by CP Patrick
Whenever Awiti came to visit, I pretended to be interested in her trinkets. Her black case contained nothing extraordinary, but I asked to see the baubles. I held them carefully and inquired of their origin.
Awiti knew I was not interested in her goods. I wanted to be close to the woman who brought messages from Mackendal. Awiti was the mysterious pacotilleur who caused the slaves to whisper for hours at night about freedom.
One day, Awiti told my mother, “You should let Francine come to the meeting to hear Mackendal speak. She is old enough and smart. We need her. The youth will help lead Saint Domingue to freedom.”
Mother was concerned, but she trusted Awiti. Unfortunately, my mother could not come with us. Her duties were many, and Master Vergennes might notice her absence.
We snuck out under the darkness of the night. The trees along the pathway to Bois Caiman were marked with various symbols. The full moon shined on the freshly carved wooden markings guiding us toward Mackendal. I walked in silence with my father who was not really my father. He held my hand tightly as we travelled through the dense forest.
When we arrived at Bois Caiman, many slaves were already present. Shadows of mostly men and older children filled the area. We had risked our lives to learn about the révolution. Based on our numbers, there were countless slaves who desired their freedom.
Mackendal was charismatic, and he easily captured our attention and trust. He began by teaching us of our past. I learned the French had stolen us from Africa. Our people had once been free. Kings and queens, nations of great wealth. We were not meant to live in servitude. But there was no way for us to return to Africa. So if we were to live here on Saint Domingue, Mackendal was determined we would live as free people.
“If you do not want to be slaves, you must join the révolution,” Mackendal demanded.
Awiti stood with the others in Mackendal’s army. She was bold and fearless, and I desired to be like her. I was determined to become a female warrior who would fight for the rights of slaves.
Mackendal shared his plan to bring about our freedom. First, we would kill the French with poison, mixing it into their food and drink. Those of us who worked in the main houses were in the best position to enact the first part of his plan. We would start the révolution.
Then, once the French were weakened, Mackendal’s army would leave the mountains. They would fight until the French agreed to end slavery. And we would live as we had once before—free.
At the end of his speech, Mackendal held up a dark vase. He called the vase Saint Domingue. As he pulled out a yellow scarf, he asked the crowd,
“Do you know what this yellow scarf represents?”
He did not wait for us to respond.
“The yellow skin of the Indian. This island was once their home. They walked this land freely as we once did in Africa. And where are they now? All but a few are dead. Their blood is on the hands of the Spanish.”
Then Mackendal pulled out a white scarf and said,
“And this is the skin of the wicked French. Forcing us to labor in their fields. Raping and killing, even our children. And yet they call us animals? But soon, my French, soon you will see. You will fall from power. We will rise again!”
Cheers sounded around Bois Caiman. They were quiet praises, for we were away from our plantations—a serious offense if captured. Then Mackendal pulled a black scarf out of the Saint Domingue vase.
“This is us,” Mackendal told us, waving the black scarf high above his head and twirling it wildly. “We will be free!”
I could not help but wonder, what if Awiti had not come to the Vergennes Plantation? Suppose I had not been playing in the foyer the day she came calling? I might have grown to be a slave forever.
But I had a new goal and purpose in life—to become a warrior in Mackendal’s army. I would become a part of the révolution. I would help bring freedom to the slaves on Saint Domingue.
After the meeting at Bois Caiman, Cécile and I grew apart. I was no longer interested in being her pretend sister who was her real sister. I had no desire to be best friends in secret. Cécile was one of them, the French. And Cécile too pulled away.
Our conversations were brief, and Cécile dismissive. Soon we barely spoke at all. This did not bother me, for I was focused on my role as a warrior in Mackendal’s army. So when Cécile came to the slave quarters to confront me, I was quite surprised.
“Francine, we are no longer friends,” she said.
She stood as her mother did when she ordered the slaves to their duties: hands on her hips, an air of authority in her stance. It was clear this would not be a discussion, and so I let Cécile speak.
“Do you know why we look so much alike?”
Although I knew the answer, I knew how best to respond.
“No, Cécile.”
“Of course you don’t!”
Cécile’s blue eyes squinted as she held back tears. I knew it was best to be still. I looked downward as I had seen other slaves behave when being disciplined, whether they had committed a wrong or were innocent.
“Well, I will tell you,” Cécile said matter-of-factly. “Your mother tricked my father. Used her African magic on him. She made my father come to her.”
Cécile sounded as though she were repeating a story. Most likely one told to her by her mother.
“And of that wicked union, she made you.”
Cécile stopped in front of me. The word “you” was laced with hate, sadness, anger, and confusion. My eyes remained on the floor. I focused on the scuff marks on Cécile’s leather shoes.
“Look at me,” Cécile commanded.
I looked up and tried to feign meekness. But I knew my gaze was strong and intense.
My mother did not trick Master Vergennes. Many brown and fair-skinned slaves lived on our plantation. It was clear Master Vergennes did what he wished. Thankfully, I would be free before he came to my slave quarters seeking to do the same.
“We are not friends,” Cécile repeated. “And we are not sisters. You disgust me.”
Cécile spit in my face as her mother often did to the slaves. It was a poor attempt. A few speckles of her saliva landed on my arm. Another drop or two fell on my right cheek. I wanted to laugh in Cécile’s face. But I knew it was best do nothing.
“From this day forward, you are a slave, and I am your master, you hear?”
And before I could respond, Cécile slapped me across the face.
I felt myself warm as she walked away. There was much I wanted to say, but I remained quiet. What Cécile had spoken was the truth—I was a slave, and she was my master. Her words made me even more determined to be a part of the révolution.
When I told my mother about the incident, she was not surprised. Her only astonishment was the confrontation had not occurred sooner.
“Perfect timing,” my mother told me. “You need to focus. The révolution has begun.”
I could not afford to be distracted by my childhood friend and sister. When the time came, killing Cécile would be easy.
Like many house slaves, I had easy access to the kitchen. Part of my duties included serving Master Vergennes and his guests. I was so proud when Awiti chose me to distribute the poison. With great care, I added the packets of powder to the meals of Master Vergennes’ guests.
“Do not poison Master Vergennes,” Awiti instructed. Then she added, “Not yet.”
Throughout the island, house slaves poisoned the food and drinks of the French. Pacotilleurs continued to visit plantations, their black cases filled with cheap gold and small packets of poison—a deadly mixture of ground herbs and roots concocted by Mackendal.
At first the French believed an illness had come upon the island. A disease spreading among the French as their men, women, and children fell ill. With each report of a French death, slaves celebrated in silence, and our desire for freedom grew stronger. It was some time before the French realized the révolution had begun.
More and more slaves began t
o escape to the mountains. Those who were captured were put to death publicly as a warning to the rest of us. But their deaths did nothing but fuel the révolution. I could not wait to poison the Vergennes family. It was hard being so close to freedom.
The kill order could not come soon enough. I hated my pale skin and blonde curls. My reflection in mirrors or water was troubling. My appearance was a constant reminder of the harm done to my mother and other slaves throughout the island. I longed to live in the mountains, to leave my life of slavery forever.
Finally, I received Awiti’s command. I poisoned Master Vergennes who was really my father. I stirred deadly herbs into the tea of my once best friend, Cécile, who was really my sister. I gave an extra dose to Madame Vergennes who spread lies about my mother and spit in the face of slaves. Their illness came swiftly.
“They are dying,” I told Awiti. “Can I leave now?”
Although I hated the Vergennes for keeping us as slaves, I could not bear the thought of watching them die. The effects of the poison caused vomiting and intense pain. The Vergennes would suffer, and while I wanted it to happen, I did not want to see it. But Awiti would not let me leave.
“You cannot be a warrior without looking death in the face,” Awiti told me. “Especially of those you care about. When the last of the Vergennes’ eyes have closed, when they have taken their final breaths, then you may come.”
Slaves fled our plantation, my mother among them. But I stayed as Awiti instructed. I listened as the Vergennes called out for me to help them. I heard each retch and cry from the deadly herbs. I watched as Master Vergennes closed his eyes, the last member of the Vergennes family to die.
After his death, Awiti led me to the mountains. It was wonderful to reunite with those from the Vergennes’ Plantation, especially my mother. She cried as she hugged me and said,
“Cécile! We are finally free!”
I looked the same as the young girl who had stood at Bois Caiman, but I was different. I was no longer simply a slave girl mixed with the blood of the French. I was a warrior focused on the freedom of my people. I had looked death in the face and survived. And I knew I could do it again.
The mountain was inaccessible except to those who knew the secret routes. As Awiti led me through the treacherous terrain, we were surrounded by the stench of dead bodies—the French, Awiti told me. Mackendal wanted their bodies to remain where they fell. A reminder to any White man who tried to retrieve his runaway slaves.
Awiti had told me of the thousands of slaves who lived in the mountains. They were from many different nations in Africa. But on Saint Domingue, they were united by their black skin and desire for freedom.
To see us together was unlike anything I could have ever imagined. The mountains were like the Africa Mackendal described. The Africa stolen from us. The Africa we would never see again.
Under the tutelage of Awiti, I became a decorated soldier with poison and weaponry. We fought for many years against the French, the révolution long and arduous. I lost my mother and many friends to the war, although I knew their deaths were not in vain. I held on to hope, believing I would see them again. Like Mackendal, their spirits would live forever.
“If the French ever capture me, do not fear,” Mackendal often told us. “Even if it appears the French have killed me, you must know I am not dead.
“I will return,” Mackendal promised. “I will come to Saint Domingue as a deadly insect, a wild beast. Forever, I, and those like me, will cause great suffering. We will toss men about in the wind. We will make the ground shake and mountains crumble.
“Whenever you hear of such things happening, you will know I have returned.”
And indeed, Mackendal came again. He appeared as a massive plague. Mosquitos with yellow fever attacked the British and French troops. Hundreds of their soldiers were stricken with illness. Mackendal killed them while we remained in the mountains, healthy and strong. And Awiti and I celebrated every one of their deaths.
“Do you see, Francine?” Awiti asked me one day. “The révolution is not just for Saint Domingue. It is for every life stolen from Africa. For my Father and Mother. For my siblings. For your mother. For the friends we have lost.”
“Yes, Awiti. I know. The révolution is for all of us.”
“It is for those who are living and those who have died. Will you continue the fight, Francine? Even in death?”
I knew what I was capable of while I was living. I could only imagine the depth of my destruction once I was among the dead. To join Awiti, Mackendal, and so many others. To fight alongside my mother once again. It gave me great pleasure to know I would send my torment and wrath for eternity.
“Of course I will, Awiti.”
6
still may
Sea Islands, Georgia (1803)
When Ms. Susie come home for Easter, she left me this here little book to write in. She say it’s called a diary, and I loves it. It’s the only place I can speak my feelings without somebody telling me I’m right or wrong. It’s a place for me to keep secrets too. And the good Lord know Denton Plantation got lots of secrets.
Master Denton don’t know I can read and write. Ms. Susie, his own daughter, the one who teach me. Me and Ms. Susie around the same age. She started teaching me when I was small, right ’round the time I started to serve her. And even though she grown up some, every time she see me, we practice. And when Ms. Susie not here, I still practice my letters and words. I wants to make sure I don’t never forget.
I dream of running away. Wonder if I’m ever gon’ get the nerve to do it. Don’t know where I would go. Might end up running some place worse than here. So guess I gon’ stay put for now.
Still April
Things about to change. Not sure if the change gon’ be good or bad. But things changing anyhow. I been working in the big house since Ms. Susie was little. But now Ms. Susie gone away to help her uncle who sick.
Master Denton say he don’t need me in the big house no more. Say he wants me to learn a real special job. He know it make Ms. Susie real happy if I learned something. So I gon’ learn to catch all the slave babies.
Still April
Today I start learning about babies with Nan. She been catching babies for a long time, but soon she gon’ be too old. I gots to learn while she can still teach me. Nan the one help me come into the world from my own mammy. And she watched after me when Master Denton sold my mammy away. Nan like my only family I guess.
Still April
It’s so much I want to write. I’m afraid I might run out of paper if I writes something every day. So I try and write only about important stuff.
Sam say Ms. Susie gon’ be home soon. I’m gon’ keep the paper in my diary so I can write when she come home.
May
Ms. Susie home! I so excited to see her. She ask me if I been reading and writing. I says yes. Then she sneak me books from her uncle’s house.
She say her uncle real sick now. His wife died a few years back, and he don’t got no children to help him. That’s why Master Denton sent Ms. Susie to take care of him. Guess I should feel bad getting books from a man set to die. But I don’t.
Ms. Susie say she keen on the slaves on her uncle’s plantation. She wish I could meet some ’cause she think we’d make good friends. Wish I could too. The overseer real mean. He thinks Ms. Susie too nice to the slaves. I believes it. That’s why I love her so.
Still May
I so happy Ms. Susie bring me more books. I wish I could teach Nan to read and write. But I’m afraid. Master Denton might kill me if he find out. He might whip me and send me down the river to some place worse than here. Then I’d never see Ms. Susie again.
I love Ms. Susie so. She the sweetest girl. Master Denton don’t whip the slaves as much when she home. She don’t like whippings, and she always been busy enough to tell her pappy so. Nan say Ms. Susie been soft for slaves ever since she was a child.
When I was young, Ms. Susie treat me like one of her
baby dolls. We play school, and that’s how she teach me. I so glad Ms. Susie home. I wish she don’t have to help her sick uncle. I wish she stay here with me.
Still May
I been learning to catch babies. Nan say I’m real good. When she die I gon’ be the one to catch babies all by myself. I hope Nan don’t die no time soon. Catching babies still scary to me.
Every day me and Nan checks on slaves with babies in they belly. Some slave bellies big. They babies set to meet the world any day now. Some mammys got a little belly. They babies not ready yet. Nan always say the babies in little bellies still cooking.
Today Nan taught me how to tell if a baby ready or if he playing ’round. Lacie’s belly real big. Her baby start twisting and turning soon as Nan touch Lacie’s belly. Nan say Lacie’s baby not playing around. He gon’ meet the world soon.
Still May
Today I learn something called helping the baby come. Nan had me put my hand up inside Lacie and turn it all ’round. She ask me what it feel like. I told her, and she say Lacie’s baby coming tomorrow.
When Nan walk away, Lacie say she glad it was me help her baby come. Lacie laugh and say Nan hands so big. Then Nan yell out they not as big as Sam’s hands. And all the women laugh and laugh. They always got jokes I don’t understand. But they laughs make me happy.
Still May
Lacie’s baby come today. Just like Nan say. First everybody happy. Then things turn bad. So bad I wish I could wake up and it never happen at all. Be nice if it was a bad dream.
Lacie sure did enough hollering. Her baby boy act like he change his mind about coming to the world. He gave us such a fuss. First he lay still in her belly like he sleep. Then he come all quick. Change his mind and slide on out.
He come out so fast I’m glad my hands was there to catch him. Nan say I always got to have my hands ready. Soon as Lacie’s baby come out everybody real quiet.
Lacie start asking what’s wrong. Nobody speak, so I hold Lacie’s baby boy up for her to see. He hollering and wiggling and making a fuss. He wants his mammy’s milk. Lacie see that red face and straight brown hair and she scream. Her baby look like Master Denton.
