Freedom Bound

by Jean Rae Baxter

  “If thee lived Phoebe’s life, thee might understand. Her mother is a field hand at a rice plantation owned by Mrs. Morley’s brother-in-law Paul Vesey, twenty miles up the Cooper River. Five years ago, when Mrs. Morley was looking for a bright girl to train up as a house servant, her sister, Mrs. Vesey, said she could have Phoebe as a birthday present. She was ten years old when Mrs. Morley brought her to Charleston, a frightened child torn away from everyone she loved. Phoebe hasn’t seen her mother or her brothers and sisters since. This baby makes up for everything she’s lost.”

  “She has Jammy.”

  “And she loves him, but in a different way. They’ve been friends ever since the Morleys brought Phoebe to Charleston. And lately . . . they’re more than friends. The Morleys bought Jammy when he was six years old to be trained as a stable groom. He slept in the stable. According to Phoebe, his only friends were horses until she joined the household. Phoebe tells me they want to spend their lives together. But then, they’re both only fifteen. Who knows what will happen?”

  The baby, whose big grey eyes had been fixed on Charlotte’s face for several minutes, began to pucker his lips and suckle at the air.

  “Be off with thee,” said Mrs. Doughty. “We’ve done enough talking. This little one’s hunger can’t be denied.”

  Friend Perkins was a plump, cheerful woman whose coal-scuttle bonnet was askew and apron far from spotless. She had two little children clinging to her and a few larger ones trailing after. There were so many she made Charlotte think of the old woman who lived in a shoe.

  As soon as Friend Perkins saw Noah, she took him into her arms, gave him a cuddle, and pronounced him a perfect angel.

  “Will thee step inside and have a seat for half an hour while he feeds?” she asked.

  Charlotte, seeing nowhere in the front room to sit down without displacing a child, decided that this was a good opportunity to go for a walk.

  It was a bright, clear morning. She decided to stroll down to the wharves on the Cooper River to watch the ships until it was time to pick up Noah.

  After Charlotte had finished her walk and taken Noah back to Stoll’s Alley, Mrs. Doughty had another task for her. It was time to pick up the load of laundry for washing the next day.

  “Keep thine ears and eyes open when thee goes about town,” said Mrs. Doughty. “News travels fast in Charleston. There may be talk about last night.”

  “I’ll do my best, for I’d surely like to know what’s happened to Jammy and Phoebe.”

  It was mid-afternoon. The sky had clouded over since earlier in the day and a chilly wind was blowing from the harbour.

  The customer’s slave woman had the laundry bundle ready. Handing it over in a businesslike manner, she showed no inclination to chat.

  The laundry bundle was large and awkward to carry. Charlotte’s arms and shoulders strained under its weight, and she could hardly see over it or around it. What a sad sight she must present, she thought, wearing her shabby gown and carrying a load of dirty laundry. At least she was unlikely to meet anyone she knew. That was something to be thankful for.

  Her gown had been a good one once. She had worn it on the trek north when her family had fled from the Mohawk Valley, and it had served her for three years in the Loyalist camp on Carleton Island. Now, its deep blue faded to nondescript grey, it made her look like any poor washerwoman on her rounds.

  And this was a good thing because, if she wanted to listen for gossip, she must be inconspicuous.

  At a street corner, three redcoats stood chatting. Perhaps they were discussing last night’s ruckus in the street. Affecting a weary manner, she approached as closely as she dared and leaned against a lamppost, as if needing its support.

  The soldiers were not talking about slaves or slave catchers. Their subject was a recent battle fought at a place called Cowpens.

  Cowpens! It sounded like a barnyard, not a battlefield.

  Apparently Cowpens was a place in the backcountry where the rebels had recently defeated an army of British and Loyalist troops. The three redcoats assured each other that this was just a minor setback. As they discussed the battle, it became clear to Charlotte that their conversation would shed no light upon slave catcher activities last night. She walked on.

  The next place she stopped was in front of a coffee house, where two periwigged gentlemen in frockcoats stood chatting in the doorway. One sported a dark green coat. The other’s coat was navy blue.

  She bent her head to listen.

  The gentlemen were criticizing England’s policy regarding slaves. It wasn’t that either of them supported the revolution. Certainly not! God save the King! But to arm escaped slaves was dangerous. Who knew when they might turn upon the very people who set them free?

  This conversation sounded promising. She waited and, sure enough, in a few moments she heard a word she had been waiting for.

  “Jammy.”

  Charlotte trudged over to the wall, leaned against it, and heaved a weary sigh. If the gentlemen noticed her, they would think she was simply resting for a minute and not paying attention to them at all.

  “The boy’s run away three times,” said the gentleman in green. “He’ll hang when they catch him. He overpowered the slave catcher, knocked him senseless, and ran away shouting, ‘Phoebe, I’m comin’ back for you!’ The other slave catcher was so busy hanging on to the girl that he couldn’t help his partner. But he heard what the boy said.”

  The gentleman in the blue coat laughed out loud. “‘Phoebe, I’m comin’ back for you!’” he repeated in a mocking tone. “Noble sentiments . . . for a slave. So when Jammy returns to rescue the damsel in distress, they’ll put a rope around his neck.”

  “Damn shame. I’m sorry for Lewis,” said his companion. “He told me the boy’s a first-rate hand with horses. A good stable groom is hard to find. But Lewis has to make an example of him or we’ll end up with a full-scale slave revolt. At least they got back the girl.”

  “The Morleys aren’t keeping her, though,” said the gentleman in the blue coat. “I met Lewis this morning on his way to the Royal Gazette office to place an advertisement. The wench will be sold at auction next week.”

  “I’m not surprised they’ve decided to sell her,” said the other. “Lewis’ wife Abby told my wife months ago that the girl was giving her a lot of trouble. This was even before that awkward business of the baby. Abby said the girl is too clever for her own good. A couple of years ago, the Morleys hired her out to a Quaker woman who taught her to read and write. That’s what spoiled her.”

  “Quite right,” said the gentleman in blue. “A slave’s no good once he gets a little learning into his head. Turns him into a troublemaker. Best thing the Morleys can do with the girl is sell her.”

  “Those Quakers are a serious problem we need to deal with,” said the gentleman in the green coat. “For all their peaceful ways, they’re a threat to society. If our slaves someday rise up against us, the Quakers will have our blood on their hands.”

  Now Charlotte had some real news. Jammy was a fugitive. Phoebe had been returned to her owners and was about to be sold.

  Tightening her arms around her bundle, she set off for Stoll’s Alley.

  Chapter 9

  THE HARBOUR WIND whipped at her back. It had started to rain, and the muck underfoot was slippery. Peering around the edge of her bundle, she looked for solid footing where there was none. She just hoped she could get back to Stoll’s Alley without taking a tumble.

  It was not to be. Stepping around a pile of horse manure, she skidded and landed on her backside. For a moment she simply sat there, the bundle still in her arms. Well, she thought, it’s a good thing I’m carrying dirty laundry instead of clean.

  A stout man wearing a tricorn hat walked by, looking away in an obvious pretence that he did not see her. Charlotte was still sitting on the muddy roadway when she noticed someone coming from across the street. He stopped in front of her.

  “Allow me to help you.�
��

  He spoke with a Mohawk Valley accent, not the drawn-out South Carolina drawl. Charlotte recognized more than just the accent. She knew the voice. Looking up, she saw a red coat with white cross belts, and above the coat the familiar face of her friend Elijah Cobman, formerly of the King’s Royal Regiment of New York, the Royal Greens.

  Their eyes met. His jaw dropped.

  “Charlotte!”

  “Oh, Elijah!” She felt as overwhelmed as if her guardian angel had appeared before her, totally forgetting that she did not want to encounter anyone she knew. But Elijah was different—a friend with whom she had shared danger and hardship.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He held out his hand to help her.

  “Please. Just take the bundle. Then I can get up on my own.”

  He took it from her and held it while she struggled to her feet. The bundle was only slightly splashed with muck; Charlotte’s gown was a mess.

  Elijah stared at her in a dazed sort of way. “What are you doing here? When I saw you on Carleton Island three months ago, you never breathed a word about going to Charleston, even when I told you the army might send me back down south.”

  “Three months ago, I hadn’t the least idea. I got a letter from Nick just a few days after you left. In his letter Nick told me he was no longer a courier. He said Southern Command had transferred him to a different department and given him a room in the officers’ quarters. So he wanted me to come to Charleston to join him.”

  “That sounds mighty fine.”

  “It would have been mighty fine, except they cancelled his transfer. I didn’t know a thing about it until I arrived in Charleston and was told he’d been sent on a mission to the backcountry. So I’m here, but Nick is not.”

  Elijah gave a sympathetic smile. “When I first met you, you were waiting for Nick to find you, and now you’re waiting for him again. There always seems to be something keeping you two apart.”

  He watched while she twisted and tugged at her clothing, trying to see how dirty it was at the back.

  “I can carry your bundle for you, wherever you’re going.”

  “Thank you. I’d appreciate that, if you don’t mind being seen with me.”

  “Not at all. This reminds me of how we met. Remember Canajoharie? You were peering into our kitchen window, mud all over the back of your gown, just like now.”

  “Same gown,” she laughed. “Different mud.”

  “You were looking for a place where your family could hide after the Sons of Liberty ran you off your farm. I thought you were a rebel spy.”

  “You came up behind me with a pitchfork and steered me to the front door. Your mother took one look and said, ‘That’s the dirtiest spy I ever seen.’”

  He laughed. “You have a talent for landing in mud.”

  “And you have a talent for rescuing me.”

  “What’s the reason this time? What are you doing, walking around in the rain, carrying that big bundle?”

  “The bundle is dirty clothes, and I’m taking it to the place where I lodge, the home of a Quaker woman who takes in laundry.”

  “Didn’t you just say that Nick had a room in the officers’ quarters?”

  “He did. But when Southern Command cancelled his transfer, they gave his room to somebody else. Since they couldn’t throw me out on the street, they arranged for me to lodge with Mrs. Doughty.”

  “So you’re living with Quakers. That’s quite a change.”

  “I liked the idea because I thought it would be peaceful and quiet.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Not at all. As I soon discovered, Mrs. Doughty had a runaway slave girl with a baby hiding in the cellar. I didn’t know this until slave catchers invaded the house.”

  Charlotte paused, wondering if she should tell Elijah the details of Phoebe’s plight. But, no. It was unnecessary.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “The slave catchers captured the girl but left the baby. So now we have a baby to take care of.”

  They reached Stoll’s Alley and stopped at Mrs. Doughty’s door.

  “Would you like to come in,” Charlotte asked, “and meet Mrs. Doughty?”

  “I wish I could. But I’m due back at barracks.” A shadow passed over his face. “I very much want to talk with you.”

  “I’d like that. Then you can tell me everything that’s happened to you since the army sent you back down south.”

  “Maybe tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow will be fine. But there’s no rush, is there? If you’re attached to the garrison, you’ll be in Charleston for a while.” She pressed the door latch.

  “I think not.” He frowned. “Look. There hasn’t been anybody here I can talk to. But I can talk to you. I can talk to you about anything.”

  “Are you in trouble?”

  They looked directly into each other’s eyes, and then he turned away.

  “No. Not yet. I mean . . .” He spoke in a rush. “Oh, I don’t know what I mean. That is . . . ever since the Battle of Kings Mountain. So many died there.”

  “Come tomorrow. I have errands in the morning and afternoon. But I’m here around noon.”

  “Noon, then.” He passed the laundry bundle into her arms.

  Maybe he isn’t in trouble, she thought as she watched him turn and walk away, but something heavy weighs upon his mind.

  She opened the door and stepped inside. There was such a lot to tell Mrs. Doughty! All about Phoebe and Jammy . . . and about Elijah, too.

  Chapter 10

  THE RAIN HAD stopped during the night, and now a watery sunshine glistened over the wet rooftops. A few houses had their windows open. In one open casement hung a yellow canary in a small cage. From another window came the delicious aroma of baking bread—a fragrance powerful enough to overcome momentarily the smell of the street.

  Charlotte walked carefully, for she had Noah in her arms, on her way to Mrs. Perkins’ home for his morning feeding. He was wide-awake, his eyes intent upon her face. He had been fretful before they left Mrs. Doughty’s house, but now she felt his body relax. He likes me, she thought, or maybe he expects that when I take him for a walk, a breast full of milk awaits him.

  Elijah was on her mind, as he had been ever since she woke that morning. She had known that the army might send him down south, but that could mean anywhere from Virginia to East Florida. Yesterday it had been such a surprise, such a pleasant surprise, to find him in Charleston. But her pleasure had quickly turned to concern. What could it be that troubled him so much?

  She remembered his visit in November to the little cabin she and Papa had built on Carleton Island. That visit, too, had been a surprise. He had survived the defeat of the Loyalist army at Kings Mountain in October. After being taken prisoner, he had escaped. But instead of reporting to Charleston Headquarters, he had travelled five times that distance to Fort Haldimand, offering the feeble explanation that he felt he should report to the same place he had enlisted in the first place, three years earlier. It made no sense.

  She had noticed a change in him even then. He had lost all desire to fight, muttering about the stupidity of men dying for a cause already lost.

  While she pondered this, she heard his voice calling from behind her.

  “Charlotte, wait for me!”

  Turning around, she saw Elijah running to catch up.

  He overtook her, a little out of breath. “I know it’s not yet noon. But the morning drill is finished, and I have two hours free. Your landlady told me which way you were going.”

  “I’m taking the baby for his morning feeding.”

  Elijah leaned over to look at Noah. “So that’s the baby. He’s very small.”

  “He’s only one month old. And I don’t reckon he’ll grow fast on two feedings a day.”

  Noah’s lower lip quivered.

  “We must keep walking,” said Charlotte. “If we dawdle, he’ll start to cry.”

  “I t
hought you and I could talk.”

  “We can. While he’s with the wet nurse.”

  Elijah fell into step beside her. “This part of town hasn’t been damaged at all,” he said. “It was lucky to be out of reach of the heavy guns. We caused terrible destruction to some other areas of Charleston.”

  “We? Were you at the siege?”

  “All forty-two days. I’ll never forget it.” He was silent for a moment. “We had the rebel army trapped inside the walls, and we threw everything at them: grapeshot, musket fire, bombs, red-hot cannon balls.”

  “It must have been horrible for the people living here.”

  “When you’re a soldier, you don’t allow yourself to think about that. We firebombed houses. It’s hard to ignore the result when you’re close enough to hear children screaming.”

  Elijah was talking faster and faster, as if he had a demon inside his head that had to come out.

  “Near the end, the defenders were shooting back at us with pieces of iron, broken bottles, old axe heads—anything they could jam into a cannon. On May 12, they surrendered. I remember walking around the burnt houses. People came out from cellars where they’d been hiding. Most hadn’t eaten for days. Packs of wild dogs were roaming the streets. We had orders to destroy them. Charlotte, I didn’t join the army so I could burn cities and kill dogs.”

  She kept her head down while she listened. She had the feeling that he had barely begun, that worse was yet to come.

  “We’d stored the rebels’ captured arms in a magazine right in town. A few days later, someone accidentally discharged a rifle. The magazine blew up. Two hundred people died in the explosion—more than were killed during the whole siege.

  “I can tell you that when my regiment was assigned to the left flank of Cornwallis’s army, I was mighty glad to leave Charleston and go off to fight the Over Mountain men.”

  They reached Mrs. Perkins’ house. Elijah waited in the street while Charlotte took the baby inside. When she rejoined him, he looked glummer than ever.