ON THE NINTH DAY, THE NOVA SCOTIA COAST CAME into view. Molly sliced through the rising fog to a shoreline of wharves, scattered buildings and huts. The ship headed in to moor in Port Roseway harbour amid the disquieting awe of the passengers.
Sarah was anxious to leave the ship, breathe fresh air and get a glimpse of her new homeland. When at last the time came for the Negroes to disembark, they raised loud, boisterous cheers. Sarah blinked hard and fast when she emerged from the ship’s belly. Her confidence abandoned her. The contrast with her former home was extreme. A vast breastwork of slate and rock and sand stretched along the ocean and inland to meet thick greenery. All of it merged into a palette of every muddled shade of green, grey, brown and blue. This was it? The place Big Moss, the preacher, spoke of as “The Sweet Freedom Land.”
Sarah hesitated and stepped back, terrified of leaving the ship, afraid of perishing in the wilderness, for the only signs of existence were several clusters of buildings and rows of houses in lines that cut across each other. The land was rough, covered in boulders, trees and underbrush. Tents and pole huts were pitched everywhere. “Uncivilized,” she heard someone say. Her fear amplified as she envisioned some great creature lurking within the steamy woods, ready to snatch her up.
Sarah stood on the wharf, drowning in the persistent cheers and chatter. How the white Loyalists’ tongues wagged about starting life over and becoming prosperous. They spoke of their determination to create a great city to rival New York. Sarah listened and watched in dismay at all the commotion. The sight of the town paralyzed her — her expectations had been of greater things.
A Roseway Associate, a plump man in a red coat, approached them with a long sheet of paper. She listened carefully as he welcomed them. He gave his name as Joseph Pyncheon, a founding father. He said that the people he called by name from his list were to go with him. He read only the names of the highest-ranking white officers, lieutenants, captains, colonels and sergeants. Sarah’s eyes followed as this group left with their families, slaves and indentured Negroes. They scattered about the new settlement and disappeared into the meagre dwellings of Port Roseway. Shortly after their departure, servants came and quickly unloaded the furniture and other household goods belonging to the first lot of settlers.
Mr. Pyncheon returned and met separately with the remaining white Loyalists — disbanded soldiers, southern estate owners whose lands the Patriots had confiscated, tradesmen and adventurers. He informed these men that Port Roseway could not accommodate them until more lots were surveyed. He offered them lodging aboard the ships and sloops in the harbour and gave them permission to pitch tents on the Public Ground. The grumbling and cursing that followed became so out of hand that a band of Red Coats was called in. After assurances their wait would be short, that surveyors were hard at work and building materials were arriving daily, the settlers left to make arrangements.
Mr. Pyncheon finally dealt with the remaining settlers—the free Negroes—ordering them to wait on the wharf and be patient. Sarah and the others sat in the welcome warmth of the blazing sun for most of the day, hungry and bewildered. The nearby streets sloping upward from the wharf were full of Negroes going about their business—women walking with white children, going in and out of shops and homes; men working on new structures, carrying lumber on their backs or piling supplies onto ox carts. The activity reminded her of the plantation.
At last Mr. Pyncheon returned. He came with soldiers and barrels of water, boiled salt pork and bread. Sarah was grateful that she could finally stomach food. Pyncheon looked over the sorry lot with sharp blue eyes and a furrowed brow saying, “I regret that Governor Parr has not issued orders for your settlement. You’ll receive some relief until separate land is set aside. Until orders come, you can stay at the black quarters here in Port Roseway. Be mindful that any caught roaming, begging or stealing will be whipped … What is your company and who is your leader?” he asked a man standing nearby.
Before that man could answer, a man in brown military dress stepped forward and said loudly, “Colonel Septimus Black at your service, Sir. A disbanded member of the South Carolina black Loyalist unit, the Black Pioneers, and the appointed leader of this company of Negroes.”
Pyncheon frowned and asked, “Can you read and write?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Well, well.” Pyncheon faced the crowd. “Any complaints or needs will be handled by your leader, Colonel Septimus Black.” He raised his hand to his forehead and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Your rations will be distributed through him,” he puffed.
Sarah’s family settled into the black quarters while hundreds of others arrived daily on ships. Two weeks later, they gathered in a group to hear Benjamin Marston, the chief surveyor. His news was good. The provincial secretary had issued an order to the magistrates to situate the Negroes on the northwest arm of Shelburne Harbour. He joked and laughed and Sarah warmed to his friendly tone. The next morning, Marston filled his sloop with free Negroes. This time Sarah stood on deck. A place to call home at last, she thought.
Such cheering as Marston’s boat approached the arm! Sarah’s spirited shouts of joy mingled with the rest. But when the anchor was lowered, Sarah’s jaw fell. To her dismay, there was neither a building nor a hut in sight, just rocks and woods so thick not a bit of light came through. She waded ashore with the others where they were met by Pyncheon. He informed them that this was to be their new home. Then he ordered the Negroes to take to the woods and do what they could to survive.
THE CHATTER, THE PRAYERS AND THE SERMONS … IT HAD ALL been about “gettin’ some of that ‘sweet freedom land’ and riches.” Well, Sarah was fast realizing that this new Birchtown was a far cry from that.
Colonel Black, being of high rank, built a comfortable house with a garden on a large lot. The remaining Negroes would have to wait for surveyors to lay out their land.
When winter came, unfamiliar cold took many lives, for they had nothing to fend it off with. Sarah and Grandmother gathered materials, sought rations and tramped back and forth to Roseway to work. They scavenged for usable materials, goods and clothing in Port Roseway. They made baskets, and Uncle Prince built make-shift carts and sleds to transport things. They pooled their money and got themselves chickens and a pig. With no buildings for shelter, they lived in a pit house—a hole in the ground supported by rocks and a roof of long poles and spruce branches.
With the first spring came hope, more rations and shacks. Prince and a few Birchtown men helped Grandmother build a small dwelling. Sarah helped too. They used rough logs and poles stuffed with mud and moss, and put up a pitched roof. The only door opened into a tiny rectangular room with one small window fitted with a thick sheet of canvas, a fire pit made of rocks in the floor, a table and chairs shaped with an axe, two shelves holding dishes and pots and a table for water buckets. Along the opposite wall was a small wooden bunk. The air was always thick with smoke and the aroma of food cooking. A canvas curtain partitioned off a space at the back for sleeping. There was barely room for two small bunks, a washstand and hooks for hanging clothes. Behind the hut was a dug well and a small dump.
They enjoyed fish, sometimes a little wild meat, venison, rabbit or porcupine, and gathered wild apples and good-tasting berries in season. They often received vegetables, dairy goods or bread in exchange for work.
Grandmother kept to herself, though Sarah preferred company. She tried hard not to complain, at least not aloud, but she could see how the worry and strain creased Grandmother’s face in ever-deepening lines as she tried to keep their spirits up, pleading with God to spare the last of her “brood.” Sarah worried too. There was no telling if her father would ever return.
Under the bleak clouds of poverty, Sarah watched with interest as the settlement began to take shape, what with its endless paths, hustle and bustle, and strange goings-on. Hundreds of unsightly shacks sprang up as more freed slaves, runaways and rough characters came to Birchtown, many with all manner of disabilities attributed to the war or misfortune. Fifteen hundred free Negroes. It was not a safe place, but as time pressed on, a little of the fear and some of the daily aching lifted from Sarah’s spirit. In all that squalor and misery, she was grateful and managed a smile from time to time.