of human traveling on monstrous sailing ships powered by the spirit of the wind itself. These strangers, these beings, entered the shores of my homeland bringing grief and evil along with them, like pale ghosts coming to haunt our lives. The unwanted guests walked along our beaches as if they owned them.

Their mission was not to make peace but to spread war and disaster.

Throughout the whole day my people experienced great suffering and turmoil.

The white men savagely beat us, burned our houses and stole the dignity of each one of us from our souls, chaining us in cages like animals.

By night fall it was all over. My village was deserted, left in ruins. Those who did not survive the battle were scattered on the ground, dead. Those who did survive were captured and sent on ships to Europe, and then traded to the New World, America. This was the beginning of my life.

That was twenty years ago and now I must try to look forward to a better future. Though I am still a slave, I dream of freedom. I work in the fields harvesting sugar cane, wheat and even tobacco. The grounds are very well guarded by slave masters. The fields themselves are surrounded by thick woodland. From the crack of dawn we work all day till nightfall, with no break. Each slave is chained to another in sets of six so escape is impossible. We are forbidden to speak to one another because the white men cannot speak our language and so he fears a revolt.

At night we are confined to shacks which are set six in a row along the edge of the woods. Our compound was by a bob wire fence. The low murmur of secured voices can be heard as we discuss our future. It is easier at night because the guards would often get drunk and pass out enabling us to freely converse in our native tongue.

We often talked about making an escape. We know of the difficulties. No survival tools, no food supplies and limited knowledge of how to find our way.

Yet each night the discussions are the same. Many plans are devised and then discarded.

For weeks the slaves think of nothing but revolt. One evening an almost flawless plan is thought of. During the setting of the sun, a slave in my shack created a map of the field plantation on the dirt floor. He believes it is possible to dig tunnels underground from each shack to outside the fenced property. Since the shacks are divided into two rows where there was easy access from one shack to another underground. These tunnels could be done at night. The next part of his plan was to create a distraction. Since every night there was a bonfire it would be possible to steal just one gasoline tin, which lies near the fire, and drain it near to fields closest to the white men's quarters. This could be done by one person just before nightfall when we are confined to our shacks. Once the bonfire was started it would spread to the two fields causing an even greater blaze. Because of this every white man on the plantation would try and stop it even those who guarded our shacks.

Once this occurred it would be possible to escape through the shacks and try and make a run north, where we heard all blacks could walk freely. So that evening we finalised our plans. Soon the word was spread amongst every slave.

About a week later the tunnels were ready and the plan was in effect. Everyone was tense. Some were confused not knowing whether or not to be happy or fearful.

An explosion rages immediately after the bonfire was lit. The fields were illuminated with bright orange flames. There now was no turning back. Within seconds of the explosion the slaves started to make their way through the tunnels. The slaves nearest the fence were able to flee quickly deep into the woods but the other row of slaves were trapped. Few were able to escape.

Unlike we anticipated, the white men came for us to help stop the blaze. Many slaves were caught escaping and later killed. Those who remained inside were forced to help put out the fire. The slaves were now closely guarded. Though I escaped, I knew that there were others who had been captured and would surely die.

That night those of us who escaped bonded together and discussed the future of our journey. We knew that we had no food supplies. We knew there was no assurance that we were marching to freedom. We knew that most likely we were marching to our deaths, but we reminisced undaunted of the friend and family we left behind and these thoughts plagued us. We took a vote and decided to go back and fight for the freedom of our brothers and sisters no matter what the odds. I had been elected to lead the freedom fighters.

I took it as my solemn duty to lead these men in revolt against the white enslavers and help to restore the dignity of my people even if it meant my death.

With the first crack of dawn we stealthily encircled the plantation. Two other men and I returned to the plantation to be put into bondage once again. The plan was to spread the news of a revolt to the remaining slaves. The revolt was scheduled for that night. One of the slaves outside would hoot like an owl twice to signal the plan was under way. They would come out fighting with clubs and spears made of wood and stones. This time their eyes were not set on freedom but on revenge.

Later that evening as the slaves awaited their signal they finally heard it as dear as a bell. But it was not from a human outside the gates; it was the hooting of a real owl. The conflict had now begun and those outside with the weapons were unprepared as the slaves began their revolt. The gates closed and they were trapped with no weapons and no back up. There was a slaughter, a massacre. Much blood was shed and slaves one by one dropped dead. Those outside fled, they could not help their fellow brothers. It was too late. But I could not give up, nor would I try to flee. I fought with my bare hands until morning had broken. There I stood surrounded by dead bodies of the barrel of a gun aimed at my head. With an uplifted spirit, like the spirit of the Lord. I raised my arms and shouted "Free at last! Free at last!'' and then it was over. My bleeding body fell to the ground. The white men had overpowered us. Our mission failed. But like I promised my people, we shall be free! MARC DANIELS Age 14, Warwick Academy.