The Cost of Sugar

by Cynthia McLeod

  154 “No, no, e m’ma no de, ma Hendrik habi wan uma now, misi Meta, wan mooi malata uma, den gowe so sei.”

  155 “San de fu du Mini-mini, y’e siki no? We go sribi pikinso.”

  156 “Ké ba, ké poti.”

  157 “Meki mi si en, ma.”

  158 “Misi, yu habi bere no?”

  159 “A moi no, Mini-mini?”

  160 “A moi ya misi, a moi baya.”

  CHAPTER IX

  RUTGER

  An invitation to a party at the Lust en Rust Plantation had just been delivered. Rutger sat in his office with the card in his hand. Yet another party. He didn’t feel at all like it, for it meant another five days away from the office. And all these parties were so much of a muchness. They were all held for the sole purpose of flaunting one’s wealth. The swagger of expensive clothing and jewellery, the houses with their finest furnishings, most extravagant crystal, silver and porcelain, an excess of food and drink. The planter was doing well! What prosperity; how things were flourishing!

  All this wealth and splendour, all this extravagance, were, however, more fiction than fact, thought Rutger to himself. The City of Amsterdam had bought the Van Sommelsdijck family’s shares in April 1770. This meant that two-thirds of the colony was now the property of Amsterdam, and one-third that of the West Indische Compagnie. Even in Governor Mauricius’ time, many Amsterdam banks and merchant houses had been of the opinion that the plantations in the west represented the best investments. In the 1760’s, sugar, coffee and cocoa commanded high prices. Most of the produce was transported to Amsterdam.

  The annual turnover of these commodities could be counted in millions. Especially in Amsterdam huge profits were made, and it was no illusion that many of the wonderful mansions along the famous Amsterdam canals were built as a result of the era of slavery in Suriname and through the blood, sweat and toil of thousands of slaves.

  In any event, the Amsterdam merchant houses were all too ready to pour money into the Suriname plantations. They sent agents who had the authority to arrange mortgages for the planters. If this was successful, then the agent would receive a percentage as commission. The colonists were completely dazzled by all this projected fortune. Everyone suddenly wanted to become a plantation owner: people who could hardly distinguish a cocoa plant from a coffee plant and who thought that crystals of sugar fell from the pressed sugarcane. Almost everyone, whether formerly a cobbler, a butcher or simply a good-for-nothing, everyone had to become a planter and saw himself as a rich plantation owner sitting in his easy chair on the veranda.

  Others who had a small plantation wanted to expand it to three times its size. Still others wanted to sell the plantation they already had in order to establish another, larger one with better products. And this paid off, since you had money and wealth before the first sod of earth was dug. All kinds of methods were employed to gain more and more money. Bribed assessors valued plantations at three-or four-times their actual worth. Of course there were people who raised their voices in dissent, but who listened to them?

  Rutger, himself an agent of an Amsterdam merchant company and administrator for several plantations, knew that this wasn’t the normal way of doing things. He warned several friends not to accept the agents’ proposals and especially not to get into debt, but as always when good advice is offered unsolicited, it was held against him. Some of his former good friends turned their backs on him, of the opinion that he was speaking only out of jealousy and resentment.

  Rutger was still sitting with the card in his hand when Alex came in with a cup of coffee. Was something up with Alex, Rutger asked himself. He looked so down-in-the-mouth.

  “What’s up, Alex?” Rutger asked.

  “Nothing, masra,” Alex answered gently.

  “Are you worried?” Rutger repeated. “Has something gone wrong with our agreement?”

  Alex smiled briefly and said, “Not from my side, masra, but I don’t know about masra.”

  Alex was saving up to be able to buy his freedom. When they were returning from Holland a few years earlier, Rutger had had a serious talk with Alex on board ship. Alex had said to Rutger that in Holland everyone earned money by working. No-one was another’s slave, no-one was someone else’s property. Some people earned very little and were extremely poor, but they were free, and in Alex’s eyes freedom was at the end of the day the greatest virtue. He could quite understand the Maroons, who preferred to face all the dangers of the bush rather than be slaves. Rutger had suggested to Alex that from that moment on he pay him, too, for his work; three guilders a week, and it was up to Alex what he did with the money. He could use it or give it back to Rutger for safe keeping, to be saved up until he had enough to buy his freedom. Alex was still saving. Just a few more months and he would have enough.

  “So why are you looking so upset? Surely you’re not ill?” asked Rutger.

  “No masra, it’s because of Caesar, masra.”

  “What’s up with Caesar?” Rutger enquired.

  Caesar was Alex’s best friend. He was a slave of the Bueno de Mesquita family. Masra Bueno de Mesquita had died a few months earlier.

  “His misi has sold him, masra,” Alex continued, “to the government, for the Zwarte Jagers Corps.”161

  “But that’s fine, surely,” thought Rutger. “That means he’ll gain his freedom in a while. That’s promised to those people.”

  “But masra doesn’t understand” said Alex. “Caesar will now have to fight his own people. They will regard him as a traitor. Caesar doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to fight the Boni-negroes. He doesn’t want to be a traitor. But what can he do? He’s a slave, he doesn’t even own himself, just like me. He must do what he’s told, otherwise he’ll be punished, severely punished.”

  Rutger looked at Alex thoughtfully. What could he say? Alex was right. No white would ever think about it from that point of view. They thought they were doing the slaves a great favour, for they were offering the chance of freedom. But listening to Alex, these negroes would in fact have a tough time.

  The Zwarte Jagers Corps had just been inaugurated by Governor Nepveu. It was clear that white soldiers were not up to jungle warfare. Governor Nepveu had worked out that the escapees in the bush could best be opposed by negroes who were equally brave and strong as the bush-negroes. After true service they would be given their freedom and a plot of land. Now and then they could go to visit their wives and children on the plantations. How could these negroes refuse? They were slaves! In the army their uniform comprised knee-length shorts and a red cap. For this reason everyone was calling them Redi Musu (Red Hats).

  Alex was sad because his friend Caesar would have to fight his own people against his will. What needless sorrow people caused each other!

  “Masra, I want to ask masra something,” came Alex’s voice. Rutger started from his contemplations. He had totally forgotten that Alex was standing there.

  “What do you want to ask, Alex,” Rutger asked.

  “May I visit Caesar this evening?” asked Alex.

  “I’ll give you a pass,” said Rutger. “But be careful, lad, don’t go doing anything stupid. I realize you sympathize with Caesar, but there’s nothing you can do to help him.”

  There came a knock on the door and Mr van Ritter entered. Like Rutger, he was a member of the Court of Civil Justice. Alex went to sit outside near the door on his bench. Just as he had expected, the conversation was mainly about the soldiers’ fight against the Boni-negroes. Masra van Ritter told Rutger that the governor was now corresponding with the Dutch State. The directors of the Society had been so angry with the governor in the past. Those gentlemen in Holland – they simply could not imagine what it was like here in Suriname.

  Jean Nepveu had, however, done his very best. Since his inauguration in 1770 he had set up a corps of free negroes and mulattos. That this corps was ineffective in practice was not the governor’s fault. The military themselves should have seen to this. Every time the governor had reques
ted reinforcements for the Dutch troops in the country, the gentlemen in the Netherlands were always so amazed that a corps twelve hundred strong was not able to suppress a handful of bush-negroes. They had sent the governor an extremely angry letter accusing him that there was total lack of discipline in the ranks of the troops that were costing them so much money, and that they were cowardly, lazy, incapable and negligent.

  The letter went on to demand of the governor, nay, to compel him, to investigate thoroughly the behaviour of the Dutch soldiers in the military posts and to react accordingly. In addition, a list must be sent to Holland detailing the concrete evidence of the soldiers’ behaviour, for it was a disgrace that the good officers in the homeland were compared in the same breath with the good-for-nothings and failures in Suriname who would sacrifice salary rather than go on expeditions. And one thing was for sure: they would not be sending any new troops!

  But now the governor had sent a desperate letter to His Royal Highness the Prince. He had made it clear to him that the situation was untenable. Everyone was scared. The colonists were expecting that at any minute a general revolt would break out among the slaves. The Dutch parliament had decided to send state troops. These forces were recruited from the various European countries. These mercenaries would be under the command of the Swiss colonel Fourgeoud.

  “And when are these troops coming, then?” asked Rutger. “These are plans. It could take years before anything concrete happens.”

  Masra van Ritter thought not. “The parliament has clearly shown that it recognizes the seriousness of the situation,” he believed. “In the meantime we’ll have to fight with the troops we have. The governor has high hopes for the Zwarte Jagers. He wants to strengthen the corps. Do you perhaps have a few good, strong negroes for sale? What about the one who was here in the room just now? He seems to be a good strong lad.”

  “Not a chance,” said Rutger. “That is Alex. Alex is not for sale, for any price and to anyone except to himself. Good morning, Mr van Ritter.”

  And with his hand on the bell, he called out, “Alex, will you please see Masra van Ritter out?”

  ALEX

  The same evening Alex went to look for Caesar in the Zwarte Jagers’ camp. He did not dare go in by the main entrance, but walked round and waited in a dark corner. He saw a few negroes and about four whites sitting on a bench near the entrance. Each of them was holding a weapon.

  “Psst, Kwasi,” whispered Alex when someone he knew came near, “Where is Caesar?”162

  “Wait,” said Kwasi softly. “Come with me.”163

  He took Alex to a small open camp a little further on where a group of about twenty men sat under a thatched shelter164. Caesar was surprised to see Alex. Alex didn’t really know what to say, but Caesar began to speak of his own account. He had been in the camp for a few weeks now. There were always more than fifty Zwarte Jagers and some had already carried out several sorties. They were kept under tight supervision because several had deserted to the other side during the first sortie. They had pretended that they would fight, but when they had actually met the Alukus, they simply joined the side of Boni and his followers. Caesar wondered whether he should do that, too, but he had a wife and children. What would happen to them if he changed sides? Would they perhaps have to suffer?

  The Alukus had quickly seen off the Redi Musus. It was a straight man-to-man fight. They were not all that bothered about the white soldiers, but could not accept that negroes were fighting against their own kind. They regarded the Redi Musus as traitors.

  And Caesar decided sadly that he did not know what to do for the best. He was no traitor, no more than the other Redi Musus. What could he do? If he wanted to leave the corps before the end of his period of service he would have to pay eight hundred or a thousand guilders. Where could a poor slave find that kind of money? He simply had no choice. Redi Musus were not traitors; they were just ordinary people whose situation was being readily taken advantage of.

  Some men who had been in the corps since its foundation told about their experiences in the bush…

  The Alukus had a real fort, one that was just as good as the whites’. This fort was called Buku165, referring to the fact that the negroes themselves said they would rather ‘return to the dust’ than surrender. Fort Buku, under the leadership of Baron, lay in the middle of a swamp, completely surrounded by palisades and equipped with small canon. A flag bearing a black lion on a yellow background flew above the village, which they called ‘Mi sa lasi’ (I shall lose). There were other forts, too. For example, Gado Sabi (God Knows), which also lay in a swamp with extensive paddy fields having rows of felled trees in them which provided good cover for the guerrillas, for that is what the negroes were. Another Aluku fort was Pennenburg. The surrounding land was covered with sharp-pointed wooden stakes, which meant that the military could not get near.

  The Alukus knew what they were doing. Maybe they did not have the weapons that the colonial army had, but they had all kinds of ways to make a fool of the enemy or frighten him off. They knew the military’s strategies precisely, and put this knowledge to good use. Very often the army followed one of the Maroons’ paths. The Bonis made all kinds of false tracks. For instance, a path would suddenly come to an end in the middle of the bush and then start again a few hundred metres further on, but the army did not know this. Often they would follow a path, only to find after struggling on for two days that they had made a complete circle and were back where they started. There were many traps set, often with sharp-pointed stakes. A tuft of hair was attached to each point, and when the soldiers had managed to extract the points from their skin, the hair remained behind and ensured that infection set in.

  The military could make no further progress at night, but the bush-negroes were experts in finding their way through the bush at night. They had very regular contact with the military’s porters, who would provide all kinds of information. The Maroons hid themselves in the many swamps. If a troop of soldiers came on through such a swamp with their weapons in their upheld hands, the Maroons would shoot at them from their hideaways. The soldiers could return the fire only once, for it was then impossible for them to lower their arms in order to reload.

  When raiding a military post the Maroons used the following tactics. They made a lot of noise outside the post at night. They took with them the bodies of soldiers that had been left behind after previous raids and treated them with herbs so that they did not decompose. When they raided a military post, they would throw these bodies down. The soldiers woke up, saw weapons pointed at them from all direction and dozens of bodies on the ground. A voice called to them that if they dared go for their weapons they would be shot dead. The soldiers would flee in panic, leaving everything behind. The weapons were, however, mock ones, made of wood, and when the soldiers had fled, the Maroons could triumphantly take possession of all the weapons, ammunition and food stocks that were left behind.

  When the Alukus raided a plantation they would surround the buildings at night. All the buildings were set on fire simultaneously. If the plantation owner, manager or overseer was known as someone who mistreated slaves, then the Alukus made quick work of him. They usually left the white children unharmed. If they raided plantations where the owner did not have a bad reputation, they freed the slaves, took weapons and other tools, and did not harm the whites.

  Because the negroes knew that the military were trying to starve them out by first stripping their farmlands and then destroying them, they laid these plots out a long way away from their villages. Sometimes such fields were one or even two days away from the village. Providing food was a job for the women. They cultivated the ground and laid up huge stores of food. It was painfully obvious that the eight hundred European soldiers with all their weapons were no match at all for the Alukus, about three hundred in number.

  Three of the men who now belonged to the Zwarte Jagers had previously been porters. This meant that they had been in the army for five years now and had gone
on many expeditions. They had a great deal to tell. Those white soldiers were in fact really stupid: you could almost take pity on them. What did those white kids know of the jungle? When they went on an expedition they just hoped for the best, with a compass in one hand and a machete in the other. For a four-week expedition a group would comprise three officers, six subalterns, three doctors and sixty-five soldiers. Such a group needed one hundred and eighty-three porters. These porters carried for the soldiers: one thousand and eighty pounds of meat, five hundred and forty loaves of bread, one thousand three hundred and fifty pints166 of groats, thirty-six pints of dram (strong drink), six cases of cartridges, three cases of medical supplies, a hundred and fifty flints and seventy-five machetes. For the hundred and eighty-three porters themselves were taken: two thousand five hundred pounds of dried cod, twelve hundred loaves, one thousand seven hundred pints of groats. The paths were narrow, so they walked in single file, thus forming a long line. The vanguard comprised a few slaves who would have to hack the path free. Then came the troop itself, as a whole or in two parts. The porters walked in the middle. If they encountered Maroons or were attacked by them, all the soldiers had to form a tight circle round the porters, to ensure that they did not desert. At the rear walked several more soldiers and an officer. Due to the huge distance between the front and rear of this column, hardly any communication was possible, while the Alukus had often detected them long in advance.

  The bush itself held enough dangers for them. To begin with there were the mosquitoes, ants, mites and so forth. Because their presence must not be detected, no ‘smoke’ pot (or smudge pot) could be made. Sleeping in a hammock was almost impossible. Many soldiers simply slept on the ground with their heads in a hollow, covered by a hammock. If they came across a creek, it was crossed on felled tree trunks. A swamp was more difficult. Since its extent was unknown, they simply went through it. They were up to their waists in water in which boa constrictors or crocodiles would be lurking. The most dangerous were the biri-biris – swamps covered with a thick crust on which grass and reeds were growing. You could therefore not see that there was such a swamp until you were actually on it. Then the crust would break and you or your companions would disappear into the deep.