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Authors: Anna Belfrage
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he considered most demeaning. Not a day without small jibes, a sardonic bow in the direction of the abducted gentleman, sudden requests that he do this or that, often coinciding with the dinner bell.
Matthew held his tongue as well as he could, reminding himself that he must stay alive, must survive because otherwise all that would be left of him would be a sad little cross in the makeshift graveyard – in earth so definitely not his own. But every now and then his temper flared, and he would raise his chin in silent defiance, reminding Jones that he was not a slave, not him, not Matthew Graham. Jones smirked, swatting his boot with his whip.
All through that sweltering summer men died; of the ague, of strange fevers, of measles, of racking consumption, and of general neglect – full grown men whose bodies weighed no more than a half grown lad’s, their bones standing in stark outline against dirty, grey skin.
Graves were dug hastily, and sometimes the man who died no longer had anyone there who knew who he was or from where he came. Mostly these men died silently, expiring in the bleakest hours of the night, but every now and then their deaths were loud agonising affairs, the sound echoing through the heavy summer night. And then there was Samuel, the tailor’s lad from Lincoln, who strung himself up to hang in the furthermost barn.
“Could you do that?” Elijah asked Matthew in a shaky whisper, his eyes glued to the limp, still shape. Matthew shook his head.
“Nay, ‘tis a sin.”
“I could, and then it would be me deciding.”
Matthew gripped Elijah hard around the wrist. “You don’t mean that, Elijah. To do that…” He indicated the body now lying on a board. “…to do that you must have lost all hope.”
“Aye,” Elijah replied in a colourless voice.
*
Their days began at dawn with a silent breakfast of ubiquitous gruel. Once a week, there was salted pork, and sometimes even beans. Matthew found wild raspberry canes and ate the tart, unripe berries and the small leaves, recalling how Alex had insisted he always eat something green to keep his health and teeth. Alex; during the days he’d banished her to the furthest reaches of his mind, because the memory of her was too painful, but at unexpected moments he’d confuse a distant female figure with her, and he would be so happy until he remembered where he was; on a plantation with Alex nowhere in sight.
In the evenings Matthew and his companions were so tired they collapsed into silent heaps on the floor, all of them longing for the short release of dreams of somewhere else – anywhere but here.
The first few days, Matthew had gone in search of water and kept at least his face and hands clean, but now he didn’t care, all he wanted to do was lie down and rest his aching muscles. But every night he cleaned his teeth as his wife had taught him, running a careful tongue over them to ensure they still sat as they should. Alex… He couldn’t keep her at bay when he hovered on the brink of sleep, and her name was often his last conscious thought.
Matthew moved silently through his days, keeping his head down as much as possible, and as July shifted into August he began to take his blanket and retreat to a small copse he had found by chance well behind the cook house. There was a small spring, a soft gurgling that widened into a small pond, before trickling away between the trees. The sound of water reminded him of home, and he rediscovered the simple pleasure of keeping somewhat clean, taking the time to wash before he wrapped himself in his blanket and sat back to watch the stars that flew so tantalisingly close above his head. It was a relief to be alone; only him and the skies spread out above him. It was anguish to be alone; only him here in the dark with his wife and son perhaps lost to him forever.
One evening he caught sight of himself in the still surface of the water, and for an instant he had no idea who this heavily bearded man
Matthew held his tongue as well as he could, reminding himself that he must stay alive, must survive because otherwise all that would be left of him would be a sad little cross in the makeshift graveyard – in earth so definitely not his own. But every now and then his temper flared, and he would raise his chin in silent defiance, reminding Jones that he was not a slave, not him, not Matthew Graham. Jones smirked, swatting his boot with his whip.
All through that sweltering summer men died; of the ague, of strange fevers, of measles, of racking consumption, and of general neglect – full grown men whose bodies weighed no more than a half grown lad’s, their bones standing in stark outline against dirty, grey skin.
Graves were dug hastily, and sometimes the man who died no longer had anyone there who knew who he was or from where he came. Mostly these men died silently, expiring in the bleakest hours of the night, but every now and then their deaths were loud agonising affairs, the sound echoing through the heavy summer night. And then there was Samuel, the tailor’s lad from Lincoln, who strung himself up to hang in the furthermost barn.
“Could you do that?” Elijah asked Matthew in a shaky whisper, his eyes glued to the limp, still shape. Matthew shook his head.
“Nay, ‘tis a sin.”
“I could, and then it would be me deciding.”
Matthew gripped Elijah hard around the wrist. “You don’t mean that, Elijah. To do that…” He indicated the body now lying on a board. “…to do that you must have lost all hope.”
“Aye,” Elijah replied in a colourless voice.
*
Their days began at dawn with a silent breakfast of ubiquitous gruel. Once a week, there was salted pork, and sometimes even beans. Matthew found wild raspberry canes and ate the tart, unripe berries and the small leaves, recalling how Alex had insisted he always eat something green to keep his health and teeth. Alex; during the days he’d banished her to the furthest reaches of his mind, because the memory of her was too painful, but at unexpected moments he’d confuse a distant female figure with her, and he would be so happy until he remembered where he was; on a plantation with Alex nowhere in sight.
In the evenings Matthew and his companions were so tired they collapsed into silent heaps on the floor, all of them longing for the short release of dreams of somewhere else – anywhere but here.
The first few days, Matthew had gone in search of water and kept at least his face and hands clean, but now he didn’t care, all he wanted to do was lie down and rest his aching muscles. But every night he cleaned his teeth as his wife had taught him, running a careful tongue over them to ensure they still sat as they should. Alex… He couldn’t keep her at bay when he hovered on the brink of sleep, and her name was often his last conscious thought.
Matthew moved silently through his days, keeping his head down as much as possible, and as July shifted into August he began to take his blanket and retreat to a small copse he had found by chance well behind the cook house. There was a small spring, a soft gurgling that widened into a small pond, before trickling away between the trees. The sound of water reminded him of home, and he rediscovered the simple pleasure of keeping somewhat clean, taking the time to wash before he wrapped himself in his blanket and sat back to watch the stars that flew so tantalisingly close above his head. It was a relief to be alone; only him and the skies spread out above him. It was anguish to be alone; only him here in the dark with his wife and son perhaps lost to him forever.
One evening he caught sight of himself in the still surface of the water, and for an instant he had no idea who this heavily bearded man
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