by Michael Ross
Left with his family, Luther felt torn in two. How could he leave them? Yet, how could he go and risk capture and death? Did Jackson know what he was talking about, or just repeating vague rumors he’d heard? How would they eat? How would they elude the patrols?
The sound of Irish shouting shattered his indecision.
Flanagen roared, “What’re ye creepin’ about? Ye black imp of hell! I should flay you alive and use the skin for bootblack! On yer feet! We’ll get to the bottom of this!”
Luther knew he had minutes before the dogs would be on them. Flanagan’s wrath would seek a new direction. If Flanagan caught him, he would be out for revenge. Urging his mother and sisters, they crawled on all fours swiftly toward the bushes at the road’s edge. Then, looking both ways, they sprinted across the road and into the forest. Luther’s head was spinning from the effort.
THE CLOUDS THICKEN
June 1859
Will’s stomach tightened. He had not been feeling well the last few days. He had survived his first two exhibitions with the Rifles, but today was special. Jenny would be watching, and had invited him to her uncle’s after the show. Will had gone buggy riding with her twice, and started meeting her after university classes ended for the day. He enjoyed her wit and sense of humor. He tried not to show it, but he could feel himself attracted to her. She showed a surprising knowledge of horses for a girl. Today he was supposed to lead his squad in the load and fire drill. His uniform itched. He feared soiling it by throwing up. He was determined not to miss today’s exhibition. Their captain, John Morgan, would also be there to review the troops. As he turned the corner, carrying his rifle and walking toward the university grounds, he almost bumped into Joe Breckenridge.
“Hey, Will! Good to see you,” said Joe, extending a hand. “Haven’t run into you much since our last hunting expedition.”
“Oh, hello, Joe! I guess since we don’t have school together in the summer, I just haven’t run into you. I’m still working at the store and the farm.”
“And the uniform tells me you’re doing something else as well.”
“Yes, Captain Morgan asked me to join the Lexington Rifles. I’m going to the university grounds to put on a show now. Why don’t you come?”
Joe thought hard. “All right, I’ll come and watch—but as far as I know, Morgan’s group is pro-slavery. You might want to think about what you’re getting involved in there.”
“Captain Morgan is for Kentucky and believes each state has the right to determine its own destiny. Anyway, this is mostly for show.”
The boys fell into step together and in just a few minutes arrived at the parade ground, where people were already gathering, and there were twenty or thirty other green uniforms. Will was cursing himself for inviting Joe now, since there would be one more familiar person to witness if he failed. He excused himself and quickly found the privy at the edge of the field. Emerging, he felt queasy but slightly more solid on his feet. As he walked over to take his place, he spied Jenny standing by the rail and waved at her, receiving a smile and wave in return. His heart fluttered, but he told himself to concentrate on the task ahead. He reached his squad.
Lieutenant West bellowed, “Company, attention!”
Will fell into his spot along with all the others, making a perfect line.
“Order arms! Shoulder arms! Company, march!”
Will marched with the others, but again his stomach lurched, and he tried not to stumble, to keep in step. The commands came faster, and some of the moves became more complicated. Morgan often told them that cavalry sometimes had to function as infantry, and they should know how to do it. They might not look crisp and smart on the battlefield, but they had learned to obey quickly and without question. As his squad wheeled and passed Ben Drake’s, he almost did not notice a foot stuck out to trip him. At the last second he gave a decidedly unmilitary jump to avoid the foot, earning a rebuke from the sergeant, but not loud enough for everyone to hear. After what seemed an eternity, he heard the commands, “Halt! Present arms! Parade rest!” Now was his moment.
“Company C! Support arms! Shoulder arms! March!”
Will led his group forward, four abreast. Morgan chose his group because they now all had muskets or rifles.
“Halt! Prepare to load!”
As the commands came, Will was to be the first in his line to load, ram, and prime his rifle. The others would follow his lead within a fraction of a second. It would appear simultaneous to those watching, if done correctly. They loaded patch and powder but no actual bullet, to avoid shooting spectators. Will’s hand shook a little while pouring the powder, spilled some, but managed it in the required time. He knelt to fire as the line behind him started their loading process. He felt his stomach wobble and barely avoided vomiting and dropping the rifle as it fired.
After the exhibition concluded, and his company dismissed, he shakily walked toward the sidelines. He could feel the heat of fever. Jenny came over with her uncle, Dr. Simpson. Joe Breckenridge and Archie Moodie, a member of Will’s company, approached from the other side.
Archie spoke first. “Good recovery there, Crump! I saw what Drake was trying to do. You outsmarted him. You’re a credit to the Rifles!” He clapped Will on the shoulder, making him stumble a little. “Say, Crump—are you not well?”
“J—j –just a little queasy, I guess.”
Jenny reached out and touched his forehead. “Why, Uncle Tim, he’s burning with fever!”
Dr. Simpson examined him briefly. “Joe, Archie, please help me get him to the buggy. Archie, will you take his rifle?”
“Sure, Dr. Simpson. Let’s go, Joe.”
Each put one of Will’s arms over his shoulders and guided him to the buggy, with Dr. Simpson and Jenny following. Once he was in, Will suddenly sat up and said, “Albinia! I’m supposed to pick up Albinia!”
“Shh! Lie back. We’ll see to your sister,” said Dr. Simpson. “Can either of you boys go over to the livery, get his ox team, and pick up his sister at the dress shop?”
“I’d surely like to help, but I got to get home to help my pa,” said Archie.
“I’ll go,” said Joe. “It’s not that far from the church, I can let my pa know.”
“Good,” said Dr. Simpson. “I’ll come out and pick you up in the morning.”
“And I’ll come too, if Uncle will let me?” said Jenny imploringly.
“Of course, my dear,” said Dr. Simpson.
✳ ✳ ✳
Albinia locked the dress shop and dropped the key into her reticule. She turned and scanned the street, and saw in the distance a wagon with oxen approaching. She assumed it might be Will, amid the bustling horse and foot traffic. As the wagon drew closer, she recognized with a start that her brother was not driving.
“Miss Crump, your brother sends his apologies, but he is not well. Dr. Simpson has seen to him, and if you accept, I am to escort you home,” said Joe, climbing down from the wagon.
“Mr. Breckinridge, isn’t it? The parson’s son?” asked Albinia.
“Yes, ma’am. At your service.”
“Under the circumstances, I appreciate your assistance. What’s wrong with Will?” she asked worriedly.
“I’m not entirely sure, ma’am. He was at the exhibition with the Rifles. Afterwards, he just suddenly took ill, fever and all. Doctor took him home.”
“Then please take me there as well, as soon as may be.”
Albinia accepted his help into the wagon, noticing his curly hair and courtly manners. She had seen him at church, of course, but never had any occasion to converse. She could not help comparing him with David Horner. David was so intense, but this young man seemed reserved and polite, with just a hint of humor and mischief in his gray eyes. She knew he was Will’s friend but little else about him. She settled herself in the wagon and watched as Joe expertly guided the oxen through the busy streets. In the gathering twilight, people hurried home to their suppers. Joe took a route she usually avoided, past the Cheap
side slave auction block, deserted this time of day. There was a stench from the nearby slave pens, where men, women, and children sat in shackles, staring vacantly into the evening. As they turned onto Broadway, moving toward the Versailles Road, Albinia saw a movement in the alley. Three or four Negroes walked into the alley from the road. The last one nervously turned and looked back, eyes growing wide as he recognized Albinia. It was Luther.
Albinia hesitated and then told Joe, “Stop the wagon!”
Without waiting for help, she jumped down and headed toward the alley. She heard Luther tell the others to run, as he turned back to face her.
“Luther! What are you doing here? You’ll be picked up as a runaway!”
“Please, Miss Albinia, just get back on that wagon! Don’t draw attention to us! They after us, and we got to get away!” pleaded Luther.
“You’ll never make it! Don’t you know you’re right near the slave market now? Any one of those drivers could see you and pick you up! You’re in great danger!”
“I know it, Miss Albinia. But the dawgs won’t find us among all these other slaves. But my momma just cain’t go back to that man! I got no time to explain, and I got to try! Please, just leave me be! Pretend you never saw me!”
Albinia was frightened, and torn. Suddenly, she made up her mind.
“Come get in the back of the wagon, under the hay and the tarps. I know someone who can help you. If there are dogs tracking, they’ll never find your scent if you’re riding in the wagon. Bring the others. Hurry!”
Fear, anger, mistrust, and hesitation crossed Luther’s face and eyes. Luther quickly decided.
“Momma! Livia! Bring Clara and come. I know dis lady, she gwine to help us,” said Luther.
“But Luther, you heard Jackson, not to trust…,” said Jemima.
“Ain’t no time to argue. Those dogs, we ain’t got rid of ‘em yet, I reckon. Come!” urged Luther.
And with that, they all came. Joe’s eyes got big as they emerged from the shadows, and he started to protest. Albinia shushed him, abandoning propriety.
“Joe, I know Luther. He wouldn’t do this without a good reason. You don’t have to be part of it. Luther can drive the oxen, and if he’s with me, we won’t be questioned. I wouldn’t ask you to risk yourself. Thank you for what you’ve done and being a good friend to Will. But now you need to go,” she said firmly.
“No. I’ll stay. Get them in the wagon and tell me where to go.”
Albinia was frustrated and afraid, but there was no time to argue. She helped Luther and the others into the back of the wagon with the hay and covered them with canvas, working quickly. Albinia got David’s card out of her reticule, and by lamplight read the address to Joe.
“Don’t hurry the oxen, Joe. We want to look normal, just heading home after picking up supplies. When we get there, put the wagon in the back in the alley. I’ll go find David, and he’ll tell us what to do next.”
Darkness fell over them like a heavy cloak. Joe’s hand shook as he lit the lantern on the front of the wagon, and remounted. Albinia knew he was afraid but he had decided to stay, against her urging. The streets were clearing out. People were in the homes. The slave patrols might come through, but wouldn’t check a wagon with two white people in town before curfew. Her heart pounded, her throat was dry. What if David wasn’t home? What if a patrol came by as Luther got out of the wagon? What if David didn’t want them, or didn’t know a place for them to go? If caught, she and Joe would go to jail. She didn’t want to think about what would happen to Luther and his family. Under her breath, she started praying, praying for God to shield them from prying eyes. The oxen seemed to move in slow motion, and any moment she expected to hear the harsh laughter and challenge of a patrol.
After what seemed an eternity, but was really only about fifteen minutes, Joe pulled the wagon into an alley. Albinia whispered to Luther to keep still and be quiet. Joe helped her down and waited with the oxen. She went up the back stairs of the building and saw the light of an oil lamp through the window. She knocked on the door, tentatively, then louder. At length she heard footsteps, and the door opened to reveal David, looking sleepy and haggard.
“Miss Crump?” David looked confused and surprised. “What brings you here? And at this hour?”
“Mr. Horner, I apologize. I didn’t know who else to turn to. I ... I ... have some friends, with me. Negro friends. Runaways, I think. I need help,” she stammered. “B ... But if you won’t help me, I’ll take them anyway. Will you help?”
David looked first surprised, then grimly amused. “You’ve taken a great risk coming here. For all of us.”
Disappointed, she said, “All right then. If you won’t help, sorry to bother you. I thought that after the other night….” She turned to go.
“Just a moment, Miss Crump. I did not say I wouldn’t help you. This is not the ordinary way of doing things. Anyone might see you here. Come in quickly, while I make ready.”
Too frightened to protest about impropriety, she let herself be ushered into a small parlor, simply but elegantly furnished. A small Chippendale slant desk and chair were against the wall, with the single oil lamp on it. Papers were strewn across it, as though she had interrupted him in the midst of correspondence. A red trimmed rug, slightly threadbare, was in the center of the floor, and two side chairs in the corners.
David disappeared without a word into a room, and she waited nervously. When he emerged, she barely recognized him. He wore a battered straw hat, overalls, and a flannel shirt. A gray wig poked out from the straw hat, and smoke curled up from a corncob pipe. The glasses were gone. His green eyes sparkled with laughter at her astonishment. She noticed he wore a holster with a cartridge belt. The holster had a long barreled revolver in it, and he carried a double-barreled shotgun, and a jug.
“Evnin’ ma’am! Allow me to introduce meself. Edwin Stoddard at your service,” he said in an Irish brogue with a mock bow. Then seriously, he continued in his normal voice, “If you’re going to do this, learn to disguise yourself. Never be someone recognizable. Come, we haven’t much time.”
She followed him obediently back to the wagon below, still too astounded to say much. She finally spoke up and wanted to introduce Joe, but David stopped her.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s best I don’t know your name, sir. You’ve obviously been assisting Miss Albinia, as any gentleman would do. However, I strongly suggest that you leave. Walk or if you must, take the bay horse from that shed just over there,” David said pointing. “Go a different way than you came, and Godspeed. There’s no need for you to take further risks. Quite frankly, where we are going is not a place that you should know about.”
Joe looked conflicted. “I’ve come this far. What do you think, Albinia?”
She flashed him a special smile. “Joe, I think you’ve already done far more than could be expected. This was not just a simple ride home you’ve given me. Please, do as our farmer friend here says,” she said, glancing sideways at David. “I’ve already endangered you enough. Please.”
Joe helped her into the wagon and then said, “All right then. May I come and see you and Will soon?”
Albinia was in a hurry to be off, and her head muddled. She wasn’t thinking about the import of these words. “Of course. Come soon. I know Will would want to see you. And thank you!”
Joe walked off into the gloom, further down the alley. Albinia watched David mount the wagon and lay the shotgun across his lap, barrels pointed away from her. As the oxen started off, he quietly asked Albinia, “How many do we have?”
“Just Luther, his mother, and two sisters. The mother and sisters belong to Jameson. Luther is Miss Lucy Clay’s personal slave.”
David groaned softly, then said, “Lord have mercy. The Clays have some of the finest dogs, and the money to hire slave catchers.” When they were passing buildings on the street with no one about, he quietly addressed Luther.
“Luther, you’ve started something very dang
erous. Not only your life but mine, Albinia’s, and everyone you meet is at risk. If you hope to reach freedom, you must be as silent as a grave back there. Don’t move. Don’t talk. Breathe quietly. No matter what happens you must be silent, and you must follow my orders. I mean you no harm, and I will do my best to save you.”
The oxen moved along, their shoes clopping along the hard earth of the street. Albinia saw that David turned northeast, along the Paris road. When they were nearing the outskirts of town, he spoke again.
“Can you act drunk?” he said.
“What! No, I never had a drink in my life!” said Albinia indignantly.
“Well, this may be the time to start,” said David, handing her the jug. “If we’re stopped by a patrol, you should act as ridiculous as possible without dragging it out. Drink some of this, just to give your breath the smell. Then follow my lead and let acting do the rest. I won’t let anyone hurt you, but it’s best if you’re not anything like yourself. In the dark, they may take you for a trollop—let them. Just don’t get down from the wagon for any reason if they stop us. If I have to start shooting, get down as low as you can and stay there.”
Frightened, Albinia took a few sips from the jug. The unaccustomed liquor burned her throat and she coughed, handing it back to him. The moon began to rise above the trees. Stars began to be visible. The wagon jarred and bumped along the Paris road. Albinia tried to see in the dark, glancing nervously along each side of the road, expecting at any moment for a patrol to pop out from the bushes. Her nerves stretched tight.
After some time, David turned off into a small clearing. He began to get down. “Stay here,” he said, handing her the revolver. “I hope you don’t have to use it, but don’t hesitate if there’s trouble. Run toward town, staying off the road. Don’t wait or think about anyone else. Otherwise, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
