All my life in that household, I’d been accustomed to hearing the family talk among themselves freely. If there was something that had to be said privately, the Boss and the Mistress would make sure they were alone and close the door before they discussed it. But people spoke their thoughts, especially at mealtimes when I was serving them. So as the years went by, there wasn’t much of the family’s business or their opinions about what was passing in the world that I didn’t know.
But once I heard something that I should not have heard.
It wasn’t my fault. There was a pleasant little garden behind the house. The room the Boss used as an office gave on to it. Like all the Dutch gardens, it was very neat. There was a pear tree in that garden, and a bed of tulips. There was a patch where cabbages, onions, carrots and endive were grown, together with a stand of Indian corn. Against one sheltered wall there were peaches growing. I never liked to work in that garden when I was young, but I had come to like tending to the plants there now.
On a warm spring day I was quietly working there, not far from the window of the Boss’s office, which was open. I didn’t even know he was in there when I heard the voice of his son Jan.
“I hear that Meinheer Philipse has made an English will,” he said.
“Oh.” I heard the Boss’s voice.
“It’s the right thing for a gentleman to do,” says Jan. “You should consider it.”
There was a big difference between the English and the Dutch when it came to dying. When a Dutchman died, his widow continued owning his house and all his business until she died herself; and then everything was split between the children, boys and girls alike. But the Englishwomen are not given such respect. For when an Englishwoman marries, her wealth all belongs to the husband, as if she was a slave. And she isn’t supposed to transact any business. And if her husband dies, the eldest son gets almost everything, except a portion set aside for the upkeep of the widow. And the English were even passing a law that the son could kick his mother out of the house after forty days.
The big English landowners liked this way of arranging matters, because by keeping all the estate together, the family would keep its power. And some of the Dutch, after becoming gentlemen, wanted to have an English will for the same reason; but most of the Dutch didn’t take any notice of that English law. Their wives wouldn’t stand for it, I reckon. And I didn’t imagine the Boss would take any notice, either.
“We’ve a Dutch will that goes back to the time of our marriage,” the Boss said. “It’s held by old Schermerhorn, your mother’s lawyer. She’d have a fit if I altered it.”
“She wouldn’t have to know. A new English one would supersede it.”
“Why do you mind?”
“Truthfully, Father, I don’t trust her judgment. The way she carried on over the Leisler business. I don’t think she’s the right person to manage our money. Clara’s well provided for. She had a generous dowry, and she got money from her first husband too, and God knows Henry Master’s not short of money. Under his father’s English will he’ll get almost all the Master fortune, you can be sure. She’s far richer than I am.”
“I see what you mean,” said the Boss.
“You know I’ll always look after Mother. So would Clara.”
“No doubt.”
“I just think you should protect me. And the van Dyck family. That’s all.”
“I’ll consider it, Jan, I promise you. But this had better stay between us.”
“Absolutely,” said Jan.
I moved quietly to the other end of the garden after that, and when I went back into the house, I never said a word about what I’d heard, not even to Hudson.
From the year 1696, I remember two events. The old wall across the north of the town was falling to bits and some years back a street had been laid along its line, which they called Wall Street. And in that year, the Anglicans began the foundations for a fine new church where the new Wall Street met Broadway. Trinity Church, they were calling it.
The second event was the final voyage of Captain Kidd.
King William’s War with the French was still continuing. Two hundred miles upriver, a Dutch settlement called Schenectady had been attacked by French and Indians, and out on the ocean the French and their pirates were still giving so much trouble that the English begged Captain Kidd to go and deal with them. The captain was retired, as I have said, and a respectable man. In fact, he was helping at that very time with the building of Trinity, Wall Street. But he agreed to do it. “Though I don’t think it took much to persuade him,” said the Boss. “Those old sea dogs always get restless on dry land.”
I was on my way home one afternoon when Hudson came up to me. I thought he was looking excited, but he didn’t say anything. He just started walking along beside me, very companionable, the way he often did. And I put my arm on his shoulder, the way I often did. And we walked along side by side. Then by and by he said: “Captain Kidd wants to take me to sea.”
I felt my heart sinking, like a ship going under.
“You’re too young to be thinking of that,” I said.
“I’m near sixteen. There are ship’s boys far younger than that.”
“The Boss won’t allow it,” I said. And I prayed it might be so. “Are you in such a hurry to leave your father?” I asked him.
“No,” he cried. And he put his arm round my neck. “It isn’t that. But at sea, I could learn to be a sailor.”
“You could learn to be a pirate,” I answered. For I had often seen the crews of these privateers, and I trembled to think of Hudson living among such men.
We were scarcely in the house before the Boss sent for me.
“Well, Quash,” said the Boss, “Captain Kidd wants to buy Hudson. He’s made a very good offer.”
I just looked from one of them to the other. I didn’t know what to say. Then I went down on my knees. It was all I could do.
“Don’t send him away to sea, Boss,” I said. “He’s all I have.”
“He wants to go, you know,” said the Boss.
“I know,” I told him. “But he don’t understand. Captain Kidd’s a fine gentleman, I expect, but his crew … Some of the men he’s collecting are just pirates.”
“You can’t keep him forever, Quash,” said the Boss.
I was thinking as fast as I could. As well as losing Hudson to the perils of the sea, I was mightily afraid of what Captain Kidd might do if he owned him. What if he decided to sell my son in some distant port? What would become of Hudson then? I was still hoping the Boss might set him free as well, one day.
“Maybe Captain Kidd would pay you for the service of Hudson without buying him,” I said. “You’d be renting him out. But the captain would still have to return him to you. He’d be worth more, trained as a sailor,” I said. I was just trying to think of anything. But I saw that the Boss was looking thoughtful.
“That’ll do, Quash,” he said. “You go along now, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
The next day it was decided that Hudson should be rented out to Captain Kidd. I was grateful for that at least. It was many weeks before the ship was ready, and that time was very precious to me, because I thought I might never see my son again. But I didn’t tell him what I was thinking, and he was so excited that he was down at the waterside whenever he could get away from me.
Certainly, many people had high hopes of making money from that voyage. Not only the governor, but several great English lords had put money into it. People said even King William had a secret share. The ship was called the Adventure Galley, on account of the fact that it carried oars, so that it could attack other vessels even if there was no wind. It carried a hundred and fifty crew and thirty-four cannon.
As the time approached when the ship was due to sail, I made Hudson sit with me, and I told him: “Now you obey Captain Kidd in all things, because he’s your boss for now. But some of these men you’re sailing with are very bad men, Hudson. So you just tend to your business and keep yo
urself to yourself, and maybe they won’t bother you. But just remember what your father and mother taught you, and you won’t come to no harm.”
Finally, in September of that year of 1696, the Adventure Galley sailed out of New York harbor, and I watched Hudson till he was out of sight.
Months passed and there was no word. I knew that if he didn’t find any prizes nearer, Captain Kidd would most likely head across the ocean, toward southern Africa and the Cape of Good Hope. For round the Cape toward the island of Madagascar, there’d be French merchantmen and pirates to be found.
One day a ship put into port that had been in those parts, with news that Captain Kidd had lost a third of his crew to cholera near Madagascar. But whether it was true, or whether my Hudson was dead or alive, I had no means of knowing.
That spring Miss Clara gave birth to a son. So far, Jan had only daughters, so this little boy pleased the Boss very much. They called the boy Dirk, after him.
“I have a grandson, Quash,” he said, “and with luck I may even live to see him grow up. Isn’t that a fine thing?”
“Yes, Boss,” I said. “You’re a lucky man.”
But although Miss Clara brought the baby round to show to her mother, the Mistress still wasn’t pleased to have an Anglican grandson.
And then, just when I wasn’t expecting it, came the news I’d been waiting for all my life. The Mistress was out that day, when the Boss called me into the parlor.
“Quash,” he said, “you know I promised you that when I die, you shall be free.”
“Yes, Boss,” I said.
“Well,” he said, “being free may not be all you think. But anyway, in my will you’ll be given your freedom, and some money too.”
“I’m getting old myself, Boss,” I said, secretly praying. “May Hudson also be free?”
“Yes,” said the Boss, “he will also be freed. If he lives.”
“Thank you, Boss,” I said.
“You are to tell no one about this, Quash,” said the Boss severely. “Don’t speak of it to Hudson, or any of the family. For reasons you do not need to know, this is between you and me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Boss,” I said.
So I reckoned that he must have made an English will.
“There’s one more thing,” he said. “You have to promise to do something for me, after I’m gone.” He took out a little bundle of cloth and unwrapped it. And inside I saw the wampum belt he was wearing the time we went upriver.
“You’ve seen this before?”
“Yes, Boss,” I said.
“This is a very special belt, Quash,” he told me. “It has great significance and value. In fact, this is more precious to me than anything else that I possess. And I keep it wrapped up and hidden in a place which I will show to you. When I die, Quash, I want you to go and fetch this belt. Don’t tell anyone what you’re doing, not even the Mistress. But I want you to take this belt to Miss Clara’s house, and tell her that this is my particular gift to little Dirk. And he is to have it, and keep it, and give it to his son one day, if he has one, or pass it down to my descendants in memory of me. Will you promise to do this for me, Quash?” “Yes, Boss,” I said. “I promise.”
“Good,” he said. Then he showed me the hiding place; and we put the wampum belt there, so that it would be safe.
The rumors about Captain Kidd started the following spring. Ships came into the port saying instead of hunting down pirates, he’d turned pirate himself. I asked the Boss what he thought.
“Who knows,” he said with a shrug, “what happens at sea?”
I thought of my Hudson, but I didn’t say more. The rumors continued, but we heard nothing definite all the next year. In the spring of 1699, we heard that English naval vessels were out looking for him. And finally, Captain Kidd turned up in Boston that summer, and word came that he’d been arrested.
And that was where, it seemed to me, the Boss showed at his best. Because within the hour of this news arriving, he was on his way to Boston to find out about Hudson. I tried to thank him as he left, but he gave me a grin and told me he was just checking on his property.
There was a fast vessel going up to Boston that day. But two weeks passed. And then, one afternoon, I saw two men walking down the street toward the house. One was the Boss. The other was a black man, a little taller than me, a powerful-looking fellow. And then, to my amazement, he started running toward me, and took me in his arms, and I saw that it was my son Hudson.
In the days that followed Hudson told me all kinds of things about that voyage, about the cholera, and how they couldn’t find any French vessels. He said the captain was following his commission, but so many of the crew were pirates that he could hardly stop them attacking even the Dutch ships. They were bad people, he told me. In the end they took a French ship, but its captain turned out to be English, and that was the start of the trouble.
“I was arrested too, in Boston,” Hudson told me. “But when the Boss turned up and said I was only a slave that he rented to Captain Kidd, believing him to be a privateer, they reckoned I was of no account, so they let me go. I think the Boss may have paid them something too.”
But Captain Kidd wasn’t so lucky. For a long time he was held in Boston, and then they sent him to be tried in England.
The only thing people in New York went on talking about was the money Captain Kidd must have made from that voyage. Those that invested never saw any—except for the governor. Captain Kidd had buried some treasure on a place called Gardiner’s Island, but he told the governor where it was, and so the governor collected that. But people said there was more buried treasure somewhere, maybe out on Long Island. I asked Hudson if it was true, but he just shook his head; though I did wonder if maybe there was something he knew that he wasn’t telling.
Truth to tell, none of this was important to me. The only thing I cared about was that I had my son back and that one day he’d have his freedom. Though I did what the Boss said, and never told him that.
I was grateful for something else too. After being with those pirates, my Hudson was not so anxious to go to sea for a while. He was happy enough to live in the house with me; for many months we were quite content. New York was tranquil enough. The Boss used to go often to the houses of Jan and Miss Clara, but in particular I could see that he took a delight in his little grandson Dirk.
In the year 1701, we heard that Captain Kidd had been executed in London for piracy. Hudson said that the trial must have been rigged, though he did allow that the captain had killed a man. I was sorry for the captain, but I was still relieved that the idea of privateering looked more dangerous than ever to my son.
Quite often the Boss would hire Hudson out to people to work for them a while, and since I had trained him well, they would pay the Boss quite a good fee. Each time the Boss would give Hudson a share of this, so that he was getting to put by a little money of his own now.
It was one morning in October that the Boss sent me over with a message for the man that ran the rum distillery on Staten Island. I seldom went to that place, and was glad to go. There was a boat going there from the wharf, and we made a pleasant journey across the harbor to the dock by the village that they call the old town. The English call the island Richmond. I knew there were two big estates there, and I could see farms dotted about on the little hills. It seemed to me a very pleasant place.
I didn’t get back from there until halfway through the afternoon. I walked along the waterfront and was making my way to the house when I saw Hudson running toward me.
“Come quickly,” he cried. “The Boss is dying.” So we ran into the house. And they told me there that the Boss had been struck by a terrible crisis not long after I had left, and that he wasn’t like to live. And they took me in to see the Boss at once.
There was a doctor there, and some of the family, including Clara. The Boss was looking very gray, and I saw that his breathing was shallow. But he recognized me, and when I went to his side, he tried t
o smile.
“I’m safe back, Boss,” I said. “And I’m sorry not to see you looking better.” Then he tried to say something to me, though it just came out like a strange noise. But I knew what he was saying. He was telling me, “You’re free, Quash. You’re free.” And although nobody could understand him, I smiled and said: “I know, Boss. I know.” After a moment, his head fell back and I said: “Don’t you worry yourself about that now, Boss.” And I took his hand. Then he frowned, and he seemed to be trying to shake my arm; then he stared very hard into my eyes. And I knew what he wanted. “I ain’t forgotten my promise, Boss,” I said. “I remember what you told me to do.” And although he couldn’t speak, he squeezed my hand.
The Boss lived through most of that day. Early in the evening, I was in the yard with Hudson when Clara came out with tears in her eyes and told me that the Boss had another huge seizure, and that he was gone.
“I know you loved him, Quash,” she said.
“Yes, Miss Clara,” I said. And part of me was sad because, as the life of a slave goes, the Boss certainly treated me as well as any slave can hope for. But part of me was just thinking about my freedom. I didn’t know if the Boss had told the family I was free, but I knew it was in his will, so I wasn’t worried.
The Boss’s funeral was a big affair. Half of the city of New York was there, I reckon, Dutch and English alike. And everyone was very kind and respectful to the Mistress. That evening she went over to Jan’s house for a while. And while she was gone, it occurred to me that this would be a good time to get the Boss’s Indian belt from its hiding place. So I went and did that, and keeping it wrapped up, I took it to where I slept, and hid it there; and nobody was the wiser.
The next day, during the morning, the Mistress said she was going out to see about some business concerning the Boss’s affairs. And I was wondering if maybe it would soon be time to speak to her about my freedom. And I thought that when she returned, depending on her mood, I might mention it. In the meantime, while she was out, I reckoned I would carry out my promise to the Boss concerning the Indian belt, and get that done with. So I took the belt all wrapped up, and I started for Miss Clara’s house, which was down on Bridge Street.
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