by Texas
reach Texas.' She sought for a word and said: 'It'll really be like a great picnic . . . that lasts for a hundred days.'
'A hundred days!'
'Yes, Reuben has it all worked out, from Edisto—'
'He seems sure we're going.'
'And so am I.' With never a faltering doubt, the little Georgia woman, in her mid-twenties and already the mother of three, said: 'The time comes, that's all I can say. It's like when a young man of twenty and a young girl of eighteen . . . the time comes, and everything that seemed so tangled falls into place. It's tune for you and Sett to get out, and that's that.'
In the days that followed, when it became generally accepted that the Somerset Cobbs were going to withdraw gracefully from any competition for the Edisto plantation, both Persifer and Tessa Mae became wondrously generous. No decision had yet been voiced by their father as to how much money Sett could take with him, but word on that would come in due course; for the present, Persifer said: 'You can take twenty of our Edisto field hands, no question.'
Trajan belongs on Edisto, really. But I'd want him.'
'Trajan you shall have. I'll explain to Father.'
Millicent nominated nine of the best female house slaves, women who could sew dresses and shirts, and they were surrendered too, with Tessa Mae adding two others that she knew Lissa favored, making thirty-two in all. Persifer, looking far ahead, said: 'Western Alabama and Mississippi, those roads were never solid. You'll need the best wagons,' and he started his wheelwrights and carpenters to mending nine wagons already in existence and building seven new ones, but when the first provisional lists of gear were compiled, it was obvious that Sett would be wise to buy another three in Charleston.
Maximus Cobb made petulant protest over the loss of Trajan, whom he had been breaking in nicely as a house servant, but on this point his sons were adamant, with Persifer leading the fight: 'A Carolina gentleman is entitled to at least one perfect servant. It lends him distinction, and for Sett, Trajan is ideal.' When his father continued to demur, Persifer said: They were like brothers,' and to this the old man had to assent.
When the time came that discussion of money could no longer be deferred, Maximus said. 'I'll tell you one thing. If you were going to Georgia, like my brother Septimus, you'd get not a nickel. Not a nickel. But if you're going to Texas, to help preserve our Southern way of life ... to spread goodness and justice . . .'
He fumbled with his ivory-headed cane, and tears came to his
eyes: 'Why do young people feel they have to leave? What havi we ever done to wrong you, Somerset? Tell me, what?'
The time comes,' Somerset said, and his father seemed t< accept this, for he took from his pocket a letter—a copy of one the original having already been mailed to a New Orleans bank— and before delivering it to his younger son he said, with eviden sadness: it's my gift to you and Lissa in your new life.' It was < draft for twenty thousand dollars.
On Sunday, the last day of September 1849, the Cobb broth ers, their wives and their five children gathered at the mansion irj Charleston, where an Episcopalian minister had been invited t( say prayers, after which a fine feast was managed by Suetonius ancj three of his Caesars: Tiberius, Claudius and Domitian. Trajan wa:| overseeing the four wagons that would leave from Charleston ii the morning to meet up with the fifteen others that would b< crossing the Edisto ferry and coming up to the main road.
It was a beautiful day, and in the late afternoon the two coupler with their children walked along The Battery, looking out to For Sumter in the bay. At night singers came from a mansion nearby and various families who had once thought of allying their childrer with Somerset's dropped by to say confused farewells, for thej were losing prime candidates for future marriage alliances.
At dawn everyone was alert. The four wagons with their bor rowed horses were ready for the taxing ride to where the heaviei wagons coming directly from Edisto would be waiting. Kisses! tears, embraces and prayers were exchanged, and finally old Max; imus waved one of his canes, and the Somerset Cobbs bade fare well to one of the most gracious houses in Carolina and to the besl of the offshore islands. G.T.T. (Gone to Texas) could have beer painted on their four wagons, for like thousands who precedec them, they had watched their fortunes at home slowly decline.
But it was at dusk on that first day when the true farewells wen said, because as the little caravan approached the spot where the ferry road from Edisto joined the main road, the Cobb childrer riding in the lead wagon shouted back to their parents: 'Oh, look! And there ahead, waiting as shadows deepened, stood the othei fifteen wagons. Around them clustered not only the slaves whc would go with them to Texas but also some hundred others whc had trudged up from the island to say goodbye.
There was not much sleeping that night, for groups clusterec here and there, exchanging little gifts, whispering in Gullah, anc savoring the precious moments of friendships that would be sharec no more. For as long as anyone could remember, no Cobb ol
Edisto had ever separated a slave child from its parents, and none were being separated now—for example, Trajan and his wife were taking their boy Hadrian with them—but inevitably, adult brothers and sisters were seeing each other for the last time, and many others were being separated from their old parents. There was sorrow, but as the night waned, there was also singing, soft hymns chanted in Gullah.
'Oh, I shall never see you again!' a young woman cried to a man she might have married had he stayed on Edisto, and at dawn the caravan of nineteen wagons moved on to Texas, four white people and thirty-two slaves, plus three babes still in arms.
On this second day of October 1849 the plodding trek westward began, with Trajan's wagon in the lead as the mules and oxen shuffled along at their own measured pace. By noontime the drivers had learned how much distance to leave between wagons so that dust did not engulf them. By late afternoon, when the first stop occurred, the line of wagons covered about a mile and a half, and there was much joking among the slaves as the last one pulled in.
As soon as the wagons carrying the Cobbs and their private gear halted, male and female slaves sprang into action, pitching the masters' tents, arranging for baths, and starting the evening meal. On this first night it was a noisy game, with cooks unable to find pots and maids not knowing where the bedding was, but with stern prompting from Trajan, things were straightened out, and the expedition assumed some kind of rational order.
It was a hundred and thirty-four miles from Edisto to the South Carolina line opposite the city of Augusta, and Somerset had calculated that the distance could be covered in not more than twelve days, but on Saturday, when they were about halfway across the narrow part of the state, Millicent announced with some finality that she did not intend traveling on Sunday. When he started to protest, he found that all the slaves supported his wife, most vociferously: 'We ain't never work Sundays. Ain't proper.' With Mrs. Cobb it was a matter of religion, but with the slaves it was religion-cum-custom, with the latter weighing the heavier: 'Work six days, God says so. Even He work six days. But come seven, no more, neither God nor man.' Trajan was a leader in this rebellion, so at sunset that first Saturday, Sett Cobb ordered the tents pitched securely, for nothing he could say or do was going to change the fact that they would stay beside this rivulet for two nights.
On the second Saturday night the enforced halt irritated him even more, because the caravan had now reached the Carolina
shore of the Savannah River, across which the buildings of Augusta could be clearly seen. 'We could get up tomorrow at dawn and be in the city in time for morning prayers,' he argued, but Lissa would not listen: The Sabbath is God's holy day, and if we profane it at the start of our trip, what evils will He pour down upon us in the later days?' Sett said that he doubted God was paying much attention to one small group of wagons on the Augusta road, but Millicent prevailed.
They entered Augusta very early on Monday, October fifteenth, and spent the next two days making purchases of things they had discove
red they needed. Sett figured that this shopping would please his wife, but when he returned to the wagons at dusk on Tuesday, he found her looking across the river and weeping: i shall never see Carolina again. Look at it, Sett, it's the gentlest and loveliest state in the Union.' He remained with her for a long time, staring back at that lovely state in which he had been so happy and of which he was so proud.
The next week was hard work, a slow, slogging progress along the bumpy roads of northern Georgia, and for three solid days, enduring a considerable amount of rain, they pushed their way west through the little towns of Greensboro and Madison, and by Thursday morning, when the sky cleared, Sett was in fine spirits. At breakfast he said: 'Everybody watch closely today and tomorrow. May be a big surprise.'
So the two children rode forward with Trajan, peering ahead like Indian scouts, and about noon they were rewarded by seeing a lone rider, a very large black man, coming toward them on a mule. As he drew closer he began to shout: 'You de Cobbs fum Edisto?' and when Trajan waved his whip enthusiastically, the big man reined in his mule, lifted his arms in the air, and began shouting: 'Halley-loo, I done found you.'
He was Jaxifer, prime hand of the Georgia Cobbs, dispatched along this road to meet the caravan. He had acquired his name in a curious way. Reuben Cobb, seeking to retain a sentimental tie with his cousins on Edisto, had named him Persifer, in honor of the family's soldier-hero, but in Gullah the word had been quickly corrupted to Jaxifer. 'My job, show you de way home,' he explained, and after the wagons fell in behind him, he pranced his mule and shouted: 'Halley-loo, we on our way to Texas!'
He rode with them all day on the twenty-sixth, shouting to everyone they passed: 'Halley-loo, we for Texas!' and that night he told the children, who had by now adopted him, for he was just as vigorous and loud as his master: 'Tomorrow we home. Finest town in Georgia.'
'What's its name?' the children asked, and he replied: 'Social Circle,' and they said: 'That's no name for a town,' and he corrected them: 'It be the name of dis town, and dis town is Queen of Georgia.'
Early on Saturday he led them along the last dusty roads to Social Circle, an attractive village which boasted two cotton gins, warehouses for the storing of finished bales and a beautiful old well right in the middle of the main street. Waiting there, as men and women had waited for many decades to greet their friends, were Reuben and Petty Prue, who provided ladles of cool water for the travelers.
'Our town had another name, once,' Petty Prue explained, 'but since everyone gathered about this pump for local gossip, it became Social Circle.'
After so many days of dusty travel, twenty-seven of them, the Edisto Cobbs were delighted with the five days they stayed over in Social Circle. The main street was lined with nine large houses, each with handsome white pillars supporting fine balconies that opened out from the upper floors, each with flower beds and finely graveled turnarounds for the carriages.
'Somebody's making money here,' Sett cried when at the end of this first parade of tall mansions he saw another six of somewhat smaller size.
'Everybody is . . . for the moment,' Reuben said. 'These men know how to grow cotton, how to work their slaves.'
Sett was especially interested in the cotton gins, for as a grower of Sea Island, he had never worked short-staple and for some years had believed that no one else could, either, so Reuben took him to a gin owned collectively by all the Cobbs of the region, a sturdy wooden building of two stories, with the bottom one mostly open so that slave boys could lead two pairs of horses around and around in a perpetual circle. The horses were harnessed to long wooden arms projecting outward from a central pillar, which revolved slowly but with great force.
The pillar reached well up through the second floor, where its constant turning provided motive power for an Eli Whitney gin of fifty saws. The bolls of filmy white cotton passing these saws had their tenacious green seeds removed, the latter falling down a chute to the ground after wire brushes caught their filaments.
'Not much different from what we do by hand with Sea Island in Carolina,' Somerset muttered while studying the wonderful effectiveness of the gin. As it continued its work, handling the fractious seed so competently, he had a vision of that endless chain of which he had always been a part: the land tilled, the seed sown
by slaves, the tender plants chopped to eliminate weeds and weaklings, the bolls gathered, the seeds removed, the bales sent to the rivers, the ships loaded, the cotton delivered to Liverpool, the spun thread delivered to Manchester, the cloth woven, the clothing made, civilization enhanced—and every man in the chain earning a good living from this miraculous fiber. Cotton was surely a king among crops.
The slave, Cobb reflected, lived well under the loving care of kind masters; the planter watched his lands flourish, the owner of the gin extracted his fee; the shipper his, and the Liverpool merchant his pounds and shillings. The weaver seemed to earn most, with the manufacturer of clothes not far behind. 'Wait!' he called to the busy gin as if to correct some misapprehension under which it toiled. "The one who makes the most is the damned banker who finances it all.' In his many years of supervising the vast fields on Edisto Island, Cobb, unlike Tessa Mae's family, had never once planted with his own or his family's money. Now he thought: It was tradition to use the bank's money. Always they got their share first. He supposed that in Texas it would be the same.
Reuben nudged him: 'Wonderful machine, eh? How simple. How difficult it was to work cotton before it came along.' Rather ruefully he added: 'You know, Sett, we Southerners dreamed about a gin like this for a hundred years. Even worked on crude designs now and then. A damned schoolteacher from Massachusetts comes down here on vacation or something, studies the problem one week, and produces this.' With profound admiration he watched the gin as it ceaselessly picked the fiber from the seed; as long as the boys below kept the horses walking, and the central pole turning on its axis, so long would the miraculous gin do in an hour what a thousand nimble fingers in Virginia once took a month to complete.
'This gin ensures the South's domination,' Reuben said, almost gloatingly. 'The world needs clothing, and it can't afford wool.' Grabbing a handful of lint, he apostrophized it: 'Get along to Galveston, and then to the mills in Lancashire, then as a bolt of cloth on some freighter headed for Australia. The world has to have what you provide, and if the North ever tried to interrupt our cotton trade, all the armies and navies of Europe would spring to our defense.' Patting the gin, he said: 'You are our shield in battle.'
Then he laughed: 'How ironical history can be, Sett. Maybe the greatest invention of mankind, certainly of our South, and the genius who made it earned not a penny.'
'I didn't know that. Of course, gins aren't that important to Sea Island.'
'Whitney lost his patent. Never really got it, because the gin was so vital that everyone moved in and simply copied it Lawyers, you know.'
As Reuben said these words, his cousin noted that he was looking at the gin strangely, as if trying to remember each element of its movement so that it could be duplicated in Texas, but this seemed odd, because a good commercial gin could be bought from many sources for less than a hundred dollars. Powered by one of the new steam engines, it might cost a hundred and a half, so that any important cotton plantation could afford its own.
For five days the citizens of Social Circle entertained the emigrants in one big mansion after another, until Millicent cried at one dinner: 'You have certainly proved your right to your name. This is the socialest circle I've ever been in,' and a banker responded with an apt toast: To the Cobbs, the first group ever to leave Georgia for Texas without the sheriff chasing them.'
On the morning of Thursday, November first, the Georgia Cobbs moved their wagons into line, and as they did so, Millicent, to her amazement, counted thirty-eight. 'Good heavens, Prue, are you taking everything you own?' she asked, and Prue replied: 'Yes.' So the caravan was formed: Edisto wagons, nineteen, Georgia, thirty-eight; Edisto slaves, thirty-two, Georgia,
forty-nine; Edisto whites, four, Georgia, five; plus one Bible from Edisto and certain remarkable items from Georgia.
On Friday, Sett discovered how remarkable the items were, for when one of the wagons mired in the mud, he saw that it contained the metal parts of the disassembled gin which he had been studying only a few days before. He recognized the splashes of yellow color and especially the saw mechanism, which carried in iron letters the name of the manufacturer. Reuben Cobb, on that last night when the banker was extolling his honesty, had been busy stealing one of the town's two gins.
'Oh, it belongs to me, you might say,' he explained, it's a Cobb gin, that's for sure, but it belonged to the other Cobbs. They owed me a lot, and they can get another.' However, Sett noticed that despite his bravado, Reuben followed a most circuitous route around Atlanta, keeping a rear lookout posted in case sheriffs tried to recover the gin.
Once when the lead wagon was well and truly mired in the mud of Mississippi, the Edisto Cobbs caught a glimpse of their cousin's darker nature, for after minutes of bellowing at jaxifer to get the wagon moving, Reuben lost his temper and thrashed the struggling slave with a whip he kept at hand. Seventeen, eighteen
times he lashed the big, silent man across the back, and it would have been difficult to guess who was the more appalled by this performance, the Edisto whites or the Edisto blacks, for during his entire stewardship of the island plantation Sett Cobb had never whipped a slave. He had disciplined them and occasionally he threw them into the plantation jail, but never had he whipped one, nor had he allowed his overseers to do so.
Although the whites and blacks may have been equally appalled, it was the latter who suffered in a unique way. You could see it in the way Trajan cringed when the strokes of the whip fell; you could hear it in the gasps of the Edisto women, for this incident in the swamps of Mississippi demonstrated what slavery really meant: when one slave was whipped, all slaves were whipped.