Read Online House on the Lagoon by Rosario Ferré - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rosario Ferré
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than one’s religion or tribal pride; it was like a root that went deep into one’s body and no one knew exactly where it ended. It was attached to one’s throat, to one’s neck, to one’s stomach, even to one’s heart.
Bernabé was as black as midnight, and he was very intelligent. Five years after his arrival there was a false rumor that Spain had granted freedom to the slaves in its colonies but that the news was being kept from distant towns like Guayama, which were cut off from the rest of the world. Bernabé got wind of the rumor and began to organize a rebellion, swearing that if freedom wasn’t granted to them the slaves of La Quemada would fight to the death. He spoke secretly in Bantu with the other bozales and was able to plan an uprising without any of the criollo slaves—many of whom were loyal to their master finding out about it.
The uprising was to take place on New Year’s Day, the only time slaves were allowed to leave the hacienda and celebrate in the town square, where they danced the bomba to the rhythm of African drums. Bernabé had organized his men into three groups. One group would go to the square to dance the bomba in front of the Casa del Rey, which served as an armory—where the Spanish militia kept its rifles and swords. This would create a diversion, so the militia wouldn’t notice anything was amiss. The second would set fire to the cane fields nearest to La Quemada, on the outskirts of town. And the third would be lying in wait behind the shrubs of sea grape by the road, to intercept the people of the hacienda, who on that morning would all be in church. When they came out of Mass the fire would be going full blast and they would run back to La Quemada. The slaves would ambush them. Bernabé had given orders that they were to take Monsieur Pellot and his family prisoner, without harming them. The Pellots would serve as hostages until the slaves got the mayor to declare officially that they were free. By that time, the bomba dancers would have stormed the armory and taken the rifles of the Spanish detachment, to give the abductors of the Pellot family the necessary support.
Bernabé crouched silently behind the sea grape shrubs, trying to make himself invisible. He had seen the first wisps of smoke rising like black strands of hair against the blue of the sky, when Conchita, Monsieur Pellot’s twenty-year-old daughter, came galloping up the road on her mahogany-colored mare. Evidently she had overslept and her family had left her behind. She woke and saw the fire and was on her way to warn the family. But she didn’t get more than a mile from the town. The slaves sprang on her like cats and made her a prisoner; but her horse got away.
When the riderless horse arrived at the church, the people of the town summoned the militia, marched to La Quemada, and were able to put out the fire. The revolt was aborted. Nothing happened to Conchita Pellot. The bomba dancers never had the chance to attack the armory, and the slaves were herded back to the hacienda and locked up in their quarters. With the help of the becerrillos, the fierce hunting dogs trained to follow a slave’s scent, the conspirators were rounded up. Five of them received a hundred lashes each; but Bernabé, the leader, was sentenced to a special punishment, as an example for the rest.
Petra hadn’t been born yet, but her mother told her the story of what happened to her grandfather on that day, and Petra passed it on to us. The Sunday following the attempted revolt, all the slaves of La Quemada were brought to Guayama’s town square. His Excellency the Governor-General traveled all the way from San Juan to be present. His golden throne was brought from the capital in a mule cart and set under a huge laurel tree in the plaza, right in front of the whitewashed colonial church. Bernabé was brought out to the square after the special Mass celebrated in honor of the governor. They had tied his arms behind his back with
Bernabé was as black as midnight, and he was very intelligent. Five years after his arrival there was a false rumor that Spain had granted freedom to the slaves in its colonies but that the news was being kept from distant towns like Guayama, which were cut off from the rest of the world. Bernabé got wind of the rumor and began to organize a rebellion, swearing that if freedom wasn’t granted to them the slaves of La Quemada would fight to the death. He spoke secretly in Bantu with the other bozales and was able to plan an uprising without any of the criollo slaves—many of whom were loyal to their master finding out about it.
The uprising was to take place on New Year’s Day, the only time slaves were allowed to leave the hacienda and celebrate in the town square, where they danced the bomba to the rhythm of African drums. Bernabé had organized his men into three groups. One group would go to the square to dance the bomba in front of the Casa del Rey, which served as an armory—where the Spanish militia kept its rifles and swords. This would create a diversion, so the militia wouldn’t notice anything was amiss. The second would set fire to the cane fields nearest to La Quemada, on the outskirts of town. And the third would be lying in wait behind the shrubs of sea grape by the road, to intercept the people of the hacienda, who on that morning would all be in church. When they came out of Mass the fire would be going full blast and they would run back to La Quemada. The slaves would ambush them. Bernabé had given orders that they were to take Monsieur Pellot and his family prisoner, without harming them. The Pellots would serve as hostages until the slaves got the mayor to declare officially that they were free. By that time, the bomba dancers would have stormed the armory and taken the rifles of the Spanish detachment, to give the abductors of the Pellot family the necessary support.
Bernabé crouched silently behind the sea grape shrubs, trying to make himself invisible. He had seen the first wisps of smoke rising like black strands of hair against the blue of the sky, when Conchita, Monsieur Pellot’s twenty-year-old daughter, came galloping up the road on her mahogany-colored mare. Evidently she had overslept and her family had left her behind. She woke and saw the fire and was on her way to warn the family. But she didn’t get more than a mile from the town. The slaves sprang on her like cats and made her a prisoner; but her horse got away.
When the riderless horse arrived at the church, the people of the town summoned the militia, marched to La Quemada, and were able to put out the fire. The revolt was aborted. Nothing happened to Conchita Pellot. The bomba dancers never had the chance to attack the armory, and the slaves were herded back to the hacienda and locked up in their quarters. With the help of the becerrillos, the fierce hunting dogs trained to follow a slave’s scent, the conspirators were rounded up. Five of them received a hundred lashes each; but Bernabé, the leader, was sentenced to a special punishment, as an example for the rest.
Petra hadn’t been born yet, but her mother told her the story of what happened to her grandfather on that day, and Petra passed it on to us. The Sunday following the attempted revolt, all the slaves of La Quemada were brought to Guayama’s town square. His Excellency the Governor-General traveled all the way from San Juan to be present. His golden throne was brought from the capital in a mule cart and set under a huge laurel tree in the plaza, right in front of the whitewashed colonial church. Bernabé was brought out to the square after the special Mass celebrated in honor of the governor. They had tied his arms behind his back with
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