Authors: Esmeralda Santiago
“Are we in danger?” Ramón asked.
“I’ve ordered that the foremen be vigilant,” Severo said. “I’ve increased the patrols around the perimeter. I don’t expect trouble from them, but it’s better for you to stay close to the
casona
, and for them to know we’re watching them.”
More refugees from the Danish colony of St. Croix arrived in San Juan with reports of violence as bands of slaves wreaked vengeance on their owners and plantations. The military governor of Puerto Rico, Field Marshal Juan Prim, Conde de Reus, ordered troops to aid the Cruzans in quelling the rebellions. He unsuccessfully tried to get the Danish government to reverse abolition in St. Croix—hastily declared during the violence—because of the adverse impact it would have on nearby Puerto Rico. The Danish government refused.
To ensure that slaves in Puerto Rico wouldn’t rise against their masters following the example of the Martinicans and Cruzans, Governor Prim issued the Bando Contra la Raza Africana, or Bando Negro. The Proclamation Against the African Race stipulated a military trial with no recourse to civil law for any black or brown person
(negro o pardo)
who committed a crime against a
blanco
. The Bando Negro didn’t distinguish free people from slaves; it was aimed at Africans and their descendants, and enforcement was based solely on skin color. The Bando Negro established severe punishments for even minor transgressions (like not ceding way to a
blanco
on a narrow path) and authorized owners to put to death any slave who participated in insurrectionist activities.
“We’re supposed to read the contents of the Bando Negro to the workers,” Severo told Ana and Ramón. “This one is the first proclamation of May 31, 1848. The second one, published on June 9 details punishments for infractions. We received both on the same day.”
“
‘… la ferocidad de la estúpida raza africana …’
Ferocity—the stupid African race?” Ana looked up. “This preamble is extraordinary.” She passed the sheets to Ramón. “Is this serious?”
“
Sí, señora
,” Severo said. “But it does seem extreme, in my opinion.”
Ramón read in a low voice,
“ ‘… sentimientos que les son naturales; el incendio, el asesinato y la destrucción …’ ”
He read the same passage again, louder: “ ‘… Their natural inclinations toward arson, murder, and destruction …”
“Language more likely to incite violence, not curb it,” Ana said.
“These proclamations are written in San Juan by soldiers and city folks,” Severo said, “terrified of the few malefactors who turn on their masters. Forgive me,
señor
, if this pains you.”
Ramón accepted his apology with a nod.
“Well,” Ana said, “we won’t read this ridiculous claptrap to our people.”
“Unfortunately, it is required,” Severo started.
She took the papers from Ramón’s hands. “They appear to be hurried documents by a frightened aristocrat in San Juan,” she said, returning them to Severo.
“Yes they do,
señora
,” he said. “And my guess is that its provisions are driven by scared absentee landowners.”
“But the Conde de Reus is the representative of the queen,
que Dios guarde
,” Ramón said. “He certainly wouldn’t go to such lengths if the dangers weren’t real.”
“We’ve had no trouble here or nearby—unless you’ve kept it from me.” Ana looked at Severo.
“Of course not,
señora
.”
“If the slaves hear about the rebellions,” Ramón insisted, “they—”
“I will keep things under control,” Severo said. “No further travel passes. More guards at night.”
“And if they’ve already heard about the Bando Negro,” Ana said, “we’d best let them know we’re aware there was trouble elsewhere.”
“I agree,
señora
.”
“Don’t read the preamble, only the provisions and punishments, and let them know that they will be enforced.”
“Very good,
señora
.”
Ramón watched his wife and Severo speaking rapidly to each other, making decisions as if he weren’t there. For an instant he saw a softening in Ana’s features when she looked at Severo, and Severo’s
own recognition of that look, but the moment was so fleeting that Ramón doubted what he’d seen.
The
batey
bell rang four times, paused, clanged four, paused, clanged three. There was a longer pause and the series was repeated as the workers and foremen came from their duties to assemble in front of the barracks. Ramón took Miguel into his bedroom on the other side of the house. Ana closed the windows and doors facing the
batey
but left one shutter ajar. The opening was large enough for her to see through, but no one could see her.
Although they weren’t lined up in any specific order, Severo’s slaves huddled together in one group, while those owned by the hacienda stood in another. Siña Damita came to the threshold of the
bohío
that served as an infirmary and stood there, scowling and violently chewing the inside of her lips. Three of the foremen were mulatto freemen who lived with their families in cottages on the other side of the plantain patch. The fourth, a
liberto
married to a white
campesina
, lived in a
bohío
at the edge of the west pasture. Slaves or free, everyone looked worried. It appeared to Ana that they expected this news.
“I know that you’ve heard about trouble in other places,” Severo said as if talking to them about the weather. “But this is Puerto Rico, and we’re all subjects of Her Majesty Isabel II, may God keep her. You must obey the laws here regardless what other countries or governments do.”
One by one, Severo read the nineteen articles of the Bando Negro, waiting a few moments after each so that everyone could understand what it contained. “A black or person of color who threatens a
blanco
in word or in deed, shall be put to death if a slave, and if free, will lose the right hand.”
From her perch over the
batey
, Ana could see only the backs of the men and women who stood, heads bowed and still. The foremen shifted in their places. Until then, slave codes hadn’t applied to free
gente de color
, but now, because the foremen were not
blanco
, they were bound by the provisions of the Bando Negro.
When at last he finished reading the proclamations, Severo dismissed everyone to their duties. Ana watched as Siña Damita crossed
the
batey
to her mule tied to the post. The solid, dignified woman now slumped her shoulders as she walked.
Over the next few days, Ana felt just as she had in the days following Inocente’s murder. Everyone was nervous and avoided behavior that in any way could be interpreted as aggression, a threat, or disrespect. Even the children were subdued and constantly shooed by their elders. The distrust on both sides was as palpable as the mist following a July afternoon rain shower. Flora was somber and quiet. While she bathed Ana, she was as attentive as usual, but she didn’t sing, although she’d once told Ana that even in their grief her people sang. Ana knew that asking Flora to sing would be interpreted only as another order. She couldn’t bring herself to demand more from her.
Travel passes were suspended, so Damita’s family couldn’t spend Sundays with her. Instead, Severo allowed her to spend the afternoon with them at the hacienda. She brought food for her daughters-in-law and always had more than enough to share with others. Sundays were more relaxed at the hacienda because Severo wasn’t around. In the morning after chores, the workers assembled in the
rancho
. If someone had died the previous week, there were special prayers but no novenas for slaves, unlike for
blancos
. After services, everyone went to their cabins or to the barracks, but armed guards circled to make sure that no more than three adults formed into groups.
Doña Ana spent most of the afternoon scratching marks on her papers, and don Ramón floated aimlessly, sometimes taking Miguel for a walk but just as often alone. Siña Damita had never seen a man so lost in his own life. He wore nothing but white now, adding to Nena la Lavandera’s work. The laundress was near due with his child, and Damita counted it to be the ninth baby born from don Inocente or don Ramón. She didn’t know what doña Ana thought about the mulatto infants born on the premises. Maybe she believed they were don Severo’s, but Damita knew he didn’t use the women on the hacienda. He had enough with the
campesinas
and Consuelo. Sometimes doña Ana stared at one of the children, like three-year-old Pepita, but Siña Damita was sure she wouldn’t ask anything about it.
Blancas
had a way of lying to themselves that Siña Damita found peculiar.
With the constant patrols on the roads and byways to and around Guares, Damita didn’t go to town except for an emergency. One night, she was about to blow out her candle before wrapping herself inside her hammock when there was tapping on her door.
“Who there?”
“It’s me, Mamá, Artemio.…”
Her heart jumped to her mouth. She’d heard the lights-out bell from the hacienda long ago, and her youngest son should be in the barracks. She let him in, bolted the door. Artemio threw himself on her as if chased by a ghost.
“
¿Qué pasó?
What you doing here?”
“Forgive me, Mamacita.…” He covered his face and sobbed like a child and Damita held him, caressing her youngest son as he told her the worst possible thing he could’ve said. Artemio and three others from San Bernabé were escaping.
He’d been to San Bernabé on errands for don Severo, and fell in love with a
muchachita
there. Belén was brown as cocoa, with big round eyes over high cheekbones on a narrow face. She was prone to high fevers and abscesses on her arms and legs because her blood was so hot that it boiled. Damita had treated her and her brother, who had the same condition.
“Don Luis bothers all the women there, and she couldn’t take it anymore. She convinced us to run away. But when we met in the woods, she’d changed her mind. She tried to talk us out of it. We were confused. I should’ve gone back, Mamá, but then she said she was going to tell.… If she did, she’d be free.… I was so scared,” he said. “I hit her. I hit her and she fell—”
“Did you—”
“I don’t think … she was moaning and … I didn’t mean to kill her,” he said. “I didn’t know what to do. The others left me and I hid in the fields until after the bell rang and then I came here.”
Before she had a chance to tell Artemio which way to go, before she could find her money so he could bribe someone to help him, before she could kiss and hug him once more, hounds were growling at her door.
“
¡Abre la puerta, Damita!
Come out, now!”
Siña Damita and Artemio emerged holding on to each other. Don Severo was pointing a rifle at them. He whistled and reluctantly the dogs backed off.
“Disculpe, señor,”
Artemio pleaded over and over again, his hands together in prayer. “Mamá had nothing to do with this. It was me,
señor
, please don’t punish my
mamita, se lo ruego, mi buen señor
. I beg you.”
Don Severo was about to respond, when four soldiers charged into the yard.
“¡Por la reina!”
they called, invoking Isabel II. Upon those words, anyone within hearing must stop all movement and wait until soldiers release them.
“We’re still searching for the others,” the lieutenant said to Severo. “We’ll take these two.…”
“The boy is mine, and she works for me,” Severo said. “I’ll take care of them.”
“I’m sorry, don Severo,” the soldier said, “you’re within your rights for minor offenses, but not for this. Don Luis said they killed a girl. Who knows what they were planning. We have to interrogate them all. The boy was caught on her premises; she’s probably an accomplice.”
“She had nothing to do with it!”
“Be a man!” Severo snapped. Artemio gulped his cries. “I’ll see you at the
cuartel
in Guares,” Severo said, and rode off with his dogs to join the search for the others.
Their hands were bound behind their backs, nooses knotted around their necks. The other ends of the ropes were tied to different horses in such a way that if Damita or Artemio didn’t keep up or if they stumbled or fell, they might hang or choke themselves to death. Swirling clouds veiled a full moon one minute, revealed it the next. The road was bright as day, but when the moon hid, everything disappeared as the world became as dark as the inside of her mouth. Damita couldn’t help but wonder why Artemio and the others had chosen a full-moon night for their escape. But she knew desperation. It forced her to run away on a similar night when she was about the same age. The scars on her back now throbbed as if never healed.
As they reached the curve beyond San Bernabé, she heard the dogs, yells, and running. Damita had to keep moving in a wild dance as the rope around her neck tightened and loosened when the horse skittered.
“¡Por la reina!”
soldiers called. “We got them.”
The soldier holding Artemio handed his reins to the one holding Damita and ran into the woods with the others, his saber aloft. The other runaways could be heard screaming and begging Severo to pull the dogs back.
“¡Por amor a Dios!”
Damita looked at Artemio. The moon hid behind a cloud so she could not see him, but the next moment he was in full light. He was her youngest son, the most obedient, she thought, until this night. He was the most affectionate, the sweetest. Their gazes locked, and she felt his fear, and hers, and her love, and his, and his remorse. The moon hid and he scuffed nearer.
“Perdóname, Mamá,”
he said once more.
As the moon brightened, Artemio screamed and kicked the horse. The noose around Damita’s neck tightened as the horse she was tied to jerked out of the way. She fell and was dragged a few feet until the soldier managed to control the beast. Another soldier grabbed her, loosened her noose, and helped her stand. Before the moon disappeared, Siña Damita saw the other horse galloping into the dark dragging Artemio’s lifeless body.