“I’ll see what I can find out,” replied Heyes.
PECULIAR RESCUE
21
K atie wasn’t the only one who didn’t know where I was. Neither did I!
It happened some time after the train had left Richmond the day before, as we were going up a steep hill, we slowed way down. The big black man I had noticed who had come into our car and then left didn’t come back. Outside I heard some clanking metallic noises, and after that it seemed like we were going slower than ever.
Then finally we stopped completely.
I had been sitting near the front of the car and looking out the window. Now I turned around to look out the little window on the door we had all come through at the front of the car. But instead of seeing the door of the next car of the train a few feet away across the open platform between the cars, all I saw was open sky and trees and the train track.
I was confused at first. Then I looked closer. The rest of the train was a hundred yards away up the track . . . and still going!
We had come unhooked from the train!
My looking around had only taken a few seconds. Almost the same instant as I saw the back of the train through the window, I realized that we were no longer stopped—we had started to go backwards down the hill!
Most of the rest of those in the car were also realizing by now that something was wrong. We weren’t with the train anymore!
Everyone began looking around and asking questions, and as we picked up speed—backwards!—some of the men started to get alarmed. Before much longer children were crying and a few women were starting to scream and the men were yelling and looking around trying to figure out if there was something they could do.
But there wasn’t. We were flying down the hill backwards with no brakes, and if we came to a sharp curve or if another train came along the tracks, we all knew we were done for.
We were racing down the hill faster than I could imagine a train being able to go. People were screaming and praying and crying for help. I was scared to death that any minute we were going to fall off the tracks and roll down a cliff and all be killed. Everyone was in a panic except for the old woman who was sitting calmly beside me.
“How can you be so calm?” I asked her, though I could hardly make myself heard. “Aren’t you afraid?”
“What dere ter be feared ob?” she said.
“That we’ll crash. That we’ll fly off the tracks or run into another train.”
She started chuckling.
“We ain’t gwine fly offen dese tracks, dearie,” she said.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I take dis train norf every munf an’ I knows every inch er da way. An’ dat hill we wuz comin’ up is as straight as an arrow all da way from da bottom. Ain’t a curve in sight. We’s jes’ gwine go faster’n faster straight down till we git ter da bottom, den we’ll slow down an’ stop an’ den dey’ll figger out what went wrong. Dere ain’t nuthin’ gwine happen ter us—we’s jes’ gwine be a little late, dat’s all.”
“What about another train?”
“Da nex’ train along here ain’t fo two hours er more. Jes’ relax, dearie, an’ enjoy da ride—even effen it’s in da wrong direction,” she added with a laugh.
What she said helped, but I still couldn’t help being afraid, especially with all the screaming and pandemonium around us.
But she was right.
After a while, gradually, I felt our speed start to slow down. You could both feel it and hear it from the clacking of the wheels along the tracks. Everyone calmed down. As the car slowed and stopped shaking back and forth so violently, we all began to think that maybe we would make it alive through the day after all.
Soon the slowing became all the more noticeable. Slower . . . slower . . . slower we went, until again, just like at the top of the hill, we were just inching along.
Then finally . . . we stopped.
But this time we stayed stopped. And there we were, dead still on the tracks in the middle of nowhere.
It was quiet for a few seconds. Everyone glanced around. Then some of the men began to stand up and look outside.
“What’s we s’posed ter do now?” said one of them.
“Ain’t nuthin’ we kin do,” said another. “We’s stuck here until dey comes an’ gits us wiff anuder train.”
“What could er happened?” asked a third.
“We come loose, dat’s what. Muster been dat blamed hill dat done it. Dis car muster been too heavy an’ it jes’ come loose.”
Suddenly the door opened and who should appear but the big mean-looking black man who we’d all thought had gone back into the front of the train.
“All right,” he said, “come on, all er you—git out.”
Everybody looked around, not quite knowing what to do.
“Come on, I said . . . out. I’m tellin’ you—ain’t no time ter lose. We gotta git out afore da nex’ train comes an’ runs into us. Den we’ll be in a fix. Come on, I’s here ter help y’all.”
“Ain’t no train gwine come soon nohow,” said the old lady next to me. “I don’t know what’s goin’ on, but it ain’t dat!”
But she rose with everyone else as we slowly filed out the door and stepped down to the ground. In three or four minutes the car was empty, just sitting there on the tracks with everyone milling around. If there was another train coming, you sure couldn’t hear it. It was completely quiet.
I was still standing next to the old lady. She was the only person who had spoken to me the whole time. She was still mumbling about there not being another train for hours.
Before very many minutes had passed we did hear a sound. But it wasn’t a train. It was the clatter of two large wagons, each pulled by a team of four horses, rumbling toward us from across an empty field, seemingly coming from nowhere.
Gradually they got nearer, then finally stopped. The first one was driven by the mean-looking white man I’d seen at the station before. How he’d gotten there I couldn’t imagine.
“You see now,” said the black man, “help’s come already.”
“The man’s right,” said the white man. “We’re here from the railroad. They sent us to rescue you and take you to get on another train.”
“Effen dey’s from da railroad,” muttered the woman standing beside me, “den I’s Martha Washington!”
“All right, let’s go . . . all of you—load in. We’ve got orders to get you to the train.”
“Beggin’ yo pardon, suh,” said one of our fellow passengers, “but I’s thinkin’ dat perhaps me an’ my family, we’ll jes’ stay here wiff da stranded car till dey comes fo us here.”
A few nods and mumbled comments went around the group.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” said the man. “They told us to bring you all to the new train. They don’t want anyone staying here. They said it won’t be safe for you to stay here.”
“Meanin’ no disrespect, suh,” said another. “But I think I’ll be stayin’ right here too wiff da others.”
More murmurs spread through the group.
Suddenly a look of anger erupted on the white man’s face. He pulled out a gun and pointed it straight at the passenger’s face. At the same instant, the driver of the second wagon pulled out a rifle.
“Look, you fool!” the first man shouted. “I told you to get in the wagon. All of you—or we start shooting!”
“I done tol’ you dey wuzn’t from da railroad!” mumbled the woman as she ambled with the rest of us toward the wagons. Slowly we all climbed into them with our carpetbags. It was very crowded. But that was the least of my worries.
GETTING WORRIED
22
When everyone was aboard, the wagons clattered back off across the field and into a wood where we came upon a dirt road that we followed for the rest of the day. As we left the open field, several heads turned around and looked back as the lone train car sitting there on the track faded out of our sight. Whether w
e were frightened yet or just confused, it was hard to say. I think most of us sensed that something funny was going on. But blacks in the South had been so trained to take orders and do what they were told and ask no questions that we just went along.
Knowing the men had guns was another reason to do what they said!
None of us had the courage to ask any questions after the man’s outburst and threat with the gun. What could any one of us do? Each of us was just one of twenty-five or thirty others.
If I’d thought the railroad coach was crowded, I discovered it was nothing compared to those two wagons. We were packed into the back of those things so close we were squeezed against each other on all sides. We had no idea where we were headed. At least we had fresh air, but now the sun was beating down on us. It was dusty and hot.
“Where do you think they’re taking us?” I whispered to the lady beside me who seemed to know so much about the trains.
“I don’ know, dearie,” she whispered back. “But whereber it is, it ain’t no train boun’ fo Washington.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“’Cause dere ain’t anuder one. Dat back dere’s da only track from Richmond ter Washington.”
We rode for several hours. There were no towns, only a few farmhouses in the distance, and for sure no trains. It was a rugged, hilly country and that explained why there weren’t so many farms and cultivated fields. We were going east mostly, I thought, or northeast. Eventually the sun began to set out over the hills behind us. Still we kept going till it was nearly dark. Finally the two drivers pulled up.
“We’ll camp here for the night,” he said. “Come on, get down. There’s a stream over yonder and a sack of bread that’ll feed you all, and a blanket for everyone. Stay close to the wagons, except for the stream. Don’t wander off. We’ll be watching.”
He sounded more like a plantation overseer than a train employee!
“I’s cold,” said a little boy.
“We’ll make a fire, son,” said the big black man. “Den you git yo mama to git you under one ob dem blankets.”
The whole thing seemed more and more wrong by the minute! The thought crossed my mind, of course, but now I began to grow downright worried—how would I find Katie once all this was over? She would have no way of knowing the black car wasn’t even with the train anymore! When they stopped at Washington, where we were supposed to change trains for Philadelphia, would she look for me after what the conductor said, or figure that we would both get on the new train on our own? Would they tell the people that all us blacks were gone? Or would Katie try to avoid getting in any more trouble with the conductor by just going into the station and then getting on the train for Philadelphia?
Suddenly there were a lot of questions . . . and worries!
Whatever happened, by the time Katie realized I wasn’t with her, she might be all the way to Aunt Nelda’s. We would have no way to find each other! She would have no idea where I was . . . and I didn’t either! I didn’t even know what state we were in! I thought we might be in Virginia, but couldn’t be sure. If Katie went all the way to Philadelphia before she discovered me missing, at least I would know she was at Aunt Nelda’s, though I had no idea how to get there myself. Katie had the directions and address in a letter in her satchel.
As I later found out, Katie did go all the way to Philadelphia before discovering I wasn’t there. Just as I was thinking about her, she was thinking about me. Worrying too.
As I lay down that night after nothing but bread to eat, and still cold even with the thin blanket they gave us, using my carpetbag for a pillow, I don’t mind saying that worrisome thoughts kept me awake half the night. I couldn’t help remembering what the conductor had told us about bands of kidnappers roaming about, and I prayed as hard as I’d ever prayed, God, help Katie and me to find each other again.
The whole thing was starting to remind me of Josepha’s adventures on the Underground Railroad! But that was twenty years ago. Slaves were free now. So what was going on?
It was a long, hard, cold night on that ground. But most of us managed to get some sleep, dozing and waking and dozing again. I woke up tired but knowing I’d had some sleep at last. The morning was grey and wet and chilly. My stomach was rumbling from hunger.
The three men roused us up, kicking at those who were asleep, gave us more bread, gathered up the blankets and threw them into the wagons, told us to go and do our business and drink our fill in the stream, and then to load back up in the wagons.
By now a few of the men were starting to ask some pointed questions. I don’t know if they’d forgotten about the guns, but they were asking questions anyway.
“We wants ter know where we’s goin’,” said one man. “We ain’t seen no train nowhere.”
“And you’re not going to see no train,” said the white driver.
“Den where’s you takin’ us? You tell us or we jes’ won’t go.”
“You’ll go, you old fool,” the man shot back, “or I’ll shoot you dead and you can stay here for the buzzards and we’ll go on without you.”
That silenced the man but did nothing to stop the murmurings. Though they were just whispers, the worries and anxieties spread through the whole group in both wagons during our second day together.
We went through a region where there were quite a few farmhouses and nicely cultivated fields. On two or three barns I noticed something that seemed familiar, like I’d heard about it before, a strange kind of weather vane made out of a horse’s head. But I couldn’t remember where I’d heard about them. I didn’t think I’d ever seen a weather vane like that before.
It was familiar.
But I couldn’t remember why.
NEWS AND SECRETS
23
WHEN MRS. HAMMOND’S CARRIAGE APPEARED AT Rosewood, she drove right up to the big house in search of the Daniels brothers.
She stopped and got down and saw Ward walking in from one of the fields. He tipped his hat and greeted her as she approached.
“Mrs. Hammond,” he said. “This is an unexpected visit.”
“I know the two of you have been anxious about a telegram from Kathleen,” she said. “I thought I ought at least to let you know that nothing’s come from her yet—other than the one from Richmond the day after they left.”
“I see . . . hmm, that’s a mite puzzling.”
Templeton came out of the house and walked toward them.
“Elfrida . . . how are you today?” he said.
“Hello, Mr. Daniels.”
“She said there’s still nothing from Katie,” said Ward.
“I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Hammond. “But I thought you ought to know. I do have one other delivery—a letter for Mr. Patterson . . . I believe it’s from his son.”
“Henry will be delighted,” said Templeton.
“Personally delivered mail . . . that is service!” said Ward.
“I don’t usually do that, of course—deliver the mail, but . . . I thought perhaps there might be news of Kathleen and Mayme.”
“Well, we’re glad you came,” said Templeton. “Josepha will be thrilled to see you. She’s been wanting to show you around their new place.—I’ll walk you down.”
“Thank you. May I leave my buggy here?”
“Of course,” said Ward. “I’ll give your horse some water and feed.”
“Thank you.”
With the letter in hand, Mrs. Hammond followed Templeton toward Henry’s and Josepha’s new home that Henry had worked to enlarge and modernize during the previous summer. Josepha saw them coming from the kitchen window and hurried outside.
“Elfrida!” she said. “What a nice surprise. Come in, come in!—Hello dere, Mister Templeton,” she added.
“I’ll leave you ladies to visit,” said Templeton, turning to go. “If there’s anything in that letter we need to know about, you let us know.”
“What letter’s dat?” asked Josepha, leading Mrs. Hammond into the house.
/> “A letter for Henry . . . from his son.” She handed Josepha the envelope.
“From Jeremiah?—Henry!” she called into the house. “We got us a visitor . . . an’ you got a letter!”
A moment later Henry appeared.
“Good day ter you, Miz Hammond,” he said. “You brung a letter fo me?”
“Hello, Mr. Patterson . . . yes, I did.”
Josepha handed him the letter. Henry sat down at the kitchen table and began reading while Josepha took her guest about the house.
They came back into the kitchen about ten minutes later.
“Mr. Daniels had hoped perhaps there was some word about the girls from your son,” said Mrs. Hammond.
“Nuthin’ like dat,” said Henry. “Only dat he hopes ter see dem when dey’s in da Norf, dat’s all. But he wrote dis a week ago. Dat was before dey lef’. It’s jes’ ’bout his work an’ a few folks he’s met an’ askin’ me how long I figures he ought ter stay dere an’ work, an’ dat kind er thing.”
He rose from the table, letter still in hand. “Miz Hammond,” he said, “you mind effen I hab a word wiff you in private before I take dis up an’ let Mister Ward and Mister Templeton hab a look at it?”
“No . . . I, uh . . . of course.”
Henry walked outside. A little perplexed, Mrs. Hammond followed. Josepha watched them go . . . even more perplexed than their visitor!
She watched from the open door while Henry and Mrs. Hammond walked slowly toward the big house. Henry was speaking in low tones while Mrs. Hammond listened, nodding occasionally.
Slowly Josepha walked down the steps and began to follow, straining to listen. Henry glanced back and saw her.
“What you two talkin’ ’bout?” said Josepha.
“Nuthin’. Jes’ neber you mind,” said Henry.
But Josepha continued toward them.
“Now, Seffie,” said Henry, “you jes’ go back in dere an’ min’ yo own biz’ness.”
Miss Katie's Rosewood Page 10
