Fiction logo

The Dread of Saint Martin

Historic Reenactment

By Matthew PrimousPublished 3 years ago 5 min read
Like
The Dread of Saint Martin
Photo by British Library on Unsplash

As the eyes of a soldier from Saint Martin, I saw this slave girl who I liked. She was pretty with beautiful dark brown eyes. She had a curvy shape. I thought she was too young but I heard it deep in her voice, her maturity. Her parents were way back in Africa when the slave traders came to their village. She remembered her father giving his life for her mother and her. Her mother resisted being alone with her because she needed protection. Her father had to force her mother to leave and hideaway. Her father was able to stop an approaching trader and the fight went on for a while. Her mother was able to flee to the mountains. And all she knew was a gunshot and a scream that could be heard a mile away. Her mother was alone with her for days and she hoped that the slave traders were gone. She began searching for food and water. She found a nearby village that had not yet been ravaged. They gave us both shelter and food. We stood there by the shores for months and months. Everything seems normal and fine. And we forgot about the slave traders and then out of nowhere the village was under siege. My mother was tired of running and force me to leave. She gave me enough supplies but the village was surrounded and I could not escape. They made me and my mother and the men and the women of the village stripped to nothing while they examined us with guns. The same day that they caught us was the same day that they chained us from head to toe. And within a week, they had us travel together through the forest to the shore. Some old women begun to chant, I did not know all the words but from the time I spent there. Their language was not too different than our own from the village where I was born. We chanted the same words day and night and it grew louder until the slave traders forced us to silence. Every time we stop walking in chains in our day's journey, the slave traders would set up camps keeping us highly guarded against wild beasts. My father told me once that only the people of the land understand the fierce and viciousness of the beasts. We heard some slave traders and even though we did not understand their language. Some of them sound very frightened of the African nights, I was hoping that we would be freed. Their dogs were always watchers and they had a bunch of them sleeping outside. They would howl every night if they see something. Sometimes the beasts would approach the dogs, the dogs provided enough distraction for the slaveholders to kill the beasts. The slave traders began teaching the young how to speak their language so they could communicate with the rest of the people. They would have the young to interpret what the head slave trader was saying. They warned anyone of us that if we try to escape we would be caught and bound further. They stated that we would be in chains until we are sold and have new masters. And that this is the last time, we would see this land and be free. Then the other slave traders celebrated being at the shore, they asked the young women to dance with them and they gave them a little more food. They then would take them away just a little further being them back after a while. I never approached because I was so young and not a woman yet. Our women would come back crying and confused. They would only tell their close relatives. My mother approach by a slave trader who wanted her. However, the head slave trader made her a slave under his cook and the approaching slave trader could not touch her. Onboard, some of the men slaves were bound to help the ship sail, they had to pull the ship to the waters with guns aimed at their heads. The slave traders would alternate with weapons. Many became diseased with the lack of hygiene and water. Bodies of children and older people were unchained and dump into the ocean. This happened over the months that it took for the voyage to Saint Martin. Some of the children I had known and they were good to me. Some of the older people were welcoming and friendly but their lives were cut short by the crowd and diseases that the slave traders brought. Most of the time, slaves ate little food, scabies of food, and the rest of a meal that the slave traders did not want. And most of the time, they ate the same food every day. The men slaves were almost exhausted in the trip to Saint Martin, so the slave traders celebrated they would free some of the women slaves and give them a little wine in their ship rooms then they would bring in a men slave after they were done with them. We heard the women screaming and yelling and harsh speaking their native language but it did not matter the actions happened as if certain. The pregnant slave women were forced to clean and cook on the ship. As the ship moved closer to the shore, it cracked everybody had to get off quickly otherwise they would be engulfed by the rising tide. My mother refused to exit and she was lost in the ship as with other slaves who could not escape. I cried like a baby because I was alone. And the head slave trader was angry about the ship and that he lost hundreds of slaves even so thousands to Saint Martin. Nevertheless, he made us all stand on the block preparing us to be sold. He said, "For all slaves remaining on this island, they would be forced to work until they are sold and accounted for." I've been working on this wall with the others for most of my time here. It has no purpose but to divide. My life has been used to satisfy the wants and needs of a slave driver. My people's blood and lives have been shed for this wall. If you come to rescue me then I will give you my all. For I have nothing, no family, no friends, only the little life I have left. And the soldier made her his slave to save her from the dread of Saint Martin.

Short Story
Like

About the Creator

Matthew Primous

I am a Black Scholar, International Scholar, & Google Scholar, & 3-Time Eber & Wein Best Poet., Nominee for Poet of the Year, 2020 Black Author Matters Winner, 2 time Akademia Excellence Essayists,& 2022 Honorary Muckrack Journalist.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.