knew it!’ The lieutenant swings over his horse and lies flat on his saddle in full gallop. Willem grabs his carbine in a panic trying to pull it from its holster as he retreats. A shot is fired and Willem reaches for his foot, his face twisted with pain.

  Life on plantation Fontein appears to have settled into its natural rhythm. Children are playing in the garden, the women taking care of the laundry and preparing the meals. Provisions are gathered from the vegetable gardens and the livestock are fed and milked. Speranza devotes her time to the wounded in the barn, cleaning and dressing their wounds and doing her best to lift their spirits. Other women bring water, herbs and mashed bananas to help the men rebuild their strength. It’s dark in the barn where the wounded have been housed and the silence there is only interrupted by the whispers of the women or by one of the men crying out it pain. The women offer reassurance and try to reassure him as best they can. Waiting on the hill for the army to attack begins to play tricks on the men’s nerves. Two days have passed since Van Westerholt delivered his final ultimatum. The men are tired from the daily training Louis insists they undergo and irritated from having to wait so long for something to happen. Tensions lead to bickering and the occasional brawl as the men let off steam. ‘What sort of game are they playing with us? Are they trying to test our patience?’ Bastiaan turns to Tula who’s looking down from the top of the hill. There’s no sign of movement on the plain below which is gradually turning yellow in the light of the setting sun.