In the early morning light, Van Westerholt’s regiment sets out in the direction of Christoffelberg. The heavy undergrowth makes it impossible to use horses and the soldiers are only able to make slow progress in the blinding sun. The journey to the opposite side of the mountain takes almost an entire day. Just as the regiment is about to turn into a narrow path leading up the mountain, it comes under fire from the mondi. The soldiers react immediately, closing ranks and returning fire with their muskets. Silence fills the air as the clouds of gunpowder dissipate. Five bodies lie dead in the bushes. The sergeant hurries towards them. ‘Take their weapons,’ he says to the soldier by his side. ‘We’ll have to be more careful. We can expect this to happen again.’ As the regiment continues its journey it is forced to engage with small groups of rebels who open fire on them at regular intervals from the bushes. A few soldiers are wounded on each occasion, but the slaves rarely survive. As evening falls, the regiment sets up camp. Van Westerholt decides to split his men into two groups the following day, and to go round the mountain on both sides. In that way he hopes to surround the rebels and prevent them from making their escape.
Tula’s men have spread out in small groups with instructions to stay out of sight and launch unexpected ambushes against the approaching army. Their goal is to open fire, disappear as fast as they can, and then wait for the next opportunity to do the same thing. The men agree to meet in two separate camps that evening on opposite sides of the mountain. Each group is to collect water and food and bring it back to their camp at the end of the day. Tula’s group, with its assembly point to the west of the mountain, is also charged with providing food for the women and children. Louis and his group are encamped on the east side of the mountain. As evening falls, a messenger travels back and forth between the camps to maintain communication.
When Tula arrives that evening at the arranged place only a few men are there to meet him. ‘Where are the others?’ he asks. The men remain sitting on the ground, staring apathetically into space and don’t answer. Tula grabs one of them and shakes him until he comes to his senses.
‘Where are they?’ he asks a second time. The man looks up at him and then lowers his gaze. ‘It’s hopeless, Tula,’ he says. ‘Every time we attack, the army responds with heavy artillery. Many of our men didn’t survive the exchange of fire. The whites are taking no prisoners. They’re shooting everyone they meet.’ The man falls silent and sighs. ‘Some of our men want to surrender, Tula. They don’t believe they’ll ever be free. They just want to stay alive.’
‘That’s exactly what the whites want,’ Tula blusters. ‘They’re determined to sow division in our group, but we must stay united and keep up attacking them… it’s the only way to force them to back down. We have the advantage here. We’re faster, smarter, and we can make ourselves invisible, but if we let them scare us the battle is already lost.’
The man shakes his head. ‘There’s no point anymore.’ He stands and looks Tula in the eye.
‘I came here to tell you that we are planning to surrender tomorrow and go back to our plantations. Whatever happens, we want to stay alive.’
‘And what kind of life do you expect to live? How can you give up what we’ve been fighting for all this time? Right is on our side. We have to force the whites to gives us our dues.’
The man takes hold of both Tula’s hands, looks him in the eye and says: ‘They’re not going to give us our dues, Tula. Not now, not ever.’ He turns and disappears along the narrow path leading to the top of the mountain. The other men also get to their feet and follow the leader of their group, their eyes downcast.
A disappointed Tula makes his way into the women’s camp. There too only a handful of men have gathered to meet him. Some are sitting next to their wives trying to comfort them, others are standing in small groups, busily conferring, their voices subdued. Speranza runs towards Tula when she catches sight of him. ‘Is it true, Tula? Do we have to hand ourselves over?’
Tula ignores her, marches to the centre of the camp with a scowl on his face, and announces with a loud voice: ‘I have no authority to tell these men what they have to do. No human being has power over the free will of another. That’s what our struggle here is all about: our freedom to live our lives as we see fit; freedom and equality. That’s why we took up arms against those who would stand in our way. If we give up the struggle now, we also give up our freedom. But no one has the right to lord it over another and decide how they should live their lives, not even me. Everyone is free to choose for themselves. My choice is and remains freedom.’ Tula lifts his carbine above his head. Some of the men cheer him on and shout ‘Freedom, freedom.’ Others throw their weapons to the ground, take their wives by the arm and walk away with their heads bowed.
‘I have to go,’ says Tula as he walks up to Speranza. ‘I need to know what Louis and his group think of the situation. I’ll leave a few men here to ensure your safety.’
‘Can’t you stay here for the night?’ Speranza asks.
‘No, my love, I have to go.’ Tula pulls her close. ‘But we’ll see each other soon, God willing.’ He kisses her in haste, turns and runs into the mondi. Sadness descends on Speranza as she watches him go.
The following morning the reveille resounds through Van Westerholt’s camp, immediately followed by the sound of rifle fire and shrieks of excitement. The soldiers scurry through the camp and line up in battle array on the edge of the open space. A couple of black men are approaching the camp, their number gradually swelling to a small army of fifty souls. On the sergeant’s signal the soldiers take aim: ‘At the ready…, aim…’
‘Hold your fire.’ Van Westerholt’s stern voice echoes through the camp. One of the soldiers fires nonetheless but misses his target. ‘Hold your fire… they’re here to surrender.’
The rebels fall to their knees on the path leading to the military camp, their hands raised, their heads bowed. The soldiers hurry out to the defeated group, lead them into the middle camp and surround them, rifles still at the ready. ‘What do we do now, captain?’, the lieutenant asks, turning nervously to his superior. Van Westerholt smiles affably at the lieutenant as he walks past him and stands in front of the rebels. ‘Freedom, equality, brotherhood,’ he says, his voice raised. ‘You’re fighting for something that doesn’t exist. You and I are not equal. Look at me. Look at yourself. We don’t have the same pedigree, yet you still want to be my equal. You want to be treated as if you had the same roots as me, as if you shared my goals, my interests.’ He falls silent for a moment and lets his gaze drift over the assembled rebels. ‘Well, now is your chance! One of you has the chance to be free. The one who provides information on the whereabouts of your leaders shall be set free without delay and can expect to be treated as our equal. The rest of you will be given a letter of safe-conduct to allow you to return to your plantations and get back to work. Nothing else will happen to you. The lieutenant here will take care of the necessary papers.’ As Van Westerholt walks back to his tent, he turns and says: ‘One more thing. If any of you abuse our generosity and fail to go directly back to your plantations, you will be shot without clemency. You’ve been warned.’
Tula is met by Bastiaan and Louis when he arrives at the eastern slopes of the mountain. Pedro is also present, with only a small group of men.
‘Things aren’t looking good,’ says Louis when he sees Tula approach.
‘It’s over, Tula,’ says Bastiaan, resting his hand on Tula’s shoulder. ‘It’s over.’
Tula shakes his head. ‘Our struggle has cost us many lives and has lost its soul,’ he says. ‘But my soul stands firm, even if I have to continue alone, to fight for what I believe in. My freedom belongs to me.’ The men nod in agreement. Long, pointed shadows form as the sun sets behind the mountain.
Sloops full of captive rebels tie up at Saint Anna Bay. The prisoners are brought ashore, chained together once again and led away in a long line towards the fort. Soldiers are hard at work in the courtyard preparing
a pair of gallows. The rebels’ chains are undone and they’re locked up in tiny dungeons underneath the fort.
A narrow path winds up the side of the mountain. The lieutenant marches at the head of a column of soldiers and is keeping up a brisk pace. He suddenly stops and makes a beckoning motion with two fingers. He looks behind to see if his men have understood his signal and increases the tempo even more. The group continues at a trot and finally arrives at the rebel camp. The lieutenant fires a shot in the air causing immediate panic. Women fall to the ground, their faces in their hands, their children weeping at their sides. The soldiers run through the camp and herd the women together. Speranza is among them, her eyes wide with terror. Once the group is packed together in the middle of the open space, the lieutenant repeats the words spoken earlier by the captain to the group of rebels. Nothing is going to happen to them. All the women are to be given a letter of safe conduct and must return directly to their plantations on penalty of death. A sigh of relief ripples through the group, although many faces are still racked with uncertainty as they crowd towards the lieutenant to get hold of their papers. Speranza is also given a letter and is free to go. She walks slowly, looking back at the path behind her with anxiety in her eyes. ‘Get a move on!’ says one of the soldiers, prodding her hard in the back with butt of his carbine. ‘And make sure you go straight back to your plantation. You heard what the lieutenant said.’
Tula looks out over the plain at the foot of the mountain, now bathed in the red light of evening. ‘Our time has not yet come,’ he says. ‘We must wait until this storm has spent itself and tranquillity has returned. Until then we must hide, make ourselves invisible, like a lizard under a stone. But when the time is ripe we must rise up anew and fight as one for our freedom.’ Tula gets to his feet. ‘We have to go back to the women’s camp. They have a right to our protection. We’ll decide what to do next when we get there.’
Bastiaan turns to Tula. ‘They don’t have enough food or water,’ he says. ‘Let me collect some provisions first and I’ll follow behind you.’
‘I’ll go with you.’ Says Pedro resolutely. ‘You can’t bring back enough on your own, and it’s dangerous out there. Me and my men will help you.’
Tula nods in gratitude. ‘God be with you,’ he says. ‘Let’s go.’
Van Westerholt directs his column along the foot of the mountain. A small group of rebels emerges from the mondi with their hands in the air and comes towards them. A couple of other men watch them from the bushes, unobserved. ‘They’re crazy. What are they doing?’ An anxious Tossijn aims his carbine at the captain and keeps him in range, his hands trembling. He sees his men walk towards the soldiers who run to meet them, weapons at the ready, and force them to the ground.
‘What do we do…, do we shoot? Do we kill them?’ Tossijn turns nervously to his friends in the bushes. When he looks back he’s surprised to see the captain approaching his men with his hand in his pocket. He signals that they should get to their feet, gives each of them a piece of paper, speaks to them briefly and lets them continue on their way. ‘He’s letting them go,’ says Tossijn, hardly able to believe his eyes. ‘He’s just letting them go.’ A nervous smile appears on his lips, and beads of sweat form on his brow. ‘Come on, men,’ he says, pushing the bushes out of his way and running along the path towards the soldiers.
The gunshot that follows is deafening. Tossijn stares in disbelief at the gaping wound in his belly. ‘But… but…,’ he stammers as he slowly falls forward, his carbine pressed firm against his chest.
‘Some just refuse to give up,’ says the sergeant, his still smoking rifle hanging nonchalantly over his arm. He walks up to Tossijn, turns his lifeless body over with his foot, and grabs the carbine from his limp hands. ‘Don’t drop your guard, men,’ he says.
XXVI
‘If this assembly doesn’t come to order immediately I’ll have the chamber cleared,’ says De Veer, red faced and irate as he stands at the rostrum. Those present are gabbling loudly and all at once. He points accusingly at the fragile form of Miss Lesire who is standing in front of them with her head held high. As the tumult subsides, De Veer resumes: ‘Surely the Christian duty to which you appeal should apply in the first instance to your own people. How could you take those who have turned against your own people under your protection?’
‘The man appeared at my door, wounded and in need of medical care,’ Miss Lesire answers in all simplicity. ‘I saw it as my duty to provide it.’
‘You plainly do not understand the seriousness of the situation.’ De Veer lowers his voice. ‘Let me be very clear. If you are found guilty just one more time of sheltering rebels or offering them assistance in whatever shape or form, your possessions will be confiscated and you will be banned forthwith from the island. Let this be a warning to you. In this instance, however, you’re free to go.’ Miss Lesire nods politely to those present and hurries towards the exit.
Bastiaan makes his way with Pedro and his men towards the coast. ‘Where are we going to find food?’ asks Pedro. ‘The whites burned everything they could get their hands on.’
‘But they saved some for themselves,’ says Bastiaan, ‘and I know where to find it, but we have to be careful.’ The men carry on across the rugged terrain. When they see a couple of soldiers at a distance they fall to the ground. Bastiaan presses his finger to his lips and when the soldiers are out of sight they get to their feet and continue. From the brow of a hill they see the contours of a manor house take shape in the distance. ‘San Juan,’ says Bastiaan. ‘They’re sure to have food there.’ The manor house that had been a hive of army activity just the day before, is now abandoned and silent. The doors to the barn are wide open and a small herd of goats is feasting on the vegetables in the vegetable garden in front of the house. A shutter rattles in the wind, but otherwise nothing is moving. Bastiaan and Pedro move closer, wary and alert. They climb the fence and run through the garden towards the barn. Inside, sacks of corn are piled up against the wall. They lunge at them and each man heaves a sack onto his back. The metallic sound of a rifle being cocked breaks the silence. Bastiaan turns in shock and finds himself staring down the barrel of a carbine. Five armed soldiers are standing in the doorway. ‘Drop everything, on your knees, hands behind your neck,’ one of them barks. The men are tied up and led off.
Tula and Louis approach the women’s camp. The closer they get, the more palpable the silence becomes, with the exception of the occasional chirping bird. They pick up their pace and stop at the edge of the encampment. Peering through the bushes they can see that the camp has been abandoned. They continue with caution. The ground bears traces of a struggle and of army boots. “Speranza,’ Tula whispers as he hurries to the dormitory area under the trees.
Louis explores the camp, unhurried. ‘They’re gone,’ he whispers. He turns to Tula, dismay in his eyes. ‘They’re gone, Tula,’ he says, this time loud and clear. Tula falls to his knees and rubs his cheeks with his hands, sorrow filling his already tortured face. ‘What have we done?’ he roars in despair.
A gunshot resounds followed by the ricochet of a bullet against a nearby rock. The high-pitched whistle comes to an abrupt end as the bullet bores its way into the trunk of a tree. The men are startled, frozen to the spot. The excited sound of soldier’s voices fills the air. ‘Halt, don’t move.’ Another shot is fired at which point Tula and Louis fly apart. They run in opposite directions towards the edge of the open encampment and disappear into the bushes. The soldiers do their best to follow, but to no avail. The men have vanished.
Tula races at full speed through the mondi towards the south-eastern flank of the mountain. He sees a column of soldiers in the valley marching towards plantation San Juan. The army is retreating. Tula changes direction and heads towards Fontein. At that a solitary figure emerges from the bushes. ‘Tula!’ the man shouts from the middle of the path. Tula recognises him. It’s Codjo, one of the men from Pedro’s group. ‘Codjo,’ says Tula. ‘Where are Bastiaan an
d Pedro?’ Codjo tells Tula that they went looking for food on San Juan and walked into an ambush. ‘I managed to escape by jumping through a window in the barn,’ says Codjo. ‘I had to run for my life. The bullets were everywhere.’
Tula nods. ‘We’re alone,’ he says. ‘Louis and I went to the women’s camp. The place was abandoned. We were attacked while we were there.’ Tula sighs and turns to look at the north coast. ‘We lost each other.’ He points. ‘Louis must be…’ At that moment a rock hits the back of his head. He slumps to his knees and falls on his face on the ground.
Drenched in sweat and breathless from running, Louis makes his way towards the south-west, leaving Christoffelberg behind him. There’s no one in sight when he reaches the path at the bottom of the mountain so he decides to follow it in the direction of plantation Kenepa. Perhaps it will lead him to the women?
He runs at a steady pace and it doesn’t take long before he catches up with the women who are resting with the children in the shadow at the edge of the path. He’s surprised that there are no soldiers with the group. He looks around for Speranza and finally spots her sitting on a tree trunk with two other women staring at the ground with her arms folded around her middle. ‘Speranza,’ he says. ‘Are you alright?’ She looks up. ‘Louis.’ A faint smile appears on her lips. ‘Where is Tula?’
‘We lost each other. We had to run. I was hoping he would be here with you.’
Speranza shakes her head. ‘He’s not here,’ she says.
‘What happened?’ asks Louis.
‘The soldiers attacked the camp and sent us back to our plantations.’ Speranza gets to her feet, suddenly reaching for her head with one hand and trying to find support with the other. The woman at her side grabs hold of her and helps her to sit down again. Her breathing is heavy and her face is pale. ‘Tula, I have to talk to Tula…’ she pants. Louis looks at her. ‘What’s wrong, Speranza?’
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