“Look, masra,” he said, and pointed into the distance when Rutger had come to stand next to him. There hung three naked figures on a large tree, hands bound together with the rope fastened to a branch. The overseer stood alongside and watched how the basya dealt out whip lashes to one of the hanging figures.
“Come, quickly,” said Rutger, and, still in his night attire and slippers, he ran down the stairs and into the open, followed by Alex.
“Stop!” called Rutger, when he had reached the spot. The basya looked at the overseer, who nodded briefly, and then stopped with the flogging.
“Release them,” ordered Rutger.
The basya looked again at the overseer and began, once he had nodded, to lower the hanging bodies and cut them loose. The overseer’s face was strained. He did not like this interference with his business and usually the owner let him have his way. But on this occasion the owner had said that every effort must be made to please Rutger.
“Why the flogging?” Rutger now asked the overseer.
“They deserve it. That one there,” and he pointed to the negro who had just been whipped, “has stolen dram, and that one” (pointing to the other) “is more lazy than tired; and this here,” poking his stick into the girl’s breast, for the third figure was a girl of perhaps sixteen, “has insulted me.”
“Insulted you?” asked Rutger, amazed. “How so?”
“She spat in my face.”
“Oh yes, and when?”
Rutger looked towards the girl, who, her hands still bound, was looking at her feet.
“Yesterday evening, uh, night,” retorted the overseer curtly.
“Hmmm, then your face was certainly very close to hers,” remarked Rutger calmly.
“Why have you been stealing?”39 he asked the slave who was supposed to have been stealing dram.
“I haven’t been stealing, masra. It fell on the ground,”40 came the answer in a whisper.
“And you, you won’t work?”41
The man turned around in silence and showed Rutger his back. From top to bottom it was covered with huge gashes and festering wheals. The result of a previous flogging.
“You aren’t working today,” said Rutger to him. “Go to the medicine man.”42
“Well, enough flogging for today,” continued Rutger, now addressing the overseer. “Have they had their daily rations yet?”
“No, not yet,” came the answer.
“Well, wait with their distribution; I want to be there. Come along, Alex.” And with great strides Rutger returned to the house.
Half an hour later at the ration distribution, he looked at what the slaves received.
“Is that all?” he asked, pointing to the few pieces of sweet potato and the miniscule pieces of fish. “No wonder they’re so thin and cannot work. Quadruple the portions and give more fish.”
“There is no more fish: after all, it was they themselves who set fire to the warehouse.” The overseer made it clear that he wasn’t enamoured with Rutger’s interference.
“Well, give them eggs, then. There are eggs. And give milk for all small children and pregnant mothers.”
“Milk and eggs?” The overseer could not believe his ears.
“Yes, and hurry up.” And then pointing to the young slave, “Go to the kitchen and fetch the cook.”43 When the astonished cook arrived, Rutger said to her, “Are there milk and eggs in the kitchen?”44
“Yes masra,” said the woman with a slight bow.
“Have them brought here.”45
Everything else passed without a fuss.
An iron pan with milk was brought and a basket of eggs, and everything was distributed among the slaves, who could hardly conceal their astonishment. At the breakfast table Mr Jeremiah said to Rutger that he hoped he would not mind going alone with the overseer into the fields, as he himself did not ride a horse any more.
During the journey on horseback through the cane fields, Rutger tried to get overseer Vredelings talking. He enquired how he found working on the plantation.
“It’s all right,” Vredelings mumbled. “Far from the town, but, well, the boss doesn’t bother himself much with things. Of course it would be better if that black rubbish would work harder and not be so untrustworthy.”
“I have heard that there was recently a kind of uprising or something of the sort,” said Rutger now, in the hope that Vredelings would respond. But he said only, “They did try, but we soon dealt with them and got even with the leaders. You have to do it that way, or you’ll be finished.”
Rutger realized that he would not get much further with the overseer. He was curious as to whether Alex would ever get the chance to hear something from the slaves. No, if he really wanted to know what had happened, he would have to think of something else. What if he tried with one of the slave-girls who had so generously been offered to him yesterday evening. That was an idea.
The sun was burning, the journey long. Everywhere they went there was a silent group working hard, and the basya stood on the side with a whip in one hand and a machete in the other. No-one looked up; no-one stopped working.
Returning from the journey round the fields, they stopped off at the sugar mill. There the cane was crushed between three cylindrical rollers, through which each stem passed twice. The sap was collected and channelled off to the boiler house, to be received in a huge wooden vat. From there it was strained off into a large iron pan, known as a kapa. It was boiled, and impurities were removed before it was led into the following kapa, with further boiling and purifying. It was then boiled to double thickness and a kind of acid was added to promote crystallization. Thereafter the mass was boiled more and more to thicken. When it passed finally into the wooden coolers, it was all constantly stirred and shaken. After that, the thick, syrupy liquid would pass into a hogshead. Through small openings it was given a final drying. This liquid was called molasses. After this last processing, the sugar was ready to be shipped to Europe, where it would be refined and moulded in large blocks. In those days around 10 000 tonnes of sugar was transported to Amsterdam each year. Molasses were usually shipped to North America.
Rutger walked around, going from the sugar mill, which was powered by a waterwheel, to the kitchen, to look around there. No-one said anything; no-one stopped working.
When he was back in the sugar mill and happened to be looking through the window, he suddenly heard a coarse scream behind him. He jerked round. Murmuring, shouting, calling from the direction of the slaves. He heard the basya shout something angrily, and as he looked again, he saw a severed black hand between the rollers. The man who had been tending the crushing machine stood wide-eyed, gazing at his wrist, from which blood was pouring and to which there was no longer a hand attached. A few seconds later he fell to the ground in a faint. What had happened? A moment’s inattention on the part of the slave. But working with the crusher was extremely dangerous. If only a finger got caught between the cylinders, the whole hand and then the arm and then the whole body of the unfortunate would be dragged in and crushed before anyone could stop the cogwheel. To prevent this happening, the solution was to cut off the hand or arm. Therefore, there was always a basya standing with a razor-sharp axe next to the crusher.
Rutger was dumb with horror. He looked at the black hand between the rollers and at the man who lay there bleeding on the ground.
“Get up, man, get up,”46 the basya called, kicking at the motionless body.
“Mr Vredelings,” Rutger shouted.
Vredelings came in, and when he saw what had happened, said calmly, “What an idiot. Stop the cogwheel.”
A slave had already run outside to stop the wheel. Mr Vredelings said to the basya, “Remove the hand, or the sugar will be spoilt,”47 and to his errand boy he said, “Call the medicine man.”48 The medicine man came and the still unconscious body was dragged outside. Water was thrown on his face and he was given some dram to drink. Then he was taken by another man to the slave huts to be further attended to there by
the medicine man.
All this time Rutger had said nothing. He could only look at the hand on the crusher, at the man on the ground and at all that blood. Only one thought went through his mind: all this for sugar, and a pound of sugar cost five cents! Five cents for a pound of sugar, and how many hands, arms, legs and human lives were sacrificed for this! He looked towards Mr Vredelings, for whom such a thing was apparently completely normal, for as soon as the victim had been removed from the building he called another slave to the crusher, saying roughly, “And take more care, you.”49
And everything carried on as if nothing had happened.
During lunch the incident came up in conversation, and Jeremiah’s only comment was, “Those ruffians should simply pay more attention.”
When they were leaving the table, Rutger said to his host, “You know, Mr Jeremiah, I would very much like to take you up on your offer of that slave-girl for this evening.”
Mr Jeremiah looked pleasantly surprised. “Ah, that is good. Do you perhaps have a preference?” “Well, not really. I’ll be pleased to leave the choice completely to the experienced judgement of your overseer,” responded Rutger, with a nod towards Mr Vredelings. He pushed his chair back and stood up, saying, “With your permission I’ll take my nap now.”
That evening there were no visitors from the neighbouring plantation. The three men sat talking, and the conversation concerned mainly the economic situation in the colony. Sugar was a much sought-after commodity on the European market, coffee and cocoa, too. Things were looking good for all the plantation owners. The banks in the Netherlands were generous with credit. If only that black rabble would work a bit harder. They were quite capable of this. They were strong, and after all, God had created the negro race solely for the purpose of working as slaves for the whites. When Rutger asked the men how they knew this so surely, Jeremiah replied, “Come, come, young man: it is written at length in the Torah.”
“Well,” retorted Rutger, “I have read the Old Testament from beginning to end, and I have never come across that passage. But perhaps your Torah and my Old Testament are not one and the same.”
Rutger went to his room early. After he had undressed and Alex had taken his boots with him, he lay on the large bed with his hands folded under his head. He watched a kamrawintje, a small salamander, which was creeping along the ceiling looking for mosquitoes. Suddenly there came a timid knock at the door, and upon his “Yes” a girl was pushed inside. Rutger sat up. He was shocked. He had expected a girl, a young woman, but what was standing by the door was a child, a thin, small girl, thirteen or at the most fourteen years old. She hung her head and was terrified. You could see this from her trembling fingers, creasing the lower edge of her loincloth. So, the overseer had clearly thought to do him a favour by sending him an untouched little virgin. The bastard! And then suddenly again the image of the crushed hand in the rollers. Now this scared child, and this all for the sugar.
“What’s your name, girl?”50 asked Rutger now.
Very softly came, “Afanaisa, masra.”
“Afanaisa,” said Rutger softly, and again, “Afanaisa.” He looked at the child, shook his head slowly, and then stretched out his hand and told her, “You don’t need to be afraid. I’m not going to do anything. Come here.”51 The child shuffled a few steps nearer, but still stayed out of reach. Now he said, “Who has sent you here?”52
“The basya, masra,” came the whispered answer.
So, the overseer had left it to the basya to take care of this little job. Bastards, those bastards, thought Rutger again.
“Do you know what you have to do here?”53 Rutger asked.
“I don’t know, masra,”54 was the answer, but Rutger suspected that she knew very well what it was all about.
“Have you ever slept with a man?”55 asked Rutger.
The girl glanced at him: “No masra.”
“What does your mother think about this?”56 asked Rutger.
“I have no mother, masra.”57
“Afanaisa, you can go back. I shall do nothing to you.”58 Rutger had stood up and was next to the girl, but she did not leave. She remained standing there, looking at her feet. “You really may go,” Rutger repeated.
Really softly she now asked, “Is the masra not going to break me in?”59
“No, child, I shall not do that.”60
Still she did not leave, but whispered in great embarrassment, “It would be better for the masra to do that.”61
Rutger understood nothing of this. Did the child know what she was saying? With a finger he lifted the girl’s chin so that he could look into her face. Tears were in her eyes and she blinked briefly. “Why do you want me to break you in?”62 Rutger now asked gently. While the child answered, a tear rolled down her cheek. “Otherwise the basya will thrash me.”63
Now it was clear to Rutger. He also understood immediately how the Basya would discover this. Oh bastards, rotten bastards. What should he now do with the child? He was absolutely not intending to misuse her, but neither could she go back. Would he have to keep her there in his room the whole night through? Not knowing what to do, he began pacing up and down the room. Then he went to sit on the bed again and said to the girl, pointing to the floor opposite the bed, “Sit down.”
The child sat on the floor. Rutger now said, “I shan’t do anything to you, Afanaisa. You don’t have to be afraid. No-one will know what happened here, not even the basya; I’ll take care of that. But I’m going to ask you a few questions and you must give me exact answers. Is that good?”64
The child nodded. And so Rutger came to hear what exactly had caused the uprising.
Overseer Vredelings would have all young women come to spend a few nights with him in his home. At a certain moment he had set eyes on a certain Sylvia, the wife of a large negro man named Kwaku. This Kwaku had said to his wife that she must ignore the white supervisor Vredelings’ order and not go to him. When the overseer realized this, he had several basyas tie Kwaku to a tree and had him watch while he raped Sylvia. Not once, but three times.
When Kwaku was released he had been unable to do anything, for the white supervisor walked round with a gun and there were always two basyas with him with razor-sharp axes. Even so, two of Kwaku’s friends had managed to talk to him, and the three of them would run away with Sylvia. But before they did that, they would start fires. They began in the warehouse. A large group joined them, but Vredelings had smelled trouble, and Kwaku and Sylvia had been shot dead immediately. Help had arrived from a military camp in the neighbourhood, and once the slaves had seen the soldiers with their weapons they had stopped everything out of fear. Because it was not known precisely who had and who had not taken part in the uprising, punishment was meted out by depriving all slaves of food for two whole days and giving all the men a whipping.
Afanaisa was saying nothing without prompting. Rutger had constantly to ask questions, and she would answer precisely the question that had been asked, and nothing more, before falling silent again. But even so, Rutger eventually came to know everything. Around eleven o’clock – the girl had been in his room for about two hours – Rutger had Alex come in. He said that Alex must take the girl back to her hut and say there that no-one must approach her.
She must return the next day. When he saw Alex looking at him somewhat reproachfully, he said quickly in Dutch, “I haven’t touched her, Alex, but she is scared of the basya.”
When Alex left the girl at her hut, he said to the woman who opened the door, “Masra says that no man must touch her, otherwise he’ll get a beating.”65
And so it was that every evening thereafter, Afanaisa came to the masra’s room, and every evening she sat on the floor and answered the questions. After a few evenings she dared to reveal more, and so Rutger came to know a lot about Jericho.
While Mr Jeremiah’s wife was still alive it had indeed been a prim plantation and a decent household. Perhaps not pleasant or amicable as far as the slaves were concerned, for Mrs J
eremiah was also a merciless mistress who did not spare the whip. But in those days the slaves always had enough to eat and she saw to it that the sick were properly tended. Children and pregnant women were cared for exceptionally well, for the misi knew well that they were her best investment. The masra had always been indifferent, and had drunk and played cards a lot. Everything had gone really wrong only when, two years ago, the previous white supervisor had left and Mr Vredelings had come in his place.
When, after ten days or so, Rutger told Afanaisa that he was grateful to her and wanted to give her a coin, she began to weep and pleaded, “Please, masra, take me with you, please take me with you. The basya will whip me. I implore you, masra.”66
The following morning Rutger took his leave of Masra Jeremiah and said, “You will hear from us very quickly, Mr Jeremiah. It seems best to me that you come to the office in a week or two’s time. And, oh, yes, I’ll buy that slave-girl from you.”
Mr Jeremiah’s semi-toothless mouth opened in a wide grin when he heard this, and he said with a raised finger, “Didn’t I tell you, Le Chasseur, that my girls would be to your liking?”
Three weeks later, Daniel Jeremiah stood once again in Mr van Omhoog’s office. Mr van Omhoog told him that he and his companion had decided on the following. The company would extend Jeremiah’s loan under certain conditions. The white supervisor Mr Vredelings must be replaced.
Mr Jeremiah had absolutely no objection to this. He had always suspected that Mr Vredelings was not that good a white supervisor. While saying this he contentedly rubbed his fat hands together. Mr van Omhoog went on, “The new overseer will remain in the service of this administrators’ office. He will report monthly to this office, will receive his salary directly from us, and will carry out the orders given by this office. We will find another plantation for Vredelings. There are always plantations needing a white supervisor.”
If Mr Jeremiah was in agreement with everything, he could meet the new overseer straightaway. He could then travel back with him and he could send Vredelings back. Mr Jeremiah was in agreement with everything. This was a load off his mind. Le Chasseur was not so bad after all. He had obviously enjoyed the delicious meals and the delicious women on the plantation.
The Cost of Sugar Page 9
