Second Daughter (6 page)

“Against the king?” one of the men asked.

“You could call it that,” Grippy answered. “They protested when the British attacked a young lad. The British fired on them, killing five. Crispus was the first to fall. Things have been boiling ever since. I'll not be surprised if the Colonials go to war.”

The questions and the conversation became more and more lively, the men arguing back and forth about the possibility of freedom and on whose side they would fight if there was a war.

“I'd fight for the king against the masters,” Brom said.

“Fight for the king?” Josiah asked.

“If the king would free me, then I'd surely fight for him!” I said. The silence frightened me and Bett grabbed me by my arm and pulled me from the group.

“How dare you speak when men are talking. Women are seen, not heard.”

I was embarrassed and angry at Bett, but I felt some satisfaction when Agrippa said, “I wager the king's men will offer freedom for your service long before the Colonials do.” He walked away from the group to get some food.

The wedding celebration went on and on with dancing, singing, hand clapping, and feet stamping. The sun was long gone from the red horizon when Nance, Bett, and I entered the master's house.

11

The first winter of sharing Bett was not easy, but I soon became accustomed to spending Saturday nights and Sundays alone. My bed without her was cold and I missed the comfort of her voice and her silence. At first I could not sleep. Every sound seemed to be just outside my door, and the rustle of the wind in the trees, which once made me grateful to be inside, now made me want to leave the room and find a more secure place. How glad I was when Monday finally came, and the routine in the mistress's house and in our little room began again.

Snow and ice hampered travel, but there were still those who braved the weather to visit the master and carry on the talk in the upstairs room. After having listened to Grippy and the men, and thinking about the possibility of freedom, I was now more interested in what Bett had to report.

One evening she rushed in late. “There is a newcomer in the meetings, a Master Sedgwick. He's a big man with a pleasant face. I think he is a bit showy, but the men have all taken to him. They are now writing on paper things that they are ‘resolved' to do. That word ‘resolved' is said again and again. Oh, Aissa, if only I could read! They throw away a lot of words on paper that I'd like to read and learn what this is all about. Maybe I could understand the words they use, like
entitled, liberties
, and
privileges.”

Night after night, Bett brought more exciting news about the men's talk she heard in the upstairs room. When she finally finished serving the guests and came to bed, she wanted to tell me what had happened. I was so sleepy most of the time, but I listened. I was often disappointed when the talk got underway, for it said little about us and our being free. But she was so excited that I forced my eyes and ears open to please her. Bett went on.

“There was one thing Sedgwick said that I will never forget. I said it over and over in my mind to remember it: ‘
We in the state of nature are equal, free and independent of each other, and have a right to the enjoyment of life, liberty, and property.'
Aissa, you hear that?”

“I'm listening, but what does that mean?”

“That means we should belong only to ourselves, not to the master, not the king, to nobody.”

“We belong to nobody. We have nobody to belong to,” I said.

“We belong to Master Ashley. Why do you always act as if you don't know that we were born on Master Hogeboom's place where Baaba and Yaaye were slaves and that we were slaves sold to Master Ashley?” I could tell when she was upset. She used baaba for father and yaaye for mother.

“I belong to nobody.”

“It's too bad that you never heard Baaba tell us many times how he became a captive.”

“I don't think I would have liked hearing that.”

“It's something you should know, and I'm going to tell you. When Baaba was a young boy, there were wars and slave raids. His village was burned and many people were killed. Those who lived were taken to the village of their enemy. One day, some white men came with guns and gunpowder, and Baaba and others were traded for those things.

“They were blindfolded and made to walk many miles until they came to a building, right on the seashore, made of rocks and stones. The men were crowded into small rooms with chains and shackles on their legs and feet. Women and children were put in a courtyard near the ship's captain and his men. It was hot and dark, for there were no windows and no light from the sun. They were fed two times a day and not allowed to move about until night.

“Those who talked the same language were separated. They were kept in this place for weeks, and more captives were crowded in with them. One day three hundred and thirty-nine of them were lined up and washed down and sprinkled with lime dust. Then a small door opened onto the sea. The light from the sun blinded Baaba and for a long time he could not see what was happening. When his sight returned he saw the ship,
Friendship Brig
.

“First the men were put on board, then the women and children. When Baaba finally passed through the small door down into the ship, he had no idea it was the ‘door of no return.' Never again would he hear the sounds of the night that he so loved: the animals calling their mates, the drums with their messages of war and peace, dancing feet and songs.

“For days, too many to count, they were shackled deep in the hold of the ship. In the darkness people around him groaned their misery in a language that he could not understand. The groans and stench made him sick. But the sickness, as bad as it was, did not compare to his fear and loneliness.

“He recalled all the stories, all the myths that might give him some hint of this horrible fate. There were no gods to appease, no magic to summon to end this suffering. Was he doomed to die like those around him, two or three in the night, far from home, out of the memory of ancestors, family, and friends, his spirit not properly released, his bones to lie in a liquid grave at sea?”

“Stop! I don't want to hear it,” I cried.

“You must. What will you tell your children when they ask about Baaba?”

“I will never tell them that he was a slave.”

“You will. Just like he told us, again and again. So you listen. Finally, they were on land again. Barbados. Green lush land with palm trees, breadfruit, and golden pear, what we call avocado. But it was not home and the journey was not over. He was separated from those who arrived with him, their numbers having been greatly reduced. Now there were only two hundred and fourteen of them.

“He was sold to a trader. For days he slept in an open shed where each morning he and others were placed on the block for sale. In the afternoons he lay under the bright sun, his eyes always on the sea eastward, his thoughts of home as he regained his strength eating papaya, oranges, and mangoes, and drinking the cool milk of the coconut. In the light of day he lived wondering what would happen to him in this new land; at night in his dreams he was always back in Africa.

“When he was not readily sold, the slave merchant used him to translate the languages of the slaves to determine from where the slaves had come. There in Barbados he saw many Africans, but only a few who spoke his language. And when he heard his language, his heart leaped in his chest, but afraid that he would never hear it again, he stayed a distance from the one who spoke it until they could disguise their kinship.

“He grew into young manhood. Not very tall, he had smooth black skin like polished ebony and his hair was tightly curled to his head. When Cornelis Hogeboom purchased him, he also bought ten other slaves. Our mother was one of those ten.”

“Fatou, tell me now. What was she like?” I pleaded.

“Baaba says when he first saw her, he knew she was different from other women. Beautiful, bold and shy at the same time. She was tall, the color of chocolate, and she wore her long hair in one large braid with a thin strip of cloth tied at the end. When he asked her name, he was surprised at her almost defiant answer, ‘The name is Ayisha.' She spoke in Fulfulde, confirming his belief that she was a Fulani. He, of the Mande group, had long associated with the Fulani, so he spoke her language, too.”

So that's who Fatou looks like, I thought, and I remembered her dancing at the first Christmas party and at her wedding. I look more like our father.

“The journey ended in Claverack, the wilderness that was called New Amsterdam. Baaba at first thought he would have to work for Hogeboom only for a while, show his abilities, and soon be able to do things for himself, get married and become part of the people, the way slaves were treated in Africa. He wanted to own a small plot of land. But after ten years he saw that he was not ever going to become part of the life of Claverack. He became moody, didn't do his work. Once he ran away and stayed in the woods for two whole weeks. He had no place to go, so one day he came back to the farm, dirty, hungry, and very tired. The master, thinking that Baaba had escaped or died, was so glad to have his property back that he did not punish Baaba.

“Soon after that the master gave Yaaye to Baaba in marriage. Over time they had seven children, including five sons. Again, Baaba thought surely his children would be given a chance to grow to be part of the people of the town, but no. No people from Africa, even those who were not bonded or bought, were treated with respect. He knew then that he was in a strange land that did not know him, would never know him, because he was not wanted to be known.

“With the slaves increasing on the farm, our brothers were sold for money, and the highest prices were paid by southern plantation owners. Baaba showed his rage. That was when he was beaten to death. Yaaye gave up. Lost in her memories and grief, she died. We were sold to Master John and Mistress Anna, so we belong to them.”

I lay in the dark thinking about Baaba and Yaaye and the words that I hardly understood: free, equal, and independent. But deep down inside of me I knew. I belonged to nobody—no master and no king.

12

The roads passing through our town were now widened and in fair condition, so many people came through. Some stayed, and the population of Sheffield increased.

Bett remained a loyal slave, but she also continued her duties as a wife, midwife, and healer. Any money she earned for her outside work went to the master. When paid with old clothes, chickens, a goat, or a sheep, those she was allowed to keep.

As time went by, I learned to adjust to Bett's being away much of her free time. She stayed on the plot of land she and Josiah owned, on which they kept the animals and planted a garden. Sometimes, late on long summer days, Bett and I would go to her small house. There were only two rooms—one where people gathered and a tiny room where she and Josiah slept. The kitchen was separate from the house, with a stone oven and an open fire over which cooking pots were hung.

I loved being with them and often went to help them after Bett and I had worked all day at the master's. Working in Bett's garden didn't seem like work at all. As we planted and weeded, we laughed and sang, Josiah's voice ringing clear and beautiful. And when we weren't singing, Bett talked about what was going on upstairs. She told Josiah of the talk about separation from England.

He was interested and excited and wanted to hear all about it. “Are they saying why they want this separation?”

“Every one of them there is rich, and they're riled up about a lot of things.”

“Who are some of them?” Josiah asked.

“Deacon Smith, Captain Fellows, Dr. Barnard, and Dr. Kellog, and recently, a lawyer named Sedgwick.”

“They're the rich rich,” Josiah said, and we laughed. “I would guess that most of them don't want out from under the king.”

“I'm not sure about that. Some are determined to take themselves from under him,” Bett said.

“I think most are not,” Josiah said. “They may be angry all right, but what will they do about farmers who rent from them? If they don't want to pay taxes to the king, farmers will not want to pay taxes to them.”

To my surprise, Josiah spoke as if he knew what was going on.

Bett said, “That's what Deacon Smith brought up. Farmers will think they should have as much as the rich men have and will cause trouble. But Master Ashley said they shouldn't worry about poor farmers, but about New Yorkers who want to claim the Massachusetts territory.”

“Did the others agree?” Josiah asked.

“Lawyer Sedgwick said, ‘Yes, men without property have no say in what will happen. What we say in this room refers to those of us who own the land, not to those who are renters and laborers. We must rid ourselves of the king and the Dutch who want to claim that New York's eastern line is the Connecticut River.'”

“I'll bet Master Ashley didn't go along with all of that,” Josiah said.

“He agreed that although the New York Dutch were the first to find the Connecticut River and trade with the Indians, that gave them no claim to Massachusetts. But he didn't agree about the king.”

“I knew it. He's a staunch Tory,” Josiah said.

“What's a Tory?” I asked.

“I didn't think you were listening, Aissa,” Josiah said affectionately. “That's a person who is loyal to Britain and wants no part of independence.”

Bett went on as though we had not interrupted. “Oh, there was a lot of loud talk then. The men taking sides. Master Ashley reminded them that if they refused to pay taxes, things could get worse. That they would be no match for the king's soldiers. He said, ‘Do you want war?' Deacon Smith and Dr. Barnard agreed with Master Ashley.”

“What about the others?” Josiah asked.

“They were with Master Sedgwick. And by the time he finished using those words freedom and liberty, everyone agreed that they should send the king's men packing. Master Ashley kept quiet. And the writing went on.”