Page 36 of A Fire in Their Hearts

‘Oh, we know where they are,’ replies Rory, deadpan.

‘You’ll find them in the cemetery. You’ll work and eat by the bell.

When it rings at six in the morning, make sure you’re ready to leave.

When it rings at eleven, everyone, slaves and servants, goes back for a midday meal.

We go out again at the one o’clock bell and work until six.

We don’t work on Sundays, but if the mood takes him and he’s not too drunk, we have to listen to Drummond telling us how lucky we are and about how this is all part of God’s great plan. ’

‘We haven’t eaten since yesterday,’ says Calum.

‘That can’t be helped now. You’ll have to wait until the evening meal.’

‘What about water?’ asks Alan.

‘In that bucket over there. If it’s empty, ask one of the women to refill it.

Hunter and Findlay will be looking for an excuse to give you a beating so don’t wander off by yourself unless you need a shit, in which case there’s a ditch by that far edge.

You’ll find it by the smell. This is the only valid reason for you not to be working .

.?. that or the fact you’ve dropped down dead, and even then you might still get a beating. ’

*?*?*

My hands are sliced fiercely by an extremely tough vine which is like no plant I’ve ever encountered.

We’re told that these withes can rapidly invade a planted field, wrapping themselves around the sugar canes and pulling them down to the ground, destroying the crop.

Apparently withes and rats are constant enemies.

The female slaves show us how to dig out the roots using a small, specially shaped spade.

None of us can match them in effort or output, and by the time we hear the bell I can barely move my arms. We follow the women like ancient, bent figures almost in their grave.

Behind us, male slaves and servants head in from fields further away.

Calum comes up beside me. We haven’t spoken since starting the work.

‘You’re trembling,’ he says. ‘Will you make it back without help?’

‘Yes. I mustn’t draw attention to myself. It’s not far, then we can rest. We should speak to Rory, to understand more about this place. I think we can trust what he says.’

I try to smile, but my face won’t respond.

I want to take Calum in my arms, but we can’t show any physical affection towards each other.

I must always remember my new identity, though I wonder at the sanity of it and whether it’s me or the world that has gone mad.

How did a girl from the quiet Ayrshire village of Coylton end up on a plantation in Barbados disguised as a man?

The compound where the slaves and servants live is far enough from the big house to be out of sight of it. When we arrive, the six of us lie on the ground and I instantly fall into unconsciousness. It seems like minutes later when I feel someone kicking the sole of one of my feet.

‘Wake up if you want food,’ says Rory, walking along our line and waking each of us with a kick. ‘You can sleep later. Come on! If you miss this meal, you’ll be hungry until tomorrow.’

My entire body feels as though it’s in spasm and it requires a huge effort to roll on to my front in order to get to my knees and then stand.

‘You can eat with any of the men but stay clear of the women. You might work alongside them during the day, but once that bell goes, you don’t speak to them unless there’s a really good reason, and that needs to be a really good reason to Drummond, and even the Lord Almighty doesn’t know what goes on in his head. ’

Rory is surprisingly honest about the owner but, as with earlier, we are the only people who can hear him. He’s looking at me and I feel as if he’s almost reading my thoughts. There’s a keen mind behind his gruff exterior.

‘Never openly criticise Drummond or the others. What I’ve said to you today is for your ears only. You keep your mouths shut. Understood?’

We murmur or nod our replies and follow him in silence to an area where three of the older, less able male slaves are serving food from a couple of long planks set upon the stumps of two trees.

As we shuffle forward in the queue, I can see the food more clearly.

I don’t know what the first item is. Calum has obviously had the same thought as he asks Rory, who’s just in front of us.

‘What’s the yellow stuff?’

‘Loblolly,’ says Rory. ‘It’s maize, pounded with a mortar and boiled in water until you get a thick substance that can be cut up into slices. You won’t be here long before you have nightmares about having to eat more loblolly. Isn’t that right, Abraham?’

‘I dream every night it’s chasing me through the fields,’ says a black man ahead.

‘Do you ever get caught?’

‘Not yet, Rory, but I’m slowing down.’

‘Keep running, my friend,’ says Rory. ‘In your dreams you can run.’

We each pick up a wooden plate and spoon then we’re served a slice along with a ladle of green beans which I don’t recognise.

We help ourselves to something called a potato, which is hot, and a hunk of strange-looking bread.

Trying to work out what this is made of defeats me.

It’s not from any type of flour that I know.

As if an unspoken decision has been made, the three of us find somewhere together. Around us, small groups gather and sit quietly talking and eating. The women and children are further away. As usual I let Calum speak for both of us.

‘I’m Calum and this is Douglas. How did you end up here?’

‘Because I was stupid enough to believe the lies that the English bastards told us in Ireland. The whole country was starving. People were dying in their beds and dropping in the street. So the English, ever keen to rid themselves of the troublesome Catholic population, promised us a new beginning in America .?.?. plenty of good jobs and food plus fertile land just waiting to be ploughed.’ He shakes his head ruefully.

‘Of course, no one had money for the journey, so the offer was that if we agreed to be indentured servants for five years, that would cover our transportation and after that we would be freed and given an agreed amount of money.’

‘There were others with you?’

‘Three of us from Kilmurry in County Clare. On the day we arrived, it became clear immediately that we weren’t servants in any sense that we would have understood, and if we broke any Barbados laws, we would be punished by having our period of servitude extended. I’ve had mine increased by four years.’

‘That’s a huge amount! Why?’

‘Because one day I ran away. I hardly got beyond the next plantation before the slave hunters and their damn bloodhounds caught up and brought me back in chains.’

‘And the other two from Ireland?’

‘Dead from being overworked, poorly fed, disease. There’s always sickness somewhere but every few years something serious sweeps throughout the island, killing large numbers. The only things you can guarantee will grow are cemeteries and sugar cane.’

We’re silent for a while, trying to digest the strange food as well as the information we’re being given.

‘Don’t try to understand Barbados by comparing it to anything you’ve ever known in Scotland,’ says Rory.

‘The rules are made by a handful of powerful men who are themselves ruled by making money. In years gone by there were ex- Cavaliers and Roundheads who would have been the fiercest of enemies in Britain, while here they were great friends because their success as landowners depended upon them sticking together. Now we’re into the next generations of those people.

‘Amongst the forced indentured servants like you, there used to be captured Royalist soldiers defeated by Cromwell working alongside captured Covenanters sent here by the king. Poor Irish and rich Scottish lairds worked alongside convicts and killers, as well as a few ordinary folk spirited from the streets.’

‘Spirited?’ asks Calum.

‘Kidnapped. It’s a very lucrative business. Gangs operate around ports like Liverpool, Bristol and London. But those unfortunate souls tend to be shipped to Virgina or Maryland, in America. There are even a couple of free men here on the Drummond plantation.’

‘What, completely free?’

‘Yes. If people have the money to pay for their passage, then they emigrate, arriving at their destination without any obligations. They can then sell their craft. The blacksmith and carpenter make a good living from their labours. Despite being English, they’re good men – just don’t cross them.

The most important man here is a slave called Thaddeus.

He runs the boiling-house and has the greatest understanding of the entire sugar-making process of anyone.

That’s him over there, talking to Shoshana. ’ He dips his head in their direction.

‘I thought men couldn’t talk to women.’

‘Even McKinnon would hesitate to hurt Thaddeus.’

Calum and I are silent. The enormity of what we are being told is almost beyond our comprehension.

‘Whatever you may be feeling, be grateful you’re servants and not slaves,’ says Rory.

‘These days, they provide the main labour on the plantations. You’ll find every type of owner, even religious groups like Quakers and Anglicans who conveniently convince themselves that it says in the Bible they can own heathens.

They’re brought from all over Africa and often deliberately mixed up so their different languages make it much more difficult to organise a revolt. ’

‘Revolt?’

‘It happens. In the past the blacks and the Irish have sometimes risen up together.’

‘They’ve never succeeded?’ asks Calum.

‘No, and the retributions have been terrible. Oh, the owners might despise the blacks, but by God they hate the Irish.’

A man who barely looks eighteen walks past and Rory calls him over. ‘Thomas, this is Douglas and Calum. They’re Covenanters.’

We say hello and the man nods in reply before walking on without speaking or even looking at our faces. Once he’s moved away, Rory speaks again.

‘Thomas is a Covenanter.’