by Sienna Brown
Sunday services is when plenty slaves can get permission papers to go to church and, tonight, Reverend Sharpe going hold one in Black River, close to where Ginger Hill is, and many of us going.
By the time Eliza and me meet up and get to the church, is full to overflowing. One of the brothers tell me later, is not as crowded like up in Montego Bay, where up to three thousand slaves go. Tonight is hundreds and them fill the church, the yard, outside the yard, down the street and round the corner. Them line up in them Sunday best, hoping to catch a glimpse of Reverend Sharpe, even after the service long time over. And when Sam Sharpe see me, him still remember Stella boy. Is like no time pass from when I meet him up on the hill in the little white church and him welcome me like a friend.
Those of us lucky enough to be inside going never forget that service. Is so powerful that many of the church sister them sigh and swoon, fall into the waiting arms of the church brothers who need plenty kerchief fanning to bring them round again. And when the sister them wake, they tell us they gone to heaven, sit with the angel them looking down pon us. And the angel them well pleased, give it plenty praise.
After the choir finish singing the first hymn, Reverend Sharpe look out over the congregation, and he seem to be looking at each and every one of us, when him say, ‘Let us pray.’
Then much shuffling as everybody get down on bended knees.
‘Lord,’ him say, holding up him arms to heaven, ‘look down on your children, and be merciful.’
‘Amen.’
‘Fill up our bodies with the strength of lions.’
‘Yes, Lawd.’
‘Help us to endure, as your only begotten son Jesus Christ endured, when he was up there suffering on that lowly wooden cross of his.’
The congregation sing out, ‘Endurance! Make us stronger, Lawd.’
‘And Lord, fill up our hearts with forgiveness.’
‘Forgiveness!’
‘As Jesus forgave those who tormented him! Made a mockery of him! Whipped him! Gave him the lash!’
‘Help us to forgive, Lawd.’
One woman in the front sing out, ‘But is a mighty hard thing to do.’
‘Amen, amen, amen.’
‘And finally, Lord, fill our minds with wisdom, with the all-seeing eye, as Christ did with his disciples. Was it not he who said, no man can obey two masters?’
‘Yes, Daddy, yes!’
‘There is the one who rules on earth,’ Sam Sharpe say, pointing downwards. ‘There is the one who rules in the heavens.’ Look up as though him can actually see the Lord. ‘One of these masters is frail!’
‘Yes!’
‘Is weak!’
‘Yes! Weak and wicked!’
‘Brings destruction down on our people.’
‘Free the people, Daddy! Free the people!’
‘The other,’ and Daddy drop him voice down to a whisper, make us have to strain forward, ‘the other master, he is a divine master. A righteous master who, through his son, heals the sick.’
‘Heal dem, Jesus! Heal dem!’
‘Feeds the poor.’
‘Feed us, Jesus. Feed us good.’
Now Daddy voice starts to rise again. ‘Gives hope to those who turn to him.’
‘Hope!’
‘Long-lasting hope and saves his children.’
‘Save us, Lawd!’
‘Saves all his children.’
And now Daddy’s voice booms like thunder. ‘A kind master who has no need of the lash to bring his people to their knees.’
‘Freedom! O, freedom!’ the choir sing out.
‘No more lash. No more pain. Give us sweet freedom!’ the congregation shout out.
One old man kneeling up the back say, ‘The Lawd may be great, but me knees is weak, and if this praying business go on much longer, me not going be able rise up again. Even with the help of the Lawd.’
When Daddy Sharpe hear this, him laugh out loud and say, ‘Amen, brother, amen. Let us rise.’
With much help from the brothers beside him, the old man rise up and shout, ‘All praise to Daddy! All praise to the Lawd!’
Then that old organ start to wheeze into life and the sister them start to sing and the place start to shake with all the clapping and jumping and swaying of bodies. Finally the hymn come to an end and we all settle back down on the benches, breathing hard. Waiting, waiting with longing, for the next sermon to begin.
When I first heard Daddy Sharpe preach all those seasons ago, in the little white church up there on the hill, I was very young, very foolish. Only thought bout meself and all the little wrongs that been done to me. I didn’t understand the meaning of the words pouring out of him mouth. Plenty word them. Words that left me slack-mouthed in awe. He planted questions I didn’t even know I had, and is only now I can start to answer.
Him also seem to have a way with the ladies. Listen to them little hurts and afflictions, calm them right down. Is why all the church sisters fight hard to be part of the choir, just to be a little closer to all that energy pouring out through him skin. And him not much taller than me, not much bigger. Only bout five foot six. Have a broad, high forehead, a wiry frame. But is him eyes that get you. They brown with flecks of gold, that flash and shine like the peenie wallies that flit bout at night, branding you with the honesty of what him saying.
And he carry himself like a free man, not like a slave. Stand up tall, straight. Don’t cower before him massa. Samuel Sharpe Esquire, a lawyer everybody say is plenty smart. He teach Daddy how to read and write from when him a boy, make it easy for him to move up through the church. Read the news papers, learn bout what is happening in the Mother Country. And after him read, then him report back to us, talk bout the secrets behind the words. What them really mean.
‘I bring good tidings.’
‘Praise the Lawd!’
‘News from cross the seas,’ one slave say, holding up a newspaper.
‘Tell us the news, Daddy. Tell us the news.’
‘Our Christian brothers and sisters across the water, over in the Mother Country, want us to know we are not forgotten.’
‘Not forgotten.’
‘They hear our lamentations and take pity on our plight.’
‘Praise the Lawd!’
‘They are fighting.’
‘Fighting!’
‘Fighting for all of us.’
‘The Lawd be praised!’
‘Even the great king himself has come to understand the evils that have beset this little island and forced us into servitude.’
‘Servitude no longer!’
‘He is about to pass laws that will bring about our salvation.’
‘Freedom, sweet Jesus, freedom.’
‘So now it is only the earthly master, the backra, holding us back. He doesn’t want to give us our freedom. He swears he will not change the laws of this little island even though the great king wills it so.’
‘Shame, Daddy, shame!’
‘Why is that, I ask you?’
‘Why, Daddy, why? Tell us why.’
‘Because …’ Him stop, wait, watch as we lean forward to hear.
‘Backra refuses to accept that if all men are equal in the eyes of the Lord – the Lord, who is the one and only true master – this means that backra and the slave are equal!’
On hearing that, it make me heart beat fast, like a horse when him galloping, and I jump up with the congregation and start to shout and sing.
The slaves that never hear Sam Sharpe preach before, when him say that everybody equal in the eyes of Jesus Christ the Lord, they beat them hands against them chest, openly weep. And when him speak bout slavery and freedom in the one breath, they get driven to a state of distraction by the power of what him preaches. Is a big truth him telling. A truth bout the world outside youself, outside this little island. A truth that open me eyes to a new way of seeing, a seeing that build up a thirst for knowledge and for learning. A thirst that calm me angry silence.
And them w
ords make me shiver and tremble with a great wordless longing. A longing that was once just a wish, a hope, a dream, that Sam Sharpe helped me to grow into a wide swollen river. A river that overflow the banks of my cowardly heart. Giving me the courage to say, ‘Yes! I will stand up, fight for our freedom.’
And I come to understand this is how him plant him seeds of hope, how him water them so they start to unfurl, grow big, grow strong, send out flowers. Grand flowers in all shapes and sizes to match the fervour of Daddy Sharpe soul. After that service, I try to show up, whenever I can.
A few more seasons pass. Busha Annand still send me out jobbing, but now him job me out further and further away. Make it easier to meet up with Aurelia when the job done, attend a church service where Sam Sharpe is preaching. Always keep me permission slip close at hand. Over time though, things start to change between Aurelia and me. Maybe the passing of James strike me heart too deep. Maybe is her. We always glad to see each other, but whatever holding us together, start to untangle, lose its power. And no matter how hard I try, the light in her eyes no longer glisten when she see me. They turn dull and shy away. Old Mister Braithwaite sell up, move back to the Mother Country and she get sold to another massa. One who seem to favour her, like to keep her close. Now she one of the church sisters, singing in the choir in Black River. Is sweet to listen to her sing, remember that shining face, a face she no longer show me. Is lost to a younger self we both left behind, a long time ago.
One night, after a late-night service, when people finally start to depart, many with a long trek ahead of them to return before the early-morning muster, Daddy ask for some of us to stay back. We gather in the speaking room in the back of the church. And over time, I join him inner circle, a group of head drivers that him come to trust. Join Gardner from Greenwich, Dove from Belvedere, Johnson from Retrieve Pen and Taylor a saddler from Montego Bay. And he talk to us different than when him preaching in church. In the backroom, he turn quiet, get all serious. Gradually me ears and eyes open, and I start to put the understanding together that him teaching us not just about the scriptures but teaching us to think not like a slave, but like a man.
‘Backra loves to talk bout the fairness of the law,’ him say. ‘But backra has one law for himself and one law for the slave. This is how them keep us in bondage. And this so-called law did not come down from the Lord. It came up from men, and we are men. So it reasons that we are free to try to change the law.’ Sharpe hold up him hand like him giving a blessing and we bow our heads. ‘Let it be known from this day forth that our place in this world can be made anew. Change is what we have to fight for, and the time for grasping at that change, the time for our freedom, is now.’
The Plan
Been a fierce summer. Six months of drought on the island. Some of the old-timers tell me is the worse they seen in a long, long time. Not only the canefields suffer, but all our provision grounds dry up. Rivers run little water so is hard to even do a little bit of fishing. Backra still expect us to work though in the heat and dust and dryness. But how can you work when you belly empty? We is restless and we is weary.
Sam Sharpe wanted us to rise up before planting season start, but then him say wait. Tell us the king going send freedom papers, order backra to give us our freedom. But no papers come. Then we going rise up after the cane get planted, but again Sam Sharpe tell us to wait. So we wait, and wait, but nothing happen, except storm clouds gather. We get heavy rains, and many slaves get sick with the pox. By the time Christmas come round and cropping season pon us, nobody want to wait any longer.
We gather in the speaking room of the church to hear what Sam Sharpe have to say.
‘Christmas fall on a Sunday. We supposed to get two rest days at Christmas, so you must not show up for work on the Tuesday,’ Sharpe tell us. ‘And you must tell others to not show up when the driver blows the conch shell. Then you must send word to backra that unless slaves get paid in wages, we are not working. No more will we take the lash.’
Sam Sharpe know after the cane get cut, if no slave go out to work, it going spoil fast. Only take two or three days for it to turn rotten. Him want to force backra to give in, to pay us. That was the plan. Was a good plan!
Another night, after service, I ask him, ‘You think backra going give up so easy? Give up all the money pouring into them pockets? Give up the power them hold over us?’
Him chuckle, look at me straight. ‘Nothing comes easy, William, when it is change you’re talking about. And freedom, it seems, requires the heaviest of payments. Payments made in blood. Not violence for violence sake. Nor power for the sake of power. No,’ him say, shaking him head. ‘This is the way of the weak man, the soulless man.’ Holding up the good book, him say, ‘Life is a precious gift from our Lord, our saviour, who sent down his one and only son to guide us. Watched as he suffered on the cross to save the souls of his children. Just like we may have to suffer, may have to die, to save those coming after us. But we never take a life just for the taking of it.’
I pray the plan going work, but in me heart I know better. And Sam Sharpe must know it too. Must know deep down that backra not going give anything up, unless we fight for it. Take it, grab it, make it our own. Just like them. Backra take and grab and call what they steal them own. Except, we not stealing. We taking back what should never been taken. Freedom to come, to go, to live as we choose.
Christmas Day come round with much dancing and music just like normal. The next day is a rest day and we all act like nothing going happen. Like we going do what we always do. Bow down before backra. I get back to me hut late that night. Sneak back in, so nobody know I been missing. Nobody know I been checking supplies, cleaning guns, piling up bullets. A few more hours before cock crow, must lay down. Catch a little rest. Make ready to face whatever going come.
Is then a duppie come to visit. It come sliding through the unopened door, into me dreamless sleep. At first, all I see is a glowing light, but then the light turn solid, take shape, take form. When I look into that light and form, I come to know is Stella. She reach out, shake me by the shoulders, tell me to wake up. Tell me she want to have a little talk with her son. When a duppie come to visit, as Calla used to say, you must follow the signs, see where it lead. If Stella duppie is anything like she was in the wide-awake world, I know this going be a long talk. Rubbing me eyes, I get up, sit on the side of the bed.
‘What you think you doing, boy?’ is the first thing she say. Hands on her hips looking down on me like me still a child. ‘Why you ride up and down all over the countryside when you have a sister to look out for? What if something happen to you? You going leave her with no protection?’
‘Like you done to me?’ I say, too tired to stop meself.
Stella duppie reach out like she going cuff me bout the ears. ‘Used to like the sermons of Daddy Sharpe. Like dem very much, but the last thing me think him going do is teach me first born how to turn rebel. All this talk bout rising up. Me tell you straight. This rebel business going lead to no good.’
‘Hush up,’ I tell Stella duppie. ‘You come back to haunt me just to tell me how to live me life? What bout your life?’ and me feel the anger start to build up. ‘How you let youself get mixed up with that McKellar Maroon? Bring disgrace down on our family? On me?’
‘Don’t make this hard for me, Will,’ she say, and if a duppie could show sorrow then her face full up with it. Pain me to see it, but I keep right on going. Surprised how much anger still sitting on me chest, holding down me heart bout what happen.
‘You didn’t come before. Why now? Why not when I was sick with the fever and boils? Or when I almost lose me leg like old cripple Jonnie when the mule fall down the gully? Why now, when I going do something important with me life?’
‘Me only trying to protect you. Make sure you don’t pass over before you time. Make sure you die a peaceful death. Me tell you straight, a violent death do nobody no good.’ And I notice how she tremble when she tell me this.
‘Ho
w many years this slavery business been going on?’ I ask her. ‘Hundreds of years, Sam Sharpe remind us. Hundreds. Imagine that. And no matter what we do, we never going get out from under the yoke of backra. Him can still do anything him want to us. Look what Massa done to you. Him take away you pigs, sell dem in the market, keep the money for himself. Help pay off him debts. Look what him done when you try keep him away from you daughter. Try stop him doing what him do to all him slave women. Like what him do to you. Sam Sharpe have plans, Stella. Mighty plans. The world going change and us slaves going be the ones to change it.’
Stella duppie look at me hard for a long time. Finally she smile, hold out her fingers of light over me head.
‘Go in peace, little Will. You speak the truth,’ she say. ‘Every time you think you life is over and you have no strength to carry on, remember this moment. Know me going be with you always. We have strength and we strong, much stronger than backra. We suffer, but we endure. Always have. And always will, till backra come to understand that all of us is equal.’
Then the light round her start to dim, and she start to fade, leave. Float out through the unopened door and finally disappear.
The dawn just breaking when I wake. Been asleep for only a little while, but I feel rested and alert. Is then me heart burst open and the tears flood down me face. The sorrow I been holding back since Stella death come crying out. And the shame of it pour out through me skin and I weep till I can’t weep no more. And when the weeping all over, in its place, I feel a deeper strength unfold.
I get up. Change me clothes and listen out for the call of the driver blowing on him conch shell, calling the field slave them out to work. But there is no such call. There is going be no work today, and not on any other day, unless backra give in and pay us.
I notice how quiet the morning is. So quiet you can almost hear a gentle breeze rustling the tops of the sugar cane, way off in the distance. In the few moments between the past that is no longer and a future that not yet come, the world open up to me and all the memory them of childhood days come flooding back. The days up in the pasture with William the Second and all the stories I used to collect, store in the breadfruit tree.