"What?" asked Daniel.
"How's this pup going to do what me and my boys couldn't?"
The judge stepped back around his desk, fell into his hard wood chair and grinned. "Color of his skin."
Brisbane asked, "What of it?"
"Look at how tarnished copper this boy is. With a little lampblack over his skin, maybe some tar and tobacco, we'll have us our own spy on the inside." The judge then spoke directly to Daniel, asking, "How'd you like to take your orders from me instead of that mean old Mrs. Shorr, Daniel? I know you don't want to disappoint me, do you, boy?"
"Spy? But I got all them chores to do, enough for weeks."
"I'll see to that."
"But I don't know anything about being a spy."
"I'll teach you all there is to it."
Daniel had never disobeyed the judge, and he'd always trusted him. Now, his head spinning, he didn't know what to say or do to get out of this strange request. "Spy?" he kept saying. "Me, a spy?"
Spy, spy, spy, Daniel kept saying over in his head. "I'd as likely be a doctor as a spy, judge."
But the judge didn't hear, deep in conversation with the sheriff. The two of them now leaned over the desk at one another. Brisbane thought using a fifteen-year-old boy as a spy was a mad idea.
"If you'd caught them runaways like you were supposed to, I wouldn't have to resort to such skullduggery, Henry," protested the judge.
"I do catch runaways, all the time! Got one last night, even."
"Oh, yes. What'd you find out from him?'
"Nothing, 'cept maybe he's crazy and that's why he run off in the first place—but smart crazy, this one is."
"Smart crazy?"
"You know what I mean. Crazy enough to tell a tale so far from the truth, well...it takes you by surprise, so you almost want to believe it."
"What kind of story?"
Daniel tried to interrupt, saying, "You caught one of the Coleson County runaways last night?"
The sheriff went on, saying, "Something crazy about his being a bounty hunter himself." Brisbane laughed at the notion. "Says he was hired by someone to chase down runaways himself! Can you beat that, judge?"
The judge sat thinking and muttering, "If it's true, even a little bit...."
"Then he'd be the lowest down man on earth, I reckon," said the sheriff.
"Who'd he say hired him?" asked Hatcher.
"I don't know. Showed me papers, all signed and printed with a big State of Illinois seal on 'em, but he didn't fool me."
"Had the State Seal on it?"
"Forgery, I figure, judge."
"One smart Negro if he's forged the State Seal."
"Seems to think highly of hisself, judge. Was carrying a long gun and a skinning knife when we caught him. Had a dog with him, too, but it wasn't the one I lost."
"You examined the papers he had? Were they a bill of sale on himself?"
"Reckon so, but like I said, I took it for a fake."
"Where are the papers now?"
"I tore 'em to shreds and threw 'em in his face, judge."
"Did you even bother to read the names on the document?"
Brisbane dropped his gaze and his voice, replying, "You know I don't read so well, judge."
"Better go have a talk with this fella myself," finished the judge, fighting again to his feet, and going for the cells.
But the sheriff stopped him with a question. "Mayn't I keep the dog, judge? Like I told you, I lost mine last night."
"Depends on our man. If he cooperates, we may have to return his dog to him. If he helps us, we can help him. He's in an awful fix, running away, and with a rifle in his hand."
Daniel, left standing in the middle of the courtroom, wondered which of the runaways had been captured. He wondered if it could be the man who'd held him on the ground at knife point. He felt sorry for the man, whoever he was. It could go bad for a runaway. Generally, they were sold South where it was said they'd be worked to death in the sugarcane fields. Daniel also wondered what the judge wanted from him, what he expected from him. "I ain't no spy," he told the empty room.
He was supposed to look out for anything unusual at the colonel's, for a "hole" in the earth for runaways, and for an underground passage, an under-the-ground railroad! He'd only seen one regular railroad train in his life, two years before in St. Louis. How am I going to get out of this? he asked himself. Why didn 't I stay home the other night? Why didn't I pay Mrs. Shorr's rules more mind?
THREE
THE NIGHT VISITOR
Climbing Cardiff Hill in the dark was not as hard as fighting back the feeling that he'd made a terrible mistake and should return to Hannibal, give himself up, and confess everything to Judge Hatcher.
Wind whipped around Daniel, swirling dust and leaves into his face. He felt cold, and it smelled like rain coming. He felt more numb than hurt when he scratched his arm or hand on a branch as he made his way to the cave entrance only he and Joe knew about. Maybe the worst thing he'd done was wait too long to make up his mind about running away. He'd stopped at Joe's house and tried hard to talk Joe into running away, too. They argued because Joe didn't see any use in going, and he couldn't understand why Daniel wanted to leave. Although Joe had always talked about going West to the territories, even bragged about it, now he had a change of heart.
Cardiff was a rocky hill; sand and pine cones nestled comfortably in pitted holes, and stones covered much of the ground like so many apples tossed away. The steep hill proved treacherous here, overlooking the ribbon of the Mississippi River. Sycamores, sumacs, oaks, and ash trees grew on the hillside, with an occasional bramble bush that grabbed at Daniel as he went. Hills along the river like this one were dotted with caves and enclaves. The cave Daniel searched for had been a lot easier to find by day.
At the cave mouth there would be a lot of brush and brambles. He and Joe had moved it there to keep their cave a secret. Now, in the dark, every bush he saw looked to be covering a cave.
Then he spotted the right one, knowing the brush about the rock wall didn't look regular. He snatched away the covering. Met with the black interior, he told himself. At least I'll be out of the cold wind and the wet, as a light shower had just begun.
He carried in all of the branches his arms could hold. There'd be more stored neatly on a ledge inside. Soon he had a small fire blazing. The cave opening was a lantern to anyone passing by, but it faced the river, and there wouldn't be any traffic on the water, not tonight, not with a storm coming.
Daniel stretched out beside the fire, and despite his worries, he fell asleep. Daniel slept with his arms wrapped about himself. Cool, rain-swept air filled the cave with a damp smell; one of fallen leaves, brown grass, and rotten stumps all mixed up with the river down the hill.
The sound of the rain had put Daniel to sleep. Something else woke him, wondering what it could be. A dream, he thought, listening for it again.
"Hoooooooowl!" came a moaning from the woods beyond. "Hoooooooowl!"
Man or animal? Daniel wondered, trying to identify the sound as it mixed with the howl of wind and rain. He crept to the cave mouth, afraid, unsure. He heard twigs snapping. Someone—or something—was coming his way. He glanced over his shoulder to the deep interior of the cave. He and Joe had never gone too far inside the cave, because at one point it narrowed so badly they would have had to lie down, slide and squeeze ahead—without any promise of ever being able to get back out. Tonight I might have to risk it, unless maybe it's Joe out there. He felt somewhat braver. "Joe? Is that you out there?" he called over the rain.
Only the heavy drumming of the rain answered. If it isn't Joe out there, then I've just given away the secret of my hiding place. He pictured the posse of sixteen torch-bearing men led by Sheriff Brisbane storming up the hill, angry, looking to kill him for disobeying the judge, and for making them come out on a night like this. He waited and waited, but no one came. He sat, looking into the fire.
Maybe it had been an owl or a passing be
ar. He hoped for an owl. A bear could be dangerous. He inched back to the front of the cave and looked out. There was a strange light, far away, on the Illinois side of the river, way up on a hill, at about the same height as Cardiff Hill. The light glowed like a fire, but it blinked on and off, like a signal! Someone seemed to be sending signals from Illinois, clear across the river!
Daniel stepped out farther toward the rock ledge, which stretched out over the river. It formed a natural roof over the alcove below him. Then he saw a flatboat barely a mile offshore, trying to make it across the river, fighting a headwind and pelting rain. Daniel wouldn't have seen the flatboat at all if a light had not been placed close to its rudder, and lit that very moment. In another second, the light went out.
It was no small skiff, rather a large affair, the kind of boat whole river families lived on and traded from. Daniel had heard stories of men and women whose entire lives were spent on such flatboats; born on them, raised to full age, and died on them without ever coming ashore. Old Billy once told him that some of the river folk never had any reason to come ashore and would get the giddies just like a cow if they stepped on dry land. These trading vessels traveled up and down the river with everything a man owned, with goats, chickens, dogs, children, and family covering every inch of deck. Some of the boats were fitted around with fences to hold the animals in. Shacks with stovepipes and dark little windows sat atop the flat-bottomed decks.
Daniel had never before seen one of these traveling in the dark. He'd never heard of anyone so ignorant as to try to make a river crossing in a storm. Even the ferryman at Harpers Crossing wouldn't do that. Everyone knew it was a fool's game to chance night travel in rough weather, because a good wave could take a goat, a cow or a child overboard. Besides, there was the danger of being run down by a steamer. It's a wonder these people aren't tied up somewhere tonight, Daniel thought. An experienced rafts man would cuss them good for such foolishness.
Daniel rushed back into the cave. The rain had become heavy again. At the cave entrance, he stopped, feeling his heart racing in his chest. A dog sat warming himself by the fire. He was a handsome, trim black and tan hunting dog. Could this be the sheriff's lost dog, Little Boy?
The dog stared at the fire, more interested in its warmth than in Daniel. "Got no fear of people, have you?" asked Daniel. "If you ain't Little Boy, then maybe you belong to a farm nearby, huh?"
Daniel cautiously approached the dog, his fingers stretched out. "I ain't got nothing to eat, but you're welcome to my fire and my cave."
But just as Daniel reached out to pet him, the dog dodged his hand, backing into a darkened corner where he slumped down. "It's okay, boy," Daniel said, "I ain't going to hurt you." Daniel decided to let the dog lay where he felt comfortable. "Glad to have the company," he added as he nestled near the fire himself. "I'm certain to run into some cutthroats, thieves and liars where I'm heading. Folks tell me Indian Territory is full up with pirates and murderers. Lighting out for the territories, I reckon. Nothing to keep me here, nothing to recommend my staying."
Daniel noticed that the dog was not only a handsome hunting dog. but a good listener as well. The rain had soaked the poor dog, and he continued panting as if he'd been running hard. But there had been no one outside. He wondered who the dog belonged to and where he'd come from.
Daniel threw a large branch of hickory on the fire, laid back down and tried to get the dog and Judge Hatcher off his mind. He wrapped his arms about himself and closed his eyes...never once having seen the dark man in deep shadow behind the dog. The man's sharp eyes never left Daniel. He'd listened to every word Daniel had said and how he said it. Seeing Daniel nod off to sleep, he also closed his eyes, sitting cross-legged on the cave floor.
FOUR
THE RUNAWAY CATCHER
Daniel Webster Jackson felt his eyelashes curling under a force of hot air, as if he had rolled too close to the fire, and he heard a heavy breathing in his ear. His senses told him that morning had come. He smelled the sun on the cool, wet leaves just outside the cave. Then he realized someone's weight over his chest had made him instinctively draw up his legs and arms. He still held his eyes tightly closed. A bear, he feared, had come into the cave and now hovered over him, ready to pounce.
He lay for a few moments as still as stone. He heard the cock crow away off in Hannibal, and the rhythm of the river below, lapping in and out at the shore. The river must surely be swelled high with night rain to be cutting sand and rock with such energy this time of morning.
Daniel feared he'd be eaten alive if he dared show any sign of life. He dared not open his eyes. Instead, he concentrated on the faint sound of a bell ringing back in town. Mrs. Shorr's school bell. Mrs. Shorr also schooled Hannibal's children, and with her speller in her left hand, she rang the bell the way a boy swung a dead cat by its tail. Daniel imagined her now, and all the children racing for school, some of the boys lagging behind. He wished ever so much to be there now, though he'd never had any use for it before. Daniel began a silent prayer, swearing he'd never again smoke a pipe, skip school, play cards with the boys or slip away from Mrs. Shorr's ever again if he should live through the bear attack.
Then the animal thing standing over Daniel, straddling him, barked pertly and lapped at Daniel's face with a rough tongue. The dog! Daniel recalled his night visitor now. Daniel pushed the dog off, saying, "Hey, cut it out!"
When Daniel got free, he sized the dog up. A good- looking dog, his black dotted eyebrows looked deep and dark against his tan hide. The forehead jutted forward, regal and high. The dog moved his head from side to side, tilting it, studying Daniel as Daniel studied him. "Does your tail ever stop wagging?" Daniel asked.
The dog barked loudly in response and placed a paw out for Daniel to shake, but as Daniel attempted a shake, the dog drew back. He didn't want to be touched. Instead, he stiffened, his tail going straight back as if he were on the scent. He moves like a stern-wheeler when it slows and reverses in mid-river to make a landing, Daniel thought.
Suddenly, the dog growled at Daniel, freezing him in place.
"Hush dog! Stand away!" a man's clear voice rang out. For a moment, Daniel thought the words had come from the dog, but then he saw the movement in the shadows at the rear of the cave. The man came in with the dog and was here all night. He's as agile as his dog. Daniel's hand went instinctively to his throat. At least he didn't slit my throat in the night.
Daniel leapt to his feet, aiming for the sunlit exit, but the dog blocked his way, snarling and mean now. The shadow man calmly said, "My dog'll eat you alive, boy. He's a mean'un, kept hungry all the time, and he does like I tells him. Samuel, heel! Now!”
The dog immediately relaxed.
Daniel gulped and turned his eyes on the man crouched in the shadows, his large form nearly invisible against the cave wall even by day.
"My dog Samuel is trained on runaways, and we're right now looking for some who stole off from over at Coleson County, belong to a Mr. James Grimes. Mr. Grimes put great store on his people; put a heavy price tag on 'em, too. Come this way maybe just last evening? You hear tell of 'em?"
"No...I'm new to these parts myself," Daniel lied.
"Sam and me was hunting these slaves and doing fine till the other night. Then this fool sheriff and his posse caught me and Sam. Said we was runaways! Locked me up down at Hannibal. You ever been to Hannibal? You know Sheriff Brisbane?"
"No, never been there and don't know him," Daniel said.
"Judge over there name of Hatcher. He took one look at my tore up freedom papers, patched 'em back together for me and set me back to working for him."
"Working for him? I mean, for a judge?"
"To catch them runaways. He even added to the reward. Told me about a young white boy down there to Hannibal who up and ran off last night, too. Set out a reward for the white boy's safe return. Did say that if the boy was found dead, drowned or killed, he'd give up half the reward for the body."
Daniel began to swea
t where he stood. The stranger talked on. "What with all the rain, Sam and me couldn't find nothing, not till we come on your light. Sam got mighty interested in your scent, too. He come braying up this way sudden as thunder. He's trained on runaways, all kinds, so I can't understand why Sam's so all-fired interested in you 'less you got a scent on you like this boy, Daniel Webster Jackson." The stranger burst out in laughter.
Daniel didn't dare move but finally asked, "What's so funny? You ain't caught nobody name of Daniel Webster Jackson."
The man kept laughing.
"My name's Effram, Effram Meriweather, and I come from St. Louis, where my pap is a blacksmith and ma's a seamstress, and they sent me on the road to see to my sick aunt in Hattiesburg. Making my way to see her now. My pap is himself down with the sickness and ma's nursing him, fearing he's going to die, and 'cept for my aunt, I ain't got no other family." Daniel began a soft crying, peeking between fingers at the man's reaction.
The man stood up and approached, coming into the light. He was a black man. Daniel stared and shook his head. "You're a slave hunter? A black man, a slave hunter?"
"Sam and me been doing it for years. We's the best."
"Slave hunting is dirty business." Daniel said boldly.
The stranger came at Daniel, his white eyes filling with the light from the entrance to the cave, his shoulders heaving forward, and his nostrils flaring like an angered bull. The dog barked at Daniel's back.
"Maybe it is, and maybe it ain't," he declared, standing right over Daniel now. "When Sam and me catches 'em, it ain't. Sam don't tear no man apart. I don't put a scratch on a man I catch. I'm proud to know a man brave 'nough to run from his master!"
The man turned from Daniel and walked toward the back of the cave again, but he stayed in the light, talking. "Slave be safer with me. Some slave runners do awful things to a man. They treats him like an animal, sometimes maim him! Some even makes their money by running the slave, and once caught, selling him or her to the market block in St. Louis for Deep South plantation work—just as if the runaway was theirs to sell! It all depends on if the reward is higher than the market prices."
Daniel Webster Jackson & The Wrongway Railroad Page 3