The Triumph of Grace (27 page)

Winter was cold, and snowy, and very long. But spring came again, as spring always does. And one day—when the world was once again sunny and warm and Cabeto's garden lush and full—Cabeto stood tall and proud in the courtyard of his log house. It was the 27th day of June, in the year of our Lord, 1794. Grace stepped out of the house and stood beside him, their newborn baby cradled in her arms.

"My son!" Cabeto announced with great pride.

In the way of Africa, Cabeto took the baby from Grace's arms and held him high in the air.

"John Freedom Hull!" Cabeto announced. "That will be his name!"

Grace smiled.

"May the Good Shepherd carry our son on his shoulders all the days of his life," Grace said. "And may he dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

T
hrough the budding of spring, the glories of summer, the harvest of fall, and the snows of winter, freedom prospered.Even so, memories danced in Grace's head. She spoke of them to her child from his earliest days, so as John Freedom grew, those who had peopled Grace's past became a part of his life, too.

One day a white man clomped, clomped on horseback into the colored settlement.

"I'm from the Hudson Bay Company and was out this way on other business," the man said. "Several months past, the company received a letter in our mail packet addressed to one Grace Winslow."

"That's me," Grace said. "Though my name is now Grace Hull."

Grace took the letter from the man and turned it over in her hand. She recognized the fine writing. It was from Lady Charlotte.

"How did you find me?" Grace asked.

"Seems you have influential friends, madam," the man said."Your friend, John Hull, works alongside a Methodist preacher name of Francis Asbury. Just about everyone knows who he is.Seems the two of them asked after you all over Pennsylvania and New York, and everywhere else they went."

After a bowl of soup and a cup of tea, the rider took his leave. Before he was out of sight, the entire village gathered around the fire to hear Grace read her letter.

Dearest Grace~

Friends of Sir Thomas in Pennsylvania shared their home with the Reverend Francis Asbury, and from him learned that you and Cabeto arrived safety in Canada. Since that day, our entire group has offered unceasing gratitude to Almighty God. Oliver Meredith is now employed by the Hudson Bay Company in Canada, and it was he who discovered your location.

Our group is stronger than ever, and we have gained much support throughout London. With the help of Prime Minister William Pitt, we do believe that the African slave trade will soon come to an end. We pray for that day.

Your father is a changed man, Grace. He is a firm member of our group. We appreciate the passion and experience he brings us.

As for me, I remain with Reginald, for I have nowhere else to go. But my heart is with you. I am at liberty to come and go as I please, for Reginald hardly notices me. That is a mercy, I suppose.
His business in Africa at Zulina has fallen off terribly and it causes him no end of distress. He vows to discover who is at fault and make that person pay.

I remain your loving friend,

Charlotte

J-o-h-n . . . F-r-e-e-d-o-m . . . H

John Freedom, a strapping four-year-old, practiced writing his name by carefully tracing the letters in the dirt with a sharpened twig. It was he who first saw the tall white man coming down the road.

"Mama!" he called. "Mama, come quick!"

Grace stepped outside. She didn't recognize the man on the horse until he doffed his wide-brimmed hat. When she did, she caught her breath.

"Mister Meredith?"

"Yes, Oliver," said Oliver Meredith. "A letter arrived on the ship from London, and a packet marked important, both addressed to you in my care. I decided I should ride out and deliver them in person."

This time the villagers didn't wait for the white man to leave. They immediately gathered around the fire and sat impatiently all through the day while Grace talked with Oliver, made him a cup of hickory tea and dished him a plate of dinner, and finally saw him on his way.

"Read your letter, Mama," little John Freedom insisted before Mister Meredith was even out of view.

Dearest Grace~

I think of you often and remember you fondly.

Last year, I wrote a letter to my father. This week, when the ship arrived in port with a mail packet aboard, I was overjoyed to see a letter from him. There was news included that I thought would be of interest to you.

Your Mama Muco left my father's house. She would not be his slave anymore. My father did not chase her down. He said he recently learned that she had gone out to the distant villages and gathered up children abandoned by the slave catchers. She learned about your work at the Foundling Hospital from my letters to my father and she wanted to do the same thing in Africa.

My father is a man haunted by the ghosts of the captives he sent away. He refuses to work with your mother and her brother
the king, and trades with a rival nation farther down the coast instead. Princess Lingongo has disappeared. Talk is, she has been taken as a slave herself. This is all my father's doing, of course, but Reginald blamed Jasper Hathaway. Reginald fired him and spoke so ill of him that no one else of any repute will associate with him. Mister Hathaway lives in a small house on the next street up from your Missus Peete, who spits at him whenever she sees him.

The packet contains a gift my father sent to me. It seems more appropriate for you. Oliver will see that you receive it.

In loving friendship,

Charlotte

Grace tugged the string off the package and unwound the layers of heavy paper.

"Look!" she said. "It's a turtle and it's made of solid gold!"

"The supposed necessity of treating the Africans in such a way

gradually brings a numbness upon the heart and

renders those who are engaged in it

indifferent to the sufferings of their fellow human creatures.

In treating them as less than human, we become

less than human ourselves.

How else could we act in so uncivilized, so unchristian a way?"

~John Newton~

Slave ship captain turned preacher and abolitionist

Author of the hymn
Amazing Grace

March 25, 1807—
A bill passed in Parliament and

signed by King George III banned the transport of slaves

into or out of England or any British territory.

Slavery Act of 1839—
Made slavery illegal in

England and its colonies.

September 22, 1862—
Emancipation Proclamation by

United States President Abraham Lincoln

December 6, 1865—
The 13th Amendment to the

United States Constitution officially abolished

slavery in the United States.

2010—
Three times as many slaves live in the world today

as in Grace's day. When the first abolition bill passed in

1807, an estimated four million people were enslaved.

Today, UNICEF's conservative number is more like

twelve million people of all races.

1. Do you think Grace could have done anything differently to protect herself under British law as it existed in the eighteenth century? Have you ever felt that the American system of justice leans too far in the defense of the accused (i.e. the guaranteed right to legal representation, presumed innocence, and so forth)? Why or why not? Why do you suppose the founding fathers took such pains to include these in our Constitution?

2. In the eyes of many in genteel eighteenth-century England, America was populated with lawless gun-toting wild men. The English were not so impressed with the influence of foreigners on their own shores, either. Yet when Grace sees the sailors licking their plates, when she recalls the horror wrought by those who plied the slave trade, she wonders who truly are the uncivilized ones among them. How might this be a commentary on our different societies today? Can we really look at other cultures and judge them impartially?

3. African characters in the book, from Cabeto to Tempy to Grace herself, talk about their native religion— ancestors, spirit trees and so forth. Is it possible for such deeply held beliefs, such as a belief in the creator and in a mediator between God and humanity, to serve as a pathway to Christianity? Was this so for Grace? Why or why not?

4. Macon Waymon considered himself to be "a different kind of slaveholder," especially kind and benevolent. In what ways was this opinion justified? In what ways was it not? So he felt a singular sense of betrayal when Issum ran away, and Waymon applied a gruesome punishment. In the cool reason of the next morning, do you think Waymon felt his actions were justified? Do you suppose his treatment of his slaves changed after that? Why or why not?

5. What did you think of the contrasting viewpoints of slavery as alternately expressed by the slaves in the grove and the French slaveowners in their mansion? Is it possible today for two groups of people to look at the same incident and see it so differently? Why or why not?

6. Today, in the cool, clear view of history, it is difficult to accept the varied defenses of slavery expressed by these characters (although all were actual arguments). Which do you think was the more persuasive defense, financial or ideological? Why? What are your thoughts about the biblical arguments offered?

7. Sir Geoffrey Phillips contended that it was counterproductive to "speak with a voice of thunder, abhorrence and condemnation," even about matters that truly are a blight on mankind. Do you agree? Why or why not? Ethan Preston insisted that speaking the truth in a calm, rational voice would help the nation recognize the true cost of slavery. Might that be a word of advice for us today? Why or why not?

8. It is difficult to comprehend what it would mean to be so severely punished for the sin of using one's bith name, or clinging to pieces of one's language or culture. Or to face possible death for the sin of learning to read. Why do you think Grace's life was so affected by what she read in the Declaration of Independence?

9. Although there are people of faith who touch Grace's life, her faith comes about almost entirely by reading the Bible. Is this realistic? Why or why not? In what ways did John Hull answer her questions honestly? In what ways were his responses colored by his own prejudices and background?

10. Were you surprised to learn that more than four times as many people live as slaves today than in Grace's day? There is plenty of room for twenty-first-century abolitionists! Come and visit www.GraceInAfrica.com to see how you can help and to share your ideas. You can make a difference!

Y
ou know what you must do," Lata said to her husband.Virat knew. Though it could cost him his life, he knew.

On the mat in the far corner of the hut, little Ashish moaned in his sleep. Virat could not bring himself to look at his son, so battered and broken. Instead, he busied himself adjusting his dusty
mundu
skirt. He untied the knot at his waist, stretched the long, wide strip of cotton cloth out as far as his arms would reach, and, as tightly as he could, wrapped it back around his thin body. The garment must be flat and smooth, with no folds. Untouchables were forbidden to wear folds.It was a caste rule, and caste rules must never be broken.

"I wove a new broom for you," Lata said to her husband.

"Put it in place," Virat answered. "I am ready."

Lata struggled to force the wrapped bundle of twigs down the back of her husband's tightly wrapped
mundu.
Even on this terrible day, she took care not to snag a hole in the worn cotton of his only garment.

"Do the broom bristles hang down far enough?" Virat asked anxiously. "They must brush against the ground. Do they brush against the ground?"

Lata knew each crease on her husband's dark face, every cadence of his gentle voice. They had walked side by side through sorrow and disaster, through want and despair. But never before had she heard the hoarse tremble of raw fear that tinged his words this day. With all her might, she gave the broom another shove. Jagged twigs clawed into Virat's bare back. Blood trickled down his brown skin. He winced, but made no complaint.

Padding silently on bare feet, Virat moved across the dirt floor to the sleeping mat he had dragged inside to keep his son from curious eyes. Damp locks of black hair framed the boy's swollen face. Virat reached out and tried to bend over his child, but the broom on his back wouldn't allow it. So he stood stiff and straight, like a brown tree that cannot bend in the wind.

"Be a good boy," Virat whispered over the sleeping child."Remember, you are Ashish. You are a blessing. Always and forever, remember who you are."

When Virat left the hut, Lata did not follow behind him in proper Indian fashion. Instead, without apology, she walked by his side.

"The cup," Virat said.

Lata plucked a dirty string from her husband's outstretched hand and looped it around his head, positioning it just above his ears. Careful to leave it loose, she tied it in a knot. Virat slipped a flat tin cup over his mouth and secured it in place with the string.

"Take it off!" Lata insisted. "Do not wear that awful thing here! This is
our
side of the village! Our house!"