The Triumph of Grace (16 page)

"Where do the hundred field slaves live?" Grace asked as she lay down on her cot in the house slaves' cabin. She had been at Pace Williamson's plantation almost a month, but still had not seen any of the field slaves.

"In the slave quarters, down by the fields, of course," Melly said.

"I wish they was closer to us," said Phiba.

"We more luckier than they be," said Melly. "We gets better food and better clothes. This cabin be better, too."

"But they has all of them others," said Phiba. "An' all we has is just us."

Grace lay in silence for several minutes. Finally she said, "I wish I could see them. I would ask if any of them knew about Cabeto."

"Sometimes Massa say I can go down there on Sundays to visit with my family," said Honeysuckle. "Mistress Eva, I heard her tell the massa that she wants you married and with child.I'll ask can I take you to meet the menfolk there."

"Sunday!" Grace exclaimed. She jumped up from her cot."How many days until Sunday?"

"This day be Friday, and tomorrow be Saturday," said Honeysuckle. "The day after that be Sunday."

"But I won't marry a slave," Grace said, "because I'm already married. And I won't be with child, either."

"You will if massa says you will," said Honeysuckle. "You a slave now, girl."

"Well, I don't care what he says," said Grace. "I only want to go down there to find out about Cabeto."

Honeysuckle looked at Grace and shook her head. "I'll ask Massa Pace can you and me go down to the slave quarters after breakfast is cleaned up."

In answer to Honeysuckle's request, and with matrimony on her mind, Mistress Eva brought an old dress out from Angel's wardrobe and presented it to Grace.

"Make yourself pretty," Mistress Eva said. "Meet all the men in the slave cabins." With a smile and a wink, she added, "Find one that pleases you and I will see that he is yours."

On Saturday night, Grace drew herself a bucket of water and bathed. On Sunday, after the breakfast plates were washed and the saucepans scrubbed clean, she went back to the slave cabin and put on her new dress. It was a blue ruffled frock with a square-cut neckline. The nice thing was that it wasn't loose and baggy like the dress from Mistress Eva. This one fit Grace just fine. Grace fluffed out her curly hair with her fingers and pushed it back off her face.

The field hands' slave quarters were made up of a handful of crudely-framed cabins built from rough-hewn logs chinked with mud. They were positioned in a circle around a bare dirt courtyard. Grace could see small garden plots beside some of the cabins, and a handful of skinny chickens pecked around in the dirt. What looked like a wooden animal trough was pressed over against one side of a cabin. Two little children, with coarsely carved spoons grasped in their hands, scraped at bits of porridge stuck in the corners and cracks.

The field slaves eagerly welcomed the two house slaves, although some could not resist the chance to tease them about their fancy clothes. All the while, the slaves moved over behind the circle of huts to a spot where sitting logs were laid out in rows.

"Come and sit," Honeysuckle said to Grace. "That man in the white shirt is the one they calls 'Preacher Man.' "

Grace sat, and Honeysuckle eased herself down beside her.

"Massa don't know about Preacher Man," Honeysuckle said. "Only talk about the other peoples you met here and the crispy chicken feet they give you to suck on and not about the preachin'."

Preacher Man had plenty to say. In fact, he found it dif- ficult to contain his excitement, which periodically bubbled over into shouts. "Let my people go! Dat's what de Lord tol' his man Moses to say to old Pharaoh!"

Grace immediately recognized Preacher Man's story—Moses and the plagues wrought on the stubborn Egyptians, who would not release the slaves. She had read it in Captain Ross's Holy Bible on the ship from Africa to London.

" 'Dey will not be your slaves,' Moses tol' Pharaoh," Preacher Man continued. "Let my people go, that we may serve God.Dat's what he said!"

From all sides, men and women called out, "Amen! Amen!"

"King Jesus be our Moses," declared Preacher Man. "He say, 'Let my people go so dat dey can serve me!"

"He say it to de white man!" a man near Grace called out.

"He say it to every master dat owns slaves," said Preacher Man. "He say it to de debil hisself."

Again, men and women called out, "Amen! Amen!"

Suddenly, Grace was terribly lonely for Mama Muco.Had she been there, she would have been amen-ing louder than anyone, and she wouldn't care what massa said, either! Everything Preacher Man said could have come from Mama's lips.

"But de freedom not be for nothin'," Preacher Man said. "It be so we can serve de Lord."

When Preacher Man finished, the slaves launched into songs. Grace didn't know any of them, but they still made her heart sad.

Then the people prayed to God. They asked that He would make vegetables grow large in their gardens, that their families would not be sold away from them, that the yellow fever would not strike the slave quarters. They prayed that God would touch a child injured in a fall and make her whole again.They asked God to give them what Preacher Man called the "Fruits of the Spirit": love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, and temperance. And they ended with this request: "Please, Lord God, let our people go! Let us go so's we kin serve you."

When Preacher Man at last sat down, everyone's eyes turned once again to Grace.

"Is you one of us, den?" asked Preacher Man.

Grace nodded her head. "Yes," she said. "I am African. I am a slave, just like you."

"We has to get back to the Big House," Honeysuckle said."Massa don't let us to stay away for too long."

"Wait!" Grace cried. "I have an important question to ask.Does anyone know of a slave with the African name Cabeto? He is a strong, brave man, and he walks with a limp because he was badly injured in a rebellion. His leg was burned."

Everyone stared at Grace, but no one answered.

"I think Cabeto is with his brother, whose African name is Sunba. Sunba was injured, too. He has a bad shoulder."

One head after another shook "no."

"Please . . . are you certain? No one has seen Cabeto?" This time Grace was pleading. "No one?"

Honeysuckle stood up. "Come, Grace," she said gently."The massa will be askin' after us."

Grace did her best to choke back the tears that welled up in her eyes. She had already turned to follow Honeysuckle when a hand brushed against her arm. A stooped woman was close behind her.

"He limps perty bad, does he?" the woman asked. "An' his brother, he can't hardly use his left arm?"

"Yes," said Grace. "Yes!"

"He be dark black?" the woman asked. "And real tall?"

"Yes, yes!" said Grace. "That's him. That's my Cabeto! Do you know where he is?"

The woman turned her eyes away and slowly shook her head. "De other massa who owned me and dem, too—Massa Simon. He didn't like de way dem two work. De broder of your man, he be shot dead. The one you ask about went to work in de swamps and he never come back."

"Did you see it happen?" Grace demanded. "Did you see someone shoot Sunba?"

"I don't want to talk about dat," the woman said. "Massa Simon done sold me here. Dat time be done and past."

Grace grabbed the woman by the arm and pulled at her.But the woman cried out and tried to pull away.

"I saw it," said a stringy man. "The one you call Sunba, he couldn't work no more so Albo took him out to a field. Albo had a gun with him, and he poked it in Sunba's back. When Albo came back, he be all alone. Dat boy Sunba be gone to heaven for sure. But the other one, the one you askin' over . . . his slave name be Caleb. Slave talk say he be bought away from de swamp. Say he be workin' in another massa's fields now."

"Come, Grace," Honeysuckle said, her voice strained with urgency. "We has to go. Now."

Late afternoon sun cast dark shadows over the leafy carpet that surrounded Master Williamson's Big House. Grace stepped easy and tread lightly, a smile lifting the edges of her mouth.

"You does look cheerful and content," Honeysuckle noted.

"Another man's field," Grace mused. "Do you suppose that field is very far away from here?"

"Maybe not far for a white man's carriage," Honeysuckle said. "But forever away for a darkie slave like you."

L
ady Charlotte adjusted the three blue bows down the front of her pale pink brocade taffeta gown and straightened the skirt so that only the barest flounce of her petticoat showed beneath the hemline. The sun shone through the window over the front door, but she was not fooled. Even in late May, a cool afternoon wind might decide to blow.

"Fetch my cloak, Owens," Lady Charlotte said to the maid.

As Penny Owens ran to do her mistress' bidding, the butler Rustin stepped inside and announced, "Your carriage is ready, m'lady."

"I say!" Lord Reginald called from the top of the staircase."Are you going out, Charlotte? To visit your mother, perhaps?"

"I am going out, but not to see Mother," Lady Charlotte answered. "As a matter of fact, I am on my way to Greenway's Coffeehouse."

Lord Reginald's jaw twitched, and he paused for a moment to collect himself.

"Rustin," he said to the butler, "do tell the driver that Lady Charlotte will not be in need of the carriage today, after all."To his wife he said, "Join me in my chambers, my dear. Now, if you please."

Rustin bowed and moved toward the door. He caught Owens as she hurried in with the cloak and gave her a look that clearly meant "tread carefully."

Angry determination settled over Lady Charlotte's pale face and hardened her blue eyes. The look became her.

Lord Reginald took great pains to compose himself. He offered his wife the best chair. As was so often the case, he chose to stand beside the fireplace, his elbow rested against the mantle. He purposefully assumed as nonchalant a pose as he could manage.

"I shall go to the meeting," Lady Charlotte stated before her husband could launch into one of his long speeches.

"I fully appreciate the powerful pull one's emotions have on one," Lord Reginald said in his most magnanimous tone."And I certainly take into full account the fact that you are but a woman. Yet you are nevertheless an intelligent woman, one I believe capable of understanding what is at stake here.As controller of Zulina fortress, I am in the slavery business.And as the employer of your father, the way in which I conduct that business affects your family as well as it affects mine."

"My father must make his own decisions," said Lady Charlotte. "Just as I must make my own."

"I fear that you do not fully grasp the situation, my dear," Lord Reginald continued. "Slavery was not my invention, nor was it the creation of England. Slavery was established long ago by the decree of Almighty God."

"Oh?" Lady Charlotte asked. "And how is it that you, my husband, are in a position to know the mind of God?"

"Slavery is sanctioned throughout the Bible," Lord Reginald explained with exaggerated patience. "It began in Genesis when God cursed Noah's son Canaan to be the lowest of slaves to his brothers. On the contrary, Noah blessed his sons Shem and Japheth, and he made them masters over Canaan."

"I see," said Lady Charlotte. "What I do not see, however, is how you can use Noah and his sons to justify your own actions at Zulina fortress. Or how you can use that long-ago account from Genesis to keep kidnapped Africans enslaved in the Americas today."

"Noah's son Canaan was a man with black skin," said Lord Reginald. "Everyone knows that."

"Do they, now?" asked Lady Charlotte. "How exactly is that so, when Canaan's father and two brothers were white, and his mother, as well? And where exactly does the Bible say that Canaan's skin was black?"

Lord Reginald cleared his throat and stepped away from the fireplace. He pulled his coat back into place and stood uneasily before his wife.

"The important point for you to understand is that slavery is a natural state," Lord Reginald said. He could feel control slipping away from him, yet he was at a loss to know what to do about it. "It has existed in every age, you see. People of the highest civilizations had slaves. Even those in the most intelligent of nations, I might add."

"Such as ours?" Lady Charlotte asked.

"Yes, exactly," said Lord Reginald. "Ours, and all the rest of Europe. But most certainly ours."

"And did all of these highest civilizations send ships to Africa to exploit the continent for financial gain?" Lady Charlotte asked. "Did all of them do whatever they took into their hearts to do, however atrocious and appalling the deeds might be, in order to achieve their ends? Did they select unrelated verses out of the Bible in order to salve their consciences by maintaining their deeds were sanctioned by God?"

"No, no!" insisted an exasperated Lord Reginald. "You have it all wrong!"

Sir Reginald paced to the far side of the room, turned around, and strode back toward Lady Charlotte's chair.

"Atrocious and appalling behavior is exactly what it is, too," Lady Charlotte said. "I know that to be a fact, Reginald, for I witnessed it with my own eyes. We commit those atrocious and appalling actions, all the while insisting that the wretched slaves accept with contentment the position into which we thrust them."

"And so they should!" exclaimed Lord Reginald.

"Grace did not accept it," said Lady Charlotte. "Nor would
I
have done."

Lady Charlotte stood up and walked out of the room and down the stairs. "The carriage," she called to Rustin. "It is still ready for me, I presume?"

By the time Lady Charlotte stepped from the Witherham carriage and entered Greenway's Coffeehouse, two tables were already filled with men and a sprinkling of women vying to voice their thoughts on the abolition of slavery. No longer did Ethan Preston and his small group hide away in Heath Patterson's drafty barn. Not since the House of Commons had passed William Wilberforce's second abolition bill. True, the House of Lords had promptly defeated the bill, but even so,the subject was now an acceptable one for discussion, especially in the coffeehouses.

All the regulars sat along the tables, but many others had joined them, as well. Ena was there, and so was Sir Geoffrey Phillips. Joseph Winslow, too, although he sat a bit apart from the others, silent and self-conscious. Lady Charlotte eased herself onto the bench next to Joseph.

". . . and a compromise forged by the good Sir William Dundas provides for gradual abolition by the first day of January in the year of our Lord, 1796," Sir Thomas McClennon was saying. "We have Prime Minister Pitt to thank for that. It came about only at his personal behest."

"Too long!" Jesse snorted. "Three more years of the slave trade! Too long!"

"Yes," agreed Lady Susanna. "Far too much can happen in three years."

"That may well be true," allowed Sir Thomas. "But with the chaos in France absorbing so much of Parliament's attention, it is fortunate that the Houses moved forward on this matter at all."

"Yet there is also the disaster at Saint Domingue," Ethan Preston pointed out. "We cannot allow ourselves to ignore that."

"God in heaven help us!" exclaimed a hefty man Lady Charlotte had never seen before. "Do not tell me we must endure another year without sugar!"

"Who can say?" asked a man with long hair that hung straight over his shoulders. "Once again, we are at war with France. So who is to say what will happen?"

"Pshaw!" spat the hefty man. "France is not even a rightful country any longer. Naught but a lawless disgrace, is what."

"Nevertheless, we are at war with them," said the straighthaired man. "And the talk is that France will soon abolish slavery."

"Nor should we be surprised," said the hefty fellow. "Have they not already abolished or demolished everything else within their grasp?"

"And yet the British public does not speak their objection to the slave trade as openly as they did after William Fox's pamphlets first appeared," Lady Charlotte ventured. "I do find that odd. When it comes to something about which I care deeply, I, for one, cannot remain silent."

"Nor can I," said Jesse, as he bounded to his feet.

Men of African extraction were not an uncommon sight in London, if one looked for them in expected places. Yet they were quite a rarity in genteel establishments such as coffeehouses.And when they did attend, they kept themselves to the corners and the back places where they would not attract undue attention. Certainly they did not jump to their feet and publicly shout out their opinions.

"What of America?" Jesse challenged. "African slaves there can't even hope for freedom. No law protects them for they be nothing but white man's property. Negro babies born to slaves belong to the master, just like the lambs born to his sheep be his. If master takes it to his mind to sell the baby, well and good. Go to the auction block and buy someone else's baby if that's what he desires. Buy another man's wife, too. Anything massa wants be just fine, 'cause the slaves be his."

All other conversations in the coffeehouse stopped. All eyes turned to stare at the railing Negro.

"Scare the slaves good!" Jesse continued. "Whup 'em and beat 'em hard. Hang 'em from the trees. Anything be fine, 'cause they only be property."

Suddenly Jesse looked around him. He hadn't seemed to notice that the entire coffeehouse had fallen silent. His eyes darted around in an effort to assess the mood of the staring faces. Without another word, he sank to his seat and slumped down low.

No one spoke for a moment. It was Lady Charlotte who finally felt compelled to add her thoughts.

"And yet, in Africa, being white did entitle one to great privilege," she said. "And to be able to call oneself Christian pardoned any multitude of transgressions." She looked at Joseph beside her. "Is that not true, Mister Winslow?"

Joseph's blotchy face flushed hot. He said nothing.

"It is not for us to judge others. Nor are we here to condemn individual slaveholders as corrupt or un-Christian," said Sir Geoffrey Phillips. "For if slavery did not already exist amongst them, few slaveholders would choose to introduce it. And as for us, if we were in the place of, say, American plantation owners, would we willingly and instantly give up everything we owned and held dear?"

Oliver Meredith slammed his fist down on the table."Nevertheless, they are still wrong!"

"Yes, of course they are still wrong," said Sir Geoffrey. "But it is useless to employ a voice of thunder, abhorrence, and condemnation when we speak of them. Are we not all complicit to some degree? Condemnation of them must surely be met with condemnation of ourselves. Abhorrence of them must be met with abhorrence of ourselves."

"You, sir, speak wisdom," said Ethan Preston. "It is true that we are all capable of horrific deeds, yet every one of us is also capable of love and kindness and generosity. Let us calm our voices so that we will be in a better position to reach the hearts of our countrymen, and to help them see the true cost of the slave trade."

"We cannot stop it only 'ere in England, though, can we?" asked Joseph Winslow. "We must also reach acrost the ocean, mustn't we?"

"Yes," said Mister Preston. "Even though that means we must reach more deeply into our own purses."

"God in heaven help us!" the hefty man exclaimed again."Another year without sugar!"