by John Keene
“Well, Ma’am,” I said, “Mr. Edward Linde give me his carte de visite and told me if I want to work for him when he was working for Professor Lowe, I should contact him. I ain’t—didn’t—know how to do that except come here so here I am.” I passed the card through the gate to her, dropping it onto the opened fan. She stared at the face on it, scrutinizing it as if to make sure that it was her brother’s visage peering back at her, and then at me, then passed it back. “Mmm. Truly irregular. But then these days the whole world is upside down, and then there is my brother. So Neddy gave you that card?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I say. “At the Academy, most exactly.” I felt sweat rilling down my brow and neck again so I patted myself down. I realized I could use some water.
The white woman stood, cooling herself with the fan, saying, “It’s scorching today, isn’t it?” then “We can’t blame the rebels for that.” She turned away and I wondered if she was going to head back into the house without saying anything else, but she stopped and told me over her shoulder, “Well, Theodore, I will give my brother and Mr. Peter Robins your message that you came to the house and are ‘eager to work.’ Where do you stay, should they conceivably supply a response?”
“Thanks, Ma’am.” I started smiling but restrained myself. “I live on Lombard Street, Ma’am, Number 723, second floor. 723 Lombard Street, in this city, with my mother Mrs. Emma Riley King and my brother Jonathan, who is employed at Kahnweiler’s General Store and the Academy. I sincerely would like to work for Mr. Edward Linde if he need me.”
The white woman continued looking back toward me just enough that I could read her brief half-smile as she proceeded toward the house. At the stairs the man I took to be Anatole materialized in front of her. He said quite loudly, “Everything all right, Miss Katharine?”
“Yes,” she answered, and with her fan gestured toward me. “I’ll pass on his message to Neddy and should he have a response, someone will have to relay the message to him.” She disappeared past Anatole into the house. Soon as she was inside Anatole scampered toward me, still behind the gate, and, nearly spitting, said, “Listen here, boy, don’t you never come rolling up at the front door of this house, never again, y’unnerstand? Never. And get your little black ass away from this back gate too, before I count to ten? If the police don’t knock all the teeth out that smiling mouth I sure in the hell will.”
I didn’t answer him but left, almost whistling, and thought about calling out, “Anatole,” but instead I headed back east to Washington Square to find a place to sit and, despite the heat, read the handbills and any discarded newspapers, and listen to speeches about the war.
A week passed, then two, no word from Mr. Edward Linde or anyone else. Then came the first days of September, though still no substantial cooking or catering positions. I put in at the House of Refuge, where I heard there was an open slot, and because they were always taking in orphans and bad children the work would be steady, but when I went back to inquire they apologized that they didn’t yet have anything available. An honest job is an honest job, my Mama kept saying, so you best just keep hitting those streets, and I once again thought of seeking something at Kahnweiler’s, or, come to worst, even casting my lot with Dandy.
That first Saturday of the month it was so late when I got home it was already dark out and I couldn’t believe I had walked what felt like half of Philadelphia, all the way down Passyunk to the County Prison then over to the Schuylkill then all the way up to Girard College, where I practically begged to join their kitchens, then hobbled all the way back down Broad, not a single street car stopping for me, my legs and feet hurting so badly I was ready to cut them off. I came upon Mama, framed by the lamplight’s glow, sitting in front room with the Misses Allen from upstairs. Soon as I greeted them all she said, “Theodore, somebody brung a letter for you,” and I immediately worried it might be a summons from the police for what happened with Dandy, or maybe for Dameron’s clothes that I completely ruined and still had yet to pay for. I said, “Yes, Ma’am, where is it?” and she said, “Right there on your bed,” and there it was, a long tan envelope, addressed to “THEODORE KING.” I ripped it open and read:
Friday, August 23, 1861
To Theodore,
This missive is even by the usual standards of my Correspondence a most eccentric Exchange, but I just received a note from my dear sister, Katharine, stating that she had forgotten to tell that you had come to my Father’s house enquiring of me. I initially was unaware of whom she was speaking, until she made mention of the Academy, Professor T. S. C. Lowe’s lecture, and my near-brother Peter Robins, and thus I recalled your peculiar yet delightful display of Memory, and my comments to you that Saturday afternoon.
As things stand in our continuing contributions to Science in the Defense of our UNION this corps fortunately does need Hands, though I cannot but certify my Good-Will and a miniscule Purse as guarantee. Peter kindly enquired of your arts and talents, and wrote that in addition to your memorial Skill you are also a Cook, which any corps must need, though we also have need of Elbows to undertake related tasks, of which I know you will not suffer undue abuse.
You will have to make your Journey to military headquarters in the Capital, and there interrogate where to find me. Peter has said that you may use his name alongside mine, should this matter still bear your interest. Please carry this Letter, and the Warrant it represents, along with my Carte de Visite, on your person in any case, and as I have gone on too long, Sapientiae Scientiaeque,
Edward Harrison Bartram (von) Linde, A.M., A.M.
Technical Assistant to Professor T. S. C. Lowe
United States Army Balloon Corps
I had to read the letter several times to understand it fully, but once I did I decided that I was headed down there. I waited till after service on Sunday to mention the offer to Mama, who told me I was ten times more of a fool than she ever thought she could raise, because what sane colored person would ever risk his life to go down into the bosom of the slavers? She wept as she admonished me think before acting so rashly, then wept again when I said I would not change my mind. Jonathan, who had witnessed the exchange, responded that he didn’t think I was a fool but instead probably trying to fool him and everyone with my claim. The next day in the park after he got off I shared it with Horatio, who began bawling like I had never seen him do before and assured me he was going to pray I never ended up in the traitor’s arms, before narrating to me how when they captured me they would bind me and whip me before having their way with me as punishment. I replied that I was planning to leave for the capital soon as I could figure out a way there. I had saved up some money but I doubted I could afford the railroad or was even allowed to ride on it, and also did not think I could afford a horse or coach ride.
That evening and for several afterwards I read the Bible, which I seldom did, to find a divine answer to my quandary, feeling reassured when I came across passages such as when John says in 14:31, “Arise, let us go hence,” and the 91st Psalm, verse 11, with its clear affirmation: “For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.” I tried respectfully to ignore Mama complaining about my foolishness to Misses Janie and Lucie Allen, or to my aunt, her younger sister Dorothea, who dropped by at the beginning of every week to relate what sounded to me like the same stories about the rich people she worked for and the poor people she worked with. Instead my mind kept turning on the axles of Mr. Linde’s letter and Professor Lowe’s lecture and the aerostats and Washington, the war, and how more than once over the years I had seen peo
ple drive the abolitionists out of Independence Square but now they often stood and listened, sometimes politely, a few even cheering, as the men and women, black and white, assured listeners that we would all soon be free.
A few days later I left Horatio at the Arcade where, when we met up after he got off from the upholstery shop, he wouldn’t stop shouting that I was behaving with pure lunacy, though he also confessed that he had been dreaming of heading south with me too. As I departed Washington Square I heard a voice utter just above a murmur, “Red,” and looked over to see my cousin Dandy, in a doorway, hat tilted low on his head, his charcoal jacket and trousers rendering him a shadow: “Where you heading?” I walked over to him and answered just as softly, “I’m trying to figure out how to get to Washington.” He said, “Running from somebody?” and I shook my head, said, “Naw, Cuz, I wanna go work with the Army,” and he said, “Colored can’t sign up for this war.” I answered, “I’m gonna work mess,” and he beckoned me closer and whispered in my ear, “I need to get out this town, been thinking about Buffalo or Boston, but seeing as all the commotion happening down there Washington’ll do.” I stepped away from him, a bit incredulous, and asked him, “How?” Dandy looked around us, and said as if each word would vanish soon as he uttered it: “Can you meet me here in three days as close to 6 pm as you can manage?” “For sure,” I replied and he added, “Bring whatever money you got but don’t tell nobody, just leave your Mama a note and a couple bits for rent, make sure you put something in your stomach,” then he asked me my birthday and concluded, “We’ll be in Washington faster than you can say Abe Lincoln.”
Though I doubted Dandy’s scheme would come to anything I did exactly as he said. I packed a few things each day while Mama and Jonathan were at work and counted out my money. When I left I had to go upstairs to borrow a scrap of paper, a quill and some ink from Miss Lucie Allen to write my letter, and grew so nervy I wanted to take a stroll but instead I heated up a potato and ate it, drank water, checked twice that I had put out the stove. Soon as I heard the church bells ring 5 I split to meet my cousin. Since I arrived early near where I saw him the day before, I milled about, finally asking a white man the time. He told me quarter to six, so I walked up to the square then raced back, counting the minutes, and right on the hour I saw Dandy there in the doorway, dressed as if he worked for the railroads, with a leather saddle bag and a second cloth bag slung over his shoulder. Dandy said, “We heading to the depot down on Washington,” which I knew meant the Philadelphia Wilmington and Baltimore one, so I started up the street and Dandy said firmly, “No, no, Cuz, they coming for us,” and he slipped back into the shadows till a cab came, the horse rearing when it stopped abruptly. Dandy ordered me, “Get in, fast,” and we did and sped down Seventh to Christian, before I knew it we were at the depot. Dandy said, “Stay close, and whatever you do, from now on anybody talk to you keep your mouth shut.” We went around the rear of the station, where we met a brother Dandy talked to for a few minutes, until he hailed me over, saying, “Okay, give him some change.” I did, then Dandy gave him some more money from a roll he had concealed somewhere, and something else wrapped in burlap and twine, though I knew not to ask what it was. The man ushered us to a luggage car on a train bound for Washington, and whispered something in Dandy’s ear, said we would know when we get to the capital because that was the last stop, these days no trains ran on to Virginia. We settled in behind some crates, curling up as tiny as we could. Another brother came in and spotted us but didn’t say a thing. Eventually we heard the whistle, the train began to move. Once we were pulling out Dandy handed me a little pocket watch, all filigreed silverplate around the edges, a small cream envelope, then a swig of liquor from his flask. I sat up, listening to the music of the wheels along the track—
—And Dandy woke me saying, “Red, Cuz, gather your stuff up, let’s go.” Soon as the door gaped, he said, “Make it,” and the two or three men stepping to unload the crates and luggage glared at us as if they were seeing ghosts, but Dandy said something so fast I didn’t catch it, he winked and gestured to them with his fingers, and they let us pass. As we scurried out I saw white men dressed in different kinds of uniforms, probably all military, as well a lot of our people too. I counted what appeared to be twice as many as at home. I asked Dandy, “Are they slaves? “ and he said, “Probably free as we is in Philly,” then he added that we had to get to Q and 9th Street before sundown. He asked one of the men for some water and where we could relieve ourselves, then we exited the station. The city was nowhere as built up as Philadelphia and unlike the initial perception the station offered appeared to have considerably fewer people. Neither of us was sure what direction we were facing so Dandy said, “Take out that watch.” He stood so close I could feel his hot, sweet breath on my cheeks. He wrapped his arm around me as if cloaking us in invisibility and said, “See, on the back you got a little compass, so whatever you do don’t lose your papers and don’t lose this.” I swore to him I wouldn’t. I also saw that we were facing South and there, looming right in front of us, atop a hill ringed by buildings, was a gigantic white building with an unfinished dome. Astonished, I asked him, pointing to it, “Do you think that’s the President’s House or the Capitol?” Dandy shrugged. “Cuz,” he said, “you got to act like you from here,” so I dropped my arm, though it took me a minute or two to stop staring.
I glanced at the compass again. “Which way we sposed to go?” Dandy said, “They say due north up New-Jersey.” We searched, as inconspicuously as we could, until we found that street. We started walking, not really talking because I could tell Dandy was striving hard to appear as ice as possible while also paying close attention to everything around us. He was not listening to anything I was saying, not about how much emptier and dirtier the capital was than Philadelphia, how there were twice as many soldiers everywhere, how every other person appeared to be like us. Most of them nodded in our direction and I made sure to nod back, but Dandy only tipped his hat and pressed forward, though every so often he would ask how I was feeling, if I needed any water or anything else.
All the while I was counting the street letters as we headed north, the grid not unlike Philadelphia’s, thirteen blocks we crossed, the buildings thinning out eventually to meadows and pastures, dense thickets of alders and hawthorns, stands of oaks and ailanthus broken intermittently by shacks and lean-tos, almost like the far northeast or southwest parts of our own city. A strange thought struck me and I asked Dandy, “How you know there ain’t no Confederates hiding in these bushes or trees,” and he answered, “Cuz, you know I like me a joke but not one like that.” I consulted my watch-compass and told him we needed to walk in the direction of the cluster of buildings to our west. Before I knew it we were there. As soon as I saw the condition of the structures, crude edifices of wood and tin, and towards the backs tarpaulin tented to extend some of the dwellings, I wondered were we really going to stay here? though I trusted Dandy. He approached and spoke with a couple of rough-looking men and a woman outside one of the buildings, a shack that could only generously be labeled a house, but I remained where I was until he called for me. “Here where we staying, Red,” Dandy said, and introduced me to a short, dark walleyed man with a pointed beard named Cyrus, and a pretty woman in a yellow headwrap and dress named Eliza, who invited us inside. They seated us on stools around a stove and fed us, all the while questions about how we were feeling, but nothing about Philadelphia or the trip down. I remembered what Dandy had told me and let him talk, smiling but politely maintaining my silence.
Since we didn’t have a map we had no idea where Army headquarters
or the Balloon Corps might be, so I began creating a chart in my head of the streets we walked that first week. Where we were staying was in the colored section, Uptown, near the city’s northern boundaries, but I walked down to Mt. Vernon Square, to the President’s House at Lafayette Square, to the Capitol Building near where we first entered the city, to the Naval Observatory which perched on the edge of the Potomac. I took care to avoid attracting the notice of the soldiers, on guard nearly everywhere I wandered, same as I did the police, whose attention I crossed the street to evade. I spoke at length with no one except our people unless I had to, and none of them paid me any special mind. I remembered not to go beyond U Street north of where we were staying, nor anywhere near the Navy Yard, which was, Dandy warned, swimming and shooting distance from Virginia. He would come and go and somehow also knew his way around, which at first I didn’t understand since as far as I knew he hadn’t ever been beyond New-Jersey, but my father did used to say that like his father Dandy’s mind ran like the finest phaeton but he wasted it on crisscrossing the sewers. I knew never to ask what he was up to, especially when he returned one evening with papers saying he was “Anthony Smith,” and made me vow from now on when we were around other people I should make sure to call him that.
End of our first week I was walking back from the mall that stood in front of the Smithsonian castle—and not even Philadelphia had a building that could match—and an local officer ordered me to stop and when I tried to slip away seized my arm and demanded my documents. After he read through them the tiny blue eyes pricking his pink face scanned me up and down, then he reviewed the documents again, asking with a twang, “How do I know these papers are your’n?”
“Well, Sir,” I answered, “them is mine sure as Mr. Lincoln is the president and Washington is the capital of the United States of America.”