Been a fierce summer. Six months of drought on the island. Some of the old-timers tell me is the worse they seen in a long, long time. Not only the canefields suffer, but all our provision grounds dry up. Rivers run little water so is hard to even do a little bit of fishing. Backra still expect us to work though in the heat and dust and dryness. But how can you work when you belly empty? We is restless and we is weary.

Sam Sharpe wanted us to rise up before planting season start, but then him say wait. Tell us the king going send freedom papers, order backra to give us our freedom. But no papers come. Then we going rise up after the cane get planted, but again Sam Sharpe tell us to wait. So we wait, and wait, but nothing happen, except storm clouds gather. We get heavy rains, and many slaves get sick with the pox. By the time Christmas come round and cropping season pon us, nobody want to wait any longer.

We gather in the speaking room of the church to hear what Sam Sharpe have to say.

‘Christmas fall on a Sunday. We supposed to get two rest days at Christmas, so you must not show up for work on the Tuesday,’ Sharpe tell us. ‘And you must tell others to not show up when the driver blows the conch shell. Then you must send word to backra that unless slaves get paid in wages, we are not working. No more will we take the lash.’

Sam Sharpe know after the cane get cut, if no slave go out to work, it going spoil fast. Only take two or three days for it to turn rotten. Him want to force backra to give in, to pay us. That was the plan. Was a good plan!

Another night, after service, I ask him, ‘You think backra going give up so easy? Give up all the money pouring into them pockets? Give up the power them hold over us?’

Him chuckle, look at me straight. ‘Nothing comes easy, William, when it is change you’re talking about. And freedom, it seems, requires the heaviest of payments. Payments made in blood. Not violence for violence sake. Nor power for the sake of power. No,’ him say, shaking him head. ‘This is the way of the weak man, the soulless man.’ Holding up the good book, him say, ‘Life is a precious gift from our Lord, our saviour, who sent down his one and only son to guide us. Watched as he suffered on the cross to save the souls of his children. Just like we may have to suffer, may have to die, to save those coming after us. But we never take a life just for the taking of it.’