The following is a sample
of the first couple of chapters of Jefferson’s Tears from Nordskog Publishing:
Prologue
STARS
& SCARS
With a crash the main
door of the house burst open as half a dozen or so very tall young men, armed
with weapons, rushed through the opening. They were yelling and screaming at
the house’s occupants: a nine-year-old boy, and a twenty-one-year-old female and
her two little children. It was as if a tropical storm had entered the room.
Things were being tossed around, including the room’s innocent occupants. The
tall men started slapping, punching, and kicking the pair as the young woman
tried to protect her children. She became their main focus of attention. The
young boy saw another man, an older man, slowly appear through the same
entrance, the doorway that he had been considering escaping through. At first
he was silhouetted; then, as he slowly walked into the room, the boy could see
that he was dressed in mismatched army fatigues. One of his front teeth was
broken. In a scary voice he yelled, “I’m looking for government officials to
kill! Those dogs are eating up all our country’s money!”
The boy saw him wave his
gun and that he had angry eyes. Next, via another door, another man appeared in
the room, and behind him came yet another man. They were wondering what all the
fuss was about. Unfortunately, these two were Liberian government officials.
The first government official began speaking in a startled voice to the older
man with the broken front tooth, “I know you. You worked in our office!” “Yeah,
and you got me fired from that office. I lost my job all because of you!” The
older man in the mismatched fatigues pointed his gun straight at the man. “But
I caught you stealing a document, a classified document from the office,” added
the government official, as his wide eyes looked down the barrel of the
intruder’s gun. This time his voice sounded squeaky. “It was only a piece of
paper! You got me fired over a miserable piece of paper. And for that it’s now
time for me to take my revenge!” The terrified nine-year-old closely watched
the scene as it developed. His scared eyes looked at each of the tall, dark
figures in the room. He wondered what was going to happen next. The government
official with the gun pointing at him was shaking. Realizing what was about to
happen, he said, “Please don’t kill the children! Take my life, but please leave
the children and my brother out of this.” The older man spat out his reply
through his broken tooth, “Don’t worry. I will make you suffer the way you made
me suffer. I lost my job! But now I have a good job — which is to finish you off —
along with all those that hurt me in the past.”
Then the older rebel said
to the younger men in the room, “You boys, why don’t you have some fun with
her? While I watch.” Immediately, one of the young men began to rip at the
young woman’s clothing and then he lay on top of her on the floor. The others
were holding her down as she struggled and screamed. The boy watched the second
government official, the brother of the first, who had just appeared in the
room, try to help the girl. But before he could, the older man with the
mismatched army fatigues fired his weapon. The deafening shot echoed in the
nine-year-old’s head like a sonic boom. Then in the moment’s silence afterward,
he could hear his own heart beat as he watched, as if in slow motion, the man
who had been shot as he fell to the floor. He couldn’t make out the words he
was saying, but the callous shooter started yelling angrily, firing his weapon
a few more times into the man as he lay on the floor. There was blood. The boy
could hear himself inwardly screaming for help. Then outwardly. The men began
beating him and the girl some more. Then yet a different young man began to lay
himself on top of the young woman. She was screaming too. Screaming! As he
continued screaming for help he could see the first government official trying
to reach him. But, with his teeth gritted, the older man with the gun was
holding him back by his shirt. His would-be rescuer was thrown to the floor.
The older man hissed through his broken tooth, “Your brother is dead all
because he wanted to be a hero to save his daughter. And now you are doing the
same! Come over here, you dog.”
He watched helplessly as
the older man in the mismatched fatigues dragged the Liberian government
official across the floor, saying, “This dog is mine!” His younger cohorts were
too busy with the young woman to notice or to care. The nine-year-old took in
the chaotic scene. He stopped screaming and simply stood and trembled. His big,
dark, unblinking eyes were tear-filled. Then right in front of everyone, the
older man smiled, an evil broken-tooth smile, and calmly shot the man in the
head. The sound of the gunshot began to echo through eternity. There was more
blood. A great teardrop rolled down the boy’s face . . .
❦
Jefferson woke up with a
start. He was panting as if he had been running. His wife, Princess, had seen
her husband go through this before. “Was it the same nightmare as before,
Jeff?” She spoke with soft and sympathetic tones, partly because she didn’t
want to wake the children and partly to comfort her husband. It was Brisbane,
Queensland. And it was the middle of the night. The streetlights were giving
off a filtered glow through the curtains. “Yeah. I know it was just a bad
dream. But his face with that broken tooth still haunts me. I’m sorry, Babe. I
hope I wasn’t making too much noise. The kids?”
❦
Jefferson Williams Kollie
is not tall in stature. He’s about five foot six inches. However, what he lacks
in height he makes up for in physique. He could be a middleweight boxer. His
black skin ripples with well toned and sculpted muscles. His biceps suggest a
regular weightlifting regimen.
❦
In the dim light
Jefferson looked across the room. He could see his neatly pressed Australian
Army uniform, ready for the morning, hanging on the back of the slightly ajar
bedroom door. His dark eyes locked onto the little Australian flag depicted on
its shoulder patch. He studied it and could just make out the Southern Cross
star formation depicted thereon. He thought out loud, “I’m free now. We really
are in Australia.” He instinctively lifted and glanced at his phone that lay on
his bedside table. In its silvery glow, his wife could see beads of sweat
sparkling like stars in the night sky on his black forehead. “Princess, I need
to step outside for some fresh air.” “Take your time. I’ll check on the kids,”
she replied. “I love you.” “And I you,” she replied. Then she kissed him and
went to check on their children. It was 0200 on a clear and balmy night. The
summer weather in subtropical Queensland is not unlike that of Liberia.
Jefferson clicked the locking mechanism and quietly slid open the security
flyscreen door. He stepped outside. His big, dark, unblinking eyes were tear-filled.
The emotion he was feeling at that moment was one of thankfulness. Deep in
thought, he lifted his shiny dark eyes and looked to the star-clustered heavens
and searched for and found the Southern Cross formation. “Yeah, I’m free. No
more running. Thank God this is Australia, not Liberia. Thank You, Lord!” Just
then, a star shot across the night sky. Upon seeing this, a great teardrop
rolled down his face and splashed on the ground.
❦
Every human being has a
potent story to tell. Perhaps if Jefferson’s story were to be distilled and
then poured into a glass, the golden elixir could be called Resilience. What’s
resilience? Let’s call it spring-back-ability. Perhaps the old adage made
famous by a certain brand of watches best sums up resilience: “Takes a licking
and keeps on ticking.” What Jefferson has gone through in his life would make
an ordinary man or woman all bitter and twisted. However, like something made
of rubber after being run over by a steamroller, Jefferson just springs back to
life and gets on with it — with a smile. Jefferson’s story is a tale of
tears from a vale of tears, real salty tears. However, they have been wiped
away by the handkerchief of love, a woman’s love.
Chapter
1
LIBERTY
ON THE HORIZON
Somewhere in the Atlantic
Sunday, March 15, 1829
The wooden bow of Harriet gently splashed its way
through the calm salty brine toward West Africa’s coast, somewhere in the
far-off hazy distance. The ship of 160 souls, many of whom were presently
milling around on deck, had set sail from Virginia. The brig was making good
time on her way to Monrovia, Liberia.
“I hear that this is a special day for
you?” This was the commander of the ship, Captain Henry Peters, one of those
ageless types of men.
“‘This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will
rejoice and be glad in it,’” replied the young man whom the captain had
addressed.
Joseph Jenkins Roberts brushed his fingers through his grizzled
reddish-brown hair as he looked into the captain’s face, which suddenly had
become rather stern. Seeing that the captain had tilted his head as if to
register slight disdain, he quickly added, “However, sir, I do believe that it
is my birthday to which you allude, and not to the Lord’s Day?”
There were
others standing around on deck, both young and old. So, to make their
conversation more private, they turned and leaned on the ship’s rail and
instinctively looked towards the horizon. Yes, it was the Lord’s Day, the
Christian Sabbath, and it was as if even the sea itself were observing a day of
rest. The sky was blue and the turquoise ocean was calm.
“Sir, I turned twenty
today, and I make passage to Monrovia with my newly widowed mother to start a
new life, along with my wife and our newborn child. Of my two younger brothers,
one desires to become a Methodist priest, the other a physician. With God’s
blessing, I desire to honor Him in the mercantile business, through which I
seek to import and export goods to and from Monrovia, with the able assistance
of my partner-in-business who remains domiciled in Virginia for the time
being.”
“A merchant? Did someone, I forget who, not say, ‘Merchants have no
country’?” This the captain said hastily. He was a little taken aback. He had
not expected such an educated response from a Negro. He studied the features of
the young man a little more closely. Perhaps he was not a Negro. Though his
skin was olive-colored, he did look like he could pass as a white man, but then
again, maybe not. Intrigued, he decided to dig a little deeper.
“Are you travelling
to Monrovia under the sponsorship of the American Colonization Society?” He
adjusted his captain’s hat. He had removed it a few minutes prior, during the
Sunday morning worship service. There were still so many people crowding around
on deck.
Joseph Jenkins Roberts patted down his hair once more and he raised
himself to his full height of five foot six inches. Yes, a slight man, but his
diminutive stature was deflected by his handsome features and his poise.
Joseph
responded to the captain’s question with a smile, and in Southern intonations,
volunteered the following, “Yes, Captain, I am traveling under the auspices of
the American Colonization Society. As are most of your passengers, I’d wager.”
Then, becoming more impassioned, he went on to say, “We are thankful that,
through President Monroe, America was able to purchase that strip of land that
now bears his good name: Monrovia. In God’s Providence, the land has now,
according to my research, expanded into what during these last five years
people have been entitling, ‘Liberia,’ which, as you of course know, means
‘freedom,’ or better, ‘The Land of the Free’.”
Wishing to probe further into
the young man’s story, the captain tilted his hat back on his head, wiped with
a kerchief the moisture from his white forehead, and said, “By your accent I
would wager that you are Virginian. And by your erudition I would say that you
were university educated. Why then would you not wish to seek ‘Life, Liberty,
and the Pursuit of Happiness’ in America, rather than in some far-flung,
disease-infested, foreign swamp land?”
“Captain, sir, you misjudge me. Indeed,
I may have a ‘liberal education,’ as they call it. However, I first trained as
a flat-boatman on the James and Appomattox rivers, carrying goods. Thus, my
interest in being a merchant. And I have also worked as a barber in Petersburg,
on Union Street.” He patted his hair once more, laughed, and said, “But I never
learned to cut my own hair!
“Indeed, William Colson, now my business partner,
owned the store in which I worked as a barber. I am grateful to his erudition,
and to his vast library, for my ‘liberal education.’ The study of law,
including international law, now being my primary interest.”
Seeing he had a
captive audience in the captain, and that others were now straining their ears
to hear what this young man had to say, he continued, “My father has newly gone
off to Glory. As to my education, even were I university trained, which I am
not, though I have been mistaken on occasion for a white man, the color of my
skin would somewhat hinder me, and perhaps even preclude me, from seeking Life,
Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness in my home country. Captain, sir, you
have twice quoted Thomas Jefferson, first, with your ‘merchants have no
country’ comment, and secondly, let me add that though President Jefferson may
have written those Lockean words that you have just mentioned, he indeed also
has written: ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created
equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights,
that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. . . . ’ That
word ‘happiness’ was changed from the word ‘property’ in the original draft. I
oft wonder if it should have been left in the former. But the meaning is
essentially the same. It seems to me that both happiness and property are other
words for prosperity.”
He turned and faced the small gathering and continued, “Captain,
sir, may I continue?”
Captain Peters scanned
the audience, and seeing that all the pleading faces were in a mood to listen,
decided to indulge the young Roberts. “Yes, do carry on. We are all ears!”
Yes,
in a mood to listen, the group moved in closer to the orator.
Joseph took a
deep breath as he collected his thoughts. “As I was saying, the Declaration of
Independence goes on to say — let me see now, where was I? ‘Unalienable
Rights . . . and the pursuit of Happiness’ —
That to secure these Rights, Governments are instituted among Men,
deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, —
That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends,
it is the Right of the People to alter or abolish it, and to institute new
Government, laying its foundation . . . ”
As if they had not been paying
attention enough, the word “foundation” leapt out at them, causing the audience
to turn its collective ear even more in the direction of the orator. That word
had been in the text used by the preacher for the morning’s sermon, Psalm 11:3,
“If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?” Young Joseph was
about to build upon the preacher’s message. The boat gently swayed and its
timbers could be heard to creak gently as the crowd stood in silent
anticipation.
Joseph looked the crowd directly in the face, smiled, and then
continued, “To institute new Government, laying its foundation on such
principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely
to effect their Safety and Happiness.”
The young man stopped there, as the
crowd wondered if he had memorized the whole Declaration of Independence.
As if
reading the crowd’s mind, he continued, “Yes, I do have the whole of the Declaration
memorized! However, suffice for now, I humbly and mostly desire to bring to
your attention, if you would permit me, three main things.”
At that he looked
down at a young boy who had positioned himself to the front of the crowd in
order to see who was doing all the talking. “Young man, what is your name?”
The
boy, looking over his shoulder and up at all the many faces of the crowd,
cleared his throat and said, “James, sir. My name is James Spriggs Payne.” The
crowd applauded the boy’s courage in attempting the onerous exercise of public
speaking.
“Well, James Spriggs Payne, pray, tell me how old are you?”
“Nine
years? Well, James Spriggs Payne, the first thing I want to say is, thank you
for answering me!” He touched the boy’s head and made a gesture as if he were
about to cut the lad’s hair. The crowd chuckled. Then, as if addressing only
the boy, Joseph went on to say, “Thomas Jefferson, who went to be with the Lord
less than three years ago, indeed did write those words, ‘We hold these truths
to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.’ So, my first point is this
. . .
” He looked at the boy again and said, “‘All men are created equal.’ What
does this mean? That we always should treat others as our equal? Nay lad, let’s
go the extra mile and let us do as the Bible says, ‘In lowliness of mind let
each esteem other better than themselves.’ Therefore, do not mistreat anyone. I
know that some of you here have been mistreated, even severely mistreated, but
believe what the Declaration says: ‘All men are created equal.’ And secondly,
you know already that the Creator has endowed you with certain unalienable
rights. You know this because that is what is in your heart.
“There are things
that even James at his young age yearns after, yes, ‘Life, Liberty and the
pursuit of Happiness’.” He looked again at the boy. “James wants to live, he
wants to live free, so that he is not hindered in pursuing those things, those
lawful things, that make him happy. And lastly, for you and for me to be
enabled to seek Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness, we must needs have
a government that will protect us in all our lawful pursuits, and not instead
become tyrannical, which is to say that we wish for the government not to lord
it over us.”
Still looking at the boy, Joseph continued to wax eloquent,
“James, this means that we need a group of grownups to look out for us, to look
after us. How so? How ought a government look after us and look out for us?
Simply by promoting the doing of good, while commending those who do good, and
to be about the business of punishing evildoers. ‘For he is the minister of God
to thee for good. But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid; for he beareth
not the sword in vain: for he is the minister of God, a revenger to execute
wrath upon him that doeth evil.’
“We are some ten days out from Liberia, ‘The
Land of the Free.’ When we arrive there, may we each as free individuals, and
as a free people, lay good foundations, Biblical foundations to build upon. I
wish you young James, I wish everyone in our new land, Life, Liberty, and
pursuit of Happiness!”
As if he had clearly understood everything, the boy
firmly nodded his head towards Joseph as the crowd applauded. It had been the
boy’s father, Rev. David M. Payne, a Methodist minister, who had led the
worship service earlier that morning. Slowly the crowd began to disperse.
Before Joseph took his leave, the captain said to him, “I perceive you to be a
politician, and an exceedingly good and clever one at that. We shall talk some
more anon. I have duties to attend to for now.”
“‘Remember the sabbath day, to
keep it holy.’” “Indeed! And enjoy your birthday!” replied Captain Peters.
Something had awakened in the heart of Joseph Jenkins Roberts. But he wasn’t
quite sure what. In the company of his own thoughts he once again looked out at
the horizon as if trying to penetrate eternity. He unconsciously patted down
his hair as a knowing smile came upon his face. He quoted a verse of Scripture
out loud, as a prayer, “Ethiopia shall soon stretch out her hands unto God.”
The Harriet with her valuable cargo continued to splash gently on her way to
destiny.
