The Watchman's Grace

by Craig Johnson

  An excited Donna let out a rare burst of excitement. “I can’t wait for freedom! These weary hands have darned socks, cooked stews and cleaned more places than I care to know. But when I reach Nova Scotia, these same hands will soon cradle a younin’ or two and make a happy home for a good man!”

  Quickly a low chorus of joyous “amen” matched the radiant smiles of all attendees. Nevertheless, no words spoken or encouragement gleaned could belie the heavy odds ahead.

  Fletcher continued. “I see everyone has followed my words to travel light for being swift of foot. Now I would like to look after another matter.

  “We all know supreme danger will be faced in our travels north. One of the reasons I have been successful is that I try to prepare for each possible situation. A key role I give in each escape party is the second in command. Heaven forbid that I perish along the way, but if I do, there will be another to take the torch forward. In this group, I have decided it will be Fortune.”

  Immediately everyone’s searching eyes fixed upon Fortune. Truth be told, his surprise surpassed all others. Though recognizing the need for solidarity, he responded in prompt fashion.

  “I will do my best to live up to this. Thank you for your confidence in me.”

  Fletcher continued speaking. “If I am not around you will obey Fortune’s orders just like they were mine. To challenge him will put everyone’s lives in peril. We are here for one goal, and any decision made out there will be to achieve freedom!

  “I want everyone to follow my lead. Fortune will be a little ways behind, watching for any followers. From the moment we leave Bitter Man we are in hostile territory. Nova Scotia is friendly territory. The sooner you adapt to survivor thinking the better our chances while running. Let us proceed.”

  Fletcher strode forward with the gait of a seasoned guide. One by one they followed in single file. Slight breezes stirred a midnight canopy above as they used its cover to mask their movements.

  All were aware a quick start was most important to their odds for success. One had to put as much distance as possible between themselves and their pursuers. The further a fugitive went from his point of escape, the less recognized they would be. In addition, more resources would be required by a plantation owner to launch a search, making it increasingly expensive to track a fugitive down. .

  Fleet of foot and sharp of wit, these fugitives made decent progress from the start. Yet none were fooled into a sense of sudden confidence. On the contrary, each brave soul questioned in their core how long it would be before something happened.

  For instance, where were the sounds of scent-hungry bloodhounds? How much time did they have before their escape was noticed back at the plantation? And most of all, would they complete the journey and live to tell about it?

  One could grasp a large measure of hope from the proven skills of their leader. Swamp Man’s Scout knew instinctively where to travel, how to cover tracks and where to ford streams, confounding the sharp noses of any hounds. His role was vital to their enterprise.

  Their first day started an aggressive learning curve for all involved. Points which could not be covered in the secluded meetings at Bitter Man had to be learned while escaping. Such a stream of information kept its recipients alert. For there was never an education dearer than knowledge imparted by Swamp Man’s Scout.

  Fletcher showed them how to cover indented grasses after taking what meager minutes of sleep time would allow. He showed which natural vegetation one could eat to gain essential nutrients. Fletcher provided proof of where nature supplied plants to treat insect bites and cuts to the skin. Each instruction was eagerly anticipated by his willing students.

  Above all, he led by example with resourcefulness. Fletcher was intelligent enough to have his escapees “pre-screened” as compliant individuals, instead of rabble rousers and the like. Trusted elders such as Ginger executed this role to precision. Freedom demanded no less than a united effort.

  Gradually minutes turned to hours as nightfall draped them in a comforting still of darkness. Of course one was always on their guard, though these hours provided more cover for avoiding detection.

  Fletcher knew they could not maintain their strength on vegetation alone. Thankfully there were other resources to ease the constant hunger pains. For along his preferred routes were caches of foodstuffs provided by citizens with an enlightened view on subjugation. Various homesteads of brave men and women in the Deep South harbored no ill will to their Colored brethren. Their assistance included providing essential breads, sweets and meats in secreted locations, sustaining fugitives along the road to liberation.

  On rare occasion barns and other outdoor structures were known to be places of discreet rest for fugitives. All the more remarkable when one considered harboring or assisting runaway slaves were deemed crimes of the highest order. The resulting punishments would be punitive for any offender.

  Morning light found the fugitives traveling onwards to Savannah. Fletcher continued to shepherd his flock with skill bred of utmost competence. On more than one occasion he had to usher the group into hiding at a moment’s notice. Sometimes it was a passing wagon on an infrequently used path, or a farmer looking for wood to stoke fires. Regardless, any slip in their caution could result in the peril of detection.

  As the second day turned into three, each escapee began to fancy their chances of reaching the port city without interruption. Their comfort with the stressful routine grew with each passing hour. In short, survival on the run became more agreeable. Upon the fourth afternoon, Fletcher’s group came to a sheltered setting which afforded good protection from murderous heat.

  “We can rest here,” he decided. Each weary runner collapsed under the beckoning sway of full branches sprouting lulling leaves. Moments like these were much appreciated. Everyone stretched aching limbs and tired minds, stealing a few precious minutes of peace.

  Fletcher would not partake with the others, remaining in constant vigil. He ran through a mental list of stops to make, places to exercise caution and time posts to mark the speed of their escape. After a few minutes he allowed himself to witness the beauty of calming landscape all about him.

  “Looks like we’re making decent headway,” surmised Fletcher after a casual glance at his pocket watch. “If all goes well we should make our last camp before Savannah tonight.”

  “That sounds good to me,” replied a pleased Fortune. “How sure are you about that?”

  Fletcher moved towards Fortune, sitting down beside him in cross-legged fashion. “Well enough according to the markings we have passed. But perhaps things have been going too smoothly. I mean, part of being good at this is not letting your senses down. Always worrying about what might happen.

  “Damn it, it’s probably nothing, though this escape number seven is nagging at me. I just can’t put a finger on the reason why. Oh well, best not to say silly things in front of the others! I need them to believe, because out here, fear is death.”

  Fortune’s curiosity was piqued by Fletcher’s slight unease with their situation. “I understand, but what could be a bit of bother? Do you think we’re being followed?”

  Fletcher glanced around before drawing a deep breath. “It’s possible, though it could also be what escapees call a “runners’ mind”. You can’t help but feel the pressure of all that can go wrong on top of this exhaustion.

  “That heat burns the nostrils like hot irons. These hard boots scour our feet with bleeding blisters. All the while fate plays tricks with the mind about whether it will let you live another day. So yes Fortune, lots of bother but no certain danger yet.”

  On that note both men fell on their backs while searching an open sky above for answers. After a half hour of blissful solitude Fletcher became upright. It was time to continue onwards. As he turned to quietly summon his flock, the man Clarence approached him. There was a sense of urgency in his gait.

&n
bsp; “Fletcher sir,” he spoke. “There is a bit of bother on my mind. You see, I don’t want this anymore. I thought I could make it with you all and get my freedom. But I can’t leave the rest of my family back at the plantation! Just makes no sense to me anymore.

  “What kind of life will I have if they can never get out? My mammy and papa are too old to tend my younger sister much longer. So who will look out for them all? Can you see my situation? ”

  Swamp Man’s Scout took a moment to study Clarence’s pained face. Then he responded.

  “I have not been on one escape yet where someone has not had second thoughts about what they were doing. It’s fine to wonder Clarence. But the fact is your family has a better chance if you are free. Making a real home compared to dirt nothing in those miserable fields is worth the risk! Your family would want nothing more than to see you give them hope that one day they could join you.”

  Still, Clarence appeared set on his change of heart. “I know what you say is reasonable, but I’m not a fancy man like you. I can’t read like Fortune. My future is not as long as Chauncey’s. I made my choices some time ago. Now I just want to make sure master don’t break apart my family. That’s all there is to it! So I’ve made my decision to say goodbye right here.”

  Fletcher surveyed the scene about him before turning square to Clarence. “I remember saying to everyone back at Bitter Man if they didn’t leave now there was no turning back. So here we are after four days of running and you say this? Have I not said repeatedly the journey is bigger than all of us?” At that moment Fletcher changed his posture into a powerful stance, with broad shoulders rippling in confidence. His tone of voice transformed from accommodation to forceful authority.

  “I’ve heard enough of this nonsense! You want to go back and get captured? You’d take a chance on being forced to betray us so your “master” will spare your life? Like I said before, this escape will not fail for the sake of one person! Since your selfish head will not listen to reason, meet Mr. Practicality.”

  Shielding it from the others, Swamp Man’s Scout brandished his trusty revolver for Clarence to take full notice. A fearful look on Clarence’s face proved Fletcher’s swift action had the desired effect.

  “I’m not a difficult man Clarence. In fact, I will give you a choice. Either you can continue with us or you can leave six feet under where you stand right now.”

  Such uncompromising determination made Swamp Man’s Scout a legendary conductor of escapes. His last words were less a threat than a promise, which made Clarence’s decision very clear. In the no man’s land of fugitive travel, rule of the gun dictated power.

  “Fletcher, I’ve changed my mind,” spoke a visibly shaken Clarence. “Must have been my nerves acting up after so much running. I’ll stay on.”

  “I knew you would come around to reason! Though let’s get a couple of things straight. There will be no word of this to the others. They have plenty enough fear in their own minds. Second, if you ever bring up this leaving stuff again you will not have time to finish one sentence before meeting your Maker! You understand me Clarence?”

  A simple nod of acknowledgement sealed the agreement. Fletcher now marched towards the rest of the escapees.

  “Are we all ready to continue on the road to freedom? I think if we make good time, tonight will be our last camp before Savannah. But don’t be slack about your learnings in the swamp at Bitter Man! Until our feet set foot on free soil, they can still take us back.”

  “If it’s alright by you Fletcher then we best get to leaving right away!” beamed an enthused Chauncey.

  Fletcher merged with the others to prepare for departure. Upon finishing, they knelt for their daily prayer to the Power above, seeking safe guidance. After rising, Fletcher had some parting words to share.

  “We are close to our first destination, but don’t let up. Our enemy is always near. Danger follows us every second until we see true light. That light is freedom, and that freedom is in Nova Scotia. So while we’re in danger, anything can happen to take us. Everyone must be of one mind and one purpose. We do not have the luxury of sloth.”

  Fletcher’s parting advice found its mark. Onwards they marched in a tense dance with fate. Amid playful wild creatures of the forest and honey sweet grass, six men and one woman hurried forward in a perverse quest. For as songbirds sang a lazy melody, labored breath and aching limbs contrasted with the seeming calm all about. The irony of animals having a carefree existence while humans fared much worse was not lost on anyone.

  Hours passed as they scrambled in clandestine travel. Fortune kept vigilant in his rearguard position, but had seen no cause for concern. Their pace was relentless, regardless of topography.

  Then, nearing a crossing in one of the countless forests they had traversed, Fletcher turned and silently motioned everyone to stop. For at that moment he heard a twig snap and beheld a sight which froze his heart. A gentle trotting of horses’ hooves soon marked the presence of strangers. These people were not part of their escape plans. As the five horsemen drew closer, all could see the reason for their halt.

  Fletcher turned to face Fortune as he came forward to his side. “It looks like we may have been found out. I do not know how, though we may have been betrayed. Remember, if I should fall today you will lead the rest.

  “You must promise me you will do everything possible to get as many of them to freedom as you can. From my last breath, I will be watching from above to see you through on your word! My blood is your blood if I shall fall today. Do you understand Fortune?”

  “You know I will Fletcher. But I don’t want to hear talk like that! You are Swamp Man’s Scout, born a natural leader! Now how do we handle this?”

  “Thank you Fortune. I pray the Good Lord be with us.” Swamp Man’s Scout turned to address the others.

  “Everyone stay close and listen to my lead. We do not know if these riders are friend or foe. If they are the latter, remember the words to take action! All those long nights at Bitter Man will be put to the test. Are you with me?” Six heads nodded in unison. “They’re coming closer. Let’s see what fate has brought us today.”

  Fletcher quickly took stock of the situation. All their planning came down to this one moment. How could this have happened? Even with escape being a hazardous proposition, the precision of his plan was without equal.

  Ginger helped coordinate six successful missions with Fletcher. In fact, White Rose’s neighboring plantation owners had no clue that one conductor was responsible for the escape of sixty five men and women. A few trusted servants on those very plantations knew otherwise. They all pledged to defend the passage of every escapee to the death. As for his current flock, each one knew it took just one loose lip to betray their purpose.

  Suddenly Fletcher was overwhelmed by a sickening realization. If these men were bounty hunters, they must have been betrayed. Why? Because they had no hounds to track them down in this isolated stretch, far off the main path. How could they have known the escapees were coming through Grossman’s Hollow, and not dozens of other possible routes?

  Slowly the sleek horses sauntered towards them. Each weathered man on horseback wore the unmistakable look of hunters for hire. Once they came within clear sight there appeared only one that held sway over the rest.

  His thick silver beard had not known a decent shave in nearly a fortnight. Crusty dirt on scaled grimy hands indicated a man that studied many tracks from those that wanted no audience. Piercing dark eyes contrived assumptions based on cold calculation. Standing firm in his lofty mount, he quickly fixed those hardened eyes upon Fletcher.

  “All of you better stand still and not make a move!” he shouted out. “If you have your papers I want to see them now! We have it on good word there are runaways in these parts.”

  Fletcher came forward. “We ain’t seen anyone except the regular folk around here.”

  The be
arded one sized up Fletcher while stroking his prominent facial hair. Four other riders waited with baited breath on their leader’s every word. Soon he replied.

  “You look kind a familiar… Say, aren’t you Fred’s boy from over at Dunbar’s Plantation? I haven’t seen them for years, but they’re good folk.”

  Fletcher had never laid eyes on this man before. “Sorry sir. I ain’t ever seen you around.”

  The bearded one took another thoughtful pause. “Least you’re honest about that boy. But the truth is you’re all runaways, ain’t it! And I reckon there’s a good reward somewhere for all your hides.

  “Now I know you must come from somewhere, and if you’re not runners, you must know the drill. So let me see your papers. If you have none, and the others are the same, we’ll take you back where you came from. And even if you have papers, we’ll be taking you to the county courthouse to see if they’re legit. So let’s see them.”

  Fletcher pivoted slowly to look at each of his fellow escapees. It was abundantly clear the shock of capture had their racing hearts in a cold clench. To a person they searched his face for some faint glint of hope.

  Sizing up the five horsemen, Fletcher knew they were determined to make money off this capture. If all the escapees had papers to authenticate their freedom, these bounty hunters would take them to the county seat and see a presiding judge. There the judge would be given a “reasonable” bribe to declare those papers invalid. Finally, the bounty hunters would sell them all to a new plantation at a profit.

  Such devious behavior was common practice in the treatment of Colored people. Even if you had proof of freedom, at any moment the hard clench of servitude remained just an inch away. Fletcher knew well enough there was no solution. The time had come to make their bid for freedom. Knowing so made his plan much easier to carry out.