Treasure in a Tin Box (Wall of Silence Book 1)

by Dorey Whittaker

  Aunt Ruby, always the kind and caring one, offered, “Joseph, who better to break down in front of than those who understand your pain. We all have endured a terrible childhood, and we would not judge you.”

  Thus Began Joseph’s Story

  It’s just that my story is quite different than the rest of you. You see, I was not born a slave like the rest of you were. I remember a time when I had a daddy, a mother, and sisters, and we lived with others who spoke our language. I think I was born around 1840 in a small village. I don’t remember its name because I was only four when my momma and I were captured. I remember being chained to my momma, which meant she couldn’t run. Our kidnappers walked us for days, screaming and yelling at us to keep going. We got very little to eat or drink until we reached a place where we could smell the sea air. We were pushed into a large pen that held many people. I remember how hot it was with no shade to break the midday sun. Those were terrible days. My momma cried all of the time. I had three older sisters at home and a daddy who was a good hunter, so we never went without meat. I couldn’t understand what was happening to us and wondered when we would be able to go back home. Momma became so sick, and no one would help her.

  Finally, we were pulled out of the holding pen and forced onto a large ship. I had never seen a ship before, and the movement and smell made me as sick as Momma. Because I was so little, I was kept with the women. We stood on deck and watched as they drove the men down deep into the hold and chained their legs together. The sound of those men crying is a sound I never want to ever hear again. Finally, the women were led to the forward part of the ship and were forced to climb down into another large room down deep inside the ship. I was chained between my momma and another woman I did not know. Neither could I understand anything this woman was saying. We were told nothing; the large hatch was closed, and we were left in the dark to wonder what about our future.

  We remained many days in the belly of that ship, and the ship’s movements caused everyone to be very sick. Unable to move around, people would vomit, splashing onto those who were chained close. Even if I were able to hold my stomach down, the smell around me was almost more than I could bear. We were fed once a day, without benefit of cleaning off our faces first. For many days my momma would refuse to eat, knowing it would just come back up. Eventually, we became accustomed to the movement of the ship and started eating. Those who did not, died.

  The ship’s movements were sometimes violent, which caused much sickness. With so much sickness, many lives were lost during those terrible days. Every two days, men would come down and check on us, unchain those who had died and drag their bodies up the stairs. We did not know where they were taken, but we were glad to have them out of our presence.

  Though I didn’t understand, my momma was with child when we were captured. I was so little; all I cared about was what was going to happen to me. One day, while the hatch was open, I remember seeing my momma’s face all gripped in pain. The baby was coming, and Momma could not move her legs without causing pain to the woman beside her. The hatch was open because it was time to drag out the dead bodies. One of these men stopped and undid Momma’s chains. He said nothing, just slapped her leg and lifted it free. He pointed to her stomach and put up two fingers, as if to say she had two days to get that baby out before the next men would make their way down to check on dead bodies.

  That night my baby sister came into this terrible world. Momma said it was not time, but the baby was alive. Momma had nothing in which to wrap her, so she tore off part of her skirt and wrapped the baby in it and held her close. Two days later, the “body men,” as we had begun to call them, came down the stairs. The man who had unchained Momma came to check on her. Seeing the baby in her arms, he quickly replaced her chains before the others could see what he had done. We stayed like this for three more body checks. Momma tried to feed the baby, but she was so sick there was nothing for the baby. Hungry, my sister cried all day long.

  On the third body check, one of the really mean body men snatched the baby out of my Momma’s arms and tossed her up to another man standing at the open hatch. By now, we were sure the dead bodies were being tossed out into the sea, and Momma feared the same was going to happen to my sister. We never saw her ever again. Many days later, we were all unchained long enough to climb the ladder and stand on deck. The brightness of the sun was painful, but we were all thankful to be out of that terrible place.

  We were pushed into another pen on shore and waited for auction day. I learned later that small children were not easily sold. The buyers knew they would have to wait a long time before they would recoup their investment. Consequently, I was again chained to my momma, and we were sold as a pair. Hopefully, someone among the buyers would be glad to get two for one, but that day no one was willing to buy a sick woman with a small child. The body men pushed us off the auction block and returned us to the pen. Several days later we were put on a smaller ship and taken several days away from that place called Savannah to a new port called New Orleans. Most of the men had been sold at that first port, so only women and children were on this ship. We were thankful that journey was not as long as the first, and we all made it there alive. We were also fed better and more often. I learned later that they were trying to fatten us up for a better price. We didn’t care why; we were just thankful for good food.

  I think I was five when we arrived at Port of Orleans. Again I was chained to my momma, and we were to be sold as a pair. This time the sold hammer came down, and we were quickly shoved off the auction block onto a waiting wagon. Momma and I clung to each other in this strange place where people talked funny and smelled funny. Very late that night, we finally stopped at what turned out to be our haven. I remember the man and woman who were standing on their porch as we pulled up. The first thing he ordered was, “Frenchie, take off those chains.”

  Of course, I didn’t understand what he was saying, but I loved what happened next. The chains were removed, and both Momma and me were given hot water and rags. Then the woman brought out clean clothes for both of us. Once dressed, the woman pushed Momma onto a chair and put salve on the open wounds left on her legs by the chains.

  It took us many months to learn the funny language they called Creole. Our buyer’s name was Pierre Lagolaei, and his wife’s name was Claudine. They decided to name my momma, Caramel, because of the color of her skin. I was to be called Joseph.

  CeCe could hold her tongue no longer. “And you still go by Joseph Lagolaei? How could you? Don’t you hate hearing that name, knowing who gave it to you?”

  Everyone at the table remained quiet. CeCe could get enraged very quickly, and no one wanted to make this situation worse for Joseph. He finally addressed her challenge, “I was only four when I was captured. The only name I had known before was Kabiite.”

  CeCe jumped on this admission. “Then why don’t you call yourself Kabiite?”

  Joseph smiled. “Because, CeCe, it means ‘sweetheart’ in my momma’s language. Besides, if I would change my name now, I wouldn’t know what to call myself. I don’t know my family name. My momma is called Caramel Lagolaei, and they were good to us.”

  “Good to you? Really, Joseph? They bought you and used you.”

  “No, not really, CeCe. Just as not all slaves were good and fair, not all slave owners were cruel and heartless.”

  Having silenced CeCe, Joseph continued. My owners were an older couple, who were afraid of strong-bodied Negro men. They needed help, and they gave Momma and me a good place to live. Ms. Claudine had been a famous cook in N’Oeleans but had suffered a terrible accident. She had been burned something awful. Her scars were many, and she did not like to go out in public because people would stare at her. Momma became her cook. Ms. Claudine was so fearful of the stove, she gave my mother instructions from across the room. Momma was allowed to walk into town and do all the marketing for Ms. Claudine. She taught my momma all her secret recipes, and the two became very close. As long as Momma behaved, I
could stay.

  By the time I was twelve, I knew how to hunt and fish the swamps; Mother could fix anything I caught. Life was good, and I had free run of the area. Two old French fishermen took a liking to me, and they would take me out on their boats as long as I gutted and cleaned all their catch as well as my own. I had long seasons where I actually forgot I was still a slave, but that ended abruptly when I was fifteen.

  Old Master Lagolaei took sick so Ms. Claudine sent for their son, who had not come home once in the nine years I was there. The year was 1856 when the Master passed. His son wasted no time selling the farm and selling us. He planned to take his mother back to Baton Rouge with him, so he had no use for another cook or for a fifteen-year-old ‘buck,’ as he called me. Mother and I had not felt chains in nine years, but you never forget it. Ms. Claudine protested, but her son would not listen. “Mother,” he said with terrible disrespect, “you did them no favor treating them as whites. If I were to bring them to auction unchained, no one would buy them. The buyers want well-trained help who know their place.”

  Master Walter had no interest in auctioning us off together because you get more when the slaves are unencumbered. Mother’s sale placard listed all the foods she could cook and was bought up quickly. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. She was pushed off the auction block onto a flatbed wagon and was immediately gone. I was so upset I didn’t look around when I was shoved up the steps to the auction block. I heard lots of yelling in French and broken English. When the yelling stopped, I was shoved toward the loading ramp. Not until I was sitting on the flatbed wagon did I look up to see my old friends, Phillip and Frenchie, smiling at me. “You are gunna have to gut lots of fish to pay us back.”

  I had been fishing with Phillip and Frenchie for nine years, and I loved these men who had been friends of Master Lagolaei. I had spent many a day out on their boat they affectionately called The Swamp Lady. “How much did you pay for me, Master Phillip?” Then fearing another surprise, I asked, “How old are you, Master Phillip, and do you have a son somewhere?”

  I remember his words to me as if it was just yesterday. “First off, Joseph, it’s just Phillip like it always has been between us. I’m your captain now—not your Master, and no, I don’t have a son. Don’t you worry about my age; you just do all the heavy lifting on The Swamp Lady, and I will live a long, long time. As for money, I laid out $900 for your freedom. You being fifteen, with all your manhood out in front of you, should have fetched a pretty penny more, but I know things about young Walter Lagolaei, and we struck a deal.”

  “What kind of a deal?” I asked.”

  Frenchie smiled, “It helps that Phillip here knew of some trouble young Mr. Lagolaei had before moving up to Baton Rouge. Walter was more than happy to make a quick deal to ensure his past remained so. Besides, Walter was only interested in a quick sale.”

  As we headed for The Swamp Lady, Captain Phillip said, “Joseph, I am going to give you your papers as soon as we get home. I expect you to work with me for four seasons to square your debt to me, but you will do it as a freed man.”

  It was 1856, and I was seventeen years old when I became a freed man, thanks to these two old fishing mates. Once this fact sunk in and I had thanked them as only a freed man could, I asked, “Captain, do you know who bought my momma?”

  “Yes, I do,” responded Captain Phillip. “It was Mr. Charles Montgomery’s right-hand man. Montgomery is the man we sell most of our good catches to down at the docks. He owns three big hotels and two of the finest restaurants in N’Orleans. Joseph, I think he bid on your momma because her placard boasted she is a great Cajun cook. Old Mrs. Lagolaei was well-known for her recipes, and Mr. Montgomery tried to get her to sell them to him for years. He knows your momma knows all of the Old Lady’s recipes. If your momma plays her hand well, she will be okay.”

  For several years, we fished our hearts out. We were a small vessel, but Phillip knew the waters better than anyone. We would be the first to set out in the morning and the first to return with a full hull. Because there were only three to share the profits, we did quite well. Talk of the War Between the States began to make its way down to the fishing waters of New Orleans. Speculators began buying up catches before they were caught—just to ensure they would not be outbid. Food supplies were getting short, and everyone was feeling the pinch. Phillip worked out a deal with Mr. Montgomery so we no longer sold our fish at the dock, which saved both of us money.

  The dock patrol had begun to set a huge levy on every catch. These levy fees became arbitrary, and everyone learned that you either paid a bribe or you paid a levy. Either way, you were going to pay. The city levy was a reasonable fee imposed to help the city maintain the docks, but it had been years since any fisherman had been charged that fee. Levy men were appointed by the city council. In order to get a levy man’s post, you had to buy your way in. Levy men ruled the docks, and anyone who went against them took his life in his hands.

  We would fish from before dawn and have a full catch by eight o’clock. As we came into port, we would slide along the far side, carefully avoiding the levy tugs. The arbitrary levy fees were outrageous, but the levy tugs bit into the fishermen’s profit even more because they were the ones who put you in line. If you did not grease their palms, you would find yourself at the back of the line. After twelve o’clock your catch would only fetch half-price, plus the dock levy was usually twice the price. Many a day a fisherman could work eight to ten hours and barely make the levy fees.

  Because The Swamp Lady was small, Phillip found if we entered the port shortly before eight o’clock and got past the third post before the levy tugs left the dock, we could slip by unseen and make our way all the way up to Montgomery’s warehouse at Canal Boulevard. His men would see us coming and open their docking doors so we could float unnoticed right into his warehouse. Montgomery was always thrilled with our catch because it was half the price and twice as fresh.

  We got away with this tactic for almost two years. I had paid off Phillip and was putting money aside every week. Phillip even worked out a deal with Montgomery so that once a week after offloading our catch, he would allow us to tie off the boat and walk up to the back of his restaurant and see Momma. I was surprised at how good she looked. She was healthy and happy and was treated very well. I could see that Phillip liked my momma. Many a Frenchman had taken a Negro as his wife in New Orleans, but Momma was not free to marry and too old for childbearing. She was still a slave, and Phillip could not afford the price of an excellent cook.

  In 1862, well before the Civil War came to an end, Louisiana surrendered to the North. Union ships had stormed into the Gulf in order to cut off the South’s supply lines. As far as Louisiana slaves were concerned, the war was over, and they were all emancipated, including Caramel. Mr. Montgomery quickly offered her a fair wage to stay on as his Cajun cook, and she accepted. One month later, Phillip asked her to marry him. The ceremony was nothing fancy—just two minutes in front of the magistrate, a lunch of shrimp and grits, and everyone returned to work.

  Phillip, Frenchie and I continued fishing, but the levy men were now on to us. We had several catches dumped overboard and were beaten several times, but Phillip was determined not to pay the levy. We were warned that we might find our boat burned and sunk if we continued. With that threat, Montgomery feared the levy men might burn down his wharf house so we began offloading further upstream, and Montgomery’s men would wagon it down to his restaurant.

  Phillip and my momma found a little place two streets behind the restaurant, and Frenchie and I slept on the boat so we could be sure to keep it from burning. We lived like this for five years before Phillip was summoned to the dock master’s office. At first he thought they were going to fine him for past levy taxes, but it turned out to be much worse.

  When Walter Lagolaei sold the farm, Momma and me, he had hurriedly packed all of his father’s papers and returned to Baton Rouge. He didn’t go through his father’s papers until after his moth
er passed. He was standing in the dock master’s office when Phillip entered. Walter handed him an old document he had found among his father’s papers. Phillip saw that it was a promissory note for The Swamp Lady. Phillip explained, “I paid off that note years ago but never thought to ask for the note. Old Mr. Lagolaei was a friend and knew the note had been satisfied.”

  Walter did not budge. “I hold the note. If you had paid my daddy, you would hold this note. It is now due and payable, or I take the boat.”

  The dock master, no friend of Phillip’s, stood there with a satisfied smile. “Do you have the funds to pay off the note?” he asked in a syrupy voice.

  “You know I don’t. This isn’t fair.”

  “Then you are to surrender The Swamp Lady to Mr. Lagolaei here, immediately.”

  If we would have known what Walter was going to do, we could have taken The Swamp Lady way upstream and hidden her deep in the swamp, but the dock master and Walter were ready. Levy men were boarding her before Phillip could act. They started tossing all of our personal belongings off the boat. I was given only a few minutes to gather my things before they tied a tow line and began hauling away The Swamp Lady. We then learned that Walter had sold her to the dock master for half the note price and was out of town that very day.

  Without a boat and with none of the other boats daring to hire us on, we were through. Phillip found work in Montgomery’s warehouse, but I could not find any work and having no place to sleep, I quickly ran through most of my savings. I hit the road and headed north. It took me three years to get to Atlanta, but I finally made it. I found work and started saving what I could. After years of working all of the time, I heard of the Greeting Parlor and decided to try it. That is where I met Pearl.

  CHAPTER 21

  Pearl Remembers My Life With Joseph

  PEARL AND JOSEPH’S story revealed exactly how strong my Auntie Pearl was. At first glance, she might seem hard and stringent, and at times, she could be. I am always reminded of Auntie Ruby’s warning, “Tobias, pay attention to the whys before you go judging another person. In their whys, your compassion will be found.”