In humanities we were each given a short biography about a enslaved African living in New York. I learned a lot about George Washington’s slaves and how he treated them. I also learned that the British promised freedom to any enslaved African that joined their side. I really liked this assignment because it left room to be creative, more than a test. With a test you really can only answer the questions on the test but with this I can go in ant direction. I like doing this because I also love historical fiction.
Name: Ruby Wexler March 2017
Humanities Africans in NY: Creative Narrative Assignment
Be Free Because I Cannot
By Ruby Wexler
My name is Debora Squash, and I was born enslaved. I worked the farm, mostly wheat and corn. I had no family except for my mother. She told me stories taught me about how to follow the stars. She always said her dream was for me to one day be free and go back to Africa. Well now I am free, sailing away over the blue sea to a new life. We sail away from our old homes to our new one.e will go to Port Roseway in Nova Scotia, Canada. The ship slowly rocks back and forth. My husband Harvey Squash sits next to me, strong and healthy. He looks at me, I think how lucky I am to have him. We met by chance really, both at a British camp, I a runaway joining the British for freedom, and Harvey who was sold to a British soldier. We were both 20 and got married soon after we met. I can’t help but remember what happened four years ago, when I was only sixteen.
The small house is dark and stuffy, filled with dust, the scent of sickness in the air. My mother’s laying on the thin pallet, it’s stuffed with old straw and is gray, it was once white. Her dress is worn down and caked with dirt. Her breaths are slow, rasping and forced. Her eyes are almost shut. The room is dark and silent except for my mother’s breathing. Then she whispers to me.
“My dear, I will be gone soon,” She says.
“No, you’ll be fine. I promise, you have to be fine!”
“My dear, we both know that is not true. My time is running short.”
“What will I do without you?”
“Go, be free because I cannot. Go my dear, go,” and with that she shuts her eyes. I collapse in sobs, screaming for her to come back. Someone pulls me off her, and I fight screaming and kicking, but I can’t escape the strong arms holding me, pulling me out of the small house, into the pouring rain. My mother’s words still echo around in my mind. Go, be free. Me, I’m screaming and yelling as another man takes her body, throws it into a wooden wagon and covers her with a cloth. I scream and fight harder as the wagon starts down the muddy road. I collapse, soaked in rain, mud, and tears.
I sit up soaked, but not in rain or sweat. The dream was so real it was more of a memory replayed in my sleep.
“She’s gone, gone and never coming back,” I tell myself. I remember her funeral, it was raining again, they dug a small hole and threw her in, not really caring. Her headstone was unmarked. When I was walking back down the muddy road, a little girl who I’d seen running around the fields bringing messages to people. She looked at me with big round innocent eyes, and said.
“I your mama be gone you can share mine.”
“It’s okay, I’ll be okay,” I responded
I hoped that would be true, with all my heart I hoped that would be true. Every night after she died I cried myself to sleep, and my nights were filled with nightmares. I knew little about my mother’s life in Africa but she told me stories about her life in America. My mother was separated from my father before I was born, so I never met him, though my mother always talked about him. She said he was strong and hardworking, like me. She said he was kind and and handsome, and that they fell in love as soon as they met. Both my parents came to America when they were young. My mother explained The Triangle Trade to me. She talked about how they took her from Africa, from her village in Angola. About how she was forced to walk for days with almost no food and water, the sun drying up everything around them. She told about the ship, that was packed with too many people all with chains. All in tiny cramp spaces packed together. They were not aloud above deck, it was dark and damp, scary and the air was thick. I remember her saying that she didn’t know what to think. Then they stopped in Barbados where she meet my father and then they were taken to America where they were forced to work. They were together then mother was sold to General George Washington.
I think of my mother bidding me to run, to be free. Though with the revolution that is unlikely to happen, and with our master General George Washington, the leader or the Patriots. He talks of freedom for America, though he does not know what freedom he already has. The freedom I do not have. I am now 16, I work hard everyday, I mourn my mother who passed away two weeks ago, and I still dream of freedom. The freedom my mother never got. The freedom I must have. Suddenly I know I can’t stay here. Others have run away and succeeded, some have not. I have a plan, though I will have to wait for nightfall. The whole day I feel jittery and nervous. It’s summer and sweat covers me. Everyone who looks at me seems to know what I’m going to do tonight. They all seem to stare at me, like they’re waiting for me to do something suspicious. There’s a barrel of apples and in passing I slip one into my pocket.
Finally night comes; now’s my chance. I slowly walk outside to make sure no one’s there, I see know one so I take the change and cover my head with a cloth and run for the woods. I run so fast everything is a blur. I can hear the distant chorus of dogs barking, sniffing me out. No, they wouldn’t have already found me. It is just my imagination. I keep running. The pounding of my feet on the soft ground is like a steady rhythm leading me on. Every snap of a twig, every rustling leaf, every hoot of an owl fills me with fear. I keep telling myself that they can’t have found me, not yet at least. I don’t know how long I run for, but the sky is lit by the stars. My feet ache but I keep moving. The forest seems somehow more sinister at night everything seems unearthly, like a nightmare. I pass a few houses, I get nervous, hoping no one with see me. Once in my journey I stop and cross a river, it will not only refresh me but it might help hide my stench and make it harder to track me. On the other side of the river I collapse, breathing heavily. I stay there until I catch my breath. Then I stand and start to walk again, the sky is starting to get lighter and I can see more. I stop to eat my apple I bury the core so no one will know I’ve been there. Soon I’m on a dirt road, the sun has fully risen by now. I hear the light trotting of horse hoofs. I panic and make a split second decision and stay in plain view of the road. The horse is a soft chestnut with a white stripe down his nose. Sunlight makes the horse seem gold. There a tall, pale man, with blond hair and bright blue eyes. He’s wearing the red uniform of a british officer. His boots are covered in mud and his hat is tilted to the side. I am suddenly filled with hope. A Tory!
“What are you doing here, girl?” The man says with interest and a little bit of annoyance.
“I’m comin’ from Mount Vernon sir,” I reply nervously. He raises his eyebrows.
“Doing business for your master or…” he trails off. What do I say?
“I, I-”
“Who’s your master girl?” he says cutting me off. Now I know what to say. A memory comes back to me once I was by the Big House and through an open window I heard General Washington saying that the British were promising freedom to slaves who joined them. I take a deep breath.
“General Washington sir, ” I frowns, I quickly continue, “I’m Loyalist though, I ran away to join the Tories, sir,” I finish. He looks at me, a long steady gaze.
“If you be lying to me, if you’re a spy trying to get information…”
“I promise sir, please I only want my freedom!” I say desperately. The man takes a deep breath.
“Very well, follow me.”
I nod. I can’t believe it! The man turns his horse around and takes off. I grin as I run after the chestnut horse, follow it to freedom.
I stayed at the British headquarters. There I met Harvey Squash we were soon married. After we were married I thought of the little girl who talked to me the day my mother died, maybe now it would be possible for me to have a little girl of my own. The British promised us freedom and even though we lost, they kept their promise, even though I was still property of George Washington, Sir Guy Carleton helped me, my husband, and many others escape.
The ship is rocking, swaying I feel a little dizzy. The air is thick, I take a deep breath.
“You okay?” Harvey asks. I nod, he puts his hand on my growing belly. “Let’s name her Hope.”
I grin, “Perfect,” That was my mother’s name.
The ship suddenly stops, we are here. I hear the sounds of men unloading the ship. The cries of children and their parents reprimanding, people going about their daily business. There is a loud scraping and a soft light shines through a square in the ceiling, the sounds from outside grow louder. A man’s face areas in the new open space. He has dirt on his face and his clothes are covered in grime. He frowns.
“Ya can came up now, we be here,” he says.
I nod, Harvey stands up next to me, some of the others below deck with us start to stand. I step above deck, bright sunlight momentarily blinds me, and fresh, salty air fills my lunges. As I look around my mother dying words come back to me,
“Go, be free because I cannot. Go my dear, go,”
I whisper to myself,
“I am free now, I love you mama”
