When the reading was finished, Lawyer Sedgwick asked that a vote be taken and that the town clerk record the proceedings. Then, to my great amazement, Josiah and Agrippa forced their way to the front of the room. Josiah was dressed in his usual attire, leather breeches and leather shirt with fringes at the yoke and at the hem, but Agrippa wore a coat flared at the bottom. A red scarf at his neck partially covered a white shirt with ruffles down the front. His black velvet trousers had buckles at the knees. The two, though differently dressed, were imposing figures. There was a rustle in the crowd and then quiet, as if everyone was waiting for a great happening.
My heart beat wildly while Josiah stood beside Agrippa, both of them calm and composed. Agrippa’s voice rang deep, clear as a bell. “Gentlemen. You say that ‘mankind in a state of nature are equal, free and independent of each other, and have a right to the undisturbed enjoyment of their lives, their liberty and property.’ What does that mean to the five thousand slaves in this colony? We petition you.”
Then he read from the paper they had drafted: “For, in as much as you claim to be acting on the principles of equity and justice, we cannot but expect you to take our deplorable case into serious consideration and give us ample relief which as men we have a natural right to. We are desirous that you have instructions relative to our cause in your petition and pray that you communicate our desires to the representative of this colony. In behalf of our enslaved brothers and sisters, in this province and by order of their committee. Signed: Agrippa Hull and Josiah Freeman.”
There was stirring and angry grumbling in the room, and then scattered applause, but Lawyer Sedgwick quickly silenced the hall. “Your petition should have been presented at the time of the writing of this declaration,” he shouted.
“But honorable sir,” Agrippa called out, “we had no knowledge that such a petition was being prepared.”
There were more rumbles through the crowd. Lawyer Sedgwick reacted quickly to gain control. “We cannot now recognize such a petition. I call for the vote.”
Before more could be said the process was under way. Showing no signs of defeat, Josiah and Agrippa made their way to the back of the room. How could they remain so calm? I was raging inside. Was it because I was a slave? I grabbed the dishes, wrapped them carelessly, and escaped from the hall as quickly as I could.
It was still raining, the streets hardly passable because of the mud. But I didn’t hurry. When I arrived, I was soaking wet. The mistress was waiting. I knew she was angry, but no more than I for different reasons. “Where have you been so long?” she shouted.
“Mistress, I waited until the master had finished to make sure he wanted nothing more. He was busy and took his food as he had time.” I stood and looked her in the eye, waiting for her response.
“Your after-lunch chores are waiting for you. Do them right away.”
“I am wet from the rain, mistress.”
“Do your chores right away.”
Josiah visited us that evening. Bett wanted more details from him of what had happened. He told her and ended by saying, “We warned you. Africans and wives are property. They are not ready yet to place your rights over property rights.”
Bett, with her everlasting hope, did not appear upset, but I burst into tears, still feeling the hurt and pent-up anger. Josiah put his arms around me and said, “In due time. Don’t be so impatient under the yoke. As we learn our rights and our duties we will understand that we are not meant to be slaves. When we understand this, we will free ourselves.”
“I know now I’m not meant to be a slave,” I cried. “Help me! Tell me what to do and I’ll free myself, now.”
Josiah and Bett looked at each other. I saw the tears in her eyes as they both quickly left the room.
14
We had just celebrated Christmas and a New Year when Bett came in talking about a lot of tea being dumped into the Boston harbor. Upstairs they called it the Boston Tea Party. “They emptied all the British East India Company’s tea in the sea. All of it.”
“Who?”
“Some say the Indians. But upstairs they say it was colonists who dressed up like Indians on a dark night and destroyed that valuable tea.”
“Why do they dress like Indians?”
“They’re cowards and want the soldiers to think the Indians did it so they can be killed.”
“The mistress complains all the time about how much tea costs. Why would they throw it into the water?”
“Because it costs so much. And now the king has put even more tax on it, and closed off the harbor until they pay for what they threw into the sea. We can’t get tea, sugar, nothing from other places.”
“Oh, I hate to think of what the mistress is going to do. She’ll be hard to live with now.”
At Christmas in 1774, things were rough in our town. We had some sugar and molasses but no tea. Everyone was angry and on edge, not knowing what was going to happen. I would have missed the sugar and molasses, but not their tea. Bett knew how to make the best tea from her roots and leaves, teas that the mistress would not have dared to taste. So she suffered. The children missed the puddings, tarts, and pies, but things got worse before they got better and our holiday was spent without the usual fun.
One morning a messenger came to the door with a sealed packet for the master. Bett led him upstairs. Later she gave him some hot scones and cheese. The message was for Mistress Anna, all the way from New York, and even before the messenger had gone we knew that the news was not good.
Our old master, the mistress’s father, Cornelis Hogeboom, then a sheriff in Columbia County, New York, had been killed in an anti-rent squabble. He had gone to settle a dispute between landowners and renters who claimed that they had paid the landlords and the landlords’ children more rent for the land than the land was worth. They were determined not to pay more. “We are paying rent under a system here,” the renters declared, “that was overthrown in England in the thirteenth century.”
Sheriff Hogeboom had gone to a land auction that had been put off again and again and was further postponed because of the argument. As he started to leave, a shot was fired in the air. Some men, dressed and painted like Indians, suddenly appeared and followed the sheriff and his men. They fired more shots. His men ran, but the sheriff refused to spur his horse because he was a representative of the law and didn’t want to appear a coward. The men dressed like Indians soon left, but one named Arnold, the leader of the anti-renters, chased the sheriff and shot him in the heart.
Mistress Anna fainted when she was told that her father’s last words as he fell from his horse were, “I am a dead man.” We were all upset and actually sorry for her. She wanted to go home, even though the journey was difficult and the funeral would have long been over by the time she arrived. Still she cried for the master please to let her go.
The master grieved, too. But he knew that the border wars between Massachusetts and New York and between landlords and renters were dangerous and that the trip was long and hard. He did not want to risk taking the children on such a journey.
About three months later, Bett showed another messenger into the master’s upstairs room. When she came down she told us, “The master is so sorry that he did not go with the mistress to Claverack. Her mother is dead from grief over Sheriff Hogeboom.”
The mistress put all of her beautiful clothes away and dressed in black. Her face became thin; streaks of gray began to show in her hair. She moved like a ghost in the house that was still bustling with visitors coming and going to the meetings that were held upstairs. Besides that hustle and bustle, the children were lively and had lots of friends who were in and out of the house. It was Bett’s duty to take them to parties and pick the girls up from music lessons and John up from tutoring, and to see that they got to water picnics.
Of the four children, I liked Mary, the oldest girl, the best. She had a sense of fairness and could see through the rage and tantrums of her mother. Knowing this, her mother ignored Mary,
giving much undeserved attention to Hannah, who was so like herself—demanding, impatient, and often cruel to her sisters. I was also her target. Hannah delighted in telling her mother things about me that caused the mistress to go into rages.
One day I came in from the field to find Hannah in the middle of the kitchen floor with mud from her head to her toes. She started screaming and the mistress came running into the room wanting to know what had happened.
“She put me in the water and made me sit there,” Hannah said, pointing at me. With her eyes tightly closed, her little mouth opened with earsplitting screams. The mistress grabbed a green stick and began beating me over the head and arms. Mary cried to her mother that I had not been there. Hannah had played in the mud after being warned not to. With this distraction, I was able to escape back into the field.
Later Mary came to me and said, “Lizzie, I’m sorry. Hannah is a liar.”
“It’s not for you to be sorry, you’re just a child.” Then I remembered she was her mother’s child and said, “Thank you, Mary. You are a good girl.” She clung to me, her small arms around my waist, and I began to understand how my sister could let go and feel for some of them. Without the mistress knowing, Mary and I became friends.
The talk of freedom among the slaves and free Africans did not stop. Josiah and Agrippa continued to petition the governing body. Then one Saturday night when we were at Bett’s house, Agrippa came with three other free Africans from around the colony: Peter Salem, Felix Holbrook, and Salem Poor. I could tell these were not men from Sheffield. The fire in their eyes and in their voices let me know they were different.
They had heard about the Sheffield Document and about the declaration that began it. Sheffield could become the first place to free slaves. “But are these honest men?” Peter Salem asked. “Do they believe these words, or are they just mouthing them?”
“Their words are far-reaching,” Josiah said, “not only for African slaves, but for slaves from England and other countries. When I look about, I fear they give these words with one hand and take them back with the other.”
“We must have faith that they believe them, not only for themselves, but for all men,” Grippy said.
“We will find out only if we petition them as we have others. Our chances here are better because they have made the declaration. So let us send our petition,” Salem Poor said.
Of course, my sister was all for it and very excited. She and I listened as they argued back and forth before they came up with a petition that stated: “… Your petitioners … have in common with all other men a natural right to our freedoms without being deprived of them by our fellow men as we are a freeborn people and have never forfeited this blessing by any compact or agreement whatever.”
They talked awhile about being brought here and enslaved, how bitter our lives were and how husbands and wives lived as strangers. Finally, I said, “What about the children? What about us who live all of our lives without hope of ever being free?”
There was that ominous silence that always followed my questions or statements in the company of men. Bett’s head shot up, and her back stiffened with indignation. I waited.
Josiah looked at me and smiled. “That is my sister, Aissa, who insists on being heard. I guess in this strange land where we often work equally hard and are treated equally harsh, she feels that the demands for freedom should be made by women as well as by men.”
“Aissa,” Agrippa said, “we’ll consider the children.”
To my surprise, these words were added: “… If there was any law to hold us in bondage … there never was any to enslave our children for life when born in a free country. We therefore beg your excellency and honors will … cause an act … to be passed that may obtain our natural right our freedoms and our children be set at liberty at the year of twenty-one.”
15
We were very happy and filled with hope when on February 25, 1774, a “warrant” calling for the annual town meeting was issued containing the following issue number: “101y, to take into consideration the present inhuman practice of enslaving our fellow creatures, the natives of Africa.” Our hopes were dimmed when the item was put off for a few weeks for study.
In the meantime, one morning Bett and I were doing chores in and around the room where the mistress and master were still at the breakfast table. He was reading the paper that came maybe three or four times a year. “John, dear,” the mistress asked, “tell me what is all this whining about slavery? All I hear is talk about freeing slaves.”
“It’s nothing for you to worry about,” he answered matter-of-factly.
“It’s part of our investment, so it is something for us to worry about. What would happen if we freed the darkies? How could they take care of themselves? They’re like children and they’re lazy, stupid, raucous, and loud.”
Potverdorie! And right in front of us as if we were pieces of furniture! I looked at my sister. Her face was as if cast in stone. I waited for the master to bring the mistress to her senses. For a while he acted as though he had not heard. Then he said, “You’re right. I would feel sorry for them if they were free, on their own.”
I started laughing. “Sorry for us to be free?” I said through fits of laughter. Bett looked at me, frightened, as if I had suddenly lost my mind, but I couldn’t stop laughing, knowing that my laughter, out of place, from a joyless feeling, must have branded me insane.
The master quickly got up from the table, grabbed me by my shoulders, shook me violently, and then slapped my face. “Take her out of here,” he said firmly without raising his voice.
For the rest of the day there was silence between me and my sister. That night Bett spoke first. “I wish you hadn’t heard that this morning. I could have exploded, too, but I try hard not to give them the pleasure of knowing they break my heart.”
I didn’t want to talk about it. I tried to remain calm. “What if they did free us, Bett?” I asked. “I would go to Boston where all the free blacks are and live a good life.”
“What do you know about Boston? Don’t listen to Grippy. He’s a man and can roam around. You’re a woman and need the protection of a master or a husband.”
“Then I’ll have a husband.”
“Oh, so you want to get married? Who would want you for a wife, mijn kindje?” Bett teased.
“I can cook, clean, sew, and work at anything that needs to be done. When I’m free, I’ll be so happy.”
“I sometimes think that maybe things might not be well for us when we’re on our own. We could become like those white women paying off a debt. You see how hard they work and how badly they’re treated.”
I looked at my sister and I had no idea from where I got the thoughts that came into my head. “I don’t understand you, Bett. Have you forgotten those women only have to work for four or five years and they’ll be free? I’d work hard, too, and not mind, if I knew that one day I’d be out from under the mistress. I’m a slave forever with no hope of being free.”
I waited for her to answer. She said nothing.
I went on, “Could our lives be any more miserable if we were free? Don’t you wish you could go and live with your husband and not be depending on the mistress or master to tell you what to do? We know how to work. Suppose you could keep your money? You could have nice things for you and Little Bett. You have nothing but leftovers. Can’t do a thing unless the master or mistress says so. Slavery is misery.”
“That’s the difference between me and you, Lizzie. I spend my time counting my blessings.”
“Potverdorie! Don’t call me Lizzie. I’m Aissa!”
“You call me Bett and I don’t shout at you.”
“You like that name, always did. But I can’t believe you like this life.”
“This life will change,” Bett said firmly.
I, too, wanted to believe that this time they would look at the words they’d written, see us as human, and set us free. With a feeling of hope, I waited.
On
March 14 another meeting was called. The majority voted to delay action, the subject “being under the consideration of the general-court.” Bett was happy that at last our freedom was in the courts. She had faith.
“What is the court?” I asked.
“The place where they decide by law.”
“Who?”
“The master and others.”
“Why can’t they decide now? The people here voted it.”
“Don’t be so impatient.”
My anger overflowed and I lashed out, “You and your patience. What does it get you? You work night and day to fill the master’s pockets; you do everything to please the mistress and give all your attention to her children, leaving me to care for Little Bett. And right in front of us they talk as if we are cats and dogs in the house. I’m not like you, thank goodness! I have no patience for slavery and no love for the master and mistress. I hate the mistress; I hate the master; I hate being a slave.”
“Mark my word! Go on hating and it will turn on you, and the one you hate most will be yourself,” Bett said.
Pay attention to your sister. It was as if Olubunmi’s voice were in the room. I trembled with fear and anger. I didn’t want to be like my sister. I didn’t want to know my place as a slave. I only wanted to know my place as free.
16
Sheffield was among the first counties to have a meeting on ending slavery and on declaring in favor of independence from the king. The general court acting on the will of the people agreed that there should be an end to slavery and sent the bill to Governor Gage to have the king turn their wish into law.
This time the mistress, feeling threatened, pleaded with the master to send a petition to the governor to forward to the king, asking that the wishes of ruffians and backwoodsmen not be heeded. Men of property did not wish this to happen. It was those who had nothing and wanted nothing that wished to destroy the colonies and the king’s rule.
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