The black swan (18 page)

Adam knew what it was Tom was feeling and unable to put into words.

At midnight Adam was sitting in Garrett's study, reading a favorite childhood book, The Swiss Family Robinson. He was so absorbed in their building of the pinnace that the soft rapping on the back door startled him. Cautiously he looked out the window. Several Negroes stood in the shadows, looking anxiously at the house.

Adam opened the door and held it with his foot, ready to slam it shut. "What do you want?"

The man on the stoop showed his teeth in a familiar-seeming grin. Adam recognized the carriage driver who had brought them here.

"Evenin', suh," he said politely. "Some people wants to see Mistah Garrett Pinckney."

"Mr. Pinckney is in New Orleans."

"Is Miz Leona heah, suh? She gen'ly takes care of us iffen Mistah Garrett ain't heah."

"It's the middle of the night," Adam protested. "Why don't you come back in the morning?"

"We'ns don't dast, suh. Please, suh, jes' tell her 'Lijah Free be waitin' ovah at Saint James Church."

Adam, persuaded against his will by the sweating earnestness of the man's plea, said, "I'll tell her."

"Right off, suh? We ain't got so much time. You takes mah meanin'?"

Leona responded immediately to Adam's tap on her door. Within minutes she came out, wearing dark clothing.

"Aunt Leona, you can't meet a mob of darkies in a churchyard!"

In the light of Leona's lamp her eyes shone. "You're coming with me. You might as well learn about your aunt and uncle firsthand, Adam."

"It's dangerous being out at night! You're taking a terrible chance. Aunt Leona, I can't let you go!"

She said quietly, "You can, and I will. Here, put on Garrett's gray dustcoat and button it up to cover your shirt."

Adam felt he was being whirled by the force of Leona's personality into some monumental undertaking. Protecting his independent aunt was far more difficult than protecting his mother. "What business of yours are these people. Aunt Leona? What's Uncle Garrett going to think when he comes back and finds out you helped runaway slaves."

Leona, busy stuffing a ham, some cold, boiled eggs, and cornbread into a clean game poke, stopped long enough to reply. "Our house is one of the major stations on the Underground Railroad. You'll find many of our nights are interrupted like this."

"But. . . Uncle Garrett is a lawyer—and this is illegal!"

Leona smiled. "You're absolutely right And so far we have saved several hundred black human beings from a life of animal degradation. Are you coming with me or not?"

The Negroes were waiting, in a somehow terrible silence, in the shadows behind the church. None moved except Elijah Free, who spoke to Leona in tones so low Adam could hardly hear. "Evenin', Miz Leona. We got to get dem people outa Wi'mton way b'fo' mawnin' gloam. Dey's two catchers foUied Ruby an' her fambly all de way from Cha'ston to jes' de fah side o' de ribber. We los' 'em, but not mo'n two hours back."

"Have they got dogs?"

"No'm, not yet."

Leona thought quickly. "The safest way would be all together, by dray, but this time we need speed. How many people, 'Lijah?"

"Ten, Miz Leona."

"We'll use your carriage, plus our two. Adam, help me get hitched up. You'll drive the middle carriage. I'll take Ruby and her family, and 'Lijah will take the others. Adam, be sure to follow me closely. We don't want you getting lost."

A baby woke and began to cry. They all stood rock-still until Ruby managed to start it nursing.

Leona hissed, "Why is that baby awake?'*

Elijah said, "It done got de sleep drops, but dey all wo' off, an' Ruby ain't got no mo'."

"Get her in here. As soon as the poor little thing finishes nursing, I'll give it some paregoric from my bottle."

Adam was reminded of Mammy, issuing orders the night Tom got hurt. He wanted to protest, to say that he didn't believe in slave hauling, but Aunt Leona was keeping him too busy. Besides, what protection could a stringy old carriage driver be if there was real trouble? It was just like Aunt Leona to barge confidently ahead, without knowing what she was getting into.

"Aunt Leona, have you got a pistol?'*

"Yes, two. Can you shoot?"

"I surely can."

"Here, then. It's loaded. Just be certain whom you are shooting."

In taut silence they sped through dark streets, spooky with half-erected houses of the current building boom. On the outskirts they passed the dilapidated rows of tin and tarpaper shacks where poor whites and freed Negroes lived. Dogs pursued them, barking and growling, for a hundred yards before tiring of the chase. Leona's pace was hard to follow in the pale light of the new moon. But she knew the road, and Adam kept in her tracks.

They crossed Smith Creek, stopped to listen with held breath, but heard no unusual noises. They continued north through the swamp forest, where the cypresses lifted knobby knees daintily out of the water and the gray Spanish moss dripped like dank hair from the treetops.

Crowded against him, but trying respectfully not to touch him, a teen-aged black girl said in a whisper, "Ah's awful skeert."

Her companion leaned forward to peer into Adam's face. "What we gwine do iffen dey catches us? Me an' Pearl is mighty 'pohtant niggers. 01' Marse give thutteen

hunnud dollahs fo' us, an' iffen he catch up wid dis wagon, he's like to pin our ears agin de stocks."

"Is that why you ran away?" Adam asked.

"Yassuh," whispered Pearl next to him. "OI Marse say Ah was lyin' to him 'bout a piece o' sowbelly Ah got, so he stick mah ban's an' feets thoo dem holes in de stocks, an' he take a poundin' iron an' poun' nails thoo mah ears right into de stocks."

Adam had heard of ear pinning, but Pearl's recital gave him goosebumps. More than anything he wanted to reach up and touch his own ear. "How long did he make you stay there?"

"Mos' all day, Mastah. Ah coon't move mah haid fo' a week aftuh Ol' Miss make de overseer pull 'em out."

"Or Marse purty mean," the other girl volunteered. "He kin pop dat whup to make it sting like a yellerjacket. OV Joe, he a two-head nigger, he carry fish scales an' a li'l ol' dry-up mud turkle in he pocket. Ol' Joe put de evil finger on Marse, on'y Joe doan git de conjur all work out *fo' Marse catch him, an' he whup Ol' Joe so he can't walk no mo'."

Pearl's courage seemed to be rising. In a nearly normal voice she said, "Ol' Marse go roun' de cabins astin' us does we pray at nights. We sez we doan, but Mastah, we does. We prays wid our haids down low, an' we sings low. We prays fo' de end o' trib'lation an' de end o' beatin's, an' fo' real shoes dat fits our feets, 'stead o' dese red russets dat gets stiff like a anvil when dey wet."

"How did you manage to get away?"

"One day dey ain't nobody 'roun', an' Airy say to me, Tearl, le's us run off.' So we run off an' hid in de woods." The three carriages had now come out of the dark and scary woods into even scari,er open fields. "Where we-all gwine, Mastah?"

"About twenty miles to a Quaker man. You will rest there, and get food, then this man will take you on to the next station."

" 'Nen we gwine be free?" asked Airy.

"You'll have to travel for a long time, maybe till the next new moon. You'll go across North C'Lina and Virginia into Philadelphia."

"What's dem?"

"They're—places. When you get there, you can find work."

"Oh, Mastah, we ain't gwine work," Pearl giggled. "We's free niggers!"

"You'll have to work. But you'll get paid for it. And you'll still be free. Nobody in Philadelphia or New York will beat you. You'll have enough to eat."

"Dat soun' mighty fine,"'' said Airy: "What's it mean, git paid?"

"You do work and you get money for it. You use money to buy your food and clothes and a place to live."

"or Marse take care o' dat," said Pearl, her voice quivering. "We'ns doan know how!"

"People will help you," Adam said, though he was only guessing. Up to now, he hadn't thought about the pitfalls that yawned before newly freed slaves. Pearl, crying softly beside him, was beginning too late to realize that being free wasn't everything she had hoped.

Airy said, "Mah mamma make free one time, but dem slave catchers pick her up an' walk her ahint a hawse all de way back to Ol' Marse. He whup her an' whup her. Mama tell me a nigger doan know no misery till he make free an' gits fotched back."

Adam, thoroughly confused, was not sure he believed the words that fell so true-sounding from the lips of Pearl and Airy. He remembered his father striking and verbally abusing the blacks they'd owned then. But Ben's and Beau's fathers treated their darkies well. Their servants had ticks to sleep on and extra clothing so they could keep themselves clean and garden patches of their own. And Mr. West had it worked out so he didn't need an overseer. He gave his people tasks every morning, and when they had finished, they could stop for the day. Adam wondered if that was why the West's blacks were more efficient than those of Mr. LeClerc, who nervously oversaw everything his darkies did.

But that was one way of slavery. There was a dark and fearsome other side, the side where Edmund Revanche stood. Men who thought like Revanche saw their servants as things, property to be used, bought, sold, punished for small infractions, and brutally murdered for larger ones. Between the two extremes Adam knew about, there had to be a great middle ground of slave owners who were usually kind enough, who kept their slaves fed and doctored, punished them like children if they did wrong, and sometimes rewarded them if they did well.

But they are like children, Adam thought. Pearl is as old as I am, and she thinks being free is being taken care of somewhere. But how could she know different? Slaves were better off kept in ignorance, he had heard. They wouldn't crave things if they didn't know they existed. An educated slave was nothing but a danger, liable to start insurrections and all sorts of unhandy activities.

But they did learn things when they wanted to. The darkies stuck together, lying for each other, teaching each other the old traditions and crafts of an ancient people. Those who made free seemed able in some mysterious way to leave behind them some part of their spirit to inform those left behind of new ideas. The slave grapevine seemed more legend than fact, yet it was true the slaves always knew of things that had happened or were about to happen, before their white masters did. Slaves often talked and sang of the spirit; perhaps that was all the grapevine was, the imparting of information by the powerful collective spirit of a people in a common struggle.

Adam had never given slavery this much thought before. He could hardly remember what it was like to have blacks do all the work. When his father died, Zoe had sold all their slaves except Mammy, the only one who had not belonged to Paul Tremain.

People like Mammy, hardworking and competent, would be as well off free as in bondage. But Pearl and Airy, who he suspected were lazy scamps and not too bright, would find that their freedom made them a mighty thin meal. Maybe they would learn to take care of themselves, and maybe they wouldn't.

Leona turned abruptly into a wagon track across a fallow field. Adam followed until they stopped inside a huge bam. Leona climbed down, helped by a stalwart man. "Thee has brought us a goodly number this morning, Leona!"

"Hello, Ebenezer,*' Leona said. 'There's one more load. Has Elijah arrived yet?"

"Not yet. Are thy people hungry?"

"Of course they're hungry. I brought food, but it was too risky to stop."

"Thee was pursued?"

"So 'Lijah says. The catchers want Ruby's man for killing an overseer. Oh, Ebenezer, this is my nephew, Adam Tremain. Adam, Mr. Cline."

The Quaker's work-roughened hand clasped Adam's. "It's good to have thee here, friend Adam. Would thee fetch thy people, please?"

He led them into a large, windowless room. Ebenezer and Leona began to prepare the meal. The blacks squatted on their haunches, watching with apprehension and hope. Adam helped portion out the food, saving some for Elijah's passengers. Ebenezer gave instructions to the fugitives and left them alone.

"Will thee both share breakfast with me and my wife?" Ebenezer asked. "Elijah will eat with the others. They are not yet accustomed to taking meals with white people, Adam, so we do not force them."

"How did you know we were coming?" Adam asked.

Ebenezer laughed. "Pipes buried under the wagon trail carry the sounds of wheels into our house. It is a very effective alarm."

They entered the whitewashed kitchen, with its unadorned walls and sturdy, practical furnishings. Ebenezer's wife, taking muffins out of the oven, smiled at them. "I heard another carriage, husband."

"Thank thee. I will attend to it," Ebenezer replied.

Adam and Leona took a different route home, one more heavily traveled. The sun was struggling to free itself of the clinging morning mist when they entered the Pinck-neys' carriage house. Leona said, "Now, doesn't that make you feel that something important has been accomplished, Adam?" She was wearing a wide grin.

Adam grinned back. "I think so, but I've got a lot of questions."

"Better save them. Your mother will have some too, likely."

Zoe opened the porte cochere door. "Adam! Leona! Where have you been? I was worried half to death!"

Still smiling, Adam said, "Aunt Leona's been leading me astray." He did feel good, though he didn't know why. Helping a handful of fugitives make free from cruel masters seemed a lot different from emancipating every darky in the South. It was a long step from there to ideas of abolition. And this trip in the black of night had been merely an adventure thrust on him and safely completed.

Adam was pleased with himself, and his attitude did

nothing to calm his mother. Leona attempted to settle Zoe's fears and managed to rouse new, deeper ones.

"How could Garrett involve you in this! Leona, I—"

"He didn't persuade me, Zoe. I wanted to. Garrett worries for me. It's dangerous to haul slaves, but I believe it's the right thing to do. Mostly I work through the Wilmington Female Benevolent Society, the one that Mama helped to found in 1817."