Freedom Bound

by Jean Rae Baxter

  “She’s old,” a man shouted. “Ready for the knacker!”

  Apparently most buyers agreed. This woman went for ten pounds.

  Phoebe was next. Slender and only five feet tall, she wore a simple gown of brown homespun. It was a cheap gown, but on Phoebe it did not look cheap. There was a natural grace to her bearing that nothing could diminish—not even the brass collar around her neck. She held her head high. But from the way her eyes blinked, Charlotte suspected that she was close to tears.

  Holding Phoebe by both shoulders, the auctioneer’s assistant turned her around to display her from all angles. Hoots and whistles made clear that the men present appreciated what they saw.

  The auctioneer began, “Now here’s a pretty little wench. Not strong enough for heavy work,” he snickered, “but she’s good for other things. Who’ll start the bidding at twenty pounds?”

  A man standing next to Charlotte, on the other side from Nick, gave a wink as he remarked to the man with him, “That’s Lewis Morley’s slave girl. His wife won’t have her in the house.”

  “I’d be happy to take her off his hands,” said his companion. “But if I arrived home with that girl, my wife wouldn’t let me in the house.”

  Good! Charlotte thought, grateful for anything that might discourage bidding. If enough husbands were equally afraid of their wives, Phoebe’s price might stay low enough for Nick to afford her.

  Nick opened the bidding. “Fifteen pounds.”

  “Sixteen.” The voice came from further back in the crowd. Turning to look, Charlotte saw a young man who was leaning forward slightly, an eager look on his face. His ill-fitting dark brown coat looked slightly threadbare, and his white cravat needed to be pressed.

  “Seventeen,” Nick countered.

  The young man hesitated. “Eighteen.”

  “Nineteen.”

  Charlotte’s eyes did not leave the young man’s face. His throat moved. He gulped.

  “Do I hear twenty pounds?” the auctioneer’s voice boomed.

  “Twenty,” the young man’s voice was a frightened squawk.

  He can’t afford it, Charlotte thought.

  “Twenty-one,” said Nick.

  She heard the confidence in his voice.

  “The bid is twenty-one pounds,” said the auctioneer. “Do I hear twenty-two?”

  He did not.

  “Going once at twenty-one pounds.” A pause. “Going twice.” Another pause. He was giving the young man time to reconsider. “Going three times.”

  The young man shook his head, defeated.

  Nick and Charlotte exchanged a smile. Then Nick stepped up to the platform and offered Phoebe his hand to help her down. Turning her head away, she rejected his courtesy. He had to take her by the arm to lead her toward the table where the auctioneer’s clerk was settling business.

  The Over Mountain men were watching Nick.

  The next slave to be put on the platform was a mulatto woman. She had a baby in her arms and a little boy peeping out from behind her skirts. As the crowd swarmed forward to examine the trio, Charlotte approached the table where Nick stood counting out coins under the watchful eyes of slave market officials.

  Nick looked up as Charlotte reached the table.

  “Here you are. Good.” He handed her a tiny brass key. “This unlocks her collar. Take her to Mrs. Doughty’s house. I’ll see you there in an hour or two. I have to sign some papers here, and then go to the lawyer’s office to give instructions for the deed of manumission.”

  Phoebe’s eyes swept from Nick’s face to Charlotte’s and back again. Her lips moved, softly repeating the syllables: “man-you-mis-sion.” She looked stunned.

  She understands, Charlotte thought as she stepped up to her. But it must be hard for her to believe what’s happening.

  “My name is Charlotte Schyler. That’s my husband Nick. We lodge with Mrs. Doughty. When we reach her house, we’ll get rid of that collar.” She put the key into her pocket, took Phoebe’s hand, and led her away. Phoebe said not a word.

  When they had walked half a block and the auctioneer’s voice no longer reached them, Charlotte stopped. Still holding Phoebe’s hand, she said, “Now let me explain.”

  But before she could, Phoebe said, “Miss Charlotte, I already know about you. Mrs. Doughty came down to the cellar to tell me a young lady, name of Charlotte, would be staying in the house. She said I mustn’t let my baby cry. You weren’t supposed to know we were there.”

  “I heard him cry just once, but I had no idea what was going on . . . even when that slave catcher dragged you out the door.”

  “The slave catchers followed Jammy right into the house. There were two of them. As soon as Jammy had the trap door open, one came right down into the cellar to grab me and drag me out. Jammy got away. I never knew what happened to Noah.”

  “The slave catchers didn’t touch him. Noah’s fine. He’s still at Mrs. Doughty’s house. In ten minutes, you’ll be with him again.”

  But it took only five minutes, because now it was Phoebe leading Charlotte, and she fairly dragged her along.

  Chapter 15

  AS SOON AS PHOEBE was inside the door, Patience, Charity and Joseph ran to her and threw their arms around her knees. “Phoebe, Phoebe!” they squealed. With pats and kisses, she embraced all three, but scarcely seemed to see them. A baby’s cry came from the kitchen, and in a moment Mrs. Doughty appeared.

  She hugged Phoebe. “Noah’s just started to fuss. I was preparing sugar water to give him when I heard thee at the door. His cradle’s in the kitchen.”

  Before Phoebe could rush to him, Charlotte caught her arm. “One thing first.”

  Phoebe stood motionless while Charlotte inserted the little key into the lock at the back of the metal collar. The clasp opened with a click. Spreading the two halves open on their hinge, Charlotte slipped the collar from Phoebe’s neck.

  “You’ll never have to wear that again.”

  Phoebe turned around, and they both eyed the thing in Charlotte’s hand as if it were a dead viper, its venom spent. Touching her fingers to her neck, Phoebe looked as if she were about to say something. But Noah gave another cry, and she ran from the room.

  Charlotte closed the kitchen door, leaving mother and child together.

  Facing Mrs. Doughty, Charlotte took a deep breath and let it out with a long sigh. “Everything went as planned. Nick will be back in an hour or two.”

  “Thanks be to God!” Mrs. Doughty took her cloak from a hook near the door. “I’m going up Meeting Street to thank Friend Perkins and tell her that the baby is with his mother again. I’ll be back before Nick returns.”

  Charlotte sat down on the rug to play with the children. They built a fort with blocks, and then turned it into a farm, bringing out their wooden animals to put in the barnyard.

  After a while, Phoebe joined them. “Noah’s asleep,” she said as she got down on the rug and helped to turn the farm into a castle.

  Mrs. Doughty came home. She brought out her mending bag and started darning stockings.

  An hour passed.

  The children tired of blocks. Charlotte told them the story of Sleeping Beauty, followed by Rapunzel.

  Another hour passed. The tall clock in its wooden case chimed six. Having no idea how long it took to give instructions to a lawyer, Charlotte tried not to worry. But surely it was time for Nick to return!

  She helped Mrs. Doughty cook supper. When it was ready, she could scarcely eat a bite.

  Mrs. Doughty put her children to bed. After closing the shutters, she lit a candle. It was now eight o’clock. The tall floor clock’s brass pendulum swung back and forth, catching the candlelight.

  He’ll come soon, Charlotte thought. The clock kept ticking.

  At nine o’clock there was a knock at the door. Charlotte’s heart thudded in her chest. It couldn’t be Nick. He would have walked right in.

  “Shall I go to the door?” Charlotte asked.

  Mrs. Doughty nodded.


  When Charlotte opened the door, she saw Captain Braemar standing there, not a trace of a smile on his face. He bowed.

  “Miss Charlotte, I have bad news.”

  Her stomach lurched. “For the past couple of hours, I’ve been fearing bad news.” She opened the door wider for him to enter. “Tell me what happened.” She spoke carefully, standing rigid as a gatepost.

  “Ruffians attacked Nick and carried him off.”

  She wanted to scream. But that was what she must not do. She must keep her head. Screaming would help no one.

  “I can’t tell you much more,” said Captain Braemar. “I wasn’t there. A mutual friend came to tell me what happened. He said half a dozen men followed Nick from the slave market. They grabbed him right after he left the lawyer’s office. Then they tied his hands behind his back and marched him north along King Street. That’s all I know.”

  “Where do you think they took him?”

  “It depends who they are. I suspect somebody from the backcountry recognized Nick as the planter’s son who turned out to be a spy. If I’m right, I think they’ll take him to the swamp for questioning. There are bands of rebels operating in the swamp.”

  “Two men were watching Nick at the slave auction. He said they were Over Mountain men, and he thought they recognized him. Yes. That makes sense.”

  She didn’t need to ask what fate awaited Nick when their questioning was done. Her voice trembled. “What will Southern Command do about it?”

  “Nothing. Spies are on their own.”

  “But Nick serves with Southern Command.”

  “He’s with the Civilian Department. Rules protecting prisoners of war don’t apply to him.”

  He reached out for her hand. But she drew back so that he would not discover how she trembled. “I’m sorry to bring you such bad news.” He hesitated. “My regiment has been ordered to the backcountry. I leave in two days to join the defence of Fort Ninety-Six. Before I go, is there anything I can do for you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then I’ll take my leave.”

  He turned away, but before he had taken two steps, she called out, “Just a minute, Captain Braemar. There is something you can do.”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Do you know which lawyer Nick went to?”

  “Joshua Ward. I recommended him to Nick. He’s our family solicitor.”

  She kept her voice steady. “When the deed giving Phoebe her freedom has been prepared, will you pick it up for me?”

  “I’m not sure he can release it. Nick may have to sign it first. But I’ll ask.”

  “Thank you. You’re a true friend to Nick.” She bowed. “Captain Braemar, if you’re able to obtain the deed of manumission, please give it to Phoebe if I’m not here.”

  “Do you plan to be away?”

  Swallowing hard, she said, “I think I must.”

  Chapter 16

  AS LONG AS Captain Braemar was present, Charlotte managed to keep up a show of fortitude. But the moment the door closed behind him, she let herself go. One hand covering her face, she groped her way to the settle and dropped. Overcome, she put her head down on her knees and burst into tears.

  Mrs. Doughty came to her, sat beside her on the settle, and took her hand. “Poor girl, poor girl!” She stroked Charlotte’s hand. “We must pray for Nick. That’s all we can do.”

  Charlotte raised her head. “Why does God allow things like this to happen?”

  “These matters are beyond our understanding. When Caleb was taken from me, I asked why God allowed such wickedness. I was overcome with grief and bitterness. But I knew there would be no peace for me until I accepted that this was part of God’s plan.”

  Phoebe was crying too, crying and mumbling, “It’s because of me. This happened because of me.”

  Charlotte pulled herself together. “No, Phoebe. It’s not because of you. You must not blame yourself. This happened because Nick was a spy in the backcountry, and two men at the auction recognized him.”

  “He would never have gone to that auction except for me,” Phoebe said between sobs. “If he hadn’t been there, those two men wouldn’t have seen him.”

  “If they hadn’t seen him at the auction, they might have seen him someplace else,” Charlotte replied.

  “We must pray for Nick. That’s all we can do,” Mrs. Doughty said again.

  Mrs. Doughty’s words roused Charlotte. She gently withdrew her hand from Mrs. Doughty’s, stood up, and began to walk around the room. “I believe in prayer,” she said, “but I also believe God helps those who help themselves.” Putting her thought into words helped to rally her spirit, but she still spoke more confidently than she felt. “What I mean is, I’m not content to sit and wait for the Lord to bring Nick back to me. I’m going to search for him. You heard Captain Braemar. He thinks those men took him into the swamp.”

  Mrs. Doughty stared at her from the shadow of her bonnet’s deep brim. “Will thee go into the swamp?”

  “Yes.” Charlotte wiped the tears from her eyes.

  “Miss Charlotte,” said Phoebe, “the swamp’s full of alligators.”

  “And desperate men,” said Mrs. Doughty. “A woman dare not go there alone.”

  “Well, I dare.” She paused. “I’m sure it is too dangerous for a woman. But I don’t intend to go there dressed like a woman. I’ll disguise myself as a man.”

  “Disguise is not just a matter of clothing,” said Mrs. Doughty. “The smallest action may give thee away. Thee walks like a woman—”

  “I know,” Charlotte broke in. “But I’ve done this before. A couple of years ago, Nick and I travelled through the wilderness from Carleton Island back to the Mohawk Valley to retrieve some valuables hidden on our farm. We pretended to be two brothers. Before we left, he drilled me on how to walk like a boy, how to sit, how to slouch. I can still do it.”

  Mrs. Doughty lowered her head. She looked as if she were praying, or perhaps thinking deeply. After a minute she looked up.

  “Thee is right. To travel as a man is safer. To be safer still, thee must disguise thyself as a Friend.”

  Charlotte sat up straight. This made sense. Maybe not all slaves knew about the Quakers, but all who did must know they were enemies of slavery. As for white people, both Whigs and Tories generally left Quakers alone.

  “I’ll need the right clothes.”

  “I still have some of my husband’s clothes. Caleb was not a big man. With a little alteration, they will fit.”

  “I’m quick with my needle,” Phoebe offered.

  “Quick enough to have them ready first thing in the morning?” Charlotte asked. “There’s no time to lose.”

  That night Charlotte slept fitfully, reaching out for Nick at wakeful moments and feeling a burst of panic not to find him there.

  She was glad when morning came. Throwing off her quilt, she stood up, stretched, and tiptoed into the kitchen, where Phoebe was still asleep on her mattress on the floor, and the baby in his cradle. The clothes were ready, folded on the table.

  Carrying them, she tiptoed back into the front room and began to dress. As she pulled on the late Mr. Doughty’s breeches, she recalled the first time she had donned men’s clothing. She remembered how awkward she had felt wearing breeches. But very soon she had discovered how practical they were for travelling through the wilderness. Much more sensible than a gown. She felt confident about her disguise and comfortable with the prospect of pretending to be a young man.

  Sounds of life now came from the kitchen. Noah was crying, and Mrs. Doughty was clattering her pots and pans.

  Charlotte joined them. With the Doughty children still asleep upstairs and Phoebe sitting in a corner nursing her baby, the kitchen was quiet. Charlotte ate a quick breakfast of leftover grits.

  “I’m ready to go,” she said when she had finished eating.

  She stood by the kitchen table while Mrs. Doughty and Phoebe gave her a final inspection. Her hair was pulled back in a p
igtail under a wide-brimmed black hat. She wore a short grey coat over a long black vest. Reaching nearly to her knees were leather boots that Mrs. Doughty had waterproofed with a boiled-up paste of beeswax, tallow and tar. A satchel, slung over her shoulder, held bread and cheese, a tarpaulin, a Bible, and twenty shillings that Nick had given her from his pay. It also held a file and a sharp knife, tools that she might need in freeing a prisoner.

  Mrs. Doughty nodded approvingly. “All who see thee will take thee for a Friend.”

  “The vest still doesn’t fit right,” said Phoebe. “You aren’t shaped like a man.”

  “I should hope not! But if I keep the coat on, nobody will notice.”

  “Does thee know the way to the swamp?” Mrs. Doughty asked.

  “I know that King Street becomes the broad way out of Charleston. If I follow it and take the first road that branches to the right, I’ll come to the swamp.”

  “Beyond Charleston,” said Mrs. Doughty, “the main road is known as the wagon track. This is all low country. The tides rise and fall twice a day. When the tide is in, the wagon track is half under water. Between Charleston and the rice plantations lie twelve miles of useless swamp.”

  “How do people go back and forth from their plantations if the road is half under water half the time?”

  “Rich people don’t use the road. They have schooners to take them by river. The swamp remains as wild as the day God made it. And sometimes I wonder why he did.” Mrs. Doughty shook her head. “It may be a sin to have such thoughts, but . . . does thee know what God did on the third day of Creation?”

  “He divided the waters from the dry land.”

  “Exactly. But when I consider the swamp, it seems to me that God failed to complete his work that day.”

  “Maybe God wanted to leave some place for alligators to live.”

  “I do not question the ways of the Lord. But why God created alligators is also beyond my understanding.”

  Charlotte, knowing almost nothing about alligators, had no opinion on that subject. “There’s plenty I don’t understand, either. But the sun is up, and it’s time to be on my way.”