by Ginny Dye
Carrie thought back to the day before and realized she was right. “I guess that’s why I was so hungry.”
Janie chuckled. “I’m glad I ate before you came downstairs. The rest of us might not have gotten anything.”
Carrie laughed, and then turned eagerly to Biddy. “Please explain what you were talking about upstairs.”
Biddy eyed her for a long moment and then nodded. “I’m thinking there must be a right good reason you girls got dumped into my house last night.” She beckoned to Faith. “This story cannot be told without you, my friend. Come join us.”
Faith, a slender black woman who seemed to be a few decades younger than Biddy, slipped into the remaining chair at the table.
Carrie studied her. She had assumed Faith was Biddy’s housekeeper, but now she realized the two women were friends. She looked up to see Biddy watching her with knowing eyes.
“Faith Jacobs has been my housemate for over thirty years,” Biddy said. “My housemate, and my best friend.”
Carrie smiled. “Rose Samuels is my best friend. She began life as a slave on my father’s plantation.”
“Until Carrie helped Rose and Moses escape,” Janie added.
“Moses?” Biddy asked, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Rose’s husband,” Carrie answered. “They left the plantation on the Underground Railroad the year the war started. I didn’t see her again until the war ended.”
“Where is she now?” Biddy asked, keen interest shining in her eyes.
“They are living on our plantation with my husband, Robert. Rose is a schoolteacher. Moses has become the co-owner of the plantation with my father.” Carrie decided not to go into the fact that Rose was actually her father’s half-sister. She knew Biddy had more questions — they were burning in her eyes — but Carrie was too eager to learn more about Biddy’s surprise statement. “Please, Biddy, help me understand what you were talking about earlier. What did you mean about the Irish being slaves?”
“Just what I said,” Biddy answered, exchanging a long look with Faith. “Faith and I share that heritage in common.”
Elizabeth gasped. “Slavery? My mother has always told me you had an extraordinary story, but she never told me any more than that.”
Biddy nodded. “Most folks don’t like to talk about it. It’s as if they are thinking if they don’t talk about it, it will mean it never happened. Pure poppycock it is!” She settled back in her chair and looked around at the women surrounding her. “I sent Ardan to talk to the doctors who came down this morning to inspect what was to be the hospital. I didn’t want anyone to worry about you women. They sent back word to rest here until you are recovered.”
Carrie murmured her appreciation with the others but kept her eyes fastened on Biddy. The cholera hospital had faded away into almost insignificance in her mind. She didn’t really understand her burning compulsion to know Biddy’s story, but she somehow knew it was vitally important.
Biddy met Carrie’s eyes squarely as she began to speak. “People like to think blacks were the first slaves in America, but that isn’t true. Long before the first blacks were brought here, England was sending over white people to create the labor force this country needed.”
“White people?” Alice gasped, her blue eyes growing wide. “From where?”
“It began in England,” Biddy answered. “Things weren’t going so well in the mother country. Famine and war had filled the streets with beggars, vagabonds, and criminals. They decided that transportation was the way to handle it,” she said wryly.
“Transportation?” Carrie echoed, wanting desperately to understand.
“That was their word for banishing the undesirable people from England,” Biddy said bluntly. “Of course, that wasn’t until they had sent the children over.”
“Children?” Florence was the one to echo her this time.
“Children,” Biddy confirmed. “It seems adults were having a very difficult time adjusting to southern heat. Too many of the first colonists were dying from heat, disease, and starvation in the tobacco fields. They decided children would be more likely to survive the demands of the labor, so they began shipping them over, starting with a group of one hundred.”
“But where did they get them?” Carrie demanded. “How old were they?”
“They ranged in age from eight to sixteen,” Biddy answered. Her face tightened. “They took them from the streets of London in the beginning.”
“They kidnapped them?” Florence asked, the horror evident in her voice.
“That they did,” Biddy answered grimly. “But that was just the beginning.”
Carrie struggled to make sense of what she was hearing. “Don’t you mean they were brought over as indentured servants?”
“That’s what you were taught?” Biddy asked.
Carrie struggled to remember where she had heard about indentured servants. “I can’t honestly say I was taught anything.” She thought back to when she had first heard that term. “I remember my father talking about indentured servants helping to build our plantation. He never spoke much about it.”
Biddy’s face tightened with a quick anger but relaxed just as quickly, compassion returning to her eyes, along with a mixture of pity and sympathy. “How long has your family been here, Carrie?”
Carrie was silent for a long moment as she thought back. “My great-great-grandfather came over in the 1700s,” she said finally.
Biddy nodded. “Then they probably owned some of my people.”
Carrie shook her head. “My family never owned white people.”
“Just black folks?” Faith asked gently.
“Yes,” Carrie acknowledged, unsure why her insides were churning so much. She also felt very much on display. Janie had grown up in the South, but her family never owned slaves. The rest of her housemates came from families who had heartily endorsed abolition for the slaves. Even though all her father’s slaves had been set free before the war, she knew her family had stolen the lives of so many before that.
Biddy read the expression on her face. “Your family may have the most recent history of owning slaves, Carrie, but I can guarantee you that any of your families that have been here since the 1600s or 1700s have owned slaves.” Her eyes touched all of their faces.
“That’s not true!” Elizabeth cried. “My family has been here since the mid-1600s. We have never owned a slave.”
Biddy smiled, but her voice was firm when she replied. “Did your mama ever tell you about the indentured servants your relatives used to build their life?”
Elizabeth frowned. “Mother has never said anything. It was my grandmother who told me about the people who came over from Europe looking for a new life. They didn’t have money to come, so they agreed to work for a certain number of years to pay their transportation fare, and then they were given land or money to start over here in America. She told me they were very grateful.”
“I suppose that’s how it happened for a few,” Biddy answered as she reached out to grasp Elizabeth’s hand. “Your mama won’t talk about it because she knows the truth.”
“The truth?” Elizabeth had an almost frantic look on her face.
Carrie felt a surge of sympathy for her friend. “Please explain, Biddy.”
Biddy took a deep breath. “I could give you quite a history lesson, but I would prefer to just tell you my own story.” She locked eyes with Faith.
“That’s the best way,” Faith agreed. “History is nothing more than a collection of people’s stories. It’s best told that way.”
Biddy nodded and then got a faraway look on her face. “My family started here when my great-great-great-grandmother, Aileen, was kidnapped off the streets of Dublin in 1653. She was twelve years old.”
Carrie gasped and covered her mouth. “Twelve? Where were her parents?”
Biddy smiled sadly. “They were taken, as well. They weren’t sent to America, however. They were sent to the sugar plantations in Barbados.”
“Yes. Sugar was quite a commodity and the plantations required a lot of labor. Many of the Irish were sent to the West Indies, but the American colony was growing. Most came to America to work on the tobacco plantations, though in the north they were mostly used for industrial labor.” Biddy shook her head. “My great-great-great-great-grandparents were never heard from again. Aileen was put to work in the tobacco fields. Somehow she managed to survive.”
“Meaning most of them didn’t?” Alice asked.
Biddy nodded sadly. “Eight out of ten children never made it to adulthood. The work was too hard.” She gazed at Carrie. “Does your family own a tobacco plantation?”
“Yes,” Carrie whispered. She wanted to close her ears and not learn more, but something was demanding she know. “Please, continue.”
Biddy eyed her with concern, but kept talking. “Aileen had four children. All four of them were sold to other planters in the area.”
“Sold?” Janie gasped. “Sold?”
“They were slaves,” Biddy reminded her. “People might want to clean up history by calling them indentured servants, but they were slaves just like the blacks who so recently won their freedom. They were bought and sold. They were beaten if they disobeyed. They were hunted down if they tried to run away. And most of them, in spite of the promises made to them, never received land. If, and it was a very big if … If they completed their servant contract, most of them were never given the land they were promised. They had to start over with almost nothing.”
“But I know stories of indentured servants who went on to become very successful,” Elizabeth argued. “My grandmother told me about them.”
“Yes,” Biddy agreed. “That is definitely true. A very small percentage ended up with good, kind, and fair people. They served their years, got their land or jobs, and started a new life here.” She frowned. “The problem is that a good ending only happened to a very small percentage. Of course, those few were what they talked about in Europe. So many people were lured over by the chance to create a new life. The reality was usually something very different. It didn’t take them long to understand they had been lied to, but it was too late to do anything about it. They had crossed the ocean and had no way to return. They simply struggled to survive.”
Carrie tried to absorb what she was hearing, not certain why it was impacting her so deeply. Her housemate’s faces showed their horror, but what she was hearing seemed to be connecting with her in a deeper place that she didn’t understand. “Please continue with your story, Biddy,” she urged.
“Aileen’s oldest daughter, Bridget, was my great-great-grandmother. She grew up as a house servant on the plantation because she was such a great cook. Her life wasn’t as hard as the field hands.”
Carrie thought about her father’s promise to make Rose a house servant so that her life would be easier.
“Bridget evidently had quite the favor with the plantation owner because he allowed her to marry another of his servants. Of course the marriage wasn’t legal because indentured servants couldn’t marry…”
“Just like the slaves,” Carrie murmured.
“Just like them,” Biddy confirmed. “My great-great-grandfather, Michael, was a Scottish survivor from the Crown of London disaster in 1679.”
Carrie shook her head, more confused than ever. “Scottish? I thought the indentured servants were English or Irish.”
Biddy sighed. “England was determined to colonize America. They weren’t very particular about where the free labor came from. By the time it was all over, they had also enslaved many Scots, Germans, and Dutch.”
Carrie had a question still in mind. “You said Michael was a survivor of the Crown of London?”
“Yes. It was a ship,” Biddy told her. “My great-great-grandfather was one of the rebels who tried to run the English out of Scotland. He had seen what happened in Ireland, and Michael was determined it wouldn’t happen in his beloved Scotland.” Her voice hardened. “He had seen hundreds of thousands of Irish men, women, and children stolen from their country and sent to America. He had watched the land ravaged by famine and disease. Many of the ones who somehow escaped transportation to America died from sickness and starvation. By the time it was all done, almost one-third of Ireland’s population had been wiped out.”
“But why?” Carrie asked between clenched teeth.
Biddy regarded her for a long moment. “Because the English were getting crowded in their own country. They decided their lords, and earls, and barons should be given Irish land for their grand estates. The only way for that to happen was for the Irish to be run out of their own country,” she responded bluntly.
Carrie tried to comprehend what she was hearing.
Biddy used her silence to continue. “Grandfather Michael was captured during one of the battles. Many of the more than two thousand rebels captured died on the long march to prison. Most of the rest of them died from starvation or disease while they were incarcerated. The remaining prisoners, about two hundred and fifty of them, were loaded onto the Crown of London. The ship should have been headed south, but people suspect the captain had decided to sell the prisoners in England instead of incurring the expense of going to the West Indies. No one will ever really know why he was there on the northern coast of Scotland. What they do know is that a storm drove the ship onto the rocks right off the coast. The crew made it to shore safely by cutting a mast and using it as a bridge to land.”
“And the prisoners?” Florence asked with wide eyes.
“They were going to leave them all to die,” Biddy answered, “but one of the crew had enough heart to take an axe to the deck and cut an exit for them.” Her eyes filled with sorrow. “Only about forty to fifty of them made it to land. The rest perished in the boat when it went down.”
Carrie shuddered as she envisioned the terror of being trapped in the hold of the vessel while it was battered by waves. She wondered if their screams were heard above the wind. What a terrible way to die after all they had been through, simply for trying to save their country from destruction. Disgust boiled inside her, but she forced her thoughts back to Biddy’s story. “And your great-great-grandfather Michael was one of the survivors?”
“Yes. But his troubles were hardly over. He was weakened by his months in prison, so he was easy to capture again. Once they did, they banished him from Scotland and put him on a boat to America.” Biddy shuddered. “It’s a miracle he survived.”
“Which is how he met Bridget,” Alice said, leaping forward in the story. “Did they ever become free?”
Biddy shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never been able to find out. I can only hope after all they went through that they experienced freedom for some part of their lives. What I do know is that Bridget had four children. Her owner liked her, but he couldn’t resist the profit from the sale of her youngest daughter. Evidently, Darcy, who was my great-grandmother, was very beautiful. Even though she was only twelve years old, she would have brought a very high price.”
Carrie remembered the slave auction she had attended. The most attractive men and women had brought the highest prices. Bile filled her throat as she listened.
Biddy’s voice became flat with a resigned anger. “Darcy had a terrible life. The man who bought her was a very angry drunk. He abused her horribly for almost thirty years.” She cleared her throat and blinked her eyes. “She had four children from him, but all were sold away when they were very young. She had a brief time of happiness when she fell in love with one of the other servants, but he was murdered when he tried to protect her from being beaten by her master.” Biddy’s voice wavered.
“That’s enough,” Faith said firmly. “You can finish this story another time.”
Carrie knew, as much as she wanted Biddy to continue, that Faith was right. Fatigue was written all over the old woman’s face, and her eyes were numb with pain.
Biddy nodded slowly. “It all happened s
o long ago, but telling it makes it seem like I’m right there with them,” she murmured.
So many questions were churning in Carrie’s mind. She felt desperate for answers. “Can I ask you something, Faith?”
Faith nodded easily. “Go right ahead. I reckon I’ve heard this story enough times to tell it myself.”
“Biddy said Ireland was almost destroyed. If the English were trying to turn it into grand plantations of their own, why would they try to destroy it? It doesn’t make sense.”
Faith scowled. “That man hated everything Irish,” she said fiercely. “Especially because they were Catholic. You see, Reformation had swept through Europe before then. England decided that Protestants were far superior to Catholics. They renounced Catholicism as their official religion and embraced the Protestant religion. He was a very devout Protestant, and very determined that Ireland would be swept clean of all Catholics. He did his best to make sure it happened. He almost destroyed the entire country.”
“He?” Florence asked.
It was the very question burning in Carrie’s mind, but something had kept her from asking it. She didn’t understand why everything inside her was tightening with dread as she leaned forward to hear the answer.
Faith sniffed. “I hate to give the man a name,” she said scornfully. “Lord Cromwell hardly deserves to be remembered.”
Carrie froze, her heart beating wildly as the words floated in the still air. She registered Janie’s gasp, but her mind had gone completely numb.
Biddy was the first to reach out. She grasped Carrie’s hand and leaned forward to stare into her face. “Carrie? What is it, girl? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Carrie’s eyes moved to meet hers, but she still couldn’t form words. Long moments of silence passed before she could find her voice. “Lord Cromwell?” she whispered. “Lord Oliver Cromwell?”
Biddy eyed her sharply. “Yes. How would you know that?”
Carrie took a deep breath, forcing air into her lungs. “He was my sixth great-grandfather,” she said faintly.
