Daniel Webster Jackson & The Wrongway Railroad

by Robert Walker

  One of the Coleson runaways stood beside Billy. "He's the finest White man I ever did meet," he said to Billy.

  Daniel felt mighty confused, wishing to ask a hundred questions. He began by asking, "How? How do you do it? I know the colonel came up from the cave right as we ran into those trees shouting, but I don't figure he's guarding the entrance twenty-four hours a day."

  "We have our signals. Daniel," Old Billy said, smiling. "They were all around you, all day long."

  Daniel thought and thought. "I saw no signals sent from you to the colonel's house."

  Old Billy shrugged. "Not the sheriff, not no one ever sees what they're looking right at. And the most overlooked and underestimated people in the world are little ones, tiny ones just out of diapers. We send 'em back and forth to the quarters and the colonel's house."

  "How can you trust babes with getting the message right?"

  "Don't trust 'em with the message. They are the message! All they know is they're going up to the big house to beg scraps, or take a pail of peas or a snatch of carrots to the cook. Any other time, the cook gets her own fixings."

  Daniel mulled this over. He shook his head, nodding in understanding. "Can you tell me why that bounty hunter is all of a sudden no longer interested in the Coleson runaways, and now wants to take out to Rantul County after Mr. Blainy? He ain't looking to kill Mr. Blainy, is he?"

  Old Billy laughed. "What an imagination this boy's got! Kill a white man? Even a free black man knows better'n that!"

  "What's he going there for then?"

  Old Billy dropped his gaze. "I can't tell you that, Daniel. You'll have to ask him yourself. He's got his reasons."

  Daniel stared at the white-haired old man, saying nothing.

  Billy added. "Look here, you don't have to care about his reasons. All you have to do is get him there. Besides, with Judge Hatcher and the sheriff on the lookout for you, you'll be safer in Rantul territory for awhile. Then you can come on back."

  "Don't figure to ever come back."

  "Sure you can."

  "Judge'll want to know why I ran."

  "Tell him you come out here to do your spying job, and you got lost is all, and a kindly family took you in, taking pity on you, and you stayed with them until they brought you back to Hannibal."

  "I don't know as I want to come back, Billy."

  "You ain't got no other place. Daniel. You got to come back."

  Daniel didn't answer. He sat thinking.

  "Look here," began Billy, "you can say you was snatched and kidnapped. I'll write out a ransom note. No, we'll have the colonel do the job. He can write a real smart letter. You can say you escaped after we send the letter down to the judge. It'll be a real adventure to be kidnapped, ransomed and escaped, Daniel."

  "That's a real smart idea," agreed Daniel with a smile. "But you don't understand. I ain't wanting to go back to living under Mrs. Shorr's care, nor always running to the judge whenever I got a problem, nor being sent to him for a lecture each time I gall Mrs. Shorr or someone else around Hannibal. I think I want to take out on my own, take up manly work, maybe light out for the Territory."

  "Well, you just get that notion right outta your head, boy. Maybe that'd be all right for some, but you ain't near ready yet, Daniel." Old Billy's tone meant he did not want to say another word on the subject.

  Daniel's arms dropped to his sides. He started for the kitchen area at the back of the big house. "Guess I'll go find something to eat."

  "You go right on, son."

  On the way to the kitchen, Daniel had to pass the small alcove from which the trapdoor led down into the root cellar. He glanced at the rug thrown over the trapdoor. He stole a look back to where Old Billy stood. It bothered Daniel that Old Billy and Colonel Halverston were being hornswoggled by the runaway catcher, and that Billy seemed not to trust Daniel with any information regarding George's plans for this man Blainy. He also wondered what might be in George's buckskin pouch now on the leather strap around his neck. What's so important that he'd hide it from the others, keeping it close to his chest?

  The mystery of the opening earth and the appearance of Satan carrying a lantern and beckoning the slaves into the bowels of the blackest hole in creation had been solved, at least for Daniel. He felt frustrated now with an even more mysterious question, a strange, black freeman who was supposed to be catching runaway slaves, but who instead made bargains and let the slaves go free.

  What was the runaway catcher's game? Who was Blainy to him? And why did Daniel Webster Jackson have to get bargained off by his friend. Old Billy, when it was for Old Billy's sake that he'd run away from home in the first place? Nothing seemed fair, and everything was confusing; the trapdoor appeared the only way out for him.

  Daniel jumped at the chance, stepping quickly into the hidden alcove. Not hearing any objections, he lifted the rug and pulled up the latch. The door creaked ever so quietly, but not lightly enough to suit him. He finally raised it all the way and realized how dark the interior was, but in the square of light spilling into the cellar he saw the colonel's lamp alongside some stick matches.

  He lowered the door over his head and went for the lantern in the dark, knocking over some jars on the table. He lit the light without any further difficulty, studying the room for anything he might wish to take with him. He stuffed his pocket with a potato and yanked off an ear of corn. He saw some jars and examined them more closely. He found some paint, lampblack and molasses. The molasses was good. It would be rich, like candy. He could survive for days on it, he told himself. In the second he decided, Daniel heard footsteps overhead. He located and emptied a gunnysack of potatoes that rolled out like rocks, and then he placed several jars, the corn and some squash inside the sack.

  He rushed down the cellar stairs, lantern in hand, into the depths of the waiting cavern. In a matter of minutes, he found himself squeezing through the tunnels, holding the lantern carefully, pushing the sack ahead of him. He feared he'd find himself hopelessly lost at every turn. When he did finally arrive in the area of the entranceway, he felt certain that when he moved the stone, he'd find George, the colonel. Old Billy or Sheriff Brisbane and his posse waiting on the other side. He took some minutes of thought before moving the rock, but when he did, he found the night woods empty and silent, as quiet as a grave. He found himself alone—alone and free to run.

  EIGHT

  NIGHT OF THE SILENT DOGS

  The thick, rich molasses filled Daniel somewhat after he'd roasted his ear of corn and potato and eaten them. He cursed himself for not having picked up more, because the squash proved too old for anything other than a gourd. One jar of molasses turned out to be a jar of lampblack. Still, no matter how hungry he might get from here on, he felt good; he was free.

  Daniel now listened to the sounds of the river, having camped along its bank after a northerly trek. He'd thought that direction a wise decision, believing George would think him too dumb to continue on toward Rantul County. But he planned to steer clear of any farmsteads or plantations, especially those of the Blainy clan.

  Alone as he now was, Daniel relaxed, staring out over the stillness of the great Mississippi River, thinking just how calm nature could be. Generally, he told himself, things prove peaceful and quiet, and there isn 't too much involved in simple living. You just sit or stretch out, lie your head on as soft a rock as could be found and stare up into the moonlit night sky, counting stars.

  Excitement was the exception, as when a person met somebody like George Penny, a black self-professed runaway catcher. Exception was also when a body stumbled onto the Underground Railroad. George had confided that Halverston's operation was just one of thousands of railway stations all along the river, extending as far south as Louisiana where the Mississippi spilled into the ocean, and as far north as Minnesota, where the Mississippi River originated, he said, as a trickle of water from the earth. Said it began as a trifling stream, so small you could step across it in a single step.

  "T
hat's the trouble with Mr. Penny," he told the night air. "He comes out with the most marvelous facts one moment, some useful information, and he can train you on how best to catch a squirrel or decide how prosperous a man is by sizing things up, but then in the next breath out comes a whopper like that about the Mississippi. He even went so far as to say he'd seen it with his own eyes. How you going to trust a man who'd lie about a natural wonder like the Mississippi?"

  Daniel was wondering if all free black men were as strange as Mr. Penny, when a sudden clatter of shouting and dogs braying from upriver alerted him.

  Daniel leapt to his feet and kicked sand over his fire until it stopped smoldering. He searched for a decent place to hide, but nothing seemed safe. Then he recalled how the runaways had hidden that night at Halverston's, up in a tree. He looked for a sturdy tree nearby, one with a slim enough trunk to climb, or one with a low-hanging branch. He found a strong one and pulled himself off the ground. Just as he did so, several black men, one barely his own age, came barreling into his campsite, looking in all directions, shouting at one another. One stood tall and strong-looking, and he seemed the group leader. "This way," he shouted, pointing to the lower river trail. "Gots to be this way!"

  "No, Eben!" shouted a second man, not quite so tall. "We're done for if’n they catch us, and they're onto our trail! I don't care what that white man friend of yours said no more."

  "That white man'll be gettin' us killed. Eben!" shouted a third.

  "This way!" the one called Eben repeated, still pointing in the same direction before starting ahead. Then he turned to face all the others, who now stood against him. "We got to do as planned. If we're caught, we're caught. But the finding of the main line, the line on the freedom train Sheriff Brisbane told me about, that's what we got to find, and he says it'll be a barge a-waiting for us on the river, this way!"

  "How you know you can trust a white lawman?"

  "Without help from the Underground Railroad, how're we going to make a thousand miles to Canada, boys?"

  The leader moved off, leaving the others for only a moment before they rushed after Eben. The one who'd objected in the beginning stepped squarely onto Daniel's campfire ashes. Having no shoes on, he burned his feet and went out howling and hopping after the others.

  Daniel's thoughts raced. He knew that Sheriff Brisbane had nothing to do with Colonel Halverston's station on the Underground Railroad. The sheriff must have been talking about the disappearances on Halverston's land, and these slaves must have overheard.

  Then the dogs came running and snarling into camp, stopped for a few moments, sniffing all about. They were all catch dogs, trained on runaways. A catch dog was of bloodhound stock, not like George's black-and-tan, Samuel. These dogs ranged in color from yellow to sand brown. Bred from birth for chasing men, they stayed low to the ground, running close in a pack like wolves, yelping, falling over one another, and at times jumping clean over one another like children at leapfrog in their pursuit. They were clean dogs, kept lean and snarly. Their ribs showed on each side below their haunches. They had short fur, and long snouts for scenting. Sleek runners, they were faster than any man.

  The dogs disappeared after the runaways as fast as they'd come. Fortunately, they paid no heed to any other scent. As soon as the dogs ran off, the men chasing after them came into the clearing. Seeing that this posse was led by Sheriff Brisbane and the fellow called Lem, Daniel felt his heart in his throat. He tightened his grip on the limb and prayed no one in the posse wanted to count stars tonight.

  "Listen," said Lem to the others, raising a hand. Several of them seemed about to drop, and they leaned against trees and rocks, huffing. The runaways had given them a hard time. "Listen," repeated Lem, "do you all hear that?"

  "Hear what?"

  "I don't hear nothing."

  Hardly able to breathe. Sheriff Brisbane said, "What're you yammering about, Lem?" The sheriff stood near Daniel's campfire which having just been stirred, sent an ember or two skyward. Daniel watched Brisbane inch closer and closer to his fire; he'd be discovered in a matter of minutes, he feared.

  Instead, the sheriff turned on Lem and said, "None of us hears anything." He saw that all the others were now intently listening for the dogs.

  Daniel realized that the dogs had gone silent, as though they'd fallen asleep! Just minutes before, they had torn after the runaways, braying to the moon. He'd heard their barking and yelping as it faded in the distance, but now there was nothing.

  "Oh, yeah," said the sheriff, realizing, "the dogs!"

  "Strange, ain't it?" asked Lem.

  "Unnatural is what it is," replied Brisbane. "Like as if they fell off a cliff, or into some hole and were killed or something."

  "Like that night you lost your dog, sheriff," said Lem. "But that was way down to Hannibal, near Halverston's."

  "I know that," snarled Sheriff Brisbane.

  They fell silent, listening. "I don't like it none," Lem finally said.

  "Stop this foolishness. Next thing you'll be telling me the Devil opened up the earth and swallowed 'em all whole, like that fool Old Billy tells it. You going to believe that, Lem?"

  "Truthful, sheriff, I don't know no more what to believe. Reverend Thornbush told his congregation that it's possible Old Billy could be right."

  "Reverend Thornbush said that, did he?" Sheriff Brisbane shook his head. "Well if the Reverend's willing to believe it..."

  "Said the Lord works in mysterious ways."

  "Said that, he did?" asked Brisbane, rubbing his chin.

  "Says that God allows his way with sinners, and he says there's no worse sinner than a runaway slave, 'cause that slave is stealing himself from his master, that it's same as taking another man's horse or cow."

  "'Course it's stealing," replied the sheriff. "Every time a slave runs off, it lowers the price you may get for him, unless you're smart enough to keep it to yourself." He chuckled at this, and some of the men joined him.

  All was quiet again before Lem asked, "Which way you 'spose they went, sheriff?"

  Sheriff Brisbane—bragged about as the best tracker in all of Hannibal County—turned his face west and pointed in the opposite direction of the fleeing slaves. Daniel watched, amazed. Then the sheriff eased out at a trot, his heavy bulk bouncing as he said, "If the Devil is giving these runaways what's due 'em, then I'm absolute certain whether we catch them or not, they will pay dearly for their fool, sinful ways. If not in this life, then in the next, which is a sight worse."

  Lem and the others blindly followed the sheriff westward without benefit of the dogs to tell them they were on the wrong path.

  Daniel didn't shinny down from the tree for some time. He held on, thinking either the sheriff had been completely fooled by Billy's old tale, or that he was lying to the others. Maybe he's become so tired, he wants to give up the chase and leave the runaways in God's and Satan's hands. That would explain why he hadn't taken his men on down the river trail, knowing as he must that the slaves footprints pointed in that direction. Of course, the sheriff might be so afraid of being snatched by Satan himself that he feared following the slaves! Still, why the sudden silence of the dogs?

  Lem was right; they were too far from Colonel Halverston's for Old Billy and the colonel to have had anything to do with the disappearance of these slaves or the dogs. Could there be another cavern, another Underground Railway station nearby here? Mr. Penny said there are thousands of stations and hundreds of lines, each specializing in its own brand of cargo. He said there are as many kinds of station houses as men who ran them: barns, silos, caves, houses, churches, cellars, attics, stagecoach line shacks, and even barges and boats! He also said that every man who helps a slave to freedom has his own reasons for doing so. Just as there are many who do it on principle and feeling—there are as many who do it for money. The slave often has to pay his transporter when he first gets on the railroad.

  Then a thought bit Daniel like a rattler, surprising him, making him wonder that he
could have such a thought. Could Sheriff Brisbane himself be an Underground Railroad agent? The dogs are his; the territory is his; even the posse is his. What a disguise for an abolitionist, if he is one. It must be a slave's dream come true to have the help of a white sheriff. He recalling the runaway. Eben, who so thoroughly trusted the sheriff.

  Daniel wondered if Lem or any of the others were in cahoots with the sheriff. He wondered if the sheriff's station might be a house down the road, a barn, or a mill. But he didn't recall having seen one. A cave, he thought. It must be a cave along the river, and there'd be someone waiting who knew the dogs well and would lather them down, feed and water them. No wonder the dogs had gone silent.

  The station could as well be a boat, a barge, maybe a large flatboat, he thought, recalling the big one he'd seen out in the storm the night he ran away from Hannibal. He wondered now if that might be the sheriff s own freedom- boat, setting out into the storm to carry cargo across to the Illinois side of the river. Suddenly, Sheriff Brisbane became for Daniel the most brave, courageous man he'd ever known, besides Old Billy and Colonel Halverston. Getting caught, or having to go back to Hannibal, didn't seem so frightening anymore.

  Finally, Daniel climbed down from the tree and searched for the gunnysack of supplies he'd tossed behind a boulder. He decided to locate a safer place to camp for the night. He wore a smile on his face; he felt better about Hannibal people, about Missouri people, about white people, about all people.

  NINE

  LIES IN DISGUISE

  Daniel scanned the lay of the land, the houses, barn, tannery, smoke house, and slave quarters. Every now and again, he saw movement, men putting up horses for the night, pitching hay, driving cows to stalls, or locking chicken roosts against foxes and hungry travelers like himself. Daniel had seen the place off in the distance, and he'd thought to enter by night to steal some eggs. An egg would taste so much better right now than another fingertip of molasses. He'd had his fill of the sticky, gummy syrup.