Chesapeake (101 page)

Incredulously, Cudjo asked, ‘Mastah Paul?’

‘Long time ago.’

‘Eden, ever’body know niggers at Devon doan’ git whipped.’

‘I got whipped,’ she said simply, and she convinced him that if anyone, even Miss Susan, tried to hold her in bondage any longer, that person was going to be slain.

‘But Miss Susan yore frien’. She give you the dress you wearin’.’

‘Nobody my frien’. You talk like this, even you ain’t my frien’.

The plan they devised was to wait for the good weather in May, when it would be warm enough to sleep in the fields. They would keep to the eastern side of the bay, for they had heard that it was easier to slip past Wilmington than Baltimore, and with luck they could be in Pennsylvania
within two weeks. Once there, they had no doubt that they could earn a good living, for Eden knew how to tend a home and Cudjo could work at almost anything.

They calculated that Mr. Cline would come to fetch Eden on the first of May, since plantation business was often conducted on such days, so during the final week of April they set a firm date for their flight. ‘Five days we go,’ Eden said, and from this decision there would be no turning back.

On the morning of the fourth day, as Cudjo distractedly worked at the forge, old Hannibal moved close and whispered, ‘I spec’ you headin’ no’th first night you is able.’ Cudjo kept hammering at a shoe, and the old man said, ‘I spec’ you takin’ Miss Eden wid you.’ Again no comment, so the old man started to withdraw, but stopped and said, ‘You got my prayers, son. You doin’ right.’

One cruel aspect of the flight was that neither Eden nor Cudjo could ask a single human being exactly where Pennsylvania was, or what to expect if they got there. Every slave could narrate a dozen pitiful stories of attempts betrayed by supposed friends: ‘Field hands git together, gonna speak up to the overseer, hopin’ to make things mo’ better, but a house girl warn the mastah they plottin’. He sell ’em all.’ Or the case of Ol’ Jesse: ‘He cain’t stand no mo’, he headin’ no’th. Got all things fixed, but this young buck he mad at Jesse, he tell the overseer, and Jesse, he dead from the beatin’.’

Those seeking freedom were exposed—by accident, by hateful revenge, by their own incompetence. To move from southern Maryland to the border of Pennsylvania was an act requiring supreme courage and maximum strength; to escape all the way from Alabama or Louisiana called for a determination which could hardly be described. Furthermore, for a male and female to make the attempt together demanded not only courage but also an incredible amount of luck.

Eden was five years older than Cudjo, and major decisions were left to her, but she was impressed by Cudjo’s innate power; she did not yet know that he had taken over a full-rigged ship and sailed it successfully for more than a month, but from various hints she had picked up, she judged that in his previous life he had been a man of great courage. To him fell the job of ensuring that the minor details were cared for: the file, the bag for food, the two walking staves.

By sunset on April 28 every precaution had been taken, and the two slaves ate supper together at the forge. Old Hannibal ate with them, and toward the end of the simple meal tears came into his eyes, and Cudjo forced him to go out and look for more charcoal lest Eden guess that he had penetrated their secret. He came back with an armful of coal, his emotions under control.

And then, with no introduction whatever, Hannibal blurted out,
‘Pennsylvania be ten days no’th.’ No one spoke. Poking at the fire, he added, ‘I hea’ say, “Doan’ go tuh Wilmington.” Headin’ west, they be alota’ Quakers.’

Again there was silence, and after a long while Eden leaned over, kissed Cudjo goodnight and walked slowly to the big house, knowing that by this time tomorrow night they would have stolen a skiff, piloted themselves far up the Tred Avon River and found a hiding spot near Easton. As she turned to look at the garden and the peaceful scene at the wharf, she swore to herself: Nothin’ gonna stop us. Not dogs, not death. When she sauntered into the house she saw that Miss Susan was already upstairs and that Mr. Paul was reading, as usual, in his study.

When he heard her come in he looked up from his books and asked, ‘That you, Eden?’ Then he turned his crooked neck and glanced at her in a strange way; it was as if this night were fourteen years ago and he was preparing once more to thrash her with the strap. But it wasn’t exactly that kind of look, either. It frightened her, and she ran up to her room thankful that after tomorrow she would never again see this twisted little man.

On the final morning Cudjo and Eden went about their affairs with a special innocence. They forced themselves to speak naturally, but their voices were so low that on several occasions Miss Susan had to tell Eden to speak up. The noon meal passed without incident, and so did the afternoon naps, but toward five Cudjo ran to the big house, quaking. ‘What you want, Cudjo?’ Tiberius asked, protecting his door.

‘Got to see Eden.’

‘She wid Miss Susan ove’ in th’ east wing tryin’ yo’ chair.’

This was the worst possible news, for that was where the escape material was hidden. Not knowing what he might have to do, he hurried into the east corridor, and as he entered the room saw Miss Susan steering right for the cupboard containing the gun and the knives. ‘Miss Susan!’ he blurted out. ‘I got tuh talk wid Eden.’

‘Come right ahead,’ she said, almost with gaiety, and showed him how competent she was becoming by wheeling about and leaving the room. As soon as she was gone, Cudjo whispered in an ashen voice, ‘Mr. Cline, he come afo’ time tuh git you.’ They looked out one of the small windows and saw a sloop at the wharf and the slave-breaker walking up to consult with Uncle Herbert and Mr. Starch.

Eden did not falter, nor did she utter a cry. She merely grasped Cudjo by the arm and whispered, ‘They nevah gonna take me.’

‘Let me think,’ Cudjo said. ‘You hush. I got tuh think.’ She could almost see the host of ideas running through his mind, and for the first time realized that he had other capacities beyond his ability to master machines. ‘Ain’t nobody gonna touch that pistol, ’cause maybe they search us. Ain’t nobody gonna run away, ’cause we has got to follow a
plan.’ His right fist trembled as he banged out the alternatives. Then, as he stared at the menacing sloop, he thought he saw a solution. ‘Eden, sun gonna go down pretty soon. Cline, he not gonna sail back tonight. He be sleepin’ here wid Starch. You an’ me we jes’ settle down. Darkness comes, we wait one hour. Then we steals the boat and gits goin’.’

Ignoring his counsel against any suspicious act, Eden went to the cupboard and took one of the knives. ‘We try your plan, Cudjo. But if’n it doan’ work, ain’t nobody gonna take me.’

Breathing deeply to control his apprehension, Cudjo kissed her and went back to the forge. He was right. Mr. Cline had completed the purchase of Eden and the two fractious girls, but since it was growing dark, he was invited to spend the night with Mr. Starch; the fugitives had their reprieve. But just before sunset Mr. Cline told Uncle Herbert, ‘I’d like to satisfy myself that this here Eden is still of breeding age. I don’t want to take home somethin’ that’s too old to be of service.’ So Uncle Herbert dispatched two slaves to the big house with orders to fetch Eden.

But when the messengers reached the mansion they were halted by Tiberius. ‘Yo’ stan’ back. Mastah Paul just send a man to fetch Cudjo, an’ I ain’t movin’ from here till he git back.’

When Cudjo learned that he must go to the big house, he started to tremble, not that he feared for himself, but he could almost see the sanguinary events that might soon take place. That he would support Eden to the hanging tree, he had not the slightest doubt. Secreting a sharpened file in his pant leg, he walked quietly to the mansion.

There old Tiberius was grumbling to the slaves who had been sent to fetch Eden. ‘What take you so long, Cudjo? You in trouble! You git in here!’ And he led the way to the sunroom. Pushing open the door, he shoved Cudjo inside.

There sat Mr. Paul and Miss Susan, and near them was Eden, and when Cudjo stole a glance at her, she gently touched her bodice, indicating that her knife was ready. He allowed the fingers of his right hand to rest on the sharpened file; she nodded, waiting for the signal.

None came. Clearing his voice, Paul Steed said softly, ‘My wife and I are so glad to see you.’ With a gesture of his right hand he added, ‘You may sit down.’ Cudjo hesitated; he had rarely sat on a chair, and never on one covered in brocade. Paul laughed and said, ‘Sit down. It won’t bite.’ So the two slaves sat on silk.

‘My wife and I have been thinking about you,’ Paul said quietly. ‘We’ve never known anyone kinder than Eden.’ He nodded toward her. ‘And last week Miss Susan proposed …’

‘What I proposed …’ she started to say, then abrupty turned and wheeled herself about the room, braked the chair and ejected herself into an upright position before Cudjo. From this standing position she said, ‘We propose, Cudjo, to manumit Eden. And you we shall allow to buy your freedom.’

Freedom.
The word sounded like thunder in his ears, yet it had been said so gently by the very people they were prepared to kill. In deep confusion Cudjo looked at Eden, but she sat with her hands folded in her lap, her eyes cast down.

‘It’ll work this way,’ Paul said in his slow, scholarly manner. ‘We manumit Eden with this paper, which we shall both sign tonight. She is freed, in grateful appreciation of the extraordinary services she has provided my wife.’

‘I free?’ Eden asked quietly.

‘You are free.’ He coughed, for what he had to say next was both painful and embarrassing. ‘We both owe you a great deal, Eden. In a dark period of our lives—’

‘What Mr. Steed is trying to say,’ his wife broke in, ‘is that we want to repay you for your loving kindness.’ Before Eden could speak, she added, ‘Of course, I very much want you to stay on and help me. I still need you, even with Cudjo’s new chair.’

Paul had control of himself again, and said, matter-of-factly, ‘We’ll pay you a small salary, which we’ll hold for you. And when it reaches three hundred dollars, you can buy Cudjo’s freedom.’

‘I already got twenty dollars,’ Eden said.

‘You have twenty dollars?’ Paul gasped.

‘Yes. Since I born I save every penny.’ She made a gesture with her hands, as if catching something. ‘“Here, Eden, for holding the horse.”’

‘My advice would be, hold on to those dollars. You’ll need them when Cudjo sets up for himself.’

‘What you mean?’ Eden asked.

‘When he’s free you’ll go to Patamoke, likely, and he’ll work in the boatyard, likely. Or maybe as his own carpenter.’

‘When I be free?’ Eden asked in a firm, unexcited voice.

‘You are free now,’ Paul said. ‘Cudjo will be free shortly … when you’ve earned his price.’

And having said this, he produced a document of manumission which he and his wife had agreed upon, but before they could sign it, there came a loud fracas at the door, and Uncle Herbert accompanied by Mr. Starch entered the house and demanded of Tiberius where the girl Eden was. Voices were raised, and soon Herbert came bursting into the sunroom, with Mr. Starch close behind. ‘There you are!’ Herbert cried with some petulance. ‘Why didn’t you respond when the slaves came?’

Paul and Susan were dismayed at this intrusion, and the former said, ‘Really, Uncle Herbert, my wife and I were having—’

‘We’re not interested in you or your wife,’ Herbert said insolently. ‘What we want is that girl.’

‘For what purpose?’ Paul asked, twisting his head with difficulty to look at him.

‘Mr. Cline wants to inspect her. To see if he thinks she can breed.’

‘What?’ Susan asked from her chair.

‘She’s been sold to Cline. Leaves in the morning.’

‘You dare not sell my slave.’

‘Mrs. Steed, this girl isn’t your property any longer. Hasn’t been for years. She’s owned by Mr. Steed, and I’ve decided to sell her.’

Before Susan could protest this astonishing information, Paul said quietly, ‘There was no consultation with me.’

‘Of course not,’ Uncle Herbert said condescendingly. ‘Mr. Starch and I never bother you with details. We run the place and do what we think’s best.’

Paul stood up, and suddenly his shoulders squared and his voice firmed. Looking his uncle directly in the eye, he said, ‘Uncle Herbert, you and Mr. Starch no longer run the plantation. Your responsibility ends as of this night.’

‘But, Paul, I’ve been showing Mr. Starch how to handle things when I—’

‘When you what?’

‘When I retire. I’m sixty-seven, you know.’

‘And you have just retired.’ Moving briskly, he went up to his uncle and grasped both his hands. ‘You were of great help, Uncle Herbert, in the days of my confusion. Devon would have collapsed without you. But now the confusion is ended, and so is your tenure. You must leave the island tomorrow.’

‘But Mr. Starch requires—’

‘He requires nothing. Do you think I’d place Devon in hands like his? Mr. Starch, you have left my employment. I’m sure Mr. Herbert will find a place for you on one of the Refuge plantations.’

‘But, Mr. Paul—’ Starch began in a whining voice.

‘I’ve no need of you, Mr. Starch, nor of anyone like you.’

‘Who’s to run the plantation … and the stores?’ Uncle Herbert asked, a fat, pompous old man undergoing an intense deflation.

‘Me,’ Paul said. ‘With my wife’s help.’

‘Your wife?’ As if drawn by magnets, Herbert and Starch looked at the fragile figure in the chair, but as they did, she set the brake, activated the lever, and to their astonishment rose to an upright position and without assistance walked to them.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘we’ve ignored this magnificent plantation for too long.’

Uncle Herbert started to comment, but his words gagged in his throat. Finally his eye fell on Eden. ‘Well, the sale of that one’s been concluded. Mr. Starch, keep her under guard tonight.’

But when the overseer moved toward the slave girl, Paul cried, ‘Stand back, damn you. Starch, I said you’d left my employ.’

‘What’re you going to do about the girl?’ Uncle Herbert asked.