“Sure is Herman,” replied a smiling Willis as he shook hands in a firm grip. “We have a lot riding on this buck. His name is Fortune. What do you make of him?”
Unlike the port where he was mauled like a beast of burden, Herman Ford looked him over with a steady gaze before peering directly into his eyes. After scratching his chin, he made his assessment. Not once did he put a hand upon Fortune.
“Well, if his will and discipline match his appearance, you will have your blacksmith,” Ford replied in the affirmative. “I’ve worked with worse and made better, so we have a good chance here indeed.”
“Yes sir, Herman! That’s what I thought when I first laid eyes on him down in Savannah! Now I best be getting back to White Rose. That is, unless you need me for anything else?”
“Only thing I need right now is time to make this Fortune a good blacksmith. Now you get along there Willis. And please give my regards to Harriston and Darlene.”
“With pleasure I will Herman. Should I check back in five weeks or so?”
“Four will be plenty Willis. Have a safe ride back to White Rose.”
Not lingering a moment longer, Willis mounted his wagon and rode down a tree lined laneway towards the main road. As he became a mere speck on the green horizon, Herman Ford turned back to face Fortune.
“Welcome to Springwater Plantation, Fortune. Make sure you listen well to everything I do and say. When White Rose sends a boy anywhere, they want to make sure they get their money’s worth! Everyone in Georgia knows that Harriston Smith does not look kindly on poor results. Do we understand each other Fortune?”
“Yes,” muttered a subdued Fortune.
“Good enough. I’m gonna show you around the barn where we will be working. Along the way I will point out where you’ll be sleeping. I don’t ask much, but what I want I get. You will eat three square meals of decent food and gain a good night’s rest. But you must do what I ask without any guff. If I decide I can’t work with you that will be the end of it. Am I clear enough?”
“Yes,” replied Fortune meekly, knowing he had no choice but to obey.
Ford’s nose wrinkled in slight disapproval after hearing this response. “Before we start, you best address any White man you speak to properly. I want to hear a sir or mister at least. I’m not your master, so I don’t care to hear that. Now let’s get moving along.”
Walking towards Springwater’s large stables, Fortune could not help but notice the spirit of those Colored servants working here. Surely they were not content with their station, though the widespread fear painting every minute at White Rose was hardly noticed on these grounds. As if reading his thoughts, Ford continued speaking.
“Master Smith don’t approve of all our ways at Springwater. For one, he says we’re too easy on our slaves. But no one can argue with results, and he must envy our success deep down. Because everyone knows what’s most important to Harriston Smith; profit with results. And Springwater Plantation does both just fine. Now over here are the stables.”
They approached a massive, well maintained brown barn, its main doors open to reveal many stables with a large work space. When Willis led the way inside, Fortune’s curiosity was won over with various tools made by minds of a different temperament. His memory flashed back to Nathaniel’s comments about the pale man holding weapons the servants had no chance to match. Perhaps there was some truth in the old man’s words?
“It looks a bit too much at first,” gestured Ford at the various implements. “But that’s why you’re here. And I’ll learn you good. But first let me show you the beauty before the pain. These horses are the pride of Springwater. And it is the duty of the blacksmith to make sure that they fit the horses, make the shoes and whatever other tool is needed for the farm. You will be a jack of all trades Fortune.
“Making tools is hot, tough work, but it’s easy compared to fitting these horses out with their shoes! Most of them will let you if you do it nice. But a few of them just don’t care. You’ve gotta watch those ones real careful. I’ll say it again, most of them are good, but there’s a few that can have a temper. Are you ready to get some learning in? I’m going to start by showing you all the tools you will be using in this trade.”
Fortune was suitably impressed by the shape and form of all the implements about him. He was very eager to learn just what the pale man did with such strange objects.
“I am ready Mister Ford,” he replied positively.
Without a moment to waste, Ford began the intense process of teaching his latest pupil about his new trade. In turn, Ford was taken aback by Fortune’s appetite for knowledge. He sensed this was no ordinary slave, perhaps having some standing back from wherever he came on the Dark Continent. From anvils, vises and tongs, his new apprentice eagerly memorized each and where it was placed in the workshop.
Suitably impressed after a lengthy first day of instruction, Ford gently patted Fortune’s back. “Now that’s how I like it. No talkback and not stupid like an ox! Keep it so, Fortune, and I will make a fine blacksmith out of you. Master Smith will not want for another by the time you leave Springwater!”
Fortune bled inside every time he heard the word master. As hard as a hammer hitting hot iron on any anvil, he remained staunch in his determination to forge freedom. It was through gaining knowledge from the pale man at every chance that he would fashion an opportunity.
“Thank you, Mister Ford. I will not disappoint you,” he smiled back.
In the sweet progress of learning, Fortune found Herman Ford a man who prided himself on a deep knowledge of affairs. By remaining attentive, he paid Ford the ultimate compliment, which curried more favor with his instructor. While Ford maintained a firm air of authority, he did extend certain decencies towards Fortune. To be sure, this was not common in the contemporary South.
As their days together carried on, each man learned a great deal from the other. In Fortune’s case, he gained knowledge which allowed him to master those tools which seemed so foreign at first sight. By the end of his second week, he was already molding implements to be used at Springwater Plantation.
Herman Ford could not believe the capacity for learning in his new charge. He would never admit it aloud to anyone, but Fortune’s abilities surpassed any man’s he had ever seen. To observe Fortune in action would put the offensive assumptions concerning the Colored man’s sense of industry to shame.
And it was for that reason Ford determined to let Fortune know his place, less the essential truth of his worth became self-evident. Every White man in the South knew the whole system of their economic survival depended on keeping the Colored man in his place; through an oppression which afforded cheap labor to run the South’s vast, labor intensive plantations.
On starting his third week of training, time came for Fortune to do the farrier’s job of fitting a horse’s hooves. In America, it was not enough for a blacksmith to forge and repair implements. In addition to those tasks, they fitted shoes on horses as well.
“Remember back when you started how I said the harder task lies ahead?” Ford queried. “Now is the real test for any true blacksmith. Sure you may be able to fashion a shoe, but can you put it on a horse and make it comfortable? Today I’m gonna show you how it’s done. Watch me carefully Fortune, because there can’t be any mistakes from here on in. Are you following me?”
“My eyes are always on you Mister Ford.”
“Good to hear,” Herman Ford replied as he led Fortune to one of the stalls. “We are going to fit out Bessie here today. She’s a friendly one so it will make it easier on you.”
Ford walked confidently towards Bessie. He engaged the creature’s focused gaze as he approached. Soon he reached his right hand towards her well-toned body, stroking the beautiful light chocolate horse with a soothing caress. Then, after speaking soothing reassurances to Bessie, he placed his utensils gently on the ground. When Ford felt the
temperament of the horse was calm enough, he started in earnest.
First, he deftly used strong pincers to remove Bessie’s first shoe. Once successful, he immediately trimmed and primed the sole of her naked hoof, with cuttings raining on the hay strewn floor. When he judged this part of the process complete, he turned back to an engrossed Fortune. It was essential his charge knew every step in the next procedure.
“So then…”
Unknowingly, Ford had trimmed too close to a sensitive part of the horse’s hoof. Without warning, Bessie suddenly reared up, kicking out towards a blindsided Herman Ford. Yet in one swift action, an alert Fortune sprang up and pushed Herman away from the deadly kick, saving the teacher’s head by inches. Splayed on the ground, Herman Ford looked up in astonishment at the bucking horse, immediately realizing what had transpired.
“Bessie, what the hell is wrong with you?” he screamed out. “You damn near killed me!” Straightening himself out, he glared back at Fortune with strained embarrassment.
“Come along now, we’re gonna train on another horse, since Bessie’s gone wild today,” Ford muttered while still in some shock.
Not one word of gratitude for saving his life was uttered. To Fortune, it was another humiliating moment in the perverse land of this course pale man. In his native Ehra culture, the person whose life was saved would be beholden to his rescuer in lifelong gratitude. But here, not even a simple expression of thanks was offered. It was a world which repulsed him every moment with its willful ignorance.
Eventually Ford found a willing horse on which to conduct his lessons. In the following days, Fortune became as adept as his instructor in fitting these graceful creatures. Pleased with Fortune’s progress, Ford’s mind raced ahead to the large sum he would receive for training him. Remembering Willis was expected the next morning, Ford ensured his apprentice was in fine form.
“Now look here Fortune. Willis is arriving tomorrow and taking you back to White Rose. But before that happens, I need to know if you have doubts about anything I’ve taught you. Speak up now boy, because Harriston Smith will deal hard with you if any mistakes happen over there! You hear me?”
Fortune knew all about the ill temperament of his supposed master. “I’m fine on it all Mister Ford, but you could show me again how you use the horn to make those rounded metal parts?”
“That’s no problem there Fortune. And is there anything else on your mind?”
“No sir Mister Ford.”
“Then follow me back to the work area. After all this, I want you to grab yourself some food and get a long rest. I don’t make my reputation on disappointments you know.”
Early morning at Springwater Plantation witnessed Herman Ford and Fortune anticipating Willis’s arrival. Before that happened, the instructor had some parting words for his charge.
“You’ve got good hands now. And well enough learning I reckon. It’s time for you to go back to White Rose and show Master Smith I taught you well. So don’t mess up anything. And boy, don’t ever forget that Herman taught you well. Be good now, ya hear?”
“Yes Mister Ford. I learned you well.”
Ford’s eyes then narrowed in displeasure upon remembering a nagging feeling he experienced throughout the apprenticeship. “I have to say something before Willis arrives. You’re an odd nigra, Fortune. I don’t know where you come from, nor care. But always remember where you are, and that any smarts you have still do not measure up to a White man’s! You are here to serve us, and if you get uppity, well, you will find your Maker soon enough.”
At that precise moment a speck approaching the front entrance of Springwater Plantation steadily grew larger. Soon the familiar outline of Willis and his cart came into focus. He wore the expectant grin of a soon to be father on his round, sunburned face.
“Greetings to you on this fine morning Herman. I hope there is good news to start off my day?”
“Good morning Willis. I told you when you left Springwater four weeks ago we had a good chance with this buck. And he’s proved equal to my thoughts. He came here knowing nothing, but he leaves here as your next blacksmith.”
Willis immediately reached into his side satchel and produced a large amount of colored paper. “Here’s the fee agreed upon by Harriston Smith for your efforts. I trust all will be fine with our arrangement?”
Ford grasped the thick wad of bills before counting it out. Afterwards, he placed both hands upon his haunches in a display of complete satisfaction.
“Everything looks to be in order. As for Fortune, this boy’s skills will lack for nothing.”
“Come along now Fortune. And thank Herman Ford for making you useful for Pete’s sake! He just made a place for you at White Rose.”
“Yes Mister Willis. Thank you Mister Ford. I know a lot now and can be a good blacksmith.”
“I sure hope so Fortune, because Harriston Smith will find out soon enough if you are. Good day Herman.”
“Likewise Willis, and once again give my regards to Harriston and Darlene.”
Willis’s cart rocked down the laneway at a steady gait. Meanwhile, Fortune reflected briefly upon his days at Springwater Plantation. He left its gates with more knowledge, though feared what lay ahead.
While he was never treated as an equal at Springwater, he was afforded a greater degree of latitude than at White Rose. Though no matter how he judged his situation, the bonds of slavery still held fast, maintaining cruel conditions he desired to flee.
For now, the cart driver held a smug look of satisfaction throughout their ride back to White Rose. Harriston Smith could not help but be impressed by his handling of the whole process. Herman Ford virtually assured Fortune’s success. And it was Willis who bought Fortune; only he could be accorded any gratitude a pleased Harriston would bestow.
*****
Several months after his apprenticeship at Springwater Plantation, Fortune had become quite settled. To his credit, he was equal to the unending tasks required in such a vast operation. Even Willis’s intense scrutiny found little to fault in his work. Though he would never say it aloud, Willis would be hard pressed to remember a time their smithing operations ran so smoothly.
Fortune’s competencies were noticed by those in higher authority. Harriston Smith would not suffer an incompetent in this crucial position, and even he found no cause for concern. Harriston heard positive remarks about Fortune’s handiwork every day while he oversaw White Rose’s operations. And for the first couple of months it was reassuring to him.
Yet into the third month, Harriston’s contentment began to turn towards a measure of envy. Here was a common slave garnering a pleasant word from drivers, overseers and practically most others he came in contact with. This made a proud Harriston Smith begin to fear the growing importance this one slave held in the running of his plantation.
Regardless, today found Harriston’s spirits riding high. Cotton yields were stronger than ever. Demand from Europe appeared insatiable. And his slaves were working harder than ever. He was maximizing profits at every turn, which meant White Rose Plantation continued to be the envy of Georgia. Now feeling a bit peckish after his morning walkabout, he looked forward to a delicious lunch with Darlene. Upon entering their grand dining room, he beheld his elegant wife awaiting his company.
Darlene was beaming as she greeted her husband at the finely set table. “Harriston darling, did you hear that White Rose’s bale production has increased by a quarter since last year? The overseers’ say those last batch of field workers we bought are doing mighty fine work. And one of them said our blacksmith Fortune is keeping all our wagons working so fine!”
Of course Harriston already knew these figures, but always wished to please his wife. Her beautiful appearance, grace and connections greatly enhanced his position in Georgian society. Therefore it paid immeasurably to keep her approval.
“Yes Darlene, I believe you
are correct. Thank you.”
“And did you hear those drivers lately?” she gushed on. “They say their carts have never run so smoothly. The horses seem to prance when they used to wince, like old Bailey did, don’t you remember?”
Harriston could not imagine he would be hearing more accolades for Fortune while dining with his wife. “Yes, I know how everything is working here Darlene. Now can we talk about more agreeable topics while we take lunch?”
“Well now, it is very agreeable to me that we both know how White Rose is keeping. Besides, I find it peculiar I have to learn about these things secondhand. After all, we know my family’s efforts laid the ground for what we have here today. And it does White Rose a lot of good to make sure workers like Fortune have a little better treatment, if you know what I mean…”
“I don’t want to hear any more about that boy!” interrupted a hollering Harriston, pounding his fists hard on the table. “You continue to carry on about that nigra, and I find it insulting!”
Darlene shook her head in disgust at his emotional display. “Judging by your reaction, one would think your position was threatened. Now pull yourself together and enjoy this fine meal before us!”
A sullen Harriston glared at Darlene before settling his nerves somewhat. “Yes, I am feeling quite hungry. Let’s celebrate our recent success.” With no further exchange, both ate in contemplative silence.
The following week, Fortune began noticing another pair of eyes studying his movements. None other than Harriston Smith began making frequent visits to his work area at the stables. His cool demeanor made Fortune wary. He would frequently watch upon Fortune’s activities for minutes at a time before moving on. Fortune became certain his sole purpose was to intimidate the blacksmith with his presence. Fortune was clueless as to the reason why.
Despite these circumstances, he improved daily upon his craft. Afterwards, in the scant hours afforded him, he would learn as much as possible about his surroundings. Speaking with other servants, Fortune gathered an informal knowledge of how affairs were conducted at White Rose.
The Watchman's Grace Page 3