New York - The Novel

The prow swung round toward the eastern bank.
    Stuyvesant was still watching. He saw, and understood. And now his voice came up the stream in a great cry.
    “Traitor!” The word reached van Dyck like a clap of thunder. And for all he knew, it went echoing up the great river, all the way to its origins in the distant north. “Traitor.”
    He gazed toward the governor’s boat, but he did not alter his course. It was a parting of the ways, and they both knew it, as the great river swept Stuyvesant southward in its mighty current, and he, free for a moment at least, turned back to give the shining dollar to his daughter.

New York
    M Y NAME IS Quash, which signifies that I was born on a Sunday. For I have learned that in Africa, from where my people come, a child is often named for the day on which it is born. In Africa, I have been told, my name would be Kwasi. If I had been born on a Friday, it would be Kofi, which in English is Cuffe. Monday’s child is Kojo, which in English they say Cudjo; and there are other similar names.
    I believe I was born around the year of Our Lord 1650. My father and my mother were both sold out of Africa as slaves, to work in the Barbadoes. When I was about five years old, my mother and I were taken from my father to be sold again. In the market, my mother and I were separated. From that moment, I have never known what became of her; but I was bought by a Dutch sea captain; and this was fortunate for me, because the Dutch captain brought me to New Amsterdam, as it was then called; whereas if I had remained where I was, it is not likely I should be alive today. In New Amsterdam, the Dutch captain sold me, and I became the property of Meinheer Dirk van Dyck. I was then about six years old. My father I do not remember at all, and my mother only slightly; they are certainly long since dead.
    From an early age, I always had the dream that I might one day be free.
    I came by this notion on account of an old black man I met when I was aged eight years old or nine. At this time there were in the province of New Netherland only maybe six hundred slaves, half of them in the city. Some were owned by families, others by the Dutch West India Company.And one day in the market I saw an old black man. He was sitting in a cart, wearing a big straw hat, and he was smiling and looking pleased with himself. So I went up to him, being somewhat forward at that age, and said: “You look happy, Old Man. Who is your master?” And he said: “I have no master. I am free.” And then he explained to me how it was.
    For the Dutch West India Company, having brought in parcels of slaves some years before, and used them in many public works such as building up the fort, paving streets, and suchlike, had given land to some of those who had worked longest and best, and worshipped at their Church, and upon certain further conditions of service had made them free. They were termed freedmen. I asked him if there were many such people.
    “No,” he told me, “just a few.” Some lived a little way above the wall, others further up the island on the east side, and some more across the north river, in the area they call Pavonia. I could see small hope of such a thing for myself, but it seemed to me a fine thing that a man should be free.
    I was fortunate, however, to be in a kindly household. Meinheer van Dyck was a vigorous man who liked to trade and go upriver. His wife was a large, handsome lady. She was strong for the Dutch Reformed Church and the dominies and Governor Stuyvesant. She had a low opinion of the Indians, and was never happy when her husband was away among them.
    When I first arrived in that house, there was a cook, and an indentured servant called Anna. They had paid for her to cross the ocean, in return for which she was to give them seven years of work, after which time they were to give her a certain sum of money, and her freedom. I was the only slave.
    Meinheer van Dyck and his wife were always mindful of their family. If they ever had angry words, we seldom saw it, and their greatest delight was to have their family all around them. As I was working in the house, I was often with their children, and because of that I came to speak the Dutch language almost as they did.
    Their son Jan and I were about the same age. He was a handsome boy with a mop of brown hair. He looked like his father, but he was more heavily built, which he took from his mother, I think. When we were young, we often played