Freedom Bound (15 page)

THE MAGISTRATE RAISED
his head and looked in her direction. She was not afraid. She felt strong and full of purpose.

“If you wish to know why the sentencing must not proceed, then send a messenger to the Headquarters of Southern Command. For the present, that is all I am free to say.”

She took a deep breath. Oh, what a chance she had taken!
What if something had happened to Nick on his way to
Headquarters? What if the bill of lading had not been evidence enough? What if she was speaking too soon? It was
possible that Lewis Morley had not yet been arrested.

From the way people looked at her, she supposed that
everyone in the courtroom thought she was insane. Voices
rose all around.

The magistrate banged the table with his gavel.

“Order!”

He addressed Charlotte. “You could be charged for disrupting the order of this court.”

“Yes, Your Worship. I understand. Charge me if you must.
But at least, delay sentencing for the time being.”

“What is your name, young woman?”

“Charlotte Schyler.”

“Where do you live?”

“Stoll's Alley.”

She heard laughter. “Stoll's Alley! Ha, ha, ha!”

The magistrate frowned. For a moment he and Charlotte
looked into each other's eyes. He cleared his throat.

“The court will send a messenger to Southern Command.
In the meantime, we shall proceed with the other cases.
Young woman, you are not to leave this courtroom without
my permission.” Raising his hand, he pointed to Jammy.
“Remove the prisoner.”

Jammy was standing with his mouth hanging open, staring at Charlotte. The look on his face was one of total amazement. He remained staring at her over his shoulder as the
guards led him away.

Charlotte sat down. She had done what needed to be
done. And she had done it without revealing the evidence of
the bill of lading. How long would it take for a message to
come back from Headquarters? And what would that message be?

Her hands, she noticed, were trembling. She grabbed the
edges of her cloak and willed the trembling to stop.

The next prisoner was a male slave—field hand, age
twenty-five—accused of murdering another slave in a quarrel over a woman. After hearing the evidence, the panel of
freeholders found him guilty, and the magistrate sentenced
him to hang.

Then came the trial of a female house servant—cook, age
fifty-one—found guilty of attempting to poison her master
and his family. She, too, received a death sentence.

The last trial was of a runaway—male, age twenty—who,
like Jammy, had made two previous escape attempts. For
him as well, the sentence was death, the ultimate correction.

The session ended. The magistrate dismissed the court.
Since the sentences were to be carried out immediately, there
was a swift exodus of spectators as they rushed outside to
secure a good viewing spot from which to watch the hangings.

The three freeholders were also in a hurry to go. In the
almost empty courtroom, Charlotte heard them explain to
the magistrate that they depended on the incoming tide to
help bear their schooners upriver to their plantations.

Ignoring Charlotte, the magistrate now busied himself
with a pile of papers in front of him on the table.

Charlotte waited, alone on the back bench. After a few
minutes, she heard a loud cheer from outside. That must be
the first prisoner being hanged. The warden certainly hadn't
wasted any time getting on with the executions. “God have
mercy,” she prayed, hoping that the poor man would have
better luck in the next life than he'd had in this.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Turning her head, she
saw a man in livery enter the courtroom. He went straight
to the magistrate and handed him a folded paper closed
with a red wax seal.

The magistrate snapped the seal, unfolded the paper, and
read. He shook his head and sighed when he had finished.
Then he raised his head and looked directly at Charlotte.

“You may approach the bench.”

Since there were twelve rows of benches, she had no idea
which one he meant.

He must have sensed her confusion, for his stern countenance softened. “Come forward, young woman. Wherever I
am sitting is the bench.”

This did not make a great deal of sense to Charlotte, but
the failure of things to make sense was becoming too common for her to question any longer. She walked up to the
table, and when he directed her to take a seat, she sat down
on the front bench, facing him.

“It appears that Mr. Morley is under arrest. He has been
taken to the basement of the Exchange, the Provost Dungeon. Charges of assisting the enemy have been laid against
him. I cannot imagine how someone like you could have
anticipated this. Do you want to tell me?”

“No. I cannot.” Charlotte kept her countenance smooth,
not showing her relief. “But it seems to me that you must let
Jammy go free.”

A frown knitted the magistrate's brow. “In South Carolina
a man is presumed innocent until proven guilty. The sentencing of this slave cannot take place during the present circumstances. It must wait for the result of Mr. Morley's trial.
Yet this hardly means I must order the prisoner's release.”

“Why does he need to remain here? Let me take him. I
lodge at the home of Mrs. Doughty, a Quaker woman of
sound reputation. Send to her. I'm sure she will vouch for
me. My husband, Nicholas Schyler, is employed at the Civilian Department of Southern Command. He will give his
bond if you release Jammy into our custody.”

The magistrate looked down at the paper and said under
his breath, “Lewis Morley, of all people!” Then he leaned
back in his chair, looking suddenly weary.

“You know this slave, Jammy, I presume?”

“I do. He is a young man of good character. He won't run
away. Why should he? In a few days, or maybe weeks, he'll be
eligible to apply for the General Birch certificate. But in the
meantime, it's cruel and unnecessary to keep him locked up
in this horrible place.”

“The purpose of the Magistrates and Freeholders Court is
to keep blacks under submission and to protect slave owners'
property rights. It is not a court of justice or a court of mercy.
Rarely is there opportunity for the exercise of either.”

Charlotte heard him mutter something about the gentle
rain from heaven upon the earth beneath. Then he stood up.

“Wait here. I'll summon a clerk and send a messenger to
Mrs. Doughty. If she agrees to take responsibility for the
slave Jammy, that will suffice.”

BAREFOOT, BATTERED
, and muddy, Jammy was wearing the
same torn breeches that he had worn when hiding in the
swamp. He walked between Mrs. Doughty, in her black
Quaker habit and coal-scuttle hat, and Charlotte, in her blue
cloak. They made an odd-looking trio. It didn't surprise
Charlotte that they received many a sideways glance on their
walk to Stoll's Alley.

Before Jammy was well inside the front door, Phoebe,
looking as fresh as a flower in her neat homespun dress and
white apron, ran to him with a shriek and embraced him,
dirt and all. The children stared.

“I said I was comin' back,” said Jammy. Phoebe, sobbing
against him, did not answer.

At once, Charlotte spotted Nick standing by the kitchen
door, grinning and shaking his head at the same time. She
ran to him. He put an arm around her and pulled her close
to his side.

“Sweetheart, you've had a busy day. I was at Headquarters
when the Magistrate's message arrived. The messenger told
us that a young woman had stood up in court and
commanded
the magistrate not to proceed with sentencing. That
was the word he used. ‘Commanded.' I knew the young
woman must be you. I wish I'd been there to see it. But, darling, you were taking a chance.”

“I had my fingers crossed.” Charlotte smiled. “If Morley
hadn't been arrested, I would have looked an utter fool . . . if
not actually insane. But I was lucky.”

Jammy, his arms still around Phoebe and his chin resting
on the top of her head, was smiling too. “I'm the lucky one,
'cause I'm still alive, and Charlotte says that in one year I'm
gonna be free.”

“This is a wonderful day,” said Charlotte. “But I'm glad it's
over.” She turned to Nick. “What was the reaction at Southern Command when you showed them the bill of lading?”

“Complete shock. But the evidence left no room for doubt.
The commanding officer sent a platoon to arrest Morley.
Naturally, I went along to observe. We went first to his warehouse at the foot of Broad Street. The foreman said Mr.
Morley wouldn't be in until later because he had to go to the
Magistrates and Freeholders Court to give his deposition
about a runaway slave. The moment I heard this, I felt sure
the slave was Jammy.

“It was just eight o'clock, too early for court to be in session. The captain of the squad thought Morley would still
be at home, so he led us directly to his house.

“The butler answered the door. When he saw the soldiers
with their muskets and the captain with his sword, he went
lickety-split to fetch Morley. In a couple of minutes Morley
appeared, already dressed for his morning in court. It seems
he fully intended to be there; he'd prepared the deposition
just as a precaution, which was a common practice with
him.

“When the captain told him he was under arrest for assisting the enemy, he looked too shocked to speak. But he
did speak, and I've never before heard such defiance. ‘Sir,' he
said, ‘you have received false information. I am, and always
have been, a true and faithful subject of His Majesty the
King.'

“Then the captain read the charge and said that he had
orders to take Morley to the Provost Dungeon. Morley
looked furious, but he had dignity. ‘Sir, ' he said, ‘there is no
need for your men to lay their hands on me.' And off they
went.

“Mrs. Morley had come downstairs by this time. As the
soldiers marched her husband away, she started moaning
that she didn't know what would become of her and her
children.”

Phoebe, now released from Jammy's arms, was wiping
tears from her cheeks when a whimper from the direction of
Noah's cradle sent her hurrying into the kitchen.

“I think all of us are hungry,” said Mrs. Doughty. “So I'm
going to cook up a mess of grits. And then I'll look for some
clothes that will fit Jammy.” She turned to him. “Unless thee
objects to dressing like a Friend?”

“That'll be just fine, ma'am. But first I want to clean up.”

“Thee needs a bath,” she agreed. “Nowadays, it seems that
everybody who comes to my house reeks of the swamp.”

Jammy cleaned up very nicely, Charlotte thought. Phoebe, so
clever with her needle, turned one of the late Mr. Doughty's
suits of solemn black into a trim-fitting pair of breeches
with a matching short coat.

But Jammy did not join the household in Stoll's Alley.
Mrs. Doughty's small home was already crammed to capacity with her own family, Charlotte and Nick, and Phoebe
and the baby.

Application made to the magistrate resulted in permission for Jammy to lodge with a Quaker family, friends of
Mrs. Doughty, who lived on Meeting Street.

After two nights of sleeping in Mrs. Doughty's cellar,
Jammy was willing to move. The Quaker family agreed to
take responsibility for him until he became eligible to apply
for the General Birch certificate.

Since, for the time being, Jammy was not allowed to leave
the premises of the family on Meeting Street, Phoebe promised to visit him every day.

“Here's something for you, Phoebe,” Nick announced when
he returned from work the day after Jammy's move. “This
has been waiting at the lawyer's office for me to sign. Guard
it well.”

Phoebe and Charlotte, both busy with mending, looked
up from their work. The long document in Nick's hand bore
a bright red seal. Phoebe set down the child's stocking she
had been darning and took the paper from him. After scanning it for a minute, she read aloud:

Province of South Carolina. To all to whom these Presents
shall come to be seen or made known, I Nicholas John Schyler
send Greeting. Know ye that I the said Nicholas John Schyler
have manumitted, enfranchised and set free, and do by these
Presents manumit, enfranchise and set free a certain Negro
woman named Phoebe of and from all manner of bondage
and Slavery whatsoever. To have and to hold such manumission and freedom unto the said Negro woman for ever. In
Witness whereof I have hereunto set my Hand and Seal this
twenty-seventh day of February in the year of out Lord one
thousand seven hundred and eighty-one.

Charlotte sat listening. So this was the document that she
had asked Captain Braemar to pick up if he could. It had
remained in the lawyer's office, waiting for Nick to sign it.

Phoebe looked up. “Thank you, Mr. Nick. All my life I've
dreamed of freedom.” For a moment she appeared incapable
of saying more. Then she added in a low voice. “There's one
thing missing. This paper doesn't say anything about Noah.”

“Since I didn't own him, it wasn't in my power to manumit him.”

“Then he still belongs to Mr. Morley?”

“Legally, he does. But you have nothing to fear from him.
Mr. Morley is locked up in the Provost Dungeon. His house
and all his property have been confiscated.”

“I'm not surprised to hear that,” Charlotte said. “It's what
the rebels did to us Loyalists, back in the Mohawk Valley. I'm
tempted to say, ‘It serves him right.' But in truth, two wrongs
don't make a right. What will Mrs. Morley and their children do? It seems harsh to throw the family onto the street.”

“Mrs. Morley's sister, Mrs. Vesey, is sending a schooner to
take them all to Fair Meadow, the Veseys' plantation up the
Cooper River. Don't feel too sorry for Mrs. Morley. The
British authorities are allowing her to take not only her
clothes and jewellery, but also any slaves who choose to stay
in her service.”

“Do any choose to stay?” asked Charlotte. “I certainly
wouldn't choose to remain in slavery.”

“It goes against the grain, doesn't it?” said Nick. “But one
slave has chosen to remain.”

“Who?” asked Phoebe.

“The nursemaid.”

“That's Betty.” Phoebe nodded. “I understand. She's getting old and wants to be sure of a roof over her head. She's
likely afraid she'll starve if she's on her own. But what about
the others?”

“They'll all apply for the General Birch certificate. The
butler will serve by polishing British officers' boots. The
laundress will wash their clothes. The cook will prepare
meals for the new residents of Morley's house.”

“I already know what Jammy will do,” Phoebe exclaimed.
“He wants to enlist in Colonel Thompson's cavalry unit, the
Independent Troop of Black Dragoons.”

“That will be perfect for him,” said Charlotte, “with all his
experience around horses.”

Nick turned to Charlotte. “Sweetheart, I have some news
for you, too.”

“Yes?”

“Morley's house has been assigned as living quarters for
the Civilian Department of Southern Command.”

“Your department!”

“Exactly. There are eight bedrooms. You and I can have
one, if you like.”

For a moment her mind dwelt on what this meant. A
house in the finest part of town. Dinners prepared by Lewis
Morley's cook. A bedroom of their own. A featherbed instead of two straw mattresses on the front room floor.

It was not easy to say no.

“I can't live there, Nick. I'll always remember how I felt
when I learned that the Sons of Liberty had taken over my
family's home: sleeping in our beds, warming themselves at
our fireplace. I'd consider myself no better than those villains if I were to do the same.”

“I thought so. That's why I did not put down our name.”