Chasing Freedom

by Gloria Ann Wesley

  “Margaret, are you taking up for the likes of that one, that Negra?” It was Ramsey.

  “I’m just asking for information. I bought that hut. No one had the right to burn it down. If anyone thinks that by burning it down, it will end the matter, they thought wrong.”

  “You bought it for that Redmond girl. You tried to make it look like it was for yourself.” Ramsey Lewis walked over to where the two women were standing. Sarah could smell the liquor coming off the man. “You tried to sneak a Negra into our midst. You love them Negras, always takin’ up for them. You thought you could get away with it, didn’t you?”

  The commotion grew louder as the gang cheered Ramsey on. The noise drew Thomas from his job at the wharf. Seeing Sarah and Margaret Cunningham in the centre of the confusion, he ran as fast as he could to get to them. He knew trouble was riding on the air and it sent chills along his spine. When he reached Sarah, he shouted, “Say nothing. Let Mrs. Cunningham do the talking. I’m going to get the sheriff.”

  “What gives you the right to decide what I or anyone else can have?” Margaret screamed. She was standing tall, wanting everyone to hear.

  Ramsey glared, not at Margaret Cunningham but at Sarah. He approached her and raised his hand, pointing his finger in her face. “I don’t want no uppity Negra thinkin’ she can come down here and pretend she’s one of us. You ain’t nothing but trash. First thing, you will all be down here, actin’ like you own the place. You hear me now, girl. You keep your place. Go back to Birchtown and be a good girl or you’ll get yourself hurt.”

  The words cut deep, right to the centre of Sarah’s heart. She glared at the liveryman, moved within inches of his face, pushed back her shoulders and said, “I am not a girl, Mr. Lewis. Not yours, not any man’s. You do not own me. Those days are past. Who are you to decide what a Negro can have? We won our freedom and have rights as citizens, the same as you.”

  A hush fell over the crowd. They had never seen such brazenness—a young one standing up to a white man as if she had the right to question him. It beat all.

  Mrs. Cunningham stepped between Sarah and Ramsey. Her wide-brimmed hat was teetering on the side her head as she frantically pulled on Sarah’s arm. “Step back. Let it go, Sarah. Let it go. The hut is not worth it. We can get another one.”

  Ramsey’s blood was white-hot. He threw one hand in the air and clenched his fist. His eyes blazed and flashed like lightning. “How dare a Negra say such a thing to me? I owned a hundred Negras like you before the damned Patriots came. You were only good for the plough and a damned good whippin’.” With that, he spit on her, then pulled his hand back and struck the right side of Sarah’s face. A loud gasp rippled through the crowd.

  Sarah did not stop to think, did not need to. She raised her hand and without a word slapped his face with a swift blow in return.

  The crowd went wild. The air burned from the heat of their rage. Within minutes, the men who had been watching from the alehouses filled the street. Their jeers and slurs gave rise to action. They readied themselves for battle, gathering sticks and rocks. Their anger so disfigured their faces that Sarah was sure they were demons come from hell. She stared at the men and their wives, these grand gentlemen and ladies of the Empire whose foul mouths filled the street. She and Margaret ran to the other side of the street.

  Thomas came running fast. “I couldn’t find the sheriff,” he called.

  A man with a cane was screaming, “You Negroes better get out of town.”

  Margaret shouted, “Come on. You can go to my house.”

  Thomas roared, “No. Ma’am. This trouble you do not need, they will burn you out,” and he grabbed Sarah’s arm. “We must make a run for it, while they’re still plotting what to do.”

  He and Sarah turned and ran down Water Street. They had a good start. They ran as fast as they could and turned up Maiden Lane with the wildest of the men in pursuit. Sarah ran until her exhausted lungs ached. She sucked the air hard, so hard she nearly suffocated. She kept running—faster and faster—and when they cleared the town of Roseway, sheer exhaustion pushed her down into a pile on the Roseway Bridge.

  Her body stopped, but her mind kept racing. Grandmother’s warning pounded in her brain. “This skin will hold you back and keep you down, only letting you rise so high. Some things will always be too good for a Negro.” Sarah tried to get up, but the words overpowered her. “Some folks will treat you right and give you a chance. But others, they would just as soon kill you!” Until today, it all seemed like crazy talk. It had not mattered. Now, here it was, all playing out, all stacked up against her.

  “Come on, Sarah, we can’t stop now.” Thomas screamed. “We have to keep going. Get up. If they catch us, they will beat us to death.”

  In the distance, she could hear the uproar. A mob was on their heels. They wanted revenge. Thomas helped her up. She thought of the shortcut to Birchtown. “This way,” she said.

  From somewhere deep inside came the strength she needed to run like hell.

  Twenty-nine

  FOR DAYS, SARAH REMAINED LOCKED IN THE HOUSE IN FEAR of her life, not knowing what each hour could bring. It was clear to her that Ramsey Lewis was at fault with his hatred of Negroes and his fear of change. His slap left a bitter bruise that covered the left side of her face. Grandmother spoke often of the laws in Carolina. To strike a white person meant a severe whipping followed by a burning with a hot iron. Sarah cringed. Here, there were similar laws and there had been whippings at the scattered whipping posts. She had witnessed 110 lashes to a young Negro for stealing a pound of butter. Would this be her fate?

  It had been four days since the incident in Port Roseway. Grandmother, permanently bedridden now, was humming a hymn and Prince was napping. She and Fortune were having lunch when a heavy rapping on the door pummelled through the cabin. Though she had prepared for this moment, her nerves nevertheless made her tremble. Fortune rose from the table and cautiously opened the door to a tall, gangly man in a felt hat with a flat brim holding a paper in his hand.

  “Mr. Redmond?” the man asked.” I am the county bailiff, Mr. Gordon.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have a daughter by the name of Sarah Redmond?”

  “I do.”

  “I have a court order here for Sarah Redmond to appear before the Court of General Sessions of the Peace on August 15,” the bailiff said, “on a charge of assault. May I leave this with you?”

  “I’ll take it. Thank you, Sir.” Fortune closed the door before the man could speak again. Tears rolled down his face, dripping off his jaw and onto his blue shirt.

  The cup in Sarah’s hand fell to the floor and the hot tea splashed over her skirt. She trembled violently. It took a long time to stop, even with her father holding her tight.

  The next day, Thomas came with good news. He had found lodging with Steppin’ John. Colonel Black had been helpful in securing him a job as supervisor of a Black Pioneer road crew. There would be work for a very long time. He could not have hoped for better luck.

  “My news is not so cheerful,” Sarah said. “The bailiff came by yesterday.”

  “I feared that. What did he say?”

  “He gave Papa a court order. I have to appear in two weeks.”

  “Well, think of your father’s case, Sarah. Didn’t common sense prevail?”

  “This is different.”

  “How so?”

  “There are witnesses who may exaggerate the truth or lie to protect Ramsey. Besides that, I am a Negro woman. That makes me less valuable than a man. They will want to whip all the black off this skin.”

  “Stop it. You will get through this. You have to believe.”

  “And if I am beat to a pulp, will you still want what’s left, a disfigured shell?”

  “You could be disfigured on the outside, but inside … inside is where the pure beauty of your soul shines
through. Blind is the man who cannot value that. I will kiss away the scars.”

  “What can I say to that?” She giggled.

  Thomas put his arms around her and kissed her gently. “I’ll be there forever and whatever! I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  The next day Mrs. Cunningham, who came regularly to attend to Lydia, tried to console Sarah. “You must take control. You have to put your best face on. Appeal to their hearts when you are before the judge! Surely, they will consider that you acted in self-defence. Ramsey Lewis is an outsider trying to prove himself. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

  On the morning of court, Papa pulled the wagon around to the step. Fibby got down and went inside to stay with Grandmother and Prince. Sarah grabbed her coat and sat up as straight as an eastern pine on the seat. She was numb and drained from all the worry and lack of sleep.

  Hundreds of people lined the Birchtown Road. They stood in deathly silence like statues as the wagon passed, as though they were watching a funeral procession. Their screwed up faces were tight and filled with horror. What were the odds of two Redmonds beating the system? A lamb, she was, going to the slaughter.

  Thomas was a welcome sight at the courthouse. He helped her from the wagon and steadied her with his arm. Amid the hundreds of onlookers, there were but two or three Negroes in the Roseway crowd. Fortune tied his horse under a towering fir by the courthouse step. The three kept their heads down, proceeded up the walkway and into the courthouse. Inside, Sarah sat at a small table facing a newly appointed judge, Justice Clarence Smithfield. Ramsey Lewis sat to her left with a strange-looking man in a puffy white wig. Spectators overran the room. It was hot and stuffy.

  The ceremonious opening of the August 15, 1785, Sessional District Court began with a series of announcements. The judge stated the order of the proceedings, read the rules of conduct and announced the charge against her. There followed a bedraggled string of witnesses to answer a series of questions by the town prosecutor. Reports of the time of the event and the actual words exchanged varied. However, uniform and truthful statements emerged about Sarah’s actions, and the actions of the acclaimed victim, Mr. Lewis. Witnesses told how the pair engaged in an argument, how Ramsey Lewis struck the accused first and how Sarah had slapped him back. Sarah straightened. The truth gave her a needed boost of confidence.

  The judge called Margaret Cunningham to testify. She told about the shameless results of her desire to help Sarah, praising Sarah’s trustworthiness and good manners. She complained about the lawlessness and un-Christian behaviour of some of the residents and ended with a plea for change and mercy.

  Sarah could not bring herself to look up when Margaret stepped down from the witness box and walked past her table.

  Justice Moody turned to Sarah. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  Sarah was terrified, but she stood tall and stated. “Yes, Sir, I do.”

  The room trembled with foot stomping and shouting. The judge slammed the gavel down on the bench saying, “Quiet. Order. I want order!”

  Sarah was fearful. The floor seemed to waver and it seemed like an eternity to get to the witness box. With her damp hand on the Bible, she recited the oath and took her seat. When she finally raised her head to look out among the faces, she knew in her heart that her time had come.

  In a clear voice, she said, “Today I sit in this courtroom after being insulted, slapped and humiliated for no reason, other than the colour of my skin. I want to be treated with fairness. You see me as the attacker, but I beg you, Sir, to see me instead as the victim.”

  The courtroom grew quiet. Sighs and a snicker or two drifted throughout the room. Sarah continued, “As a citizen of this colony, I continue to face the same conditions that my family and I left behind in Carolina. Here in Port Roseway, we are free people. We should be able to choose a life for ourselves, one that is not decided for us. The good citizens of Port Roseway are free to do as they please. They are free to choose their own jobs, and that was all Mrs. Cunningham intended for me, to fulfill my dream of becoming a full citizen and to choose my work.”

  Sarah looked at Thomas sitting in the second row. He was nodding his head in agreement. She smiled and leaned back with added confidence, then took a moment to examine the crowd. She had their ears now. “It was not my intent to take something that belonged to someone else, only to make a life for myself. I want to be as proud and as independent as any of you.” She shifted to one side in the chair, then the other. “I am a Negro, Sir. Must I be condemned to a life of misery because of it?”

  Some of the faces drooped like wilted flowers. In others, the anger deepened.

  “Have you finished?” Justice Smithfield asked.

  “I would like to say a few more words, if I may, Sir.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Sir, here is my Certificate of Freedom.” She held it up for all to see. “This says that I am free. How many of you need a certificate to say that you are free? This paper does more than set me free, it returns me to the world as a human being. It should guarantee that I have the same rights as everyone else, including the right to defend myself and to receive justice. I hope that it will stand for that in this court.”

  Sarah looked sideways at the judge, then over to Margaret. There was one more thing to add, but had she said too much? Justice Smithfield had not given her any indication that she should stop. She repressed her fear by swallowing hard, and continued. “Sir, if justice is based on fairness, then I had every right to defend myself, did I not?” She turned and faced the judge, then lowered her head.

  The judge made no reply to her question. “Did you finish, Miss Redmond?” he asked.

  “Yes Sir!”

  “Then step down and take your seat. I shall render a decision after reviewing the evidence. I ask this court to remain seated until my return.”

  Sarah could hear the judge and loud angry voices drifting from the room behind the bench. The voices came in rushes. She wondered what the men behind the door were saying.

  The time dragged on, well past an hour. Fortune gripped her hands. The heat in the courtroom was unbearable and the spectators, fuelled with tension, argued amongst themselves. There they sat, debating and cursing, shaking their fists and holding their own court.

  Thomas caught the fear in her eyes and gave her a reassuring smile and a wink. At the back of the room, she caught a glimpse of Reece. He smiled and nodded his head. She turned back and huddled down in her chair, unable to make herself as small as she wanted to be. She wrestled to keep her breath from leaving her body. She pressed her eyes shut, and waited.

  Thirty

  THE COURTROOM WAS EXCEEDINGLY NOISY ON THAT overcast day in August. Sarah counted every tick of the corner clock. It seemed as though time had left her stranded in a faraway place, waiting for someone to rescue her.

  When Justice Smithfield arrived through the side door, his stern voice let out a command for all to rise. He remained standing, bringing his gavel down hard. Silence fell upon the room. Fortune gripped Sarah’s hand. She feared her punishment. Would they banish her from the province, hang her, lash her with cat-o’-nine-tails or use the whip?

  Without any emotion in his voice, Justice Smithfield said, “I have reviewed the evidence. I find the accused guilty as charged. I hereby order forty lashes to be administered at two o’clock on the twenty-first of August 1785, at the whipping post, outside this County Courthouse, to one Miss Sarah Redmond, on the charge of assault against one of our leading citizens.”

  Silence was an angry beast that stunned the crowd and carried Sarah down into a great void where all awareness deserted her until a sudden explosion of loud noise — cheers, whimpers, curses, crying and clapping — revived her. A circle of men surrounded Ramsey and shook his hand. His laugh was long and hollow. His scandalous joy filled the room.

  This cannot be what justice is all ab
out, Sarah thought. After her argument about fairness, she could only see that the judge, of all people, was no more than an arrogant, cruel slave master, protecting his own interests at the expense of others.

  “Clear the courtroom,” Justice Smithfield ordered.

  The room soon emptied, the people spilling out onto the road and alleyways. Soon, music blared from the alehouses and folks drank and danced in the lanes.

  The bailiff escorted Sarah down a narrow path to the local House of Corrections. She did not hear the chains that clanked and coiled about her ankles and hands. She did not feel the rocks the crowd threw out of anger, nor did she see the eyes that glued themselves to her or the mouths that spit on her. She walked with her head high, her steps steady and even.

  When they reached the House of Corrections, the bailiff informed her that she was to work and earn her keep while there. Any surplus earnings went to the keeper for wages and for those unable to work. The place was small and full of Negroes: men and women, some in fetters and shackles on their wrists and feet. Their alleged crimes were numerous: robbery, murder, pilfering livestock or goods, assault, brawling, forgery and even counterfeiting. They were a pitiful lot, and later, when Thomas, Fortune and Margaret Cunningham came to see her, Sarah sat in silence at the back of the room with her back turned away from them.

  Fortune found the courage to speak first. He said, “You come around now, Babygirl. You did what you had to do. Don’t blame yourself for what happened.”

  Without turning to face him, Sarah said, “It is over, Papa! I have been judged!”

  “It is not over.” Thomas insisted. “You had the right to defend yourself from a raging man. The judge was heartless. We can’t let the judge get away with this.” Margaret Cunningham walked towards her. “Come here, Sarah,” she said. “You need not fear us. We are family.”

  Sarah turned to face them. Thomas reached for her hands.