Submit: Chapter 15

"I’d say we’re almost like friends."

Within a few days, William Grant greets Ebenezer Partridge outside Grant Hall.

“A perfect day for riding,” he says. “Looks like you found your way without any problem.”

“Your directions were exact, sir. No problem at all.”

“I thought we would head to the fishery first then finish with the mill. How does that suit you?”

“Quite well, sir.”

William puffs out his cheeks and nods. He ponders whether he should let it go or say something. “Let’s get past the formalities, Ebenezer. I’d prefer you called me William. No need for sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

William scowls.

“Sorry. The habit is hard to break,” Ebenezer says. Both men laugh, then ride down the hill from Grant Hall. Ebenezer asks about the history of his businesses in Guysborough.

William says, “I got started with the fishery first, soon after I settled here after the War. The sawmill came a few years later. I had no background in farming, but I learned logistics serving in the Regiment. How to marshal supplies for the troops. How to organize men.”

“I can imagine that was good training.”

“The best. We secured supplies from Canada during the War. So I knew a bit about the resources available here, especially salted cod and lumber.

“I joined with some of the others who arrived when I did to petition for the license to run a fishery. None of us knew much about the business of fishing, but we had good help and learned quickly. Eventually, I bought them out. I relied on my servant, George, whom you’ll meet shortly. He’s been with me since I was stationed in Philadelphia. He’s a good man. I trust him to manage the daily operations of both businesses.”

They crest a hillock revealing a view of the estuary. “You can see the fishery over there.” Grant points to the southeast at a collection of frame buildings on a spit of land jutting into the bay.

“It’s called Helpman’s Island, though it isn’t actually an island unless the tide is quite high.”

In the distance, the riders can see three ships docked near the buildings. Several men unloading wooden barrels.

“I’ll let George fill you in on the operations. We’ll take this path down to the harbor.”

When they reach the bottom of the hill, William calls over a black man to join them.

“Hello, George. How are things going today.”

“We’re doing well, Captain. Busy. Ready to salt and pack.”

“This is the man I told you about. Can you give us a tour of the operations?”

George reaches up to Ebenezer to shake hands. “Glad to,” he says. "You know much about fish, Mr. Partridge?”

“I’ve had a pole and flung a line in the Berkshire rivers. Nothing more than that.”

“Catch anything?”

“A trout or two. Not much.”

“No trout here. We focus on cod caught by line from dories or in beach seines. Care to see how it works?”

“Of course. Ready and eager.”

William and Ebenezer tie their horses to posts near the main building. George leads them over to the docks.

“This is the stage where the boat crews unload the daily catch.”

Ebenezer watches men dump barrels of fish on the docks. Other men cut them open, pull out the entrails, rinse the carcasses clean in sea water, and then stack the cleaned fish on wood trays.

“The cleaning process goes on most of the morning when there’s a good haul. We’re a bit on the light side today so we’ll finish this step in an hour or so.”

“Why is it a light day?” William asks.

George shrugs. “You never know what to expect. I figure the storms on the horizon pushed fish deep, but I don’t know exactly. If that’s so, things will pick up. Nothing to worry about.”

“I’ve heard talk in Halifax that these waters are fished out,” Ebenezer says. “Might that be why?”

“I don’t know about that. Seems to change by the day. Time will tell, I suppose.”

The Captain says, “Show us the drying process, George.”

George leads them away from the stage to some rows of open tables. “These are the flakes where we salt and dry the fish. We use a hard cure so the fish will stand up to export to England or ports in the Caribbean.”

“How long do the cured fish last?” Ebenezer asks.

“Can be months, both in the warehouse and onboard the ships. The steps are simple. The salt draws out the moisture. Air drying leaves them hard as boards. Then they’re loaded into barrels until shipment.”

George leads them inside the largest of the frame buildings. Rows of large barrels fill the room. Straw covers the floor.

“This is where we keep the salted cod until it’s time for shipment. The straw soaks up any remaining moisture. You’ll notice the large open doors at both ends. They help circulate the air, which helps keep the fish dry.”

“I take it that’s critical, keeping them dry.”

“Moisture is our biggest enemy. Soggy cod goes bad real quick. No smell worse than that.”

“Have methods changed during the time you’ve been here?”

“We’ve moved away from line fishing to beach nets. That brings in a much bigger haul.”

“Well, it’s all very impressive. Anything else I should know?”

“Nothing comes to mind.”

“I’d like Ebenezer to see the mill, too,” Captain Grant says. “Can you take some time and ride over there with him?”

“I’d be glad to.”

William turns to Ebenezer. “You don’t mind, do you? I have some work to attend to in town. After you finish, we can meet for lunch at Foster’s Tavern.”

George and Ebenezer ride back to the mainland, then head north. Ebenezer asks about the labor employed by the Captain.

“Well, that’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

“It goes back a long way, to when we first came here from New York in 1783. We were part of a large evacuation from Manhattan. Local loyalists and soldiers. Black slaves from the south freed by the British for their service to the Crown during the War."

George waves his arm toward the town.

"A group of soldiers received land grants here. And about two hundred or so black men and women came here too as part of the Evacuation."

Ebenezer looks back to the buildings they had visited. George continues.

“When the Captain started the fishery, we employed freed black slaves. They were a big help at the fishery, until news of the new black colony in Sierra Leone came to Guysborough. Many of the blacks who settled here were fed up with cold winters, poor housing, poverty, disrespect. They were free, but wasn’t this nearly as bad as slavery? At least that’s how some thought."

George shook his head.

"That feeling spread throughout the community. Even among those working at the mill and the fishery. Although their lot was much better than most. They were ripe pickings when David George and John Clarkson came through. Reverend George stirred souls with the Bible. And Mr. Clarkson, an abolitionist, offered farmland and warm weather and good jobs. He said they were creating a new black paradise on the coast of Africa. Many left then, and we were pretty shorthanded for a while.”

“Were you tempted to leave too?”

“Maybe tempted. Who wouldn’t be? The promise of sunny days on a warm beach. Unfettered and alive. One hand waving free, the other holding the hand of a lovely lady as we dance with soft sand between our toes. They painted a pretty picture indeed.”

They reach a fork in the path. George leads them toward the sawmill and continues his story.

“We stayed, Lily and me. I guess that’s obvious. Our situation was better than most blacks. Because of our connection with Grant. We had comfortable lives in Nova Scotia, unlike most of the other blacks. Still if I was tempted, Lily wasn’t, so we stayed behind.”

“And that left you shorthanded?”

“For a time, yes. But then we had another wave of immigration by the Black Maroons from Jamaica to Halifax in 1796. Some of them ended up here and worked with us for a time. But they too shipped out to Sierra Leone after a few years. It seems there was a rebellion there by the first wave of Nova Scotia settlers. So, the Maroons came in to put down the rebels.

“After the Maroons left, we brought on more men to keep up. Some freed black men from the Southern colonies who stayed here. Some young locals like Abijah Scott, a young boy still in school, whose family came to Nova Scotia before the War. And some of the local Mic’maq, when they’re willing to leave the forests. It’s quite a mix.”

“Is it hard to find men?”

“Not too hard. Captain pays a good wage, so we’ve grown to one of the biggest fisheries—maybe the biggest—east of Halifax.”

---

William reads the Halifax Gazette at a back table in the tavern dining room. Ebenezer arrives. William waves him over.

“I imagine you’d welcome a tankard.”

“I would.”

Ebenezer takes a seat at the table and a waiter approaches.

Grant points to his drink. “Make that two.”

“How was the tour?” William asks.

“I quite enjoyed it. We had a nice ride, lovely setting, learned lots.”

“He’s a good man.”

“He thinks quite highly of you.”

“He would say that, whether true or not.”

“I found him quite sincere. I take it you’ve been together a long time. How did you meet?”

“We met in Philadelphia during the War. I was ready to marry my first wife, Martha, and thought I needed a manservant. Many of the officers traveled with one, a privilege of rank. My inquires among them led me to George.”

“How old was he?”

“Not yet twenty, but he spoke well, knew how to read, we got along well.”

“Was he a former slave?”

“Heavens no. A freeman, born free. His family was from Africa, but never enslaved, and neither was he. His parents owned a music school, of all things. Taught the children of well-off Quakers to play piano, sing, read music, things like that. They also performed, as did George. He’s quite good on the horn. But he was restless.”

“None of that sounds like qualifications for a manservant.”

“You’re right. Truth is, he knew nothing useful at the time, but I liked him and gave him a chance. He rose to the task. I brought him along to New York when we stationed there. And then when we evacuated."

“How did he get along with former slaves?”

“Very well, though there was some tension when we got to Nova Scotia.”

“How so?”

“He worked for me on salary, and I set him up with a house in town. Most of his kind who came over had no jobs when they arrived here, and no one to be their patron. They had to get by on their own, which was hard for many, too hard.”

“What happened?”

“A combination of things—lack of paid work, tough farming conditions, demeaning treatment, harsh weather—all those things up against tales of a better life in Sierra Leone. The Evacuation ships from New York arrived here with over two hundred freed slaves. Within ten years, only half or less were still here.

“But he stayed.”

Grant nods and takes another swallow of ale.

“He says he owes you a great deal,” Ebenezer says.

“I’m glad he thinks so. But he has earned his pay and helps me tremendously. We’ve gone through a lot together. I’d say we’re almost like friends.”

---