Andrew (eBook)

Boy Slave to Free Rebel

Donald Bryan (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2019 | 1. Auflage
326 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-5439-8770-6 (ISBN)

Infos

In 1765 Andrew was a scrawny twelve-year-old slave in Maryland. In the years that follow he grows to manhood. Andrew is the fictional story of his journey. Andrew is bought by an elderly plantation owner to help with the problems of old age. The two form an unlikely bond and Andrew is allowed privileges not usually given to slaves. The old man dies but frees Andrew before doing so. Content to be a freed slave working on the plantation, his life is about to drastically change. Forced to defend himself against the brutality of a neighboring overseer, he kills the man. A slave, even a freed slave, has no recourse but to run for his life and so he does with the help of a loosely formed network of Quaker sympathizers and a renegade slave, Jim, who is to guide him north to Massachusetts. But before going on their journey, they have to wait for one additional runaway, Branwen. At their destination, Andrew finds a job with a blacksmith, Branwen with a doctor and Jim returns to Maryland. Andrew joins the militia and soon finds himself fighting the British in the first Battle of the Revolution on Lexington Green. Later, the militia moves to Cambridge to guard George Washington, the new Commander of the Continental Forces. Washington declares blacks cannot join the Continentals. Retuning to Lexington, Andrew questions why he is fighting for the Patriots because of Washington's proclamation, even though later reversed. He does not think much of the British either. So, he quits the militia and his job and decides to go west. Before going west, he goes into British controlled Boston to find Branwen. He finds Branwen has left Boston with the doctor who has been killed at Bunker Hill. Escaping Boston, Andrew is shot. He finds his way to a Quaker farm. By chance, Branwen, now a nurse, is called to tend to Andrew. During Andrew's recovery, Branwen is captured by slave hunters who start to return her to Maryland. Andrew gives chase, Branwen is rescued and a new journey begins.

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In 1765 Andrew was a scrawny twelve-year-old slave in Maryland. In the years that follow he grows to manhood. Andrew is the fictional story of his journey. The story starts when Andrew has been placed in a jail cell waiting to be sold at auction. While there, an unruly slave, Jim, manacled and shackled, is thrown into the adjacent cell to also wait his turn on the auction block. Andrew is bought by an elderly plantation owner to help him with the problems of old age. Jim, on the other hand, finds he is not to be bought because of his bad attitude. This means he will be returned to his owner and the owner's overseer, Big Bull. He knows his future is limited to a few hours at best. He escapes into the adjacent swamp only to be taken captive by Indians. Andrew and the old man form an unlikely bond and Andrew is allowed privileges not usually given to slaves. He learns to read and become an accomplished equestrian and farrier and, absolutely forbidden of slaves, learns to hunt with a musket. But still, the old man has Andrew work the fields to prepare him for when the old man dies. The old man dies but frees Andrew before doing so. The years pass and Andrew grows from a small boy to a strapping young man. Content to be a freed slave working on the plantation, his life is about to drastically change. On a Sunday when hunting by the swamp, he is attacked by a neighbor's drunken overseer, Big Bull. Forced to defend himself Andrew kills the man. A slave, even a freed slave, has no recourse but to run for his life and so he does with the help of a loosely formed network of Quaker sympathizers and his old renegade friend, Jim, who is to guide him north to Massachusetts. But before going on their journey, they have to wait for one additional runaway, Branwen. Branwen was a house slave, educated in literature, had a Webster's vocabulary and knew the medicinal cures of natureand was the most gorgeous thing Andrew had ever seen. She had run away because of problems with her white half-brother. The trio makes it north through trials and tribulations where an awaiting Quaker assigns Branwen to a doctor in Boston, where, because of her skills with natural remedies, she becomes his nurse. Andrew is assigned to a blacksmith in Lexington a few miles from Boston and Jim returns to Maryland. Andrew joins the militia and soon finds himself fighting the British in the first Battle of the Revolution on Lexington Green. Later, the militia moves to Cambridge to guard George Washington, the new Commander of the Continental Forces. Washington declares blacks cannot join the Continentals. Retuning to Lexington, Andrew questions why he is fighting for the Patriots because of Washington's proclamation, even though later reversed. He does not think much of the British either. So, he quits the militia and his job and decides to go west. Before going west, he goes into British controlled Boston to find Branwen. He discovers Branwen has left the city with Doctor Warren. Doctor Warren dies fighting on Bunker Hill and Branwen goes to live with Doctor Warren's mother, and continues to care for Doctor Warren's patients. Andrew is wounded on his flight from Boston and finds his way to a Quaker farm run by a mother and daughter both of which are widows. They try to obtain medical attention for Andrew and it is Branwen who responds to the call. Though Andrew is an unshaven mess, Branwen recognizes him. During the weeks of recovery that follow, Branwen is captured by slave bounty hunters and they attempt to take her back south. Andrew is recovered sufficiently to chase after them. The bounty hunters try to take advantage of Branwen but Andrew rescues her just in time. The ordeal is traumatizing for Branwen and she goes into a secluded mental shell. After a long time, Andrew decides Branwen will never respond to his gestures and he feels it is time to move on. But then Branwen comes from behind, taps him on his shoulder and a new journey begins.

Textauszug

CHAPTER I

A few minutes past noon, a short, portly man in his forties with tied-back salt and pepper hair led a small, slightly built slave boy along a wide dirt path. William Bryan, or Will, as he liked to be called, was innkeeper, constable, and resident slave dealer of the town. Currently, he wore the hat of slave dealer, having accepted the boy to be sold. The boy looked not more than ten. The boy was frightened, and moved with hesitation. In a rare gesture of compassion toward a slave, Will placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder as he guided him along the path, trying to reassure him that no harm would befall him.

Will had no moral reservation about selling and buying human souls, nor had he ever thought of it as right or wrong. To him, it was an honest business, and dated back to before man could remember. It delivered a needed service, helped add to the economy, fed thousands of the otherwise unemployed, and put food on his table. Why a few niggers sometime caused so much trouble about it was beyond him. All you had to do was treat them right, just as you would treat any other animal. Take those two slavers putting up at his inn; they were lowlife scum of the worse kind. The last time they had been in town to sell their commodities, he had witnessed one of them split one of his slave’s heads in half with an ax because he got sick on bad food and vomited on the slaver’s leg. No enforceable law against killing a slave or an animal—but would a man do that to a horse or dog? No. So, why treat a slave in such a manner? You have to take care of your property.

Before opening the oak door to enter the jail, Will looked in through the barred windows in front to be sure the slaves were in their cells. Satisfied, he opened the door and stepped in, guiding the boy in front of him to an area of well-tramped dirt with nothing else except a long table with benches on each side. Down the middle of the table ran a small version of a cattle-feed trough.

On the other side of the earthen floor were six half-a-rod-square jail cells, made of iron straps crisscrossed and riveted in such a manner that they formed squares not quite large enough for the average man to pass his head. Four of the cells were occupied, and the other two empty.

Will opened the empty cell on the end and said to the boy, “Don’t want to put you in with all these others, Andrew. They were recently unloaded from a boat. Don’t know their nature. I’m given by the slavers they were baptized before being brought here, but that don’t mean nothin’. I doubt they even know what it was all about. So, I’m going to put you in this cell by yourself where they won’t be a problem to you.” Reluctantly, the boy slave entered the cell and stood still as he looked at the other captives.

As Will closed the cell door, he gave Andrew a piece of advice: “Be polite, speak clear, and look a buyer in the face when he speaks to you, and you could be bought by a good master. Why Mister Carter couldn’t keep you, I can’t understand. Of course, knowing Carter, it’s all about money. That’s what’s important to him. I wish you well. If I needed another boy, I’d buy you myself.”

Then he added, “I’ll make sure you get good food, Andrew, and see to it you eat alone so these others don’t steal it from you.”

Andrew took a position almost in the center of the jail cell. Standing there in a daze, he looked around and did not know what was happening. The oak door slammed shut, breaking Andrew’s stupor. He backed against the far wall of his cell and slumped to the floor. The straw spread on the floor smelled of excrement—not only in his cell, but in all of them. Some cells had holes in the earthen floor to relieve oneself; in others, no such hole had been dug, and a person would just let it go, perhaps in the furthest corner of the cell. Either way, the straw was used for cleanup. He tried to keep his mind busy by listening to the chatter of the others, crammed four or five to a cell. They spoke a language he didn’t understand, even though some of the slaves on Carter’s plantation had seemed to speak something similar.

The day had begun like previous days, with a morning chill. Before long, it would turn hot and humid as the day wore on. You could count on a late-afternoon thunderstorm dropping its torrential load of rain and clear just as abruptly, leaving a breath-stifling period of humidity until the cooling breezes blew in the evening.

After the storm, Will, true to his word, had a meal of boiled goat and beans brought to the jail, and Andrew, sitting alone at the table, downed the meal and drank from a fresh bucket of water until he was sated. Back in his cell, his full stomach caused him to become drowsy, and he fell asleep on the straw-covered floor.

Andrew woke at the sound of the big door being opened. He sat up, and saw Will and another man bringing in another slave. The slave’s feet were shackled and his hands manacled in back, and he stumbled as he was pushed down the row of cells.

Andrew noticed the man who had come with Will more than he did the slave, as he thought the man looked odd. He was just over five and a half feet tall, but he was stout and wide, made of muscle and fat in a bundle hard as rock. As he walked, he shifted from side to side in a rocking motion. His neck, what little was shown of it, was thick, and it balanced an oversized head. Black hair grew out of his shirt collar opening, and seemed to be one with his full-bearded face.

They approached Andrew’s cell, and Will said, “You be careful of this one, boy. He’s a mean one. Should be a prisoner rather than being put up for sale. Sorry to put him next to you, but the other cells are full. Better get back some.”

Andrew backed against the far side of his cell. Will opened the cell next to Andrew, and the odd-looking man placed his boot on the slave’s rump and pushed. The slave stumbled into the cell and fell face down. The man followed him, kicking the downed slave in the side. As the man backed out of the cell, the slave rolled over enough to look up at the man and smiled. In return, the man spit at him.

With the cell door closed and with the sound of the main door closing, the slave rolled over, sat up, and looked about. He was barefoot and shirtless, his exposed back revealed a history of past beatings and whippings, and there were fresh cuts still open and bleeding. The back of his head had an open wound with caked blood that had run down his neck. A stubble of beard grew over a branded R on his left cheek. That, and the evidence of whippings, gave proof this slave was trouble.

He looked around at his surroundings, then at Andrew, and said, “This place don’t change much. I’ve been here a few times after being caught off the plantation. Who’re you, boy?”

Andrew did not answer, and pressed himself harder against the far side of his cell.

“Hey, I ain’t going to hurt you. Even if I wanted to, I ain’t so dumb to do it in here. Don’t be afraid, child.”

“I’m not scared of you, and I’m no child. I’m twelve, and do a man’s work.”

“Twelve! You don’t look over eight, maybe seven. You’re just a runt. Nobody’s going to buy you to do fieldwork, that’s for sure. Chances are, you’re a houseboy of some kind. What kinds of man’s work you ever done?”

“I helped Miz Jane raise her kids and take care of the other young’uns. She died having a baby, and Master didn’t need me anymore.”

“Miz Jane, she the missus of the house?”

“No. She belonged to Master.”

“A breeder, huh. Where’s your mam and pap?”

“Don’t know where they are. Don’t know who they are. Miz Jane says the overseer found me in the tobacco field, and Master gave me to her to bring up.”

“Well, they both must’ve been from over the water, ’cause you’re as black as you can get, same as me. Be proud of it. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir, I hear you.”

“I ain’t no sir. I’m Jim, just Jim. My other name don’t get used. Mostly I get called ‘that damned nigger.’ Makes me smile now. What they call you?”

“Andrew. Never had a last name. Master was Master Carter, so maybe my name’s Andrew Carter.”

“You don’t want that name. That’s a white man’s name. What you want a white man’s name for?”

“Don’t most of us get named after our master?”

“Guess so, but that don’t mean you have to. Why don’t you figure a name you want to be called and name yourself?”

“I can do that?”

“Try it, and see what happens.”

The man had a disarming way about him, and in spite of himself, Andrew began to feel less concerned that he might be in harm’s way. “What kind of name? I mean, how do I know what name isn’t a white man’s name?”

“Something will come to you. Don’t hurry it.”

“What’s wrong with a white man’s name? Your name’s Jim. Ain’t that a white man’s name?”

“It is. The whites call me that. I’ve got another name, same as my dad’s, but nobody’s going to call me...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 30.9.2019
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Historische Romane
• ISBN-10: 1-5439-8770-2 / 1543987702
• ISBN-13: 978-1-5439-8770-6 / 9781543987706