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Authors: Linda Spalding
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Amelia,” her father answered sadly.
“Old as time? That isn’t scientific.”
“Child, slavery was known to the ancient Hebrews and is spoken of in the Bible. In Rome, there were house slaves and farm slaves. Virgil writes of them living in Mantua.”
“Simus is not Roman, though. And we are abolitioners.”
“Simus is safe here with us, I can promise you.” Daniel stared at his daughter, who was sitting cross-legged on the ground by the fire. “Although a Quaker does not make a vow,” he admitted with a sly smile. “Does he?” Over them an array of stars shone so brightly that the embers on the ground hardly counted for light as Mary pushed the needle in and out of her torn hem. Daniel stretched his legs. “I doubt that Simus knows the name of his ancestral home and he will surely never see it again so we must take care of him.”
Mary said, “That’s what I was trying to do,” but she said it under her breath. She thought of her lessons at school in Pennsylvania.
Who inhabit Western Africa?
Answer:
Numerous Negro Tribes in a barbarous condition
. She said, “But who brought him here?”
Daniel remembered suddenly that the slaves in Virgil’s province had been interred in rich tombs. He said, “I did. And before me, it was someone who sails to Africa to trade goods for men. As you learned in school last year. About the Indians and how they couldn’t do useful things for the colonists, remember? So then Africans were brought to Virginia to raise things like tobacco and rice. We cannot farm without labour. And we must farm to survive.”
“Although we never did before.”
Daniel took off his hat and scratched his neck. He ran his hand over his chin and decided it was time for another shave. He was getting careless. And his daughter was showing quick intelligence. “Ah, Mary …” The boys were young enough that they didn’t wonder at things or question him. They were sorry Simus had hurt his leg. They mentioned him now and then, but they did not go into the timber lot, which was dreary and dark.
“Thee should give up thy Quaker hat,” said Mary, “if thee is no longer an abolishoner.”
“Abolishonist. And I will give up my hat when I can afford a better.”
“Like violinist. Like gardenist. When you can afford a better hat, you will buy back Miss Patch, who you traded for Simus.” Mary bit off the thread and inserted the needle in her apron at the shoulder, where she could be sure to find it. She wished she could say goodnight to her new friend, who would be frightened down there in the timber lot lying on his back with his leg wrapped in straps and clay so that he couldn’t move. He had such a fear of snakes. He said he dreamed of vipers that wore masks. Mary said she would tell him the story of Aeneas so that he would feel brave, although her father wouldn’t let her take the book outside for it was delicate. She would read a chapter every morning and then retell it while Simus lay in the shelter Daniel had built by hauling a bundle of house logs down to him in the wagon cover and arranging them back and forth using nails, which she had not had when she built the first shelter. Nor had she had the canvas to use as a roof, weighed down with rocks. And she was only trying to be kind or what her father would call compassionate when he remembered what mattered in this world.
At the door of the lean-to, Mary turned and looked at him. She watched him take back the fire and stretch out in its warmth, but even as she watched, she was thinking of Simus, whose shelter sat so crookedly in the distance, a dark shape in the dark.
Dear Taylor Corbett, Sincer thanks for the letter carried here by a person with a wagon loded full to the sky but I think ours looked as strange as that and the letter now I keep under my pillow to warm me at night. Can it be my school is performing Shakespear while here I only teach my pupil to read. He fell and broke his hole leg. It was terrible to watch his awful
“Old as time? That isn’t scientific.”
“Child, slavery was known to the ancient Hebrews and is spoken of in the Bible. In Rome, there were house slaves and farm slaves. Virgil writes of them living in Mantua.”
“Simus is not Roman, though. And we are abolitioners.”
“Simus is safe here with us, I can promise you.” Daniel stared at his daughter, who was sitting cross-legged on the ground by the fire. “Although a Quaker does not make a vow,” he admitted with a sly smile. “Does he?” Over them an array of stars shone so brightly that the embers on the ground hardly counted for light as Mary pushed the needle in and out of her torn hem. Daniel stretched his legs. “I doubt that Simus knows the name of his ancestral home and he will surely never see it again so we must take care of him.”
Mary said, “That’s what I was trying to do,” but she said it under her breath. She thought of her lessons at school in Pennsylvania.
Who inhabit Western Africa?
Answer:
Numerous Negro Tribes in a barbarous condition
. She said, “But who brought him here?”
Daniel remembered suddenly that the slaves in Virgil’s province had been interred in rich tombs. He said, “I did. And before me, it was someone who sails to Africa to trade goods for men. As you learned in school last year. About the Indians and how they couldn’t do useful things for the colonists, remember? So then Africans were brought to Virginia to raise things like tobacco and rice. We cannot farm without labour. And we must farm to survive.”
“Although we never did before.”
Daniel took off his hat and scratched his neck. He ran his hand over his chin and decided it was time for another shave. He was getting careless. And his daughter was showing quick intelligence. “Ah, Mary …” The boys were young enough that they didn’t wonder at things or question him. They were sorry Simus had hurt his leg. They mentioned him now and then, but they did not go into the timber lot, which was dreary and dark.
“Thee should give up thy Quaker hat,” said Mary, “if thee is no longer an abolishoner.”
“Abolishonist. And I will give up my hat when I can afford a better.”
“Like violinist. Like gardenist. When you can afford a better hat, you will buy back Miss Patch, who you traded for Simus.” Mary bit off the thread and inserted the needle in her apron at the shoulder, where she could be sure to find it. She wished she could say goodnight to her new friend, who would be frightened down there in the timber lot lying on his back with his leg wrapped in straps and clay so that he couldn’t move. He had such a fear of snakes. He said he dreamed of vipers that wore masks. Mary said she would tell him the story of Aeneas so that he would feel brave, although her father wouldn’t let her take the book outside for it was delicate. She would read a chapter every morning and then retell it while Simus lay in the shelter Daniel had built by hauling a bundle of house logs down to him in the wagon cover and arranging them back and forth using nails, which she had not had when she built the first shelter. Nor had she had the canvas to use as a roof, weighed down with rocks. And she was only trying to be kind or what her father would call compassionate when he remembered what mattered in this world.
At the door of the lean-to, Mary turned and looked at him. She watched him take back the fire and stretch out in its warmth, but even as she watched, she was thinking of Simus, whose shelter sat so crookedly in the distance, a dark shape in the dark.
Dear Taylor Corbett, Sincer thanks for the letter carried here by a person with a wagon loded full to the sky but I think ours looked as strange as that and the letter now I keep under my pillow to warm me at night. Can it be my school is performing Shakespear while here I only teach my pupil to read. He fell and broke his hole leg. It was terrible to watch his awful
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