THE COURTROOM WAS EXCEEDINGLY NOISY ON THAT overcast day in August. Sarah counted every tick of the corner clock. It seemed as though time had left her stranded in a faraway place, waiting for someone to rescue her.
When Justice Smithfield arrived through the side door, his stern voice let out a command for all to rise. He remained standing, bringing his gavel down hard. Silence fell upon the room. Fortune gripped Sarah’s hand. She feared her punishment. Would they banish her from the province, hang her, lash her with cat-o’-nine-tails or use the whip?
Without any emotion in his voice, Justice Smithfield said, “I have reviewed the evidence. I find the accused guilty as charged. I hereby order forty lashes to be administered at two o’clock on the twenty-first of August 1785, at the whipping post, outside this County Courthouse, to one Miss Sarah Redmond, on the charge of assault against one of our leading citizens.”
Silence was an angry beast that stunned the crowd and carried Sarah down into a great void where all awareness deserted her until a sudden explosion of loud noise — cheers, whimpers, curses, crying and clapping — revived her. A circle of men surrounded Ramsey and shook his hand. His laugh was long and hollow. His scandalous joy filled the room.
This cannot be what justice is all about, Sarah thought. After her argument about fairness, she could only see that the judge, of all people, was no more than an arrogant, cruel slave master, protecting his own interests at the expense of others.
“Clear the courtroom,” Justice Smithfield ordered.
The room soon emptied, the people spilling out onto the road and alleyways. Soon, music blared from the alehouses and folks drank and danced in the lanes.
The bailiff escorted Sarah down a narrow path to the local House of Corrections. She did not hear the chains that clanked and coiled about her ankles and hands. She did not feel the rocks the crowd threw out of anger, nor did she see the eyes that glued themselves to her or the mouths that spit on her. She walked with her head high, her steps steady and even.
When they reached the House of Corrections, the bailiff informed her that she was to work and earn her keep while there. Any surplus earnings went to the keeper for wages and for those unable to work. The place was small and full of Negroes: men and women, some in fetters and shackles on their wrists and feet. Their alleged crimes were numerous: robbery, murder, pilfering livestock or goods, assault, brawling, forgery and even counterfeiting. They were a pitiful lot, and later, when Thomas, Fortune and Margaret Cunningham came to see her, Sarah sat in silence at the back of the room with her back turned away from them.
Fortune found the courage to speak first. He said, “You come around now, Babygirl. You did what you had to do. Don’t blame yourself for what happened.”
Without turning to face him, Sarah said, “It is over, Papa! I have been judged!”
“It is not over.” Thomas insisted. “You had the right to defend yourself from a raging man. The judge was heartless. We can’t let the judge get away with this.” Margaret Cunningham walked towards her. “Come here, Sarah,” she said. “You need not fear us. We are family.”
Sarah turned to face them. Thomas reached for her hands.
“Judge Smithfield was extremely harsh. From what I hear, Ramsey’s gang cornered him in the back room. I believe that he gave in to their demands. I would wager that being a newly appointed judge, he felt pressured, but he’s paid to uphold the law, not bitterness.” Margaret spoke with a bitterness of her own.
Thomas looked at Sarah. “We have six days,” he said. “Perhaps we can get his decision overturned by another judge, one more respectful of the law. We need a plan.”
“You leave this to us, Sarah. Trust us,” Margaret said.
Sarah stared down at the little woman. She was a mighty force in Roseway, organizing events, helping the poor and now she was preparing to take on the arrogant stiff-necks of power. She was firm in her resolve, fearless and confident, but Sarah understood that she was up against a force mightier than the king’s army. She glanced away and said, “It’s of no use.”
“I will not let them do this to you, Sarah.” Her tone was rigid and her face fierce. “We will find Justice Moody. He is hearing cases at this end of the colony. The people will not influence him.”
Papa pressed his hands against his face. “If I could trade places with you, Babygirl, I would. How could they do this to you? How in God’s name can this be justice?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah said, “but Mama did not give in when she was punished and neither will I. I will not be afraid. They can hurt my body, but they cannot hurt my spirit.”
“They got no cause. No cause.”
“It is the poison, Papa. That is what makes it right in their eyes.”
Fortune turned to Margaret Cunningham. “Judge Moody was fair in my case, but do you really think he would help us?”
“We can try, Fortune. I will get Fibby to stay with mother and Prince. Fortune, you and I will go to Yarmouth, even up to Digby, if we have to. Thomas, since you have to work, you can organize a petition in Birchtown. Get as many as you can to sign it. If folks cannot write, you print their names and get them to put their ‘x’ beside it.”
“It’s not over yet, Sarah,” Thomas said, holding Sarah’s face in his hands. “We are going to be busy, working on getting you out of here. You must stay strong. Do not give up.”
When they were gone, Sarah sat on the long bench twisting her hair. The whipping would be a show, like when Big Cain juggled the seven gourds and everyone gathered with their mouths hung open, amused with wonder. If only this show could be so joyful. She was the seven gourds that would dazzle the crowd, only the awes and thrills would come from the worst of human instincts, the thirst for another’s blood. She inhaled deeply, then again and again.