Thomas Hoover

“ Only man, who then styled himself the noblest of God's creatures.
He loosened his hot lace collar, hoping to catch some of the on-again, off-again breeze that had risen in the south and now swept the pungent smell of Bridgetown's harbor up along the coast. Aside from the rattle of militiamen's bandoliers and occasional bursts of gallows laughter, the only sounds were night noises—the clack of foraging land crabs, the chirps and whistles of crickets and toads, the distant batter of surf and spray against the sand. Inland, the green hills of Barbados towered in dark silence. ”

“ She realized now that the Yoruba were still too few, too powerless to revolt. She wanted to tell him to forget his gods, his fool's dream of rebellion and freedom.
He glanced back at her and laughed. "But our gods, our Orisa, are already here, because our people are here." He looked away, his eyes hidden in the dark, and waited for a roll of thunder to die away. The wind dropped suddenly, for an instant, and there was silence except for the drumbeat of rain. "Our gods live inside us, passed down from generation to generation. ”

“ We inherit the spirit of our fathers, just as we take on their strength, their appearance. Whether we are free or slave, they will never abandon us." He touched her hand gently. "Tonight, at last, perhaps you will begin to understand."
She stared at him, relieved that the darkness hid the disbelief in her eyes. She had never seen any god, anywhere, nor had anyone else. His gods were not going to make him, or her, any less a slave to the branco. She wanted to grab his broad shoulders and shake sense into him. Tonight was the first, maybe the last, time that Briggs Hall would be theirs alone. ”

“ Again the Gloucester's guns flared, and a whistle sang across the quarterdeck as the shot clipped the railing next to where they were standing. Serina stared wildly at the shattered rail, then at the English man-of-war. Her eyes seemed vacant, as though looking through all she saw.
"Good Christ, Katy, take a look at those skies." Winston felt a chill in his bowels as the lightning blossomed again. "The wind is changing; I can feel it. Something's happening. If we lose a yard, or tear a sail, they'll take us in a minute. All it needs is one quick shift, too much strain." ”

“ Katherine was standing above her, in the dim light of the candle-lantern, holding a gray onion-flask of brandy.
"Why are you helping me, senhora?" Serina looked up, her words a blend of English and Portuguese. "You care nothing for him. Or for me."
"I . . . I want to." Katherine awkwardly pulled the cork from the bottle, and the fiery fumes of the brandy enveloped them.
"Because the senhor told you to do it. That is the real reason." She finally reached and took the bottle. "He is a good man. He risked his life for us. He did not need to. No other branco on this island would have." ”

“ Jeremy had listened as the silence once more settled around them. For the first time he'd become aware of the creaking of the boards as the Rainbowe groaned at anchor. After so much death, he'd found himself thinking, you begin to notice the quietness more. Your senses are honed. Could it be even creatures of the field are the same; does the lowly hare feel life more exquisitely when, hounds baying on its scent, it hovers quivering in the grass?
He wondered what he would do if the musket on the table were primed and in his hands. ”

“ The Great Cabin of the Defiance was a mosaic of flickering shadows, lighted only by the swaying candle-lantern over the large oak table. "It could well be the end of Dutch trade in all the English settlements, from here to Virginia."
"I suppose there's a chance. Who can say?" Winston reached for the flask of sack and passed it over. He was exhausted, but his mind was taut with anticipation. Almost ready, he told himself; you'll be gone before the island explodes. There's only one last thing you need: a seasoned pilot for Jamaica Bay. ”

“ He almost laughed aloud, thinking how Benjamin Briggs had been cozened by all his slaves, even his half-African mistress. "You mean that Yoruba, Atiba? Tell him he can go straight to hell. Do you have any idea what he had his men do last night?"
She looked up, puzzled, her eyes still pleading through the rain.
"No, I don't suppose you could." He shrugged. "It scarcely matters now. But his parting words were an offer to kill me, no more than a few hours ago. So I say damned to him."
"He is a man. No more than you, but no less. He was bom free; yet now he is a slave. His people are slaves." ”

“ In the jumble of musket fire and lanterns he could tell that the Jamestown breastwork had been circled and seized: its gunners overwhelmed, its cannon still directed impotently out toward the dark sea. Only two culverin had been fired. He watched heartsick as the invading infantrymen, breastplates shining in the lantern light, swarmed over the guns.
The militia manning the cannons had been sacrificed. Deliberately. To draw in the rest of the invading force. He felt his anger welling up. In war the men who actually fought counted for nothing. ”

“ She felt his hands touch her shift, and she reached gently to stop him.
Over the years in Brazil so many men had used her. She had been given to any white visitor at the plantation who wanted her: first it was Portuguese traders, ship captains, even priests. Then conquering Hollanders, officers of the Dutch forces who had taken Brazil. A hundred men, all born in Europe, all unbathed and rank, all white. She had sensed their branco contempt for her with anger and shame. To this black Yoruba, this strong, proud man of Africa, she would give herself freely and with love. ”

“ That was the Jamaica he cared about, where everything he required could be grown right in the earth. Cotton for the women to spin, beef and cassava to eat, wine and cacao and cane-brandy for drinking, tobacco to soothe his soul. . . .
He suddenly remembered he had left his pipe in the leather knapsack, down below. But now he would wait a bit. Thinking of a pleasure made it even sweeter . . . Just as he knew young Hipolito was dreaming still of some country senorita. When a young man could not attend to what he was told for longer than a minute, it could only be first love. ”

“ Winston's voice suddenly flooded with anger. "Why don't you ask your gentleman fiance, Anthony Walrond, to help? From what I hear, he was the royalist hero of the Civil War."
"He doesn't have a gun deck full of cannon." She wanted to spit in Winston's smug face.
"But he's got you, Katherine, doesn't he?" He felt an unwanted pang at the realization. He was beginning to like this woman more than he wanted to. She had brass. "Though as long as you're here anyway, why don't we at least toast the sunset? And the free Americas that're about to vanish into history." ”

“ It was the ancient call to arms of Ife: "No man who has not grasped his sword can avenge the death of his father." But Atiba sensed there was a deeper, more personal message. The voice had now become that of Balogun himself, clearly, unmistakably. He felt his heart surge with shame.
Her last words were still ringing when a sphere of lightning slid down the centerpole of the roof and exploded against the iron mill. Rings of fire danced across the rollers and dense dark smoke billowed in the room. ”

“ The Defiance had been the last vessel to navigate Basse Terre's narrow channel of reefs before the quick Caribbean dusk descended.
"The name is Winston. Master of the Defiance. " He slid over the gunwale of the longboat and waded through the light surf. "Late of Barbados and Nevis."
"Bienvenue." The man examined him briefly, then smiled again as he extended his hand and quickly shifted to heavily- accented English. "Your affairs, Capitaine, are of course no concern to us here. Any man who comes in peace is welcome at La Tortue, in the name of His Majesty, King Louis Quatorze of France." ”

“ He could not understand why the branco slaves who worked alongside the Yoruba allowed themselves to be fed on boiled corn mush. A natural bounty lay within arm's reach.
The Orisa, those forces in nature that work closest with man, were still present on the island. He could sense them, waiting in the wood of the trees. This ravished place had once been a great forest, like the one north of Ife, and it could be again. If the hand of the Ingles was taken from it, and the spirit of the Orisa, its rightful protectors, freed once more. ”

“ He seemed to lose the words as he held her against him. "Tonight we're about to do something, together, that'll change the Americas forever."
The oars bit into the swell and the dark waters of the bay slapped against the bark-covered prow, an ancient cadence he remembered from that long voyage north, ten years past. Where had all the years gone?
Behind him was a line of dugouts, a deadly procession of armed, grim-faced seamen. All men of Tortuga, not one among them still welcome in any English, French, or Dutch settlement.
Was it possible to start over with men like these? A new nation? ”

“ He looked down at her quizzically. "I didn't know you were in the mill house till I heard you call out Shango's name. Why were you there tonight, alone?"
"I was praying." She avoided his dark eyes, wishing she could say more. "Praying that you would stop, before it was too late. I knew you could not succeed. I was afraid you would be killed."
He embraced her, then ran his wide hand through her wet, singed hair. "Sometimes merely doing what must be done is its own victory. I'll not live a slave. Never." He held her again, tenderly, then turned away. "Remember always to live and die with honor. ”

“ That's what they call harbor defenses! It's a mercy of God the island's so far windward from the Main that the Spaniards've never troubled to burn the place out.
He sat on the prow of the longboat, collecting his thoughts while he tasted the air and the scent of the sea. The whitecaps of the bay slipped past in the moonlight as they steered to leeward of the line of Dutch merchantmen anchored near the shore. He then noticed a bob of lanterns on the southeast horizon and realized it was an arriving merchantman, with a heading that would bring it directly into the harbor. ”

“ To be black here does not mean I have to be slave. It is not like an Ingles settlement. I have learned that already. The Spaniard at the vigia told me there is a free nation of my people here."
Atiba had moved beside her, gripping the handle of his cutlass. "I do not know why you have come, whoreson branco, but there will be war against you, like there was on Barbados, if you ever try to enslave any of my peoples living in this place."
"There'll be slaves here and plenty, sirrah. No runaway black is going to tell an Englishman how to manage his affairs. ”

“ Its polished iron glistened in the light of the moon. "Ogun will not turn his face from us."
"Then I pray for you, Atiba." He sighed. "You are surely like the pigeon who feeds among the hawks, fearless of death."
"Tonight, Tahajo, we are the hawks."
"A hawk has talons." The old man looked up at the moon. "What do you have?"
"We will have the claws of a leopard, of steel, before the sun returns." Atiba saluted him in traditional fashion, then turned to Obewole. The tall drummer's arms were heavy with bundles of straw, ready to be fired and hurled among the cane. ”

“ She held on to the shrouds, the spider-web of ropes that secured the mast, and braced herself against the roll of the ship as the Defiance eased broadside to the sun. Along the curving shoreline a string of Dutch merchantmen were riding at anchor, all three-masted fluyts, their fore and main masts steeped far apart to allow room for a capacious hatch. In the five weeks that had passed since the Zeelander put in with the first cargo of Africans, four more slavers had arrived. ”

“ Then a voice comes, a voice only she can hear, whose Yoruba words say her mind can rest. That her body is no longer to struggle. She holds her eyes open, but she no longer sees. A powerful whiteness has settled against her forehead. . . .
' 'Okunrin t 'o lagbara!'' A hard voice cut through the room, silencing the drums. "Shango!"
The Yoruba men fell forward to touch the feet of the tall mulata who towered over them, demanding worship. Her eyes glowed white, illuminating the darkness of the room; her arm stretched out toward Atiba as she called for her scepter. ”

“ Mind you, it had brought to life all those new rows of sugar cane marshalled down the hillsides, raising hope the planters might eventually settle their accounts in something besides weedy tobacco. But money mattered so little anymore. Time, that's the commodity no purse on earth could buy. And the Barbados sun and rain, day after day, were like a heartless cadence marking time's theft of the only thing a woman had truly worth holding on to. ”

“ He glanced back toward the darkening horizon, but now Winston's frigate had passed from view, behind the trees. Winston was no better than a thieving rogue, bred for gallows-bait, but you had to admire him a trifle nonetheless. He was one of the few men around who truly understood the need for risk here in the Americas. The man who never chanced what he had gained in order to realize more would never prosper. In the Americas a natural aristocracy was rising up, one not of birth but of boldness. ”

“ Even more—for all her fine Ingles clothes and her soft bed she was ten times more slave than he would ever be. How to make her understand that?
"You only become a slave when you give up the ways of your people. Even if your father was a branco, you were born of a Yoruba woman. You still can be Yoruba. And then you will be something, have something." The powerful hands that had carried her to this remote hilltop were now toying idly with the grass. "You are not the property of a branco unless you consent to be. To be a slave you must first submit, give him your spirit. ”

“ Ogun demands we must right the wrongs that have been set upon us. That we must use our swords to regain our freedom and our pride. He declares tonight that his anger is fierce, like the burning sun that sucks dry the milk of the coconut, and he will stand with us in the name of vengeance. That victory will be ours, but only if we are willing to fight to the death, as worthy warriors.”
Atiba stopped to listen as Derin continued to intone in a deep chilling voice. When he had concluded his declaration, he abruptly turned and approached Serina. ”