The soldiers were getting very excited now. They were not well trained. They started to run toward us, and shouted to the volunteers to stop the Mistress. But being all Dutch, those volunteers weren’t volunteering. And by now the Mistress had moved on to the next gun.
Just then, one of the soldiers got to the Mistress, and he started to swing at her with his musket. There was nothing for me to do but throw myself at him, and before he could strike her, I knocked him down, and hit his head on the ground hard enough for him to stay down. But another soldier was close by me now, and he had a big pistol which he pointed straight at me, and pulled the trigger. I supposed I was about to die. But luckily for me the pistol was not well primed, and it did not fire. The Mistress turned and saw all this, and she called for the volunteers to keep the soldiers off, which they did.
Well, there was a lot of confusion after that, with the soldiers being uncertain what to do, and more volunteers coming into the fort to help the Mistress, and the captain being at his wits’ end when he found out what was going on. The Mistress kept spiking guns until she ran out of spikes. Then she left the hammer with the volunteers and told them to get on with it.
The next day, the Dutch landed with six hundred troops on the open ground above the wall. They marched to the fort, with quite a few of the Dutch people cheering them on, and the English captain had to surrender. There wasn’t anything he could do about it.
I was in high favor with the Mistress after that. I had been afraid the Boss might be angry with me for disobeying his orders, and going to the fort; but the day after it all happened, he says to me: “The Mistress says you saved her life.”
“Yessir,” I said.
Then he just laughed.
“I suppose I should be grateful,” he says. And he didn’t give me any trouble about it.
So the Dutch had New York again. This time they called it New Orange. But that only lasted a year. Sure enough, across the ocean, our masters made another treaty and we were given back to the English again, which didn’t please the Mistress.
For a while after that, things were pretty quiet. Manhattan was called New York once more, but the new English governor, whose name was Andros, spoke Dutch and helped the merchants—especially the rich ones. He filled in the canal that ran across town. The Mistress said he did it because it reminded people of Amsterdam. But that old ditch used to stink, and I reckon that’s why he did it. They made a fine street called Broad Street over the top.
And it was at this time that Mr. Master, that we had met on Long Island, came to live in New York. He and the Boss did a good deal of business together. The Boss liked the old fur trade up the river, but the trade down the coast with the West Indies sugar plantations was growing now, and that was the business Mr. Master did. The Boss would take a share in his voyages sometimes, and so would Meinheer Philipse.
But the Boss did one thing that gave the Mistress great delight. Jan was getting of an age to take a wife, and the Boss arranged a marriage for him with a girl from a good Dutch family. Her name was Lysbet Petersen and she had a considerable fortune. I had seen her in the town, but never spoken to her before the day she came to the house when the betrothal was announced.
“This is Quash,” Jan told her, giving me a friendly smile, at which the young lady gave me a nod. So I was glad when Miss Clara added: “Quash has been with us all our lives, Lysbet. He’s my best friend.”
The young lady gave me a warm smile after that, to show she understood I should be treated kindly.
And it was a pleasure indeed to be at that wedding, and see the dominie smiling, and the Boss and the Mistress arm in arm looking so pleased.
It was the next year that I was able to do the Boss a service that would change my life.
In the year 1675, there was a terrible rising among the Indians. The Indian chief that led it was named Metacom, though some folk called him King Philip. I scarcely know what quarrel started it off, but it wasn’t long before all the bitterness in the Indians’ hearts against the White Men, for taking their land, caused them to rise up in Massachusetts and the farther parts of Connecticut; and soon the Indians and the White Men were killing each other in great numbers. And the people in New York were terrified.
For these tribes that were fighting were all speakers of Algonquin. So it seemed natural that the tribes around New York might start in too. For though much weakened there were still considerable numbers of them upriver and out on Long Island.
But Governor Andros knew what to do. He gathered all those Indians and made them swear not to fight; and a good many he brought to camp near the city, where he could keep an eye on them. Then he went upriver to the Mohawk Indians, and he promised them plenty of trade and supplies on condition that, if the Algonquin around New York gave any trouble, the Mohawks would come and smash them. And it certainly worked, because there was no trouble around Manhattan.
One day during this time, the Boss took me to a place in the middle of Manhattan island where some of the Indians had been ordered to camp. He told me that he knew these people from a long way back when he used to trade with them. They had pitched several of their wigwams beside a clearing. It was a good place. Wild strawberries were growing in the grass. The Boss spent a while talking to the Indians in their own tongue, and you could tell they were glad to see him; but I could see that some of them were sick. By and by the Boss came and said to me: “Are you afraid of the fever, Quash?”
From time to time the fever had come to the town. When I was about eighteen years of age, I remembered it being very bad, and quite a few children and older folk dying. But the fever never seemed to trouble me.
“No, Boss,” I said.
“Good,” he says. “Then I want you to stay with these people a while, and see they have everything they need. Any food or medicine they lack, you come to town and tell me.”
So I stayed in that place for nearly a month. And several of those families took the fever badly. One of their women especially, that was paler than the rest, she lost her husband, and her children were nearly gone. But I helped her carry those children over to the river, where we cooled them down, and afterward I went to town for oatmeal and suchlike. I believe that if I hadn’t helped her she might have lost those children too. Anyway, I told the Boss about it, and he said I had done well.
But when it was all over, and I returned home, I was hardly through the door when the Mistress turned on me.
“You’re wasting time saving those Indians,” she shouted at me. “Now get on about your work and clean this house that you’ve neglected for a month.” I knew she had a low opinion of Indians, but it wasn’t my fault that I helped them. The Boss told me not to worry about it, but she seemed to forget about my saving her life after that, and was cold toward me for quite a time.
And this made me realize that you can live with people all your life, yet not be sure you know them.
But I had certainly earned the gratitude of the Boss. It was about a month later that he called me to the room where he used to work and told me to close the door. He was smoking his pipe, and he looked at me thoughtfully, so that I wondered if I was in some kind of trouble.
“Quash,” he said quietly after a minute or so, “no man lives forever. One day I shall die, and I have been thinking about what shall be done with you at that time.”
I wondered if maybe he had in mind that I should work for his son Jan. But I kept my mouth shut and just listened respectfully.
“So I have decided,” he said, “that you shall be free.”
When I heard those words I could scarcely believe it. The freedmen I knew had all worked for the Dutch West India Company long ago. I had hardly heard of any private owners in New York freeing their slaves. So when he said that, I was overcome.
“Thank you, Boss,” I said.
He sucked on his pipe for a while. “I’ll need you as long as I’m alive, though,” he added, and I must have given him a pretty careful look, because he started laughing. “
Now you’re wondering how long I’ll last, aren’t you?”
“No, Boss,” I said, but we both knew it was true, and that made him laugh more.
“Well,” he said, “I’m in no hurry to die yet.” Then he gave me a kindly smile. “You may have to wait a long time, Quash, but I won’t forget you.”
It seemed that my dream of freedom was one day to come true.
So I certainly wasn’t expecting an even greater joy to come into my life just then.
After the Indian troubles, New York was quiet again. Some rich English planters had come there from the Barbadoes and such places. They mostly lived in big houses down by the East River waterfront, and some of them didn’t trouble to speak Dutch. But many of the Dutch families in the town were still bringing their relations over. So with all the Dutch houses, and Dutch being mostly spoken in the streets, you’d almost have thought Governor Stuyvesant was still in charge.
Meinheer Leisler was becoming quite an important figure in the town these days, and the lesser Dutch folk all liked him. He’d often come to see the Mistress too, always very polite and neatly dressed, with a feather in his hat. And this attention was most pleasing to her. For the Mistress, though still a handsome woman, was now approaching the end of her childbearing years, and was sometimes a little depressed. The Boss, understanding this, was always considerate toward her, and did his best to find ways to please her too.
If only the same could have been said for Miss Clara. For since the time of her brother’s marriage, that little girl I had loved had turned into a monster. I could hardly believe it. To look at, she was the same sweet-faced, golden-haired girl I had always known. She was still kind to me and respectful, mostly, to her father. But to her mother she was like the devil. If her mother asked her to help the cook or go to the market, she’d be sure to complain that her mother knew very well she’d promised to go to visit a friend just then, and that her mother was inconsiderate. If the Mistress said anything, Miss Clara said it wasn’t so. Whatever was amiss, she said it was her mother’s fault until at times the Mistress could stand it no more. The Boss would reason with Clara and threaten to punish her. But soon she’d be complaining again. I truly felt sorry for the Mistress at those times.
One day Mr. Master came by the house in the company of one of the English planters. And they and the Boss were talking in English together. I was there also. By that time I had learned some words of English, enough to understand some of what they said.
Just after they had started, the Boss asked me in Dutch to find him something, which I did. And when I brought it he asked me something else, which I answered easily enough, saying something that made him laugh, before I went back to my place. But I saw that English planter staring at me, and then in English he told the Boss to mind being so friendly to me, because they had had plenty of trouble with black slaves down on the plantations, and the only way to deal with us was to keep well armed and to whip us if we tried to be saucy. I just looked at the floor and pretended I didn’t understand, and the Boss laughed and said he’d remember that.
The subject of their conversation, as it happened, was slaves. For Mr. Master had just returned to New York with a cargo of slaves, and some of these were Indians. On account of complaints from other countries about the taking of their people to be sold, Governor Andros had ordered that only black people might be sold as slaves in the market—for all the nations of the world agreed that Negroes should be slaves—and this was an inconvenience to Mr. Master.
“I’m aiming to sell these Indians privately,” he said. “I have a nice young Indian girl, and I was wondering if you’d like to buy her.”
Well at that moment in walked the Mistress looking upset, so I guessed that Miss Clara had been causing her grief again. The Mistress would sometimes pretend she didn’t understand English, but she didn’t bother with that now, because she shouted: “I’m not having any stinking Indians in this house.” But then she turned to the Boss and said: “I need a slave girl to help here, though. You could buy me a black one.”
And the Boss was so glad to do something to please her that he went out to purchase a slave girl the very next day. Her name was Naomi.
By this time I was about thirty years old. Naomi was ten years younger. But she was wise for her years. She was quite small, with a round face, and a little plumpness to her, which was pleasing to me. At first, being in a strange house, she was quiet; but we would talk together. As the days went by, we came to get acquainted better, and we told each other about our lives. She had lived on a plantation, but she had been fortunate to work as a servant in the house. When the owner of that house lost his wife and married again, the new wife said she wanted all new slaves in the house, and the old ones were to be sold off. So her owner sold her to a dealer who had taken her up to New York, where the prices were good.
I told Naomi that this was a kindly house, which seemed to comfort her a little.
Naomi and I got along together very easily. Sometimes I would help her if she had heavy tasks, and when I was tired, she would help me. For a few days I was sick, and she looked after me. So as the time went by, I began to feel a great affection for Naomi, on account of her kindness.
And I began to have thoughts of making her my wife.
I had never had a shortage of lady friends. Besides the women in the town, there was a girl I liked to see. She lived up at a little village on the East River just below Hog Island, and her name was Violet. On a summer evening, when the Boss told me he wouldn’t be needing me any more, I used to slip up there. Violet had several children, some of which may have been mine.
But Naomi was different from those other women. I felt protective toward her. If I was to enter into relations with her, it would be to settle down, and I had not considered doing that before. So for quite a time I tried just to stay friends with Naomi but keep her at a distance from me. After a while I could see that she was wondering what I meant by my behavior; but she never said anything, and I did not tell her my thoughts.
Then one evening, in the middle of her first winter, I found Naomi sitting alone and shivering. For having always lived in warm places, she had never known the cold of New York. So I sat beside her and put my arm round her. And by and by, one thing led to another; and after that it wasn’t long before we were living together like man and wife.
The Boss and the Mistress must have known it, but they didn’t say anything.
It was spring when the Boss told me I was to go up the Hudson with him. I had always been curious to see that great river, so, although it meant that I would be parted from Naomi for a little while, I was pleased to be going. Usually the Boss would have made this journey a few weeks later, but Clara and the Mistress had been quarreling so much, I believe he was glad to get away from them.
Just before we left, he and the Mistress had some hard words. The Mistress was never too happy when he was going upriver, and then she started blaming him for Clara’s behavior. They closed the door, so I didn’t hear it all, but when we set out, the Boss was looking down and he didn’t say much.
He was wearing a wampum belt. I had noticed that he always put that belt on when he was going upriver. I believe one of the Indian chiefs must have given it to him.
There were four oarsmen, and the Boss let me take the tiller. By the time we were out on the water an hour, he was looking more cheerful again. The tide and the wind being against us, we made slow headway that day; but the Boss didn’t seem to care. I think he was just happy to be out on the river. We were still in sight of Manhattan when we pulled over to make camp.
The next morning, we hadn’t gone far when he gives me a look and says: “So, Quash, I reckon you’ve made Naomi your wife. Didn’t you know you have to ask my permission?”
“I don’t know as she’s my wife, exactly, Boss,” I said. “To take a wife you have to go to church.” I wondered what he’d say to this.
“The English have words for it,” he told me. “Under English law—which we are
supposed to use—since she lives in the house with you as though you were married, she would be called your ‘common-law wife.’ So,” he gave me a smile, “you be good to her.”
“You aren’t angry with me, Boss?” I asked. He just smiled and shook his head. “And the Mistress?” I said.
“Don’t worry.” He sighed. “On that, at least, we are agreed.”
He was gazing up the river for a while after this, the breeze in his face, and I was watching him to see if he was still in a good temper. Then he turned and gave me a smile.
“Can I ask you something, Boss?” I requested.
“Go on,” he said.
“Well, Boss,” I said, “it’s like this. You told me that one day I might have my freedom. But even if Naomi is my common-law wife, that won’t do her any good. She’ll still be a slave.”
He didn’t answer.
“You see, Boss,” I said, “I’m thinking about what happens if we have children.”
For I had made sure to understand the law. And Dutch or English, it didn’t make a difference. The child of a slave belongs to the master. And if the master frees the slave, the child is still owned by him, unless he frees that child by name also. That is the law.
He still didn’t reply for a moment, and then he nodded to himself.
“Well, Quash,” he said, “I’ll have to think about that, but not yet awhile.” And I could tell that he didn’t want to talk about that subject any more.
During that afternoon, we pulled over to the bank where there was an Indian village and the Boss told me to wait in the boat while he went to talk to the Indians. He was gone a long time, and when he came back, he got into the boat and told the oarsmen to pull upstream. He seemed to have something on his mind, so I kept quiet and minded the tiller.
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