Clouds streaked the rising sun. A strong wind blew in from the west. Sounds like a great animal breathing rose up from Whistling Cay. Silently, we clutched our weapons and waited for Captain Dumont and his army.
They came with flying flags, to the beat of many drums, through the gap in the wall and past our huts. Halfway through the meadow they stopped.
I counted them. Ten soldiers in a row and more than twenty rows, carrying swords and long-barreled muskets. Other slaves counted them too, for small gasps went up everywhere. I glanced at Konje. His face had not changed. It showed no signs of fear.
Captain Dumont, with an officer at his side, walked forward and stood in front of us. He had a pointed beard that was turning gray. He wore a three-cornered hat and a curly white wig.
"Who is the man called Apollo?" he asked in a brisk voice, speaking Danish well.
"Here I am," Konje said, but he did not move. "Have you come to talk?"
The captain gave a small nod.
"Do we talk as men, one to another," Konje asked, "or do we talk as slave and master?"
"You're a slave, so talk as a slave."
"I will talk as a free man or not at all," Konje said angrily.
"Enough!" Captain Dumont said.
He spoke to the officer beside him, who stepped out to put a chain on Konje's wrists. Without a word, with a single blow, Konje sent him sprawling.
Captain Dumont turned pale. He stared at the officer, then at Konje, but said nothing. The army behind him must not have seen the blow or the officer lying dazed on the ground. There was not a sound from them.
Konje backed away to the very edge of the cliff and stood between two towering rocks. He was no longer angry. He glanced at Captain Dumont in his three-cornered hat and curly wig. At the captain's shining soldiers that covered the meadow.
His eyes fell for a moment upon us, huddled silently together, clutching our knives and muskets. There was a look on his face I had never seen before. As if he were high in the heavens. As if he were God looking down upon his people.
I watched him look for a time at the waves washing over the rocks far below us. I watched him draw back from what he saw.
Nero, who stood beside me, said, "Why does he stand there? What is he waiting for? There's fighting and dying to be done."
Konje raised his musket and pointed it at Captain Dumont. Then he flung it on the ground and told us to do the same with our weapons.
"We do not honor you with a battle," he said to the captain. "Nor do we surrender."
Captain Dumont did not answer. He didn't move when our weapons clattered to the ground, when Nero held tight to his ironwood club. He seemed not to believe what had happened before his eyes.
Konje came and took Nero back to the edge of the cliff. They talked for a moment, bracing themselves against the wind that threatened to sweep them away.
For a while they were silent, gazing out at the sea and the far horizon. Then Nero flung his club at the French army. In one leap, he was in the air, falling toward the rocks below.
"Like Nero, it is time for all to go," Konje said. "To leave this brutal bondage."
"Yes, yes," slaves shouted.
"And go away to greener shores and freedom."
"Yes, yes, yes."
I heard no moans and saw no tears, though it was clear to everyone by now what we were to do.
Five girls came. They put their arms around each other and leaped, singing a joyful song. I heard their voices for a long time.
Old Jacob came out of the crowd. He shouted an insult at Captain Dumont, brandished his walking club, and was gone. My friend Lenta waved to me. She had her son by the hand. He looked frightened and held back, but she swept him in her arms, and they too were gone. Men and women swarmed over the cliff.
The French sailors in their bright blue jackets leaned quietly on their shining muskets. Captain Dumont watched with his arms crossed upon his chest. I believe he was glad that the slaves were leaping to their deaths, that he would not have the trouble of taking them back to the plantations, to be pinched with hot irons and to have their legs cut off.
Clouds hid the sun. Sea hawks hovered in the gray air. Our people had gone. Konje and I were alone.
He held out his strong hands and I went toward him. But I took only a few steps. Suddenly, slowly, for the first time, I felt our child stir. I stopped and braced myself against the wind.
"What's wrong?" Konje said.
"Nothing," I answered.
"It's something." He looked down at me with his burning eyes. "The child?"
"Yes."
"Don't think of the child, for we all go together—the three of us, to a better world and happier days."
"Happy days will soon be here."
"Never, not on this island. Come, it's time to leave."
"No," I said.
He grasped my hands. I thought he meant to drag me over the cliff. I did not move. I could not move. A stricken look crossed his face and he backed away. He stood among the rocks on the edge of the cliff, but in a moment he was gone. The gray sky enclosed him. I ran to the cliff, praying that I had dreamed an awful dream.
From far below rose a faint sound. I imagined that it was his voice calling to me. I took one heavy step, but my body stirred again. And I moved no farther. Our child bound me to the earth that I stood upon, bound me to life forever.