Phillis's Big Test Read online

  Phillis's Big Test

  Catherine Clinton

  * * *

  Phillis's Big Test

  Written by Catherine Clinton Illustrated by Sean Qualls

  Houghton Mifflin Company

  Boston 2008

  * * *

  For Pat Bradford, whose talent speaks for itself.

  —C.C.

  For my grandmothers, Blanche E. Smith and Willie D.

  Quails. 1 miss you.

  Text copyright © 2008 by Catherine Clinton

  Illustrations copyright © 2008 Sean Quails

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to

  Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

  www.houghtonmifflinbooks.com

  The text of this book is set in Regula.

  The illustrations are acrylic paint and paper collage.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Clinton, Catherine, 1952–

  Phillis's big test / by Catherine Clinton; illustrated by Sean Quails,

  p. cm.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-618-73735-0

  ISBN-10: 0-618-73739-1

  I. Wheatley, Phillis, 1753–1784—Juvenile literature. 2. African American poets—Biography—Juvenile

  literature. 1. Title.

  PS866.W5Z5828 2008

  8ll'.I—dc22

  [B]

  2007013241

  Printed in China

  WKT 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  * * *

  In 1773, Phillis Wheatley became the first African American to publish a book of poetry. When she went to London to meet with literary admirers, she became the most famous black person on both sides of the Atlantic.

  But in 1772 Wheatley's book almost didn't get published, because printers in colonial Boston could not believe that an African-born enslaved girl wrote such wonderful verses all by herself.

  To prove the poems were her very own, the teenage poet consented to be cross-examined by eighteen of the most learned and powerful men of Massachusetts. Phillis's big test...

  One crisp early-autumn morning, Phillis Wheatley was crossing the Boston cobblestones with a sheaf of papers held tightly under her arm. When her master, John Wheatley, had offered her a ride to her examination, she said she would prefer to walk.

  She would make her own way to the public hall where the most important men of the Massachusetts Bay Colony would examine her and settle the question once and for all: was she or was she not the author of her poems?

  She had spent recent evenings copying and recopying her poetry in her own neat handwriting. She knew each poem inside out. What kind of questions would they ask? Why should she have to defend her own verse?

  As she turned the corner of Mackeral Lane, reading one of her poems, the wind gusted and blew it out of her hand. As the page danced in the wind, she gave chase, catching it before it disappeared.

  Even if it had disappeared, would it matter? She knew every line, every syllable, by heart. She wrapped the pages tightly in a roll, pages of poems that had come from deep inside her-and could not be taken away, no matter the outcome of today.

  Still, she had something to prove.

  Not just because she was young, not just because she was female, but because she was a slave and came from Africa. She paused as a billowing sail moving into the harbor caught her eye.

  Was this like the boat she had arrived on one day in July more than eleven years before? A slave ship full of human cargo?

  She could remember little about crossing the Atlantic, and even less about her African homeland. She was just shedding her front teeth when John Wheatley bought her on the Boston docks as a servant for his wife, Susanna. They christened their new slave Phillis, the name of the ship on which she arrived.

  She remembered the strangeness of the Boston house that became her home. Her first winter was so very cold and awful. She survived only by the kindness of her masters, especially the Wheatleys' twins, Nathaniel and Mary, who eagerly shared their lessons with the young slave girl. They taught her not just English but also Latin and Greek. Soon Phillis spent more time on her studies than on serving her mistress.

  It was those lessons that led her along this path, to this crossroads today. As she passed by the impressive spire of the Old North Church, it made her think of those first Bible stories Mary had read to her. They taught her not just religion, but a love of the King's English. As she began to read poetry, glorious sonnets had inspired her to try her own hand at writing. And soon she was reciting her poems to the Wheatleys' friends.

  She had been staying up late, night after night preparing for what lay ahead. Was she ready? Would she ever be ready?

  Last night, her mistress, Susanna, had taken away the candle at midnight and advised: "Tomorrow you will look them straight in the eye as you answer all their questions. Your talent will speak for itself. They will discover the poet we know you to be! And when your book is published, everyone will know!"

  Phillis had hoped this might be true. Doubts danced in her head—but she had studied as hard as she could, and she would just have to have faith. As she said her prayers, her worries began to fade, and she drifted off to sleep, dreaming of her very own book.

  Books had opened up a whole new world to Phillis, as she was taught literature and geography, as she memorized the names of cities and countries, lists of kings and queens, and dates of discoveries.

  Over time she had come to appreciate her own time and place, her very own role in the chain of events stretching from past to present.

  She did not know why she had been brought from Africa to Boston, or why she had ended up in the Wheatley home. But she knew that she must now make the most of her opportunities. She must make her voice heard.

  She was not content to recite her verse in drawing rooms or to read one of her poems from a newspaper. She wanted her own book because books would not last just a lifetime; they would be there for her children and her children's children.

  She hurried by the bookseller's shop that she visited weekly. Today, Phillis did not have time to step inside and smell the leather bindings. But maybe soon she would make a visit and find her own name on a volume.

  But she must first pass this examination to make her dream come true! There would be only a dozen and a half gentlemen. She had often entertained as large a crowd in the Wheatley parlor.

  This group, though, would include the governor, the lieutenant governor, famous ministers, and published poets ... all learned men. Many had studied across the river at Harvard and knew so much more than she did. Phillis felt a chill as she approached the building.

  She shuddered and started to turn away, but then Susanna Wheatley's words echoed in her head: Your talent will speak for itself.

  Who knew her poems better than she did? She could not run away.

  Phillis slowly mounted the steps. She would face her examiners—not just for herself or for the Wheatleys but for her family back in Africa, and for her new brothers and sisters in America, who deserved their own poet.

  As she turned the handle on the large wooden door, the sunlight framed her entrance. She moved into the hall as all eyes turned toward her:

  "Good day, gentlemen. I am the poet Phillis Wheatley."

  * * *

  EPILOGUE

  NO RECORD EXISTS OF HER EXAMINATION, but we now know that Phillis passed her test with flying colors, as the eighteen men signed a document testifying to Wheatley's authorship, which appeared in the back of her volume of poems, published in 1773. She went abroad to England to meet with literary patrons, and after returning to America she was freed by her master. When both her master and mistress died, Wheatley married a Boston shopkeeper.

  Phillis Wheatley wrote several patriotic poems during the American Revolution and was invited by George Washington to visit him at his headquarters, another journey the poet gladly made.

  After America achieved independence, Phillis hoped to publish another volume of verse, but she died in December 1784 before this second collection could appear, and her unpublished poems disappeared.

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  Catherine Clinton, Phillis's Big Test

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