“Why aren’t they filling the boats?” Beth asked.
“They’re scared. Slave owners won’t let slaves learn to swim,” Harriet said. “That makes it harder for them to escape.”
Colonel Montgomery shouted at Harriet, “Do something with your people! Tell them to get to the boats.”
Harriet frowned. “I’m black and a former slave,” she said. “But I’m from Maryland. I don’t speak Gullah. These aren’t my people.”
Beth said, “But God made them all. So they are our people.”
Harriet beamed at Beth.
“Do something,” the colonel shouted. “Or they’ll lose their chance at freedom!”
Harriet climbed down the rope ladder to the remaining rowboat.
Beth followed her into the boat. It could easily carry six more people.
Harriet picked up a set of oars. So did Beth. They rowed toward the beach.
The slaves watched them. They murmured to one another when Harriet got out of the rowboat.
Harriet slowly waded into the water. The fabric of her dress billowed out at first. Then it soaked up water and clung to her legs. She started to sing in a calm, sweet voice: “Come from the east. Come from the west. Come along, come along.”
A teen girl with a white head wrap moved away from the group. She waded toward the rowboat.
Harriet took the girl by the crook of the arm. Together they waded to the side of the rowboat.
Beth reached toward the girl. The slave clasped Beth’s hand in a fierce grip. Beth pulled and helped her climb aboard the rowboat.
Harriet kept singing and motioning with her arms.
The others seemed to understand. They stepped into the water.
Harriet directed six more to the rowboat.
Beth pulled them in.
Then four more.
The boat sank lower in the water. It was overcrowded. Beth lifted the oars. A man sitting on the back bench watched her carefully. He put his hands on the oars near him.
Together, they rowed the boat to the side of the Adams.
Beth breathed a sigh of relief when the last person left the rowboat. She wrinkled her nose. She smelled smoke.
Beth took the oars and rowed back toward the river’s edge. She glanced across the water toward the plantation. Union soldiers had set some of the buildings on fire.
Cows, pigs, goats, and one white sheep hurried along the causeway. The slaves behind them were running.
Then Beth heard rifle fire.
Heyward Plantation
Bang!
Patrick pulled on the reins to stop his horse. He took out the pocket watch and the captain’s map. He glanced at the picture. The officer on the horse looked proud. The watch had Colonel William C. Heyward written on it.
The child pressed her face into his chest. He could feel her hot tears seeping into his shirt.
A breeze pushed the smoke away from him and the girl. He patted her tight, black curls.
He said, “It’ll be okay. Miss Harriet will help you.”
Patrick unfolded the map and studied it. He thought he was on the edge of the Heyward plantation.
He put the watch and map back in his pocket. Then he nudged the horse with his knees. They headed toward the Heyward plantation.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Patrick heard the beat of a drum between shots.
Is that Walter’s drum? he wondered.
He came to a dirt road leading to a large white house. Large oak trees grew on either side of the path. Their thick branches reached across the road to form a roof.
Patrick followed the road and reached the house.
House slaves were leaving. Their arms were full of kitchen pots and baskets of food.
Six or seven Volunteers were also leaving with supplies from the house. One carried a long sword.
That soldier grinned at Patrick. “We’ve got Master Heyward’s sword!” he said. “He’ll throw a fit when he finds out!”
The soldier squinted at Patrick. “Weren’t you thrown off the Adams?” he asked.
“Yes,” Patrick said. “But then I was assigned to the Weed. I need to get a message to Colonel Montgomery. The Confederate base has been warned about this raid. Rebel soldiers will be here soon.”
The soldier said, “I’ll tell my captain first. Then I’ll tell Colonel Montgomery.” He ran toward the river, the sword held above his head.
A house slave carrying a large basket moved away from the house.
Patrick called to her.
“Yes, sir,” she said, approaching him. Her dress was nicer than that of the field workers. She had a neat white fabric cap on her head. She also wore an apron.
Patrick shifted the child so the woman could see her. “Will you take her to the ship?” he asked.
The woman nodded. She put down the basket and reached for the toddler. Patrick untied the sling and handed the girl to the woman. Then he dismounted and set the horse free.
The animal darted into the trees.
Patrick told the woman, “The little girl’s mother is a slave on a distant field. An overseer stopped her from coming to the river. This girl has no family now.”
“I’ll see that she has a home,” the woman said. She settled the girl inside the basket. “Grab one handle. I’ll take the other. We’ll get her to the river together.”
Patrick and the woman carried the basket a few dozen feet. Suddenly a bare-chested slave came alongside them. He was three times the size of Patrick.
The man had dozens of raised scars on his back. Patrick had to stop himself from wincing when he saw them. They looked like welts from a whip.
The man said something to the woman in a language Patrick didn’t understand. Then the woman said to Patrick, “He’ll take the basket and the girl to the ship.”
The man hoisted the basket in his arms. He took off running toward the causeway.
The woman turned back to the house. “I’ll get some more things from the cupboards,” she said. “The Union soldiers will burn the house next.”
“Wait,” Patrick said. “Do you know a boy named Kitch?”
A sad look crossed the woman’s face. “Everyone at the manor house knows the boy from Kentucky,” she said. “He spoke proper English, so the master used him as a house servant.”
Patrick’s heart filled with hope. “Is he inside the house?” Patrick asked.
The woman shook her head. “Look down near the slave houses by the river,” she said. “He’s been here only two years. But he’s tried to run away six times. The master’s men shackled him.”
Hours passed. Beth helped row one of the boats. Some of the time she stood in the water to help slaves into boats. Harriet and another Volunteer used a second rowboat.
About two hundred slaves had already boarded the Adams by the causeway ramp.
The overseers had fled the fields. They were most likely hiding in the nearby forest from Union soldiers.
Beth was sopping wet. Her wrists ached from helping so many into the rowboat.
A little girl in a large basket had just been put on Beth’s rowboat.
Smoke from the fires stung Beth’s eyes. She was tired.
But Harriet wasn’t slowing down. She helped more and more field hands into her rowboat. She motioned for others to walk along the causeway.
The slaves broke out in song from time to time. Some of the tunes sounded familiar to Beth. But she didn’t understand the Gullah words.
Somehow all the slaves knew how to say, “Thank you” and “Bless you.” Many said it with smiles.
“Would you look at that!” Harriet said. She pointed.
A Union soldier carrying a sword above his head was running toward them. The slaves let him through. He waded into the river up to his waist.
“Colonel Montgomery!” the soldier shouted. “The Rebels are coming!”
The colonel appeared at the edge of the ship. He leaned over the side and shouted, “Did you see them?”
“No!�
� the soldier said. “The boy you ordered off the Adams is back! He brings an important message.”
Patrick! Beth thought. He’s okay.
“Blast it,” the colonel shouted. “A battle is no place for children!” He slammed a fist on the railing.
“The boy has news,” the soldier said. “He says a Confederate messenger warned the Rebel soldiers about the raid.”
The colonel shouted to Harriet, “Get the rowboats to the ship. We’re pulling out before the enemy comes.”
“All right,” Harriet shouted back. “We want no bloodshed today.”
“Retreat,” Montgomery shouted.
One of the soldiers on deck blew a horn. He made a series of short notes.
Beth’s throat tightened. She looked at the shore. About fifty slaves waited. There wasn’t time to rescue them all.
Kitch
Patrick ran past the manor house toward the stables.
There were dozens of stalls. Union soldiers were releasing the horses.
Patrick got a whiff of kerosene. One soldier was pouring it from a can. He splashed the liquid on the walls and bags of feed. The stable would burst into flames once a fire was lit.
One Volunteer was leading a large, beautiful horse out of the last stall. The horse had a saddle on its back. It looked familiar.
Patrick took out the pocket watch. He compared the picture of the horse to the live one. Both horses had the same splotch of cream hair on their necks. The saddles were identical. But the live horse had a blue wool blanket under the saddle. The blanket had a gold star on it.
He remembered the message. Follow the star.
“Excuse me,” Patrick said. “May I look at that saddle?”
The soldier cocked his head. “You may,” he said. “But be quick. This stable is going up in flames soon. And the bugle call to retreat was just sounded.”
Patrick searched on and around the saddle. He didn’t know what he was looking for. His hand felt a seam in the leather. He had found a pocket. Inside the pocket was a large key.
Patrick grabbed the key. “Thanks,” he said to the Volunteer.
The soldier led the horse toward the river.
Patrick also headed toward the river. He saw a row of small houses close to the water. Each one had a stone chimney and a narrow front door.
At the end of the houses was a large post. A boy was shackled to the post. He had chains around his ankles and wrists. He was wearing only a pair of torn shorts.
Kitch!
Kitch was slumped against the pole and said nothing. It seemed as if he was too tired to care about freedom. But he wasn’t alone. A woman and an older teen were trying to free him. The young man was trying to break the chains with a hoe.
Clang. He swung the hoe again. Clang. But the chains held together.
The woman pushed on the post. But the wooden pole didn’t budge.
“Hey,” Patrick said. “I’ve got a key!” He hoped it would fit the lock.
The woman said, “Bless you.”
Patrick’s hands shook as he poked the key into the lock. He turned the key. Click.
The teen slave grabbed the lock and pulled it off.
Kitch’s hands were free!
The woman started to weep. “Praise the Lord,” she said.
Patrick looked back. Three of the barns were already burning. Smoke rose from the flames and licked the sky. The Volunteers were running along the causeway toward the Adams.
Patrick knelt and unlocked the shackles around Kitch’s ankles.
Kitch was free!
The slave woman and teen came alongside Kitch. Each supported him at the shoulders.
They all moved toward the river’s edge, step by step.
Patrick saw the line of slaves waiting on the causeway to board. Kitch was too slow to get there in time.
The bugle sounded again.
Are we too late? Patrick wondered.
The Last Rowboat
Beth was standing in the water near the shore.
Harriet was taking a rowboat full of freed slaves to the Adams.
The Adams paddlewheel started to turn. Smoke poured from its smokestack. The ship was getting ready to leave the plantation.
Walter rowed an empty boat toward Beth.
“Get in,” Walter shouted to her.
Beth waded toward the rowboat. She reached to grab its side. Walter grabbed her wrists and pulled her inside.
“I’m not leaving without Patrick,” Beth said.
“Neither am I,” Walter said. He pointed to the shore.
Beth looked toward the burning manor house. Patrick and three slaves emerged from the smoke. One of the slaves could barely walk. A woman and a teen held him up by the shoulders.
“I found Kitch,” Patrick called, waving. “I found him!”
“Hurry!” Beth said. “The Adams is leaving!”
Suddenly half a dozen slaves waded into the water toward the rowboat.
Walter spoke in a loud voice. But Beth couldn’t understand his words. The slaves did.
“What did you say?” Beth asked.
“I told them the Adams is leaving. There won’t be enough room for everyone,” Walter said.
Beth climbed over the rowboat’s side. She slipped into the water again. “Patrick and I will be fine,” she said to Walter.
Beth waded toward Kitch and the slaves next to him.
“Hurry!” she said.
The three of them waded into the water.
Beth and Patrick helped Kitch and his friends into the boat.
Walter spoke in Gullah again. Five other slaves moved toward the rowboat.
Kitch gave Beth a weak smile. Beth thought his smile looked a lot like Sally’s.
“Your sister Sally sent us,” Beth said. “She’s safe in Canada.”
“That’s more than I’d hoped for,” Kitch said.
Patrick pushed the rowboat away from the shore.
Walter said, “Get a horse. You have time to ride and meet us at Fields Point!”
“Don’t worry about us,” Patrick called. “We’ll get home another way.”
Beth heard a faint noise. It was a low humming sound. She looked around. There was a slight glow on the shore. The Imagination Station fully appeared.
Beth hoped it wouldn’t disappear again. “Time to go home,” she said to Patrick.
“Goodbye, Walter,” Patrick yelled. “Tell Harriet goodbye for us. Ask her to nurse Kitch back to health.”
“Maybe she can take Kitch to Canada when the war’s over,” Beth said.
Walter nodded. He rowed the last boat toward the Adams and freedom.
Beth and Patrick hurried to the Imagination Station.
Eugene was sitting in the driver’s seat. He was still a teen.
Eugene said, “I did the impossible. President Lincoln helped me cross my own broken timeline. That’s how I found the exact coordinates I needed. Then Mr. Whittaker and I programmed them into the Imagination Station. Now all we have to do is return to Odyssey.”
“Didn’t I see you on the Combahee River?” Beth asked.
“Perhaps you did,” Eugene said. “I was split into quite a few stories for just an instant.”
Patrick hopped into the Imagination Station first. He sat in the passenger seat. Beth climbed into the rumble seat.
Eugene said, “I see you’ve completed your mission as well.”
“We did,” Beth said. She smiled.
“Then there is only one thing left to do,” Eugene said. He quickly pressed the red button.
The Combahee River seemed to rise and cover them until everything went black.
Patrick opened his eyes. He was in the basement workshop at Whit’s End. “It’s hard to believe that trip was real,” Patrick said to Eugene. “We’ve been gone so long.”
Mr. Whittaker was the grandfatherly inventor of Whit’s End. He came up to the Model T and tapped on the windshield.
Patrick smiled at him.
“Eugene!” Whit
said. “You’re not too old. And you’re not too young.”
“Undeniably,” Eugene said, grinning. “Our calculations were finally correct. I am my proper age, in spite of the Imagination Station’s time warp.”
Eugene got out of the Model T. Whit gave him a hug.
“I knew it would work this time,” Whit said.
Beth stepped out of the rumble seat.
Patrick opened the door and left the passenger seat.
The cousins each hugged Whit. Then they hugged Eugene.
Patrick was happy to be home.
“I miss President Lincoln and Harriet Tubman already,” Beth said.
Patrick nodded in agreement.
Whit stroked his moustache. “Abraham Lincoln was a brave president,” he said. “Eventually he gave his life for his country.”
“What happened to Harriet Tubman?” Patrick asked.
Whit leaned against the Model T. “She helped freed slaves learn to fend for themselves,” he said.
“Like Kitch and those from the Heyward plantation?” Beth asked.
Whit nodded. “She served others till the day she died at age ninety-one,” he said.
Patrick said, “It’s going to be hard to come up with an adventure to beat this one.”
Whit smiled.
Patrick saw his eyes twinkle.
“We’ll see about that,” Whit said.
Find out about the next adventure—Poison at the Pump—at ImaginationStation.com.
Secret Word Puzzle
Count the number of letters in each bold word. Find the column with the same number of boxes. Fill in the word. The first one has been done for you. The secret word is in the gray boxes.
Harriet Tubman
Alligator
Fields Point
Tar Bluff
John Adams
Imagination Station
Free
Heyward Plantation
Second South Carolina Volunteers
Go to TheImaginationStation.com.
Find the cover of this book.
Click on “Secret Word.”
Type in the answer,
Rescue on the River Page 5