Page 39 of A Fire in Their Hearts

I T’S SUNDAY MORNING, THERE’S BEEN no bell and the pleasure of sleeping is unbelievable. I eat another meal of loblolly while sitting outside amongst servants and slaves. People are mainly quiet and reflective, although there is definitely a change compared to the last two days.

Hunter comes over. ‘Irish, collect clothes for them before going to the beach.’

‘The beach?’ asks Alan, once Hunter has left.

‘This plantation reaches the shore,’ says Rory. ‘Every Sunday morning we all go there to scrub ourselves and our clothes. You can stink like a corpse during the week, but Drummond expects everyone to be clean on a Sunday.’

Rory goes off and returns with a new pair of coarse linen drawers and a shirt plus shoes for the six of us.

Shortly after this we set off with everyone else, some slaves carrying large wicker baskets fitted with lids.

I can just make out near the front that children and adults with long sticks are herding dozens upon dozens of noisy turkeys, which set the speed for those walking behind.

We head in a different direction to the one we’ve previously taken, through parts of the compound we’ve not been in.

The number of buildings, huts and structures is greater than you would find in many Ayrshire villages.

The purpose of some is obvious, like the blacksmith’s forge, but the reason for many is a mystery; presumably they’re needed for processing the sugar cane.

We pass enclosures containing mules and hogs, as well as pens for hens and a species of black duck I’ve never seen before.

Until now I’ve only been aware of sugar canes disappearing into the distance as far as I can see, but this morning we pass large areas set aside as pasture for horses and oxen, which munch away with no interest in people passing by.

Thomas is close to us. We’ve yet to speak to him following our brief introduction by Rory, but Calum sees his chance now.

‘Thomas, why are there turkeys ahead?’

The young man studies us as we walk, until finally, he replies. ‘They’re being taken to the potatoes.’

‘To eat them?’

‘To eat caterpillars. The crop is infested and the most effective way to get rid of them is to let the turkeys roam free. They won’t stray and will easily be gathered up and driven back later today.’ Thomas looks at the ground to indicate that the conversation is over.

We continue in silence for a short while before I speak quietly to Calum. ‘Samuel once said that my eyebrows were like caterpillars.’

‘Did he?’

‘We were so young and innocent and in love back then.’

‘I miss him every minute,’ says Calum. ‘He was always there watching out for me.’

‘How did our youth and innocence leave us so totally, almost without us realising?’ I ask.

‘But there’s still love,’ he says. ‘And that has to be the most important.’

It’s not long before we reach long rows of mounded earth and watch as the turkeys head eagerly into the foliage to gorge themselves on the tiny enemy. They’ve clearly done this before and are left to it while everyone moves on at a faster pace.

We pass fields growing cotton, corn and the green beans we’ve so far had with every meal and which I’ve heard called bonavist. A little further on we walk by several acres used for fruits and there are extraordinary, lush displays that leave us wide-eyed.

‘Is this real?’ says Calum.

I’m too astonished at the scenery to ask which bit of the surrounding land he’s referring to.

For a while everything is hidden when we enter an area enclosed by thick vegetation that’s growing wild, then the path suddenly opens up to reveal the beach.

I’m so awed by the view that I don’t immediately realise the hot, white sand is teeming with crabs crawling in every direction.

‘I’ve never even imagined there could be somewhere like this,’ says Calum.

People come past us on either side and those already ahead make for the water, stripping off their clothes as they get nearer .?.?. slaves and servants, men, women and children.

‘Calum.’

‘I see.’

‘What am I going to do?’

Without me realising, Alan has caught up and overheard our exchange.

‘Douglas,’ he says, almost hesitating, ‘we know there is an important secret to be kept. Why don’t the six of us go to the furthest point allowed and keep close together?’

I can’t think of anything else to suggest so we survivors of the Crown of London walk along the beach to a tall wooden post that marks the boundary of where we’re permitted.

‘What happens if we carry on?’ I ask.

‘We get shot, or at least shot at,’ says Calum, tilting his head towards the rocks.

‘Look up there. Apparently McKinnon always sits on that rock with his musket. Findlay is somewhere close by with his. Even if you could avoid them by swimming out of range along the shoreline there’s nowhere to escape to around this part of the island. ’

I wonder how much thought Calum has already given to escaping. Just like in Greyfriars, he’s not one to give up.

‘Well, let’s try to get ourselves clean,’ I say.

The men position themselves so that anyone looking in our direction while we undress would be unlikely to see anything amiss and we walk into the sea in our little group. I’ve unwound the long strip of material that I use to bind my breasts and carry this with me so that I can wash it.

My skin has been cut, bitten by insects and rats and is still covered in the sores that developed during our long imprisonment.

We’re all in the same sorry state and enter the sea with small, hesitant steps because every inch that the water creeps up our bodies results in severe stinging, making us gasp and cry out.

However, once I’ve reached a certain depth, I let myself fall forward to be immersed and get the last of the stabbing pains over with in one go.

Sound and vision are instantly muted and I expect it to feel good, but within seconds my lungs squeeze tight with panic.

The sea pulls me violently through the broken hull of the ship.

There’s no air, only water. Samuel’s gone.

I’m drowning, drowning. Frantically I thrash about as if I’ve never swum in my life. My head eventually breaks the surface.

‘Help me! Help me!’

Calum has hold of one of my arms, although at first I don’t realise. ‘You’re safe. Put your feet down.’

‘What!’

‘Put your feet down.’

I stand and discover that the water only comes up to my shoulders.

‘I thought .?.?.’

‘Yes, I know. I’ve already had to stand Alan upright. We’ve all got that memory. Just swim about here for a while and don’t go out of your depth. You’ll soon be fine.’

I stick close to the shore. Further along the beach people wash themselves then retrieve their clothes and clean them.

I do my best to wash the strip of binding material and Calum takes it back to lay out on the sand.

When I try to remove the dirt from my body, it’s so engrained into the skin that I’m having little success.

Calum comes over to me holding a clump of seaweed in his hand.

‘Your back looks awful. Let me try this.’

Gently he begins to wipe my neck and shoulders.

The seaweed is much more effective than using fingers and soon we’ve each of us got a handful of the plant and are rubbing our arms and legs, with people helping others when they can’t reach an area.

Inch by inch, the layers of dirt wash off.

I could weep with relief to feel a little more human again.

When our group walks back on to the beach the men shield me, acting so like older brothers that I’m reminded of the time Calum, Hamish and Samuel shielded me while I changed into men’s clothing in Greyfriars Kirkyard, in a life so long ago it’s difficult to believe it was mine.

I quickly rebind my breasts then we dress in our new clothes.

With no orders to do anything else, we find a spot clear of crabs and lie down to watch the activities taking place.

I hadn’t realised that nets had been brought with us and a large number of the male slaves and servants are spread out in the water in a huge semicircle.

It’s obvious they’ve done this before as they’re working efficiently together to force fish into the shallows, where women and children skilfully scoop them up using shallow trugs made of something that looks like willow.

Others pick up crabs and put them into the large wicker baskets, the lids held down with a heavy stone or a small child to prevent escape.

‘This is an extraordinary place,’ says Alan. ‘It could be paradise.’

‘Perhaps it is for a few,’ says Calum. ‘As for everyone else .?.?.’

‘It’s Hell,’ I say, ‘worse than the strictest of ministers has ever described during the fiercest of sermons.’

Everyone agrees.

*?*?*

People rarely know if Drummond is going to speak from his pulpit on a Sunday until he actually does.

Today he’s ridden off to another plantation with Isaac, his personal body slave, so we know this is not happening.

It seems there’s always an unease about the place whether he’s here or not.

McKinnon beats people to make them work faster but he tends not to bother much when they’re not in the fields.

However, since Hunter and Findlay enjoy inflicting pain, Sundays can be even more dangerous if they can get away with their brutality unchecked.

Everyone heads back together, the baskets so heavy with the catch that they’re carried between two men.

When we reach the fields growing fruit, people stop at the plantains and I discover adults are allowed one bunch each per week.

An older male slave takes charge, ensuring that a similar amount is handed out to each person.

We wait our turn then continue our journey carrying a bunch of plantains. It’s far heavier than I expected.