by Sarah Lark
Nora let that last bit pass without comment for the time being. “So, that means the white masters prefer you talk in this a sort of baby talk?”
Manu nodded. “But not everyone can speak English well,” she then said. “Actually, only very few, even though I think that some at least understand more than they let on.”
That explained the fast success of Nora’s lessons on a proper table setting. But Máanu expressed herself with truly amazing refinement.
“And where did you learn?” Nora asked.
“From Doug … from Mr. Douglas, Missis,” Máanu corrected herself. “The backra’s son. My mother took care of him, particularly after his own mother died, and also Akwasi, his mother went at about the same time—”
“Akwasi’s mother also died?” Nora asked.
She suddenly thought of how few children there were on the plantation. Of course, the offspring of the staff also didn’t run around in English townhouses, but the servants there were either unmarried and lived in the house, or they went home to their families in the evenings like Peppers. In contrast, the slaves lived here and it appeared that no one controlled who shared what bed and hut with whom. At least the huts should have been full of little children, but there were none to be seen, and she had heard no cries like those from the Tanners’ apartment in London.
Máanu bit her lips. “Not … hmm … directly. But Mama Adwea took care of both boys, they played together and I did as well, after I was born. But I am much younger. Doug … Backra Douglas wanted Akwasi as his boy and Backra Elias allowed it then. That’s why he stayed with him when he got a private tutor and a white governess. And I ran after them later whenever I could. The white nanny — Miss Carleon — thought I was sweet.”
Nora nodded. “I understand. And at some point, Akwasi fell from favor and landed in the fields, and you thought that if I noticed that you can speak properly, the same might happen to you. But you don’t need to, Máanu! I am glad to have a maid who can speak to me in whole sentences, and I also prefer it when my maid doesn’t answer every question with ‘don’t know.’ So, we will now behave like normal people.”
“People, Missis?” Máanu asked.
Her panic was hardly gone before her contradictoriness and propensity for mockery broke through again. Nora sighed and pulled off the sleeping cap that Máanu had placed on her head. Elias would probably still visit her and he preferred her hair open. And besides, she knew it was best to end the conversation before her husband had a chance to surprise them.
“I would not like to have you as an enemy, Máanu,” Nora said sleepily. “On the contrary, I can’t change anything regarding either of our positions, but I will not treat you like an animal, and I do not want you to treat me like a dressing doll. In order to prove my good will, I will not ask you about Toby and Hardy now and not about what you two, you and Adwea, sent to them with this Akwasi. I assume that you were acting with the best intentions and didn’t want to hurt anyone. Is that so?”
Máanu nodded and seemed relieved. “We only wanted to help,” she said.
Nora reached for the fruit basket that was always in her dressing room. “So, take this with you for Toby and Hardy, whoever they are. And tell Adwea that I will not be checking on the stores of meat and vegetables or whatever else she boiled into that stew — which was quite fragrant, by the way — maybe she’ll serve us something similar some time.”
CHAPTER 9
Despite wondering if she would, Nora didn’t notice Máanu taking advantage of her new-found trust. If food disappeared from the kitchen, it happened just as discreetly as before. Máanu also did not refrain from the Pidgin English that had made Nora so angry. She only spoke fluently when she was alone with Nora, and she also strove to please her mistress by answering questions.
Nora also held back. She did not intend to burden her new relationship with Máanu. She also did not bring up the topic of Akwasi in the coming days, although she had many burning questions. Máanu was undoubtedly devoted to the young fieldworker. But what happened now if he returned this fondness? Were there marriages among the slaves? And if so, how did they occur? If the slaves were married according to Christian custom, that would have to protect them from being sold individually later. The Bible verse “what therefore God hath joined together, let no man put asunder,” would then be binding for the planters.
And Nora also didn’t inquire after Toby and Hardy, although she was worried about the slaves. According to Máanu and Akwasi’s conversation, the men must have been sick. In such an instance, who cared for the workers? Elias’s answer to this question was merely a shrug.
“Oh, the men are tough, they can take care of themselves.” he said in response to Nora’s insistent questioning.
This did not help reassure her. If she wanted to learn anything more, she would ultimately have to keep asking the still suspicious Máanu.
But then, three days after she had overheard Máanu and Akwasi outside the kitchen, something happened that — in her otherwise relatively contented life on the plantation — shook Nora to the core. The day had begun quietly. Nora started by taking a long walk on the beach — it was tiring to walk the entire way through the forest, especially since she didn’t own any proper shoes for the task, only silk ones to match her dresses. But sometimes her desire to see the sea and delve into the world of her dreams with Simon was just overpowering. Her encounter with the sand and sea was bittersweet. She enjoyed wading into the water, and then she eventually took off her dress, and lay in the warm sand, like she was in Simon’s arms.
Of course, this was a risk, and she could hardly imagine how Elias would react if he found her half-naked in the sun. But, based on previous experience, no one from Cascarilla Gardens came to the beach during work hours, and Nora didn’t think the probability of encountering vagrant Maroons or even pirates very likely. Naturally, Nora made sure not to lie in a very exposed location, rather, in the shade of the palms and acacias, happily hidden between the plants. Hers and Simon’s hut would have been located there, too, she thought. Nora lost herself in the world of her fantasies, but in the end it always made her more sad than happy. She almost always cried before leaving the beach again.
Now, in the late afternoon, she was tired, and had planned on a long nap after her light lunch. Elias had ridden to Kingston in the morning to oversee a delivery of goods, so she would eat alone. Until then, she passed the time with a book in her favorite spot in the garden and listened to the tuneless cries of the tropical birds in the trees. But then she heard Máanu calling.
“Missis! Please, Missis, where are you?”
The girl ran across the terrace to Nora. There was a desperate sense of urgency in her voice, but when she saw Nora in the pavilion, she seemed relieved. To Nora’s dismay, the otherwise reserved slave had thrown herself on the ground in front of her as if to plead for her life.
“Please, Missis, come, help; do something! He will kill him; he’s beating him to death. Seventy lashings … seventy lashings, no one survives that … McAllister always gives twenty and that’s already bad, but—”
Nora started to help the girl up.
“Calm down, Máanu, and tell me what is going on. I can’t understand you—”
“They have already begun, Missis, if you don’t come now, if you don’t do something, then … then it’s too late!” Máanu sobbed in despair, trying to grab Nora’s ankles.
Embarrassed, Nora shook her off and stood up. “All right, show me what is going on if you can’t explain it for me to understand. Where are we going?”
“To the huts, of course!” It was clear that Máanu had assumed Nora knew exactly what she wanted. “In front of the kitchen, that’s where they always do it.”
The “kitchen” in the slave quarters was an open shed. Usually, they cooked a stew over an open fire and then shared it among the workers. They could take their food with them to the huts or just eat outside. There was an open area that was shaded by palm and mahogany trees, mak
ing it an inviting place to sit and chat with the others. The Sunday services also took place in this area.
Nora followed her servant first through the kitchen of the manor house, where Adwea looked worried and was shaking her head. The expressions of the kitchen staff were also serious, even if they didn’t reflect Máanu’s panic. It must have been something personal that concerned the young woman.
Now, Máanu was almost running and Nora had to struggle to keep up. First they went through a bright grove, that couldn’t be seen from the house because it was hidden by the huts, and then onward between the slave quarters. From a distance, Nora already saw that the meeting area outside the kitchen was full of workers. However, they were not sitting together and relaxing as they would during a meal. They stood there in silence. The only sound was the crack of a whip.
“Twenty-three!” announced a voice that sounded strained. After another slapping sound, a faint groan.
“Twenty-four!”
Nora and Máanu pushed through the rows of slaves.
“Make way! Let us through! Let the missis through!”
Máanu shoved the men aside, and even forgot to switch to Pidgin English.
“Twenty-five!”
When Nora finally had a clear view of the platform in the middle of the square, she was terrified. Under the tree that provided the reverend shade during services, Akwasi was hanging. His hands were bound to a branch, so that his feet just barely touched the ground. “Twenty-six!”
Truman, the overseer, raised the whip again. His voice fluttered, and his naked upper body was dripping with sweat from the exertion.
Blood dripped down from Akwasi’s body. His back was covered with welts and there were almost no areas with untouched skin — now Nora understood what Máanu was talking about. Another forty lashings and the bones in his spine would be exposed. His back would be torn up beyond the point of healing, and the man would die of gangrene, if he didn’t breathe his last breath beneath the whip.
Akwasi screamed in pain after the next whipping. Nora suspected that this was the first time he’d cried out.
Nora ran to the platform.
“Stop that now!”
She shouted to the supervisor, who lowered the whip with surprise.
“Mrs. Fortnam … what are you doing here? This is … well, I don’t want to be disrespectful, but this is no place for a lady.”
“But it is for a gentleman?” Nora asked, looking with disgust at the bloody whip in the hand of the young man. Truman had never seemed like a brute to her before. Whenever she crossed his path on a horse ride, or together with Elias, he had always been polite and friendly. “The question is what you are doing here! Has my husband permitted you to beat his men to death?”
Truman smiled. “Only to punish them. Naturally, this here must seem quite violent for you. But I assure you that I am not overstepping my authority by any means. This slave is a troublemaker; I need to make an example of him.”
“And what has he done to earn this?” Nora asked.
Truman laughed. “Oh, the list is long. But first and foremost: for inciting mutiny, refusing to work, insurrection, for lying, and indolence. He is a bad influence on the others, Mrs. Fortnam. And I am showing them where that will lead. This is my job. So, please let me continue.”
“The hell I will!” Nora said, courageously. “The man is already half-dead and I do not think that this is what my husband had in mind. As far as I’ve heard, twenty lashes are the maximum penalty around here!”
The slaves in front of her listened intently. Truman ran his eyes across the group.
“Given the severity of the offense—” he then went on.
“Then explain to me more specifically,” Nora cut in. “Whom has the man incited to do what? Details, please, Mr. Truman, no general accusations.”
Truman sighed theatrically, which actually would have been enough for Nora to fire him for disrespectful behavior. However, she didn’t have the right to do so, and Elias probably wouldn’t have liked what she was doing.
But that didn’t matter now — her husband could confront her later.
“Hurry it up, Mr. Truman!” she pushed.
The overseer pointed to another slave with bound hands who was in the first row and clearly awaiting his own punishment.
“That one, there!” Truman exclaimed. “Didn’t show up for work this morning, and when I found him in the hut, he told me that Akwasi had told him he should stay in bed. And I’d hardly managed to get the lazy scoundrel up and out, when our friend Akwasi comes out of the next hut and tries to persuade another slacker. However, that one wouldn’t be influenced. Was on his way to work. Lucky for him.”
Nora followed his eyes and tried to pick out the “lucky” slave. An older man; gray-faced and lean. It appeared he could only hold himself up with great effort.
“That man appears to be sick,” Nora said, and then turned to the one who was bound. “And you? Why didn’t you want to go to work?”
While the slave was still searching for the words, Nora noticed a dirty bandage around his foot, and saw that he was supporting himself with a stick. The bandage was little more than a rag and almost black with flies — it must have been soaked through with blood and pus.
“Take that off!” Nora said. “Máanu, help him. And for the love of God, he should sit down; he can’t even balance on one leg.”
“The men have to stand for the punishment,” Truman remarked.
Nora glared at him. “The punishment, Mr. Truman, is over. At least for the time being, I … oh, God!”
The man sat down on the ground and Nora saw the wound on his foot, which Máanu had uncovered. Something sharp, probably a machete, had pierced through his foot. The wound was long, but not very deep, and probably hadn’t touched any bones or tendons. However, it was gaping open, and it was clear no one had properly cleaned it. Nora saw pus, and blood, and the first fly maggots in the flesh.
“And the man should work with that?” Nora asked, angrily. “You sent him to the fields like that?” The man must have been Toby, the one Máanu and Akwasi had discussed.
“These men inflict wounds like that upon themselves!” Truman claimed. “In order to shirk their duties. If we were then to let them take a break from work, the others would do the same thing immediately … Believe me, Missis, they’d use any kind of trick, they—”
“Not self-made,” Toby whimpered. “Missis don’t believe. Toby no bad nigger—”
“No one would give himself a wound like that!” Nora said. “Howsoever the injury came about: my husband is not being done a good service if one of his—” she thought she would choke on her words, but then managed to get them out, “If one of his valuable slaves dies or loses a leg because no one would treat a wound.” Truman kept quiet. This argument clearly held weight. It looked to Nora as if the man was ready to give in.
“I … uh … didn’t know,”
Nora relaxed inwardly. “You probably weren’t informed of the true extent of the injury,” she said, although she hated herself for it. “Which is surely the wrong-doing of the people involved. Toby, you’ve undoubtedly failed to properly inform your supervisor of the severity of your wound, and request treatment, and a few days of medical leave.”
Toby seemed to want to say something, but Máanu gave him a look that commanded his silence. The house servant knew better than the fieldworkers about the constraints to which even Nora was subjected.
If she allowed the overseer to completely lose face here, Elias would blame her, and possibly take Truman’s side entirely. Then it was not out of the question that the punishment would continue.
Truman nodded at Toby with an accusatory look. “That’s right, ma’am,” he said. “The man—”
“The man has punished himself in a way — surely it’s quite painful. I don’t think further punishments are necessary, but of course you must check with my husband.” Nora sighed. She could only protect Toby today — and then hope that Elias was re
asonable. “You,” she looked at the other, visibly sick man in the group, “Help Toby to the kitchen in the big house. He should sit down there and bathe his feet in warm water. I’ll come soon and check on you. And you,” Nora pointed to two boys at the edge of the group. Strong men were needed to help Akwasi. The young man hung motionless, and had apparently lost consciousness. “Bring Akwasi to his hut. He can no longer work today. This absence could have also been avoided with a milder punishment!” Another reprimand for Truman — Nora hoped it would still intimidate the man. Undoubtedly, Elias believed in harsh punishments for the slaves, but he also wanted to see as many of them in the field as possible. “The others get back to work.”
Nora supervised as the men cut down Akwasi and dragged him towards his hut. Hopefully, they were clean and there was someone who would bandage the man. There were already flies attracted to the wound. But she would also take care of that later. Nora left with her head held high and walked with measured steps back to the house, although she would have preferred to run. She was shaking with excitement, but couldn’t enjoy her “victory.”
They always do it that way … Máanu had said about the meeting area in front of the kitchen. So, flogging the field slaves was part of the usual daily business. Nora was deeply repulsed by the whole thing. She would have to get more involved if she wanted to continue living on the plantation.
Nora Fortnam was no longer the timid girl who had sat helplessly at her lover’s deathbed. Two years of charity work in the East End had prepared her for almost anything that involved caring for the sick. She had often assisted Dr. Mason when he cared for the sick and injured in a side room off the soup kitchen — a job the other ladies liked to avoid. Nora, however, was not so easily nauseated, and so she now also undauntedly cleaned the slave’s festering foot, and scraped away the maggots from Toby’s flesh with a dull knife. She then remembered Mason’s core belief that gin, when enjoyed in moderation, helped everything. In London, there had never been enough uncontaminated water to clean wounds, and so Mason had also turned to booze in these situations. Based on Nora’s observations, this promoted healing more than it hurt anyone. So, she asked Adwea to get a bottle, and liberally rinsed Toby’s foot with clear rum from her husband’s collection, before spreading Adwea’s ointment and bandaging the leg.