Escape Into the Night

by Lois Walfrid Johnson

  Because of the way Samson jumped up the first day, Libby often thought of him as a puppy. Other times he acted like a grown dog. To her great relief, she had already discovered he was housebroken. What else did he know?

  “Here, Samson,” Caleb said, and the dog looked up at him with great wags of his tail.

  When Caleb said, “Sit,” Samson sat. When Caleb said, “Stay,” the dog stayed in one place, even though Caleb walked away.

  “Good dog!” Caleb praised each time Samson did something right. Caleb also discovered that Samson would stay alongside Libby if she took him for a walk.

  “I wonder what else he knows,” Caleb said. “If we had a little wagon …” His voice trailed off as he thought about it. “We do have a wagon! A small one for carrying groceries from the gangplank to the galleys. If I fix it up a bit …”

  Caleb led Samson and Libby down to the main deck. When he found the wagon, Caleb used strong rope to make a padded harness. When everything was ready, he showed Libby what to do.

  The harness went in front of Samson’s chest, over the top of his back, and behind his front legs. Caleb attached two long poles to the front of the cart and connected them to the harness. Then he attached a leash to Samson’s collar.

  Through it all, the dog stood still, waiting patiently until everything was ready.

  “He might be used to this,” Caleb said finally. “Now let’s see what he knows.”

  Kneeling down in front of the dog, he motioned Samson forward with his hands. “Come,” he said, over and over.

  At first Samson didn’t seem to understand. Caleb repeated the command.

  “Come,” he said, still eye level with the dog. Suddenly the dog took one step toward him.

  “Yay!” Caleb praised him. “Good dog, good dog!”

  Once again he commanded, “Come.” This time Samson obeyed at once. Again Caleb praised him.

  Standing up, Caleb took the leash. As he held it above the dog, Caleb walked forward. As though Samson had followed all his life, he padded after Caleb. Now and then Caleb gave a slight jerk on the leash to remind the dog where he should go. Each time Samson obeyed.

  Caleb gave Libby a turn with Samson, then unhitched the wagon. “His owner must have spent a lot of time training him,” Caleb said. “Samson wouldn’t know this much otherwise.”

  “Aren’t you going to try more?” Libby asked.

  Caleb shook his head. “I want to stop while he’s still having fun. Then he’ll want to do it again.”

  Just then Libby remembered that she had planned to find out what Caleb was up to. As she sat down on a large box on one side of the boat, she asked, “What do you think happened to that young slave we saw yesterday?”

  “Jordan?” Still petting the dog, Caleb sat on a small barrel. “The man who bought him is a slave trader. Of all the people I know, Riggs has the worst reputation.”

  “For being cruel?” That wasn’t hard for Libby to understand.

  “He doesn’t just beat his slaves because they’ve done something wrong. He beats them to make sure they don’t do something wrong.”

  Libby had never heard of such a strange way of thinking. “So no matter how hard a slave tries to do everything right, he can’t please Riggs?”

  Caleb’s blue eyes reflected his worry. “It’s as though Riggs has to prove he’s boss.”

  “Aren’t there any slave owners who are kind?” Libby asked.

  “Sure,” Caleb answered. “Some owners treat their slaves like family. And the house servants really are. A Negro mother brings up the master’s children. Sometimes those children feel really close to their mammy.”

  “Because the mammy takes care of them all the time?” Libby understood that too.

  “But is it kind to keep someone a slave?” Caleb asked. “And a lot of owners don’t care what happens to Negro families. They sell husbands away from wives, children away from parents.”

  Libby felt like weeping again. She knew what it meant to be separated from a mother by death, from a father by distance. “If a slave runs away, the owner hires a slave catcher.” Caleb leaned forward, wanting Libby to understand. “The owner offers a big reward if the fugitive is caught.”

  Now he’ll tell me! Libby felt sure she could find out whatever she wanted to know.

  “Caleb,” she asked, “what did you mean when you whispered to Jordan?”

  Suddenly Caleb grew quiet. “You heard me whisper?”

  Libby nodded. “You said, ‘Alton. Tomorrow night. The Christina.’”

  “You’re sure that’s what you heard?” As though it weren’t important, Caleb leaned back against the railing.

  “I’m sure,” Libby answered. “And why did you bring out a different gangplank in Burlington?”

  “In Burlington?” Caleb sounded like an echo.

  “When the three Negro men came aboard.”

  Still Caleb’s expression did not change. “Different gangplank,” he said, as if still thinking. “What do you mean by that, Libby?”

  “The Christina has three planks. When they’re put together side by side they make a ramp.”

  “Oh yeah. That was the ramp Judas went up.” Suddenly Caleb laughed. “In all the time I’ve been on this boat, I’ve never seen anything as funny as those goats running through the cabin.”

  Libby laughed along with him. “It was funny, wasn’t it?” She remembered how she flung herself after the goat, how she had tumbled off when he brushed her against the wall. Now it seemed ridiculous.

  Caleb’s grin lit his face. “Next time we have a goat run loose, I’m going to send you after him!”

  As they kept talking, the sun set over the city of Saint Louis. The rose-colored sky felt like the warmth in Libby’s heart. Again Caleb seemed as if he could be a friend.

  Yet, alone in her room that night, Libby realized something. I still don’t know what Caleb is doing!

  The next morning Libby saw men carry a large mirror on board. “I’m glad we’re in Saint Louis where I could find such a mirror,” Pa told her.

  While the ship carpenter set the mirror in place, the deckhands finished loading the Christina. As a packet boat, she carried both passengers and freight. In addition to the goats that were now penned up, there were barrels filled with sugar, salt, and molasses. Wooden boxes held pots and pans, saws and shovels, wood stoves, candles, and soap.

  Some of these needed supplies had come from the Ohio River on steamboats like the Christina. Other freight had come up the Mississippi River from New Orleans.

  During the afternoon Libby watched from the hurricane deck as passengers streamed on board. Many of them were immigrants who planned to carve out a life in the wilderness for which the Mississippi River offered a road.

  As the water in the boilers heated up, smoke poured from the tall stacks. At last the gangplank was pulled in. While passengers found their places in the cabin or on the deck, the Christina steamed up the river.

  Between ports Libby and Caleb were supposed to get their schooling. When Libby reached the captain’s cabin, Caleb was already there. Once again, they sat at the large table facing each other. Libby wanted to ask him questions, but there was something she had learned: Caleb would not answer unless he wanted to.

  When Captain Norstad came through the doorway, Libby felt extra glad to see him. She’d ask him what she wanted to know, and she’d ask in front of Caleb.

  At the first opportunity Libby began. “When slaves run away, where do they go?”

  “North,” her father answered. “They follow the North Star. When they can, they cross over rivers like the Mississippi or the Ohio into free states.”

  “Like Illinois?” Even as she asked, Libby watched Caleb.

  Captain Norstad nodded. “From this area, fugitives often travel across Illinois to Chicago or some place near Chicago. If they reach Lake Michigan, a helpful steamer captain hides them on his boat. He takes fugitives to a place where they can pass into Canada.”

  “A
nd freedom?” Libby asked. “But how do they get this far?” Libby was still watching Caleb’s face.

  “Sometimes they figure out a good escape plan and travel a long distance alone. Other times they find a free black or a white person connected to the Underground Railroad.”

  “A railroad? What do you mean?” Libby was starting to think that she knew the answer.

  “Usually it isn’t a real railroad, but it can be,” her father explained. “The Underground Railroad is a secret plan to help runaway slaves reach freedom. A house that takes in fugitives is called a station. The person who lives there is an agent. Whoever leads the runaway to the next safe place is called a conductor.”

  Aha! Libby thought. Caleb’s face still offered no hint of what he was thinking. Yet for the first time Libby felt she had gotten the better of him. At least she was able to put some pieces together.

  But then her father asked, “Are both of you ready to tell me your ideas about the fugitive slave laws?”

  “I am, sir,” Caleb answered quickly.

  Libby squirmed in her chair.

  “Libby?” her father asked.

  Nervously she pulled forward a long strand of red hair. Until yesterday she would have done anything to beat Caleb Whitney in a war of words. Today she didn’t have the heart to try.

  “Libby?” the captain asked again.

  As Libby twisted the hair around her finger, she decided what to say. “I’m not ready, Pa.”

  “Do you need more time?”

  “Even if you gave me more time, it wouldn’t help. I don’t want to talk about the law.”

  “Oh?” Captain Norstad shot a glance toward Caleb, then looked back at Libby. “I think you’d do a good job of telling me your ideas. Why don’t you want to try?”

  Libby opened her mouth. She wanted to say, “Because I saw a slave auction.” But she saw Caleb’s look. In Saint Louis he had dared her to tell her father. If she did, Caleb would never trust her again.

  Libby’s thoughts raced. How can I explain without telling Pa what happened?

  Finally she drew a deep breath. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.” Scared now, as well as nervous, she stumbled over the words. “I’ve changed my mind about some of the things I said.”

  Again Captain Norstad glanced toward Caleb, then back to Libby. Before her father’s clear eyes Libby’s gaze fell. Someday she would tell him what she now believed about slavery. But not now. Not yet.

  When Pa didn’t ask her to explain, Libby felt relieved. Just the same, there was something she knew. When they reached Alton, Illinois, that afternoon, she’d be on deck. She would watch every move Caleb made.

  As though she had just heard his whisper, she remembered the words: “Alton. Tomorrow night. The Christina.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Caleb’s Secret

  Late that afternoon Libby and Caleb stood on the hurricane deck of the Christina. A few miles above the place where the Missouri River flowed into the Mississippi, Libby caught her first daytime view of Alton, Illinois.

  In the rugged hillside on the right bank of the river were large gray buildings with a long wall. “Is that a castle?” Libby asked.

  “The Illinois state prison,” Caleb told her.

  Tall warehouses hugged the shore. Above them, church steeples pointed to the sky. Somehow they offered comfort to Libby, as though here were people who believed in something. The thought surprised her, for often she felt uncertain about her own beliefs.

  When the Christina nosed into the flat rock that formed a natural wharf, Caleb hurried down to the main deck. To make sure that she saw whatever he did, Libby followed him.

  By now, the setting sun cast long shadows across the river into the town. As the shadows lengthened, the crew started unloading freight. In the growing dusk a watchman placed a torch in an iron basket hung out beyond the bow of the boat. As the pine torch flared up, burning coals dropped into the water.

  Like other steamboats her size, the Christina used about twenty-five cords of wood during every twenty-four hours of travel. That meant stopping at least twice a day to take on more fuel. The process was called wooding up.

  In the eerie light of the flickering torch, men began carrying wood from great piles along the river. Up and down the gangplank they hurried with three-foot-long logs balanced on their shoulders. Passengers earning the price of their ticket worked along with the crew, stacking the wood near the furnaces or on deck.

  As a cold March wind blew across the water, Libby shivered. Pulling her coat around her, she thought about the wood stove in the cabin. Though its welcome warmth drew her, Libby felt unwilling to leave the deck. What was supposed to happen this night?

  Now and then she caught a glimpse of Caleb carrying wood along with the men. When nearly every available space was filled with wood, Libby knew they needed even the place where she stood. She started toward the steps.

  Ahead of her, a man carried two heavy logs on his shoulder. Realizing that he could see on only one side, Libby stepped out of his way. Just then the man stepped the same direction, crashing into Libby.

  As one of the logs tumbled onto the deck, she leaped back. The heavy piece of wood just missed her feet.

  Suddenly Caleb was there. “You’re in the way,” he said. “Why don’t you watch from the steps?”

  “That’s where I’m trying to go!” Shaken by her narrow escape, Libby again started in that direction. Partway there, she turned back to see who the wood carrier was.

  Just then Caleb stepped between Libby and the man. “You all right?” Caleb asked.

  “I’m all right!” Libby exclaimed. But she had no doubt that she could have been badly hurt.

  When she reached the stairs, she again tried to get a glimpse of the man’s face. By now his back was toward her and his new-looking pants dragged on the floor. Because his cap was pulled down and the collar of his coat turned up, Libby couldn’t see even the hair on his neck.

  With one quick movement Caleb picked up the dropped log and added it to the man’s load.

  “No wonder he couldn’t see!” Libby called to Caleb.

  Glancing toward Libby, Caleb grinned, then leaned close to talk to the wood carrier. Without turning even slightly, the man nodded.

  Inside, Libby felt a nudge. There’s something familiar about him. What is it?

  Leaving the stairs, she hurried forward. Again Caleb moved between her and the wood carrier. Before Libby could reach the man, he walked away.

  “C’mon, race you to the cabin!” Caleb said. “Let’s get in out of the cold!”

  His sudden friendliness surprised Libby. In the large, main cabin Caleb found a place in the circle of people surrounding the wood stove. Nearby, Libby took another opening and stretched out her hands to the warmth. After the cold wind, the heat of the stove felt good.

  Soon one of the female passengers spoke to Libby. “Aren’t you the captain’s daughter?”

  “Why yes, I am,” Libby answered, feeling pleased.

  When she finished talking with the woman, Libby glanced around. Caleb! Where is he?

  A rush of anger flowed through Libby. It wasn’t hard to figure out that Caleb had used his chance to disappear. And Libby wasn’t willing to let anyone turn her into a fool!

  Then a bigger question entered her mind. What is Caleb trying to hide?

  From one end of the Christina to another, Libby searched for Caleb. She felt sure she would find him in the engine room on the main deck. The great steam engines were there, as well as the large furnaces that heated the water to make the engines run. Yet Caleb wasn’t there, nor in the blacksmith shop.

  Finally Libby made her way to the dessert and pastry kitchen. Located in front of one of the huge boxes that housed a paddlewheel, the galley was spotlessly clean.

  Granny was kneading bread, but the warm scent of bread dough didn’t fit with the way Libby felt.

  “Your grandson is the strangest boy I’ve ever met!” she blurted out.
/>   “Strangest?” Granny’s blue eyes studied Libby. “What do you mean?”

  “Caleb just asks questions. He never gives answers!”

  “About what?” Granny asked.

  “You’re just like him!” Libby exclaimed.

  “And what does that mean?” Granny gathered up a great mass of dough, turned it around, and folded it over.

  “I think I saw a young slave come on board,” Libby answered. “But when I asked Caleb about it, he wouldn’t tell me. In fact, he sneaked away.”

  “Without telling you anything?” Granny punched the dough.

  “Not a thing!”

  For an instant Granny seemed to relax. Then Libby decided she had imagined it.

  “So you think Caleb is strange?” Granny asked.

  “With any other boy I’ve met I could ask anything. All I had to do was smile.” Libby put on the smile she often practiced in front of a mirror.

  “And the boys would tell you,” Granny finished.

  “Whatever I wanted to know.”

  “And Caleb doesn’t.” With the ease of long practice Granny shaped the dough into a large ball and set it in a wooden bowl. For some reason she seemed very satisfied with herself—and with Caleb too.

  But then Granny surprised Libby. “Do you know how to make bread?”

  Libby shook her head. “In Chicago our cook always did it.” At lunch and dinner on the boat, Libby had seen how everyone wolfed down the good bread. Libby liked it, too, but had given only a passing thought as to where it came from.

  “I’ll show you how,” Granny said. “You’ll be good at it in no time.”

  She wrapped a large apron around Libby. Soon Libby had it covered with flour. At Auntie Vi’s she would have called this work and stayed far from it. Here with Granny it seemed like fun.

  More than once, the dough stuck to the board, and Libby’s hands felt clumsy and awkward. Finally she started to get the feel for what she should do. By that time she was curious about Granny and why she and Caleb were here on the Christina.

  “Caleb’s father was my son,” Granny said softly. For a moment her busy hands stopped moving. “When he and his wife died, Caleb came to live with me.”