A Deeper Sense of Loyalty (6 page)

“Oh,” said James. “It is my turn to be sorry.”

The conversation had become so pleasant; James had gotten so involved, that he didn't realize the stew wasn't steaming any more. And if his interest in this lovely girl wasn't enough to make him lose his appetite, what happened next was.

“What do you do for a living, William?”

“I work as a slave catcher,” he answered. James had decided to pass himself off as such. It seemed like a good way to explain why he was in the company of slaves, if the need arose, at least while traveling through the Southern states. However, when he told Polly what his occupation was, it had roughly the same effect as pouring his bowl of stew over her head. She didn't say a word. The most awful expression covered her pretty face; she turned abruptly and walked away, disappearing through the doorway she'd come from.

James was fairly stunned and angry at the same time. The last thing he wanted to do was chase her away and yet he had done just that without so much as a clue as to how or why. As he rapidly sank into a deep sulk, he began to eat his stew, which had gotten cold, adding to his bitter mood. When the meal was over, or at least enough to satisfy his hunger, he got up, left some money on the table and headed for the door. He was hoping to see Polly again and maybe try to find out what he'd done wrong. But she didn't reappear and he was in no mood to pursue the matter any further.

A few doors down was the dry goods store. Although there really wasn't anything he needed, he decided to go in and look around. The store keeper, a short, balding man named Isaac Casper, was the perfect sort for his chosen line of work. He was friendly, helpful, and as James quickly learned, would talk your ear off if given the chance. While James wandered around the store, Mr. Casper talked about the weather, the war—even though it was as yet nothing to talk about—and anything else that came to his mind.

In the midst of the verbal barrage, the door opened and in walked a man who reminded James quite a bit of Farley Tabor. His faded overalls and sun baked skin suggested that he was a farmer. He walked over to the counter, beckoned Mr. Casper's attention, and said, “Got them cabbage and taters ya wanted, Casper.”

“Good,” said the storekeeper. “Take them through the side door and put them in the storeroom.”

“Got the niggers workin' on it. I best go see to it.” Then he left the store, slamming the door behind him. By that time, James had worked his way up front.

“That's old Silas Turner,” said Mr. Casper. “I've known him for twenty years and never once have I seen him in a pleasant mood. He has a truck farm about five miles north of here. I buy vegetables from him. Yes sir, he is a real cantankerous sort, even worse right now than usual. He has a boil on his ass the size of a silver dollar but he won't let the doctor do anything for him. Stubborn, just plain stubborn. He has a couple of niggers that work on his place. I'll bet
they
wish he'd let the doctor do something. Now then, young fellow, what can I do for you?”

“Well, I really came in just to look around, but if you have any jerked beef I'll take a couple pounds of that and maybe a pound of coffee.”

“Comin' right up.”

As he waited for Mr. Casper to package his goods he noticed something of interest hanging on a wooden peg behind the counter. There were four sets of manacles but they didn't appear to be new. “Are they for sale?” James asked, pointing to the peg in the wall.

“You mean those bracelets?” James nodded. “Well sure, if you're interested. I mean, they aren't a stock item. This fellow came in a few months ago needing provisions but he had no money. He asked me if I would take them in trade. I don't usually do business that way but I like to help a body when I can so I took them in exchange for some beans and coffee. If you want them for what I got in them, they're yours.”

“How much is that?”

“Four dollars.”

“I'll take them.”

It seemed strange that a strong social type like Mr. Casper didn't question James about his interest in the manacles. Apparently he was just happy to get his money out of them. James thought that if he were going to pass himself off as a slave catcher the manacles could come in mighty handy as a prop.

With his goods in hand, he thanked Mr. Casper and left the store. When he got out to the boardwalk, he stopped to watch for a moment as the farmer's slaves unloaded the wagon that was parked along the street. There were two men dressed in ragged clothing, both bare footed, probably about forty years of age. They worked in silence, in almost a mechanical fashion as if their chore was the only purpose for living. Perhaps it was because they were constantly under the watchful eye of Mr. Turner, who stood leisurely on the boardwalk smoking a cigar.

As the wagon emptied out and the baskets could not be reached from the ground, one man climbed up and started moving them closer to the back. But when he set one of the baskets down he had the misfortune of setting it too close to the edge of the wagon bed and it fell to the ground, spilling the contents everywhere. Surprisingly agile, the farmer jumped down from the boardwalk in a flash and grabbed the man, tearing his already tattered shirt. The slave was shoved to the ground hard, landing on his back in the street. The farmer stood over the poor wretch, cursing and threatening all sorts of physical punishment. James thought for an instant that he was going to burn the man with his cigar. After a few swift kicks the farmer stepped away, promising a whipping when they got to the farm. Then he ordered his victim to get the mess picked up.

For a moment, as he lay there in the dirt, the slave looked up and locked eyes with James. The look of despair and humiliation on his face filled James with pity. He turned away and headed back to his house with a resolution forming in his head. “By tomorrow,” he said to himself, “old Mr. Turner is going to be missing a couple of slaves.”

When he got to the house he put his packages on the table and then went back outside. Star was still tied to the hitching post. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible he kept an eye on the wagon down the street, and when the farmer and his slaves climbed into it, James mounted his horse. He was not an expert at tailing someone without being noticed, but he let the wagon get some distance ahead, then he followed along at a slow, steady pace.

By and by, he could see a farmhouse along the right side of the road with a barn and a few smaller buildings. When the wagon turned in at the little farm, James turned Star around and rode back to town.

Before going back to the house he stopped at the livery to do a little business. He made arrangements to board his own horse, and then he rented a wagon and a good stout mare to pull it. After procuring the rig, he drove up the street, turned left between two buildings, and parked it behind the house. It was three o'clock in the afternoon.

 James sat at the table and began writing the letter that he would send to his family when he reached South Carolina. It surprised him at how easily the words came as he explained how his plans to join the cavalry had changed. In about an hour, the letter was finished and the only thing left to do was to wait for darkness. James was ready to get some sleep in preparation for a long night.

 

FIVE

 

Point of No Return

 

 

When James awakened he was confused by his surroundings. Then, as his mind caught up with his eyesight, he remembered where he was and why he was there. He got out of bed and went over to the table where he'd left his pocket watch. It was just after ten p.m.

As he sat at the table going over a mental list of everything he would need to take along, he was beginning to feel the tension seeping into his body. The fingers of his right hand quietly drummed the top of the table as he mulled over the problems that could arise.  

It would be difficult to ascertain the safest hour when he might catch everyone sleeping. However, country people worked hard and usually went to bed early. But some of the larger plantations, like his father's, patrolled the grounds at night to prevent escapes; not to mention the threat of dogs, which even a small farmer like Mr. Turner was likely to own.

James got up and began to pace the floor. Once or twice he stopped to look out the window. Irritated by the feeling of restlessness, he sat down again and started cleaning his revolver. His mind was racing.

He realized, of course, he had no idea how the slaves themselves might react to his presence and his purpose. He could not take it for granted that they would just quietly go along with him. James knew that, in spite of the situation, some slaves became very loyal to their masters. Others might be afraid to attempt escape; still others might just think that he was crazy.

James understood that he could never, ever, fail to keep in mind how the slave owners, and southern people in general, would feel about what he was doing. Without question, it was a serious undertaking. Still, it would be important not to dwell on the danger. He must not lose his respect for the risks but he must lose his fear of them.

It was eleven o'clock at night; time to go. James extinguished the table light and left the house carrying a sack of food, two canteens of water, and the manacles he'd purchased at the dry goods store. In his pockets he had a knife, a compass, his watch, and extra ammunition for the revolver he had stuck in his waistband. He climbed into the wagon and stored his provisions down by his feet. Then he drove out to the street and headed north.

The town appeared to be fast asleep. There was no sound and not a single light was visible from any window. When he reached the edge of town, he glanced over at the last house on the right. He could not help but think about Polly and her mother asleep inside. What a lovely girl she was. James promised himself that he would try to see her when he got back to Dry Branch.

As with the town, the countryside was dark and quiet except for some thousands of lightning bugs and the clip-clop of the horse's hooves on the road. Approaching the Turner farm, he slowed the horse to a walk so that he could get a good look as he passed. The house was peaceful and so were the two small cabins that sat out away from the left side of it. To the left of the cabins was a field of tall grass. He drove past the farm then stopped the wagon on the road about fifty yards away.

After hobbling the horse so she would stay put, he picked up some small stones from the road and put them in his pocket. Bending slightly at the waist, he started off through the tall grass towards the nearest cabin. When he reached the edge of the field, he was only about ten feet from the crude little dwelling. He had hoped that there would be a window on that side, and as luck would have it, there was. He reached into his pocket, extracted the stones he'd picked up, and tossed them at the window one by one.  

In a few minutes James saw a light flickering from inside, then the front door opened and a black man came out carrying a lantern. He walked around the corner to the window, and after finding nothing, turned toward the field. He held the lantern out in front of him, then in a worried whisper he said, “Who's dare?”

James stood up with his hands in the air, trying to show that he meant no harm. He could hear the fear in the man's voice when he asked, “Who is you? What is you wantin here?”

James didn't know any other way to answer except to whisper, “Who I am is not important. Do you wish to be free?”

“Free?” the man whispered back.

“Yes,” said James.

For a moment the man stood as if frozen. No doubt, he was completely stunned. James could certainly understand that, but there just wasn't time to stand around. “I know you must find this hard to believe,” James told him. “But I will help you escape to freedom if you want to go. I will take the other black man who lives here, too.” As unbelievable as it must have seemed, the man seemed to begin to accept the idea. He blew out the lantern; a light was unsafe. Then he said, “Me and Buck will go wit you but I gots me a wife. Buck gots one, too.”

“Then they must go with us. Wake Buck and tell him to bring his wife and as many belongings as they can get together in about two minutes. Then wake your wife and you do the same. Go out through the field. I have a wagon just up the road. I'll be waiting there. Be careful, but hurry. If you wake the farmer your chance will be lost. I will leave the second I hear signs of trouble.”

“I gets your meanin, sir. We be there quick.”

James turned and headed for the wagon. When he got there he removed the hobbles and stood still, watching, listening. He pulled out his revolver; it made him feel a little safer.

It seemed like an eternity until he saw movement coming through the tall grass. Sure enough, the two men and their wives came out into the open about twenty feet behind the wagon. “Hurry,” James whispered. “Climb in.”

The two men carried a few possessions wrapped in blankets. They hurled their bundles into the back, helped the women up, and then climbed in beside them. James stirred up the horse and started off at a slow trot. After they were a mile down the road he sped up a bit. He knew that they must cover as much distance as possible before morning, but it was important to pace the horse to get the most from her endurance. Getting the slaves away from the farm seemed easy. He knew he'd been lucky. But there were hundreds of miles between them and their ultimate destination and he was sure that they would not all pass as smoothly.

 He was now a criminal and his passengers were fugitives. He could only imagine the fury of the farmer, Mr. Turner, when he discovered that his slaves were gone. The law would be notified and that could put trouble on their trail. At all cost, James meant to stay as far ahead of any pursuit as possible, and the most precious time was now—before the discovery. One thing was certain; he was past the point of no return.

After driving for about two hours and covering perhaps forty miles, James pulled to the side of the road to rest the horse. It was one forty-five a.m. He calculated that he had maybe a little over four hours before Mr. Turner would be wise. By then, they could be more than a hundred miles from the farm. He hoped it would be difficult for the law to catch up to them with such a good head start. The only thing that any would-be pursuers could count on was that the slaves would head north. That would still leave a lot of territory to search. The chances were good that they would assume the runaways were on foot.