Nat Turner moved away. He rubbed his hands together to keep them warm.
The captors said they believed the captives were content in servitude. But they knew better. Their whips, their dogs, their overseers, the guns on their hips said they knew better. Their fear of three or more black men gathered together said they knew better.
Nat Turner felt the captive men’s anger and their humiliation that they were treated as accessories and not as humans. Their anger and humiliation were his own. They burned in his belly.
The men moved about separately, and then when each felt it was safe, they moved slowly back together.
Yellow Nelson nodded toward the Whiteheads’ carriage. “Look at that foolishness.” The men looked at the top-heavy box perched on large, spindly-spoked wheels. He chuckled, but not too loudly. “What good is that thing in the country? Always stuck in a rut, Caty Whitehead flapping around like a hen. The Whiteheads have to keep boys with them all the time to lift or pull that thing out of the mud.”
Sam nodded toward Mary Barrow’s coach. “That one is even crazier.” His shoulders shook, but his laugh was almost silent. “Did you see the cape she had on, all those feathers? I’m expecting an angry bird to swoop down here any minute, come to get his feathers back.”
Nat Turner smiled. They joshed to release the steam pent up inside them.
Yellow Nelson grinned, his back to the house. “Did you see old Hubbard when he greeted her at the door?” He widened his eyes, mimicking the Whiteheads’ elderly Negro doorman. “I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head.”
Nat Turner chuckled, imagining Hubbard.
Nelson went on with his story. “Hubbard says, ‘Mistress Barrow, that is a coat you got on there, if I do have to say so myself!’ Oh, she lit up like the Fourth of July, the vain thing.”
The men chuckled, but not loudly enough to attract attention. Owners of nothing, they had become masters of words. Mary Barrow didn’t recognize the subtle insult hidden in Hubbard’s words, words that said the coat was not a beautiful one but one that woefully defied description.
The temporary ease provided by the laughter didn’t last long and they fell into silence.
“Too cold to be out here.” Dred looked toward the Whiteheads’ fields again. “No way to treat people. No way to treat a man.” A grumbling sound echoed from his throat. “As if we don’t have any other dream but to wait on them.”
His back toward the house, Yellow Nelson was free to frown. “A day is going to come.”
They all understood. They agonized over those in the fields, over their wives and children, over their mothers and fathers, and over themselves. Their hope and sanity rested on their faith that one day things would change.
“A day is going to come,” Sam repeated.
“Someday,” Nat Turner added. “Judgment comes and that right soon.”
Each man lost in his thoughts, they separated again. Nat Turner looked up at the sky, blue and cloudless. A day was going to come. God had told him so in the Great Dismal Swamp.
Chapter 32
1821
As he sailed back down the Great Dismal Swamp Canal, Nat Turner committed to memory the ebb and flow of the canal’s curative brown waters. He stared at the trees so he would not forget them and the way the treetops seemed to join hands above the canal. He would remember the exotic birds he saw in the swamp—birds of orange and blue, large birds of prey with pink and purple among their feathers. Together, his recollections would be his memorial painting of the Great Dismal Swamp, of Hebron, his refuge. He was leaving the swamp. He was leaving Virginia. He was setting sail.
He would work aboard the ship and that vessel would carry him to Baltimore and then on to Philadelphia, where he would search for Bishop Richard Allen. He would work, save money, and buy his mother’s freedom and passage, and then the two of them would sail away, back to Ethiopia.
Nat Turner looked toward the canal shore, where he saw several white men. He looked away from them and back at the brown water. In three days’ time he would be free of the slavers. In three days’ time his new life would begin. In three days’ time he would no longer have to worry about hiding out or being discovered. In three days’ time he would sail away.
He looked back at the white men onshore. Two of them held the arms of a naked black woman. Her stomach was swollen with child. In awkward jerks she pulled against the hands that held her, trying to free herself. The two men forced her to the ground.
He knew what it meant, what they were going to do. But in three days’ time he would be free. In three days’ time he would have what he had dreamed of all his life; he would have what his mother had prayed for him. He could not save the world.
Nat Turner continued to pole the flatboat down the canal. It skimmed, as though it were floating above the water. His jaw muscles tightened. This was his Hebron, his refuge. He had not seen anyone beaten since leaving Southampton County. He had pretended to himself that what happened there happened nowhere else. He had convinced himself that things were better here. It only happened in Cross Keys. Cruelty did not exist in the swamp or beyond.
The woman screamed now for help. Nat Turner looked back over his shoulder at the woman and her tormentors, his pole still pushing him downstream, away from them. The men tied the woman’s ankles and wrists to stakes in the ground. Then, laughing, their voices drifting over the water, out in the open, they began to beat her. Her screams followed their laughter, echoing across the canal.
Long after he turned his head, long after Nat Turner had passed the spot where the men beat her, he still heard the woman’s shrieks.
Chapter 33
Nat Turner made his way to his clearing, to his stream, but the torment in the woman’s voice was still with him. In three days he would be leaving. He would not think of her. He would leave it all behind. He would not be burdened, carrying thoughts of Miss Easter, of Cherry, or even of his mother.
He was only one man and he could not change the world. He was no god. There was no help for the people of Cross Keys, no help for any of the captives. If God ignored the people He created, Nat Turner thought, then why shouldn’t he?
There was a new life waiting for him. It would be a life with clear skies, calm seas, and there would be no one to make him bow down. He would have a life of travel and adventure where he was treated like all other men. He would forget about the naked woman on the shore. Who was he to her? Who was she to him?
He would prepare himself to leave. Three days. But first he would eat and get himself a good night’s sleep. Soon this would all be over and he would be far away.
He made a fire but Nat Turner saw the woman in the flames. He heard her screams and saw her struggling. His stomach churned so that after preparing food, he could not eat. If he could not eat, then he would sleep.
He settled into his sleeping place. He was young and strong, his whole life open before him like the bay, like the sky. He would sail to Ethiopia, where he would become a priest. Or maybe he would marry an Ethiopian woman, a wife no other man could steal. He would forget about the woman on the shore, about Cherry, and about all the others.
Sometime that night, in the twilight of dreaming, Nat Turner heard the voice of God.
Chapter 34
The voice of God.
Nat Turner was paralyzed, but he felt what seemed like lightning running through him. His eyes were closed, but he saw the swamp clearing lit around him. In the place where he lay, he felt God’s glory and it filled the Great Dismal Swamp.
He struggled to move, wanting to free himself from what held him. He wanted to run, to see, but he could not move and could not open his eyes. He was dreaming. But he could not wake himself.
Who will go for us? Who will defend my people?
The trees bowed and trembled at the sound of His voice. Amber flashes of light and smoke filled the dark clearing, though Nat Turner smelled nothing burning. He struggled, trying to resist Him. Nat Turner wanted to cry out, but eve
n his mouth was frozen.
He had felt God come alive, moving in him, when he prayed or read scripture or when the people sang. He had heard God in the thunder or talking through the leaves blowing in the trees. He had seen God in people’s eyes or heard Him in things people said. Sometimes when he closed his eyes, he could imagine glory. What he experienced now, Nat Turner had only heard of in stories.
Come back to Me. I have loved you with an everlasting love. With loving kindness have I drawn you.
Nat Turner struggled against what held him. He could not speak, but thoughts filled his head. How could this be called love? Your people have been beaten, hanged, and scattered all over the world. Simply because of the color of our skin, we have been taken in chains and held captive, doomed for generations. How could a God who loves treat His people this way?
I told you the ones I loved would fall by the edge of the sword. I told you the ones I loved would be led away captive into all nations. I told you they would lay hands on you and persecute you. I told you the Gentiles would trample on Jerusalem until the times of the Gentiles be fulfilled.
But they stole the women and raped them. They stole the children and murdered them… and the babies. You watched it all and did nothing!
I told you the day was coming when people would say blessed are the barren—the wombs that never bear, and the paps that never give suck.
They murdered us. Skinned us alive. Hanged us from trees, castrated us! My own brothers betrayed me. My own father held me captive. My brother’s wife sold me and my family into captivity. Why? What have we done to deserve this?
I came and walked among you to warn you so that you would not lose heart. I told you that in Jerusalem, because of your suffering, you would say to the mountains, “fall on us” and to the hills “cover us.” I told you they would be crueler in the dry season after I was gone. I told you you would be betrayed by parents, brothers, relatives, and friends, and they would even put some of you to death. I told you men would hate you because of Me.
I warned you so that you would not lose heart.
Nat Turner heard thunder. His eyes still closed, he saw lightning arc across the black sky. But I was obedient. I loved You. Even with nothing in this life, I loved You. You abandoned me, rejected me. I only had one thing, the one thing you gave me, and You watched while they stole her, You let them steal her.
I suffered. I suffer. Are you greater than I? My love for you is everlasting. Being My son is not only power and prayers and singing. It is bearing and being nailed to the cross.
But she was the only thing I had. My only love. Why would you give her to me only to take her away? The ground shook beneath him. The air vibrated around him.
Nat Turner fought against it. He did not want to hear the answers. He did not want to ask the questions. This had been his Hebron, his place to hide. This place had been his sanctuary from Southampton… and from God. Was there no place for him to run?
Fear slipped away and anger replaced it. Nat Turner could not open his mouth to form words, but his thoughts spoke for him. You abandoned me! Everything taken from me!
Will you only love Me if I give you what you want? Will you only obey Me for an expected prize? Will you only love Me if you never suffer?
Nat Turner had prayed for years for deliverance for him and his people. He had prayed for years for simple mercy. All his hope had been for nothing. But I didn’t ask for them. You gave her to me, gave me a son, and then took them away!
Others have suffered without receiving. Why not you? Was it acceptable for them—for Jeremiah, for Elisha, for Isaiah, for Moses, for Hosea, for My son, Jesus, and not you?
All his hope had been for nothing. Now he could not move, his limbs frozen as though he were bound in steel. Those who were disobedient, who were selfish, who misused others got the best. Why were he and the others who prayed like him always suffering?
I told you many prophets, and wise men, and scribes would be killed and crucified. I told you some of them would be persecuted from city to city.
How can a servant have compassion for My people if he or she has not known their sorrow? Are you not willing to suffer if it means their redemption? Will you not suffer, even if it means a better life, a better hereafter, a resurrection for them? My first begotten endured shame and sorrow for you. Are you too good to follow His footsteps? You have obeyed your earthly masters; now you must obey Me.
Obey? All his life he had been obeying, with nothing to show. He had a chance now for a new life. He had a chance now to sail away.
There are not many who are strong enough to go through life and endure the agony… only a few are chosen… only a few are worthy—wise enough, loving enough, obedient enough—strong enough to endure the suffering to liberate others. If you love Me, if you love Him, you must pick up His yoke.
Yoke? He had been bound long enough. He had been born in chains. What he wanted were waters that never ended and sky that reached to forever.
I sent you as a sheep among wolves. Did you think you would never suffer? You rage against abandonment; would you abandon the others who need you now? Would you leave your son to die? Would you leave your wife? Your mother? Would you turn your back to the moaning woman? If not you, then who will go for us?
You have obeyed your earthly masters; now you must obey Me. If you love Me, if you love Christ, pick up His yoke.
Nat Turner stopped struggling against what held him. He had been struggling only against himself.
Cry aloud and spare not and show My people their transgressions.
No one had listened to him before. Why would they listen now? No white man wanted to hear him say the man was wrong. No white man wanted to hear him preach.
They would make excuses. They wanted to be first. They wanted the dream to be only for themselves. They were never going to give mercy.
Nat Turner felt the bands tightening again. Did God mean to offer forgiveness to the captors, to the ones who had shown no mercy?
My mercy is from everlasting to everlasting. It is available to all men, if they choose it. Men may choose justice for themselves, but I offer mercy that is eternal. It is their free choice. This mercy you offer to those who have harmed you is greater than any sacrifice you have made.
In binding others they have bound themselves. In weighing down others they have burdened themselves. They have betrayed you and sold you into slavery, so they betray and doom themselves. As their brother, will you offer them the choice—justice or mercy? You have obeyed your earthly masters; now will you obey Me?
Is not this the fast that I have chosen? to loose the bands of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens, and to let the oppressed go free, and that ye break every yoke? Is it not to deal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou bring the poor that are cast out to thy house? when thou seest the naked, that thou cover him; and that thou hide not thyself from thine own flesh? They appear clothed and fat, but who is more naked and bereft, more bound, than they?
It was the very reason why he had come to the Dismal Swamp: to hide away, to hide from those he loved—those who loved him and those who would not. He had already poured out. He had given enough. He had no more left inside him. How could he help others when his own heart was broken?
Surely God could not ask him to lift the burden of the oppressors? They had everything in the world and it was still not enough for them. Surely God could not expect him to offer them absolution? Surely God could not expect him, after all he’d suffered at their hands, to offer mercy?
I am the Father of all; I am the Many Breasted One. They are My children, too, and I have no desire that any would be lost. They have disobeyed Me, but they are also My children. They have betrayed you, but still, they are your brothers.
Obey Me and I will make a promise to you. Obey Me and then shall thy light break forth as the morning, and thine health shall spring forth speedily: and thy righteousness shall go before thee; the glory of the Lord shall be thy reward.
First, y
ou must give them a choice; you must offer them mercy. You must offer them forgiveness.
Then shalt thou call, and the Lord shall answer; thou shalt cry, and He shall say, Here I am. If thou take away from the midst of thee the yoke, the putting forth of the finger, and speaking vanity; and if thou draw out thy soul to the hungry, and satisfy the afflicted soul; then shall thy light rise in obscurity, and thy darkness be as the noon day.
Relieve the burdens of the wicked captors? Why offer them mercy? When would the suffering of the oppressed end and the captivity be turned?
Did you not hear Me when I promised your redemption? I am your Redeemer! But you must obey Me. No judgment comes without warning; I am Love and I am Mercy. Mercy or justice: each man must make his choice.
They must be warned. No judgment comes without warning. You must plead for the deliverance of the downtrodden; you must beg the captors to set the oppressed free—if they give mercy, they will receive mercy.
But I tell you this, the captors’ hearts will be hardened, their necks stiff, and they will not listen. They will not be like Nineveh; instead, they will mock you, unaware that they mock Me. They will refuse the mercy; they will not listen. They will be like Egypt.
Will you give up this temporal freedom before you and follow after Me?
Nat Turner heard the scripture he had memorized as a boy carried on the breezes that reached his ears. And whosoever shall not receive you, nor hear your words, when ye depart out of that house or city, shake off the dust of your feet. Verily I say unto you, It shall be more tolerable for the land of Sodom and Gomorrha in the day of judgment, than for that city.
Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves.
Lightning flashed. They have lived Old Covenant lives—the men of Cross Keys, of Jerusalem, of Virginia—every man doing that which is right in his own eyes. They extend no grace or mercy. They exact the letter of the law on others without mercy, truth, or love—whitewashed walls, all form with no substance. So they will receive as they have given. Judgment will begin at My house in the center of Cross Keys. If they will not hear Me, you will take up arms against them. If they will not hear, the root must be destroyed.
The Resurrection of Nat Turner, Part 2: The Testimonial Page 14