HF - 04 - Black Dawn (57 page)

Hardy shrugged. 'You must ask your son that, Mrs Hilton.'

'What of the firearm store?' Dick asked.

'We took sufficient for our own defence.'

'And left the rest? Muskets, with powder and ball?'

'We were in haste. It was Mr Hilton's decision. He took our people across to Orange Lodge, where Mr Tresling will defend himself, and sent us into town for the military.'

'The military are already out,' Dick said. 'And we are now on our way to Hilltop. You'll accompany us.'

'Us?' Hardy cried.

'It is your plantation.'

'Are you offering us employment, Mr Hilton?' asked a voice behind.

‘I
am giving you a chance to prove that you are worthy of employment,' Dick said.

'Supposing you still have a plantation,' the third man muttered.

'I will have a plantation,' Dick said. 'Whether I have to regain it by force or not.'

'Aye, well, you're welcome to it,' Hardy said. 'I'm for town to raise the populace. You hear those conch shells? Any white man . . .' he peered into the carriage, 'or white woman, who goes abroad with those black devils on the rampage is looking for trouble. As for riding with them . . .' his gaze settled on Harris and Barker.

'You'd best be off then,' Dick recommended. 'Melchior, pack up these things; we'll be moving along. But before you go, Hardy, tell me this. Where is the Reverend Strong confined?'

'The Reverend Strong?' Hardy demanded. 'You mean the runaway, Josh Merriman.'

'His name is immaterial,' Dick said. 'He is known as the Reverend Strong to these people. If they are revolting, it is because they suppose their minister imprisoned and abused.'

'Oh, aye,' Hardy said. 'They are revolting on his behalf all right. No doubt about that. Thus we have treated him as the first of their ringleaders to fall into our hands.'

There was a moment's silence. In the distance the conch shells continued to wail.

'You have done
what?'
Dick asked at last.

'The punishment for revolt is death, as you well know, Mr Hilton,' Hardy declared, and grinned at him. 'So before we left the plantation we strung the devil up.'

Dick's brain seemed to explode. He stepped forward, seized the little man by the thigh and shoulder, and swung him from the saddle.

'Aaaagh,' Hardy screamed. 'Help me!'

The two bookkeepers made a concerted move to dismount, and were brought up by the levelled muskets of Barker and Harris.

'You
hanged
him?' Dick shook Hardy as a dog might shake a rat.

'Let me go,' bawled the manager. 'Let me go.'

'Dick,' Suzanne said. 'Do not harm him.'

'Harm him? I'll break his neck.'

'Aaagh,' Hardy screamed. 'Help me.'

'Dick.' Cartarette's voice was imperative. 'That will not help. You stupid man,' she said. 'Do you not realize the blacks are in arms simply because their minister was arrested?'

Dick slowly undamped his fingers; Hardy slipped down his legs to kneel on the ground, fingering his throat and gasping for breath.

'As for what will happen now,' Suzanne said.

Hardy regained his feet, backing away from Dick. 'Now?' he snarled. 'We'll hang the lot of them. Everyone with a black skin and weapons in his hands. Aye . . .' He flung out his hand, the finger pointing. 'You two as well.' He vaulted into his saddle. 'And those who would give them arms.' He kicked his horse, sent it careering along the road. His companions hesitated but a moment, then chased behind him.

'There is no sanity,' Harris said. 'When it comes to blows.'

Dick looked down on his hands. Then slapped them together. 'We'd best hurry.'

'Where?' Suzanne asked.

'I came out to repossess my plantation, as well as regain Josh's freedom. I have failed in the one. I'll not fail in the other.'

'Three men?' she looked at Melchior.

'And two women,' Cartarette said, softly.

'You'll go back,' Dick decided. 'The moment we reach the plantation. Melchior will drive you back.'

'I thank you very much, sir,' she said. 'I also came to see my new home. I suspect I will be safer there than on the road. Mother?'

Suzanne hesitated. Dick wondered how far the years were rolling away to allow memory to come creeping in. All the way to St Domingue, in August 1791?

'I think your wife is right, Dick,' she said. 'We are best together.' She smiled at him. 'And I also came to look at Hilltop once again.'

'Then let's get there.' He bundled the breakfast things together, while Melchior folded the table, and Barker helped the ladies back into the coach. 'Keep your weapons primed, I beg of you,' he said, and climbed on to the box. The whip cracked, the coach rumbled forwards into the valleys, creeping ever upwards into the mountains, accompanied now by the sun, bringing sweat to their cheeks, scorching the last drop of moisture from the trees and bushes. There was no cloud in the sky, as yet; there would be later, for the daily shower of rain, And there was no sound either, above the rumbling of the wheels. The conch shells had ceased, for the moment.

He checked his pistols, from sheer restlessness. What did he intend? What could he intend? Hilltop was built to withstand a siege. No doubt about that. But only if adequately defended. And in any event, what would he find, on a plantation abandoned by its white population for several hours?

The horses wheezed their way upwards, slowly, topped the last rise. The sun played full down on the valley, gleaming on the rich green cane stalks, on the village and the factory, on the house. There had been no destruction as yet.

Suzanne and Cartarette were leaning out of the windows. 'But it is beautiful,' Cartarette said. 'So big.'

'Do you see anyone, Dick?' Suzanne asked.

He levelled his telescope. 'Aye.' There were people milling about the slave village. Not yet decided what to do? What to destroy? And there were hideous, bald-headed carrion crows circling before the Great House. 'Make haste, Melchior. Make haste. Ride for the house.'

The whip cracked again, the coach careered down the slope. Within seconds they were in the fields, hidden from view, as a coach, but no doubt signifying their presence far and wide by the dust rising from their wheels. Dick looked round at Barker and Harris, and the lawyers crammed their tall hats the more firmly on their heads and grinned at him. They were mulattoes. But their white blood had earned them nothing but enmity from the planters. So then, why did they risk their lives?

Or was it for Jamaica?

The town came in sight, and beyond it the slave village. And the people there had seen them, had coagulated into a mass in front of the gate, staring, chattering, waving their arms.

'You want me to stop, Mr Hilton?' Melchior asked.

Dick shook his head. 'Make the house.'

They charged up the slope, pulled to a rest before the front steps. The crows gave resentful squawks and fluttered to a safe distance. The doors swung open, the house looked undamaged. But from the central beam over the steps there hung the body of Josh Merriman.

'Oh, God,' Cartarette said. 'Oh, God.'

Dick climbed down. 'Help me,' he said.

Barker and Harris joined him on the verandah. Dick climbed on the rail to cut the rope, and the two mulattoes caught the black man as he fell. He had been dead for about twelve hours, and the sun was noon high. Every wave of the hand scattered a swarm of flies.

'There'll be spades in the stables, Mr Barker,' Dick said. 'Mama, you and Cartarette go inside.'

'We can fight, Dick.'

'And you may have to. But inside. Those people will not have firearms. Melchior, Mr Harris, you'll help me barricade . . .' He paused in surprise as Boscawen came out of the house, fully dressed, even to his wig. 'Mr Boscawen? What has happened here?'

But Boscawen was staring at him in turn.

Dick shook him by the shoulder. 'I am Richard Hilton, old man. Remember me?'

'Mr Dick?' Boscawen peered up at him. 'Ow, me Gawd. Mr Dick? They did say you is all mark up.'

'Aye, but it is me. And this is your new mistress.'

Boscawen fell to his knees. 'You got for forgive me, master. You got for forgive me.'

'For working for my brother? Oh, aye, get up, man, and tell me what has happened here.'

Barker was back with a spade. 'You'll help me, Johnny,' he said.

He and Harris lifted Josh's body down the steps.

'Man, Mr Dick,' Boscawen said, rolling his eyes. 'It is bad.'

'Tell me.'

'Well, sir, Mr Tony, he came riding out here with he friends, and they quarrelling, quarrelling, and they seizing Mr Strong there and hanging he, while the mistress did be looking on, and you knowing what, Mr Dick, sir, she spit on he while he hoisting up.'

'And what were our people doing this time?'

'They standing and staring, because them bookkeeper all armed with musket and pistol and thing, and then the master
...
oh, begging your pardon, Mr Dick, is Mr Tony I speaking about, he tell them get the hell out of there and they gone back down to the village, and the master and he people they saddle all the horse and ride out.'

'For Orange Lodge?'

'Well, I hear them saying that. I hear them saying they ain't staying to defend no place what ain't theirs.' 'How long ago?'

Boscawen rolled his eyes. 'Before daylight.'

'And what have our people done since?'

'Well, sir, Mr Dick, they ain't knowing what for do. They come up here one time, and I tell them go, go, and they gone. One or two gone break in the rum store, and they singing, like, and one or two gone up north, I thinking. But most just talking. And look there.'

Dick turned, watched the black people trailing up the hill. Even after sixteen years and at a distance he could make out the giant figure of Absolom.

'Mr Harris,' he shouted. 'Mr Barker. To me.'

The grave was only half dug. The two lawyers dropped their spades and ran back to the house.

'Inside, Cartarette, Mama.' There was no arguing with the bite in his tone. The two women hurried inside. 'Mr Harris, Mr Barker, your muskets, if you please.' He himself stood at the head of the outer steps, watched the men coming towards him. He tucked his thumbs into his belt where the butts of his pistols were close to hand. But he possessed only two bullets. He took a long breath. 'Good morning, Absolom. Remember me?'

They stopped, about thirty yards away. He estimated there were perhaps fifty of them. But the rest, numbering more than a thousand, were watching from a distance.

'You is Mr Dick?' Absolom asked. 'Them boys saying you done change.'

'I am Mr Dick,' Dick said. 'I am come back to live here. I shall not go again. Mr Tony will not be back.'

Absolom and Jeremiah exchanged glances, looked at their fellows.

'And the mistress?' someone asked.

'If you mean Mr Tony's wife, she will not be back either,' Dick said.

Absolom came forward, alone. 'A boy done come,' he said. 'But an hour gone. He saying all Jamaica in arms. He saying the day is here, to kill all the white folk, to burn all the plantation, to make Jamaica a free country for us black people, just like Haiti.' He pointed, at where Josh had swung. 'He saying now the reverend man done dead, there ain't nothing more to be done with the white people.'

He paused for breath.

'Is that man still here?' Dick asked.

'He gone for to raise the next plantation. But he saying them boys marching. He saying there does be thousand and thousand, and they getting musket and thing. He saying they ain't stopping until they taking Kingston itself. He saying we got for join with him.
He saying they going be here thi
s afternoon.'

'It is afternoon now,' Dick said.

'They going be here soon.'

'You listen, man, Mr Dick,' Jeremiah said.

The faint howl of the conches could be heard, wailing in the hills. And behind that, a deep roar, like a turbulent sea. Or an army of marching men.

How it made his blood tingle.

'Why are you telling me this?' Dick asked. 'Why are you not already murdering me and my people, and taking our weapons?'