by David Fuller
He heard a light knock on his cabin door. He opened it to find Shedd, The Little Angry Man.
Let me in, said Shedd.
Cassius backed up and The Little Angry Man dragged his bad leg into the cabin.
Shut that door, said Shedd. Cassius did so.
What brings you-?
Shut up. I know you're gonna run, said Shedd.
Not going to run, said Cassius.
You are. I seen it. New shoes, mendin trousers, everybody seen it.
Cassius wasn't surprised. Jenny had known, so others knew as well. Shedd's wandering eye darted around his cabin, and he saw that Shedd was having difficulty remaining still. Shedd's leg hurt him and he got jumpy and fidgety if he didn't keep it moving.
Not going to run.
Shedd gave Cassius a violent look.
Don't need to, said Cassius.
What's that mean?
Got a pass from Old Missus. She's sending me.
Hah!
Think I'm lying?
You listen up 'cause you can't make it with that.
Not taking you with me.
You think I go with you?
Cassius was caught off-guard: Then why're you here?
I'm the one sent Joseph to the Underground Railroad.
You sent him?
'S right.
He got caught.
Not my doin.
How do I know, how do I know you didn't set him up?
Cassius took a menacing step toward Little Angry Man, but Little Angry Man did not go off.
He almost got there, said Shedd. I talked to him after, in the barn. Joseph did it hisself, even said so. Tried to stand up to a paddyroller when he was almost safe; I warned him, you can't run on hate, you got to run smart. He got hisself caught. You ask him, he'll say. But that don't matter to you, you won't do stupid like Joseph.
Cassius backed up across the room, sat and looked hard at Shedd. Shedd began to twitch, needing to change the position of his leg. He finally turned it inward, clamping his hip at a taut angle, forcing thigh muscles to grip so his leg would stay there, then looked back at Cassius with an unforced grimace.
You don't got to trust me, Cassius, don't know why you would, except you smart enough to know when somethin's right. So listen close, you son of a pox whore's bastard, this what you look for. The song ain't lyin, "Follow the Drinkin Gourd." Star up there called the North Star.
You think I don't know this? said Cassius, impatiently. I know north from south, even at night.
I know you know, but I'm sayin it anyways, you follow it, 'cause that where it leads. Travel at night, that give you the best chance.
I told you, I got a pass.
Hah, big head big shot got hisself a pass, only you take one step outta this county and that pass only good to wipe your ass. No one outside knows a white Howard from a white magnolia.
Cassius knew it was true. Shedd was offering authentic advice.
Why you helping me?
Just shut your hole and listen, swole-headed prick. Go at night and duck them paddyrollers, they get nastier the closer you get to the North. Plenty of work up there, grabbin runaway niggers. Folks always greedier when they got more. You get yourself to a town call Shamburg, they got a safe house, part of the Underground Railroad.
Cassius paid strict attention.
You wait till night, look for a light on a hill. They leave a lantern up when it safe, not the house on the top, but about halfway. You go to the front door. But don't be a mule's ass, keep your eyes open, 'cause shit changes. And don't look down, look up and watch, you see a white man catch your eye and make a sign with his hand, like touch his chin or his nose, he offerin you a safe house. You follow him, understand?
I understand.
Be careful, Cassius. Don't talk 'bout what you doin. Don't tell nobody at Suetsmoke when you're goin.
I know that, but why say so?
They try 'n' queer it for you. They resent you.
Not all of them.
You Hoke's boy, always been. You got more leeway, you don't get punished the way others get 'cause your master favors you. But you ain't safe. Big Gus aimed for you, and you damn lucky he missed. And if Hoke dies, there be more comin after you. Who knows, maybe I be one.
Shedd headed for the door, his wandering eye taking one last look around.
White man make a sign, said Shedd, you follow.
* * *
Chapter Sixteen
The afternoon of the first of September promised heavy rains.
Mr. Nettle drove him in the carriage. Cassius sensed his seething resentment at being assigned this chore. The ride unfolded in silence, giving Cassius time to consider Ellen Howard's surprising choice of a reinsman, wondering about her motive. Had she taken into account the coming harvest and the demotion of the Driver? If so, then she was taking Cassius's journey seriously, delegating a white man to convey him. As they rode past the fields, the hands watched them ride off the rim of the property.
Mr. Nettle dropped him at the fork and stared at him coldly.
"Reckon the next time I set eyes on you, you'll be in chains."
Mr. Nettle swung the carriage around to sprint back to Sweetsmoke. Cassius began his walk north. He passed the Chavis farm and saw Weyman far off in the field, but this time he did not stop.
Cassius was obliged only once to show his pass on the road, and
he offered the one signed by Ellen Howard. The man reluctantly accepted it as real, and Cassius had the impression that he could not read.
By midday he had arrived at his first destination. Ralph had described the location of his isolated one-room shack, and Cassius had no difficulty locating it.
Ralph gave him food and, despite Cassius's objections, insisted he sleep there that night, as he anticipated a full day's ride. They would leave in the morning. Although impatient to begin, when the thunderstorms arrived, Cassius was glad they were not on the road.
Cassius told Ralph as little as possible, but he did say that he wanted to get to Lee's army. Cassius asked about Shamburg and the Underground Railroad. Ralph told him that he was not likely to see that town as he was to travel in a different direction altogether if he was to find Lee.
Ralph's roof leaked under the aggressive storm until the interior smelled of wet lamb's wool and something musky. The raucous thunder habitually stomped at the very moment Cassius was nodding off, so he slept poorly and woke ahead of the sun. Ralph, however, was not a man to be rushed. He had waited most of his life to be free, and reveled in the languid pace of his current existence. He woke late and ate slowly. He owed speed to no one, and made no apologies for his torpor.
They set out under a strong sun, Cassius staring at Carolina's backside as she pulled them. They avoided the large milky brown puddles, staying to the center of the road as trees dripped on both sides. The road gradually dried, but the journey was not unpleasant as the coating of rain kept dust to a minimum. By nine o'clock Ralph informed Cassius they had left the county. Cassius considered the journey ahead. He had memorized the maps, but lines and shapes and names could not prepare him for reality. From here on, the world would be unfamiliar. He could not control the large things, so he concentrated on the small. He would not use Ellen's pass again, trusting Shedd's wisdom, and hoped the forged passes would suffice. He had filled them out with planter names that he hoped would be common throughout Virginia, names like Johnson and Smith, fudging the signatures so that they would be tricky to read. He thought to affect a stutter if questioned, in hopes that any slave catcher or patroller would suggest a local name out of impatience. He did not need to implement his plan on this day, however. They passed farms, travelers, villages, and just as in the journey to the train trestle, Ralph was known. Cassius glanced at Ralph to view him from a white's point of view. A fat, grizzled old uncle, salty haired with silver stubble defending his chin and cheeks who would bring next to nothing at slave auction. They would not know he only pretended to rejoice when seeing thi
s or that fool, and that he mumbled insults through his smile. Cassius was initially unaware of his words, but after he'd heard the quiet mutterings a half dozen times, he leaned in and caught the nodding grinning remark about "waistcoat can't hide that watermelon abdomen, Alistair y'old peahen," and Cassius laughed out loud. Alistair glanced back over his shoulder and Ralph looked at Cassius as if he'd gone brain simple on the spot, and he urged Carolina forward and did not mutter again.
Cassius gauged the sun and estimated they had reached the noon hour. That meant the halfway mark, assuming Ralph was correct. They approached a small town nestled among a dense cluster of trees, a white church spire jutting from the middle of all that green, and as they rounded an elbow in the road they came upon a black man swinging by his neck from the stout branch of a white oak. He had been hanging a few days, his corpse bloated and gray, a sad swaying message to someone somewhere. Then Cassius started because the man's eyes moved. He leaned forward as the buckboard crawled closer and saw it was just the flies vying for position inside the man's eye cavities. He stared at the man, his whole head turning as they passed by, but neither he nor the swinging man uttered a word.
"Martin, of Orchard Bloom Plantation," said Ralph. "Good worker."
You knew him?
"Well enough."
Cassius twisted around in his seat to watch the man grow smaller behind them.
"Ran one too many times."
Had to be worth something if he was a good worker, said Cassius.
"Ran so many times they ended up payin the catchers and paddyrollers more'n he was worth. Nothin more than a business decision."
They rode through town. A hand-painted sign with black letters dripping into the grass leaned against the side of the church: "God Loves You." Cassius looked at the men and women engaged in their daily affairs and thought the sign was intended for them. He wondered which of the dapper gentlemen owned the swinging man, which one of them insisted Martin remain squeezed at the neck dangling. He wished to punish them for their casual capricious greed. He surprised himself, knowing that just a few months before he would not have imagined such a thing—as a slave he had endured in silence the horrors perpetuated by white men, and yet here he contemplated retribution. He was different and he did not know if that change was for the good.
Ralph stopped at the railroad tracks on the far side of town, out of the shade of trees and beside a water tower.
"This is it."
Thought you said it would take all day, said Cassius.
"All day for me. I got to get back," said Ralph. "You wait. Train'll be along soon enough."
Wait here?
" 'Less you care to walk. Long way to Gordonsville. Train'll make it a good deal easier."
Why would it stop for me?
"Wouldn't. Stop for water." Ralph pointed at the water tower. "Talk to the boys in the freight cars, they likely help you."
What boys, who are they?
"Slaves, Cassius, like you."
On a train?
"Work for the Confederate Army."
Cassius was surprised to learn such men existed. A body servant going to war with his master, yes, but slaves working for the army?
"Godspeed," said Ralph, as he turned Carolina and was off the way he came. The dust from the buckboard gradually settled against the road and Cassius was alone. Cassius listened to the afternoon insect song, a unanimous chorus from the meadow that built in tone and volume until the entire meadow trembled with sound. Then it ended in a great inhale of silence, only to begin all over again starting on a low note that gradually began to swell. He watched cows in a distant field, and for a time watched a dog sleeping on his back in the shade of a thatch of fountain grass alongside a fence, pink- spotted belly visible, rear legs bent up in the air, front legs and head rolled to the side. He envied the dog's leisure.
Cassius stood in the sharp sun for a time. Within his unknowable journey, his situation had taken yet another unanticipated turn. He had thought it would be easy to track an army, a creature so massive as to leave a conspicuous trail in its wake, but no such army had even glanced off this town. He stood enmeshed in uncertainty, seeing his grand plan evaporate before his eyes. He was not even clear from which direction the train would come.
Someone emerged from the shade and walked along the tracks toward him. At first he thought it was a boy, but the pitch of his amble betrayed mileage and age. As he got closer, Cassius saw he was indeed old and tiny, hands tucked into the top of his trousers. Cassius fingered the pass hidden in his pouch, but did not bring it out. When the old man reached hailing distance, Cassius called out: I'm a friend of Ralph.
"Whyn't you get out the sun, y'damn fool."
Cassius nodded and moved to sit in shade provided by the water tower.
The man set about working the pump. Cassius heard water rush into the tower above his head, and understood the man was there in anticipation of the train. Coming out of the southeast, he saw the familiar billow of smoke, as he had seen it on the trestle the day he met Morningside the telegraph man. He was again thrilled by the sight of such a commanding beast. He felt its reverberation and heard its bell clang out a warning. He hoped to get close enough to touch it. He was on his feet and as the train came closer he instinctively took a step back, not knowing what it would be like to have it pass close to him.
The train decelerated and the horizontal connecting rods that drove the large wheels slowed, their long oval motion hypnotic. Sand dropped out of a small pipe onto the tracks directly in front of the wheels, and the wheels ground to a halt. The locomotive stood massive and majestic before him and he admired each part of it, the pleasing triangular shape of the cowcatcher carried his eye from the tracks up to the long thick cylindrical gray body. Rising over the front of this drum was an enormous smokestack, expanding from a narrow waist up to a proud full chest, shaping the emergent smoke as it entered the air. A noise over his head spooked him and he looked to see the tiny old man lower the end of a long pipe from the water tower. The engineer came out of his cab to open the steam dome and help guide the pipe into position. Cassius was enthralled, with the train, with the operation, with every part of this moment. He wanted the men to yank on the rope and ring the bell again. He walked closer to the looming engine and reached to feel the metal with his palm, but the searing heat forced his hand away. Water poured through the chute to the steam dome and splashed over the boiler, exploding into a cloud of vapor, ripping the air with its harsh sound.
Cassius walked toward the rear of the train, trailing along the line of boxcars until he came to one with open doors. A group of five blacks sat in the car with their legs dangling. None wore shoes and their clothes were filthy and tattered. He had heard whites call poorly dressed slaves "tatterdemalion negroes" and these men certainly qualified.
I'm going north, to meet my master, said Cassius.
'Course y'are, said a high yellow man with prominent freckles across his nose and cheeks.
He's with the army, said Cassius.
Freckles and his friends laughed, all but one who scowled at him with half-lidded sour eyes.
Not enough food for you since out of the five of us, we got six hangin on, said Freckles, and the others laughed at his joke.
You got the wrong railroad, boy, we don't cater to no runaways, said Sour Eyes.
Already got your quota? said Cassius, and immediately regretted his smart mouth. He tried to recover by saying: You don't got to feed me.
You got that right, said Sour Eyes.
Look, I'm just trying to get north, Ralph left me here and went off—
You come with Ralph? Whyn't you say so, brother, climb aboard, said Freckles.
Owlcrap, said Sour Eyes, shaking his head. 'S all we need, one more broke darkie.
Cassius climbed in and looked around the boxcar. He tried to disguise the pleasure he felt in anticipation of riding on the train. Sun slanted in through the vertical slats, falling on the stacks of some unidentifiable w
ooden objects that resembled boats.
What are those? said Cassius, pointing them out.
Pontoons, boy. Goin to the front, ain't that where you say you goin? said Freckles.
Where's the front?
Darkie gets on board, don't even know where he goin, said Sour Eyes. And he say he ain't no runaway.
Never been this far north.
Owlcrap.
Don't matter if you believe me, but I'm going after Lee's army, said Cassius, resigned to the hazing.
Well, you on the right train. This here the Virginie Central and we goin stop in Gordonsville. Army been through there couple weeks back, kicked up some shit with the bluebellies, said Freckles.
What're you boys doing here? said Cassius.
We the loaders, said Freckles.
The tall meager one cleared his throat.
All right, three of us loaders, them two is unloaders. We just ridin along, back and forth, army feed us sometimes, and this here better'n most roofs, said Freckles.
Noisier, too, said the tall meager one.
Now you a loader, too, said Freckles. Till you ain't. 'Less you want to be a unloader. But I'm warnin you, that job be crap.
The train lurched and Cassius was thrown against a pontoon. The loaders laughed, and the tall meager one offered him a hand up.
You git your train legs soon enough, he said.
The journey was a jerky stop-start ride that, around sharp curves, threw him against the boxcar's walls and would at one point have thrown him out the open door if one of the men hadn't caught him. Smoke blew into the boxcar, his eyes and throat burned and he struggled to breathe, but even that did not diminish Cassius's pleasure in the ride. They approached a bridge that spanned a deep ravine and he leaned far out the door, holding on with one hand to look straight down, and it was a very long way to the distant ground. He had never before been at such a height, and the experience frightened and exhilarated him. The river below appeared small, the trees minuscule, and, impossibly, a flock of birds flew beneath his feet between the girders. Something inside his chest urged him to leap into the air and join them in their flight. He shouted aloud with pleasure, not at all aware that he was making the noise. In time, as his initial enthusiasm waned, he watched the now flat landscape roll by with great curiosity. The land passed swiftly. He saw straight rows of crops stretch out and, by a trick of the eye, seem to repeat in a pattern so consistent it was as if the rows moved along with them. He sat there for hours, watching the world change, mile by mile. He had had no conception that the world was this large. They traveled so far that he expected to run directly into the army at any moment. In the evening, they approached Gordonsville, and he watched the setting sun drop behind mountains running south. Freckles sat down beside him.