Acting on instructions from England, Gage refused to sign the bill. The slave issue died. But the town became divided between those loyal to King George III and those who wanted independence and self-rule. Bett brought rumors about war between farmers in the backwoods, the Indians, and the king’s men. No one knew if or when war would come to Sheffield.
That spring, 1775, Bett and I had to work in the fields most of the time, for extra help was hard to find. Men were leaving the area to muster—gather for roll call, march, and learn the methods of war. For this they were paid more than for field work. Word came that the king’s men had sent out their soldiers to capture guns stored at a place called Concord. Then there was fighting in another town, Lexington. The people, riled, began to fight the king’s men in Boston. A real war had begun.
Right away, the rich men in Sheffield pledged their support to the people of Lexington and began to raise an army. No longer were the secrets kept in the upstairs room. Everyone was talking about the Colonials forming a Constitutional Congress that would make the laws for the colonies, and the colonies would become united states.
There were many town hall meetings, and on June 18, 1776, all the white Colonials in and around Sheffield came together. The poor pledged their lives, the rich their fortunes to secure independence for Massachusetts. They voted to support the Constitutional Congress if that body declared the colonies independent of the king. On July 4 of that same year the colonies declared themselves independent of the king.
In early August, when the news came to Sheffield, a holiday was declared. People shouted, slapped backs, and finally organized a parade with fifes and drums. I had never seen so many people so excited. Caught up in this fevered fun, Little Bett and I, too, marched in the parade. By the time we reached the town hall, hundreds of people were already there, including free blacks and slaves. Little Bett and I stood with the other slaves; my sister stood with the mistress and the mistress’s children.
The master stood with other men of wealth and property on a platform that had been hastily built just outside the hall. The crowd waited in a festive mood. Finally, the town crier quieted the people with his strong voice and began to read. I was surprised that, even to the back of the crowd, his voice rang clear:
“When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.”
He paused and then waved the paper in the air. “This document will tell why we as a mature people must break ties with the mother country, become independent, and explain our reason to the world. It begins with a declaration of rights:
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.”
I listened, waiting to see if he would explain what all this meant. Where were we in this paper? He read a long bill of indictment of the king that was often stopped with applause. And finally:
“… these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as free and independent States, they have full power to levy war, conclude peace … and to do all other acts and things which independent States may of right do.… And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor.”
The crowd exploded with shouts and applause. I looked at the people beside me, wildly expressing their happiness and hope. Over the noise I asked, “What does it all mean?”
“It means what it says,” one of the men answered.
“Does that ‘men’ mean black men, and all women, too? And that liberty, does it mean we’ll be free and protected?”
“Well—”
“Can we, too, own property? And that happiness?… I doubt they’re talking about us.”
“Aw, Aissa,” someone said, “why do you always cloud things with your questions? Have faith. It’s got to mean us, too.”
17
Josiah came to the master’s door asking for my sister. I ran to get her. Rarely did he come unless it was something mighty special.
“I came to tell you that they need soldiers so badly that a deacon in the church wants me to go to muster, learn war, in place of his son,” Josiah said. “He’ll pay well, enough for me to buy little Ayisha. Plus, if I’m let into the big army I’ll get twenty pounds and one hundred acres of land.”
“No, no, I don’t want you to go,” Bett said. “You could be killed.”
Josiah. Killed. Is that why the deacon didn’t want his son to go? Oh, no. What would life be without Josiah? He made us laugh; the joy he brought Little Bett, all of us, could never be replaced.
“I know it’s dangerous, but with that money I can buy the baby, you, and Aissa.”
“How dangerous is it?” I asked.
“Too dangerous to risk for our freedom,” Bett said. “It is not only his being killed. It is also his killing. Once it’s over, even if he lives he will be dead.”
“What do you know about war?” Josiah asked, his voice raised.
“I know. I saw the killing of the Indians and the white men when I was just a child. But I remember.”
“It would take me forever to raise the money I can get by going to war. My mind is set on it.” He held her in his arms and kissed her long. Then he hugged me and kissed me on the forehead. Little Bett clung to him as if she understood. Then he said good-bye.
A few days later, Josiah returned. His shoulders were bent, and his face was more stern and his smile no longer there. “They refused to let me substitute for the deacon’s son. I was told that there is no place for a black man in the ranks of what is now being called the Continental Army.” He was silent for a moment as we stood in disbelief. Finally he said, with little enthusiasm, “I hear the British are taking us.”
“Then go fight for the British,” I said.
“But what if they lose? I got property here. Not much, but still land that’s mine. And I know this place. Where will I go if they lose? I like the words spoken here about freedom and liberty. Men who believe that will, I feel, stand by their words and do justice by all men, black and white, rich and poor.”
I could tell that Bett felt both relief and outrage. Relief that he had returned and outrage that a man as courageous as her husband was denied the right to make a choice.
Upstairs they were discussing what to do about the war and what to tell the people in the next town meeting. Bett was moving in and out and heard much of what was said. She walked about for days with her back stiff, her head high. She seemed sad and not excited as she had once been about what they were saying. I had to prod and plead with her to talk.
“I thought it was just the mistress and the master, but the others, too, speak things about slaves right in front of me as if I’m not there. Do they not see me at all? Their mighty General Washington will not have Africans in his army for fear the British will think our own men are not willing to fight. And some of them say the British are poking fun at them for having Africans fighting with them.”
“But Josiah says the British are taking blacks. So how can they poke fun?”
“The British probably think they are pretending to be better than what they are. Saying they love liberty and freedom while still holding slaves. Not a one in that room dares to admit that. They say we are stupid, untrustworthy, lazy, unab
le to fight. You should hear them.”
So that’s why she has been so sad, so stiff-backed. She was suffering under the urge to lower her head to a bleeding heart. Was she losing faith in the master’s lofty words? I wondered. She went on talking.
“There’s only one, who has not been here before—Tapping Reeve, a lawyer who heads a law school in Litchfield, Connecticut—who admits that white men don’t want to fight and the war is being lost. Aissa, there are five hundred thousand of us in this land. He said that. And that we could be the ones who affect the way this thing is going, depending on which side takes us in first. He’s afraid it’s going to be the British.”
I didn’t know much but I said, “If the British will give us our freedom, let’s pray they win.”
“Who do you think owns us? Mostly British! Think of what my husband told us. Who decided that we should be slaves when the people wanted to end it? The king and his governor. And what if the king loses and we’ve cast our lot with him? Where would we go? They say the British have only forty-two thousand soldiers. The Colonials have nine times that many.”
“I don’t believe it. With that many men, how can they be losing?”
“The Colonials will only stay three months in the army and then they go home. It takes more than three months to make a good soldier.” Bett went on talking about what they were planning to do, but I was not listening. I was thinking about what would happen to us after this war. Were the British really giving slaves freedom? How could Africans choose between these two? I wanted to believe that somewhere there was somebody who knew that slavery was wrong and how much we wanted to be free. Maybe it was the British.
18
In January 1777, everybody was talking about the war. Thousands of slaves were joining the Redcoats, the name the Colonials had given the British because their uniforms were red coats with white shirts and trousers. And the British were winning. The new Congress decided to draft men for service. Even though everybody said Britain was winning, most of the newly formed states still didn’t send in their quota of men. In June of that year, a town meeting was called in the name of the government and the people of Massachusetts.
Josiah was there. He told us a committee, which included Theodore Sedgwick, was picked to set up plans to draft men for the Continental Army. At that meeting they voted to add a bonus to that given by the government to men drafted from their state. However, they did not make plans to draft Africans, slave or free.
Bett was happy to have Josiah with her when many of the women whom she often saw in the town complained that their men were away at war. She knew that they envied her not only for having Josiah around but also for being fairly well fed, clothed, and in a decent house. And she carried herself in such a way that they never knew that she was a slave owning nothing, not even her own life.
Her happiness did not last long. Things became so bad with the Continental Army, Massachusetts was asked to contribute fifteen battalions. The men upstairs said that, with 67,000 men in the state at that time, they would comply. This did not include slaves. Those efforts didn’t count for much. Battles were still being won by the British. The capitol in Pennsylvania fell, and in December of 1777 General Varnum asked for permission to organize a battalion of slaves.
I remember the day word came. We had not celebrated a good Christmas since the Boston Tea Party and were looking forward to a small get-together on that New Year’s Day. Just three days before the new year, word came that some slaves and free Africans were being recruited in Sheffield. This upset Bett very much. She heard the master telling his friends that black men would never be treated as equals in battle. If they were captured they could not be exchanged as equal prisoners of war. Never would the British exchange a white soldier for a black one.
“What will they do with the blacks?” one of his friends asked.
“Sell them to plantation owners in Barbados.”
“Is that true?”
The master laughed. “Whether it’s true or not, it will make many a one of them think twice before trying to get freedom through the army. They are paying owners for their slaves, but I’ll not let one of mine go at any price.”
All slaves knew that to be sold off to Barbados and to southern plantation owners was a fate worse than death. Bett was determined that Josiah would not hear of the recruitment. However, Josiah did hear and told Bett he was going. Alarmed, she told him what the master had said. “Do you want to be shipped off to Barbados?”
“I hope you don’t believe everything you hear upstairs in that house. I hear things, too. The British aren’t afraid of us. They have many of us fighting on their side. It’s your master who is worried about what will happen to him if slaves are armed. And what will happen if slaves left behind get ideas about freedom. I can earn twenty pounds and gain one hundred acres of land if I join that battalion. Massachusetts will give me a bonus of another twenty pounds. I’m going.”
Bett said nothing. She helped him pack an extra coat, two warm shirts, homespun underclothes, and a pair of leather trousers.
Many of the slaves and free Africans gathered to say good-bye. Just as he was leaving, Bett gave him a warm blanket that she had been given for the last child she delivered. She and Little Bett walked with him down the road. I wanted so badly to go that last mile, but I knew they needed those moments together, alone.
Word spread that Zach Mullen, along with some men from other farms, had gone off to fight for the British who promised them freedom. One day Zach showed up, saying he had been sent back when his officer found out that he was from the Ashleys’ place. The master threatened to beat him.
I was working in the field the day Zach returned. The field supervisor sent for the master. What would happen to Zach? I wondered. I was so afraid that the master would whip him within an inch of his life. Pretending to go about my work as usual, I was doing more listening.
“Didn’t you know you wouldn’t get far?” the master asked. “I should give you the whipping of your life.” He fingered the whip that he held in his hand.
Zach stood with his head up, his hands clenched in fists behind his back. He breathed heavily in the silence, not moving his eyes from the master’s face.
“Go to work,” the master finally said.
Why had the master backed down? Could he have been afraid Zach would run away and try fighting with the Colonials and Indians? Was Zach ready to take on the master? Maybe the master was just glad he had his slave back.
When Josiah had been gone for a while and the war was still being lost, Brom went to the master and asked to be sold to the slave battalion. A fair price was being offered, as high as four hundred pounds. The master had paid only forty for Brom. The master told Brom he was worth far more than four hundred pounds to him. There was a shortage of men to tend cattle and work flax. He was needed here to help win the war.
Brom told me he asked, “But will I be free when the war is over?”
The master answered, “Only if you become a soldier in the army is freedom guaranteed.”
For days Brom moved around like a man with no reason to live. He talked about running away to join the British. Zach warned him against that. He had learned the hard way. Ashley’s place was too well known and the British wanted to have friends in the area whether they won or lost.
Brom did not try to join the British. He refused to eat. He drank little water, but Bett forced him to drink her tea. Still he grew thinner and thinner and looked terrible. Bett and I pleaded with him to come to his senses and not kill himself. One day Bett said to him, “Have you forgotten Olubunmi and her wisdom? She always told us, in our heart and soul, to say yes to living; say no to bondage and nobody can keep you a slave. Brom, tiigaade!”
Little by little he got better. Maybe he understood something Olubunmi and my sister, too, fully understood that I was still unable to grasp.
Several months went by. We heard no word from Josiah. Bett lost weight. She did not sleep well, and the work on her plac
e suffered. Little Bett missed her daddy and kept asking when he would come home. We had no idea whether he had been able to find his way to General Varnum’s line to join the slave battalion. We waited.
One evening, the sun was red on the horizon. The first star of the evening hung low in the sky. We were still working in the field when Little John came running, waving a letter. He was out of breath. “It’s from Josiah.”
Bett was so excited, I think she didn’t realize, as she hurriedly opened the letter, that she couldn’t read. She hugged the pages as the tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Here, let me read it for you,” Little John said.
“Not here. I must prepare myself. I must sit down.” He hadn’t been in our quarters since he was a small boy. Now, as a young man, he seemed out of place sitting on the floor. Bett sat in our one chair, I on the bed. We listened as Josiah’s voice rolled over us.
Bett, Dear Wife:
I have been in Newport, Rhode Island, for about three days now, waiting to leave here for Pennsylvania. This state is in ruins. Their rich dairy farms are destroyed; the source of their wealth, the trade in slaves, thanks goodness, is totally wiped out. The British blockade is complete.
There are many Africans here. I have been fortunate to meet a few. One is a Miss Obour Tanner. At her home I met a well-known woman who writes poetry that has been read by many, here and abroad. Her name is Phillis Wheatley. She read some of her poems. I was thrilled, for it made clear why we must join in this fight against what she called tyranny. You would love her, a beautiful person with a gift one can hardly believe.
They still don’t want us to be allowed to fight. I think the owners of slaves are willing to lose the war rather than part with their property. But, as a free man, I have been signed up and should join General Varnum in his all-black battalion before long.
Second Daughter Page 7
