The Swindler's Treasure (13 page)

As Jordan slipped past Caleb into the darkness, Libby and Peter followed. Behind them, Libby heard the closing of a door, then Peter's gasp.

CHAPTER 10

W
here are we?” Libby's voice echoed against rock walls.

“Shhh!” Caleb warned, and Libby heard the sound of scratching. Then the flame of a candle glowed. But it was Peter who held the candle, not Caleb, as Libby expected.

The moment her gaze met his, Peter looked guilty. The bag on his back was still open, as though he had carried the candle and matches there.

So!
Libby thought.
He still has a candle and matches. Just wait till I tell Pa!

As though reading Libby's thoughts in her face, Peter's head shot up. “I'm not on the boat!”

That's true
, Libby thought and didn't know what to do.

Already Caleb was lighting more candles. A small shelf near the door held a supply of them, as well as matches. As Caleb handed her one, Libby held it up. They were in a tunnel lined with brick. A steep stairway led upward, disappearing into the darkness.

“Go ahead,” Caleb said, his voice still a whisper. “You'll find a well partway up.”

“A
well
?” Libby whispered back. “Caleb, how do you find these strange places?”

In the flickering light, Libby saw his grin and felt his relief that Jordan was in a safer place. “A man told me about this tunnel,” Caleb said. “He also said there's an Underground Railroad station called the Rock House.”

As Jordan started up the stairs, Peter grabbed a hand railing on the wall next to the steps. With Libby and Caleb following, they climbed stairs until the tunnel widened. Off to one side was the kind of three-foot-high round brick wall that surrounded a well. From a strong wooden beam above the well hung a rope with a pail.

“Spring-fed,” Caleb said as they all stopped for a drink. “It's part of the town's water supply.”

Walking on, they continued climbing for what must have been at least two or three blocks. More than once Libby stopped to rest and catch her breath. It seemed she had been climbing forever. Then she remembered the steep hills she had seen from the boat.

Still clutching his candle, Peter grabbed a railing each time they started out again. Where there was no railing, he caught hold of Libby's elbow and followed close behind.

Is he afraid of the dark?
Libby wondered when he wavered as he walked. It didn't seem like Peter.

At last they came out in what looked like a cellar. Here, too, a small shelf was built into the brick to hold a supply of candles.

“What do we do now?” Jordan asked.

“I don't know,” Caleb said. “I thought there would be someone here to meet us.”

“Do you suppose this house is an Underground Railroad station?” Libby asked. Along the way she had noticed more than one door, as if different families used the tunnel to go for water.

“I'm sure it's a cellar,” Caleb said. “But I don't know who lives here. The man who told me about the Rock House said it was a couple miles up from the river. We can't possibly have come that far.”

Just then Libby heard a sound, as if someone walked above them. Holding up her candle, she saw the wooden beams of a floor.

“What if the wrong person finds us?” Libby whispered, feeling more creepy by the minute. In the candlelight Peter's eyes were wide, as if he wasn't sure that he liked what was happening.

“I am starting to feel like a mouse in a trap,” Jordan said.

“Caleb, is there some signal you're supposed to give?” Libby asked.

“If there is, I don't know it.”

By now Jordan was exploring. A short flight of steps, different from the one they had been on, led upward. At the top was a wooden door. Jordan blew out his candle, then opened the door a crack. Cool night air swept in.

While the rest of them waited at the bottom of the steps, Jordan took a peek outside. “Tell you what,” he whispered as he closed the door again. “I am going to walk out on the street and let some Underground Railroad conductor find me.”

“Look confused,” Caleb said. “That's how I spot someone who needs help.”

Jordan grinned. “That won't be hard. But I have a sneaking idea what might happen.”

“If there's a Railroad conductor around, he'll talk to you,” Caleb said, as though trying to sound hopeful. “If there's a slave catcher—”

Caleb didn't have to finish.

“Oh, Caleb, don't tease,” Libby said. “Purposely set yourself up to be found by a slave catcher?” They could be headed into big trouble.

“Should we run?” Peter asked.

Libby signed back. “I don't know.”

But Jordan wasn't going to wait for Libby to make up her mind. Without another word he opened the door, slipped out, and quietly closed the door behind him.

As Libby, Caleb, and Peter waited for what seemed forever, the floorboards above them creaked again.

What if the wrong person comes down in the cellar?
Libby wondered again.

In the flickering light, tall shadows leaped up, seeming to surround them. Then a mouse ran across the floor and under the bottom step. Libby gulped and backed away.

“Are you scared, Libby?” Peter asked.

Libby felt ashamed. Pa had told her to be responsible for Peter. Right now she felt as if he was taking care of her.

Then quietly, on oiled hinges, the door to the outside opened.

“C'mon!” Jordan whispered.

“Ahhh!” Libby breathed deep with relief. Jordan must have found a man from the Underground Railroad.

But when Libby hurried outside, a fairly small, light-skinned woman stood there.

“Put out your candle,” she whispered, and Libby obeyed, embarrassed that she had forgotten.

“Follow me.”

Soon Libby lost track of the streets and the direction. She only knew that the woman moved quickly, wasting no time in bringing them into a frame clapboard church. When she closed the door behind them, she pushed aside a heavy curtain enough to let in a sliver of moonlight. Then she asked, “Why are you here?”

“These are my friends,” Jordan said quickly. “I am looking for my daddy.”

“You think he's taken the Underground Railroad?”

“If he's gotten this far.” Jordan explained what had happened. “I think my daddy swam across the river. I want to find him—to tell him where our family is.”

“You came to just the right person.”

“Is this your church?” Libby asked.

“It is the Lord's church,” the woman answered.

“Where are we?” Libby asked.

“The Alton AME Church. African Methodist Episcopal. My name is Priscilla Baltimore.”

“Miz Priscilla,” Jordan asked. “Is there some way to find out if my daddy made it this far?”

“I'll ask around,” the woman told him. “If I don't hear anything, he might have crossed the river farther up. Tell me where he started from.”

When Jordan finished his story, Miss Priscilla said, “I can't make the trip tonight. If I need to find out more, I'll row across the river tomorrow night.”

“Do you want me to go with you and help you row?” Caleb asked quickly.

“Thank you kindly,” she answered. “But if I go by myself, I'll have an empty boat for bringing back any runaways I find.”

In the dark Libby wished she could see Caleb's expression. Clearly Priscilla Baltimore was a woman who did not sit home waiting for fugitives to come to her. She went out and found them.

“I'll bring food before I take you farther on,” she said.

Libby had no idea how hungry she was until Miss Priscilla returned with a kettle of soup. To Libby's amazement she dished it up with only the one sliver of light from where the curtain was pushed slightly aside.

While they finished eating, Priscilla Baltimore talked to Jordan. “I'll take you to the Rock House. You'll be safe there till I learn something about your daddy.”

When Miss Priscilla returned for Libby, Caleb, and Peter, she told them, “We're hiding a lot of people right now. Since no one is looking for you, you can stay at Major Hunter's. They have a lodging place where you can get food and sleep.”

“We're also looking for a swindler,” Caleb said. “We have an address that might help us find him. Can you tell us where it is?”

On the way to Major Hunter's, Miss Priscilla brought them to the address on the piece of paper Serena had found. Now, in the middle of the night, the house looked deserted, as if no one had lived there for some time. Libby and Caleb decided to come back the next day.

In the light of the moon, Miss Priscilla led them on through the empty streets. At last she stopped outside the lodging place. Far above, against the night sky, was the outline of two chimneys—one on either end of the house.

When Miss Priscilla rapped a special knock, the door quietly opened. Major Hunter's wife, Rebecca, stood in the dark, ready to welcome them. Though Miss Priscilla didn't say so, Libby felt sure that Major and Mrs. Hunter were leaders in the Underground Railroad.

That night Libby had a small room all to herself and sank down into a soft bed. Yet her last waking thought was about runaway slaves who walked all night, then slept in whatever place they could find. In order to reach freedom, how many of them were cold and hungry and afraid at this very moment? When the sun came up, how many fugitives would sleep in the woods or in a wet, snake-filled swamp?

In the morning Rebecca Hunter served Libby, Caleb, and Peter a big breakfast with eggs and ham and thick slices of bread. While they were eating, Libby heard the
chink, chink, chink
of a hammer striking a chisel.

“What's going on?” she asked.

Mrs. Hunter smiled. “Our friend John Livingston asked a man to check our chimneys. Reverend Livingston used to run the press for another friend of ours, Elijah Lovejoy.”

“Mr. Lovejoy was your friend?” Caleb asked, as though hardly daring to believe what he'd heard.

Mrs. Hunter nodded, a shadow of sadness in her eyes.

“Will you tell me about him?” Caleb asked. Some time before, he had told Libby that a mob killed Elijah Lovejoy at Alton, then threw his fourth printing press into the river.

“Elijah was a teacher, writer, newspaper editor,” Mrs. Hunter said. “A Presbyterian minister, a man of God. Do you know all that?”

Caleb nodded. “Elijah Lovejoy is my hero.”

“Then you want to know what he said and wrote. I have extra copies of his most famous words. Would you like to take them along when you leave?”

Caleb's face shone as though unable to believe such a great gift.

“But now, while you're here, let me tell you some of the words I remember.” Mrs. Hunter cleared her throat, as though wanting to be sure she gave the words the way Elijah Lovejoy did.

Then she began: “‘As long as I am an American citizen, and as long as American blood runs in these veins, I shall hold myself at liberty to speak, to write, to publish whatever I please on any subject I please, being amenable to the laws of my country for the same.'”