“I say to you and every single subjugated individual in this country; I am truly humbled to apology. Mark my words Fletcher. In the coming years this nation will break apart as the abolitionist son can no longer be mentored by the slaveholding father. Or the brother who loves a true meaning of our Constitution cannot stand beside the opposing brother who manipulates the Founding Document for personal profit. I’ve said my piece; let’s prepare to depart.”
Having relieved weighty burden, Captain Clark extended a firm hand. Fletcher in turn took hold and they shook in an embrace of equals.
Suddenly, without explanation, Fletcher sensed a strange surge of energy pulse throughout his body. In his heart, he knew escape number seven was too close; a talisman whose warning had to be heeded. Right then and there, Fletcher determined to be a conductor no more.
“Captain Clark, you’re a yardstick to which your fellow citizens should mark their own character. I too fear this country is moving towards something which will test its very fabric. It may take some years yet, though the urgency of the issue will not go away. It begs resolution and action.
“For myself, I’ve grown weary of the danger in conducting. It came to me during this last run that my knowledge can be put to better use in petitioning. I had to kill for the first time Amos, which still gives me great misgivings! Fate has shown it’s time to move out of the field and into a more progressive frontline.”
Captain Clark was shocked. “I didn’t expect to hear that from you! But I have no quarrel with reason. Your knowledge can be better utilized in directing the cause from a position of broader influence. I only hope the next conductor is half as brilliant!
“You most certainly know my address, so call on me any time for whatever reason. I may be losing a partner, but I definitely hold a dear friend. Best wishes to you Fletcher. By the way, your fellows have already left the ship. They’re waiting on the dock.”
“And you the same Amos,” responded a moved Fletcher. “I trust you will have a safe journey ahead.” Fletcher slowly walked upstairs with his possessions before descending the gangplank. As he turned to behold Betty Rose’s grandeur, broad mainsails rippled a wistful farewell in seaside breezes.
“Goodbye to our dear Betty Rose,” he whispered. “I’m thankful for the many lives you brought to safety. Here’s to your service in the cause.” Refreshing rays of sunlight winked their approval as he gave her a final salute of honor.
Fletcher began looking for his former charges on this windswept waterfront. Fortunately he could spot them amongst the throng. Exhilaration propelled him forward as he eagerly anticipated the beginning of this new phase in life. Swiftly he walked towards the group.
“Gentlemen, I’m sorry for the wait. I have to introduce you all to Grady. He should be waiting for us at Smith’s Warehouse.”
“No worries Fletcher,” Fortune replied. “We knew you would be around sooner or later. After all, where would we go?”
Reunited, they followed Fletcher’s lead down the broad pier towards Smith’s Warehouse. It was quite easy to detect, with good signage and a large facade. At the side of that aged wooden structure stood a tall, older man, perhaps sixty years of age. His trim, lithe physique looked perhaps fifteen years younger than his face.
“Grady, it’s so good to see you! I hope we were not keeping you too long.”
“Never an inconvenience with you Fletcher,” responded a jovial Grady. “I see you brought some new friends. Please introduce us.”
“Here are Fortune, Clarence, Thomas and Rodney. Sadly, there were two others that did not make it this time.”
Grady looked pained to hear the last remark. “I hope you don’t trouble yourself too much about it. Things happen during running. You’re an amazing conductor. Everyone knows that. And now that I can put names to faces, I best take these fellows back with me.”
“You’re a gentleman as always Grady,” replied a heartened Fletcher. “Okay, we’re ready. Let’s take the wagon to Resting Arms.”
Grady walked a few paces before stopping straight in his tracks. “Did I hear you right Fletcher? What’s this you’re saying about “we”’? You best hurry up and get back to Betty Rose before she sets sail.”
Fletcher had a most mischievous look pasted across his face. “You heard me right Grady. My days on the run are over. I already spoke with Captain Clark and he knows my intentions. It’s time for a change, and I’m ready to do more. That is, if you will have me in Resting Arms.”
Looks of sheer surprise were painted on every face. This was certainly an unexpected turn of events. An overjoyed Grady came towards Fletcher and gave him a warm hug.
“Welcome home, Fletcher. You always had a place in Resting Arms.”
Not only Grady was full of emotion. Fortune mirrored his glee upon hearing the latest news.
“Did everyone hear that?” Fortune rang out. “Swamp Man’s Scout is in the field no more! He’s coming with us to Resting Arms.”
Clarence stepped towards Fletcher with an extended hand in hearty congratulations. “Welcome home brother. Welcome home indeed.” After exchanging handshakes, everyone followed Grady to his large wagon.
“There’s room enough for everybody to be comfortable. We have a little stretch to travel. But when we arrive expect a good hot meal and solid quarters to rest in.”
Soon the party was on route from Halifax. Initial pleasantries turned to easy conversation about the sights of nature along their way. More serious discussions could wait for another day, while a rare chance to relax was taken advantage of.
After making decent time on winding roads, Grady made an announcement. “Around the next bend we will be at our destination. Your long journey from Georgia is over.”
As promised, the sharp corner ahead gave way to a surprisingly cozy community, nestled close against the sea. Stout wooden buildings and lively homesteads were anchored firmly to their coastal terrain. One’s initial impression was of a community steeped in pride of ownership, the natural result of hard fought accomplishment.
“Welcome to Resting Arms gentlemen. Others call us the pride of Negro Nova Scotia. We call ourselves the pride of Nova Scotia period!” proclaimed a proud Grady.
Rodney was quite impressed on first sight of this village. “And you say this is all the work of Colored folk Grady? Man, if only those crackers down South could see this!”
“It’s something what a little faith and determination can achieve,” confirmed Grady. “But don’t get the impression we’re isolated. We live in Resting Arms, though many earn their livelihood in the broader community, meaning through White folks. There are things we do well and things they do well. It’s all part of mutual dependence in a land that challenges everyone.
”And may I say this here Nova Scotia is no magical place of goodwill. Every timber on every house, every stone in each building, and every meal on each table has the sweat of all of us in it! There were no good graces from White folk to see us straight. This land demands plenty to survive, and so makes their meanness that much sharper, while their tolerance is that much thinner. Do you follow me?”
Everyone nodded their heads in unison before Fortune spoke. “We understand Grady. And we want to thank you for getting us here. I only hope we can live up to the hospitality Resting Arms is showing us. We want nothing less than to make Resting Arms prosper.”
“I might as well let you all know there are unwritten rules up here too, just like in America,” continued Grady. “Sure, you’re free enough to walk around, but the White folk still want us to “know our place”. The prosperity of Resting Arms relies on good relations with those people, so we keep it simple, stick to business, and never make it social. So both get on well enough.”
“We understand what you’re saying,” replied Fortune. “It’s sort of like America with a smile up here. Appreciate the notice Grady.”
“You’re m
ost certainly welcome. We stand alone as one community, just like always. There are no gifts granted to us; just hard rewards from constant labor. Now let’s get off the wagon. I must introduce you to the families where you will be lodging. And please offer no gratuities. It is our honor to have such brave people among us!”
Every one of them was truly thankful for Grady’s reassuring words. After a sumptuous dinner at Grady’s comfortable homestead, the newcomers went to their respective lodgings. Sleep came easy in peaceful night as memories of anxiety melted from their minds. Morning heralded a bounty of fresh baked pastries, meats and preserves. Living had never been so good.
Fortune, Clarence, Thomas, Rodney and Fletcher had a keen sense of ambition to make their own way in the community. Each acquainted themselves with learning the basic activities within Resting Arms. The people, customs and mores which provided sturdy spokes for its wheel of daily life soon became rote knowledge. Hard achievement through expending great effort was not new to any of them, which was favorably noted by the established townsfolk.
As this first day flowed into another the new arrivals found life in Resting Arms increasingly agreeable. True to Fletcher’s words, the townsfolk were most accommodating in their learned assistance. It was in this vigor of collective strength the village of Resting Arms adapted to many challenges.
Nevertheless, here was no utopia. Everyday chores awaited everyone. Wood needed to be gathered for stoves, unyielding soil tilled, potable water fetched and rough land coxed to provide basic requirements. In doing these numerous tasks efficiently, they fared better than many other Colored settlements established throughout Nova Scotia.
Two weeks after their arrival, Grady took the men on a tour of Resting Arms. They visited the local church, meeting hall and general store among other buildings. Near the conclusion, Fortune had one lingering question.
“I still don’t get it,” he spoke out in puzzlement. “With all the bother you suffer as Colored folk, you still carry on; no you prosper, as if it didn’t matter. How’d you all do it?”
Grady let out a small chuckle before replying. “Remember that church I showed you? That’s where we get faith. See the ocean, that hardscrabble soil we till for vegetables and the farms loaded with livestock? That’s where we get nourishment. Look at these hands and listen to the thoughts coming from my head. That’s where we get ability to skill and trade ourselves a livelihood. Put that all together with a sense of shared responsibility and you have a community.
“There are no masters here. We cannot afford the luxury of sloth. Together we rise or surely we will fail! And now you’re all part of that hard won legacy. I hope you all have the same stuff in you that others had to make this place something to be proud of.”
“Thank you for letting us know how it truly works,” replied an enlightened Fortune. “We’ll do our share to carry on. You can count on that!”
After one month, most memories of an unforgiving American South were pushed to the recesses of their minds. Progress lent a steady guide to their collective growth. Each minded their earnings as they waited to establish themselves in trades honed through unrelenting Georgian toil. Soon they left the hospitable quarters of fellow townsfolk to buy their own plot of Nova Scotian earth.
While these times were spent learning local customs, Mother Nature had some different teaching in store. For in Georgia the changes of season were not nearly as distinct. But here in Resting Arms, the casual nonchalance practiced within southern climes gave way to a sense of preparedness.
Each newcomer heard tell of demanding winters with blowing mounds of snowfall. Such stories left them pondering how they would adapt in such an environment, save Fletcher. He spent more than a few winters in the northern United States as a freeman.
Being a perceptive bunch, they took all advice offered, proving the better for it. Preserves needed to be stored, wood piled to stoke essential stoves, clothing mended and outerwear darned for the long season ahead.
When twinkling puffs of snowflakes swirled to a soft melt on warm faces, they braced for their winter initiation. Like everything else in the community, this season would be endured together. Warm clothing and plenty of victuals had been stored to combat an unrelenting winter. There were still plenty of chores to perform in winter’s chilling spine. But the newness of the entire experience made winter seem quite fascinating.
It was during the calm still of one clear night sky Fletcher came upon Grady on a quiet street. All five men seemed well ensconced in their new home, which he wished to relay to his elder pal, along with a sincere note of gratitude.
“Hello there Grady,” he hailed. “How are you doing today? I wanted to say we all owe a debt of thanks to you and Resting Arms. All is well for now. But the chill tonight is through the bones! Seems like a good evening to read by a warm stove.”
“You’re all most welcome. And I agree with you about the weather. I was just heading back to the homestead myself. Funny we have run into each other though. I must say you’ve been on my mind lately.”
Fletcher was intrigued by the comment. “How do you mean Grady?”
“Well, look at you! A man of such promise stuck in an outpost that can hardly challenge such a gifted mind. Ever since the day you arrived, I wondered how long it would be before you went on to more fertile pastures. And every day you remain puzzles me even more.
“Why I ask myself? And then it strikes me full on. Perhaps I’m projecting my own lost ambitions that have faded away with time, trying to console myself to this life I could not have imagined in the past. So hear an old man out for just a few moments.
“When you lived as long as I have you’ve witnessed many things; suffered many hardships. If you’re lucky you might even have had some joy! What you see here is a man who values every day of my liberty above all. But what you don’t know is that I paid for my freedom twice over.
“After escaping from Georgia I had no network to rely upon. But thank goodness I heard a nugget of hope from a man I worked with in the fields. He said that these Indians, Seminoles, would allow a Colored man to live by them as a free man! I figured if this was true why not me as well? Sure it would be dangerous, but a chance was better than dying a wretch in bondage! So I asked him to continue.”
“Wasn’t that risky Grady? The man could have betrayed you.”
“That’s true, though what was I giving up? If death was upon me in that environment why not hasten its coming? To make a long story short, I spotted my opportunity around 1817 to escape further south. There was a village along the Suwannee River where these Seminoles helped harbor fugitives.
“Yes sir, life was free but in constant flux, with all the fighting happening around the area. Plus we had angry Georgian planters urging the American government to raid East Florida and Seminole country. They were afraid of us and the Seminoles coming back up there and causing an uprising!
“Then a year later our village caught talk the United States Army was conducting raids into Florida, heading straight our way in a matter of days! Most heeded that warning before General Jackson arrived. I was lucky enough to plead with a British trader to let me work off my wages for safe passage to Nova Scotia. That turned out to be the best decision of my life. I even learned to read aboard the vessel, through a couple of his crew.”
At that point Fletcher interjected. “Sounds like you have a remarkable story Grady. I congratulate you on a brave flight to freedom. But how does it relate to me?”
“Good question Fletcher. You see, any man in bondage has two choices. Either accept their lot and die a slow death or have the courage to take a harrowing run for freedom. Where I was working they called runners Seekers.
“It’s hard to describe what makes a Seeker but you certainly knew one when you met them. There’s no half measure in anything they desire. Strange thing was every other worker on the plantation said I was a Seeker.”
“Can I be bold enough to ask if you are saying I may be a Seeker?”
“You’re a very smart man Fletcher. From one Seeker to another I am telling you to use your talents to a greater advantage. You owe yourself nothing less. Resting Arms can hold a man of your ambition only so long. Take that run to make your true destiny play out!”
Fletcher was stunned by the high praise Grady bestowed upon him. “How should I take this? What are you suggesting I do?”
“Nothing more than you already know. Store up your energy for a while if you must. But remember, America needs educated freemen to aid in the cause of abolition. We are by no means in a decent way here. But America is tearing at the seams! The valiant side needs its smart solders urgently. And we Colored folks have to aid our own cause to battle against the wicked aims of slaveholders.
“These bones are too old for battling. So I help all I can to make people’s lives better here. Trust me when I say tyranny will only fall under the might of right. Your sword of justice is one of many needed to slay the dragon of unjust servitude. Son, you need to run much further to give legs for millions of our brethren still in bondage.”
Fletcher knew this plain sincerity was not far from the mark. In time he would make a decision on his next major pursuit. Though currently Resting Arms was what he needed to replenish a weary body.
“I appreciate your words Grady. Everything you said will weigh on my mind in days to come. You enjoy a good evening.”
“And you the same Fletcher. God bless.”
Only a smack of frosting wind bore witness to the conversation between two friends. Man and creature alike sought shelter for the night while twinkling stars danced in this frozen crisp of evening. And as all toils of the day came to a close, grateful individuals like Fortune stared into the wonder above, thanking Providence for a second chance.
Chapter Five
A PREACHER THAT CURES ALL ILLS
Only you can decide the right path to follow, so walk it well
The Watchman's Grace Page 14