When the baby died Martha Hennessy nearly lost her mind. We could hear her mournful wailing and his outraged shouting down in the slave cabins.
Edward Hennessy didn't take his furs to Wheeling that year, but sold them to a trader who was passing through. He seemed reluctant to leave his farm for even a day. I thought I detected a growing irrationality in his behavior. His moods seemed to shift hourly, he began to contradict his own orders and then to punish us when we didn't obey him. He was violent and loud one moment and sullen and secretive the next. He ceased to make any effort to keep himself clean, and he drank heavily.
When the ground thawed we were all forced into the back-breaking work of preparing the fields for planting. I hacked at the stiff clods of rocky earth with a hoe one afternoon, cursing him under my breath with every blow. When I looked up I saw that Martha was working only ten feet away from me. Wife or slave, black or white: Edward Hennessy made no distinctions. He worked us all with no regard to bodily health or sanity.
"I'm sorry," I said impulsively. "About the baby."
She blinked into the glare of the sun. "Sorry? Don't be sorry. He's better off dead. I only wish I had died, too."
"It can't go on like this much longer," I said. "It can't! Something will happen and things will change."
"You think so?" Her voice was lifeless and defeated. "I've lived like this for ten years. Every day I told myself that it wouldn't go on, that God would surely put an end to my misery. But He never did. The end comes when you die, not before."
The end came in June. Bob, a strapping young black whom Hennessy had bought in April with the money the trader had given him for his furs, tried to run away. Hennessy went after him with the dogs and brought him back a few hours later. He stripped the lad and lashed him to a fence post not far from the barns at the edge of the fields. Then he called us all in from our labors to watch the punishment. We gathered around in a tight, silent knot. Hennessy came out of the house and strode purposefully across the yard. He was carrying an enormous bull whip, and he had shoved a pistol into his belt.
The sun was hot, the air was still and soundless except for the boy's panicked breathing and the stirring of our bare feet in the dust. Martha was there, but I saw no sign of Jenny. I was glad Martha had kept the child away.
Hennessy raised his whip and brought it down across the boy's bare back with a loud crack. The lad screamed. A streak of red appeared on the flesh where the whip had fallen. At once my mind flew back to another whipping, another slave, another tyrant. Hennessy lifted his arm again, and I saw not a vicious, black-bearded dirt farmer, but that evil worm, Captain Josiah Fowler. The crowd that pressed around me was peopled not with slaves but with rough-talking seamen. The boy at the post—not Bob, but the slave I had named Joseph. Joseph, whom I had nursed in my cabin until Fowler took him away.
Fowler's second lash tore a sobbing cry out of my throat. He was wicked, wicked beyond all description.
"Villain," I shrieked tearfully. "Evil, bloody bastard!"
He turned to face me for a fraction of a moment. His eyes shone in his head like red embers, and he barked at me to keep silent. I saw the inhuman hatred in his look. He was a madman, an inhuman, blood-crazed fiend.
Annie put her hand on my arm. "Hush, now," she hissed. "You want to be next?"
Images of Josiah Fowler and the Charleston Belle danced in front of my eyes, obscuring reality, intensifying the horror of the experience for me.
Another heart-rending cry from the boy spurred me into action. I shook off Annie's restraining hand and threw myself between the master and the slave.
"Stop it! Stop it!" I cried, grabbing at the whip in his hand.
He glared down at me and threw me away from him with one easy motion as easily as if I had been an annoying insect. I lay panting on the ground for a moment. I heard him laughing, and looking up I saw the whip coming down on me. I rolled to the side and it spent its force in the dust.
"Stay out of this, bitch," he warned, "or I'll flog you, too."
He brought the whip down on the boy's back once again. The lad's screams were growing weaker. His back was a maze of bleeding welts. Blood streamed down his buttocks and legs. He was bathed in blood.
My eyes lit on the pistol jammed in Hennessy's belt. I leaped at him again, and this time when he shoved me away I had the pistol in my hand. I fell back on the ground. Hennessy lifted his whip arm and cracked the bull whip once in the air before he lashed out at me.
"Now you're going to die, bitch," he snarled, "I've been waiting a long time for this."
Unconsciously, automatically, I raised the pistol and fired at him.
A small red hole appeared in the center of his powder-blackened forehead. A bubble of blood started to ooze out and trickle down his face. Someone screamed as he swayed drunkenly and then fell sideways onto the bloodstained earth at his slave's feet.
I stood up and looked down at him. Hatred welled up within me. I felt no sorrow, no remorse. Screwing up my mouth I spat on him, once, and looked up defiantly at the stunned, silent crowd. My eyes met Martha's, and I thought I could read forgiveness and relief in her look. Then I tossed the pistol aside and shouldered my way through the group of slaves. I walked briskly towards the forest and I didn't look back, not even when I heard hysterical shouting and screaming and smelled smoke, and guessed that the slaves were burning the farm buildings and slaughtering the dogs in a frenzy of hatred and euphoria.
Chapter 16
The General
I crossed the freshly plowed tobacco fields and broke into a run. Free! I was free! I didn't want to think about why or how I had done it. It was enough for me that I could escape into the shelter of the trees without fear of being captured. No one would follow me now. The dogs were dead, I knew, just as their master was dead.
A gigantic black man stepped out of the trees into my path. Filled with guilt and fear at what I had done, I gave a startled scream and dove into the underbrush.
"Miss Elise!" he called after me.
He came after me and caught me around the waist with his two strong arms. I kicked and struggled but he held me fast.
"Hey, hey, don't kick so, Missy," he said, laughing. "You sayin' you don't know me?"
He let me go. I stumbled back from him and stared.
"You—you're Joseph!" I said, unbelieving. "But you can't be—! Joseph?"
"Yes, Ma'am, I am. Joseph McClelland, at your service."
My strength deserted me. I sat down on a log and gaped at him. "Joseph!" I whispered. "Oh, dear God, you don't know what's happened—"
"I saw it," he said. "I was watching from behind the barn. Passing through on my way to Richmond this morning. I saw the crowd of folks over yonder near that field, and I wanted to see what was going on. I saw you shoot him. I got out of there pretty fast and followed you."
I covered my face and said with a little moan, "I didn't even think. I just—shot him, Joseph. I've been aching to murder him for so long—and now that it's done, I feel—I don't know how I feel. But it's wrong, wrong to murder a man!"
He said firmly, "You saved two lives when you killed him: your own and that boy's. And maybe more than that. Your Mr. Hennessy had a reputation for meanness, Missy. But we've got to get out of here right quick. Those slaves have gone crazy with hate. This is an uprising and you started it. The white folks around here are going to come looking for you. They'll need to hang someone for this."
"He—he branded me, Joseph," I said. "I have the brand of a runaway slave on my back. If anyone saw that, they'd suspect something. They might even make me be a slave again." I moaned softly. "Oh, God, will it never end? I can't go back, I can't!"
Joseph took me to his waiting horse. I was shaking violently from shock and anguish and sheer physical and mental exhaustion. He unfurled a rolled-up blanket and wrapped it around me.
"I heard from the slaves in these parts that he had a white woman for a slave," he said, shaking his head. "But I never would have guesse
d in a hundred years that it would be you! The Lord sure works in strange ways. I heard about you some from Garth."
"Garth?" I cocked my head. "I don't understand."
"In his letters. He said that he had found you and that you were alive. I was mighty glad to hear that. I was sure that Cap'n would kill you."
"He very nearly did. You astonish me, Joseph," I said weakly. "Garth wrote you letters?"
Joseph laughed. "And sent money, too. For my mission among the slaves. I'm a man of God now, Missy. I'm working to make them free. I'm a wanted man myself."
"You called yourself McClelland. Did Garth adopt you?"
"In a way. He said that in this country a man was better off with two names. After we escaped from the Eureka, Garth gave me money and helped me get to a friend of his in Philadelphia. A Quaker minister and his wife. They took me into their home and treated me like their own son. Richard Hedley taught me about the Lord, and about how the Lord loved all men equally. He taught me to read and write and speak English. Why, I remember yet how Garth and I had to communicate in signs and grunts on the Eureka. Garth taught me a lot, too. We were on that ship nearly a year, but I guess he told you all about that. They beat him and starved him and nearly killed him, but he never gave in to them. They couldn't break him. He had the fever and he talked to me for hours, and I didn't even know what he was saying. I heard your name. That was one word I recognized."
I shook my head in amazement. "He never told me any of that. He was so evasive and flippant about it, like he always was about everything. How did you get away from the British?"
Joseph grinned. "Well, they couldn't keep us in irons if they wanted us to work, right? When we got to Kingston, Garth managed to set fire to the ship. In the confusion we jumped into the water and swam for shore. They looked high and low but couldn't find us. Some lady friend of Garth's hid us in her bedroom all that day and into the night."
"I'm sure Garth didn't object to that," I said.
"Lord, no!" Joseph laughed infectiously, and for the first time in months I found myself smiling. "Late that night we found some smugglers to take us to Cuba, and then we got a boat to New Orleans."
"And the Eureka sank?"
Joseph spread his arms. "Gone to her eternal rest at the bottom of the sea. Amen!"
"Just like the Charleston Belle," I said. I told him about Fowler's treatment of me, and about my rescue by Lafitte's men. "Lafitte saved me then, and you've saved me now, Joseph. I had to shoot Hennessy. He was so evil, so much like—"
"Now, don't you get all worked up about it," said Joseph sternly. "We have got to get away from here. Neighbors might see the smoke and come running. And if they catch you, they'll hang you for sure."
My teeth were chattering and I started to giggle. "No, they won't. They can't hang me because I'm a white woman."
Joseph lifted me onto his horse's back. "You were a slave, Miss Elise. And you committed the worst crime a slave can commit: you killed your master. Let's go. We can talk more later, after we put some miles between us and this place. I'll feel better when we're far away from this devil's land."
He climbed up behind me and we rode away from the place where I had endured such misery and pain for a whole year. I kept telling myself over and over that I was free now, that I was no longer a slave, but I didn't really believe it. Both Joseph and I knew that I was branded for life, and that I would have a hard time convincing anyone that I was a white woman, not a slave. If they caught me they would prosecute me and hang me for murder and for inciting slaves to rebellion. In this country no one cared that a slave owner might be cruel, bloodthirsty and mad: on his own lands he was a despot, and God help the poor slave who tried to escape or to curb that oppressive madness by force.
We rode east, avoiding towns, farms and settlements. Joseph knew that if white men saw us together they would become suspicious. We couldn't very easily disguise ourselves. At that time I resembled a fine lady no more than Joseph resembled a slave, and we could not have passed for mistress and servant. Joseph seemed even taller and broader than I remembered. He wore a black jacket and white shirt and stock, black breeches with shiny black boots. He might have looked just like any prosperous Virginia planter—if he had been white. He planned to take me to Philadelphia, to his friend and mentor, Richard Hedley, who would help me return to France. I had told him that I had no desire to go back to New Orleans, the scene of my greatest triumphs and my greatest shame.
"You don't want to see Garth's wife and that fellow, Arnold?" Joseph asked me.
I stared at my clenched hands. "No, Joseph," I said grimly. "I'm afraid of what I might do to them. I'd kill them, I know I would."
"Sometimes it's kind of hard to know what you're going to do before you do it," Joseph observed.
"I'm half-Corsican, Joseph," I said fiercely. "Corsicans never let wrongs go unavenged. My Uncle Theo used to say we were savages. And I'm proud of being a savage, if it means that I have the courage to punish the ones who betrayed me. But the other half of me knows that revenge is wrong, and that I'd be sorry afterwards. I'm not a murderess. I just want to go home, back to my family, back to the place where I was happy. I haven't been happy since I met Garth."
"He probably thinks you're dead," Joseph said. "Don't you—"
"Let him think so," I said brusquely. "We're both better off."
France. I longed to see my home and family again. Why hadn't I permitted Lafitte to send me away from America as soon as I was well enough? Why had I ever thought that I would be happier away from my home? I ached to see them all again: Uncle Theo, and Françoise, and Philippe and Honoré. They had loved me and I had been safe there. Until Garth McClelland came along.
Our journey was not too taxing at first. Game and wild fruits abounded in the forests in mid-summer, and at least Joseph and I were well-fed. But towards the end of July I became ill with a fever that even Joseph, who had more than a rudimentary knowledge of medicine, could not cure with his concoctions of herbs and grasses. I grew steadily weaker, and he became worried. We were camped near a town in northeastern Virginia, about a hundred miles from Washington, when he insisted that I had to have a decent place to stay until I was well.
"I can't do anything else for you, 'Lise. If you don't get help soon you're going to die, and I don't want that. Please let me find—"
"No," I said firmly. "We can't trust anyone. If they saw the—the mark on my back they would send me back to Shenandoah County to stand trial. You know they would. Please, Joseph, I beg you, don't tell anyone about me.
"I'm going to go into town and get some medicine," he said. He frowned deeply and tried to hide his worry. "I'll come back alone, I promise. Maybe I can find a doctor who can give me something to help you. Now don't make yourself feel worse by fretting. Lie back and stay warm. I'll be back as soon as I can."
He mounted his horse and rode away. I lay on my bed of pine needles and leaves and slept. Joseph was very late in returning. I grew worried, and as darkness began to fall I became almost frantic. The night closed in around me, filling me with dread and terror. I believed that the monsters I had dreamed about would emerge from the shadows and drag me to Hell.
When I heard the thumping of hooves on the dry ground I screamed. Joseph's reassuring voice came out of the night.
"It's only me, 'Lise, don't be afraid. I got some whiskey—it's all they had in that little place, but it will help sweat the fever out of you." He knelt by my side. "I've been with some Negroes, 'Lise. Some free men. They know a man in Washington, a Quaker doctor name Barker. They say he'll help us get to Philadelphia, and if you're sick he'll let you stay with him until you're well. He's a good man, they said, and an honest one. He won't turn us in. We should start tomorrow morning, just as soon as it's light. I'll make you a litter—"
"No, Joseph, a litter would only slow us down. I can ride, really I can."
"We'll double up as usual, then, like we been doing. We can make it in two days if the weather holds, maybe three.
If you can hang on 'til we get there, 'Lise. Just try and hold on until we get to Washington, and Doctor Barker."
The trip to Washington was a nightmare. I was sick and weak, yet I forced myself to sit upright in the saddle for ten and twelve hours a day. The late August heat was terrific, even in the shadowy depths of the woods. Several times I fainted and would surely have fallen off if Joseph hadn't held on to me.
On the morning of the third day of our journey, when we were about fifteen miles from the city, we smelled smoke.
"It's so dry," Joseph remarked. "Someone's started a brush fire and I bet it got out of hand."
Then we saw some people coming towards us through the trees. They were the first persons I had seen since I left Hennessy's farm and I was frightened. Joseph left the trail so that we wouldn't have to meet them, but they called to us and begged us to come back. They told us that the British had attacked Washington, and that they were sacking and burning the city. Houses, shops, inns, government buildings—everything was in flames. This family had fled with their portable goods when the attack began, and like many others they had sought the safety of the trees.
The children were crying. Their faces were dark with smoke and dirt.
"We've got to go on, sir," Joseph said grimly. "I have a sick woman here and I've got to get her to a doctor. Perhaps you know where we can find him? Doctor Barker?"
The man said, "No, we don't know any doctor by that name. But you're crazy to want to go there now. The town will be ashes by the time—"
My head lolled against Joseph's shoulder. He kicked at our horse and said, "We've got to go. Good luck to you folks, and may the Lord watch out for you." We moved along at a quicker pace. "I think we can use the main road now," Joseph said to me. "It will be faster, and I expect folks will be too excited about this attack to pay any attention to us."
Further on we met some Negroes who told us that the British had promised freedom to all slaves once they were in full control of the country.
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