Taking Liberty: The Story of Oney Judge, George Washington's Runaway Slave

Taking Liberty: The Story of Oney Judge, George Washington's Runaway Slave

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Overview

When I was four and my daddy left, I cried, but I understood.
He became part of the Gone.

The only life Oney Judge has ever known is servitude. As part of the staff of George and Martha Washington, she isn't referred to as a slave. She is a servant — and a house servant at that, a position of influence and respect on the plantation of Mount Vernon. When she rises to the position of personal servant to Martha Washington, her status among the household staff — black and white — is second to none. She is Lady Washington's closest confidante and, for all intents and purposes, a member of the family — or so she thinks.
Slowly, Oney's perception of her life with the Washingtons begins to crack as she realizes the truth: No matter how close she becomes with Lady Washington, no matter what secrets they share, she will never be a member of the family. And regardless of what they call it, it's still slavery and she's still a slave.
Oney must make a choice: Does she stay where she is, comfortable, with this family that has loved her and nourished her and owned her since the day she was born? Or does she take liberty — her life — into her own hands and, like her father, become one of the Gone?
Told with immense power and compassion, Taking Liberty is the extraordinary true story of one young woman's struggle to take what is rightfully hers.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780689851889
Publisher: Simon Pulse
Publication date: 01/06/2004
Edition description: Reprint
Pages: 272
Sales rank: 1,205,299
Product dimensions: 6.98(w) x 8.02(h) x 0.71(d)
Age Range: 12 - 17 Years

About the Author

Ann Rinaldi is acclaimed for her historical novels, of which eight have been named Best Books for Young Adults by the American Library Association. Author of more than thirty titles, she sets the standard for the genre in excellence and accuracy with her modern-day classics Wolf by the Ears and In My Father's House. She lives in New Jersey with her husband.

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One
1775
Mount Vernon, VA

One day when I was three, my mama took me by the hand and dragged me to the slope of lawn that ran down to the river in front of the mansion house.

It didn't even have the piazza on yet. There was lumber and stone to one end, and builders working. She put her hand on the back of my neck, the way you hold a chicken just before you're about to chop its head off.

"You see that house, Oney Judge?" she said to me. "Do you?"

Well, I saw it, all right. For me and all the other little children on the place it was always in our line of sight. Like the Throne of Grace the mistress was always reading about in her Bible. We couldn't help but see it. It was there when you woke up at dayclean, and in the night you could see it in the mists from the quarters, candles glowing in the long windows.

"Yes, Mama," I said.

"Well, you just take a good look, Oney Judge. 'Cause that house is where you gonna work when you get old 'nuf. You ain't gonna be no hoe Negra. You gonna be a fine mistress of the needle, workin' in that house for the mistress. Like your aunt Myrtilla do. And me. And Charlotte. And that's why I want you inside now, plyin' your needle, and not in the quarters listenin' to those tall stories that old no-'count Sambo Anderson be tellin' you."

"He tells me about Africa, Mama."

She hit me in the ear. "You doan need to know 'bout Africa. You here, not there. And if'n you doan wanna spend your grown-up days trudgin' in the hot sun and pullin' weeds all summer, you best listen. You hear?"

All I heard was a ringing in my ear. But she was mouthing more words, and I knew they weren't good. And if I didn't say yes, I'd get another hit in my other ear. So I nodded my head yes. And I promised I would practice my stitching. And she walked around to the back of the house to go in and have her morning time of sewing with the mistress and my aunt Myrtilla and Charlotte. Because they were all mistresses of their needles.

Other things about my first years on the place I disremember. But I know of those things. I suspect I was told them by Aunt Myrtilla.

Some was told by old no-'count Sambo Anderson, who hunted and trapped and wore gold rings in his ears and adorned his face with tribal scars and tattoos and was anything but no-'count to me and the other children. Because he was a saltwater Negro, come from Africa, he had great esteem on the place. So that everyone, Negro and white alike, listened when he spoke.

Some things were told to me by One-Handed Charles, who could salt fish better than anybody with two hands. Some by Nathan, who worked in the mansion kitchen with Hercules, the cook. And some by Lame Alice, who mended the fishing nets.

It was Nathan who told me the business of "first and second mourning."

It seems I had practiced with my needle enough to be allowed in the mistress's bedchamber early of a morning with Mama and Aunt Myrtilla and Charlotte. This was a privilege given to few Negro women. All Negroes who worked in the house had to be not only the best at their chores, they had to be mulatto. Which, I soon learned, meant half white.

I was half white because of my daddy. He came from England. All'st he ever talked about was England. One time I heard him telling my mama about a place called Newgate. I thought my daddy was a squire, like the Fairfaxes, who lived next door. They came from England and they were fancified gentlemen.

I thought Newgate was his estate. And that someday he would take me and Mama there.

But when you play with other children, be they Negro or white, they soon set things right.

"Newgate is a prison," the other Negro children told me. "And your daddy's a convict. Our mamas say he was saved from hangin' by bein' sent to Virginia."

"Leastwise I know who my daddy is!" I shouted back. And Mama slapped me then, too. It didn't take much vexation for Mama to slap me.

"Is my daddy a convict?" I asked her.

"He's an indentured servant," she said.

It was early in the morning in the mistress's bedchamber. We hadn't had breakfast yet. And from belowstairs I could smell ham and coffee, and my stomach growled like the big, fluffy dog Sambo Anderson hunted with. The mistress's day started at seven because when her husband was home, he got up at four, made his own fire, wrote letters, then ate hoecakes and honey with her.

The mistress was belowstairs, seeing to the makings of dinner. Seems all they did was think about food in that house. The general and his lady had a regular fixation about food.

Winter sunshine poured in the windows. A fire burned in the hearth. Builders hammered away, making the south side of the house straight and true, the way the master said the corners of a house should be.

I sat on a rug trying to stitch the hem of a pillowcase.

"Mama, why do everybody in this house wear black all the time?" I asked.

"Doan ask so many questions," Mama snapped.

"But I like colors," I said. "Like the red of your head scarf and the amber beads the mistress sometimes wears. And the blue tea set she keeps on the sideboard."

"They all be in second mourning," Aunt Myrtilla answered.

Now, here was something. I stopped sewing. I liked morning, especially ones like this, when we came to the mansion house. I knew that soon Nathan would be bringing up a tray of food from the kitchen. Good food. Real coffee and fresh-baked bread and maybe some slices of ham. We didn't get much ham. Maybe some backbone, liver, what we called lights and whites called lungs. "Why do white folks get a second morning and we get only one?" I asked.

"Hush with your endless questions, child," Mama scolded.

At that moment Nathan came into the room. "Mistress send you all up some vittles." He set a tray of coffee, bread, butter, and ham on a table. Before he left, he squatted down beside me. Nathan was young, with bright eyes and short, fuzzy hair. Sometimes, when important company came, he got to wear livery. I knew what that was 'cause my Mama had helped sew it.

"There be two meanings to 'morning,'" he said. "One means 'the start of the day.' Like now. The other means 'a time of grief.' You grieve for somebody who died."

"Who died?" I asked.

He lowered his voice. "Lady Washington's daughter, Patsy. Last year. Got up from the dinner table in good spirits and fell on the floor in fits. In two minutes she wuz dead."

"What's fits?"

"It's what little girls get when they ask too many questions," Mama said.

"Daddy says it's the only way I'll learn."

"Your daddy puttin' notions in your head." Mama always said that.

"Your Mama made the first-mourning dress for Lady Washington," Aunt Myrtilla explained. "Stayed up all night makin' it. Gen'l give her five shillings for her work."

I knew that Negro servants often got shillings or pence for doing special work. I couldn't wait until I was old enough to earn such.

"This second-mourning dress she wearin' now come from Richmond," Charlotte put in. "It wuz too long. Your Mama fixed it. It gots a white collar. A little white allowed in second mourning."

"What about red?" I asked.

"No red allowed," Mama said.

"I see Master Jackie wearing a red vest under his black coat sometimes."

"You hush 'bout Master Jackie," Mama scolded. "Master Jackie does as he pleases. Doan need to 'splain to a little Negro girl what he do."

Master Jackie was dead Patsy's brother. Both were children from Lady Washington's first marriage.

"I like Master Jackie a lot," I said. "The way he come to our house sometimes and give me sweetmeats. The way he always find Mama in this house and ask her to sew a button on his vest. 'Member, Mama? Master Jackie come one time when he was in trouble in school? An' you were sad 'cause Daddy was away?"

"You hush 'bout that!" Mama snapped.

I hushed.

"You come on down to the kitchen with me now, honey," Nathan said. "And I'll give you a sweetmeat." He reached out his hand. He was favored because of the way he could make rock candy. In the kitchen he had a teakwood barrel full of long strings of glistening rock candy. And he used it to make rich brandy sauces for plum puddings.

"Miss Patsy die of the falling sickness," he told me on the way down. "Dr. Craik give her mercurial tablets, but they do no good. No more talk 'bout dyin', now. You can watch me ready a pair of ducks. Lady Washington says they must be laid by, in case of company."

"I'm afeared of Hercules," I said. Hercules was head cook, small, wiry, and full of moods. He threw pots and pans when things didn't go to his liking.

"Hercules not gonna hurt a pretty little girl like you. An' you listen, now, you're smart, too. Doan you ever stop askin' questions."

In the first years of my life I was happy. I lived in the two-story wood building on the service lane, north of the mansion. House families lived there. We had two chimneys, glazed windows, and finer blankets than those who didn't work in the house.

I was one of twenty-six children who belonged to women working at the mansion house, and I knew that house families were favored.

I knew my mama was favored. Everyone spoke good words about her round, pretty face. My daddy said she was taken with vanity, and it would bring her to trouble someday.

The first years of my life I took comfort and hope from the ordered world I lived in. And other than having to ply the needle, I could do as I pleased.

I and the other children would watch the builders working on the south end of the house, climb on the new lumber, hide in the quarry stone, until Mr. Lund Washington chased us away.

Mr. Lund, as we called him, was the general's kin. And he ran the place after the general went to war. He was strict, but I soon learned how to bring him around. When it was hot, I'd fetch a glass of lemonade for him from the kitchen. When it was cold, I'd bring hot coffee. Sometimes he let me go out on the river on the schooner that Father Jack, Sam, and Schomberg used to fish for shad or herring. Once he held me high up in his arms so I could see the cupola they were putting on the red-shingled roof. It was the highest point I could see. And I just knew it pointed to heaven.

But I was only three and a half. And too smart, Mama said, for my own good. "You gets that from your daddy. He may be bound to Mr. Washington, jus' like a slave, but leastways he kin be free someday. Me never, an' not you, either. So you best learn to sit on all those notions."

I did not want to sit on my notions. I was determined that no one would make me afraid.

Copyright © 2002 by Ann Rinaldi

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Taking Liberty: The Story of Oney Judge, George Washington's Runaway Slave 4.5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 15 reviews.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Ok I'm only thirteen and this book was awsome. I picked it up at a book fair at my school, just for something to read. After the first chaapter, I couldn't put it down. Oney Judge the loyal 'servent' 'slave' was a wonderful charater and I wish that Ann Rinaldi would write a second book to go with the first because I want to know what happens to the character. It tells you at the end, but it would still be wonderful to read a second book.
Guest More than 1 year ago
This book was awesome and it felt like you could feel Oney's feelings. I loved this book and it was hard to believe that this book was partially fiction. I thought this was really awesome.
Guest More than 1 year ago
This was a GREAT book. One of the best that Ann Rinaldi has written I think. It also intwines, along with the story, many facts about the Revolutionary War. Definately a fabolous read.
Guest More than 1 year ago
It is an amazing, exciting and powerful story. It makes even history interesting. You should definitely read Taking Liberty!
occobsession on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
This is my favorite book! I believe that everyone can relate to this young girl with trying to escape from problems that they face.
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Guest More than 1 year ago
For Oney Judge life is going very well. The only things wrong are that she is a slave, and her mama won¿t let her go visit her master¿s other plantations. Oney¿s mother is not just an ordinary slave on some ordinary plantation either she is a house servant for George Washington¿s plantation called Mount Vernon. Spending most of her time in the Big House, Oney becomes one of Martha Washington¿s favorite slaves, and she doesn¿t get into trouble when Martha finds that she can read. After a big incident at the market Oney¿s mother is demoted to a field slave and blames Oney for her move. In believing this she starts beating Oney, which only gets Oney moved up into the Big House to live with other servants on the third floor. After this incident Martha makes Oney her personal slave although she is only 10 years of age. This causes separation between Oney and her mother that can never be fixed. As the years pass and George Washington becomes president, Oney travels with them to many different homes and states, some of which are Free states: meaning they don¿t hold with slavery. In these states Oney is encouraged to run and take her freedom while she can. Can Oney get up the courage to leave her comfortable life for a hard life with freedom? I enjoyed this book very much and am glad I choose to read it. This book is slow enough for anyone to follow but has enough action to keep you sucked in till the very end. This book also has history in it, but not an overload of information. It is history in a view not many would look. This book, called Taking Liberty, is very enjoyable to anyone who enjoys history or even if you just need a book to pick up and read. Ann Rinaldi is the author this book and if you enjoy books with a bit of history you might want to check out some of her books.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I think that Ann Ridali had a very poor style of writing and that she needs to keep her readers interest.It was the same thing over and over, she wanted to be free but then again she didn't.