Freedom Bound

by Jean Rae Baxter

  Overhead, the roof seemed tight; its overlapping wood shakes had kept out the rain. There was little headroom, only about four feet under the roof beam. But four feet was enough to allow them to sit up, at least in the middle of the loft.

  A makeshift bed made of palmetto leaves took up half the floor space. The leaves were neatly placed, all pointing in the same direction, and stacked several layers high. On top lay a soldier’s red coat.

  “It’s fine,” she called to Nick. Crouching on the floorboards, she gave him a helping hand to haul himself up.

  “Whew! I’m weak as a baby.” He sat down heavily, panting to catch his breath.

  After a moment, he saw the red coat. “So your friend has been here.”

  “Yes. That must be Elijah’s coat.”

  “He’s cut off the buttons.”

  For the first time, she noticed this. “So he did! I wonder why.”

  “Probably to conceal his identity. The name of his regiment is stamped on every button.”

  “It would be safer to sink the whole coat in the swamp.”

  “A coat makes a fair enough blanket if you’ve nothing better. This time of year, it’s cold in the swamp at night.”

  “I suppose so.” Charlotte set the free boards back in place. “We’re safe here. Now you can rest.”

  Nick needed no urging. He flopped right onto the bed of palmetto leaves. Charlotte pulled off his shoes. They were the fine leather shoes he had worn to the slave auction. Completely ruined.

  Nick closed his eyes. Within seconds, his deep, regular breathing told Charlotte that he was asleep.

  While he slept, she inspected the loft. From a wooden peg — actually a stick wedged between two logs—hung Elijah’s white leather cross belts. On the floor lay a small Bible.

  If Elijah had left for good, she was sure he would have taken his Bible with him. So he was either still using the loft, or he had been captured and would never return.

  After inspecting the loft, she peered through a chink between the logs on the left side. All she saw were trees and vines. Then she looked through a chink on the right side, toward the creek. There was the fallen cypress tree that spanned its width. But now she saw something else, a big log that she hadn’t noticed before. It was close to twenty feet long, half hidden in the rushes. The log was black, with deeply ridged bark. It must have been there all along, she thought, but hard to see except from above.

  Charlotte lay down beside Nick and cuddled against him. He probably had a touch of ague. But if he slept for the rest of the day and all night, by tomorrow he’d be strong enough to manage the walk back to Charleston.

  She yawned. Before leaving, she must write a note to warn Elijah that his secret cabin was not so secret as he thought. Since Jammy knew about it, others might as well. She could write her message in Elijah’s Bible. But she didn’t have a pencil. Wondering whether Nick had a pencil, she drifted to sleep.

  A noise startled her awake. Not a loud noise, merely the sound of splashing right under where she lay. In the swamp’s sleepy silence its effect was like the crack of a rifle. Someone had entered the cabin.

  Fear seized her, followed quickly by relief. It must be Elijah.

  She sat up and was about to call his name when some deep instinct stopped her.

  For a moment there was no sound except the sloshing below and Nick’s calm breathing next to her.

  “Nobody’s here.” Billy’s shrill voice cut through the silence. “I told you they’d head straight back to Charleston. We wasted precious time coming here.”

  “It was only a mile out of our way,” Abner grumbled. “Worth a look, anyway. We can still overtake them on the wagon track. Our friend won’t be too spry after three days in the cave.”

  “I reckon it’s that young Quaker who freed him,” said Billy.

  Abner snorted. “Some Quaker! Damned Tory spy if you ask me. Well, you can give him back his hat when we catch them.”

  “That’s not all I’m gonna give him. But Abner, there were three people. Three sets of footprints. Our planter’s son wore shoes. The Quaker wore boots. The third man was barefoot. Wonder who he was?”

  “Maybe a runaway. Quakers and slaves get along pretty good.”

  “To tell the truth,” said Billy, “I’m not sure that young man is a Quaker. I’m not even sure that he’s a man.”

  “Now, what can you mean by that?”

  “Remember that good-looking girl with our friend at the slave auction? She was just about that height. Same big brown eyes.”

  “Go on! You can’t be serious!”

  “Just an idea. Remember when we found the hat? I said there was something fishy.”

  “Come to think of it,” said Abner, “that young Quaker had really pink cheeks for a boy.”

  Dear Lord, help us, Charlotte silently prayed. She looked at Nick lying on his back sound asleep, his mouth wide open. One good snore would finish them.

  “Come on,” said Billy. “Let’s lose no more time.”

  Charlotte heard them leave the cabin. Cautiously she crawled over to a chink in the wall, and watched as they approached the fallen tree that bridged the creek. Where the water had receded there were patches of bare mud.

  Neither man seemed aware of the big log that Charlotte had noticed from above, half hidden in the rushes. It was not until they reached the fallen tree bridging the creek that anything attracted their attention. Then both of them stopped. They bent over, obviously examining something in the mud.

  A chill ran through her when she realized what they must be looking at: Jammy’s footprints.

  Abner scratched his head. Billy shrugged his shoulders. They both turned and looked back at the cabin.

  They were too far away for her to hear their conversation, but she reckoned she knew what they were talking about. Three people had left the cave. One wore shoes, one wore boots, and the third was barefoot. The footprints of all three had led to the edge of a flooded region. In the water there would have been no tracks to follow.

  Did Abner and Billy recognize the barefoot footprints? And if they did, were they wondering about the other two people who had left the cave?

  Abner took a few steps toward the cabin. Billy followed, a pace or two behind. This time they would search thoroughly. If they found their way into the loft, there would be no escape.

  Charlotte stayed where she was, frozen, hardly breathing. Nick moved and stretched in his sleep. “Shh!” she whispered.

  Her eye was at the hole in the wall when the big log began to move. It moved on little crooked legs. Slowly.

  Then suddenly it shot forward, straight for Billy.

  It wasn’t a log.

  Her hand flew to her mouth as the creature lunged. Jaws opened—jaws a yard long, with rows of jagged teeth. She heard the crunch of bone as the jaws snapped shut around Billy’s thigh.

  Billy screamed. Spray flew in all directions as the alligator dragged its prey into the swamp.

  The taste of blood was in her mouth, and she realized that she had bitten down on her knuckle hard enough to break the skin.

  “Billy!” Abner shouted. “Billy!”

  Billy screamed one more time.

  Abner fled. Arms flailing, he raced across the fallen tree and kept going.

  Nick woke. He blinked. “Did I hear somebody yell?”

  She opened her mouth but could not speak. Her fingers clutched his arm. She was quaking from head to toe.

  “An alligator,” she gasped, “got Billy!”

  “My God!! What are you telling me?”

  “They were here . . . Billy and Abner . . . they knew . . . about the cabin.” She spoke in bursts, as if the words were being shaken out of her. “They left. Then they started back . . .”

  He gripped both her hands. Gradually she told him the rest.

  When she finished, he said, “We haven’t seen the last of Abner.”

  “I don’t think he’ll ever come back. Abner ran as if all the devils of hell were a
fter him.”

  “He’ll be back. He’s got too much to lose if he doesn’t. He’ll find his other friend. Then they’ll return to look for me.” Nick took her in his arms and held her while her racing heart slowed to normal.

  “This cabin feels more like a death trap than a sanctuary,” she said.

  “It will soon be dark. We’re safe until tomorrow. We have all night to remove this hardware.” He pointed to his feet. Although Jammy had severed the ten-inch chain that joined his shackles, they were still on his ankles. “If I have to run, I’ll be faster if I’m not wearing manacles and dragging links of chain.”

  She took the file from her satchel and handed it to him.

  Chapter 23

  FOR A FEW MINUTES Nick wielded the file with vigor. But his energy soon ran out. Charlotte took over, and for the rest of the day they took turns, stopping only to share the last of the bread and cheese from her satchel. By sundown they had removed the shackle that encircled Nick’s left ankle.

  He took off his shoe and stocking and sat rubbing the skin, where the shackle had left red marks. After giving the leg a good stretch, he said, “I feel much better now. It’s low tide and the creek is running clear. I’m going outside to fill the flask. Then I’ll start on the other ankle.”

  He crawled over to the wall to peer outside. “I wonder where the alligator is?”

  “We have nothing to fear from that particular alligator.”

  “I’d still like to know.” Nick put his eye to the chink between the logs. “I don’t see it.” He hesitated. “But just a minute! Somebody’s coming!”

  Charlotte felt a burst of panic. “Not Abner!”

  “No. It’s an Indian.”

  “Let me see.”

  When Charlotte looked out, she saw a slim young man crossing the fallen tree that bridged the creek. He held a bow in his hand. On his shoulder he wore a quiver of arrows, and on his back a carrying basket. Nothing else about him looked Indian—not his brown hair pulled back in a pigtail, or his linsey-woolsey undershirt, or his army boots.

  She let out a sigh of relief. “That’s not an Indian. It’s Elijah.”

  “Carrying a bow and arrows?”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  For a few moments she lost sight of him. Then she heard a bump as something knocked against the floor of the loft. One of the loose boards rose, and the top of a ladder poked up.

  “Elijah, it’s me, Charlotte!” she shouted.

  “What!”

  She lifted the second loose board out of the way. An instant later, Elijah’s head popped up over the edge of the floor. She couldn’t help smiling at the astonishment on his face.

  “Nick’s here, too,” she said.

  The rest of Elijah ascended. He pulled up the ladder and laid it under the eaves out of the way.

  “Nick reached over and stuck out his hand. “Glad to meet you, Elijah. Charlotte’s told me a lot about you.”

  Elijah shook Nick’s hand. “And I’ve heard plenty about you.”

  So much for introductions, Charlotte thought. But nothing more was needed. It seemed so extraordinary that Nick and Elijah, two of the most important people in her life, had never met before. It was all because of the war. Sometimes war brought people together who otherwise never would have known each other, and sometimes it sent friends and loved ones far away.

  “Elijah, where did you find the ladder?” Charlotte asked.

  “When I discovered the cabin, it was inside, leaning against the wall. I suspected what it was for, so I tested the ceiling boards until I found the opening. When I’m away, I keep the ladder hidden in the undergrowth. When I’m here, I pull it up into the loft out of sight.”

  Elijah shrugged off his quiver and his carrying basket. “I’m used to shocks,” he said, “but this beats anything.” He shifted his gaze from Charlotte to Nick and then back to Charlotte. “How did you find me? The directions I gave weren’t that good.”

  “I wasn’t really looking for you. Finding the cabin was almost an accident.” She shook her head. “It was Nick I was trying to find.”

  Elijah smiled. “Wherever I meet you . . . whenever I meet you . . . you always seem to be searching for Nick.”

  “Well, this time I found him.”

  “I’d say he’s lucky you did.” Elijah looked again at Nick, his eyes registering the slave collar, the hand bolt, and the remaining shackle with its dangling links of chain. “What happened, Nick? You look like you’ve escaped from a dungeon.”

  “That’s close enough. A couple of Over Mountain men had me chained in a cave. Charlotte rescued me.”

  “A lot has happened,” Charlotte said, “since you left Charleston.”

  “I’d surely like to hear about it.”

  Elijah sat down on the loft floor, facing them, while Charlotte told him everything. She ended with the alligator making a meal of Billy.

  When she had finished, he said, “And here I thought you were in Charleston, doing nothing more dangerous than lugging bundles of laundry while I sat here slapping mosquitoes and wondering how long I’d be stuck in the swamp.”

  “If you plan to stay in the swamp,” Nick said, “you need to find a safer hiding place.”

  “I’m not staying,” said Elijah. “I’ve had enough of hiding in the swamp. Living here could drive a person mad. It’s everything all together: the mosquitoes, the snakes, the alligators, the rising mist, and the smell. There’s plenty of game, but I can’t cook what I kill. If I lit a fire, somebody would see the smoke. The first night I was here, I snared a muskrat.” He grimaced. “Did you ever eat raw muskrat?”

  “No,” Charlotte and Nick both replied.

  “You don’t want to. After that experience, I lived on oysters and hardtack. The day I finished the hardtack was when I decided to leave.” He opened his basket. “But look at this! I have food for three days on the trail, as well as a good bow and twenty arrows with metal tips.”

  “Where did you get all that?” asked Charlotte.

  “From Creeks who live on the Edisto River. I traded the pewter buttons from my uniform for the food and the weapons.”

  “Clever,” said Nick. “I saw you’d cut off the buttons, but never thought of that.”

  “Try this.” Elijah handed Charlotte and Nick each a strip of dried meat from the basket.

  Charlotte sank her teeth into it. “Mm!”

  “Very good,” said Nick.

  “Smoked turkey.”

  When Charlotte had finished chewing her mouthful, she said, “Elijah, I don’t blame you for wanting to leave the swamp. But where can you go?”

  “I’m going west to live with the Cherokees. In the mountains, the air is fresh and clean. There’s a village called Chickamauga where I’ll be welcome.”

  “Wasn’t the deserter you told me about captured on his way to Cherokee territory?” Charlotte asked.

  “Sergeant Malcolm. Yes. He was caught because he didn’t know the trails and mountain passes. But I do. I travelled through that country on my way to Carleton Island.”

  Nick said, “The British offer big rewards to the Indians for turning in deserters.”

  “I know that, but the Cherokees won’t turn me in. Last fall, I helped save the life of a Cherokee warrior. They won’t forget that.” Elijah began to drag the ladder from under the eaves. “I might as well start out now.”

  “No need to rush,” Nick protested. “There’s room for three to sleep here tonight.”

  “I didn’t plan to stay for the night. I just came back to pick up my Bible. It was a gift from my mother, so I don’t want to leave it behind. If I hurry, there’s a pine ridge I can reach to make camp before dark.”

  The Bible lay on the floor close by. Charlotte handed it to him.

  After putting the Bible into his basket, Elijah gathered up his gear, put the ladder in place, and scrambled down. When he reached the bottom, he waved his farewell. “If you’re ever in Chickamauga, come to see me.”


  Charlotte and Nick watched him leave, not crossing the creek but heading north, the opposite direction.

  “I know that Elijah will be better off living in a Cherokee village than hiding in the swamp,” said Charlotte. “But what use will Cherokees have for a man who refuses to fight? He’s told me how he feels.”

  “He can be useful in other ways. Hunting. Negotiating.” Nick swung himself onto the ladder. “I’ll fill the flask before the tide turns. If I delay, the water will be too brackish to drink.”

  When Nick returned, he said, “There’s a big alligator lying on the creek bank. It looks like it ate recently.”

  “Then it won’t be hungry for weeks.” Her tone was so matter-of-fact that she shocked herself. Crawling to a chink in the wall, she looked down. There it was. Black. Armour-plated. Engorged.

  “Do you suppose it digests everything? Shoes? Clothes? The hat Mrs. Doughty loaned me was in Billy’s pack.” She took her eye from the hole and turned to Nick. “I was just thinking about something. Before I left her house, Mrs. Doughty said she didn’t know why God created alligators. Well, I don’t know either. But I can tell you I’m mighty glad he did.”

  At dawn they were ready to leave. Nick had rid his ankles of the shackles. But he still had the hand bolt fastened to his left wrist and the slave collar around his neck.

  “If we head south,” he said, “sooner or later we’ll come to the wagon track.”

  “But, Nick, that’s exactly where Abner expects us to go.”

  “Then we must find another way. If we take our bearings from the sun, sooner or later, we’ll get back to Charleston.”

  “Can we do it in one day?”

  “That depends on how many bogs and ponds we have to skirt around. Tonight we may have to sleep in the swamp.”

  She shuddered. “I don’t want to spend the night outdoors in the swamp. Anything but that.”

  “Then let’s get started.”

  Nick moved aside the loose boards and put the ladder in place. Before following him down, Charlotte took one last look around the loft. Elijah’s buttonless red coat lay on the palmetto leaves, and Nick’s severed shackles on the floor.