She shakes her head. ‘It’s nothing. It’ll pass.’
The woman beside her looks at Louis tellingly and runs her hand over Speranza’s belly.
‘Speranza, I had no idea.’ Louis takes her head in his hands and presses it to his chest as the tears run down her cheeks.
Tula regains consciousness and tries to move, blinking in the glaring light. Ropes cut into his wrists. ‘Get up.’ Codjo sounds nervous. ‘Get up… let’s walk for a while.’ Codjo’s outline blocks the sunlight. He has a machete in one hand and with the other he grabs Tula by the arm and pulls him to his feet. ‘We’re walking for freedom, my friend.’ He laughs spitefully. ‘… My freedom!’ He pushes Tula ahead and walks behind him in the direction of San Juan.
Tula joins the long line of prisoners being transported from San Juan to the city, his head held high. Codjo is standing timidly on the manor house porch beside Van Westerholt, who is sitting at a table. ‘This document makes you a free man.’ The captain signs the document, then stands and hands it to Codjo. ‘You can come and go as you please,’ he says with a smile. Codjo takes the piece of paper, folds it and secretes it in his clothing. He nods to the captain, turns and follows the drive to the gate. In the distance he can see the long procession of slaves heading towards the city. He clears his throat and decides to take the opposite direction. The path leads to Kenepa, his home before the outbreak of the rebellion.
Louis decides to continue with Speranza to Kenepa. By mixing with the women’s group he hopes he’ll remain unnoticed and be able to hide later in the neighbourhood of the plantation. Kenepa is still a long way off and when they get close to the plantation it’s already getting dark. The women are met on the main road by a man who runs towards them, clearly excited. Louis ducks into the bushes at the side of the road.
‘Sablica, where are you?’ Codjo runs through the group, his eyes darting back and forth in search of his girlfriend. Sablica emerges from the group, runs to meet him and throws herself into his arms. ‘Codjo, my love, thank God you’re safe.’ Codjo wrests himself from her arms. ‘There’s no need to worry, sweetheart. I took good care of myself,’ he says, smiling broadly. ‘What do you mean?’ Sablica asks, staring at him in amazement. Codjo pulls her close. ‘I’m free, my love,’ he whispers in her ear. ‘They took me prisoner then set me free. Your boyfriend doesn’t have to work on the plantation anymore. And I’m going to earn enough money to pay for your freedom too. Soon we’ll both be free.’ Sablica still doesn’t understand so Codjo produces the document he received from Van Westerholt. ‘Look, sweetheart. It’s here in black and white. Your Codjo is a free man. See for yourself.’
Sablica shakes her head in disbelief. ‘No,’ she says. ‘Codjo, what have you done?’ She holds out her hands as if to push him away. ‘No,’ she says, ‘tell me it isn’t true.’ Codjo takes hold of her. ‘What’s the matter, my love? I didn’t do anything.’ Sablica tries to free herself and falls sobbing to her knees. Speranza has been watching the scene unfold a short distance away. She runs to Sablica, leans over her, supports the weeping woman’s head and glares questioningly at Codjo. At that moment Louis appears. ‘Codjo!’ he shouts, ‘where are the others? Where are Bastiaan and Pedro?’ Codjo turns, surprised by the sound of Louis’ voice. ‘Louis?’ Codjo crumples the paper in his hand and hides it behind his back. ‘We were attacked,’ he stammers. ‘They took everyone prisoner. Bastiaan, Pedro and Tula… they were all arrested. I was lucky and managed to hide.’
‘Tula?’ says Louis. ‘But Tula was with me…, that’s impossible…’ Codjo shifts nervously from one foot to the other, his left hand clenched behind his back. Louis takes him by surprise, grabs his arm, and snatches the piece of paper from his closed fist. Codjo tries to grab it back, but Louis pushes him with his free hand and he falls. Louis opens out the paper and quickly reads its contents. He then turns to Codjo, a look of cold disdain in his eyes. He holds up the paper and tears it to pieces which he then throws to the ground. Codjo crawls towards him, rummaging and groping, trying to collect the torn scraps of paper. Louis pushes him away with his foot. Codjo stands and tries to run, but Louis lunges at him, throws his arm round his neck and presses the point of a knife to his throat.
‘There’s only one punishment for traitors like you,’ he hisses. Codjo shakes his head, panic filling his eyes. With a swift flick of the knife, Louis cuts along Codjo’s ear.
Codjo falls forward, collapses to his knees in agony and grabs the side of his tortured face.
‘The scar will leave you recognisable for the rest of your life. You’ll never be welcome again among your own people. Without your piece of paper, the army are sure to arrest you since you bear the traces of battle. Your freedom from now on will be a freedom to run, knowing that there’s nowhere to seek refuge, nowhere you’ll be safe. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind,’ Louis barks. Codjo turns to Sablica who looks away in shame. His expression hardens as he turns and takes to his heals.
‘Tula, oh Tula,’ Speranza howls. Sablica feels awkward and doesn’t know what to do with herself. ‘I have to go to him,’ Speranza sobs.
‘There’s nothing we can do,’ says Louis, stroking her head and trying to comfort her. ‘We have to wait.’ The group slowly starts to move again and finally arrives at Kenepa, where the gate to the plantation is wide open. Speranza walks arm in arm with Sablica, both women still sobbing gently. Louis takes his leave and disappears into the mondi.
XXVII
It’s dark when the newly arrived prisoners are led into the inner courtyard of Fort Amsterdam, freed from their fetters and locked up in the cells. Tula, Bastiaan and Pedro are separated from the rest of the group. Not a word is spoken. Two soldiers accompany Tula to a separate dungeon and throw him inside. A heavy iron-barred door slams behind him with a loud crash.
Speranza makes her way slowly towards the slave village behind the manor house. There’s still no sign of the masters, and the majority of the slave huts are also empty. The children in the group are excited to be home, their animated voices filling the air as if nothing had happened. Speranza arrives at her hut and as she takes in the familiar surroundings a profound sense of loneliness and grief takes hold of her. She goes inside, presses her nose into one of Tula’s tunics. It smells of sweat and damp soil. She drops it on the bed and begins to weep uncontrollably.
‘Speranza, what’s wrong? Where is Tula?’ Rosita’s voice sounds soft as though prepared for the worst. ‘Rosita!’ Speranza gets to her feet and throws her arms around her elderly mother-in-law. ‘It all went wrong. They took Tula prisoner. I’m never going to see him again.’ Rosita puts her arm around Speranza’s shoulder and leads her gently outside. ‘Come with me, my child. Hush, hush. It’ll all be fine.’ Still sobbing, Speranza walks arm in arm with Rosita to her hut. Jorboe sees the two approach and is about to stand up when he catches sight of Speranza’s face. He remains seated, stunned and pale. Speranza runs towards him. ‘Jorboe, Oh Jorboe’, she sobs gently. She falls to her knees in front of the old man and throws her arms round his waist. Jorboe doesn’t know how to respond and stares helplessly at his wife as she stands motionless on the path in front of him, her eyes filled with tears, her hand in front of her mouth in shock. Jorboe pushes Speranza away. ‘Speranza, what happened?’ he stammers. Speranza tells him the entire story. A blank and cheerless expression invades his face. ‘My only surviving son, betrayed by his own people.’ He shakes his head in dismay and walks in silence into his hut. Rosita wants to say something, but can find no words to comfort him. Her own sadness at the loss of her son is too intense. She throws her arms around Speranza. ‘Tonight you stay with us,’ she says, her voice broken and choked.
Night falls slowly as Speranza sits in a daze on the bench outside the hut. The new moon sheds little light and the village is almost completely engulfed in darkness. Only the sound of the crickets breaks the oppressive silence that hangs over the valley. Carefully, she gets to her feet, and makes her way slowly and o
n tiptoe through the narrow lanes, as if fearing that the sound of her footsteps might call down an even greater catastrophe upon her. When she reaches the place of assembly at the centre of the village she picks up her pace, running past the unlit manor house. Once outside the plantation fence she starts to run as fast as she can.
The sound of excited voices mingles in the morning sun with the murmur of the sea. Louis lifts his eyes and waits motionless until the voices subside and finally disappear. He then crouches and peers from behind a rock at the sloop as it gets smaller and smaller in the distance. He stands up, makes his way to the water’s edge and washes his face.
A bullet ricochets off a stone at his side with a dry tick. Louis sees a pair of carbines pointing in his direction from a second sloop coming towards him from the opposite direction. He puts his hands up and waits for the inevitable.
The keychain rattles as the iron-barred door is unlocked. A prison guard and the thickset figure of public prosecutor Van Teijlingen wait outside the cell as Tula is manacled. Then they escort him along a corridor. A door opens at the end of the corridor and Bastiaan is dragged out by a couple of soldiers and handed over to a prison guard. Stumbling and doing his best to stay on his feet, Bastiaan walks at the guard’s side towards Tula. He looks up, his face covered in blood. ‘Tula,’ he croaks. ‘I…’ A hard thump on the back of his head silences him. ‘Keep moving,’ the guard barks.
A large but strange looking table occupies the middle of the room behind the door. An array of chains and clamps grace the walls and a scuttle of red-hot coals glows in the corner. Tula is brought inside and his fetters are removed. Two men take hold of him and lie him flat on the table, tying his feet and hands to a rope attached to a wheel. One of the men turns the wheel until the rope tightens and Tula can no longer move.
Van Teijlingen moves close, his face almost touching Tula’s. ‘Your faithful friend Bastiaan was extremely helpful,’ he says, his tone affable and friendly. ‘I suggest you simply cooperate by telling the truth and avoid turning this situation into a painful ordeal. Tell me: why did you want to kill all the whites?’ Tula shakes his head. ‘All we wanted was our freedom,’ he says. ‘We didn’t mean to harm anyone.’
‘The dead and the wounded have a different story to tell,’ says Van Teijlingen. ‘But fine, so be it. One last time: why did all the whites have to die?’
Van Teijlingen nods to the guard who removes a clamp from the wall and slips it over Tula’s thumb. ‘Are you sure this is what you want?’ Van Teijlingen asks, a feigned smile on his lips.
‘All we wanted was our freedom,’ Tula repeats.
A lingering shriek of pain echoes through the dungeon corridors. Pedro gets to his feet in his cell. ‘Tula,’ he says under his breath as he grabs the iron-barred door with both hands, his knuckles white with rage.
Speranza has spent the entire night walking, but now that daylight is breaking she has to be careful. Military patrols regularly force her to hide and she decides to leave the road and make her way to the city across the rocky terrain on its outskirts. The abundance of thorny bushes only makes it more difficult as they tear at her skin and clothing, but she marches on, a look of determination on her face, in the light of the swiftly rising sun.
The sloop with Louis onboard ties up at Saint Anna Bay. Van Westerholt and four soldiers are waiting for him on the quay. ‘Louis Mercier,’ Van Westerholt says. ‘Such a shame for you to waste your military talents on a hopeless cause. But I fear you’ve lost any further chance to demonstrate them.’ Louis is helped from the boat and taken away by the soldiers. ‘Put him a cell on his own,’ Van Westerholt shouts as they depart. ‘I’m certain Van Teijlingen will want to have a word with him.’
Late in the afternoon, Speranza arrives at a slave village near plantation Blauwbaai and close to the city. Aware that it’s unsafe to enter the city after the curfew, she decides ask the slaves for a place to spend the night. She tells them that she’s on her way from the city to Kenepa, that she lost track of her group and then lost her way. The people welcome her warmly, give her something to eat and make sure she has a place to spend the night.
‘The public prosecutor is demanding the heaviest penalties.’ De Veer looks around the chamber, his face grim and serious.
‘We are also of the opinion that the offences committed warrant such penalties,’ Van Teijlingen responds. ‘It became apparent during interrogations that the rebels were intent on taking control. They wanted to get rid of the present regime and appoint their own black governor.
That makes their rebellion a revolution and its leaders subversives. We have to take the firmest possible line.’
‘It’s now this council’s duty to ratify or reject the proposed sentences,’ says De Veer. ‘We’ll see if the council is willing to follow your recommendations.’
A placard nailed to the church door the following morning details the crimes of the arrested slaves and the sentences of the court. The list of names is long, thirty in total, and the various punishments clearly have one single goal: the certain and often painful death of those condemned. Tula, Bastiaan, Louis and Pedro are included among the names. A considerable crowd quickly forms in front of the church and the news spreads through the city like wildfire. It doesn’t take long before it reaches the village where Speranza spent the night. She wakes to a heated discussion about the fate of the leaders of the rebellion. When she hears the news she almost loses her senses, grabbing hold of the people around her in a panic and screaming at them to take her to Tula. An older woman manages to calm her a little. ‘There’s nothing we can do,’ she says, ‘except pray to God.’
‘I have to go to him,’ Speranza begs. ‘I have to see him one more time.’
The old woman nods understandingly. ‘Then prepare yourself for what you’re about to see, my child. I’ll take you to him.’
Louis looks up. The sun is shining in his face and a faint smile appears on his lips. He closes his eyes and lets the sun warm his skin. The coarsely braided rope grazes his cheeks as the narrow noose is pulled over his head. The soldier’s loud command is followed by the sound of a handle being pulled. The ground beneath his feet disappears and he falls. A short tug brings him to a standstill, his lower legs tremble, then his body relaxes and floats motionless above the ground.
Speranza and the old woman reach the hill beside the reef. Two detachments of soldiers are lined up on the beach with a large wooden cross lying on the ground in front of them. Six soldiers detach themselves from the group and escort two black men in chains to the cross. ‘Tula,’ Speranza whispers. His hands and feet are bound to the cross. Bastiaan turns away, but a soldier grabs his head and forces him to look at his helpless friend. The form of a man with a large iron bar above his head takes shape against the light of the setting sun. The bar falls again and again on the man at his feet. Speranza covers her face with her hands and falls to her knees. ‘Tula, oh Tula,’ she sobs gently. She lifts her head and looks at the sun as it slowly turns red on the surface of the water.
XXVIII
‘Mama, what are you doing? Come, we have to hurry.’ The boy tugs at his mother’s skirts. Speranza is brought back to reality with a start and smiles affectionately at her little son.
‘You’re right, Tula. We should go.’
Darkness falls swiftly as the two silhouettes make their way hand in hand towards the manor house where the lamps are being lit. The gentle sound of women singing can be heard from the slave village.
Epilogue
Tula’s appeal for freedom and equality found its way into the history books as The Great Slave Revolt. And while much blood was spilled and many lives were lost, the foundations of Tula’s struggle were ultimately peaceful. The minutes of the council meeting of September 19th 1795 state the following: ‘The revolt has been suppressed, its leaders taken prisoner.’ The horrifying execution of Tula and his companions that followed was to serve as an example to those who might be foolish enough to consider a revolt against whit
e authority in the future.
Tula’s revolt may have been a lost cause, but it is clear in hindsight that it was not for nothing, that it served in fact as the first important step in the emancipation process of the black population of Curacao. The white population on the island intensified its security arrangements after the revolt, but at the same time the notorious Slave Code was adapted and its implementation strictly supervised. The new code ensured better treatment for the slaves and restored their Sunday rest. Food and clothing were provided anew and their sale was forbidden. Small steps, perhaps, but they had an enormous influence on everyday life on the plantations.
Tula and his march to freedom were dismissed by the Dutch as a dangerous and life threatening revolt and its leaders written off as bloodthirsty villains set on overturning the government and taking over themselves. Such a characterisation has its place in an era in which the white economy was maintained for the most part by a black labour force, robbed of its voice and forced to work. The loss of this balance would certainly have led to the economic collapse of the former colonies. This perhaps explains the disproportionately hard response of the white authorities to the rebelling slaves, but it does not justify it.
Down through the centuries, the name Tula has continued to speak to the hearts and imaginations of the descendants of the slaves on Curacao. In Tula they saw the personification of their longed for freedom and a symbol countering the colonial domination and suppression of black people. While the story of Tula has acquired an important place in the history of Curacao, it was long ignored by the Dutch authorities. Indeed, his name was never mentioned in the schools on the island.
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