by Sienna Brown
Seem like she finally coming good. Some days, though, she still suffer when them dark, night-time memories hit her. She just sit in the corner sucking her thumb like a baby. When that happen, Melon give up trying to shake her out of it, learn is best to let her be. But tonight, we all lucky, because when Mary in a good mood, everybody spirits get lifted.
‘Go chop wood with Willy,’ Melon tell her after she notice Mary been scrubbing the same pot over and over again. Mary nod, follow me outside. We spend the next few hours her giggling and singing and me chopping up wood.
When the last log get all chopped up, finally Melon give me a feed. And tonight is a tasty one. I get a big slice of sweet coconut cake, take it back to the hut, sit on the step and eat it. Think bout what happen.
Is the first time Massa single me out. Want to give me a special job that him seem to think I can do. Must be Mistress Caroline what change him, make him think bout him children in a new light. Maybe him even feel bad bout choosing James over him firstborn son, even if him never call me that. Ever since that time at old cripple Jonnie funeral, when me stand up for Stella, him look at me a little different. Even so, most times, he barely say anything to me. And then him still say, ‘Boy, come here. Boy, do this. Boy, do that.’ If him see me talking to Stella, he tell me to get back to work. The thorn must be prick him.
Things a little different with Sammy, too, since James got sent to the Mother Country. Him still serving in the Great House, looking after Massa’s clothes, but him don’t run round after Massa, the way him used to like some dog following a hand holding a bone.
The next morning I get up early. Saddle up the horses and take them round to the front of the Great House. I also bring up the mule and cart because Massa send word Mister Buchanan want to collect some samples. Sitting on the verandah is a big bag of tools I heave onto the cart. It join a basket of food Melon prepare the night before. Finally Massa and Mister Buchanan is ready, and they come down the steps in them riding clothes. The quarry is right at the edge of the plantation. If we walk, it going only take a few hours. With the mule and cart, we have to take the long way round. After they mount up, we head off down the wide carriageway that lead to the front gate and out the plantation. Follow it till we meet up with the main road. Like always the dogs run long side us barking and yelping till Massa crack him whip over them heads, make them scatter.
By the time we reach bout halfway, the sun sitting high in the sky and it getting hot. The shadow them tell me is not yet noon, but must be soon come. Massa and Mister Buchanan decide they need a little rest and Massa tell me to spread out the food Melon send. So I set up a little place under the shade of a big silk-cotton tree. Sit to one side as they eat and drink them fill, help meself to what leave-over.
I keep me distance, but is close enough to hear what they talk bout. Mister Buchanan is what Massa call a master stone-builder. Him live in Falmouth, one of the big towns in the north, and many plantations have need of him services. Specially after a hurricane hit the island. It happened one year back. Most times them storms blow over before them reach us, not this time. This time it hit us and it was a big one.
Before it reach us, we collected water, candles, filled the lanterns, put aside food. Locked the shutters tight, on all the window them in the Great House, batten everything down. Busha Davis and Winston rounded up all the field slave them, locked them in the sick house and the mill. Our little family was safe enough inside the Great House kitchen. Two days and nights we huddled together. Listened as the rain pounded, the shutters rattled even though they been boarded up. The wind screaming like it wounded. When the eye passed over, everything turned to calm and stillness and Massa told Eliza to run fetch Sydney, so she can come calm down Mistress Margaret, hold her hand, put lavender oil on her temples. As to Massa and Busha, them wiped away worry by playing cards and drinking rum.
When the hurricane moved on and we went outside, all you saw was a world of destruction. And no matter where you walked, every where was mud and more mud. Massa just kept shaking him head, him face getting tighter and paler as him saw how the river rose so high it mashed down the bridge. The garden torn to pieces. Even the side wall of the Great House damaged, had a big crack. And that wall is six inches thick. When we make it to the canefield them, every one of the plants torn up, flattened, and I saw tears trickling down Massa face.
Finally we made it to the slave village. The damage even worse. Provision grounds uprooted, broken, washed away covered in a river of sludge. Most huts destroyed with all the slave possessions gone, blown to parts unknown. Was bad, that hurricane. Old woman and a pickney dead because of it. I never heard so much wailing.
Took a whole year to fix up the plantation, replant the canefield them, build new village huts, before Massa start looking to repair the Great House. Is why him hire Mister Buchanan and, if I learn good, I going gain a skill, working with stone.
After that hurricane, though, it seemed like Massa in need of repair. Some days him stayed quiet, in him bedroom till late at night, working on him number books. Other times, him turned angry, lashed out in rage at any little thing a slave done wrong. Stella told me that a few times, when she start to open up the Great House, getting it ready for the day, she found him slumped on the couch, overcome by drink.
A few hours later we finally reach the quarry. Is a wide jagged rock face and I can see much work been done there. Sitting under a tree close by is a handful of jobbing slave them. Come from the next plantation over. Look like them been waiting a while and them not too happy bout it. Is a hot day and we all covered in sweat. As soon as him see us, the head jobber come forward, tell Massa him name is Isaac. Stand with hat in hand, waiting to be told what to do. Mister Buchanan get off him horse, head straight over to the chalky hill of rock. Start crumble the bright white dirt with him fingers.
‘Limestone. Good quality too. This will do very nicely,’ him say, wiping sweat from him face.
Then him eager to take a good look at that stone. Get me to pull one of the ladders off the cart, place it up against the rock wall. Tell me to follow him up to the top of the rock ledge.
‘Each block of stone, it be a certain size, a certain width,’ him say, and him put down a square piece of wood to measure it. Use chalk to mark out all round the wood. ‘Now start at the top and saw through the rock. You on one side, William, Isaac on the other, to form two sides of a square.’
Is hard at first to get the push and pull of it, keep the saw moving smooth. We finally get a little way down and Mister Buchanan drop what him call a plumb bob, so the cut going come out straight. When the rock too hard, him tell the other slave them to bring water and pour it down through the cut we making.
‘Now comes the difficult part,’ Mister Buchanan say, when the saws finally cut through to the bottom. ‘We have to lower the cut stone to the ground. Make sure it doesn’t break.’
‘How we going manage that?’ I ask, surprised at the way the stone tug at me mind. And I can see the way Mister Buchanan looking, him is under the spell of the stone too.
‘We have to make a soft bed for it to fall onto. Protect all that hard work, so it doesn’t go to waste.’
Following him lead, me, Isaac and the other slave them load up the ground with small rocks and the straw we bring with us. Spread it out good. Then we get back up on the ledge and between Isaac and me, we manage to gently push the slab to the ground. Much to Mister Buchanan surprise, we able to make sure that two-ton slab don’t break.
I think that is the end, but then Mister Buchanan say, ‘Cut the slab into smaller sections, cut off the rough ends, and leave it nice and smooth.’ We spend the whole rest of the day sawing and cutting stone. Filling up the cart with different sizes for us to take back and use on the plantation.
The next few months pass quickly. Every morning I wake early, hurry to get dressed and head up to the Great House to work under Mister Buchanan. I help rebuild the side wall of the Great House, then me help rebuild the pens and the
walls round the furthest edge of the plantation. In between the cutting, laying out of stone, Mister Buchanan show me how to mix up the mortar of limestone powder, sand and water. I mix it up good. Use it to bind the stones in place. Him also teach me bout numbers, how to measure, how to write them, add them together. Is like a whole new world open up to me.
Stone is the first thing my mind can truly bend to. As time go along, Mister Buchanan come to see him don’t need to teach me much. A part of me already know the look, the feel of stone. Where is the strong, where is the weak. The best place to cut it. To shape it. How to place the stone them together, building one on top of the other. When me working with stone, the glimmering return and me mind can understand and feel things I stopped seeing and feeling a long time ago. And I come to understand that just like James, me skills come straight over from the Ancestors.
Is then I see what Mister Buchanan done for me. Him bring a purpose into me life, a purpose that is mine alone. Slave not given no last name like backra, but as time go along, I first get called Mason William, then slowly I get known as William Buchanan. Is a name I cling to, a name that make me proud, specially after Mister Buchanan say is all right and give me him blessing.
World of Plenty
After we finish fixing up Rock Pleasant, Mister Buchanan ask if Massa will agree to job me out with him, when he go to other plantations, where they need stonework done. Massa give permission, so it mean I going travel all the way north to Montego Bay with Mister Buchanan, before him head home to Falmouth.
Massa send me off on plenty errands. I always leave before dawn, must return by that same night. But is the first time I going travel so far, come to see a wider world, be away from Rock Pleasant long enough to get a taste of freedom. And as soon as everybody hear bout it, they all call out, beg me to take gifts to them relatives.
Melon have some fortified cake she want to send for her sister. She give me a little taste, before she wrap it up good. Melon sister, Winnie, is a little bit older, have a different father. She work for a family in Montego Bay. She been there as long as Melon been on the plantation and when she was younger Melon always begging Massa for permission to go have a visit. She always seem glad to come back though.
‘Life is plenty different up in the big town dem. Is not for me.’
‘What you mean?’ I ask.
‘You going see. Just don’t let it turn you head. Fall into bad ways. Dem people live in a world of plenty, have everything dem want. But it don’t put joy in dem heart. It only seem to make dem sour with wanting.’
Then she hug me up good, tell me to give them hugs to Winnie.
Sydney come round surprise me one evening, when she beg me to take a bag of coins, sewn up tight in a pouch, she been saving for her daughters, Ellen and Jane. She tell me them turn into heavy churchgoers. The coins going help buy cloth to make new dresses to wear on Sundays.
Just before leaving, Mary come up to me all shy like, give me a doll she make out of rags and dried grass.
‘Who this for, Mary?’
‘For baby Jesus,’ she tell me.
‘Give it to Tom-Tom first.’ I try not to smile. ‘When it get well played with, going make a nicer present for baby Jesus.’ Thinking by the time I return, she going forget all bout it.
Mary smile and shake her head.
‘No. Must give it to baby Jesus. Calla tell me to give it to you.’
I give in and take the doll from Mary, put it in the crocus bag I found, going use to carry all the little presents.
Finally the day come when Mister Buchanan ready to depart. I hurry up to the Great House, check to make sure the stone blocks piled up in the back of the wagon tied down good. Climb in the front and gather up the reins. When Mister Buchanan mount up on him horse, I crack the whip over the backs of the mules and we start to make our way down the carriageway, the dogs running beside us barking them farewells. I turn to take one last look when I see Stella, Sammy and Eliza come running up. They stand behind Massa, off to the side, waving goodbye.
Pretty soon, we reach the main crossroad. Instead of heading further west towards the quarry, we continue following the road heading north towards the coast and Montego Bay. The night before, I didn’t sleep, too much excitement. But as the heat start to rise, and I start to sweat, all the excitement drain away. All I can think bout is when we going stop, take cover under some shade.
By bout noon, we reach the entrance to the first plantation Mister Buchanan been asked to stop at. We not expected to stay, to lay the stone, just to make a delivery. We turn down the path that lead to the massa house. Is not really a plantation to speak of, more like animal pen. The owner rear a few cattle. Some goats, some hogs. Grow a little pimento on the side. Is much smaller than Rock Pleasant and I can see as we trundle along how run down everything is, nothing well taken care of. We pull up out the front. Mister Buchanan expecting to be greeted the way a visitor is greeted, with a cool drink, a wet cloth to wipe away dirt from hands and face, after spending time in the dusty heat. The owner must be a miserly man, because there is no such welcome. Instead, him shout out for him slave them to come help take stones off the cart. Pile them up round the back in the yard. Is only then him offer refreshment. Mister Buchanan to him credit make sure I get a little bit of what leave-over.
While him resting, I make me way round the back talk to some of the slave them. They tell me the massa not the owner, but accountant, drunk most of the time. Is the driver what run every thing. If him like you is good, if not, is trouble. And they always scratching round for something to eat because them provision grounds on rocky, dry land. What a sour place to be chained to. It make me spirits low and glad Mister Buchanan decide not to stay too long.
Next we visit the plantation where Sydney daughters got sold to. Ellen and Jane turn into fine young women, and them very glad to get the coins Sydney sent. Luckily, it take a few days to fix up the stone wall that go right round the plantation. So when the working day done, we stay up most of the night talking bout when we was pickneys. How we used to run round the yard chasing the fowl them. How Calla and her bony knuckles would knock us on the head. How it was a good thing that for a short while we didn’t know how slave life going turn out to be.
Jane was always the pretty one and she even prettier now. Ellen was the shy one, but she not so shy anymore. She tell me bout them life, how hard it was at first. No mother or father to protect them. That them get many a beating, to make them learn faster. The plantation grow indigo trees, use the leaves to make dye. Blue gold, backra call it. Ellen work in the factory where she dry and press the dye into blocks. Package up the blocks to be sent off to the Mother Country. Jane working in the Great House, the mistress personal slave, just like her mother.
On the day I am leaving, a good deal of sadness well up when we say goodbye. If Stella and Sydney not enemies, I would be trying to come back for a visit.
After that, we spend many weeks travelling through the parish of Saint James. At first I feel the excitement of reaching somewhere different. Seeing and learning new things. Shaping the stone and laying it out. Sometimes we stop for a short while, do the work and leave. Sometimes is longer, if Mister Buchanan is a friend of the massa and him want something built. Then there is much dining and drinking and merriment in the Great House and Mister Buchanan always wake in a good mood. After a while, though, every place we stop at, I come to see the twisting hand of fate that mark me life. Decide if a slave going be lucky enough to belong to a kind massa, or trodden down by a cruel one.
Is late afternoon. We getting close to the end of our journey. All day we been riding down a narrow winding road that start high up in the hills and going end in the heart of the famous town of Montego Bay. On one side, far below us, a deep ravine, tall moss-covered trees covered in vines, growing one over the other. On the hillside, big leafy plants, flowering bushes, noisy with birds. The sound of crickets striking our ears, the heat making us sweat. Me grateful when we come round a bend and Mister
Buchanan call a halt. Him want to stretch him legs, admire the view from a little hilltop ledge.
I can’t believe me eyes. I never seen so much water. No matter how far I look, you can still see it way off in the distance. In the growing sunset that water turn into a sheet of sparkling yellow glass with sailboats nodding gently up and down. Small ones, close in. Big ones, further out, they have what Mister Buchanan call masts. Some with two, some with three, them sails tied up at rest and flying flags to let it be known which countries of the world them come from.
I look back from the water, the whole town spread out below us, wrapping itself round the harbour in the shape of a horseshoe. Roads like spokes in a wheel that lead out into small plots of land. Is a big town, much bigger than the little towns close to the plantation. And as the sun slip below the water, one by one, lights come to life in the houses, on the roads, and it seem like we looking at a field of flickering, gleaming, peenie wallies.
After Mister Buchanan have him fill, him urge us on and we start to descend on the coast road. The sound of waves lapping against the stone wall making it difficult to stay awake.
Finally we reach the edge of town and the parting of the ways. Mister Buchanan give me a few coins to thank me for my efforts. Tell me to stay the night and to set off for Rock Pleasant the next day. Give me a permission slip to prove it.
What joy! I done a good job. Have coins in me pocket and, for a night, I am free to roam as I please.
After Mister Buchanan leave, I house the mule at a stable, then spend a good bit of time just walking round in wonderment. Up and down the streets that have lamps burning on every corner. Is strange to find meself in all this night-time brightness. Once the sun set on the plantation, darkness overtake it. The only light you have is the burning torch you carry.
First thing I notice, the houses seem so small, close, one beside the other with many floors going up. Stone down the bottom, for the first floor. Wood for the second where there is a little balcony with flowers in pots hanging off the side. It make everything look pretty like the houses all dressed up. The streets not only full up with houses, but taverns and shops of every kind. And even though is night-time, all the people them coming and going in this night-time brightness. Then I come to understand things move quick in a town, not one thing at a time, like on the plantation.