Elizabeth was woken by the sound of voices. George and Birmington were commenting on the morning service. She got up and went to join them. Trying her luck, pretending she’d forgotten the Sunday law, she asked: “Reverend, who lived on the island before the planters arrived?” “Child, that is not a subject to be discussed on a Sunday. However, this time I will make an exception,” he answered rather sternly. “These islands were abandoned for years,” he went on. “Because of their strategic location the only ones who frequented them were pirates, until Hoag and the Goldens decided, after arriving at Providence, to settle here because it was less populated. Then Chapman came, and last of all, Bennet. We are the ones who have been able to stand the hard life here the longest.” “Do they know about the freeing of the slaves?” “Who?” inquired Birmington. “The slaves or their masters? Their masters, yes. The slaves? Well, one never knows. They have the fortuitous capacity to curb their feelings and deny their understanding.” “I agree they are fortunate,” put in George. “They’re on an island where they are the majority, and to avoid any mass uprising, their masters have had to slacken the chain. Freedom would be useless though if it were not protected, fulfilled, and respected by the masters. More importantly, freedom even without land to work is preferable to the ignominy of slavery.” “Say what you will George,” interrupted Birmington. “Slavery on the mainland has been abolished and it will happen here too. The bell of freedom will toll and everything else will come with it.” “I worry a lot about how they’ll cope with that freedom, pa Joe. They’re just human remains with no strength to fight, in a world that will continue to look down on them. Slaves to customs that are not their own, with no pride in themselves, their race, or their traditions.” No g i v e u p, m a a n !
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