“That’s her,” the second man said.
Eliza’s head jerked. “Frank Sanford? You had me kidnapped?”
Frank put his face close enough to hers that she could smell the bourbon on his breath. “It’s not kidnapping when you’re my property.”
Her eyes darting between Bartlett and Frank, Eliza cried, “I was born on the Mississippi River. That means I’m free.” She spit in his face. Frank slapped her, but she didn’t even flinch. Her cheek stinging, she held her head high.
Bartlett hooked his thumbs in his suspenders and leaned back, examining her like a piece of meat at the butcher. “Slavery goes through the mother. If your ma ain’t free, then neither are you.”
“You know we’re freedom litigants. Mr. Martin told you to leave us alone.” The fact that she was here, trussed like a chicken, meant that Bartlett didn’t care a hill of beans about Mr. Martin, but Eliza needed time to figure a way out. Her wrists were bound, but her legs were free. Maybe she could run. But she wouldn’t get twenty paces with men on horseback chasing her.
Bartlett pulled out a cigar and trimmed it with his knife as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “Little girl,” he said, “what you don’t understand is that a freedom litigant has to abide by the rules. You aren’t allowed past the city line, which is about one hundred feet in that direction.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
“But I didn’t come here willingly,” she protested. “You kidnapped me.”
Bartlett waved her ideas away. “You are clearly in violation of the court’s order. No judge will protect you now. Your rightful owner, Mr. Sanford, can reclaim you.”
“It’s Mrs. Emerson, the doctor’s widow, who owns us!” Eliza couldn’t believe these words were coming from her mouth. “No matter what he told you, Frank Sanford has no rights to me at all!”
“Eliza, Eliza,” Frank mocked, shaking his head in the most arrogant way possible. “If only that were so. But I have a letter from Auntie. She knew I needed money, so she gave you to me for my birthday.” He held out his hands as though it was inevitable. “And I’m selling you to Bartlett here.”
Eliza locked her knees to keep from trembling all over. “If that were true, Mr. Bartlett, you wouldn’t have to kidnap me!”
“I don’t kidnap. I catch fugitives. You were fleeing the city and the court’s jurisdiction.” He suddenly seemed to lose interest in Eliza. He pulled a wad of banknotes from his pocket and handed it to Frank. “That’s what we agreed on.”
Frank eagerly counted the money and then carefully put it in his wallet. “It’s enough to stake me a gold claim.” He handed Bartlett a piece of paper. Without a second glance at Eliza, he walked to his horse and swung up into the saddle. Frank struck the horse with a crop on his flank and sped off toward the city.
With that paper, no one would question Bartlett. Panic threatened to close Eliza’s throat, but the rest of her body couldn’t stop shaking.
“What are you waiting for?” Bartlett snapped. “Take her to the ship.” He paused. “Be careful who sees her. I don’t want any trouble with the sheriff. The ship leaves tomorrow at first light, and I’m traveling with it.” He headed for his horse.
As Jimmy approached her with the gray sack, Eliza said desperately, “I’m not a slave. I have rights.”
Jimmy’s answer was a bark of mean laughter.
“If you bring me to my father, he’ll give you a reward.”
Amos shoved the bag over her head. “As if we’d dare cross Bartlett.”
Eliza was picked up and tossed into the wagon like a piece of garbage.
CHAPTER Twenty
ELIZA WAS SORE IN EVERY PART OF HER BODY. THE ROPES CUT into her skin like a knife. For an instant she almost gave up. Her captors were much stronger than she was. What could a weak girl like her do to save herself?
In the darkness, she imagined Pa’s comforting voice saying, What couldn’t a girl like Eliza do?
She couldn’t let Pa down. And what about Ma? All those years of taking such care of Eliza. Was Eliza going to throw that away? No. She was going to get out of this mess and find her way back to her family. But how?
Trying to ignore her bruises and aches, she considered everything she knew. To reach the river, they would have to go down Front Street and then to the northern end of the levee. She wouldn’t be far from the shantytown. If Eliza could get out of the wagon, she could lose Jimmy and Amos in the maze of shanties.
First the sack on her head had to be removed. She couldn’t run if she couldn’t see. Making only tiny movements, Eliza drew her bound hands to her neck. Her fingers felt the knot of the drawstring. Amos hadn’t retied it very tightly, and she was able to loosen it without too much trouble. She was grateful now for the buffalo hide since it concealed what she was doing. Eliza dragged the sack off her head.
She waited until she heard wooden planking rattle under the weight of the wagon. They were at the docks. Sure enough, she heard familiar noises of the ships creaking at their moorings and the birds calling as they swooped over the river. Gently she drew her knees to her chest, catching the buffalo hide between her feet. When she was ready, she could pull the hide off in an instant.
“Which one is it?” Jimmy asked.
“The third one from the north end,” Amos said. “And a good thing. There’s not many people down here. Remember Bartlett’s orders.”
“He’s always a nasty bastard,” Jimmy said. “But lately it’s like the devil has him by the tail.”
“He needs this shipment to be smooth. He lost money on that girl who died in jail. And since the cholera, there’s no auctions.”
Eliza braced herself to move when the wagon stopped. Quick as a whip, Eliza yanked the buffalo hide away from her body. She vaulted over the wagon wall, using her bound hands to propel herself off the side of the wagon. Amos shouted a warning to Jimmy. Eliza’s legs almost buckled beneath her, but she managed to start running north. Just a little farther and they would never find her in the shantytown. The thudding of footsteps behind her made her run faster. She was close to the first of the shanties. Just a few more yards and she’d be . . .
A heavy hand gripped her shoulder, pulling her backward to the ground.
“No!” Eliza screamed. “Help!”
Eliza tried to crawl away, but Jimmy grabbed her dress, ripping the skirt. Eliza’s hand found a branch, and she whacked blindly behind her. Jimmy caught it with his free hand and easily pulled it from her grip. Eliza dug her fingers in the sandy dirt, anything to keep them from taking her. Jimmy finally pinned her arms to her side, her cheek pressed in the dirt. Her eyes full of tears, she saw Amos’s feet approach.
“She’s a hellcat,” Jimmy said, panting.
“I told you,” Amos replied. He dropped the buffalo hide to the ground. Together they picked Eliza up. She arched her back and tried to twist out of their grip but they held her down on top of the hide. She kicked at their shins and clawed at their faces, but together they were too strong for her. They rolled her up like a cigar. She was so mad she could spit.
“Bartlett’s asking for trouble with this one,” Amos said, slamming her body with his booted toe.
“Once she’s on board, she’s his problem.”
Eliza’s hands were pressed against her chest so hard they hurt. But the men had made a mistake by leaving her head free. “Help! Help me!” she screamed, until Amos stuffed a foul rag into her mouth. She gagged and threw up a little, but the rag forced the sick back down her throat.
Amos led the way up the gangplank while Jimmy carried Eliza slung over his shoulder. Her head hung upside down and she felt ill. She caught a glimpse of the name on the side of the ship. It was the Mameluke.
The Mameluke was Wilson’s ship! She still had a chance. But the ship was deserted—how could she get a message to him?
Eliza had an idea. Bending her neck and stretching her fingers as far as she could, she caught the end of the precious ribbon Wilson had given her between her fi
ngertips. She tugged it loose. It was Wilson’s first and only gift to Eliza; if she could drop it in a place he would see, he would recognize it and come looking for her.
If he was even on board. If he saw it before the ship sailed. If no one tossed it in the river. So many ifs.
Amos lit a lantern and gestured for Jimmy to go below deck. Eliza dropped the ribbon at the top of the stairs. She felt a little better knowing she’d done something to help herself.
Jimmy lumbered down the narrow stairs, complaining all the way. Eliza’s head banged against the railing; she bit her lip rather than give Jimmy the satisfaction of hearing her cry out. They went down another narrower set of stairs to a wooden door with a mortise lock. Amos opened the door. The room was dark, lit only by the lantern in Amos’s hand. Jimmy tossed Eliza onto the floor.
“Take the hide,” Amos reminded Jimmy. “It’s not our job to give her a fine blanket for her trip.”
A mean smile on his face, Jimmy grabbed the edge of the hide and pulled hard. Eliza rolled out, scraping her face against the rough wooden floor. The floor smelled of bilge water and rot. Jimmy handed the hide to Amos, then pulled a big bowie knife from his belt and waved it in front of Eliza’s face. She shrank back, staring at the wicked blade.
Jimmy laughed at her. At that moment, she promised herself she wouldn’t let them see her afraid again. “If you scream, I’ll gut you,” he warned. He cut the cloth holding her gag. Eliza spat out the tar-soaked rag.
“Put the shackles on her,” Amos directed Jimmy.
A set of shackles was attached to a heavy iron ring in the wall. Eliza tried to stand, but Jimmy shoved her down and fastened a shackle around each leg. They were big on her legs and rubbed her ankles.
“No more running for you,” Jimmy gloated.
Eliza’s lips and tongue were so dry at first, she could only squawk. She coughed and tried again. “You’re in big trouble unless you help me.”
Amos and Jimmy exchanged amused looks.
“Is that so?” Jimmy asked.
“I work for Mrs. Charless. Her husband is rich!” Eliza nodded in emphasis. “When the family finds out what you’ve done, they’ll send the sheriff after you. I guarantee it!”
The two men burst out laughing.
“Little girl, who do you think landed you in here?” Jimmy asked.
“What do you mean?” Eliza couldn’t keep the confusion from her voice.
“Only Mark Charless—the son of that rich man you’re threatening us with. How do you think we knew exactly where you’d be and when? He sent you straight to us.”
Eliza slumped against the wall, her shackles weighing on her ankles. She hadn’t had time to put it together before, but it made sense. Mark had sent her back on a pointless errand. No one else knew what he had said to her. Then he had driven away while his partner Frank handled the next bit.
“But when they realize I’m missing . . .” Eliza trailed off. She knew what would happen. Mark would say that Eliza had run off to be with her parents. Miss Charlotte and Miss Sofia might even believe it. They knew how frantic Eliza had been to see her family. Ma and Pa wouldn’t know for weeks that she was even gone. By then Eliza would be long sold downriver, never to be seen again.
“You can’t do this,” she cried.
“If I were you, I’d hold your tongue,” Amos threatened. “Southern owners don’t like slaves who speak their minds.”
Jimmy stepped into the hall, and Amos started to close the heavy door.
No matter what it cost her pride, Eliza had to ask, “Aren’t you going to leave the light?”
“Not a chance,” Amos sneered, rubbing the bite mark on his arm. “We don’t want you burning up this valuable steamboat. Keep quiet or I’ll forget what Bartlett said about keeping you unmarked. You understand?”
Eliza nodded sullenly.
The thick wooden door slammed shut, and the key turned in the lock. All that was left was the sound of the wash of the river against the wall behind her and her own ragged breathing.
CHAPTER Twenty-One
ELIZA’S EYES GRADUALLY ADJUSTED TO THE DARK. NOW SHE could make out a narrow rectangle high up on the wall that let in a thin line of light and air. The shackles were fastened to a wall, and she could explore only a few feet in either direction. Finally she slid down to the floor, sitting with her back against the wall. Eliza pulled at the knots fastening her hands with her teeth, but the knots were tied too tightly.
She tried to think of what Ma and Pa would do. They wouldn’t ever let themselves get into this situation. What about Reverend Meachum? He would pray. But first, he’d make sure that he’d tried everything in his power to help himself. She could always count on one thing to calm her down. Before the panic could overwhelm her, she began to hum. Music always reminded Eliza of happier times, like singing at church or putting Lizzie to sleep with a lullaby.
Think, Eliza, she told herself. She was cargo. There was no one on this ship who would help her except Wilson. But she couldn’t rely on Wilson finding that tiny scrap of ribbon. What else could she do? Her tune got louder, the sound bouncing off the walls. She stopped and listened. She sang a long note and heard it echo back. Could it be that simple? Would her music set her free? Even if Wilson missed the ribbon, he would recognize her voice. He had heard her sing at church. Best of all, if her kidnappers heard, they’d think nothing of it. Just another slave singing a spiritual.
Running her tongue over her lips to moisten her mouth, she took a deep breath and prepared to sing.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
At first the music was only the tiniest whisper of sound, but soon her voice remembered how to sing out proud and strong:
’Twas Grace that taught my heart to fear.
And Grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear,
The hour I first believed.
Reverend Meachum had told the congregation that a wicked English slave trader, John Newton, wrote the song a hundred years before. He’d realized the evil he had done and sought forgiveness. Now Reuben Bartlett was as far from grace as it was possible to be, so Eliza wouldn’t mind if this song was his undoing. And her salvation.
Through many dangers, toils and snares,
I have already come;
’Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far,
And Grace will lead me home.
Before she could start the last verse, she heard two short whistles followed by a longer one. The sound floated from the deck two stories above her head through the narrow window. She waited, holding her breath, until the sequence was repeated. She whistled back, again and again. Finally there was a scratching at the door.
“Eliza?” Wilson’s voice was the most welcome sound she’d ever heard.
“Wilson!” Eliza cried, shaking with relief.
“It is you!” he exclaimed. “I recognized your voice. When I went looking, I found your ribbon on the stairs.” The door shook on its hinges as he tried to open it. “Why are you locked up in Bartlett’s cargo hold?”
“I was kidnapped!” Eliza cried. “They grabbed me from Miss Charlotte’s garden and sold me to Bartlett. They sold me, Wilson! They stole my life.”
“Did they hurt you?” He rattled the door even harder, trying to reach her.
“Not really.” Eliza sniffed her runny nose. “They hit me some, but I bit one of them back.”
“Good for you!”
“You have to get me out of here!” Eliza cried. “They’re going to send me downriver to be sold on the block.”
“We won’t let that happen,” Wilson promised.
Eliza wiped her tears away with her shoulder. “Can you get the key?”
“Bartlett’s men keep it,” he said.
“There must be another key on the ship.” Eliza urged, “Think, Wilson!”
“
The captain might have a key.”
“Will he help us?” Eliza asked.
“No.” Wilson’s answer was short and certain. “He gets half his money on every trip from Bartlett and his kind.”
“Then you just have to find the key.”
There was a silence. “Are you shackled?”
“Yes.”
“Even if I find the key to this door . . .” Wilson’s voice sounded hopeless. “Only Bartlett’s men can open the shackles.”
Eliza rotated her sore shoulders and stretched her legs out in front of her. The heavy metal cuffs were rubbing a raw spot on her ankles. “I’ll figure out what to do about the shackles,” she said. “You just find that key.”
From above, someone shouted Wilson’s name.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised.
Eliza ran her hands down the chains to her ankles, frantically trying to find a weak link. But they were too strong. She tried the shackle itself. Her fingers slid into the gap between the cold iron and her skin. She twisted her body around to get her hands near her right boot. Every movement scraped her ankle more, but she kept working at it. She untied the lace with her fingertips, then tugged the boot off her foot. As she hoped, the shackle was made for a man’s leg, not a girl’s. Without the boot, the thick iron ring slipped easily off her foot.
“Bartlett, you think you’re so smart,” she muttered, as she started on the other foot. “But I won’t let you win.” A few minutes later, Eliza put her boots back on and double-tied the laces.
She stood up; her unshackled legs felt unsteady. The floor beneath her feet shifted—even docked, the Mameluke was at the mercy of the river. A sharp object in her pocket jabbed her in the leg. She felt it with her bound hands—it was Miss Sophie’s crochet hook. Mark had used the crochet hooks to trick Eliza, but now a hook was going to free her. Carefully, she tugged at her skirt so she could grab hold of the hook.
Holding the hook between her teeth, Eliza went to work on the rope binding her wrists. The knots were tight and came undone slowly. She worried at every sound in case it was Bartlett or his men. She jumped when a bell clanged from the land side of the boat. Above her head, she heard footsteps and muffled shouts. Getting to her feet, she put her ear to the window. She couldn’t make out any words, but she could hear panicked voices.
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