The Cost of Sugar(68)

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.”