After ten years of faithful service, Edward Ferrars' had convinced his parents to pay for Joe's liberation. Now a free man, Joe was not obligated to continue working on the Ferrars' farm. Robert Ferrars had provided Joe with his own outgrown spatterdashes, stockings, a white linen shirt, a cloak and a cravat. The cloak was a few inches short for Joe, just as the stockings, not completely reached his knees, the arms of the shirt were a little short for Joe, and the waistcoat was too tight to button up completely.
What else was he supposed to do?
At least not before the events of the Boston Massacre and the Dumping of Tea in Boston those— convinced Joe he could not stand by and watch his fellow people suffer and struggle as they fought a battle that he should be part of.
Joe had heard a rumor of Lord Dunmore's Ethiopian regiment that it was made up of slaves. He was heading for Virginia, and he could only hope he would be he told himself he could always join the Black Loyalists and do his service in the Black Brigade. Since Joe no longer was an African slave, he might be better off serving in the Black Brigade. Suddenly his life had found a meaning —now he would fight to liberate his fellow Black people. He was still unsure if the British or the colonists would be first to grant liberation to all indentured servants. Yet he was willing to sacrifice his life if it meant that full abolishment of slavery would come.
Mrs. Ramsey, the house keeper, usually so stoic —struggled to maintain her calm disposition. While she sighed, Edward nodded in encouragement and still had his right arm around Joe's.
She struggled to conceal her emotions and her tears. Her voice cracked at her first attempt.
"Joe, I think I must commend for your willingness to surrender your life."
He felt melancholic as he sensed that this would be the last time he ever was at the Ferrars Iron Nest.
He sighed and gave a relieved smile. "It seems proper." Joe nodded in silence as he overlooked the three people.
"If I were you, I would be sure to join the Loyalists since it seems more likely that the British eventually will outlaw slavery." Mrs. Ramsey discreetly blew her nose in her handkerchief.
He stopped chewing on the straw and wrinkled his forehead as if he was thinking hard.
"Personally, I'm not yet convinced. But if you say that you believe the British will grant all indentured workers freedom, then how am I to disagree?"
The younger son prepared to place his arms around Joe's shoulders, while eyeing his older brother seeking his approval and nodded slowly as he turned and looked back at the rows of little houses.
"You truly are a hero, Joe, and I'm certain you would be a nice addition to any regiment in the British army."
It had been slightly improper to continue housing Joe in the same buildings as the indentured servants. But Joe had not complained — he had insisted. He didn't want to part with the likes of them even if he now was a free Black man.
The younger man suddenly stopped as he felt embarrassed and placed his hands behind his back.
Lifting of his hat Joe whispered, "You flatter me, Robert."
Even though Robert was the second son, his parents still expected both sons to share the same opinions and manners as was expected of a British loyalist. Still it had not stopped Robert; he was one of the first to volunteer his services for the Sons of Liberty. Did he regret his involvement in the Intolerable Acts? To be honest, he did not regret it. He felt proud that he had been a part of an event that was certain to influence the politics of the British. Never before had he so openly defied his parents or his family.
He wondered what would happen once his parents discovered that their son had been responsible for the Dumping of the Tea. He assumed the consequences for his alliance with the Sons of Liberty would not be as harsh for him as if it had been his older brother. Robert did not depend on his parents for his livelihood nor future.
Robert remembered what his brother said to him when it was his twentieth birthday:
"My dear brother, I confess I envy you. Our parents do not seem to expect as much from you as they apparently do from my person. If you were a future member of the Sons of Liberty, I am convinced our parents may not punish you. After all, dear Robert, since you are three years younger than I am you will not inherit Father."
Robert saw Joe as his equal, like a dear friend or almost as a brother. He wanted Joe to know just how much he cared for him.
The older brother shook his head to let his brother know that such a term of endearment would have been improper.
Curiously Edward asked: "Joe, have you considered what you will be doing if the British abolish slavery?"
Joe turned his head as he heard the oldest son address him. He ran his hand through his hair before placing the hat back. "I haven't really thought about it, sir. I suppose I would want to settle down and start a family. But first of all, I need a wife."
He was surprised to hear the words that now came out of his mouth. Before his liberation, he was content with his life even if it had become somewhat routine.
Mrs. Ramsey nodded towards the oldest son.
"Edward, remember who you are. You are Ferrars after all! Be proud of your British heritage and honor it by showing loyalty to the English Crown! When you eventually will marry, your future wife must be a daughter to another Loyalist. You may think a pleasing countenance is all that matters for a wife; if so then please revise your opinion, dear Edward! No, on the contrary my son what really matters is that the future Mrs. Ferrars has respectable dowry, perhaps with estate or property attached to it. Her reputation must be flawless and she should have the wealth and social standing to demand respect. Do not place to much importance on love: think instead of if the woman would be able to maintain a household and if her manners indicate if she would be a suitable mother to your sons."
Edward grew up knowing of what his parents and his sister expected of him. His parent's words were the first thing he remembered when he woke up and the last thing he thought off when he went to sleep. His parents had raised him well. That meant that he should not associate himself with the help at least that was highly inappropriate behavior that Mrs. Ferrars and her daughter did not support at all. Yet Edward did not consider Joe to be part of the help instead, he was always courteous towards any of the indentured workers.
"Please take my advice, Joe, the woman you decide to marry must have finished her indenturement, or else your future children might be born into servitude." The housekeeper said, with teary eyes and a thick voice.
He nodded towards Mrs .Ramsey and delivered a genuine smile." That is very good advice. I'll be certain to remember that."
Suddenly Robert asked as if he was in a hurry: "But, Joe, where exactly will you go?"
He wrinkled his forehead and thought for a moment."I suppose I should try to get to Boston Massachusetts, or as close as I could get."
Since the Boston Massacre and the Boston Tea Party both had occurred there, Joe thought it was wise to try to get to Boston.
Sighing and shrugging her shoulders looked into Joe's dark eyes, Mrs. Ramsey spoke." Please be careful, Joe. Even if it is for a noble cause."
She was the first that had begun waving her farewell to Joe. Besides the eldest Ferrars son, none of the Ferrars family members were willing to bid farewell to one of their most loyal servants.
With shiny eyes and tears the older man's voice cracked.
"We will miss you terribly, Joe."
Edward began waving towards Joe who now was turning away from the farm. Joe turned back smiled and begun waving as well? Edward had tried to persuade his parents to bid farewell to Joe,but Mr. Ferrars and his wife were both proud and of the opinion that servants should know their place. Liberation didn't improve an indentured servant's social class.
Robert, always looked forward to the days when his only brother was at home and was eager to join his elder brother. Like Edward, Robert had been very fond of Joe and it was likely they would been closer if Mr. and Mrs. Ferrars hadn't intervened.
The proud parents refused to step outside. Joe was not a guest or relative to them. Mr Ferrars wasn't proud of the fact that his eldest son was so friendly with the help and his younger brother seemed to be the same. Mr. Ferrars sighed when Mrs. Ferrars asked for their sons' whereabouts, knowing perfectly well where the two of them would be.
Mrs. Ferrars might not want to bid farewell to Joe, but that didn't mean she didn't want to know what her two sons were up to. She had been silently peaking behind the curtain in her room.
As soon as Joe has left, I shall see to it that Robert does not continue in his brother's path. Or else I'll disown the both of them, Mrs. Ferrars thought.
Joe's last memory of The Ferrars Iron Nest Farm, was the picture of the crying housekeeper, and the sons standing in the yard surrounded by hawthorns, American larch, and red maples. He made no hurry going down the slope and the gravel road that would take him away from the farm.
A few days later, over two hundred miles further to the south, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and at his Norland Park estate, Fanny's father-in-law Henry was both preoccupied with daily chores and worried about the future of his family second family. The trees on Norland Plantation were black cherry, black birch, beech, maple, oak, ash and hemlock that grew exclusively near water.
If the stake was high for the second Ferrars son, the stake for John Dashwood may have been even higher, for he, being the only son, to a fence-sitter.
Henry Dashwood thought of himself as a very privileged man, married twice he had a son and from his current marriage three young daughters. Their eldest, Elinor despite having had her first assembly— three years ago, she was still waiting for her first promise of marriage. In time, Henry knew Elinor would be a married woman.
She was the least of his worries.
Exchanging a look of love and respect, Elinor said, "Father, I hope the wrinkles in your face nor your grey hairs is a testament that I caused you to worry."
The man sighed and shrugged his shoulders, "How could I not dear Elinor? Your first assembly and cotillion was three years ago now."
"I am certain I will not end up a spinster. Hopefully a gracious man will make an offer for my hand eventually." Elinor began smoothing her father's wrinkled hand.
The less he worried for his eldest, the more he worried for the other two, especially his second: Marianne. She was naive and curious, and of his three daughters she was considered the most handsome. Unless the situation with the British improved or was resolved, he worried that if war broke out, Marianne would become his constant worry.
"I hope I will be able to find myself a beau!" sighed Marianne and looked longingly into room. "Of course, I would not want to marry until Elinor has done the same."
Her sister reprimanded and shrug her shoulders, "Marianne, if you think people marry out of love I am afraid you are mistaken."
"Mama, surely Elinor must be wrong? You married father out of love is it not so?" Concerned the second daughter lowered her voice.
"Unfortunately, Marianne, Elinor is right. I did not love your father before I married him. "Her mother sighed dejectedly.
As the family gathered for supper, and a few hours later Henry and his wife resumed their serious discussion about their daughter Marianne. The sun had begun to set and it was dark, the vague light from the fire place was the only light in the dining room apart from the lit candles in the candelabras on the table.
"Annie dear, I think we better send Marianne on her first assembly soon. "Perhaps she could go with Elinor, "he cleared his voice, before he looked straight at his wife behind the corner of his spectacles.
"Henry darling, I was just thinking the same."Mrs. Dashwood smiled and gave a sigh of relief.
"I'd prefer to see her married too with a short engagement if need be,"he said, with a strict authoritative voice.
In a more uplifting tone of voice, Mrs. Dashwood returned her husband's look.
"It's rather unconventional to let your second marry before your firstborn, but I think it's the best considering the current situation."
"I'm hoping that I'd still be around in time for our youngest first cotillion, too," Henry took a sip of wine.
"My one and constant worry will always be our beloved, Marianne. Margaret still has time to improve her character." Mrs. Dashwood began stirring in her soup.
Henry was hoping that a marriage between one of his daughters and a wealthy plantation or factory owner would be very beneficial for Norland. Thanks to his young wife, Norland had been able to start producing staves and headings made of pine. The pine in turn was sent from Georgia and the Palmer's big pine plantation.
At first, he had been indecisive about what direction Norland should take all those years ago when his first wife passed— As Norland had been one of the largest tobacco plantations in not only Philadelphia but the entire New England the start, he had considered sugar, rice, and even cotton—since he was a progressive man that always took good care of his indentured workers. He thought it was wise to start producing something that could be produced on a task run basis. It would be better for his workforce even if the profit would decrease. He had thirty field hands employed equally between his fishing and his horses, and of the remaining twenty-five, fifteen were house workers, while the last ten were skilled laborers that he sometimes rented out for an extra income.
As the first Dashwood to choose to settle down in Pennsylvania, he thought it was an insult for the colonists to have to pay taxes the British —high taxes at that too. He was proud to be a British man, but he ultimately wanted what would be in the best interest of his second wife and three young daughters.
Of course he'd like to see at least one of his daughters married to a British gentleman.
Fortunately for Henry, Sir John Middleton and Mr. Pratt were all proud supports of the English cause. Henry was indecisive about what would be the right party to side with: the Loyalists or the Patriots. He saw benefits of siding with either party, but he hoped he wouldn't have to be forced to choose a side.
John —his only son—was as indecisive as himself, and it was widely known within New England that the Ferrars family from New York was one of the oldest British families that were supporters of the British king. Several years ago, his only son had decided to marry only on a whim and out of love.
Henry was no longer sure of his son's opinion in the heated conflict. His son's connection to British loyalists might turn into something of an obstacle—as he now was trying to form new lasting alliances between the Dashwood's and other mighty plantation owners. The Ferrars actually ran a larger farm that cultivated corn, wheat and barley. They even had a distinguished workforce of one hundred indentured workers on their farm.
The Norland Plantation had employed a modest crowd for over twenty years. Since they no longer cultivated their own pine, there was only enough work to keep fifteen field hands employed. The other ten were house workers, and the last five worked were they were needed. But those were the ones who were also able to develop into skilled workers. Out of the entire plantation owner, Henry Dashwood's reputation had been tarnished when he decided to marry his second wife.
He lost what little he had left on his reputation when he decided to end the established tobacco cultivation in exchange for pine-produced products. He would have been one of the first to liberate his field hands if his older son had not interfered. Of course he was only able to free the slaves that were in his own possession and not given to him in his marriage from either of his wives. As for the indentured workers, he had released them as soon as their contracts expired.
Meanwhile, John Langdon had made his way through Portsmouth accompanied by a drummer. They had gathered a crowd to climb on top and claim the fort. Several hundred men had bravely without hesitation answered to his call, setting out for the Castle passing through the Piscataqua River. One of the five soldiers was Mr. Willoughby.
Captain John Cochran was the provincial leader as well as the only captain. With him, five provincial soldiers were stationed at Fort William and was a very small crowd of merely six courageous soldiers that bravely had decided to defend the fort. Despite the odds against them, they had stubbornly refused to surrender to the Patriots. John Sullivan, leader of the rebels had returned to the fort late on the night of December 15. Cleverly, without any sign of resistance, the men overran the post without gunfire and managed to removed muskets, military supplies, and over ten cannons, all property of the King.
Four months before his more famous ride in Massachusetts, Paul Revere rode to Portsmouth to sound the alarm. Willoughby would soon join the fight, but only when it came to New Jersey and his modest farm Combe Magna. Willoughby had arrived back in Boston undisguised as he was there to help try to establish the Sons of Liberty in Boston.
Besides returning back to Boston, to help recruit more people to the infamous opposition, Willoughby had another —more private— reason for his visit in Boston. Almost a year ago, when he arrived to carry out the Dumping of the Tea, he had noticed a very dashing girl from out of the corner of his eyes corner of his eyes. He first laid eyes on her near the Powder House Square.
The young girl was exuberant, and Willoughby could not help but notice her captivatingly deep, dark eyes, her shiny dark curls, her dimples and her gullible smile. As soon as Willoughby laid eyes on her, he knew he had to know exactly who the young girl was. He admitted to himself that he was smitten by her without even knowing who she was or if it was socially acceptable to pursue someone like her. Willoughby thought she reminded him of someone that he knew and lost three years ago. Not in her appearance by any means—but by her youthfulness and joy.
"Isn't it audacious that such beauty can be found in a free mulatto woman? No wonder Mr. Brandon chose to liberate her after her poor mother passed while giving birth to her," Mr. Palmer whispered in Willoughby's ear as he noticed how Willoughby reacted to the young girl. Mr. Brandon from Massachusetts had a salt plantation and his indentured workers presently were one hundred. Many of them were employed to either run his salt plantation— the remaining was engaged in fishing or to run his modest farm.
Mr. Palmer was a proud citizen of Savannah, Georgia and happened to be in Boston on the very same day as Mr . Willoughby. As the owner of the moderate pine plantation Cleveland, his produce was always in high demand.
"Oh, that's a shame—if you had not told me of the girl's social standing, I would not have known." He sighed, touching his forehead and he replied thoughtfully.
Even though he discovered that her social standing meant he shouldn't associate with her, since Eliza—as the girl was named—was below his class, he still couldn't help himself—his desire for her was too deep, he had not loved anyone after the loss of his first love. Besides, he was in Boston now, so nobody would know of any moral misconduct that he might be guilty of. Willoughby had finally made up his mind he was going to pursue Eliza discreetly while he was in Boston.
