"I sometimes forget the color of my skin and remember that I am a man.
"I sometimes forget that I am hated of man and remember that I am loved of God."
Frederick Douglass
…and Remember that I Am a Man."
The Life of Moses Grandy
A historical novel by John Bushore
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * *.*
PUBLISHED BY
John Bushore
…and Remember that I Am a Man
The Life of Moses Grandy
Copyright John Bushore 2010
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.
Books written by John Bushore can be obtained either through the author’s official website:
or through select, online book retailers.
* * * * *
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A MonkeyJohn Books Production
First Edition: January, 2011
The cover art is a depiction of the Lake Drummond Hotel, built in 1829 on the bank of the Dismal Swamp Canal, straddling the border between North Carolina and Virginia
To order additional copies of this book, visit the author's website at:
ISBN-13: 978-1453653807
ISBN-10: 1453653805
* * * * *
This novel is dedicated to the memory of Moses Grandy
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the following persons for their help, advice and encouragement in writing this novel:
Juanita Alexander
Betsy Davis Boling
Jacquelyn Bushore
Jeff and Jacqueline Falkenham
Steve Horton
Ingrid Parker
Richard Rowand
John Rosenman
Melissa Solzenberg
David Weimer
Tom Wright
* * * * *
A Slave in the Dismal Swamp
by Henry W. Longfellow
In the dark fens of Dismal Swamp,
The hunted Negro lay;
He saw the fire of the midnight camp,
And heard at times a horse’s tramp,
And bloodhound’s distant bay.
Where will-o-wisps and glow worms
Shine in bulrush and brake,
Where waving mosses shroud the pine,
And the cedar grows and the poisonous vine,
Is spotted like the snake.
Where hardly a human foot could pass
Or human heart would dare,
On the quaking turf of the green morass
He crouched in the rank and tangled grass
Like a wild beast in his lair
A poor old slave, infirm and lame,
Great scars deformed his face.
On his forehead he bore the brand of shame,
And wild birds filled the echoing air
With songs of liberty.
On him alone was the doom of pain,
From the morning of his birth.
On him alone the curse of Cain
Fell like a flail on the garnered grain,
And struck him to the earth.
* * * * *
Part One
The Pharaoh's House
Chapter One
In the Great Dismal—1792 A.D.
My name is Moses Grandy: I was born in Camden County, North Carolina. I believe I am fifty-six years old. Slaves seldom know exactly how old they are: neither they nor their masters set down the time of a birth; the slaves, because they are not allowed to write or read; and the masters, because they only care to know what slaves belong to them.
The master, Billy Grandy, whose slave I was born, was a hard-drinking man: he sold away many slaves. I remember four sisters and four brothers; my mother had more children, but they were dead or sold away before I can remember. I was the youngest. I remember well my mother often hid us all in the woods, to prevent master selling us.
The Life of Moses Grandy—1843 A.D.
Rebecca looked nervously over her shoulder. Last year, the first time she'd run to the swamp with her children, he'd let her get away with it, but he'd warned her not to try it again, threatening the whip.
A scrawny black woman with close-cut, wiry hair, Rebecca had no idea how old she was, but she'd born thirteen children, counting the two who'd not lived. Her drab, faded dress was of rough hemp. Her feet were bare. She carried a bundle, wrapped in an old blanket.
The Great Dismal Swamp surrounded Rebecca and her family like a damp, steamy section of Hell. The day was growing hot for early summer. As they walked, juniper, gum, and maple trees towered above. Sunlight streamed down on a vast, nearby marsh pond. Baldcypress trees grew directly out of the pond, spaced out like they couldn't stand being close to one another. At the base of each tree, roots jutted from the water like jagged teeth set to protect its privacy. Many were old trees, dead and leafless, their branches emerging like skeletal fingers from behind curtains of hanging moss.
The surface of the water rippled as fish fed on floating insects, causing expanding circles of tiny waves. Near the middle of the pool, the v-shaped wake of a swimming water moccasin moved along, only the snake's head visible. Large turtles watched from fallen logs as the humans passed. Every once in a while, Rebecca would see small birds flitting about in the bushes, but the birds never chirped, as though pleasant sounds were forbidden in the swamp. The world under the trees was eerily silent except for the sucking sounds of footsteps as she and the children followed a faint path through the mire. The dank smell of a primeval world rose about them.
She had awakened the children in the middle of the night and got them started well before dawn. They'd sneaked silently out of the Grandy slave quarters. By daybreak, they'd crossed the fields and entered the swamp.
Benjamin, the oldest child, led the way. He carefully kept to the faint trail they'd used last year when hiding out. Behind him, from oldest to youngest, came Mary, Tamar, Malachai, June, Jebediah and little Moses.
Shortly after entering the swamp, Rebecca had rubbed pawpaw leaves over the children to keep mosquitoes off. It had worked for long enough. By the time the protective coating had been washed off by sweat, the mosquitoes had disappeared, gone into the shady leaves to wait out the heat of the day. But then the biting flies had showed up and she didn't know of any plant remedy to keep those pests away. Soon the children were swatting at piercing bites, ten times worse than the puny stings of mosquitoes. Each puncture mark soon swelled to a lump the size of a half-penny.
The older children didn't complain. Slave children learned to suffer silently. Not the two littlest ones, though, not yet.
Jebby and Moses swatted and cried and screeched so loud she thought they'd bring the patrollers on them for sure. Finally she broke off a leafy branch and waved it over their heads, keeping the insects away. The screeching stopped, but the young ones didn't shut up entirely.
"Are we there yet?"
"I'm thirsty."
"Will there be anybody to play with when we get there?"
"I'm hungry."
"Mosey pushed me."
"Did not."
"Why are we in this stinky old swamp, anyway?"
She smiled, despite the noise. These were her babies.
Moses, a bright-eyed, lively four-year-old, was her youngest. He wasn't used to being outdoors. He spent a lot of time inside the Grandy house, playing with young Master James. The two children, black and white, had been born two days apart and Mistress Grandy had taken a shine to Moses. He didn't know how lucky he was. Other slave babies went to the fields with their mothers every day, carried in slings. Children were made to pluck worms off the tobacco leaves and squish them.
Jebby, although a year older, acted younger than Moses. He wasn't quite right and had to be coddled. In the fields, when Jebby was supposed to be plucking worms or making holes for tobacco seedlings, he'd forget and wander off. The overseer, had given up, and let Jebby stay with the little ones in the shade at the edge of the field, where they played with corncob dolls, sticks, feathers, or whatnot.
Rebecca and her family came to a fallen tree, its uprooted bottom standing sideways like a gigantic spider. Rebecca took another look behind and then called a halt. The little ones were about tuckered out.
The hole at the base of the tree had filled with rain. Unlike the water in marsh ponds, scummy and full of dead leaves, this puddle was clear. It was deep brown, but then all water in the swamp had that color. It had something to do with sap from the juniper roots, folks said. The older children quickly gathered around and began scooping water up with their hands and drinking it. Moses stood back.
"What's the matter with you, boy?" she asked.
"I can't drink that water, Mama," he said. "Somebody went potty in it."
"Hush, boy," she said. "There ain't nothin' bad in that water. It's as good as the farm pond."
"Why's it brown, then?"
Rebecca sighed. None of her other children held a candle to this one. Moses had a mind that never let up.
"All the water in the swamp is like that," she told him. "Brown don't hurt nothin'."
Moses peered closely. "There's bugs in it, too."
She shook her head. Moses would have to learn slaves couldn't be picky about the water they drank. White folks might drink well water, but a slave working the hot fields would be glad to get stagnant ditch water.
"Them are only tadpoles," she said. "You know, baby frogs. They don't hurt nothin'. But I'll get 'em out for you."
She eased her herself down on her knees and took out a scrap of fabric, turning to the child nearest her.
"Mary, you dip out some of that water and pour it through this here cloth."
Mary, a skinny-legged, somber child, scooped up water and poured it through the cloth in Rebecca's left hand. The small bugs and tadpoles were unable to pass through the thin fabric, and clear water dripped down into her cupped right hand. Rebecca showed the water to Moses and then drank it. "Yes indeedy-do, mighty fine."
"I still ain't drinking it," Moses said.
"I ain't drinkin' it neither," said Jebediah. It was a silly thing to say, because the boy had been drinking from the puddle moments before. But Jebby often relied on Moses for signs of how to behave.
"Pretend it's coffee," Mary told her younger brothers as she slurped water. "That's what I do."
"Why, you ain't never tasted no real coffee, Mary," Moses told her. "Best you ever had is chicory coffee."
That's Moses for you, Rebecca thought. Boy never quits arguin'.
"Just drink it," said Benjamin. He'd started doing man's work in the fields last year and was beginning to fill out with muscles. His voice was also growing deeper. "You drank swamp water last year, remember?"
"I did not," Moses argued.
"This water is good for you," said Tamar, a wide-eyed, light-skinned girl who considered herself an authority on everything. "I heard tell sailors come here and load this water in barrels to carry on their ships, 'cause it don't go stale. Folks who drinks Dismal Swamp water don't never get sick."
Moses pouted and squinted at her. "You ain't foolin' me, Tamar. That water prob'ly tastes same as poop."
"Suit yourself, then." Rebecca snapped. "The good Lord put this water here for you to drink. If you won't have it, then you'll go thirsty."
Benjamin had finished drinking. He stood and wiped water from his chin. "You oughta' be glad for this water," he told Moses. "It's better to drink water with bugs than get sold."
"Ain't nobody gonna sell me." Moses stuck his chin out. "Mama says Master promised he ain't never gonna sell me. He's gonna give me to Master James when we grows up, because we plays together, and Master James likes me."
"He didn't make no promises about your brothers and sisters." Rebecca spat on the ground. "And white folks ain't too good about keeping promises, noways. Help me up, Benjamin. Mama's joints went and got all stiff with the cold."
They set off again, skins glistening with sweat as they followed Benjamin like baby ducks waddling in a line. Again, Rebecca kept a lookout behind her.
When she'd heard a slave dealer was making his way through the county, she had lit out into the swamp with her young ones. If she and her brood could stay away for a few days, the slaver would be gone, and she would face no more than a few harsh words. Master Billy Grandy was a hard man, but Rebecca figured she knew how to handle him.
A while later, Jebediah whined, "I thirsty, Mama."
She took a deep breath. Darn that Moses! "Wait a bit, Jebby," she said. "I'll stop as soon as we find a good place."
"I'm thirstier than Jebby," Moses stated. "I'm so thirsty, I could drink a whole river, I bet."
Rebecca snorted. "You're the one what wouldn't drink."
When they came across another puddle, she stopped. This water wasn't as clear as the last, but beggars couldn't be choosers.
Moses knelt down and peered into the water. "Will you scoop it for me, Mama?"
"Why, of course, Moses," she said, sweet as maple syrup. "I wouldn't want you to fall in and drown, would I?"
"He's such a baby," Benjamin said, "the tadpoles would probably eat him." He let out a guffaw.
Moses stuck his tongue out. "I ain't no baby."
"Hush, y'all," Rebecca said. She knelt and scooped up water, then held it out for Moses. He looked to be sure she hadn't missed any bugs or tadpoles and then drank.
When everyone had drunk enough, she said, "Let's go sit on that hummock. We can have a mite to eat."
She found a log to sit on. The children crowded around. She opened her bundle and broke a piece of cornbread into small pieces. Moses gobbled his down. He picked up crumbs putting them in his mouth. "I'm still hungry, Mama."
"There ain't no more," Rebecca said.
"Are we goin' to stay here, Mama?" Malachai asked. "Is this where we're fixing to hide?"
"Lordy, no, boy," she said. "Ezekiel's shack is a mite farther up the trail." Ezekiel, a friend of Rebecca, was a shingle cutter who hired out to a lumbering company.
Mary popped a last crumb into her mouth and wiped her lips. "Will there be enough to eat while we're there?"
Rebecca nodded her head. "Shore 'nough. I'll sneak out into the fields at night and find us some tucker.
"I don't wanna stay in no swamp." Moses had tears running down his cheeks. "I wanna go home."
"Not 'til that slave buyer has left," Rebecca said.
Tamar asked, "How long do you figure, Mama?"
"I'm thinkin' three days. "
"Won't Master Billy be mad?" asked Mary. "He said last year that he'd whip you if you was to run again."
Rebecca gave a quick shake of her head. "I don't care. I'd druther take a lashin' than lose any more of my babies. 'Sides that, I don't think the Mistress would let him whip me."
"Master Grandy prob'ly wouldn't sell me," Benjamin boasted. "I work hard in the fields."
Rebecca whirled on him. "You get this straight, boy-child. Billy Grandy owns you, body an' soul. If he gets the right price, he'll sell you."
"Would he sell you, Mama?" Moses asked.
She looked down at her son and knew, one day, her heart would break for him. As it had been broken for others of her children when they'd been sold away. "Even me, baby."
*
Moses felt sick to his stomach at the idea. Mama would go away and never come back. Tears flooded down his cheeks. He'd never thought about Mama being sold. He'd once heard Master say to a neighboring farmer, "I'll never get rid of that one. Rebecca's a decent cook, works real hard and she's had a dozen or so whelps. And she's one smart nigger, too."
Thinking of that made Moses feel better. Master would never sell Mama. Moses was proud she was so smart.
Mama pulled herself to her feet and led off. Moses stayed close behind her, followed by his sisters and brothers, Benjamin at the rear. Mama said they didn't have to keep quiet anymore; they were deep in the swamp now.
The ground was soggy and Moses often stepped into shallow puddles, muck seeping between bare toes. It was fun. They went around the bogs when they could, but sometimes had to wade. That was even more fun. Even so, Moses wished he could be home, playing with Master James. Master James had lots of toys, and sometimes let Moses play with them.
While wading, Moses kept his eyes on the water for snakes. Except then he remembered there were other dangerous critters in the swamp, so he began watching all around.
"Look out," Benjamin suddenly shouted. "Gator!"
Moses, his heart in his throat, leaped for dry land, along with all the children. Except Benjamin, who laughed.
Mary put her hands on her hips. "That was mean, Benjamin."
"Y'all hush up," Mama said. "There ain't never been no gators seen in the Great Dismal. You chil'ren know that."
"You can't be sure, Mama," said Benjamin. "Maybe them folks what seen a gator, never lived to tell about it."
"You hush up," Mama said. "There ain't no gators."
Moses kept his eyes out, after that. What if Mama was wrong? What if a gator was to come up out of the brown water, big mouth snapping? Why did they have to come into this scary, stupid old swamp, anyway?
Before long, he began sweating. Not a breeze stirred to disturb the smell of mud and rotting leaves. Mama seemed to be following a trail, but how could she be sure they weren't lost? Every tree looked like every other to Moses. Every bog looked alike and every hummock seemed exactly the same.
When they came to the shack, Moses' heart sank lower than a skunk in a hole. It was a lean-to, made of juniper poles with the spaces filled with mud. Built on a hummock of dry land, it was about big enough for two grown men to lie down. To his horror, it was open on one side.
Mama didn't seem bothered. She put her bundle in the shed and said, "You young-uns stay here. I'm gonna go find us somethin' to eat. Y'all mind Benjamin, now, y'hear?"
Once she had gone off, Moses had nothing to do. Benjamin began messing with the shack, chinking holes with mud. Jebediah and Malachai went off in search of frogs, or turtles, or whatnot, but Moses decided to stay on dry land. It was warmer now and gators, he figured, would be looking for something to eat. And Moses had seen a few snakes, although none close enough to scare him. Snakes were terrifying creatures; there was something evil about a thing that slithered around. The water moccasins were the worstest, some so big and fat Moses figured they could eat a little boy's leg off.
From somewhere inside her clothing, Tamar pulled a corncob doll, and June came up with another one. The dolls had crude faces and wore scraps of cloth. The girls made up things for the dolls to do, such as cooking or sewing.
Moses sat down, pulled up his pants legs, and began plucking off slimy leeches. Some of them, bloated with blood, had been sucking on him for a while. He put them on the ground and stomped them, but then his feet were sticky.
Benjamin looked up from his work. "Why ain't you playin' with Malachai and Jebby?"
"Don't feel like it."
Benjamin laughed. "Scared o' gators, more like it."
"Am not," Moses said. "Just don't feel like playin'."
"Scaredy cat." Benjamin went back to work.
Moses wandered around a bit, then went back to the shack and asked, "There ain't really no gators, is they, Ben?"
"Course there's gators." Ben said, all serious-like. "But there's even worser things than gators, y'know."
Moses felt a chill. "Worser? What could be worser?"
"Pattyrollers." Benjamin nodded his head for emphasis. "That's what's you really better watch out for."
"What's a pattyroller?"
Benjamin leaned down and lowered his voice. "They's white devils, whiter than Miz Grandy's sheets, as white as haunts. They's got red eyes and yellow fangs and they's got long swords to chop off heads, that's what." He drew a finger across his neck. "And they ride fire-breathing horses that stomp little boys to death."
Moses gulped. "You're joshin' me, ain't you, Ben?"
"Nope. You'll see for yourself, sooner or later."
Moses, trying to act unconcerned, went and sat inside the shack, where nothing could get to him.
Mama was gone for a long time, returning just before dark. Moses and everybody jumped up and ran to greet her.
"What did you find, Mama?" Mary asked.
"I didn't get nothin', chil'ren," Mama said. "There was men riding the road and I didn't dast go out into the fields."
"Then what we gonna eat?" Moses asked.
Mama said, "I'm sorry, honey-child. We'll try again in the morning. I'm sure we'll have better luck."
That evening, Moses remained awake long after the others slept, sure his belly had got stuck to his backbone, it ached so bad. He and Jebediah slept with the girls in the shack; Mama and the older boys stayed outside. As the youngest, Moses had the place fartherest from the open side of the hut, but that didn't make him feel safer. If a bear was to come lumbering along, he reckoned it could easily reach past his older sisters to grab the most tenderest meat, which happened to be him. And an alligator would probably start at the front and then eat its way back to Moses with a mouth as big as a bushel basket.
But he wasn't worried about pattyrollers, he told himself. Ben was making them up. So Moses laid there and pretended to be a swamper. A swamper wouldn't be afraid.
The night outside was black and moonless. He couldn't see a thing, but from the noise, there was lots going on out there. Tree frogs peeped in numbers so large that they made an awful ruckus. Water frogs, which were larger, made a flat, long, rasping sound. Every few seconds, the deep, mournful croak of a bullfrog broke through.
After a while, Moses' ears grew used to the commotion and he began to fall asleep. Then a splashing sound brought him fully awake. Something was out there, just outside the shack. He heard another splash, then another. It sounded like something walking in shallow water. A Pattyroller, maybe? He put his arms around sleeping Jebediah, tucked in tight, and tried not to listen.
* * * * *
Chapter Two
Slaver—1792 A.D.
1st # free white males 16 year upwards and head of families
2nd # free white males under 16 years
3rd # free white females
4th # all other free persons
5th # slaves
Grandy, William......................1-1-3-0-18
Excerpt from Microcopy No. T-498 Roll 2
1790 Census, North Carolina
Camden Co, Edenton District
Rebecca got up before dawn, as always. She had spent most of the night shivering and dozing. She rose to her feet, stretching and moving her arms and legs about to warm her trembling frame.
The first thing to worry about was food. The children had eaten nearly nothing the day before. They had to have something this morning. She didn't want them to get like they did in late winter, after most of the food had run out, all bony and lazy-like, with rounded little bellies.
She knew about a stand of pawpaw trees, but it was too soon for the fruit to be ripe. She'd have to find something else. After looking to see that all the children were all right, she set off. After she'd gotten out of sight of the camp, she squatted, relieved herself, and went on.
She found some blackberry bushes shortly after the sun rose. She took the cloth she'd used to wrap the cornbread, and began filling it with the large glossy, berries to surprise the children when they woke up. They might get the trots from so much fruit, but that was better than starvation.
On her return trip, she knew there was trouble before she got in sight of the camp. Jebby was bawling his head off. As she drew near, she heard the murmur of her other children's voices and then heard the snorting of a horse.
She crept forward and saw her family clustered together. Two white men sat atop horses, staring down at the children. There were rifles and whips attached to the saddles.
Rebecca stopped for a moment. She could slip back into the swamp with them being none the wiser. But what good would that do? She squared her shoulders and stepped into view.
The two men reached for their rifles, but relaxed when they saw an old slave woman. They watched as she came up, their eyes cold and mean. She walked to the horses and stared up at the men, returning their cold looks with ice. She knew what they were. Patrollers. Pattyrollers.
The largest of the men, a gangly, sallow-faced man on a handsome roan, asked, "You Rebecca?"
"'Course, I'm Rebecca," she snapped, angry at herself for being found. "Who else might you be expectin?"
"Watch your mouth, nigger," said the man. "I ain't in no mood for no sass. I got better things to do than ride around all goddamned night lookin' for runaways. I didn't ask no goddamned court to appoint me to no goddamned patrol."
Jebby broke loose from the others and ran to her. He wrapped his arms around one of her legs, sniffling.
"We got the right to whip you," said the other man, shabbily dressed, with a pointed jaw and a mean face. He was so small that his stirrups were raised almost to the bottom of the saddle. "They's laws about runaways, y'know."
"That's right," the skinny man agreed. "Fifteen goddamned lashes, on the spot."
Mama stuck her chin out, one hand holding Jebby's head to her thigh. "That's what you gotta do, then go right on ahead an' do it," she said. "You jus' leave my chil'ren alone."
"Hoo," the whip man blew out a breath. "You sure are an uppity bitch, ain't ya? You're jus' lucky I don't want to have to drag you out of this goddamned swamp with your back all tore up. Now you gitcher goddamned pickaninnies together and march their goddamned little asses back home before I change my goddamned mind, y'hear?"
It took all morning to walk back to the Grandy farm. When they arrived, Master Grandy waited. He gave Rebecca a nasty look, then went over to talk with the two men. He gave each of the patrollers a greenback, and they left.
Master Grandy walked back to her, all angry-looking. "'Becca," he growled, "you know better. I warned you last year that you'd better not try none o' your shines again."
She bowed her head. "Yassuh, Massuh Billy."
"I'll deal with you later. For now, send little Moses up to the house to play with Jimmy and then get yourself and the others out to the fields. You've cost me more than a day's labor, and two dollars, to boot."
Master Grandy strode off. Rebecca looked down at Moses and said, "You heard the master. Get on up there." She hurried off, the rest of the children behind her. She tried not to let them see her crying.
*
"I heard you and your Mama ran away," was the first thing Master James said to Moses.
Moses nodded, looking around. Sometimes Mistress Grandy would leave out some scraps from the family meal for him to eat. He didn't see anything today, though.
"Well, it was a stupid thing to do." Master James showed an evil smile. "Papa said your stupid-nigger Mama is going to catch it."
Not wanting to show his anger at his mother being called stupid. Moses only nodded.
Master James dropped the subject. "We're going to play jackstraws today," he said.
There was no need to wonder who'd throw the straws down first. After he threw them down, Master James managed to pick up several straws without moving any others, but then made a wrong move. It was Moses' turn. He picked the straws up in a bundle and dropped them again. It was a good throw.
Moses saw a chance to pick up the black straw. If he could get it without moving any other straw, he'd have the edge. He would be allowed to pick up straws with the black one, which was easier. He started easing the black straw free.
Master James made sure he always won, and Moses had always gone along with it. But this time, Master James had called his mother stupid. Moses wanted that black straw.
"You know," said Master James. "Papa says he's gonna have your stupid mama whipped."
Tears of anger flooded Moses' eyes, but he kept his head down so Master James couldn't see. His vision blurred, he moved a straw next to the black one and lost his turn.
*
The morning after they'd been brought back from the swamp, Rebecca's eyes flew open. Someone was banging on the outside of their shack.
"Rebecca," a voice called. It was the overseer, Mister Riddick. "Rebecca, wake up."
"Yassuh?" She answered cautiously.
"Y'all are to stay indoors this morning."
She sprang off the corn husk mattress on the floor. "Oh, no, Mister Riddick. Not today." And then she realized it didn't matter. If not today, then some other day.
"And just to make sure," said Mister Riddick, as metal rattled. "I'm locking you in."
She heard him leave. After a bit, she tried the door. It didn't move. She leaned against the door frame and lowered her head. "What am I to do? What am I to do, Lord?"
"What is it, Mama?" Moses asked. "What's wrong?"
She didn't answer, but Benjamin's quavering voice came from the corner. "They must be a buyer coming."
It was a good thing they had a jar of water to drink from and a rusty old pan for the other thing, because they waited for hours.
Finally, Mister Riddick, a short, burly white man with a bald crown and thick black beard, came and ordered Rebecca to line the children up outside the shack, and then go back in. She did as she was told, and watched from inside the doorway as the sun beat down on her brood. Their dark skin glistened with sweat, but they knew better than to complain. Mister Riddick waited in the shade of a nearby peach tree, a short whip in one hand, the one he used out in the fields. She wondered who was watching the workers while he was here.
Today, she'd rather be toiling in the hot sun than waiting for the slaver. She and the other adults and the older children would be hoeing weeds out of the cotton fields. Children too young to hoe, but old enough to work, would be plucking tobacco worms. Children too young, like Jebby, would be left to play at the edge of the field. Infants either rode at their mothers' hips or lay in blankets out of the way.
But Rebecca wasn't in the fields, not this day. After a time, a wagon came down the lane. A small, rat-faced white man held the reins. A handful of black men walked behind the wagon, strung on a chain. Master Grandy came from the main house to meet him and brought him to where Mister Riddick waited. The slaver had a set of manacles attached to his belt.
"Here they are." Master Grandy waved towards Rebecca's children. "All fine, healthy whelps."
The slaver stood off a bit, hands on hips, and looked them over. He walked over to Mary. Master Grandy followed, while Mister Riddick stayed under the tree.
Grinning, Rat-Face felt Mary's scalp through her thick hair, ran his hands over her breasts and haunches, then reached inside 0her skirt and touched her there. She closed her eyes and set her teeth. Rebecca felt her bile rise, but there was nothing she could do.
"Don't like a white man touching you down there, gal?" the rat-faced man asked. "I bet you give plenty of this to the bucks on the farm."
He must have squeezed, because she winced in pain.
The slaver pulled his hand out and laughed. "She's a prize this one. I might buy her for myself next trip."
Rat-Face and Master Grandy started down the line. Benjamin was next. The slaver looked him over. "Too old."
Master Grandy's jaw fell open. "Too old? He's not even full-growed. He's got many a year of field work in him."
The slaver gestured toward the wagon. "I don't need any more field workers this trip. Got enough already."
"Then what are you after?"
"I've got a client who wants a male for a house-nigger. She ain't concerned if he's old enough, just yet. She wants a little one that ain't picked up too many bad habits."
A slight hiss escaped Rebecca. If the rat-faced bastard was looking for a young male, why did he have to stick his hand in Mary's crotch?
The master nodded. "Ah, so that's why you asked to see Rebecca's whelps."
Rat-Face nodded. He paid no notice to Tamar, or June, but when he came to Malachai, he stopped. "Open your mouth, boy."
Malachai obeyed and the slaver looked in his mouth.
"Shut it." Rat-Face reached out with both hands and pulled down the skin beneath Malachai's eyes. "Seems healthy enough. Turn 'round, boy."
Malachai did as he was told.
"No scars," said Rat-Face. "A mite too old, though."
He stepped past Tamar and June, coming to Jebediah.
"This is more the age I'm looking for," he said.
Jebediah squirmed and looked back at Rebecca. She motioned for him to turn around, afraid he might be slapped if the slaver took his confusion for disrespect or disobedience.
The slaver examined Jebediah. "He might do."
Then he went to Moses. It made Rebecca proud that Moses held his head high and looked the slaver in the eye.
"Open your mouth, boy."
He looked into Moses' mouth, checked his eyes and then checked his back. As he did, Rebecca waited for Master Grandy to say he wasn't for sale, but the words never came.
Then the slaver said, "This one's too young," and she breathed a sigh of relief, even though she knew one of her children would be taken away.
Rat-Face stepped back in front of Jebediah, who again turned around to look at Mama, fear and puzzlement in his eyes.
"What's your name, boy?" asked the slaver.
Jebby turned back around. "J-J-Jebby."
"What kind of name is that?"
Master Grandy cleared his throat. "His name is Jebediah." He sounded nervous. Rebecca knew why. Jebby could never be a house slave; he wasn't smart enough.
"Well, Jebediah," Rat-Face said, "Are you so dumb you don't know to call a white man 'master?'"
Jebediah looked back at Mama again and she heard him whimper.
"I'm talkin' to you, boy. Answer my question."
Again Jebby turned, a rat in a corner, not knowing which way to go. His lower lip quivered. "Wa-wa-wa?" A dark stain began to spread on his pants. He had wet himself.
Rat-face started, then bent down and looked deeply into Jebediah's eyes. "What are you trying to sell me, Grandy? This one is a half-wit."
"He's not as dumb as he pretends," Master Grandy said. "He…"
But Rat-Face was back in front of Moses. "What's your name, boy?"
"M-my name is Moses, Master."
Rat-Face nodded and smiled. "I'll take this one. How much you want for him?"
* * * * *
Chapter Three
Peach Tree—1792 A.D.
"Now, then," inquired one of Tibeats' companions, "where shall we hang the nigger?"
One proposed such a limb, extending from the body of a peach tree, near the spot where we were standing. His comrade objected to it, alleging it would break, and proposed another. Finally they fixed upon the latter.
Twelve Years a Slave, Narrative of Solomon Northup, a Citizen of New York, Kidnapped in Washington City in 1841, and Rescued in 1853—1853 A.D.
Rebecca slumped against the doorway and closed her eyes. Not Moses, Lord, she prayed. Not my baby.
"Well, I don't know," she heard Master Grandy say. "I hadn't figured on selling this one."
She felt the aching sensation inside her chest ease. Thank you, Lord, she thought. The master had remembered his promise.
"I'll give you a hundred for him," the slaver said. "That's a lot for one this age."
Master Grandy said, "This is a smart little nigger, here. Make it one-fifty."
A giant, invisible hand squeezed Rebecca's chest.
"A hundred twenty-five," offered Rat-Face.
The master nodded. "Done."
"Put your hands out, boy." The slaver took the manacles from his belt.
Rebecca watched in astonishment and grief. This wasn't supposed to be happening. Moses began to cry.
"I said put your hands out, boy."
Moses sobbed, but put his arms straight out.
"Stupid niggers," the slaver said to Master Grandy as he put the first cuff on. "Why do you have to tell them everything twice?"
Rebecca bolted from the doorway, rage boiling inside her. "Not Moses," she screamed. "Not my baby."
The slaver looked up, but it was too late. She was upon him. She pulled on his arm.
"Get away from me, woman." Rat-Face tried to shove her away. She began to claw at him, determined to kill him.
Rebecca and Rat-Face whirled around, each pulling on Moses. She scratched like a wildcat as the sound of Moses' bawling tore at her insides. The slaver kept hitting her with his free hand, but she didn't feel it. She tucked her head down and kept fighting as blows rained down on her head and shoulders.
Suddenly, someone grabbed her by the waist and pulled her away. Master Grandy! He spun her around and threw her on the ground. She landed on her back and the breath left her body in a grunt.
The slaver shoved Moses to the ground, and then started kicking Rebecca. He wore boots. Each kick felt like a sledgehammer as it connected with her sides, chest or stomach. She curled up in a ball and heard herself begging, "Not my baby. Please, not my baby."
From the corner of her eye, she saw someone rushing up fast and thought someone was coming to help kick her. But it was Benjamin! Fury on his face, he reached for the slaver.
"Go back," she screamed. "Stay out of this."
Suddenly, Benjamin's head snapped forward, his eyes went blank and he crashed into the dirt as if pole-axed, not five feet from where she lay curled. Mister Riddick came into view behind her son, the heavy whip-handle in his fist.
The slaver continued kicking her. Each blow felt like it broke bone as the punishment slowed, then stopped.
Rat-Face stood over her, gasping. She couldn't see him, but she sensed him. Drops of wetness fell on her cheeks and, with satisfaction, she realized it was the slaver's blood.
"Damn your eyes," he said, breathlessly. "Damn your worthless, nigger eyes."
"Are you all right, Mister Talbot?" asked Master Grandy.
"That she-wolf scratched the hell out of me."
"I'm sorry, Mister Talbot," Master Grandy said. "She was upset"
Her vision returned and she saw the slaver using a dirty bandana to wipe blood from his arms. His skin had been marked by long, deep gouges from elbow to wrist.
"Upset?" The slaver's voice rose "I don't give a damn if she was upset, Grandy. Can't you control your niggers?"
Master Grandy spun around. "Mister Riddick, lock that boy up, then go on up to the house. Get Samantha down here. Tell her to bring her medicines."
Rebecca wondered which boy they were locking up, then realized he must mean Benjamin. He'd attacked a white. Even though he hadn't actually touched Rat-Face, it probably meant a whipping.
"First things first," the slaver said. "Let's get the little nigger over to my wagon and hook him on."
Rebecca eased her tucked position and turned to watch. Rat-Face stepped over to Moses. "Get up."
Moses bawled as the slaver yanked him up and began dragging him away. Looking around, Rebecca saw Mister Riddick taking Benjamin off someplace. Jebby was on the ground, curled up. The other children stood in a group, crying.
The white man dragged Moses over to his wagon, adding him onto the chain of slaves. He looked tiny among the group of black men, who were nothing but blurs to Rebecca. Those men didn't matter; they were outside her world.
Rat-Face walked back to Master Grandy. Samantha, who bound up cuts, removed splinters, cut hair and otherwise tended to those on the farm, came running up with her basket of medicines.
Mistress Grandy ran behind her, holding her skirt up out of the dust. Her harsh, high voice filled the air. "William Grandy, what is the meaning of all this
Master Grandy turned to his wife, his face red. "Why, er, nothing to concern yourself with, my dear. We were merely conducting a business transaction, when one of the slaves…" he gestured toward Rebecca. "…went amok and attacked poor Mister Talbot, here."
Mistress Grandy turned and looked. "'Becca? I can't believe it. Why would that sweet woman turn vicious?"
"I have no idea," Master Grandy said. "You know how niggers are. Can't trust any of them."
Rebecca couldn't see Mistress Grandy's face but when the mistress put her hands on her hips and cocked her head, her eyes had probably narrowed. "You sold one of her children, didn't you, Billy?"
Master Grandy began to sputter something, but his wife pressed on. "That's it, isn't it?"
"Why, it's nothing to concern yourself, my dear," the master said.
Mistress Grandy ignored him and looked over to Rebecca's teary-eyed children, obviously taking stock.
"Where is little Moses?" she asked.
"Now, Selma…"
"Don't 'now, Selma' me, William. Where is Moses?"
"He's tied onto my wagon, Missus," Rat-Face said. "I done bought him fair and square."
Mistress Grandy turned and looked toward the group by the wagon. She must have noticed them when she walked down from the house, but little Moses was hard to see through the legs of the grown men around him. Rebecca saw the mistress's lips set into a thin line.
She whirled back. "I don't care what you two have been up to. That one is not for sale."
"I done bought him fair and square," Rat-Face repeated. A whine had come into his voice.
Mistress Grandy's voice went cold as the river in January. "Have you paid the money for him, yet?"
Master Grandy and the slaver looked at each other, then Master said, "Well, no, but…"
"That's it then," Mrs. Grandy snapped. "William, you know very well that little Jimmy will cry his eyes out if you sell his playmate. You tell this gentleman to let Moses loose."
Anger appeared in Rat-Face's eyes. "Is that what you want, Grandy?"
Master Grandy nodded. "I guess I sort of forgot I'd promised not to sell that one. Turn him loose and we'll find another one to suit you."
"All right, then, have it your way," the slaver said. He jerked his arms away from Samantha, who had begun to tend his wounds. Stomping over to the wagon, he unhooked Moses. As soon as he was free, Moses ran back to his brothers and sisters, who welcomed him with open arms. Rebecca smiled. The beating she had taken had been worthwhile.
But that was not to be the end of it. As Mistress Grandy and Samantha returned to the big house, Master Grandy and the slaver went at each other in low voices. Rebecca couldn't hear most of what they were saying, but could tell the slaver wanted a "deal," after what he'd been through. Then both men nodded and approached the frightened young ones.
"You!" Master Grandy said, pointing at Malachai. "Come here."
Malachai went stiff, his eyes like those of a frightened deer. He made no move toward his master. Rebecca lost all hope. Stopping them from selling Moses had only forced them to choose another.
Master Grandy didn't bother to repeat himself. He stepped forward and pulled Malachai away from the others. The slaver took out manacles again.
Within minutes, money had changed hands and the slaver's wagon departed down the lane. Rebecca sat up to watch. Malachai looked back, tears running down his face, until he passed out of sight.
Master Grandy turned to Mister Riddick. "Get the field hands in. I want every God-damned buck and wench back in the quarter."
Mister Riddick nodded and left. Master Grandy looked down at Rebecca and she turned her head, unable to face that merciless glare. She heard footsteps as he stalked off toward the main house.
The children gathered around and helped her up. With her family supporting her, she managed to get back inside. She sat down on their plank bench, cuddling the children as they gathered to her. Moses grabbed her lower leg and squeezed, crying harder than he'd ever done. Jebby attached himself to her other leg and bawled just as loudly.
*
Rebecca prayed. She had not been born a Christian, had not even heard of God until, as a young girl pregnant with her first child, she had listened to a wandering free black preacher from the north. who had held a secret meeting in the nearby woods. Once she'd heard that God would keep a place in Heaven for her, where she would be free, she had accepted Jesus as her savior. After a long while, Mister Riddick's voice sounded from outside the walls of the shack. "Rebecca, you and your young ones get out here."
Jebby began to wail. He might not be smart enough to know what was going to happen, but he had enough sense to know it wouldn't be good. Even as an infant, he'd seemed unusually sensitive to the moods of those around him.
"Hush, Jebby," she said. "We're going to go out there with our heads held high."
Painfully, she pulled herself off the bench, shuffled to the door, then stepped outside. She sensed her children behind her.
She looked around in the dazzling sunlight. It was well past noon now and even hotter. Every slave on the farm, including the hired hands, had been gathered. Mister Riddick stood waiting, a length of rope in one hand. Beyond him, Master Grandy waited by the old peach tree, slapping a whip against his leg. He didn't look like he'd settled down any. To her surprise, young Master James stood beside his father.
"Come with me, Rebecca," said Mister Riddick.
She turned back to her young ones, who had tears running down their cheeks. "It'll be all right, children."
She followed Mister Riddick to the peach tree, the oldest fruit tree on the farm. Quite a few branches had died back, but undersized peaches still hung from surviving limbs. They were ripening early, as fruit does when it's shriveling or full of worms. The peaches had borers in them; she could tell from the holes where sap leaked out. The children had been looking forward to eating these particular peaches because Master Grandy wouldn't bother harvesting wormy fruit.
When they reached the tree, Mister Riddick lifted one of her hands and tied a rope around her wrist. He put the rope over the lowest branch of the peach tree, then tied her other hand so that her arms were above her head. She noticed big, new bruises on her arms.
He stepped behind Rebecca and grabbed her thin dress with both hands. With one motion, he ripped it from her body, the old, thin cloth parting easily.
She heard gasps as the dress fell away. She lowered her head and looked down upon sagging breasts, stretch-marked belly and protruding ribs. Surprised, she saw deep purple and black discolorations all over her torso. The other slaves hadn't gasped because of her nudity, but because they'd seen the bruises.
Rebecca normally didn't mind that her children gazed on her nakedness. They'd seen their mother's body before, many times. It couldn't be helped when everyone lived in one room. The boys had seen all their sisters naked, and the other way around, but nobody gave it a thought. They were family.
This was different, though. Somehow, being forced to be exposed turned it into a bad thing.
She turned her head to the left, seeing the slaves who had been gathered. Her children had joined them, still crying. She scanned the crowd for a sight of Benjamin, but didn’t see him. Had they locked him in one of the sheds, waiting for his turn under the whip?
Looking to the right, she saw Master Grandy and his son, James, a few feet away. Master Grandy looked right through her and addressed his slaves, his face still red and angry. He spoke in a loud voice
"This woman, Rebecca, attacked a white man today. I have gathered y'all here to witness her punishment. Since she's not given any trouble before this, I shall be merciful today and only ten lashes will be given. But each and every one of y'all, take note that disobedience or disrespect will not be tolerated." He held out the whip. "Mister Riddick, you may carry on."
Mister Riddick went over and took the whip. Most whips were fashioned with a thin strip at the end, for driving oxen or horses. They would be snapped above a team of animals or used lightly on the rumps of more stubborn creatures. This whip was different. The end had been knotted several times. It would do more than make noise.
The overseer went behind Rebecca, where she couldn't see him. An overwhelming silence came over the slave quarter, but she wasn't sure if it had truly become that quiet or if she couldn't hear anything for the roaring in her ears. Numbness overtook her and time seemed to have lost meaning.
It was like a dream she had once had. She had fallen in the river and drowned. All feeling had stopped and time stood still. Is this what it's like to be at peace, to not suffer or worry? she had wondered. It seemed the same, now.
She was jolted out of her reverie by searing pain, accompanied by the slap of leather on flesh—her own flesh. She screeched. Cursing herself for daydreaming and not preparing herself for lash of the whip, she was still screaming when the next blow fell. It took her breath away, breaking off her cry.
She whimpered, "Oh, please, Jesus, plea…"
The lash came again before she could finish her prayer. Again she screamed.
In the moment before the whip struck again, she tried to regain control of her emotions. She'd seen several whippings over the years and the victims had reacted in different ways. Some had blubbered for mercy, others had screamed but a precious few had borne the lash in silence, glaring at their masters. She had always believed she would be one of the strong ones.
But when the knotted whip struck again, her mouth opened wide and she screamed so loudly her throat burned. It felt as though the whip had traveled all the way through her body.
With every bit of concentration she could muster, she broke off her wail and turned toward her children. They huddled together, with their eyes covered by hands, or their heads turned away. Except Moses. His eyes were on Master Grandy and they spoke hatred.
The sight of her children reminded her that Benjamin was not with them. Would he be the next to endure the whip? If so, it would be harder to bear than taking the punishment on her own skin.
Make me strong, Lord.
When the whip hit again, she managed to keep her response to a grunt. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but they were not for her. They were for Benjamin.
The whip fell again, and again she managed to stifle the scream that wanted to erupt from her lungs. How many lashes had she taken? Five? Six? She had lost count.
Turning to her right, she saw Master Grandy through her tears. The anger had left his face, and his lips were set in determination.
He'd always been a fair man. Would he stop if she begged him? Perhaps. But if she took all her lashes, he might listen later, when she begged mercy for Benjamin. He had a son of his own. Maybe he'd be kind
She looked down at Master Grandy's son. James stood with one hand holding a crease of his daddy's pants, leaning forward to watch. His face had a rapt expression she might have expected of someone watching a cockfight. He was enjoying the event.
* * * * *
Part Two
The Wilderness
Chapter Four
Auction—1800 A.D.
The first time I was separated from my mother, I was young and small. I knew nothing of my condition then as a slave. I was living with Mr. White, whose wife died and left him a widower with one little girl, who was said to be the legitimate owner of my mother, and all her children. This girl was also my playmate when we were children.
I was taken away from my mother, and hired out to labor for various persons, eight or ten years in succession; and all my wages were expended for the education of Harriet White, my playmate. It was then my sorrows and sufferings commenced. It was then I first commenced seeing and feeling that I was a wretched slave, compelled to work under the lash without wages and often, without clothes enough to hide my nakedness.
Narrative of the Life of Henry Bibb—1849 A.D.
When Moses started up the steps to the auction block, the chain between his ankles caught and he nearly fell. Large hands grabbed him from behind and yanked him upright.
"Watch your step, boy," a gruff voice said. "You won't fetch much with your head busted open."
Moses looked up the steps. Taking a deep breath, he drew in the sweet, spicy, tang of cured tobacco. He saw the roof beams high above, where bundles of tobacco leaf hung every fall. But the New Year had come and the latest crop was gone, barged down the Pasquotank River to the Albemarle Sound for shipment across the ocean. The rafters were bare.
Shafts of brilliant sunlight pierced the wide chinks in walls, illuminating the interior of the large building. Dust motes sparkled as they danced in the air currents like moths in firelight. Moses had the sensation of standing in dense woods, sunbeams dappling through rustling leaves. He almost expected to hear the trilling of birds as he started up the steps.
Numb from sleeping on the cold ground, and light-headed from not having had anything to eat that morning, nothing seemed real to Moses. The smell of tobacco leaf—the smell of home—made him feel safe, as though he were truly in that pleasant grove of dancing sunbeams.
His head came up level with the platform. Wispy white clouds rose from the other side. He heard a soothing murmur, like rain on the roof of Mama's shack. Another step, and he saw the heads of many white men. The murmur of falling water turned out to be their low-voiced conversation. The clouds were cigar and pipe smoke, rising in the cool air.
The men milled about in front of the auction block, talking, gesturing, spitting, and smoking. Most wore the sturdy clothing and floppy hats of farmers, but a few wore coats and ties. Moses went up the last two stair treads and stepped off.
A small, gangly boy with chestnut-colored skin, Moses was the last of the slaves put on the block today. He stared at his feet, as he always did in front of whites, but someone reached up from behind the block and popped his pants leg with a switch. "Keep your head up, boy."
At the sound, many of the men turned and looked up at Moses. Most seemed disinterested, but some stared appraisingly.
Moses was being put up "for hire." The hiring-out auction was always held at the beginning of the year. The year 1800 had started the day before, Moses knew. All the whites had been talking about the new century for weeks beforehand. It was supposed to be important for some reason.
Moses took small comfort that they weren't selling him "down the river," to join the slave gangs in the deep south, where cotton plantations needed more slaves because of some new invention called a "cotton gin." Being sold away to the Deep South was akin to going to Hell, the older slaves said, because no one would ever come back from either place.
But even though he was only going to be hired out, just being on the block was enough to scare the begeesus out of him. Not to mention having shackles on his legs, the sheriff's way of making sure he didn't run. Moses couldn't help but think of older brothers and sisters, sold in years past.
Moses had hoped never to be on the auction block at all, but old Master Grandy had died a couple of years back. Moses had been left to Master James. Since Master James was a minor, he wasn't judged fit to handle slaves, so the state had taken over.
North Carolina law required that any slaves of a minor must be hired out, year-by-year, until the young master reached adulthood. The white men of Camden County had gathered here today to hire slaves for a one-year term; the money would be paid to the young masters—minus the state's auction tax.
Not all the slaves belonged to minor masters, though. Some belonged to adults who wanted cash money from hiring their workers out, rather than supervise the slaves themselves.
The auctioneer, a bald, portly man with a gray goatee, brought himself to the business at hand.