“No, they weren’t,” she answers, perched on her mule, looking out over the land, her gaze shifting from the hills to the lowlands to the huts. “How’d you learn so much about me and this expedition?”
“My mother’s place is next to the colonel’s yard.” I point to the thatched-roof hut where I grew up.
“Oh, they’re neighbors.”
“In some communities, that would be the correct definition. In Accompong, and for Colonel Simon Rowe the elder, the entire village is his neighbor, and proximity to the leader’s yard doesn’t give anyone special status.”
“That seems odd.”
“That’s the tip of the iceberg.” I chuckle. If she only knew what Accompong has in store for her, it might even shake some of the confidence she shows.
We continue our descent. Our line of mules, with their side-to-side gait, shuffles down the hillside with sure-footedness.It takes another twenty minutes before one of the colonel’s lieutenants meets us and introduces himself. Lieutenant Clerk is a new face to me. He was probably just a boy when I left. The young man leads us and the load bearers to a corral, where we dismount from our mules. I suggest that the group gather their luggage or knapsacks holding the personal items they’ll need for the night.
“Why does this feel like a military base?” Katherine asks as we gather the bags we will carry to Captain Rowe’s main house. “What war are the Maroon people fighting?” she asks with humor in her voice, an inappropriate tone to my ears.
“You do know the history of Accompong and the Maroon people in the Cockpit?”
“Of course I do.” She pauses. “They were enslaved people who rebelled and fought for and won their freedom in the 1760s and have lived in the Cockpit since then, as free people.”
“Yes, that’s it in a nutshell,” I say.
As we walk to the main house, which is a bit far from the corral, I feel like Katherine’s summary was too simplistic. She sounded as if she were reading from a book. “You’ll find that there’s more to the legacy, now that you’re in Accompong.”
“Like what? Tell me, please.”
Vivian Jean trots up to my other side. “I’d like to hear it, too.”
I have the attention of these ladies, which I am not sure I want, but there is so much history of the Maroon people not written by white men.
“During the rebellion of 1760 under Tacky, a Koromantee chief, the Maroons aided the English. By 1795, the Maroons of Trelawney Town rebelled.”
Katherine grunts. “Koromantee, and Trelawney Town?”
“Trelawney Town no longer exists. Neither does Scotts Hall, Charleston, or Moore Town. Over time, the Maroon numbers dwindled. One hundred years after the first rebellion,sixty Maroon families resided between Accompong and the other communities. Now, Accompong is the last Maroon community.” I stop, gesturing to Katherine and Vivian Jean that we should slow down, as the others are lagging behind. “Over the years, the Maroon people have had to fight over and over to keep their freedom. A military mindset has been a part of the Maroon culture since it began.”
I think about Byron’s father now. He intends to wage another kind of war against the Maroon people: taxing the villagers of Accompong for making rum. “There will always be battles to fight, wars to win, and freedom to defend.”
“Who are the Koromantee?” asks Vivian Jean.
I am not ready to give her the whole definition of the word, “You’ll learn more about them as you get to know the Maroon people.”
We arrive at the colonel’s main house. An impressive man, although short in stature and not much of a talker, he welcomes us with an assertive presence, skipping lengthy greetings and unnecessary smiles. He swiftly establishes his authority, which does not include directly interacting with village visitors. I sense Katherine’s disappointment. She expected open arms and welcoming hugs and kisses upon her arrival in the village. She’ll find that gaining the trust of the Maroons won’t be without its obstacles, even with Melville Herskovits’s endorsement in her favor.
The colonel’s oldest daughter, Iris, serves as the hostess. After introductions, she ushers the group to a long table at the side of the house, where a meal is set. I can smell the heat of the peppers. Even at Edna’s Diner, the menu didn’t offer as many peppers as I see floating in the savory stew made with pimento, coconut oil, and many different peppers. A side bowl of rice won’t shield the tongue as much as the Americans will require.
I warn Katherine Dunham’s team in a whisper, “Careful. The stew is made with African seasonings. It’s very spicy.”
“Will they think we’re rude if we don’t eat it?” Vivian Jean asks.
“We don’t want to get off to a bad start here,” Katherine adds quietly. Then she raises her voice. “This looks delicious, Colonel, Iris. Thank you so much.”
Ten minutes later, after Katherine insists that everyone eat up, she, Vivian Jean, Tully, and the two youngsters, Robbie and Othella, are wiping tears from their eyes, snot from their noses, and coughing up half a lung.
They are not suffering alone—even I’m sweating.
After dinner, the group regains its energy. Their enthusiasm for being in Accompong can’t be suppressed, even though they should be exhausted after a long day of travel. Iris claps her hands to gather everyone’s attention and announces, “The living quarters won’t be ready until tomorrow night.” She forces a smile. “You can rest anywhere in the yard that you find comfortable.”
Disappointment hangs in the air, evident from the groans and sighs. The women from the Dunham party seem particularly uneasy. They long for a restful night’s sleep. I feel the same. Meanwhile, Iris is quick to act. She seizes one of Katherine’s bags and strides into the house but stumbles, causing the bag to burst open. With an excited gasp, Iris removes a large, square object from Katherine’s suitcase. “Is this one of those phonographs?”
