Antebellum Struggles

by Dickie Erman

  “Can I share a secret?” he asked, now bending over and almost whispering in her ear.

  She could feel goose bumps.

  “I’m here on a case”.

  “What kind of a case?” she asked coyly, like a naughty school girl mesmerized by his badge and gun.

  “Let’s have a seat” he offered, pointing to the bench behind them. He looked lustfully as she sat and crossed her shapely legs, tightly outlined by her cotton dress.

  “I’m lookin’ or a runaway slave” he said in his manliest voice.

  “Oh, my” she swooned. “That sounds dangerous”.

  “Well, not as dangerous as capturin’ murderers and bank robbers, which is mostly what I do” he lied, pouring on as much machismo as he could muster.

  “I just think that’s fascinatin’” she swooned again. “My goodness. Bank robbers, murderers, runaway slaves. You must be very brave”.

  He could feel himself start to blush. “Just part of the job, Miss. That’s what we lawmen do”.

  “Why, where are my manners? You were wantin’ a cup of coffee and a newspaper. And here I am, jabberin’ away and keepin y’all from your duties” she said in her best Southern belle slang”.

  “Will you join me?” he asked.

  “No, I’ll be late for work. But I hope to see y’all again, before you have to leave” she said sweetly. They both stood up.

  “Oh, say. You might want to get a copy of the Herald Beacon. It’s probably not as popular with most folks around here. It’s a paper that talks a lot about abolitionists and such. But if it’s a runaway you’re after, you might find it interestin’”.

  He remembered he’d given Randy and Seth the same advice.

  “The Herald Beacon, you say. I know that paper well. It’s printed in N’awlins. In fact, I might be arrestin’ its very owner before I’m done with this current case. Tom Wilkins, that sonofabitch”.

  “Did you say Tom Wilkins? I know him. I mean, I just met him. Yesterday. I’m the receptionist for Dr. Whittenhouse. Down there” she pointed.

  “Well I’ll be” he replied. “Now what’s Wilkins doin’ here in Marysville” he asked himself.

  “How do ya’ know him?”

  “He came to see Dr. Whittenhouse about a man who’d suffered a heart attack. Dr. Whittenhouse is a wonderful man” she gushed.

  “Frank” he thought to himself.

  “Did he say where he was headin’?”

  “To some farm where the man lived. About an hour from here, toward N’awlins” she said, priding herself on her excellent memory.

  “Well, thanks for that” Harley said, hoping the bastard Frank had died.

  “And, I too, hope to see you again” as he bowed slightly and tipped his hat. He turned toward the café.

  “The Chapel Cross Church” she said as he continued walking. He stopped.

  “Eh?” as he cupped his hand to his ear.

  “I said, the Chapel Cross Church. That’s where Mr. Wilkins asked me directions to. If he’s not at that farm, you might find him at the Church” she said, pointing. “It’s the one with the real tall steeple”.

  “Well, thank you again, Miss?”

  “Sarah” she swooned. My name’s Sarah”.

  * * *

  “BOYS, mount up” Harley ordered. “I think we’re about to capture your nigger”.

  Seth and Randy almost peed themselves, again.

  “I’ll be damned” Harley explained. “Seems like Frank might have arranged for your darkie to be taken to the Chapel Cross Church, right over there” he pointed.

  Their horses charged down the dirt street, the riders oblivious to the sidewalk pedestrians. Harley halted the crew a half block away.

  “Let’s tie up here” he whispered. “You two circle way around the front, around the far side, then meet me at the back” he ordered. “I’ll go this way”.

  Randy and Seth started jogging, then slowed to a walk when Harley quietly yelled “Idiots! Don’t draw attention”.

  “Jesus” he said to himself, exasperated that he’d been babysitting these two fools for this long.

  He crouched along the hedge row running parallel to the side of the church, then stopped as he approached the back side. As he peeked around the corner, he saw two cellar doors mounted at an angle to the back of the church. Momentarily, a man dressed in clergy garb approached the doors, carrying what seemed to be a wooden bucket filled with water. He set the bucket on the ground, opened one of the doors, and went down inside.

  Randy and Seth watched the same thing, from the other side

  Harley motioned them to the cellar doors. He saw the bucket half full with water.

  “He’s down there” he whispered. “They’re hidin’ him in this cellar”.

  The three listened intently. They heard the muffled voices of two men below, wafting up the cement steps.

  Harley quietly reached for his handcuffs.

  He then sized the two up and whispered: “Randy, you’re the biggest of us. You follow me and Seth down, and block the entrance. Make sure he can’t escape. Don’t let him squirm his way up the stairs.

  “Seth, you and I are just gonna’ tackle him. Don’t wait for him to make the first move. You got it? We just charge him”.

  “Got it”.

  Pastor Jessie had told Reverend Baxter everything. The Reverend knew that Tabari had to leave, and fast. The two were now huddled in a corner of the cellar, the Reverend explaining the dire situation to Tabari. They each sat in a chair facing the other, Tabari’s back against the wall.

  The cellar was stuffed, with stuff. Wooden tables stacked with old hymnal books, planks from discarded pews, even old Christmas decorations.

  Harley and Seth could hear their voices more clearly, as they slowly crept, step by step, down the stairs.

  “Thank God these aren’t wooden steps” Harley thought to himself, grateful that no creaking noise would give away their surprise attack.

  The Reverend caught Tabari’s terrified look as he stared past him. The Reverend spun around, momentarily frozen as he watched Harley step onto the cellar’s floor.

  Tabari frantically looked everywhere, anywhere, for a weapon, anything to ward off the Deputy’s attack. As Tabari pounced to his feet, the Reverend fell backward on his chair, landing in front of Harley as he charged forward.

  Tabari grabbed his chair and swung wildly, not so much to strike Harley, but to clear a path he could run through. Reverend Baxter’s arms flailed at Harley’s legs, trying to at least slow him down.

  Harley reached out both arms to tackle Tabari, but he was far too quick, slipping past while knocking over everything in his way. He watched as his foot reached the bottom cement step, preparing to leap three steps at a time to reach the top and run to safety.

  Suddenly a tremendous weight struck his shoulders, sending him crumbling to the floor. It was Seth, who threw his nearly 300 pound frame directly on top. Dazed but not out, Tabari struggled to scramble out from the mountain of weight, but to no avail. Harley slammed his head to the cold floor, then pinned it with his knee while he cuffed one wrist, then the other.

  “Shit” Harley hollered. “Why’d you wait so long?”

  Seth hardly heard him. He’d just captured his golden treasure.

  Randy came bumbling down the steps, nearly tripping as he saw the big grin on Seth’s face, now standing over Tabari like a big game hunter posing after the kill.

  “Gentlemen, please, please” implored Reverend Baxter. “This man’s protected from the law. This is a church. The Chapel Cross Church. It … is … a … sanctuary! So long as he remains on this sacred property, you have no authority to take him away. No authority” he yelled, firm in his conviction and legally sound basis.

  Randy and Seth stared at Harley dumbfounded, not sure if their new found fortune was about to disappear under some legal technicality.

  Harley removed his hat, wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, and smiled.

 
“Well priest” he smirked. “You’re in a hell of a lot of trouble right now. Ya see, you just violated the fugitive slave act. Harborin’ this slave is against the law.

  “Now, I’ve heard about churches, and sanctuaries and all. But as I see it, we ain’t even in no church” as he slowly looked around the cellar, still smirking with a self-congratulating smile.

  “Yea” the two ignorant saddle tramps concurred. Harley shot them a dismissive glance.

  “And I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen” he continued.

  “When I get back to N’awlins, I’ll write up a criminal complaint against you and this here church. I ain’t never had much use for priests or churches, so I don’t rightly care. But the fine for harborin’ a fugitive is one thousand dollars.

  “I could add on aidin’ and abettin’, since you tried to stop me from carryin’ out my duties. But seein’ how you ain’t gonna give me and these boys no more trouble, I’m willin’ to forgive that” he ended, feeling quite magnanimous.

  “Fellas, let’s get this runaway back to his owner”.

  The three walked their horses, Tabari in tow, to the Marysville Sheriff’s Office, a one room station with one prison cell. Two volunteer deputies were on duty, one reluctantly agreeing to provide an escort to help transport Tabari back to New Orleans.

  * * *

  THEY briefly stopped at the Jefferson’s. Freda met them at the front porch.

  “Afternoon Freda” Harley said sarcastically. “I hear Frank ain’t doin’ so well”.

  “Frank’s doing just fine” she lied, not willing to volunteer that Frank had suffered a heart attack.

  “That so?” he replied. “Gee, I heard he had a heart attack, and Tom Wilkins sent a doctor here from Marysville, just yesterday”.

  “You cold-hearted bastard” she thought.

  “Well, as you can see, I caught the runaway that you and Frank were harborin’” as he thoroughly enjoyed watching her horrified expression seeing Tabari handcuffed in the borrowed buck wagon.

  “Yup. A thousand dollar fine, that’s what you and Frank are facin’. I’ll be back real soon to personally serve the complaint on you. Real soon. Oh, and don’t forget to give my best to Frank” he chuckled, as the party moved forward toward New Orleans.

  “My God” she sobbed as she reentered the house to tend to her husband.

  47

  A MANA’S NIGHTMARES CONTINUED. During her restless sleep, she revisited her arrival in New Orleans.

  She knew they were docking. They all knew. Exactly where, they had no idea. All night they’d listened to the loud talk and laughter of the crew. The excitement of the sailors was palpable. Was this it? Was this their final destination, or just a quick stop to replenish supplies and continue the nightmare journey to another location?

  “Let’s go, let’s go” commanded the six men who had plodded into the bottom of the ship. None were carrying guns this time, but two held tight to their wooden clubs, ready to clobber any slave who resisted.

  Amana then sensed this might be their final destination. The sailors didn’t seem afraid anymore to bring more than two males to the top deck. Instead, they were being led six at a time, each shackled on both wrists and then both ankles once they reached the top.

  When she finally poked her head outside the hatch door, she nearly feinted from the overwhelming pleasure of fresh air and warm sunshine. And then the smell of her own stench almost caused her to vomit.

  Then … ‘splash’ … bucket after bucket of chilly sea water drenched her naked body, as all captives were unceremoniously bathed in preparation for their unveiling at the slave auction.

  Her shivering gradually subsided as the warm sun dried her smooth skin. The fact that all slaves were continually naked had lessened her humiliation, especially after three long months of degrading callousness from the crew. She and the others were powerless to do anything, other than submit to the degradation or risk a severe beating.

  Despite her weakness and despair, the sights of the port lifted her spirits. Huge steam and paddlewheel ships seemed to be everywhere, with long plumes of black smoke trailing upward from their tall stacks.

  Energy whirled around the entire dock, as men loaded and unloaded sack after sack of what seemed to be foodstuffs, neatly stacked and awaiting their ultimate destination.

  A small band with banjos and fiddles played lively music, as a young black boy tap danced to the rhythm.

  And all of this was being watched closely by white men, dressed in handsome attire, gold chains and fancy hats.

  Her excitement ended abruptly, as her eyes steadied upon a large wooden platform, crowded with other naked and chained slaves. Men, women and children, awaiting their fate to be auctioned off to one of the wealthy bidders.

  A dark skinned mother wailed and crumpled to the dock as she tried in vain to save her young daughter from being sold and shipped off forever.

  Amana had seen this scene played out on the docks of her Martinique Island many times before.

  She then watched in horror as the mother was repeatedly slapped about her head and face, yet refused to retreat. Then ‘clunk’, a sharp blow to her head with a wooden club rendered her unconscious, and she was quickly dragged from the platform while another slave was prepared for viewing.

  One by one, Amana and her companions were marched from the ship onto a wooden plank that led to the dock. Then to the staging area next to the auction platform. So much was happening so quickly. A white man appeared from nowhere and slathered some oily salve on her face, shoulders and breasts, making her skin appear slick and shiny in the Sun’s bright rays.

  Eventually, it was her turn to be sold. The auctioneer was a fat black man in a white cotton suit, bright yellow tie and straw hat. She didn’t know his language, but he barked to the crowd in a loud voice as he pried open her mouth and lifted her firm breasts.

  One, then two, then three men in the crowd responded with shouts of their own. She knew she’d been sold.

  Panic and depression now crushed her spirit as she contemplated where she was headed and how she’d be treated.

  Still no clothes.

  48

  “W

  HERE IS THIS PLANTATION?” Harley asked Randy and Seth.

  The two looked at each other blankly. “Well, we don’t rightly know” answered Seth.

  “What” Harley asked incredulously. “Whadda’ ya mean ya don’t know?”

  Randy looked to Seth. “The Doctor. What’s the Doctor’s name?”

  “Wesley” Seth answered. “Dr. Wesley”.

  “That’s right. And he’s stayin’ at the Cloverdale Hotel” Randy added.

  “That’s who told us about the runaway” Seth explained.

  “He works for the owner of the plantation, but I can’t remember his name”. He looked at Randy for confirmation.

  “Yea, I don’t remember the owner’s name neither. But I remember the Doctor. All we gotta’ do is go to the Cloverdale, and the Doctor can take us to the plantation.

  “Idiots” Harley thought. “Why’d I get involved with these buffoons?”

  There were two jail cells in Harley’s office, each currently occupied by a white prisoner.

  “Well fellas” Harley addressed the two prisoners. “I normally wouldn’t ask, but I don’t suspect either of ya’ wants to spend the night with this here nigger” he chuckled as he and the volunteer deputy led Tabari into the room. “If ya promise to behave yourselves, I’ll let you two share a cell and he can have the other”.

  Both prisoners nodded in agreement.

  “Randy, it’s getting’ late and I’m too bushwhacked to travel anymore. You and Seth find that Doctor of yours and meet here a little after sunup.

  The mouth breathers just stood motionless, trying to comprehend Harley’s simple instructions.

  “Well?”

  “Yes sir” Seth replied. “You heard the man” he told Randy. “Let’s go find the Doctor”.

  “And collect our r
e-ward” Randy added, giddy as a school boy.

  * * *

  “HE ain’t here” Randy said.

  “I know” Seth replied, having just heard the hotel clerk say the same thing.

  “I wonder where we can find him?” Randy thought out loud.

  “The Mad Dog” they both laughed.

  * * *

  WELL, well, if it isn’t … my two friends” the Doctor greeted, not remembering their names.

  They sensed it.

  “Seth and Randy” Seth offered, both men extending their hands to shake.

  “Of course, of course. Seth and Randy. Randy and Seth” the Doctor repeated, looking each in the face to memorize their names.

  “And how’ve you been? Any success?” he asked.

  The two looked at each other, almost embarrassed by their splendid bounty.

  “Actually” began Seth, “We have been successful. Quite successful” he gushed, as he and Randy almost began to giggle.

  “Do tell” the Doctor encouraged, anxious to see if this might bring him some money.

  “Go ahead Seth, you tell him” Randy beamed.

  “Well, we did a lot of detective work” Seth began.

  “Yea. A lot” Randy added.

  “We learnt that the slave was bein’ kept at a local newspaper office, the Herald Beacon, right near here. Then, we tracked him down to the Jefferson farm, ‘bout half way from here to Marysville”.

  Randy nodded, excitedly.

  “Then, we found him. At a church there. Right there in Marysville”.

  “That’s right” Randy agreed, beaming with pride.

  “My, that’s just marvelous” the Doctor congratulated them. “Just marvelous.

  “And the two of you, just the two of you, tracked him down and caught him, all by yourselves?” he asked, skeptically.

  “Well, not exactly” Seth answered. “I mean, mostly it was me and Randy. But we did get some help from the local Deputy, right here in N’awlins. Harley. His name’s Harley …”

  “Stafford” Randy interjected.

  “That’ right, Deputy Harley Stafford. He’s got …”

  “Tabari” the Doctor reminded him. “The slave’s name is Tabari. Remember, I’m the one who told you about him in the first place. I know him personally, and I know his master personally. You remember me telling you both about all this?” the Doctor reminded them, also to guide the conversation to getting himself a piece of the reward.