TO SARAH’S TORMENT, GUNSHOTS, SMOKE, WAILING, murder and Boll weevil Carter were as much a part of her life in Nova Scotia as they had been on the plantation.
Sarah had been no more than thirteen when life on the Redmond estate had changed from what had felt normal to one of strange happenings and unknown fear. It had been a hot July night when Papa suddenly awakened her from a sound sleep. “Don’t be afraid,” he said as he stirred her. His voice was anxious and came in gentle whispers. “Be quiet and don’t wake the others.”
Sarah stumbled sleepily into the darkness around the back of the hut. The scent of honeysuckle and magnolia glided on a light night breeze, calming her senses.
“A visitor’s coming tonight with news about the war and slaves,” Fortune said. Sarah did not question her father, but stood staring into the uneasy quiet. A visitor at this hour? Whenever the quarters stirred at night, there was trouble afoot.
“I need you to keep your eyes and ears open. Boll weevil will be making the rounds soon.” He patted her on the shoulder as they stood in the chilling darkness. Fortune took out a long candle and lit it.
It was not long before a man came sneaking around the side of the quarters. It was Ebenezer, a former Redmond slave. “You got word that I was coming?” he asked.
“There were murmurs.”
“Are there others wanting to hear the news?”
“No, not here, but two the next hut over.”
Sarah was nervous. She watched Ebenezer pull a piece of paper from his jacket. “I have a notice,” he said. “This here is a copy of a proclamation.” Sarah marvelled at the Negro in uniform. Excitement flickered in her dark brown eyes as she gawked at the stranger.
“You know that battles are raging to the north,” Ebenezer said. “The British have taken Boston. It’s a good sign. But the Patriots are making gains and the British cannot hold the colonies without more men.” Ebenezer pointed to the paper. “It says here they are offering freedom to slaves who escape and join their army.”
Fortune’s eyes glowed like hot coals, but the idea of slaves taking up arms troubled him. Sarah had heard similar news at the Big House. The call of a hoot owl caused her to jump. She searched the eerie blackness. Seeing nothing unusual about, she turned again to listen.
“This is our chance, Fortune. It may not come again,” Ebenezer said.
Fortune scratched his head.
“When the war is over, it says here the British will grant freedom to your family. Yes, freedom. Imagine that. But the prize is that you will get land and provisions in one of their colonies. That’s the promise.”
Fortune ripped off a piece of tobacco and chewed fiercely. He didn’t answer, but looked at Sarah, then stared at the ground. Could he trust such a promise? Freedom, land and provisions—it sounded too good to be true. The bright flame from the candle flickered across Fortune’s ebony face and Sarah saw worry wash over it like a sudden storm.
With his eyes darting about the woods, Ebenezer added, “The slave owners are still fussing over whether to let their slaves join the fight. The slaves want their freedom now. They are not waiting for permission.”
LONG DAYS AND NIGHTS BROUGHT A HEAP OF AGONY. Freedom stole Sarah’s thoughts. She found it hard to imagine being free to think for herself and act like white folks or like Mr. Thompson, the old Negro who’d bought his freedom and delivered feed to the plantation. But she’d heard terrible stories of those who stole away. And yet, her head buzzed with Ebenezer’s words. “This is our chance. It may not come again.” Which would Papa choose?
Not until the full moon night, when Sarah stood under the sweeping cypress behind the sleeping quarters, did the answer come. The moon glowed bright, but the crickets, owls and frogs were silent, making the stillness feel unnatural. Fortune held a small brown sack in one hand and hugged her shoulders with the other. “I’m leaving tonight to join the British army, the Black Pioneers,” he whispered. “Watch yourself, Babygirl, and don’t be afraid.” He squeezed her tighter. “I promise we will be together again. I’ll find you when the war’s over, no matter how long it takes. You and Grandmother will have to be strong. I’ll pray for you every day.”
“I am going to miss you, Papa,” Sarah murmured. “I’ll pray, too.”
“This war will not last long. Everyone is hungry to get their due. I’m doing this to earn our freedom, but if something happens, you must look after your grandmother.” Fortune’s face clouded with sadness. “She’s been carrying a heavy burden all these years. She has a lot balled up inside, things that she has kept to herself. It’s all just waiting to spill out.”
“What’s she got all balled up?”
Two soft whistles drifted across the magnolia-sweetened blackness. Fortune gave Sarah a long hug. “It’s time to go,” he said. “Say good-bye to the old woman, Prince and Beulah. No matter what happens, try to keep this family together.”
Watching her father slide quietly away into the darkness, Sarah whispered, “Be safe.” She swelled with pride, but it did not stop the tears.
The next morning, Sarah and Grandmother were busy polishing silverware at the Big House when Sarah turned to Grandmother and asked, “Will there be much to do today?”
“Yes, Chile. British officers are coming for lunch in the grand dining room.” She looked away towards the window and Sarah could see that she was troubled. “I don’t know what came over Fortune. He just up and left without a word.”
In a low voice, not to be overheard, Sarah said, “Papa wanted to say good-bye, but they kept you here at the Big House.”
“Yes, Lord. People coming and going. Everyone talking about the war and losing slaves.” Grandmother looked about, then said softly, “What are these slaves thinking, running off to join some black army? Freedom. Well, well. It could even be the uniforms.”
“Papa did it for us.”
Grandmother slipped her pipe into her mouth and chomped down hard. “Can any of this be true? Has everyone lost their senses?”
“Everyone is talking about freedom. The slaves just caught the fever. Uncle Prince says the men are tired of the whip, of being called boys and animals. They long for a chance to prove they are men.” Sarah’s voice turned dreamy. “They want a chance to gain their freedom. That’s all.”
“Oh my. Can we gain anything without a fight?”
“I heard Master Redmond say he’d rather be ruled by the king than a bunch of rebels with nothing to offer but gab and blood.”
“A Loyalist, he calls himself. Prince overheard a man in town say, ‘Loyalists are traitors.’ Some have even been murdered.”
“I’m worried, Ma’am,” Sarah said.
“Oh, Chile, something’s in the wind. Something frightful.”
UPON HIS RETURN FROM A SHORT STAY IN NEW YORK, Mr. Redmond gathered his family in the parlour. He asked that Grandmother and Sarah join them. His news was unexpected: They were leaving Goose Creek. He had joined a group called the Port Roseway Associates—Loyalists who were promised property and provisions in the British colony of Nova Scotia.
Sarah’s heart sank when he ordered them to ready his prized belongings to store on Jupiter in Charles Town Harbour. He explained that when the crops were finished and accounts settled, he, his family and slaves would go to New York, then on to Port Roseway.
After that, Sarah found the plantation more worrisome than usual. It was in the air and in the way Master Redmond walked and looked at the slaves with the most despicable snarl. Sarah noticed that visitors were rare now. And Boll weevil Carter and Cecil MacLeod, the foreman and overseer, were meaner than usual. Now they were counting the slaves morning and night and watching their every move, and Sarah was terrified her father’s absence would soon be noticed. Finally, one scorching day, footsteps pounded the dirt outside the hut with loud thuds. The door flew open and there stood Cecil, face twisted, eyes bulging red balls.
“The devil,” Lydia murmured and drew back, for the overseer was in a hot rage.
“Where’s that boy of yours?” he howled. “We were one ploughman short today!”
Sarah was on guard, watchful of every move and word. She imagined herself or Grandmother dragged behind Cecil’s horse to the wheelhouse and beaten until the truth oozed out of them. She feared that every breath would be her last. Man, woman or child—none was safe from Cecil’s hands.
“I don’t know, Sir,” Lydia replied with her eyes cast downward.
“It won’t do you any good to protect him. Tell the truth, woman!” He hauled back with a short whip and struck her across the face.
A terrible sickness came over Sarah as the blood streamed down her grandmother’s face. Her stomach knotted and her legs went weak.
“I was busy at the Big House,” Lydia sobbed, “what with the British coming and going.”
Sarah took a deep breath. She had to stay strong, like Papa said. She stared at the floor, combating the rising sobs and sudden stomach cramps.
“Your lies won’t protect him or you,” Cecil sneered. He turned to Sarah, keeping his gaze on her for a long time before turning back to Lydia. “We plan to take the dogs out in the morning and you better pray that we don’t find him.”
Sarah’s head was spinning, but she willed herself to stand tall and keep the terror and pain at bay until Cecil left. Then she collapsed into a heap on the dirt floor.