The Watchman's Grace

by Craig Johnson

  Harriston spat his chewing tobacco to the spoiled ground before walking away in an unyielding stride. It took a random act of happenstance morality to save Fortune Smith’s very life.

  Within minutes, one elderly lady rushed out to Fortune’s aid. He now wore the deep pulsing wounds delivered by a maniacal beast. To describe this raw horror on stripped bare back would make heaven sigh. Each hardening swell of fleshy mangled maroon skin was a testament to the mind of a morally bankrupt soul.

  Surely beaten within an inch of his last breath, fellow servants at White Rose Plantation looked upon today as a miracle from above. They witnessed a man who should have been lost after seven agonizing lashes remain on this side of the living. Hallelujah indeed!

  Two weathered yet confident hands carried a pail of pungent herb ointment. As the bucket was placed onto blood-speckled ground near Fortune, a soothing melody sprang forth ever so softly. Sweet notes served to heal minds overwhelmed by helplessness and gut wrenching grief. But oh the passionate plea folded into this old hymn!

  Providing Fortune with every treatment she could muster, this senior lady worked with fervent pursuit to revive what remained of this stricken man. Applying healing ingredients with skills of no novice, she sang with clear resolution to aid the spirit of her patient:

  “When I was a young one, O Lord, you gave me hope

  Working by day and doing no wrong, O Lord, you gave me some

  And if that old magnolia tree ain’t gonna fall on down by me

  Let me be the one to hang around and be at peace with thee

  Searching clear to find that star

  I thank the Lord when he gave me hope.

  “And if the day turns dark to night, don’t ever hide your light

  Working by night and praying for light, I’m sure to have me some

  For you gave me strength and taught me hope

  I’m not gonna fear the darkness no more

  And when my mind is too feeble to think

  I thank the Lord for he guides with light.”

  An uplifting combination of sweet hymn and herbal application coaxed Fortune’s frail form to attention ever so slowly. Regardless, the present situation truly lay in the balance of Providence. With odds weighing against her, unwavering determination in that old soul did not shrink one inch from her task. It appeared she commanded fate itself to win the day for her cause of revival.

  “Not on this day dear Lord,” she whispered in a desperate plea. “Cause I know this one is special. White Rose has taken more than should be possible of good people for bad reasons. I don’t ask for anything, though I ask you now. Please make him come back to us and fulfill the future you have planned for him.”

  Never before did she ask for help from above. Even so, it appeared this plea would go unanswered. But Ginger, this woman of unbounded faith, was made from very strong fiber indeed.

  “I ask you again, O Lord, to hear the wish of an elderly woman that never had a chance to dream. And one who never had a chance to live outside of cold iron and shackles. Give that hope to another so young. This was not of his making, as you surely know!”

  The cooling presence of a stirring breeze spread beaded perspiration on Ginger’s brow. She paused for a moment to wipe the stinging sweat from her eyes. Regaining focus, her eyes caught a slight movement of Fortune’s left arm.

  “Fortune dear, can you hear me?” she whispered gently. “You don’t have to talk, just touch my arm.”

  Ginger waited patiently for any signs of a response. After a glacial moment, she felt a soft poke on her sweaty right wrist. Joy began to warm the insides of her meek body. That fire of eternal hope was lit once more, as it was hope that kept her alive at White Rose. Taking heart from his feeble cue, she redoubled her attention to resuscitate his prone body.

  “Come back to us Fortune. You are needed here. The other side can wait. Your work on this earth is not done. The Lord says it’s so. I know it so!”

  More time passed before Fortune began to stir. Ginger’s sweat mingled with welling tears at his continuing progress. Even more encouraged, she continued her regimen, offering heartfelt gratitude in the process.

  “I thank you Lord today. I asked you for this small miracle and you did not forsake me. You have shown me this man is destined for bigger things than bondage. So I will help him in any way I know to fulfill the purpose you have for him. Amen.”

  Gradually, Fortune’s once listless body made feeble attempts at movement. Each small step in his recovery fueled Ginger’s resolve to make him whole. After attending to his vital needs a few more hours in the place of shame, Ginger deemed it possible to move his fragile person.

  “Fortune, can you hear me son?”

  His lips barely came together, but he received enough strength from her impassioned care to muster a pained response. “Yes,” he croaked. “Yes, Ginger.”

  At that moment, Ginger began to repeat her hymn, stroking this stinging concoction into the messy marrow of Fortune’s wounds. It was all he could do to contain the deep pain of this treatment, reasoning it would make him whole again. As time progressed, he was fortunate to see life unfold once again before weary eyes.

  “Is the hurting going away son?” asked Ginger eagerly.

  “A little,” came back a barely audible reply.

  Hearing his response, a reflective Ginger pondered aloud. “Is it the water that makes them be so cruel? I often wonder Fortune. Do they drink in that deep dank river and keep on drinking bitterness?

  “They stroll around in their finery. They ride in nice carriages past rows of shacks, of people living in dirt, and pay no heed. They must be heartless, ‘cause only an animal would treat others like an animal! And when they look into their tall mirrors, they must truly hate themselves, ‘cause despite all their talk of being Christians, they’re just devils in a masquerade.”

  Collecting herself, Ginger realized her energy was better spent attending to the immediate needs of Fortune. She began to prepare herself for restoring a measure of strength to his weakened body.

  “That’s enough from my lips. We have to heal you now son. Just poke my hand if you need me. I will not leave your side. And that’s a promise from Ginger!”

  At evening, silver floodlight from the crescent moon provided a natural lamp for nocturnal chores. It was no small relief that Sunday was one time of rest for servants, given Fortune’s state. One more day could prove the difference between mending or being physically broken. As the steady application of treatment took time for affect, Ginger kept constant vigil.

  A rather muggy Georgia dawn was greeted with the crackling alarm of one rooster crow. Daylight crept across cultivated fields in the form of sneaking golden fire. Sundays were the day of rest for all on White Rose Plantation, but for its workers there was no such relief.

  In one day all servants had to complete their personal chores. Freer members of society could do theirs over seven. Dirty clothes needed to be cleaned, pants darned and good wood gathered for the stove. Not only this, though additional strength needed to be stored in advance of six days of hard servitude.

  Prone inside one wooden outbuilding slept a badly scarred blacksmith, as Fortune cheated the death dance of braided leather just hours earlier. As time moved forward in a growing expanse of yellow heat, strong rays of sunlight lapped his weary body. This provided more nutrients for healing. Slowly, the trick of rest, ointment and good sun helped him gain fortitude.

  As his mind strengthened, Fortune willed his body to recover. All the while, quiet resolve built within him. He vowed never to be in the same position again.

  But how would he accomplish this? And at what cost to his person? Fortune knew the instant that vow was made there would be only one option. However, so dear a longing came with the weighty price of supreme sacrifice. It was not a decision to make in haste, requiring careful contemplation.
Though scarcely had the idea crossed his mind before sleep beckoned him back to longing confines.

  Later, Fortune stirred to a gentle nudge on his right arm. “You’ve been sleeping well all afternoon. Are you strong enough to speak?”

  Fortune turned his tender body towards her comforting voice. “Yes, Ginger, I am, though I can never repay you for your mercy.”

  “Son, this has nothing to do with anything but common decency. Just because Mister Whip is an animal means nothing to the way we have to be to each other. He will get his comings later on, but for now we must survive. And the way things are looking, you have got to start thinking that way.”

  Fortune recalled where his thoughts had trailed off hours before. More than anyone, Fortune knew his future was in jeopardy. Ginger continued talking while he pondered his dilemma.

  “You know I asked for the first time in my life for a favor from the Creator? He saved you, be sure of than Fortune. I am not ashamed to say so. I told Him you still had things to do that could not go unfinished. And it looks like he agreed.”

  She paused to catch her thoughts before revealing more confessions. “What I am saying is that last whipping shows everyone your days here are numbered. I fear your life here is in the balance.”

  Fortune listened carefully to every word. At White Rose, there were what other servants called “learned folk”, possessing broad wisdom in life’s many ways. They in turn showed other workers the keys to survival in their repressive environment. Listening to her strong command of the pale man’s language, it was easy to see Ginger as one of these learned people. Fortune weighed carefully the merit of her words, just as Nathaniel told him previously.

  “Ginger, I respect you, but what am I supposed to do? I cannot buy my freedom. And even if a person offered to do that for me, Mr. Whip would never accept it! Surely I am hemmed in like that old sack of potatoes over there.”

  Immediately she put a gentle hand on Fortune’s left shoulder. “We are all called at some point in life to take a stand. Many do not heed the call, or prefer to block it from their mind. Though there are times we are left with no choice but to act! You can say all you want, but in your mind you know what has to be done. The question is: Are you willing to take the next step?”

  Stark images flooded Fortune’s mind from all the past encounters leading up to this savage attack. It was clear Mr. Whip was proceeding towards a conclusion which would cost Fortune his very life. At best, cold reality dictated a matter of time before Mister Whip’s violence turned fatal.

  “You know what this means Ginger,” he replied in deep reckoning. “If I do what you are getting at I put myself in harm’s way with no turning back. And it’s only one shot. On the other hand, if I stay at White Rose, Harriston Smith will do me in with the whip. Tell me Ginger, what choice do I have?”

  Both knew the rhetorical nature of his question. Fortune faced either an eventual end at White Rose, or a chance to obtain freedom at great peril. No other option was available.

  “Ginger, I have to escape from White Rose. But it all seems so hopeless. Can’t you see that? Who in the hell is going to lead me out of all this?”

  Fortune’s response assured Ginger his predicament had weighed on his mind for quite a while. With such high stakes, Fortune had every right to wonder about the nature of her forthcoming proposition.

  “Listen son, you don’t think l would lead you on a wild goose chase now, do you? Remember when I first came to you I spoke of the danger you faced with Mister Whip. It has been on my mind a long time on how to set you free from his murderous rage! The man that will be leading this run is not some jumped up fool. No sir, he’s taken many runners to the promised land!”

  Fortune’s ears came to attention. “He’s done all this before and never been caught? How can you be so sure about all this?”

  “He’s done it six times before. This will be his seventh run to free more of our people from bondage. And he has yet to lose one soul on his journeys! He has the smarts to use a way that makes it very hard for trackers to follow on his heels. Do you need to hear more?”

  “What’s his name, and what makes his plans so special? I want to believe in more than tall tales and desperate faith. Damn it, it’s my life Ginger!”

  Ginger took exception to Fortune’s suspicions. “You’re in no position to bite a helping hand. Look at the spot of trouble you’re in already with that sharp tongue! Don’t tell me your damned fool pride is going to rule over your common sense once again!

  “Swamp Man’s Scout is known throughout Georgia. All these slave owners haven’t found him out yet, and he’s not about to let them! But if you’re taking this chance, there’s no turning back. No sir indeed.

  “So you asked me what makes him special. Well now, Swamp Man’s Scout is an educated free man. Not like me; I had to learn my words the way you probably had to. He knows his way around both city and countryside. Would you believe he even received training in some military school as a young man? That man hates slavery with all his heart!

  “I heard his dad and mom were born free in the North. Father was a merchant and his mother a teacher, so smarts run in the family. All that learning is not common to see among any folks these days, let alone Colored ones.”

  Fortune instantly recognized the name which Nathaniel forbade him to speak. Now he knew why the elder man was so frightened to mention his name aloud. Regardless, Fortune was shocked to hear a free man would risk his very life to help strangers for no tangible gain. Especially since he could be caught and easily kidnapped into servitude.

  “You’re telling me this Swamp Man’s Scout will risk so much when he has nothing to gain? Is he mad as well? I’m supposed to count on the raving instincts of a mad man?”

  Ginger had reached the end of her tether. “That’s the type of attitude that keeps our people divided and apart! We can be so suspicious when one of our own lends a helping hand. And you keep yourself down well enough with no help from good old master! You think yourself a smart man, but you’re lacking in good sense.

  “Do you think Swamp Man’s Scout feels good that a law in one part of this country makes him free while it does nothing in another part of the same country? He realizes bondage to one man is enslavement everywhere, so he risks much more by doing nothing.

  “They fear a Colored man of sense and ability in this land. Swamp Man’s Scout has a reputation which puts hot fear into cold hearts. We have no time to scorn good tidings in these bad days. You are stubborn as well as ignorant if you don’t take this chance to save your life!”

  The doubting blacksmith stood in silent contemplation of Ginger’s moving words. He could muster no further defiance in light of her practical persuasions.

  “Ginger, I’ve been betrayed by those closest to me back in my homeland. It is a memory that will never be far from my mind, so I have since trusted only so far. But I see your reputation is well earned, your words oddly convincing.

  “I have heard Swamp Man’s Scout spoken of once before by someone dear to me. They said all these slave owners would string him up if they could find him. Now it all makes sense to me. In the end, there’s nothing left but to grasp this chance.”

  Beaming in satisfaction, Ginger was prepared to offer her assistance. In doing so their fates would become intertwined. A successful outcome meant deliverance beyond Mister Whip’s vicious domain. However, a captured Fortune would mean supreme sorrow. Added to this would be a gruesome death for all conspirators.

  Ginger broke the temporary still. “We are going to get you to a place where no one can take your life. The road has many dangers, and if you are caught, you will be tortured and hung. But for now, I ask: Are you ready to drink from the sweet chalice of freedom regardless of what it will ask of you?”

  Fortune turned towards Ginger with weary yellowed eyes. “Yes, I am ready. Please help me go forward to freedom.”

&nbs
p; Rarely did servants at White Rose have the ability to make decisions which directly affected themselves. Singing spirituals provided only a desperate harmonic call for salvation. In reality, their everyday toils surrounded them in sheer domestic terror, eliminating any chance for rejoices. But today Fortune would exercise his supreme right as an individual; to live without the yoke of oppression.

  Sensing his vulnerability, Ginger grabbed both of his broad hands in a surprisingly firm grip. “One way or the other we will get you to a better land. It is now in our plans and the Creator’s will to set the fate of your journey. Get some more rest Fortune. Mister Whip will show no quarter if you are not blacksmithing at the rooster’s crow.”

  Ginger continued speaking while spreading ointment on raised pulpy canyons of torn flesh. “Your journey is one which will not unfold in the blink of an eye. No, it will take great nerve to succeed. Silence with secrecy will be constant companions from here on in. Your life and lives of others you will never know depend on it. Now sleep softly son.”

  “I thank you Ginger for healing my wounds. Later I hope to thank you again for healing my soul.” Upon speaking those sincere words, Fortune returned to a sustaining slumber.

  *****

  When Mister Whip and Darlene were out of public earshot, a fuming Harriston lashed out at his wife. “Why the hell did you stop me when I was disciplining that uppity nigra? You caused me a lot of embarrassment down there; now watch things start to get out of line!”

  “Why, you are nothing but a jumped up bastard! Trying to murder your best worker because you can’t stand that he’s as good a man as White Rose has ever seen! What is your obsession with him? Why are you so against him?”

  “I should ask about your interest in that buck!” shouted back a hostile Harriston. “What is it that made you stroll down to the horses’ stables the other day? A little chatting perhaps, or is there more? Tommy spotted you two down there. My goodness Darlene, is there something going on with you and that nigra? Are you going to make us outcasts now?”