The Triumph of Grace (14 page)

Muco struggled to her feet. She wiped the blood from her face with her apron. She pushed past Benjamin and stumbled to the storeroom where she slept between the piles of yams and cassavas. With determined abandon, she spread a cloth out on the floor and threw her few belongings onto it—her second dress, three head scarves, the missionary's Holy Bible she had saved. She plucked up the corners of the cloth and tied them together and hoisted the load onto her head. Muco turned her back on Benjamin Stevens and his house, and she limped her way down the road.

Benjamin Stevens watched her go. He dropped his whip to the ground, walked back into the house, and sank into a chair.He dropped his head into his hands and wept.

Once upon a time, I was a good and moral Christian man,
Benjamin groaned.
Once upon a time, I vowed I would remain honest and true, however rich and powerful I might become.

Once upon a time . . .

A
s the
Ocean Steed
sailed into Charleston harbor, four men rowed up alongside the ship in a longboat.

"Any slaves set for auction today?" Captain Abraham Hallam called out jovially.

"Why do you ask?" one man hollered back. "You got slaves for sale?"

"That I do," Captain Hallam replied in a hearty voice."One slave, that is. And a fine one she is, too."

Before the captain knew what was happening, the ship was surrounded by four more longboats. They all joined together to force his ship away from the harbor despite Captain Hallam's bellowed objections.

"You may not enter the harbor!" a yellow-haired man in the lead boat shouted to him. "Proceed to Sullivan's Island and drop anchor there!"

Captain Hallam roared and raged, but the boats blocked his way. He had no choice but to sail on to Sullivan, one of the barrier isles that protected Charleston Harbor from the Atlantic Ocean.

After weeks of anticipation, Captain Abraham Hallam did not enjoy the afternoon one bit. Although it was a fresh late-spring day and mild ocean breezes ruffled through the palmetto trees atop the dunes, he paid them no mind. Nor did he unload his cargo as he had expected to do. Instead, he escorted Grace off the ship, led her around behind the beach, and signed her in to the repugnant "pest house."

"Yellow fever quarantine!" he fumed. "This is an outrage! An absolute outrage! We sailed here from London. Where would we get yellow fever, I ask you?"

When his protestations did him no good, the captain demanded of every person he saw, "Who is in charge in this place? I insist that you direct me to the man in charge!"

Captain Hallam was still hollering when the guard opened the padlocked door and shoved Grace into the filthy pest house. She huddled down in a corner. Up at the top of the cage were two large openings, so at least some air managed to get inside.

One week in the cage, the guard had said. An entire week! If she was not burning with fever by that time, and if her eyes and skin had not turned yellow, the captain would be allowed to take her on to Charleston and sell her at auction.

All night Grace waited alone in the cell. But as the first rays of sun cast their light through the openings overhead, she heard a key slip into the padlock and the door swing open.

"Come on out."

It was Marcus Slade, the ship's navigator. His voice was gentle.

"You are free. The captain says you are to be prepared for auction."

Grace stared in surprise. "I did not expect you," she said.

"No, I don't suppose you did," said Mister Slade. "I am truly sorry that I cannot do much to help you. But whatever I can do, I shall."

Mister Slade unlocked the chain around Grace's wrists and ordered a bucket of water and a sliver of soap be brought so that Grace could wash herself.

"Clean your dress, too," he said. "And do as thorough a job of it as you possibly can. Else, the captain will do it himself."

Grace washed her hair and wrung out her mass of curls.She scrubbed her face, and, turning away from Mister Slade, reached under the baggy dress to scrub the rest of her body.After that, she did her best to wash the dirty spots out of the dress, and to smooth away as many of the signs of having lived in it for two weeks as she could manage.

"What is it like to be a slave in South Carolina?" Grace asked Marcus Slade.

But Mister Slade turned away in silence.

All through the wash and cleanup, Marcus Slade never once looked directly at Grace. He also kept his eyes averted as he led her to Captain Hallam. Silently he took his leave.

When Captain Hallam inspected Grace, he smiled his approval.

And the yellow-haired American from the longboat rode away on a new horse fresh from the hold of the
Ocean Steed.

Off East Bay Street, next to Charleston's waterfront, it was slave auction day. Sellers clustered together, impatient to display their wares. A nimble colored man was the first one in line.

"Stand up there!" the seller ordered. He pointed to a table set up next to the street. After he allowed the gathering of prospective buyers time to look at the slave, he instructed the colored man to turn around slowly so the crowd could appraise him.

"A skilled carpenter, he is," the seller called out. "I brought samples of his work for you to consider."

Someone made a bid for two hundred dollars. Another raised it to three hundred. In the end, the carpenter slave sold for seven hundred fifty American dollars.

Most of the slaves offered were only field workers, though.Sellers forced the captives' mouths open to show off their teeth. They yanked the shirts off their backs to show how few scars they had for troublesome behavior . . . or else they did their best to keep the scars covered up. The fieldworkers sold for six hundred dollars . . . or five hundred . . . or, if they were older or badly scarred, for three hundred fifty.

Last of all, it was Grace's turn. Captain Hallam ordered her up onto the table.

"A unique slave this one is," the captain called out. "A house slave that would make even the most cultured master proud. Her name is Grace, and she speaks perfect English. She is from the Gold Coast of Africa, of mixed race. Of greatly preferred breeding, too. That I can assure you."

Captain Hallam jumped up on the table beside her. "Turn around," he said to Grace. "Slowly."

"She ever been in a seasoning camp?" one man called out.

"Certainly not! No need for that," Captain Hallam answered. "Grace was born broken in."

"Why's her finger partly lopped off?" another called out."She a thief?"

"No, no, my good man!" the captain insisted. "A kitchen accident, that is all. And she misses the small bit not in the least."

"Three hundred dollars," a man in the back called out.

"Please!" Captain Hallam chided. "This is not a cheap, shiny-black cornfield slave I'm offering you here. Grace is a light-colored darky, already trained for house service. She has the manners of a white lady. Born and raised broken in. And none of them worthless American dollars. I will only accept English shillings."

After a good bit of murmuring, a man called out, "Ten shillings."

Captain Hallam forced Grace's mouth open. "Excellent teeth, as you can see." He jerked her head down and yanked back her hair. "Look behind her ears and you can see her true color. Pull up her dress if you desire and see the creamy skin untouched by the sun."

Grace caught her breath and fought back tears.

Captain Hallam hissed at her, "Don't look distraught. If you make the price go low, I will whip the life out of you!"

A tall man with a long, straight nose and a shock of red hair stepped forward. "I, sir, am prepared to offer you thirty shillings."

Captain Hallam caught his breath. His eyes glistened. No one else said a word.

"Sold!" the captain shouted.

He ordered Grace off the table and bound her hands with a rope, which he gripped securely until the tall man counted out the money and placed it in the captain's hand.

"I thank you, sir," said the captain.

Abraham Hallam handed the rope, and Grace, over to Pace Williamson.

Pace Williamson led Grace down a street paved with sand.A bloated man with a yellow face and two women, equally ill-complexioned, lay sprawled along the side. Mister Williamson covered his nose and mouth with a handkerchief and crossed to the other side of the road.

"Asa!" he called.

A slave dressed in a rough-woven shirt and short trousers ran up to him. "Yes, Massa," he said.

"Take charge of this new house slave. Her name is Grace."

"Yes, Massa."

"Keep her away from any with the yellow fever."

Pace Williamson handed the rope over to his slave. He shook his head and muttered, "What has happened to this city? Throw people out to die on the streets? We would do well to throw out the island French that bring the sickness!"

For over an hour, Asa led Grace along the road in silence.As they passed a large field with many slaves at work, Asa suddenly said, "City girl, is you?"

"What?" Grace asked.

"All dressed fancy the way you is," Asa said. "Does you think you on yer way to a big ball? Does you think you be a honored guest at a white man's party?"

Grace said nothing.

Up ahead Grace got her first glimpse of her new master's Big House, an enormous white mansion set back in a forest of tall trees, shaped to form a lovely arch over a long flowered walkway. Grace and Asa didn't walk down that path, of course. They walked around behind the house—past many bushes covered with pink flowers, past a tree with huge white blossoms and the sweetest fragrance Grace had ever smelled— all the way to the back door.

A colored man worked with a hoe around the beds of flowers, and when Grace passed by, he stopped to stare. As Grace and Asa walked up the back stairs, a Negro woman who reminded Grace of a light-colored Mama Muco opened the door. Several other slaves pushed up behind her, and they also stared.

"Come see what we has here!" Asa called in a mocking voice. "A city girl! A spoiled city slave girl."

"That be enough outta you, Asa," said the Mama Muco woman. "She be a slave just like you be a slave and I be a slave. All us slaves should be pullin' on the same end of the rope."

The Mama Muco slave took the fetter from Asa and untied Grace's hands.

Pace Williamson and his substantial wife, Eva, took great pride in the high caste of their house servants. Although they had nearly one hundred slaves at work in their ever-expanding plantation, they kept to a small household staff of just eight.All were light-skinned and all well mannered. But when Eva Williamson came to the kitchen to inspect the new slave her husband had purchased, and to bring one of her castoff dresses for the girl to wear, Eva immediately raised her eyebrows.

"Goodness me!" she said, and in a not-altogether-pleased manner.

Grace was everything Pace had assured Eva she would be—refined and creamy-skinned and well-spoken. But while all that was true, it did present Eva with something of a dilemma. Her son, Timothy, was at the awkward age of sixteen, when he looked with favor on attractive girls. He had been known to wantonly pursue just such slave girls as Grace. Such a situation would never do. No, no, it would never do!

So Eva went straight to her husband's study and announced, "We shall arrange a marriage for Grace with one of the field hands. And the sooner she is with child, the better for everyone."

"Oh?" Pace asked as he looked up from his papers. "Which slave hand did you have in mind, my dear?"

"I have no idea," Eva said. "Nor do I see that it makes a difference. We all know slaves don't have family feelings the way we do. The important thing is that I want this new slave married and in a family way as soon as possible."