Master of My Fate

by Sienna Brown

  Is a good thing is only I alone that saw the hanging. That Sammy and Eliza was not there. Not there to see them mother hanging from a rope. A rope that choke the life out of her. See her neck break. Her eyes snap open when she pass water. Watch as it flood down her legs onto the wooden platform. And every time I think bout it, see the picture of it in me mind, me stomach start heaving and I have to rush behind some bush to vomit, and it keep going till it leave me insides raw and empty.

  Grieving for Stella cause a deep pain in me heart, make it thump and skip a beat. A grief that cover a hidden rage that growl and bite at me, nipping at my insides. A coward’s rage, a coward’s love that have no answers. What I going do? Run away, or just rampage and kill every backra in sight? Nothing going come of it. It will not bring her back. And the snake that used to wrap itself round Stella heart begin to wrap itself round mine, waiting for the day when I decide to act. To break the slavery of silence. Before then, is time to look out for what is left of me little family.

  I shut up me hut, move in with Eliza. She still cry herself to sleep every night. And when she dream, toss, turn, she don’t even know it, but she reach out into the darkness calling ‘Mama, Mama’. I get up, wrap me arms around her, rock her like she a baby. Get Calla to mix up a drink she make special, to ease the pain of them dreams. And gradually, as each day go by, she seem to get a little better. No longer pulling out bits of her hair like she pulling out weeds.

  I try hard to give comfort to Sammy, talk to him bout what happen, find out how him feeling, but when him see me coming, him look the other way. Refuse any little offering I make. In time I come to understand, him blame Eliza, blame me, for everything that happen. I don’t know how to stop it, the divide between us, from growing wider every day.

  Sammy keep himself to himself, up there in the Great House, working as a servant to Busha Davis doing the same things he did for Massa. Making sure him have shiny boots, clean clothes, washed and pressed ready every morning for him to wear. Melon tell me Sammy still serving at the table, but is one strange thing. Mistress Margaret when she eat, she eat off a tray in her bedroom, hardly ever come out. Is only Busha Davis sitting alone at the head of the dining table, eating and drinking like him own the place. It seem like Sammy don’t care that Stella gone, but must be worse for him, working every day in the Great House. Listening to the empty silence, where Stella’s voice used to be.

  No matter what Sammy think, him and me and Eliza need to stick together, because nobody friendly towards Stella children. All the power she held over them heads pass down to Sydney. She finally get her way. Busha Davis make her head house slave and she make sure everybody know it. Turn boss woman, stamp her foot, slap and order everybody bout when she feel the need. Mind you, Sydney no longer have too many friends, either. Nobody trust her, not after she turn against her own kind. And when our paths cross, I look at her so hard, she make sure she stay clear out me way. Busha Davis can see trouble brewing so he decide to start jobbing me out again.

  Most times, the job take only a day, I return the same night. Sometimes, if is a big job, like building a new verandah on a house, I stay many nights, share a hut with one of the slaves that work under me. But no matter if is a short job or a long one, I always make sure I do the job proper, finish it good. Is how I come to learn more and more bout how to work the stone, how to shape it. Busha Davis get asked plenty time for me special, they want nobody else.

  ‘How much for the William Buchanan boy?’

  ‘Three to four shillings a day,’ him say with pride, and I know him getting a good price. Even though I don’t see any of that money, is a big relief, this jobbing business. It give me time away from Rock Pleasant. To feel the heavy burden of Stella death start to lift. To escape from the memory of her, everywhere I look.

  A New Plantation

  One evening, just after I return from jobbing, Busha Davis send word him want all of us to come gather at the front of the Great House. Even old Calla made to leave her hut come sit on a stool we set up special.

  When everybody finally gather, him have to spend a long time getting us to hush up. We all nervous and everybody talking at once. Even the bird them in the tree chatter more than they normally do. Busha Davis have to bang him cane on the verandah floor before everything go dead quiet. Even the bird them silent.

  Busha Davis take off him hat, look out over the crowd, the house slave them hanging to the side, the field slave them hanging back.

  Him clear him voice. ‘Rock Pleasant has been sold.’

  Nobody say a word. Nobody move, not even a whisper. So him clear him throat, say again, in a bigger voice this time. ‘Mistress Margaret has sold Rock Pleasant, as well as most of Mister Cargill’s chattel.’

  Then everybody start speak at once. Is much whispering, that grow into sighing and loud lamentation. With Massa dead, all the little freedoms them build up over the years will disappear, gone with Massa to him grave. We all know things going change, but we just never think Mistress Margaret going sell the home she been living in since Old Massa William bring her to the island as him young bride.

  Is then I remember the debt Massa owe to Mistress Josephine and things she tell me, when I first went to stay with her and Winnie and little Rose up in Montego Bay. On one of the nights, I bucked up me courage to ask her, ‘How come Massa let me stay such a long time?’

  She laughed. ‘Everybody knows Cargill is a gambling man. Whenever he comes to town, he heads straight for the gambling tables. Stupid man, he even bet against the plantation, against some of the profits he thought he was going to make. I’ve had to bail him out many a time. He owes me and I’m taking my payment. Now, no more talking. Come, little mango, and make your mistress happy.’

  One evening after Busha Davis make the announcement, I go round to the kitchen, visit Melon, ask her bout it.

  ‘Me don’t know what Massa do with all him money, but me know is the end of the family line.’

  ‘What you mean?’

  ‘Mistress Margaret. She all alone now. Is only she. No one else in’a that family,’ she say, shaking her head. ‘Massa never have any children. Except for him slave pickney them. And she want no part of you.’

  ‘So what going happen?’

  ‘She moving to Clarendon, up in’a the hills. Live with another set of Mowatt cousin dem, but she not too happy bout it.’

  ‘At least they is family.’

  ‘True, but the cousin dem all from the other side of the family, from Old Massa William side. And she never like any of dem.’

  Is the first time I think proper bout Mistress Margaret, what her life must be like. I never think she not happy with the life she born into, that she might want a different one.

  ‘She a prisoner of fate,’ I say.

  Melon nod her head. ‘Even though she free and not a slave.’

  Sydney is the only one of us that lucky. Seem like fate favour the wicked. Mistress Margaret taking her with her to her new home up in Clarendon. She must be happy bout it, because she finally going leave the past and what she done at the trial behind.

  Then we discover Rock Pleasant get sold to what backra call absentee owner. And it seem like fate shine on Busha Davis, too. Him going have all the power now, running the plantation with no Massa telling him what to do.

  As to Eliza, Sammy and me, is a sorry business Rock Pleasant getting sold. Is the only home we know. All of us born here, luckily we going get sold, to the same owner. But when we leave, we going leave behind everything that mean we belong somewhere. The birth trees, the ones Calla plant the little grandmothers under. The bones of the old ones, resting in the burial ground up on the hill. But what me unhappy bout the most is leaving behind the provision ground I tend and water, claim as me own. Now another slave going just walk in and take it over.

  As to Calla, what going happen to her when I leave? Most times now, she stay in her hut, drink bush tea. Talk to the spirits waiting for the Ancestors to claim her. She still a powerful healer, ge
t called out to help with difficult births, but she getting old. Most times she need a pickney to walk with her, keep her steady on her feet down the path into the slave village. It make me heart fill with sadness to think I never going see her again. Not be there to protect her, when she too old and frail to help herself.

  The weeks flow one into the other and suddenly is time to pack up the things we own, pile them up on the back of a few donkey carts. I look for Calla, but I don’t see her anywhere. We already said our goodbyes, but I hoped she going come down from her hilltop hut, to see me one last time.

  The day turning windy, the clouds moving fast cross the sky. Make us all jumpy, listening to the far-off rustling of the canefields. We all standing round shuffling, speaking softly, waiting for Busha Davis since early morning. Him going ride with us, before him come back, to take up running the plantation. He’s in the kitchen trying to calm Melon down. She bawling her eyes out. Threatening to hide her special pots and pans. Never cook another bit of food. Busha Davis don’t understand. He keep asking what ‘all this fuss’ is about. Him think Melon would be happy not to have to pack up and leave. She is one of the best cooks round and him decide to keep her at Rock Pleasant. Melon beg to keep Mary, have her feed and look after the dogs. Is all she good for now anyway, because after Massa sell Tom-Tom, she get even softer in the head. Feeding the dogs, sweeping the yard, wash pots is all she can do, no matter how many times Busha Davis tell Winston to beat her and put her in the stocks.

  Now that leaving day finally arrive, Melon get all torn up, she want to stay, she want to go. She don’t have no children, we is her family and now she going be all alone, except for Mary. In the end, Melon only calm down after Busha Davis promise she can sometimes go visit Winnie up in Montego Bay.

  Finally we ready to go. Busha Davis ride up to the head of the line, crack him whip, start to lead us down the path to the front gates. The dogs running beside us, barking them goodbyes. I look back one last time to see there come old Calla, bundled up in her shawl. I think she coming to say goodbye, but then I notice she have a pickney behind her, dragging a sack filled up with all her carochies.

  When Busha Davis see this, him wheel back on him horse, pull up beside her.

  ‘What’s this, Calla? I told you you could stay.’

  ‘Change of heart,’ she say, and keep on hobbling towards me, the pickney trying to keep up.

  What Busha Davis going do? If him force her to stay, she going cause a whole heap of trouble. Finally him give permission and I put Calla sack on top of all the other sacks and help her up. She sit in the front of the cart like she leading the procession. Make us all feel good, knowing we have her mighty spirits protecting us.

  After we move ahead a little way, I turn to Calla, ask her why she change her mind.

  ‘Is old cripple Jonnie,’ wrapping her shawl round her. ‘Him come to me in a dream. Tell me to go.’

  ‘You listen to him?’

  ‘Yes,’ she say, pulling out her pipe. ‘When a duppie come to visit, you sit up, take notice. Me was good to Jonnie, give him a good burial, send him cross to the Ancestors with dignity. Him not going lead me astray.’

  And with that, like always, she refuse to talk any more bout it.

  It going take us a few days to reach where the new massa have him plantation. Come the second day, Busha Davis lead us into a great big yard, with a high fence all round it. In the middle of the yard is a few wooden platforms with steps leading up to what must be a stage. Have a big table beside each one, where a clerk sitting with a big book, pen and ink. Off to one side is a large group of slaves chained, stripped and oiled, some with heads hung low, others looking round, a hollow look on them faces. We at a slave yard. I heard much bout it, but is the last place I think me going end up. Is like one big market, except instead of selling food, backra selling humans.

  When Busha Davis see the troubled look on our faces, him explain that is only a resting stop. Is where him going sign the papers, make the transfer. Must wait for him to come back.

  We there for only a little while when a bell start clanging, the wooden gates swing open and a flood of people come rushing in. They all dressed up, money bags jingling from them belts, and they looking at the slaves like them looking at a piece of raw meat.

  The auctioneer, a fat-belly man, a top hat on him head, start the bidding.

  ‘This way. This way. Come this way,’ him call out. ‘Look over here. See, a good, solid, prime Negro.’

  A well-dressed man in a green velvet jacket, ruffled shirt, holding a handkerchief to him nose as though him afraid him going catch something, call out, ‘Twenty-five pounds!’

  A tall mulatto man step forward, open the slave mouth, turn him round, look him up and down like him buying a horse.

  ‘This one is not worth more than twenty-eight pounds,’ him say.

  ‘Strong muscles. Feel them,’ forcing the slave to flex him muscles while the coloured man feel them.

  ‘Thirty pounds!’ the well-dressed man say.

  ‘And properly seasoned,’ the auctioneer shout.

  ‘Thirty-five!’ the mulatto man say.

  But the auctioneer not giving up so easy. ‘You can work him hard. Fetch a good price if you decide to sell him later.’

  Then another man watching from the side step forward. Hold up a bag of coins. ‘I’ll take him for forty pounds sterling.’

  The auctioneer lift him hammer look round for one last bid. The mulatto man step forward and say, ‘Forty-one pounds!’

  The man watching from the side say, ‘Forty-two pounds and ten shillings!’

  The hammer come down and the auctioneer say, ‘Sold, to Mister Findleyson!’

  Sitting by the side of the gate, watching what take place in that yard. It make me feel sick. Born into slavery, my suffering is nothing compared to the poor slave them that come over on the boat. Calla tell me how backra season them, like a pig on a spit. Slowly turning, turning, burning away dignity, burning away willpower. Season them to break the spirit, till they start to accept how the slave master treat them. Like they is animals. I don’t understand why we let them lead us like cattle to slaughter. Why we all don’t rise up, strike off our chains. Why a man who is free, going buy another man and keep him in bondage?

  And I look into the eyes of the other slaves, see the terror and the shame, and I sense them feel the same way. But like me, they say nothing, do nothing, just sit in the dirt, looking at the misery all round them.

  Finally the papers get signed. Quiet as can be, we now belong to a new owner. A new massa, a man they call George Longmore. His plantation called Ginger Hill, a big one that lay cross the border in the parish of Saint Elizabeth. It going take another day of travel to get there. I overhear Busha Davis talking to the clerk bout how Longmore bargain hard, but in the end is a fair price. I edge a little closer, wonder how much is a fair price?

  The clerk say, ‘Longmore paid one thousand, six hundred and fifty-five pounds sterling. Twenty slaves, strong, no sickness. A good sale all round.’

  Is a high price.

  Just then, I see a familiar figure enter the slave yard. Is Mistress Josephine, dressed in all her finery. She a long way from Montego Bay. She pick up her skirt them, start to make her way over towards our little group. My spirits start to lift. She coming for me. Maybe I going live with her and little Rose and Winnie. Maybe I can try convince her to buy Eliza, even Sammy. But the daydream get shattered quick when Mistress Josephine look straight through me, like she never seen me before, head to where Calla sitting on her sack, fanning herself. They exchange a few words, before Mistress Josephine march over to Busha Davis, sign some papers and give him a bag of coins. She beckon to Calla, who lift up her sack, start to make her way to the gate. As she pass me she stop, look deep into me eyes, touch me face.

  ‘Me free, little Will,’ she say, and the tears start to stream down her face. Is the first time I ever see Calla cry. ‘Me never think it going happen to old Calla. But old cripple Jo
nnie was right.’

  ‘Free! You mean Mistress Josephine buy you?’ not believing Mistress Josephine going pick Calla over me.

  ‘She buy me, and she tell me one day soon she going set me free.’

  ‘And you believe her?’

  ‘Me know how to handle Mistress Josephine. Don’t you worry bout that.’

  ‘But why?’ After all the days and nights me give Mistress Josephine every little thing she ask of me, why she not buying me?

  ‘Mistress Josephine always get whatever she want,’ Calla say. ‘Then when she get it, she use it, toss it aside. Except no matter how much she try, she couldn’t have no pickney. Is me help her to get big with child. Is me give her little Rose. And now she want another.’

  ‘Is that what you do, Calla? Give people what they want?’

  ‘No, little Will. Me here to serve the spirits. Remember the Ancestors and pay dem homage. Is the spirit working through me that give life to little Rose, not me.’

  Then Calla hug me up long and hard. I watch as she climb into the carriage with Mistress Josephine. She look straight ahead, don’t wave goodbye. Just sit, looking towards her future freedom. I didn’t know it then, but was the last time I going see old Calla, hold her close, the grandmother who helped bring me into the world, looked after me, kept me safe. Tried to teach me the right and wrong of the way of things.

  Me slumped in the dirt, waiting to move on, a great understanding wash through me. Stella, Massa, James, now Calla, the most important people in my life, heading down different paths, gone for good. And the dream of freedom I had as a little boy, to be like my hawk, William the Second, flying free above the world of slavery, is finally gone too.

  Part Two

  Parish of Saint Elizabeth, Jamaica, 1826

  No More Hiding

  Is three years since Stella gone over to the Ancestors. I am alone, just one among many. No longer the son of the Massa. I use the skills I learn as a pickney to watch, to do as others do. Learn to blend in, to keep me own counsel. Ginger Hill plantation don’t just grow sugar cane, it also grow and harvest ginger. The owner, Mister Longmore, spend most times in the Mother Country so is the overseer, Mister Annand, that run the plantation. Busha Annand keep a hand in every little thing and him hand is strict.