The Incident at the Rookery: A Sherlock Holmes & Irene Adler Mystery

By Stephen George

Imagine yourself in a world of mystery that spans the 1848 Revolutions in Europe, the American Civil War, the 1865 Jamaican Rebellion, and the British Financial Crisis of 1890, and ends in the Rookery, a seemingly tranquil park, where a prominent financier is murdered. A doll resembling the victim, a mournful bugle, and suspicions cast on a myst

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen George
• Release date: May 17, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869383372

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Paul Bogle

September 1865

Eastern Jamaica

Cleave to the Black, men! Always cleave to the Black!

The speaker was Paul Bogle, a Baptist minister and farmer. He was of medium height, slender but muscular. His most striking appearance was his eyes. They were intelligent and keenly observant. Those dark eyes missed no detail.

Because of his remarkable memory, he could remember even the slightest details of events years later. Although he kept no written list of his followers, he knew them, their families and their biographies… His voice was not deep but he self-mastered a parade ground tone of voice. When he spoke, his voice was clearly heard and understood, above the clamor of any other voices, over a football-size field.

As he said these words, Bogle looked at the fifteen men who faced him, farmers like himself. They began to farm as children and would die as farmers, under the current system. Some had walked ten miles through the jungle at night to hear him.

The humidity had changed from merely oppressive to unbearable. They held torches, which highlighted their sweaty faces. Most gulped water from the canvas bags they had brought with them. No one fidgeted, complained nor held private conversation. The group was entirely focused on Bogle and his words.

The men had heard rumors about Bogle, rumors that he had something important to say. When they asked about the rumors, they invariably received the same reply: Listen to him yourself.

Friends had knocked on their doors. They asked whether they desired to improve their lives. When they discussed the question with their wives, they heard the same reply: Go! Go! Go!

They hoped that he would lay out the path for a better life for their families and themselves. None had any property or other assets. But they had intangibles such as honor, loyalty, responsibility, duty and self-respect. They were multimillionaires in those intangible assets.

The groups who came to each meeting steadily increased in number. At the first meeting in June, only two men came. Bogle wondered if he wasted his time, if anyone was interested in his message. But the message sped through the grapevine quicker than if it had been telegraphed. Men would meet their friends and whisper, When’s the next meeting?

To avoid detection, Bogle had to limit attendance at each meeting to no more than fifteen. A larger crowd of men who entered the jungle would have attracted attention. The government, the plantation owners and businessmen kept a constant and intense scrutiny on large meetings of Black men.

Who were these men who stood in front of him? They were British subjects who wanted to be treated like every other British subject. None thought that was too much to ask.

Look men, our ancestors were brought here against their will. Many of us died during the journey. Back in Africa we were Akans, Bantus, Ashantis and all the other west and Central African tribes. But that doesn’t matter here. We’re not in Africa anymore. We’re in a place where the plantation owners and government officials don’t see separate tribes. All they see is us Black folks. They have no idea of our ancient tribes and don’t care. All right then, we must forget the old tribal differences, the tribal fights over land and power in Africa. That’s all in the past. Now, we have enemies in common.

We must unite as Blacks. It’s as simple as that. There should be no struggles for power amongst us. That’s what the plantation owners, businessmen and government officials want to see. They want us to fight amongst ourselves. Their strength lies in our disunity. Let’s all pull together and we’ll achieve more as a group than we could ever achieve as individuals. Remember what Corinthians says, that there should be no divisions amongst us and that we should be perfectly united in mind and thought.

There were murmurs of approval from the group. An elderly man standing in the front of the group yelled out, Skin for skin. He’d waited a lifetime for the opportunity to shout that message out loud.

Bogle immediately replied, That’s right brother. We must help each other. No one else on this island will help us unless they’re forced to, unless they see it’s to their advantage. They’ll see the light when they’ve been hurt economically. If there’s no economic pain for them, there’s no economic gain for us.

Another man yelled out, Bogle, you gonna tell us how to hurt them economically? I want a better life, like I’m sure the rest of us do. But I don’t want to hurt anyone or burn anything down. Can we do it peacefully?

That was exactly what Bogle wanted to hear. When he wasn’t working on his farm, he preached the gospel in his chapel. He was a peaceful man and wanted no part of violence unless he was forced to defend himself, his family or his congregation.

You gonna tell us how, that’s why we’re here? several shouted out.

Bogle paused a moment before he replied. Sure, I’ll give you a plan and if we all follow it, then we’ll get some political power and some income and wealth for us and our families.

The crowd yelled out, We’re with you, Bogle. Just tell us what to do.

Just tell us! was chanted over and over again as the men clapped their hands and stomped their feet.

His plan was simple: form a union. He didn’t dare mention the word union to the group. He was afraid that one of his followers might accidentally say that word out loud near a plantation owner, businessman or government official, who would report what they heard. He heard of the union movement in Great Britain and the reaction by businessmen there. On occasion, the reaction was extremely violent.

Those British robber barons and captains of industry hired strikebreakers, who split workers’ heads open or maimed them. Unions were now legal in Great Britain but the process to legality had taken a physical and economic toll on the strikers and their families. But Jamaica was far from Great Britain and Black skulls could be broken before the authorities in London put a stop to it. He couldn’t dare to utter the word union to the men.

Well, men, back in 1834, slavery was legally abolished. I say ‘legally’ because neither the Jamaican government nor the plantation owners could buy or sell us or force us to work for free. But, they adopted policies which made it almost impossible to do anything except work for them at whatever salary they wanted to pay us. They had the power and the money, the government, the military, the judges and the newspapers who backed them up. They became angry when they realized that we would rather work for ourselves than work for them.

Bogle stooped down and grabbed a handful of soil. He ground it in his hands and then slowly allowed the soil to fall from his hands. He pointed to the soil.

They had political power because they limited the right to vote. You can vote only if you own property. None of you own property. But, men, did you ever try to buy property, even if you had the money? The plantation owners won’t sell property to you. Yeah, they’ll rent to you to keep you from voting. That’s how they stay in power. They can pass laws which keep us poor and there’s nothing you can do about it. There’s 3,000 of us who live in this parish but only about one hundred of us can vote.

It was a simple fact that all could grasp. They knew that they were mere bystanders in the country in which they lived. Others were the shakers, they were the ones being shaken this way and that.

We’re not the only ones not allowed to vote. Our mixed-race brothers seldom have the right to vote. Same is true for many White folks. This country is run politically by a twentieth of one percent of the population because they’re the only ones given the right to vote.

If our mixed-race and White brothers and sisters saw the situation clearly, they would join our peaceful protest. Even though they’re not Black, they cannot vote because they don’t own property. Because they and we cannot vote, none of us is completely free. Instead, all of us live in a constant state of tension. We are left to wonder what the minuscule few will do to us.

The men wondered why Bogle’s argument was not apparent to everyone who lacked the right to vote. They knew that it was a right which should be color-blind.

There’s plenty of vacant land available, too, because the Governor seizes land when the planters don’t pay their taxes. What does the Governor do with that land? Sell it to us so that we can grow our own crops? Nah, the Governor keeps the back lands off the market. As a result, the land does nothing. It keeps us from land ownership and the right to vote.

Several of the men knew that Bogle was staging the obvious. They were waiting for him to move on, to get to the heart of the matter…

How we gonna fix that? Rufus Brathwaite asked.

We must put our trust in George William Gordon, replied Bogle. He’s one of us.

Although most of the group knew, or had heard of, Gordon, there were several who did not. They needed an explanation for the reason to place their trust in him.

Brathwaite asked again, What’s he doing that’s special?

Bogle, who was mentored by Gordon, explained, George Gordon is a self-made and self-educated man. Started up his own company to sell produce. Made a lot of money too, especially from ginger, honey and pimento sales. I know he looks like he has White skin but he has the heart of a Black, through his mother’s side of the family. There is absolutely no doubt that we can trust him.

Then, Bogle put his hand under his shirt and pulled out a sheet of paper. It was a small piece of paper with numbers on it. If the meeting was discovered, he could easily swallow it in one gulp. He read official statistics: Slavery ended in 1834. Since then, fifty percent of the sugar plantations have closed. Those are the essential facts.

He folded the paper and put it under his shirt. He waited for the facts to sink in. The men were not stupid. They were free men and no one could force them to work.

Bogle walked amongst the group. He shook hands with each man. Finally, he mounted a tree stump and spoke.

They can’t get us to work for free any longer. It’s difficult for them to make a profit now.

Brathwaite was the only man who had asked any questions. Bogle decided to address his comments directly to him.

What do you think Gordon decided to do with his profits? When a sugar plantation closes or the heirs of a deceased person want to pull the money out of the land, he buys the property. Then, he splits the property into small plots that can be farmed, with the vegetables to feed the new owners and the rest sold as produce.

He makes no profit when he sells property to us Blacks. I bought eight acres from him at the same price he paid for them. Been economically independent and voted for him ever since then.

At this point, Bogle could sense that his words had moved the men. They nodded to each other, as if they were casting a silent vote of approval.

Bogle raised his voice. When we own land, we can vote. We outnumber the plantation owners, businessmen and their families twenty-five to one. If we can vote, we can run this island. That’s what the plantation owners fear. Until we get the right to vote, elections are meaningless because they’re rigged.

But suppose I don’t have the money to buy land? asked one of the men.

Bogle understood the basis for the question. No one had any savings. It was a daily struggle to survive.

George Gordon will sell it to you at his cost and give you a mortgage. That way he finances you. You pay him over a period of time with your profits, replied Bogle.

He plans to ask the Governor to create an Agricultural Loan Bank. Then, we can borrow money to buy land that lies fallow. Unproductive land is no good to anyone.

Several questioned whether the plan was realistic, was feasible. They did not want to accept an illusion.

The plantation owners are OK with that? I bet they do something to stop Gordon and you, said Neville Johnson.

The question had been asked in all previous groups. Bogle had an immediate answer.

It’s all legal and there’s nothing they can do about it. The way you can earn money is to sell whatever vegetables you can grow to Gordon. He made his money from the sale of produce. He’s an expert in business. Gordon’s the best marketer in Jamaica.

He’ll re-sell your produce for you and give back every penny he received. He will make no profit from the sale of your produce. He’ll do his best to make you successful. He once told me it’s a virtuous circle: Economic power leads to political power, which leads to more economic power.

Everyone in the group agreed with what had been said. But only plans had been mentioned. Plans for a better future. They needed a plan for today, not tomorrow.

Bogle, is there anything else we can do until we buy property? There must be something, asked Amos Smith.

Men, this entire economy is based on sugar-growing it, cutting it and selling it. But sugar doesn’t grow by itself or cut itself. It’s us Blacks who break our backs in the fields under the hot sun every day. Without us, this entire economy collapses. The plantation owners NEED US!

But while we do all the work to support this economy, they pay us extraordinarily little, whenever they do pay us. They think that it’s impossible to affect their privileges. But if we stick together, we can end or reduce their privileges.

I haven’t been paid in a month, one man cried out. Me either, brother, shouted another in anger.

Bogle realized that the group was angry. Rightfully so, he thought. He knew that anger was energy, but negative energy. Anger was useful only if it was channeled into positive action. This was the time for him to point the way to positive, effective action.

Bogle responded, I believe it, brother. Let’s work on whatever common ground we can find and help those of us who have nothing. Work on the plantations only as a last resort, when you’re up against the wall.

Amen, brother, several men shouted out.

He had been in the shoes of men like these, before he met George Gordon. Gordon had shown him the way to prosper economically. But he had done more than that. He had preached the good news of the Gospel.

Gordon convinced him to become a preacher. Although Bogle liked to convince his followers to become preachers, he was content if they led good, moral lives. He hoped that in addition to showing the way to material riches, he would show the way to spiritual riches.

Bogle had just laid out his union plan. If they followed his plan they would own land, sell produce and withhold their labor as they saw fit. That was what was union about his plan.

Blacks could strike for better wages against plantation owners and live off the produce from their own farms until the strike was settled. If they bought land from George Gordon, they could fight the plantation owners economically. It might take years but if they were patient, the plantation owners would have no choice but to raise wages and improve working conditions.

That was the general plan. But there was one irritant that needed to be addressed. The so-called justice system was rigged. Even if a Black won a decision in court, they still lost because of draconian court costs and fees. There were many instances in which a Black plaintiff won ￡2, only to have court fees of ￡1.5 assessed against the award.

To beat a rigged system, you had to first refuse to go along with it. Mass civil disobedience, repeated over and over again, would cause the system to correct itself. To maintain the rigged system would prove to be too costly, too time-consuming and too shameful.

Men, we know the courts are rigged against us. The plantation owners are almost always the judges who decide our cases. They stick up for each other when they decide cases. Even when the judgments are fair and we win, they try to intimidate us when they impose incredibly high and unfair court costs on us. The crushing court costs and fees are arbitrary. They have nothing to do with the actual costs of a court system. Court costs and fees are made up out of thin air, based solely on the judge’s whimsy.

At this point, the men’s clothes were soaked in perspiration. They continually wiped perspiration from their brows and eyes. If asked later, not one man would remember the perspiration. They were used to perspiration because of their hard, physical labor. Wiping perspiration was merely a reflexive action, like batting an eye.

We once had a Black justice, Witter Jackson by name, who everyone, the plantation owners included, said was fair and just. But he refused to impose high court costs on us. The plantation owners didn’t like that idea. They connived to remove him from the bench even though he was appointed by the Crown.

That shows you how much power the plantation owners have when they can overturn the Crown’s action. The plantation owners have left us no choice. The only thing we can do is peacefully resist when either an unfair judgment is handed down or when they try to impose unfair court costs and fees on us.

One of the men said, Yeah, I remember Jackson. I guess that real justice was just too much for them. That was the problem. The only way they can beat us is if they cheat us.

Bogle replied, You’re right, brother. Only one man wanted Jackson back. That man was Gordon. He publicly criticized the Governor when Jackson was removed. The criticism was civil and reasonable, no bad or disrespectful language used.

But it turns out the Governor has thin skin. All this public, well-deserved criticism got under the Governor’s skin. What did the Governor do? He removed Gordon from the Assembly even though he won the election fair and square. Can you believe such a thing could happen in a British colony? It shows it can, when Blacks elect one of their own.

He wanted each man to understand that they were together for a just cause. He believed that God was on their side. They should have the same belief.

We should always remember Isaiah 10:1 as we go forward together. Woe to those who make unjust laws, to those who issue oppressive decrees, to deprive the poor of their rights and withhold justice from the oppressed of my people, making widows their prey and robbing the fatherless. What will you do on the day of reckoning, when disaster comes from afar? To whom will you run for your help? Where will you leave your riches?

Up to this point, Bogle casually, but loudly, addressed the group. Now, he grew animated. He waved his arms in the air, pointed at each man.

A governor removes a member of the legislature! Not supposed to happen! The Governor had no authority to do that! How did us Blacks respond? Did we rise up, riot, become a mob? Nah, that’s what the Governor wanted so that he could put us down and keep us down. We wouldn’t fall for that trick. We re-elected Gordon and he now sits in the Jamaican legislature.

Men, we’ve got to keep Gordon in the Assembly. Pay no attention to what they say about him. He’s a marked man because he speaks up for us. He will continue to fight to get fair wages for us, fight to get us land to work for ourselves and fight to get us fair judges.

He towers above the other members of the Assembly in his intellect, eloquence, judgment and ability. Gordon arouses fear and jealousy in the Governor, the plantation owners, the businessmen, the demagogues and other extremists. They have looked for any excuse to get rid of him. Mark my words, if they find any excuse, no matter how trivial or circumstantial, the Governor will persecute him.

Not even the great Henry Irving, the first actor to receive a knighthood, could have declaimed this argument with greater passion or dignity. British theater goers were moved by Irving’s acting skill. But the men who heard Bogle speak knew that he wasn’t acting. He was speaking to them from his heart.

I've tried to convince him to form a new political party. I want him to call it the Community of the Workers of Jamaica Party. If you own land, you can vote for Gordon to be Chairman of the Party. That would give him and us significant prestige. The first thing the Party will do is sell off the ‘back lands’ to us. Then, we can not only support ourselves but also vote.

The crowd roared, We’re with you, Bogle.

Bogle was their real leader now, not the Governor. No one could convince them otherwise, no matter how or what they tried.

Some of the men had been born into slavery. All had parents and grandparents who had been slaves. Bogle had total and complete credibility with them. Not only because he stood to make no profit if they followed him. Not only because he was a preacher who insisted they follow the Commandments. The clincher was that he spoke to them as adults. Others had spoken to them as if they were children, not grown men. He had never spoken down to them.

Men, everything I’ve just told you can be accomplished peacefully. But we all know that once people have power, they won’t let go easily. The plantation owners will probably try to scare us, to harm us or even kill us. Unfortunately, we must prepare for the possibility of violence.

I don’t want violence or bloodshed. After all, I constantly preach peace and harmony for all people. I believe God will eventually make us all one people. But in the meantime, we do have the right of self-defense. We must learn to protect our families and ourselves from violence.

John here will teach you military ways over the next few months how to shoot, how to set an ambush, how to camouflage yourselves and how to melt away into the forest. We can’t win a pitched battle with the soldiers and local militia. We must learn constant hit-and-run tactics, if it comes to that. Remember what Psalm 18:34 says: ‘He trains my hands for battle; he strengthens my arm to draw a bronze bow.

Bogle knew it was time to bring the meeting to an end. He had said all he intended to say. He didn’t want to bore the men with repetitive arguments.

What do we want? Justice, land, wages and votes! Repeat after me!

The group repeatedly chanted those words until Bogle raised his hands to stop. He was now certain that this group, like those before them, were eager to participate in his plan.

The plan was secret as was the society to which they now all belonged. But all secret societies need oaths, rituals and code words. He was about to formally enter each man into the secret society.

Bogle finished each meeting with an oath. He asked each of them to put their right hand over their heart and to repeat after him:

I will never hurt another Black man, woman or child. Color for Color!

I will always help any Black man, woman or child who is in any kind of trouble or distress. Color for Color!

I will peacefully resist the government, businessmen and the plantation owners but will take up arms if need be. Color for Color.

So help me God.

The purpose of the oath was to promote unity, loyalty and commitment. Because the oath ended with a reference to God, the oath taker realized that the spiritual world was involved. Any violation of the oath could cause retribution from that world.

To the men in this group, and in every group, the spiritual world constituted the entire continuum of reality. Just as no man would not break the unity with his fellow oath takers, he would not break his unity with the spiritual world.

Men, if, unfortunately, there is no other choice, it may be necessary to send you a clandestine message. The code for armed resistance is the slogan: ‘Shoulder to the wheel!’ When you hear that slogan, pick up whatever arms you have and immediately meet at the Stony Gut chapel.

To seal the oath, Bogle gave each man a mug of rum laced with gunpowder. It was a ritual brought from Africa. Tribes from West and Central Africa consumed the same drink as they prepared for war. He wanted his followers to know that they had enlisted in an economic and political war. They were told that having drunk the rum, they followed an ancient tradition, one their forefathers followed.

Bogle said, Men, of course you noticed that there are no women in the group. I will not discourage any woman who desires to attend these meetings. But all of you have families. If your wives and mothers decide to stay home with the children, no one can complain about that. If your wives come to the next meeting, I’ll be happy to greet them.

He again shook hands with each man and then had each man shake hands with the others. The oath, secret coded phrase, drink and handshake bound each man together. A sense of accomplishment, good feelings and of belonging to something they had never belonged to before was felt by each man.

They had a plan, a purpose, fellow believers and a leader. All in all, it was one of the happiest moments of their lives. That life would get better was a truth that now was self-evident and within reach.

The meetings continued through the summer and into September 1865. Small groups, which eventually reached twenty-five men at each meeting, gathered in the forest to listen to Bogle’s exhortations under the cover of darkness.

When rain fell in sheets, men still walked for miles. They stayed for the entire meeting, although they were soaked to the skin. When it was unbearably hot and humid, there was no hesitation to travel to listen to him. When they were attacked by swarms of mosquitoes, they merely batted them away as they stood with rapt attention.

Bogle’s message was incredibly inspirational. They focused their minds and hearts on the realistic plan to improve their lives, fueled by the vision of equality, justice and prosperity. The plan was not just for their own self interest, but for their families, descendants, country, all non-voting Jamaicans.

He wanted to persuade them that this is not merely an economic war, but a fight for what is right–it was an appeal to their higher natures and not just their self interest. Bogle was exhilarated, content in the knowledge that he inspired other men to dream of a future that was previously impossible to envision.

When the meetings were over, Bogle heard no complaints about the difficulties incurred to make the trip and the return home. Their wives’ suspicions about their absence far into the night were completely allayed when his message was repeated to them. The wives invariably regretted that they had not attended.

There was no concern as they stumbled at night over dirt trails or waded through chest-high rivers, where crocodiles lurked. The light of a better future was not dimmed by such obstacles. Physical difficulties did not deter the men. They were prepared to follow Bogle wherever he led them.

Because of the requirement to own land in order to vote, few people in Jamaica were registered to vote. In 1864, there were 350,000 Black inhabitants, 81,000 mixed-race inhabitants and 13,000 White inhabitants for a total of about 445,000 inhabitants. Of that total, there were only 2,000 Black registered voters, all of whom were male. No women were permitted to vote. Blacks outnumbered Whites by a ratio of 32:1. Jamaica was a democracy in name only.

Bogle’s followers were so devoted to him that they may properly be called acolytes. They realized that he had shown them the path to a better, more just future: ownership of land. If they owned land, they would be self-sufficient plus enjoy the legal right to vote. They could create a better future for generations of blacks in Jamaica – justice and fair treatment—political and economic opportunities - not merely a plot of ground for themselves Whenever he called upon them, they would not let him down. He was their leader, the only leader they had ever known.

CHAPTER 2

Turn Out!

October 7, 1865

Morant Bay, Jamaica

Bogle had a cadre of trusted followers. He had promised his followers that he would reform the court system. They would not allow unfair judgments to be executed. A rotation of groups of his cadre was formed to sit as spectators at every trial. Whenever a judgment or imposition of court costs was unfair, they were there to prevent the execution of the judge’s decision. Their actions were required to be peaceful, however.

On October 7, in the Morant Bay courthouse, a relatively minor case involved a Black juvenile who struck a Black adult. The defendant was found guilty and ordered to pay a relatively small fine as punishment. He was also ordered to pay court costs, which were eight times the amount of the fine.

The courtroom was in an uproar. On cue, a Bogle follower by the name of James Geoghegan stood and shouted at the magistrate, Have you no shame? You call this justice? The fine was appropriate. But the order that the defendant pay an outrageous amount of court costs is intolerable. It’s uncivilized. It’s immoral.

Everyone knows the game you’re playing. The plantation owners want to break us financially. They want us broke and to remain broke. The plan is to force us to work on the plantations in order to pay ridiculous court costs. The court system is rigged to prevent us from suing plantation owners for nonpayment of wages and other reprehensible acts of abuse.

You want us to fear the payment of outrageous court costs. Then, we wind up with nothing. Well, it’s not on. We won’t have it. We are no longer content to be the silent victims of injustice.

As he turned round to the defendant, Geoghegan said, Pay no attention to this magistrate nor his decision. Pay the fine. Do not pay the magistrate one penny in court costs. Then leave this courtroom.

The young man quickly paid his fine and left the courtroom.

The magistrate was furious at the outburst. He would not tolerate such insolence. He was flabbergasted. He wildly pointed to Geoghegan and ordered, Constable, seize that man for contempt of court.

As the constables rushed forward to arrest Geoghegan, all the other spectators rose as one. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, an implacable wall in front of him. He casually strolled out of the courtroom.

When the magistrate spotted Bogle in the crowd of spectators, he shouted, Bogle, this is your work. You will be held accountable for this contemptible obstruction of justice.

Bogle laughed as he walked out of the courtroom. Yet, in his heart he knew that a line had been crossed.

He understood that the civil authorities could not allow Blacks to embarrass the judicial system. It wouldn’t be long until he could expect a reaction. That would serve his purpose.

His objective was to meet with the civil authorities to explain what had happened. After such discussion, he believed there would be a reconciliation. After all, what reasonable person could agree that payment of court costs at eight times the fine was just? Once the civil authorities understood Black frustration, he was certain that a compromise would be reached.

Bogle left some of his supporters around the courthouse. They could give him advance notice of any action planned by the magistrate. Hours later, they warned him that a warrant had been issued for his arrest on the grounds that he provoked a riot and obstructed justice when he prevented Geoghegan’s arrest.

The constables planned to serve the arrest warrant on October 8.

Bogle instructed his cadre to ride through the nearby settlements and shout, Shoulder to the wheel! Stony Gut chapel! Three hundred men arrived overnight at the chapel. All were unarmed, except for a handful who carried clubs.

Stony Gut was a Black settlement about five miles from Morant Bay. It received its name because it was riven with gullies, large boulders, ravines and streams.

With the profits from the sale of produce through George Gordon, Bogle had built a chapel. He was a farmer in name and a preacher at heart. While he farmed, he would mentally prepare his sermons. He literally believed in the old saying, To work is to pray.

He told the three hundred assembled followers, Men, I expect the law will be here soon. I hope to persuade them not to arrest me. I’ll tell them that I will present myself voluntarily at the courthouse tomorrow morning. I don’t want any trouble but if they attempt to arrest me, I hope you’ll help me. The cry for help is ‘Turn out.’

No one will arrest you, Bogle! That’s why we’re here were some of the shouts he heard.

Six policemen and two constables traveled by foot to the chapel. En route, three of the policemen were heard to say, This isn’t right. Bogle was in the back of the courtroom. He didn’t say or do anything. The other lawmen paid no attention, saying Orders are orders.

When they arrived at Bogle’s home, they saw him seated in front of his chapel. He appeared relaxed. He welcomed them. He pleasantly asked, Good morning gentlemen. To what do I owe such a visit?

One of the constables replied, We’ve come to arrest you.

Bogle laughed, It takes eight of you to arrest one man and a preacher at that? I'll tell you what. Let’s forget this nonsense. I promise to present myself at the city hall tomorrow morning. No need to arrest me now.

One of the constables said, Sorry Bogle, we have an arrest warrant. We’ve been instructed to serve it. We’re duty-bound to arrest you.

Will you not listen to reason? I did nothing wrong. I didn’t run away. You have my word as a Christian preacher that I will present myself at city hall tomorrow morning.

His words had no effect. As the policemen and constables rushed forward, Bogle shouted Help me! They plan to arrest me!

As soon as he heard Bogle’s words, John White, who was a member of Bogle’s trusted cadre, yelled, Turn out!

In an instant three hundred men ran out of Bogle’s chapel and surrounded the lawmen. The lawmen were stunned and stopped in their tracks. They had no idea that Bogle could muster so many men at such short notice.

Bogle told them, Look men, we have no argument with you. We are a peaceful group. It was a peaceful protest in the courthouse. The group will arrive peacefully at City Hall tomorrow. We wish you peace, just as we wish to be left in peace.

He asked each of the lawmen whether they would promise not to arrest him or any of his supporters gathered there. Three of them agreed.

Bogle took them into the chapel and administered the oath that his supporters had taken in the forest. They were released unharmed. They had no regrets about membership in Bogle’s secret society. None believed that they joined under duress. To the contrary, they wondered why they had not been invited to join months ago.

When the other five lawmen rushed forward to arrest Bogle, they were seized, disarmed, pushed and prodded out of Stony Gut. The lawmen continued to walk until they reached Morant Bay. Then, they entered the court house.

As the eight lawmen were released, Bogle repeated to them, Tomorrow morning we will march to Morant Bay to meet with Baron Maximilian von Ketelhodt, the government’s chief magistrate in the Morant Bay area. This will be a peaceful protest about the way Blacks are treated. We are subjects of Great Britain. British subjects have the right to peacefully protest.

Now, go. You five who were disarmed, tell the Baron, the judges, planters and everyone else that you were disarmed because you tried to arrest an innocent man.

The lawmen told von Ketelhodt that they were unable to arrest Bogle because of the overwhelming number of his supporters. When von Ketelhodt was further advised of Bogle’s intended march into Morant Bay, he became simultaneously furious and fearful. Furious that Bogle was not arrested and fearful that there may be a potential uprising.

He immediately sent riders throughout the nearby countryside, with the order to activate the volunteer militia, with the message, We may have an armed rebellion on our hands. You are to bear arms and immediately report to the courthouse.

Some thirty policemen and thirty militia men, armed with rifles, arrived in Morant Bay that evening. They knew their duty: Maintain law and order.

Included in the group was a young man by the name of Rupert Baillie. The Baillie family owned several plantations throughout the West Indies. They had been slave holders until slavery was abolished.

Because he feared that the volunteer militia could be overwhelmed by Bogle’s three hundred followers, von Ketelhodt sent Baillie to Governor Edward Eyre in Kingston. His instruction was to inform Eyre that five lawmen had been intimidated, of Bogle’s refusal to be arrested as well as his planned march. He was to plead for immediate military help, saying that in von Ketelhodt’s judgment, The situation was dire, with the possibility of armed rebellion.

As Bogle and his three hundred followers marched into Morant Bay the next morning, it seemed like a Mardi Gras celebration. Songs were sung and prayers chanted. Surely von Ketelhodt would not see them as a threat because they had no firearms.

Men, we are here to bring peace between the rich and powerful and us. Remember Matthew 5:9: ‘Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.’ So, don’t forget that while we have been treated unfairly, we want justice through peaceful protest.

Bogle had asked that they let him speak on their behalf. He wanted von Ketelhodt to hear only one voice. He was concerned that the long-standing charge that von Ketelhodt had used public money, intended to fight a breakout of smallpox, for his own purposes might be hurled at him by someone in the crowd.

Von Ketelhodt was notorious for his thin-skin. Bogle wanted no distraction from his prepared agenda.

Von Ketelhodt and the volunteer militia and policemen waited on the top step of the courthouse, armed with loaded rifles. He had told the militia, Form a line and fire only at my command.

The militia was confident they could put down any trouble although out-numbered five-to-one.

They were armed with Enfield rifles. Because they were so well made, they were issued to members of the British Army. The rifles were accurate at 600 yards. They were in widespread use by both the Union and Confederate armies during the American Civil War.

Each of the sixty men were crack shots. They perfected their marksmanship while they hunted wild boar. If there was a problem with Bogle and his group, it would be like shooting fish in a barrel.

CHAPTER 3

Peaceful Protest

October 9, 1865

Morant Bay, Jamaica

Bogle and his men stopped in front of the courthouse. He was puzzled by the presence of the armed men. What was von Ketelhodt thinking? Was he trying to provoke an incident?

He looked up at von Ketelhodt and said in a clear voice, We are here peacefully. We have no firearms. We simply want to discuss a peaceful resolution to our grievances. There was no need to call out the militia. Please ask your men to lower their rifles.

Before Bogle could utter another word, von Ketelhodt replied, Bogle, you and your men are under arrest for resisting arrest and obstructing law officers in the discharge of their legally appointed duties. Not another word. Lay down your weapons and surrender. We will not negotiate with rabble.

Von Ketelhodt was originally from Prussia, a member of Prussian royalty, married to an English woman. He was a man who was accustomed to immediate obedience of his orders, without any question.

When they heard the word rabble, several of Bogle’s supporters were incensed. They threw rocks at von Ketelhodt and the militia.

One of the rocks hit von Ketelhodt above the right eye. It opened a large bloody wound. He wiped away the blood and said, I will tell you for the final time. Lay down your weapons and surrender.

When he and the militia continued to be hit by rocks, he ordered, Fire!

Seven Black men fell dead. The rock throwing stopped. Von Ketelhodt and the militia withdrew into the courthouse and barricaded the doors. They waited for Bogle’s move.

Bogle was stunned. Seven men dead when no one was badly injured? That wasn’t self-defense. That was murder!

He knew that his followers had no firearms. As he turned to his followers, he told them, It’s suicide to charge a building where men fire at point blank rage into a crowd. White, take twenty men and climb to the roof of the building next to the courthouse. Take torches with you and set fire to the courthouse roof. We’ll smoke them out!

White and his men did as they were ordered. They were not fired upon because the buildings shared the same party wall as the courthouse.

Once they climbed to the roof of the building adjacent to the courthouse, they tossed torches on to the courthouse roof. The fire quickly spread quickly and the courthouse roof began to collapse.

When von Ketelhodt realized what was happening, he gathered the militia around him. Men, we can’t stay here. We’ll either be roasted or die of smoke inhalation. We have no choice but to go outside. Form up into six lines of ten men each.

When I give the word, we’ll go out the front firing our weapons. When the first twenty men are outside, go down to the last step; the next twenty form a line on the middle step; and the final twenty men form a line on the top step. Continue to fire until the mob is dispersed. It shouldn’t take long. Good luck.

Von Ketelhodt and the militia were confident and unafraid as they exited the burning courthouse.

Bogle and his men waited. As von Ketelhodt and the militia began to exit the courthouse, a semicircle formed around them. When Bogle shouted, Shoulder to the wheel, his men charged forward.

Von Ketelhodt and the militia were attacked on three sides. They continued to fire their rifles. Soon they were overwhelmed because they could not re-load quickly enough.

The battle raged throughout the evening. It was hand-to-hand combat, lit by the burning courthouse in the background. The militia swung their rifles like clubs. The crowd pulled the militia down from the back and the side. When they were disarmed, they were punched, kicked and stomped by the butt-ends of their rifles.

While some of the militia escaped death or injury, most did not. When morning arrived, von Ketelhodt and seventeen volunteers lay dead on the ground. Thirty-one volunteers were severely beaten. They were taken to the local hospital. The courthouse and adjacent building had burned to the ground.

Bogle said, Now that we’ve come this far, let’s free the prisoners. They committed no crime worthy of imprisonment.

His men easily overran the Morant Bay prison. When he entered, Bogle said, These fifty-one prisoners deserve to be freed. The living conditions are worse than a pigsty. Most of them had been imprisoned for such minor offenses as nonpayment of rent. These men are debtors, not criminals.

CHAPTER 4

Rebellion

October 9, 1865

Morant Bay, Jamaica

Now that von Ketelhodt and seventeen volunteers had been killed, Bogle knew that the die had been cast. There was no going back. Although they had been fired upon and acted in self-defense, he knew that Governor Eyre would interpret their actions as a rebellion.

They would be reported around the world as rebels against the British Empire, the most powerful military and economic empire on earth. He decided to spell out to his men what they were about to face.

"Men, we went to Morant Bay with peaceful intentions. We had no rifles or pistols. Yet we