Page 41 of A Fire in Their Hearts

W E’VE ALL BEEN GATHERED NEAR the punishment post. Drummond (I may call him ‘master’ when speaking but never in my head) is standing in his pulpit.

He stares at us in silence and I’ve come to realise this is part of his method of instilling fear amongst us.

It works. The longer he remains silent the more I hear people around me moan and break into sobs.

Near to me, Joseph stands, hunched over like an old man and trembling uncontrollably.

‘It pains me to damage my own property. What sane man would want to do such a thing?’

He says the same words every time someone is to be punished.

It’s sickening, as if implying he’s the one suffering.

I’m not the only one to have been shocked beyond belief at the brutality inflicted upon the slaves, and this is often in situations where they can’t possibly work any harder or faster.

I’ve come to understand that sometimes this is not the aim, it’s to create a constant state of terror.

‘You know what I’m talking about. One of you is guilty of stealing. Come forward now and own up to your theft.’

Nobody moves.

‘If no one admits to their heinous crime then one of you will be chosen at random.’

A couple of the women begin wailing and I sense that some of the men are not too far behind. Drummond’s control over people is astonishing. We all look at the ground as if this will make us invisible. Without any warning Findlay grabs my arm and pulls me out of the line.

‘So be it,’ says Drummond. ‘Let this man take the blame.’

‘Master!’ cries Calum, stepping forward. ‘It was me! I stole. You should punish me and let this innocent man go.’

Drummond studies both of us. ‘Well, what do we have here, Mister McKinnon? A man offering to take a flogging for another.’

‘It doesn’t seem right to me, Mister Drummond.’

‘Nor me, Mister McKinnon. Nor me. The strange thing is I don’t believe him, so why would a man make such an unnatural gesture? Tie him to the post.’

Calum takes a step, but Hunter pushes him back and I’m pulled roughly towards the whipping post. My legs collapse beneath me and I plead for mercy as I’m dragged along the ground. I try to hold on to my garments, but Findlay and Hunter take an arm each and rip the shirt from my body.

In front of me McKinnon looks on in surprise. ‘What’s this?’

He finds a loose end of the material around my breasts and starts to unwind it. Layer by layer, the overseer peels away the binding and my secret. My back is to Drummond and he doesn’t understand why McKinnon stands staring at me once the material lies on the ground.

‘What’s the problem, Mister McKinnon?’

‘Tits, Mister Drummond.’

‘What!’

‘This person has tits.’

Findlay and Hunter laugh. Moments later Drummond stands in front of me and without warning he grabs my breeches and yanks them down to my ankles. Now I’m naked, my arms held outstretched and no way to shield any part of my body.

‘Not just tits, Mister McKinnon.’

I’m crying. I can’t help it.

‘Well, in all my years,’ says Drummond. ‘A woman disguised as a man. Why would anyone do such a thing, I wonder?’

‘Shall I continue?’

‘No, Mister McKinnon. Indeed, no. You don’t spoil a rare gift such as this.’ Drummond lays a huge hairy hand on one of my breasts and leaves it there while he considers. ‘Let her go. Whip the blond. Extra lashes, Mister McKinnon, for he’s tried to make us look foolish by keeping such a secret.’

*?*?*

Four men carry Calum into the hut and gently place him face down on a bed.

His back is hardly recognisable as flesh and it’s all I can do not to be sick.

My father had to treat men on board ship who had been flogged and even he used to say there was little that could be done.

Calum is barely conscious, moaning occasionally but not moving.

A slave brings over a jug. ‘It’s Kill-Devil. If you can get him to drink, it will help ease his pain.’

‘What else can I do?’

The man shakes his head. ‘Keep the rats off him. They’ll be attracted by the smell of blood.’

However, we hear Hunter shouting from outside that we’re to go back to work.

Those around me start to make their way outside and I don’t know what to do.

I can’t leave Calum alone. Just at that moment a figure slips into the hut.

It’s Naomi, who is considered the wisest of the women. She’s certainly the oldest.

‘I will sit with him,’ she says. ‘You must go. I will stay until you return.’

‘Thank you.’

I take one last look at my beautiful Calum, who I held in my arms as a baby, and leave him to the care of this stranger.

*?*?*

I sit by Calum’s bed that night, thinking how people are bound to the plantation by chains of fear that hold them more securely than those used with the largest of ship’s anchors. That’s why the door to the hut isn’t locked and there are no fences. The boundaries are as much in our minds.

And now my secret is out. I’m a woman in a hut full of men, yet everyone carries on as if there’s no difference and I feel completely safe, for there is more honour and decency in this stinking, festering hut than in the grand court of the King of Scotland. Calum moans and I take his hand in mine.

‘Shhh, I’m here, my love. You’re safe now.’

Around me are the sounds of the night. The noises of animals and birds outside join snoring, weeping and the occasional cry of someone reliving in their dreams the nightmare that is their life.

I’m so exhausted I feel my head dropping and have to force myself to keep awake.

A figure walks quietly towards me in the gloom and for a moment I’m not sure if I’m imagining it.

‘You can’t sit awake all night,’ he says.

‘I must.’

‘I promise I will keep him safe for the next few hours and then hand over to another who will do the same. We look after each other and you cannot do this alone throughout the night.’

He’s right. I can’t do it. For the second time that day I rely on strangers for the care of this person I love so much.

*?*?*

Three days have passed since Calum was beaten and he’s been cared for more by the male and female slaves than by me.

They’re used to having to look after someone who’s been whipped.

They say it’s unusual for a servant to be pulled out of a line and beaten like this, but that strange things happen on this plantation.

Rory is right: Drummond is a mad bastard.

I’ve fallen asleep on the floor when something wakes me, although I’m not sure what.

In the gloom of the rushlights I see Abraham sitting by Calum’s bed, gently fanning him with a large plantain leaf to try and cool him down as his temperature has been fierce.

What’s woken me is a strange light and when I glance towards the source I see McKinnon holding a lantern, walking silently amongst the sleeping figures. He’s checking faces.

When he gets nearer, I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep.

It doesn’t do any good. Moments later I feel him kicking my foot.

I can’t simply ignore it and when I raise my head he indicates that I should follow him.

I stand up. Abraham has stopped fanning and watches in silence.

Cautiously I step between the men. Once outside McKinnon quietly closes the door.

‘The master wants you.’

‘Why?’

He laughs. It’s a horrible sound. ‘Don’t be stupid. He wants you.’

The overseer grips my left arm firmly and marches me all the way to the big house.

The opulence in the entrance hall is staggering but there’s no time to notice details as we walk up the wide staircase and along a corridor.

He knocks on a door, opens it without waiting for a reply, and pushes me inside.

The bedroom is enormous, the expensive furniture and fittings illuminated brightly by numerous tall candles. Drummond stands near a bureau drinking from a crystal glass and studying me across a deep red rug that probably cost more than the manse in Coylton.

‘What’s your name?’

My body is trembling so much I can hardly speak. ‘Violet.’

‘And why are you here, Violet, pretending to be a man?’

I hesitate yet can’t think of a benefit in not telling the truth, at least enough of it to explain how I’ve ended up in Barbados. He watches me intently as I relate my story and, surprisingly, he appears genuinely interested. There is intelligence behind those eyes, alongside the evil.

‘I’ve not had a white woman in a long time, so you and I are going to get to know each other really well.’

He says this as if speaking at a town meeting while I almost collapse on the floor in fright. I force myself to reply with as much confidence as possible.

‘I’m a decent, Christian, Scottish woman, married before the minister to a good man. To touch me in any sort of intimate or inappropriate way would be an affront to God.’

His smile is terrifying. ‘You’re new, so I’ll make a few allowances for your ignorance.

The first thing you have to realise is that there’s no God here.

While you’re on this plantation you belong to me, Violet, from your tiny toes to the hairs on your head and all those secret bits in between. I’m the only God you need.’

‘That’s blasphemy.’

He walks into the centre of the room, spreading out his arms and spilling spirit on to the rug without a care. ‘Strike me down for my blasphemy!’ He laughs as he turns a full circle to face me once again. ‘See, no God. Now, what do you think we should do?’

‘You should return me to the hut.’

‘What would a decent, Christian, Scottish woman want with a hut full of men?’

I’m still near the door but trying to escape would be futile. I sense that McKinnon is outside, listening.

‘Come here.’

I don’t move.

‘Come here.’

I take a couple of steps towards him and stop.

‘Take off your clothes.’