The Long Song (34 page)

There were three fields of cane that must be taken off, the massa told everyone from atop his barrels. Those that worked to bring in this crop would be paid a full day’s wage for a full day’s toil. Come, he smiled, as he urged all to work hard over the coming days so the cane might be brought in.

But it was Christmas. Most before him were dressed in their fine holiday clothes. For example, Miss Sarah, from the first gang, had been making her costume for the Joncanoe festival in town for the whole year. She was a blue girl. As Britannia, she was to be paraded along King’s Street with a trident in her hand and a helmet made in blue silk and silver upon her head. Long time had she waited for the honour of raising the banner that said, ‘Blue girls for ever’. So no, she would not work the two off-days of Christmas.

And Peggy and Cornet had their daughter (the one who was sold away), upon a visit with them. They had not seen her pretty face for many years. She had walked with her little pickney from far, far away, and had arrived just as Peggy and Cornet were finally packed up to leave, to seek out her. So they would not work at Christmas, for they had already killed and plucked three chickens for this joyful holiday. And Mary Ellis, who still did live with Peggy and Cornet, had no intention of missing that feast. Nor did Ezra wish to lose those two off-days from his provision ground as his cow was about to calf.

Soon the massa Goodwin was staring upon nothing but shaking negro heads. And the words, ‘No, massa . . . no, massa . . . not me, massa . . . no, sah . . . no, sah,’ were called out to him. Several times, massa Goodwin looked to be about to plead or say something. But no words came to him—he just stood with his mouth agape.

After most had moved out of the mill yard to go about their business, the massa approached Benjamin Brown, who was untying his mule from the fence. The massa Goodwin smiling upon Benjamin said, ‘Oh, my old faithful Benjamin. I knew you would be willing to work. I knew you would not let me down.’

Benjamin, however, then began to tell the massa that no, he could not work over Christmas as he was to assist the minister at his chapel . . . But the massa did not let him finish. According to Benjamin, the massa turned suddenly away from him, ill-tempered and muttering, ‘Ungrateful, indolent wretches!’ or some such bluster, before mounting his horse and riding away.

Fanny, who worked the second gang, claimed that Robert Goodwin, returning to them after Christmas, had his face once more set kindly. When he appeared at her door she enquired of his new pickney. She remembers it well for, as soon as she asked after his daughter Emily, his face reddened. Fanny then realised that perhaps this white man wished no one to know that Miss July’s girl-child was his own. However, this friendly mood was spoiled when the massa then commanded her to work for him, and be paid by the task.

Once all the cane from Virgo had been stripped, she would receive her wage, the massa told her. Now, Fanny had heard too many negroes complain that they had stripped cane for a week, to receive only a day’s pay. What negro upon Friendship plantation or at Unity, or Montpelier, or Windsor Hall, or any of the planted lands upon the island did agree to work by the task? None! She would not work by the task for, like a dog who will be fed once he has caught his own tail, the task might go on forever. And this she told the massa. And so did Anne and Elizabeth, Betsy and Nancy. Soon everyone upon Amity that the massa commanded to work at this task told him ‘no’. No! They will work by the day, and by the day alone as they had done before.

‘Then I require all negroes to work six days. The cane on those pieces can be taken off, stripped, the liquor struck and cooled ready for the hogsheads if everyone works six days,’ was the massa Goodwin’s proposal.

Six days a week! James Richards was sent to the massa to speak for all.

‘Me tell you what, massa,’ was how James began while looking firmly into the massa’s eye, ‘four days we work for you and we work hard.’

‘Four days? Four days a week would not be enough time. With four days working, most of the cane would spoil. It must be six.’

At this point in the talk James could see sparks of anger flickering in the massa’s eye. ‘Cannot you see it must be six?’ the massa went on, ‘Like it always was when the crop was ready to be taken off.’

James, fearing to vex the massa Goodwin further, stopped looking at him within his face.

‘You know that boy,’ the massa went on, ‘you’ve always been a good negro. Six days were worked for the last crop, when I was still your overseer. It must be six days with this. You would all still have a rest day upon Sunday for church or market. But you must work six days. Go and tell them, boy—all of you must work six days.’

James, not wishing to let the irritation he began to feel at the massa talking to him—a skilled carpenter and freeman!—like he was a slave to still be commanded, busied himself by tapping out the spent tobacco from his pipe upon a stone.

‘Are you listening to me?’ the massa suddenly shouted upon him.

‘Yes massa, me does hear you,’ James replied softly, ‘but me did say four days. This crop, it be four days we work.’

‘Six, damn you, six! Do you understand me? Every last one of you will work six days!’

It was then that James determined that he must speak sharp, for was he not free to be as vexed as any white bakkra? ‘We no longer slaves and we work what suits,’ said he. ‘We work what suits.’

Grumbling with a huff and puff while walking around and around like a beast at a mill, was the massa’s reply to those blessed, long-time-coming words, ‘we work what suits’. One hour, James Richards claimed the massa paced within this troubled state. Until, as James’s story told, the massa Goodwin stopped before him, took a sigh so deep the trees did bend within it and said, ‘Then tell me, how will any of you make your obligation for rent or food if you only work four days a week for me?’

Now, James had near three acres of provision land bursting with plantain, cocos, yam and corn. In a little corner section he had some pigeon peas and sweet potato. Two horned cattle he had grazing, and he had recently sold his young steer to the overseer at Somerset Pen for the market price of eighteen pounds.

Elizabeth Millar had five acres under shaddocks, callalloo, peppers and calabash. Mary Ellis made plenty profit from her half acre land of tobacco. While Fanny and Anne Roberts sold the meat from one of their heifers only last week to Molly in the great house kitchen, so she might serve it to the massa boiled with peppers and peas.

Betsy tended the best arrowroot upon the island within her garden. While Giles had money to waste upon gambling marbles, thanks to his three acres of limes, pawpaw, star apples and melon. And Samuel, with his fresh water turtles and salt fish business, was made a big man in town.

All worked their old provision grounds and gardens; for those lands that once they had been forced to tend as slaves so there might be food enough to eat, within the liberty of their freedom now flourished, with produce and profit. Even Wilfred Park made a living from hawking his eggs. While Peggy and Cornet turned a nice penny into plenty of pounds with their mule and cart, wobbling slow and piled high with goods to be carried to market.

James could not recall whether he spoke those words aloud into the massa’s ear about the negroes’ efforts upon their provision grounds, or whether the speech rested voiceless within his mouth. However, he did remember that when the massa said, ‘What a bunch of idle niggers you are,’ the foreboding James felt gripped around his throat to make him choke.

‘I expect you think your masters will just keep providing for you,’ the massa went on, ‘even when you refuse to do any work when it is required. Well, I will not. And if any of you do not make your rent, then you must leave your houses and your lands. So think upon it. Think very carefully upon it. Six days a week I require you all to work. Six days.’

When James, recovering his voice said, ‘No. Four days we work. Me say four days,’ the massa turned sharply upon him, raised his arm and swiped the pipe from out of James’s hand. He then stamped a jig upon the broken pieces of the bowl until it was nothing but dust.

Tilly cried when first she heard that the nice Robert Goodwin was troubled. She had never known this massa to raise his hand, nor even his voice, to her. Whenever he smiled a greeting upon her, he always asked if her old mama was still living. And once he presented her with a green kerchief for no reason other than she was happy to work for him.

Tilly wished to offer herself for six days working, as he wished, but Miss Nancy caught her wrist and twisted it, saying that the massa had struck the carpenter James Richards and so now everyone, including Miss Tilly, will work only four days.

So when a whole cane piece got spoiled after some cattle from the pen trampled in, there was no one about to drive them out, for nearly all were away working upon their grounds. Only Wilfred and Fanny were present. They flapped their arms, hollered, and chased the beasts through the cane to get them gone, but the mischief was done.

Tilly cried once more when she saw the menace in the massa’s eye when he came to the village to scold. He took the hat from his head and dashed it to the floor. Then he roared, ‘Where were the pen-keepers, why were they not with the cattle? Where were the watchmen? Why were the watch-fires all out? And why were no conches blown to summon help? One of my best cane fields was ruined, trampled to pieces, while you were all about your own business. Is that your gratitude to your masters? You care nothing for my interests—you think of no one but yourselves!’

And Tilly would have called out that she will work longer, just to cheer him, but Miss Nancy smothered her mouth, hurled her into her hut, and locked her in there.

Ezra was so surprised when, a few weeks later, he found a grinning massa Goodwin standing within his doorway, that he dropped the calabash he carried, which spilled the dirty water it held over the massa’s boot.

‘Ezra, Ezra, do not worry yourself about that, for I have something important I wish to ask you,’ the massa began before saying, ‘Are you happy, boy?’

Trick—this be a trick, Ezra thought, as the massa waited for his reply. Happy? Come, he had never heard that asked of him in the whole of his days and had no notion of what he should reply.

But the massa carried on, ‘Ezra, listen carefully to me,’ while leaning in close, like he had some secret for Ezra to learn. ‘Why do you not leave your provision lands and work just for me? I will pay you a good wage, better than any one in this parish. Enough for your rent, your food, and fine clothes for any wife you may wish to keep. You would want for nothing. And think, with that money upon your person, you would have no need to walk all the way to your lands, for you would have pennies enough. Imagine, you would not need to attend market every week—you could sleep in a hammock or go to church on a Sunday. And in the evenings you could have leisure to do whatever it is that you enjoy to do within the evenings. What do you think on that, Ezra?’