Sweetsmoke

by David Fuller

  I'm fine, said Cassius. He could not remember a moment in his life when a white man had asked about his condition. It was an odd feeling.

  So you were a teacher.

  "War started and I wanted to do my part before they came after me, I mean, I don't own no twenty niggers, and I didn't have no six hundred dollars to buy a substitute to fight in my place like some of the planters, so I thought I'd just go. Joined the Nineteenth Tennessee."

  A bell rang in Cassius's head. The night before, James Purcell had said he'd joined the 19th Georgia. When he'd said he taught school in Tennessee, Cassius had let that pass, imagining Purcell had gone to Georgia to enlist when that state seceded. Now he knew the man was telling tales. While an innocent explanation might be forthcoming, Cassius kept this knowledge to himself. Purcell wouldn't have known, in the dark, the color of his companion. Cassius might have been military, might have ordered him to his unit, so a lie might have been in order. It was also possible that James Purcell was a harmless storyteller. He might have suffered a head wound, leading to legitimate confusion, although Cassius saw no scars. By tomorrow he might wholeheartedly believe he had deserted from the 19th Alabama.

  They kept to the main road that ran into the center of town, leaving behind farmland. Cassius lowered his head, but furtively scrutinized everyone who passed him, on foot or by buggy. No one seemed interested in him, until he noticed, half a block ahead, a young man wearing a small bowler hat. The young man had a great red mustache that covered his mouth and part of his chin, making him resemble a goat. The red goat stopped dead and looked directly at him. Cassius turned his head away, but a shiver ran down the backs of his legs.

  He walked with Purcell past the occasional home until buildings began to cluster creating a business district. As they passed an alley, Cassius thought that he saw the red goat again, and he had an overwhelming sensation that the man was following him. Cassius became so obsessed with his presence that he almost missed seeing a brick slave auction house on a perpendicular street to his left. They continued on for half a block when, without warning, James Purcell stopped.

  "I don't know that I can go another step. I need to eat soon."

  Cassius nodded.

  "Thought I saw a place on that last block. Why don't you have a sit down and rest your feet, I'll go back and have a look. Maybe they'll serve us both instead of you having to be out back."

  Cassius entered a patch of shade in an alley where he wouldn't be conspicuous and he scanned the street up and down for the red goat. No sign of him. He looked back in time to see James Purcell turn right onto the perpendicular street they had just passed. Cassius began to move. Purcell had turned in the direction of the slave auction house.

  Cassius walked in the opposite direction as rapidly as he thought could be interpreted as casual, but he was not quick enough, because a moment later James Purcell and a slave trader came on the run, rounding the corner behind him.

  "Fugitive slave! Fugitive slave!" James Purcell yelled, and the fat slave trader joined him in the chorus, "Stop him, fugitive slave, by law it's your duty to stop him!"

  Cassius ran full-out. He turned at the next corner and his eyes darted, for places to hide or alleys to utilize. He needed to get out of sight, but he had to be careful not to trap himself. He felt the lack of food as his weak legs struggled to reach top speed. His arms pumped but felt soft, as if the bones had turned to rope. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the slave trader round the corner, a man whose profession gave him the wherewithal to eat and drink in prodigious quantities, and yet for all his girth he ran easily. James Purcell was not with him. Cassius pushed harder. He ran by people who didn't understand or hadn't heard the man yell "fugitive slave," and were therefore slow to react. He glanced back again and James Purcell was finally around the corner, too weak to keep pace with a slave trader who made his living in chases. Cassius wished he knew the town so he might make smart choices. He could only run and turn randomly, hoping to get far enough ahead of the slave trader to duck out of sight.

  People in front of him were beginning to understand the situation, and two burly men squared up to intercept him. He saw them crouch, shoulders close together, and knew that he faced real trouble. He had seconds to decide. They waited, he was close now and he faked left and went right. The man on the left bought it, and shifted, opening a small space between them. The man on the right was not fooled, keeping focused, staying in front of Cassius, reaching for him. Cassius made one last move, going between them instead of around, and the men, off-guard, grasped for him and caught each other and he was past. Women scurried out of his way. In one case, in her hurry, a woman blocked another man from getting to him, and both man and woman tumbled in the street.

  Just ahead, he saw the red goat. His heart sank. The man had been on to him from the moment Cassius walked into town, and now he would grab him. Cassius began to slow, looking for some way around him, knowing he could not retreat, as that would lead him back into the arms of the slave trader. The red goat, however, did not crouch or set his feet, or do anything to intercept him. Instead, he brought his hand deliberately to his earlobe and tugged on it. Then he turned and walked quickly around the corner out of sight.

  What had he seen? Cassius had mere seconds to make a decision as he ran toward the spot, wondering if the red goat would grab him at the corner or if something else was in the offing. Shedd's words returned to him. Had he witnessed a signal? Was the man part of the Underground Railroad? Or was he scratching an itch, indulging a nervous habit? Cassius reached the corner, decision upon him. He could keep running from determined townspeople compelled to capture him by the Fugitive Slave Act, or he could trust Shedd and hope this man represented an escape. He turned the corner. The red goat hovered in a doorway. The street was momentarily empty. The red goat tugged his earlobe again, an obvious and deliberate gesture, and Cassius hoped he wasn't a slave chaser imitating Underground Railroad tactics. Cassius hurled himself at dumb luck and followed him through the doorway. The red goat closed the door behind him and raised a finger for silence.

  Cassius struggled to be silent as he fought to catch his breath. The red goat cracked the door and watched the street. Cassius heard the slave trader. "Fugitive slave, where is he?!" He had stopped in the middle of the street, turning in a full circle.

  The red goat closed the door and gestured that Cassius follow him, then led him up a flight of stairs to a dining room. At the far end, using his fingernails, he struggled to pry something loose from the wall. After a moment, a waist-high panel of wainscoting came free and revealed a hidden space. Cassius went inside. The red goat left, then returned with a lit lantern, which he passed in to Cassius. He replaced the wainscoting and Cassius could only see the square edges of light. He heard the red goat's footsteps walk away.

  He inspected the hidden space. Blankets were piled on a bench and smelled of fresh soap. A pitcher of water sat near the opening, while at the back was a clean chamber pot. Cassius thought none of it had been used before.

  Cassius heard a pounding at the door downstairs. He heard the red goat's footsteps as he descended the stairs, heard him speak to someone, then heavier footsteps came up the stairs and tramped through the rooms. Cassius waited to be taken. They came to the dining room and he heard a man say, "You see, no one is here but me."

  Gruff words were exchanged, but the heavy footsteps retreated. The front door closed. It was a while before he heard fingernails clawing at the wainscoting.

  "You are safe for now," said the red goat. "My name is Bill Bryant and I help the Underground Railroad."

  Cassius decided to offer little information. Bryant would make assumptions. That was fine.

  "We will get you to Canada. We've had great success with our route, and our conductors have yet to lose a passenger. Now I just want to tell you, so you won't be concerned, that my wife will be coming back shortly. When she arrives, the door will open. I promise you, it will only be her, nothing to worry about; it won'
t be the slave catchers coming back. Nothing to worry about, she's an abolitionist as well. In fact, she once spoke with Harriet Beecher Stowe. May I offer you tea?"

  Bryant took down two cups and two saucers from a cabinet and set them at the table.

  Cassius thought that Bill Bryant was likely a nice man, despite his frightening visage—the heavy mustache, the grim eyebrows—but he detected no humor in this young man whatsoever. Bryant spoke as if to make certain that Cassius understood that he considered him an equal. In a cruel assessment, Cassius thought Bryant would be more upset to commit a social faux pas with a passenger than to lose him to the slave traders. Cassius had preferred the company of the devious rat James Purcell. For all his disingenuousness, he was at least entertaining and considerably more comfortable in his own skin, able to tell tall tales with sincerity.

  The front door opened, and despite Bryant's warning, Cassius did start, dropping his tea cup, which clattered against the saucer loudly. Bryant quickly had a towel in hand and wiped up spilled tea as he spoke soothingly, nothing to be concerned about. Bryant's young wife came up the stairs and bustled in, petticoats rustling, her tiny round face consumed by unmistakable joy at his presence. "Praise the Lord!" she said.

  Ma'am, said Cassius.

  "The entire town is positively abuzz with the news of the commotion. I only prayed we would get you in time," she said. "I ran all the way here!"

  "I was lucky to be there when he was running," said Bryant.

  I was lucky to be running where he was being, said Cassius, attempting levity.

  But she was as completely earnest as Bryant. "Oh, you were lucky indeed," she said, and reached out to take his hand and look into his eyes.

  Cassius smiled and sighed inside. Two of them.

  Bryant and his wife excused themselves elaborately to step into another room. They returned together to face him.

  "We want you to know that you are welcome, most welcome, to remain here as long as you like," she said. "As long as you need."

  I appreciate your help, ma'am, but I best be going soon as possible, said Cassius.

  She smiled widely, and turned to look at Bryant, as if this was the most perfect answer imaginable.

  "Perhaps in a few days," said Bryant.

  Better tonight.

  "They know you are still in town, they'll be waiting for you," said Bryant.

  "That dreadful man Griggs is across the street. He watches us," said his wife.

  Yes, I see, said Cassius, and the news that the house was under surveillance made him more determined to leave.

  They closed every curtain in the house. He sat with them, all three at the same table, for a meal, and he was grateful to eat well for the first time since his journey began. But their style of food preparation was unusual, and he found the meal bland, as they used little salt; the provisions in the quarters were packed in salt to prevent spoilage. They served him wine in a glass with a stem. The Howard family owned such glasses, but Cassius had never used one, and it felt delicate and awkward in his hand. He had to concentrate to be sure to keep it upright so that the liquid did not spill. He had also never tasted wine, and it paled in comparison to the whiskey he bought from the patrollers, albeit much less abrasive. He watched them eat and attempted to imitate their actions as well as their manners. He found Bryant's excessive use of a cloth napkin confusing. He was grateful when the meal came to an end.

  He learned that they had been married for less than a year; that they had each come from families with money; that they alone, in each of their families, were abolitionists and that they had moved near the border intentionally to help the Underground Railroad. He finally stopped paying attention as they told him the rather standard stories of their young, brief lives.

  They led him to a bedchamber where he was to sleep and shut the door behind them, speaking quietly to each other as they moved down the hall to their own room. Cassius could not have been more uneasy. Never in life had he slept in what the planters thought of as a bed. It was high off the ground, with wooden legs and an open space underneath, and he feared if he didn't fall through the middle of it, then he still might slip off the side while sleeping and land on the floor. He found he could not fall asleep, and spent much of the night at the window observing the street. He identified two men watching the Bryant residence. By morning he had been forced to use the chamber pot, which was set inside a wooden commode that had pillows set on top to cushion the seat. As he was unable to step outside for any purpose, much less to use the privy, he could not dispose of the contents. The idea of a white man or woman emptying his slops made him deeply uncomfortable.

  The following day, there was no end to their politeness, no moment where their hospitality was anything less than ideal. No sign of tension had flared up between them. Nothing suggested that this awkward situation in any way reflected on their temporary guest. He was grateful for their kindness, but he found it easier to be in the company of hostile planters. In that situation he understood the rules and was able to act accordingly.

  Bill Bryant went out and brought back a newspaper that was a few days old. They read aloud a story about the Confederate invasion of the North, and how, in the town of Urbana, Maryland, J.E.B. Stuart had invited charming young women from a Female Academy and thrown a dance for his officers. During the dance, word came that the Yankees had attacked a Confederate position a few miles away at Hyattstown. Stuart's cavalry had left the ladies, leaping upon their horses to ride into the night, putting down the attack, only to return fresh from battle to the Female Academy, where they continued the dance.

  "That is unimaginable, unthinkable," said Bryant's wife.

  "Unthinkable," said Bryant.

  Cassius was secretly amused by the tale, a perfect example of Southern gallantry. He thought again that the South would not lose the war, exhibiting such dash in the enemy's homeland. He wondered if Jacob had been among the cavalry, as in his previous letters he had mentioned that the 7th Virginia Cavalry on occasion rode with Stuart.

  Cassius asked Bryant's wife: Will others come to this stop, to be conducted north?

  "Yes, if we're lucky," she said.

  "Yes," said Bryant, "if we're very lucky."

  I see, said Cassius.

  "Although perhaps not soon, as we do have spying eyes upon us," she said.

  I'll go tonight, said Cassius.

  "Tonight?! But that would be out of the question. What about the men, what about them?"

  They want me here, thought Cassius. I could live out the rest of my days right here in comfort. I am the abolitionist prize to be awarded to the most virtuous.

  Smart to go sooner than later, said Cassius. They know I'm hiding, they think I'm here. If I didn't go immediately, then they'll know you won't move me. They don't expect anything now. In a day or two, maybe.

  "You make an interesting point," said Bryant's wife. "Let me speak to my husband."

  Bryant and his wife huddled again out of earshot. Bryant returned alone.

  "Of course, we hope to eventually guide you to Canada and freedom. But we recognize that you make an excellent point," said Bryant. "I will conduct you out after dark."

  Bryant laid out a plan that included back windows and fast horses. His wife joined them and Cassius listened and nodded.

  A fine plan, said Cassius. You have thought it through and it is admirable. But there are times when it is best to be simple. If Madam might complain of a malady.

  "But I am perfectly well," said Bryant's wife.

  "My wife is never ill," said Bryant.

  A summer cold, said Cassius. And if Madam would wrap herself in a shawl and cover her head with a bonnet while keeping a handkerchief at her nose, she might depart the front door for a visit to a doctor.

  The Bryants exchanged confused looks.

  Madam returns home, then departs once more so the men across the street will be well acquainted with her attire, said Cassius.

  "I believe I understand," said Bryant
to his wife.

  Would you say the sun sets behind your home?

  "Why yes I would."

  Would you say it then would be directly in the eyes of someone on the far side of the street?

  "Why, yes. At this time of year, that would be the case," said Bryant.

  Cassius had seen that very circumstance the previous afternoon, and knew it to be so.

  At sunset, I would ask to borrow your shawl and bonnet, ma'am, and Mr. Bryant, perhaps you might bring the carriage around front. The men will be blind in the sun and I will wear the bonnet and the shawl and hold the handkerchief to my face. You might wish to instruct your horse to walk, respecting the Missus's malady.

  Bryant and his wife looked at each other.

  "That is a fine plan," she said.

  Once we're gone, ma'am, you need to stay indoors, said Cassius.

  "Of course."

  Sunset came, and Bryant did as Cassius suggested. Cassius wore the shawl with his own hat and haversack hidden beneath. The sun blared into the faces of any curious onlooker across the way. Cassius had to admonish the nervous Bryant to drive slowly, very slowly.

  * * *

  Chapter Seventeen

  Bill Bryant intended to transport Cassius to Edward's Ferry and cross with Cassius playing the role of his body servant. He informed Cassius that from there, they would report directly to an Underground Railroad station in Maryland at Poolesville. He had been informed that it was the house with the Jocko, a small painted statue of a black groomsman. If a green ribbon was tied to it, or if it held a flag, it was safe to enter. A red ribbon would warn them off. From there someone would guide him through the intolerant North up to Canada.

  Cassius expressed his heartfelt appreciation for all that Bryant had done, and then suggested they cross where Lee's army had crossed. The red goat was appalled at the suggestion, but Cassius pressed on, as it would be more difficult to find the army once he was embraced by the Underground Railroad. He appreciated them for all they had done and all they planned to do, and wished they had been the ones to help Joseph, but Cassius had other plans; any strategy that would guide him to his freedom was in abeyance. Cassius looked in the decent eyes of the good man and said that if there was trouble, he would pretend to be a Confederate officer's body servant working his way to the front lines. Bryant nodded.