“Until this war is over, and unless the Union army wins, Canada is the only place where he will be free. The slaveholders or their agents are most always in the cities. Even in Philadelphia there are many slave hunters about the streets. You are young and strong, Elijah, and no doubt worth a great deal of money to your master. He owns you still. That is why the only thing you can do is escape to Canada.”
“And you, my friend,” Still said, turning his attention to Billy. “Anna tells me you ran away from the army?”
Billy frowned and stirred nervously in his chair. “Didn’t want to be there is all.”
“So you just walked away?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you volunteer?”
“Yes, sir, with my friends.”
“Were you in any trouble?”
Billy held a slice of bread to his mouth, pulled it away, and set it on his lap. “Sergeant Noyes sent me to artillery—take care of the horses getting all spooked on account of them big guns and all. Took me away from my friends—other fellas poke fun at me …”
“Poke fun?”
“I ain’t smart like most folks.” Billy stared at his food in silence.
“Billy, it’s all right.” Still sipped his coffee. “Please, finish your bread.”
Billy sat quietly as members of the church filed into the room. For a long while he watched curiously as stranger after stranger walked over and warmly greeted Elijah. Many of them turned and smiled at him; some nodded, while others arched their eyebrows, their faces stern or quizzical. But Billy grinned when Mr. Still heaped another slice of ham onto his plate. He looked up when he heard a voice cry out across the room.
“Billy!” Anna stood in the threshold. She ran over and gave him a warm embrace. Then she wrapped her arms around Elijah’s neck, too.
“I could not sleep with such worry. I am so proud of thee both, as I know Johanna will be. God’s truth shines upon us all tonight.”
“Missus Anna, you save us at the station,” Elijah said.
“It was God’s will.” She turned and looked at William Still. “This wonderful man has searched the streets for thee since last night.”
“And may I add that Anna scoured the riverbanks this morning—against my better judgment,” Still said. “Which reminds me how tired we all are. I must leave for home now. Elijah, you will stay with my wife, Letitia, and me tonight. Billy, you will stay with Anna. We will all meet in my office tomorrow afternoon.”
“Mistah Still, can Billy, suh, go with Elijah when you ask him the questions?” Elijah asked.
William glanced at Anna. “Yes, of course. Anna and Billy will be our guests.”
As Still walked into the vestry to gather his coat, Billy’s eyes landed on a line of small wooden boxes attached to the wall, each with a peg hole. Above each box hung a framed portrait of a man, and just below the boxes was a small table that held a glass jar filled with colored marbles.
“Why them boxes up there with them peg holes?” Billy asked when William Still returned to the entryway.
“Well, Billy, do you see these portraits? They are members of the church who are running in an election for church trustee. And many people who belong to this congregation do not know how to read or write, so they are given marbles to cast their votes. They place the marble in the peg hole under the portrait of the person they are voting for.”
Billy bit down on his lower lip. “Thing is, I can’t read neither—for sure I ain’t never voted.”
“I believe there is always a way to work things out for those who are less fortunate, if we just take the time to care.”
“You a preacher, Mr. Still?”
Still looked amused. “No, son, I’m not. What makes you think that?”
“You know things is all—like how folks feel on the inside.”
“Suffering is a great teacher, Billy.”
Nodding his head in parting, William Still placed his arm around Elijah and walked outside into the quietly falling snow.
Chapter 21
Elijah sat motionless in the straight-backed chair, head bowed to avoid the curious glances of the committee members as they gathered around a long pine table. Only his fingers stirred as he rubbed the yellowed calluses on the palms of his hands. He stole a glance at Mr. Still. The tall man pulled the heavy cotton drapes across the window, the dark blue folds the only color against the wood-slat walls. Then turning to the hearth, William Still reached into the woodbox, picked up a snow-crusted log, and tossed it into the fire. Flames popped and sizzled.
Finally the room quieted as the guests settled into their chairs and faced the committee.
“Elijah,” Still said as he returned to the table and sat down beside him, “before we begin, I want to introduce you to the members of the committee here this evening.
“At the far end of the table is Nathaniel Depee. Beside him, Jacob White, then Charles Wise and Edwin Coates. The other people in this room, including your friend Anna Dickinson, are people who bring runaway slaves to our doorstep. They are our trusted friends—such as Samuel Johnson,” he said, nodding his head toward the bearded man beside Anna. “His house in Germantown is a station on the Underground Railroad.”
Still paused, opened his leather notebook, and glanced at the end of the table. “Nathaniel.”
Nathaniel Depee cleared his throat. “The General Vigilance Committee of the Anti-Slavery Society in the city of Philadelphia is called to order this seventeenth day of November, at seven o’clock in the evening, in the year 1862.” Depee turned his head and coughed lightly into his hand. “All discussions henceforth will be recorded by William Still, secretary, and will remain in his custody.”
Making apologies, Depee turned and coughed again. “Elijah, we thank the good Lord that you reached our society safely. I understand that you have been running for several weeks. The committee wants to hear from your own lips who held you in bondage, how you were treated, what prompted you to escape, and who that is near and dear to you is left behind. And we want nothing more than to help you gain your rightful freedom.” He hesitated and glanced around the room. “If you are ready, Elijah, Mr. Still will begin the questioning.”
Still leaned back in his chair, turned to Elijah, and offered a faint smile. “Are you comfortable, Elijah?”
“Yes, suh,” he answered, despite the quivering in his voice.
“Good.” Still explained that he would be writing notes during the interview and reminded Elijah that any of the members seated at the table might ask questions of him as well. “So, Elijah, please tell the committee, what is your last name?”
“Hill.”
Still looked thoughtfully at him. “Then your full name is Elijah Hill?”
“Pappy call me Elijah Robeson Hill—after my mama’s granpappy.”
“Then I will record your name as Elijah Robeson Hill. And what is your pappy’s first name?” Still dipped his pen into an inkwell.
“His name be Solomon.”
“Solomon,” Still repeated. “Tell us about your mama—what was her full name?”
Elijah drew a deep breath and stirred uncomfortably in his chair. After a moment he spoke. “My mama called Elisha—so she name me Elijah. My mama die when Elijah only two. My pappy raised me.”
“Do you know how your mama died, Elijah?” Still asked.
“Pappy say one day she real sick pickin’ corn. He say overseer come by and leave her be, right there in the field. Just walk away. Say she gonna die nohow—got the fever. But my pappy stop work and carry my mama to the hut and lay her down. Mama don’t die in no cornfield, he say.” Elijah lowered his head. “Elijah don’t remember his mama.”
“I’m sorry about your mama, Elijah.” Still glanced at the other members of the committee. “Do you have brothers or sisters?”
“No, suh. My baby sister, Lydia, she die right off.”
“You mean in childbirth, Elijah?”
“No, suh. My mama have a baby girl. Pappy say baby all fin
e. Then my mama sleepin’ and when she wake up, she fin’ that she rolled over on my baby sister and she dead. Pappy say my mama know what she done—so Lydia don’t be a slave. He say mama’s heart break nohow.”
Still bit his lower lips and took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said in a low tone. “We have heard of such things before. How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“And this Ramsey was your master?”
“Yes, suh. ’Til he sell Elijah.” Elijah blinked, squirmed uncomfortably in the chair, and rubbed his temples with the palms of his hands. When he looked up, William Still had a puzzled expression on his face.
“Perhaps we will talk more about Master Ramsey at this time,” Still said. “What were your living arrangements there, Elijah?”
“You mean where Elijah sleep?”
“Yes, that is what I mean.”
“Pappy and me live in the log hut. It all right. Elijah have a bed. All Mastuh’s slaves live in huts near Mastuh’s house.”
“How were you treated by Master Ramsey?” asked Jacob White as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His brown face was friendly; his close beard was flecked with gray.
“Mastuh treat slaves pretty good, suh. Most times.”
“Most times? Then you were whipped by this master?”
“Yes, suh. When Elijah do wrong.”
“Such as?” White asked.
Elijah hesitated for a moment, twisting his hands. “Mastuh, he work right in the field with us most days. One time Elijah broke the hook on the horse plough. Mastuh took a fit so he whupped me in the wheat field.”
“What did he whip you with?”
“Hickory stick he gone and broke off.”
“Did he do this often?” asked Still.
“No, suh. He pretty good.”
“What was his wife like?”
“Missus Ramsey? She real nice missus.”
“What work did the master do?”
“Mastuh? He grow wheat and corn for the market.”
“Did you want to run away from Master Ramsey?” asked Edwin Coates.
Elijah grew nervous at the question. The white man’s face was long and harsh-looking, but his husky voice was kind. He shot a worried glance at William Still.
“There is nothing to fear in your answer, Elijah,” Still whispered.
Elijah took a deep breath. “No, suh. Mastuh, he not so bad—only sometimes. Mastuh Ramsey even give slaves shoes, but after a time he didn’t have no mo’ money.”
Coates shook his head. “No shoes,” he mumbled under his breath. “And how long were you at the Ramsey farm?”
“Elijah born there.”
“And your pappy, is he still there?”
“Yes, suh. Pappy stay ’cause he not strong no mo’.”
“Where is this farm?”
“Durham, North Carolina.”
It was the white man again. “While you were at Master Ramsey’s, Elijah, did you ever have any chance for schooling?”
“Oh no, suh. Elijah only walk Mastuh’s chillun to school sometimes.”
“Can you write your name?”
“No, suh.”
Still tapped his fingers lightly on the table and glanced at the other members, hesitating before he asked the next question. “Elijah, you told us you were sold. To whom were you sold?”
“Mastuh Fowler.”
“Do you know why Master Ramsey sold you to Master Fowler?”
“Yes, suh. Mastuh have hard times when the drought come. He say he need mo’ money ’cause he got debts. That why Elijah didn’t have no shoes.” Suddenly he looked down at his feet and smiled. “Missus Johanna go and buy shoes for Elijah.”
“How much were you sold for, Elijah?”
“Mastuh say he get fifteen hundred dollars when he sell me. White folk say Elijah stronger then most slaves—strong like his pappy.”
Still scrawled his pen busily across the paper. Nathaniel Depee pushed back his chair, walked over to the hearth, and tossed another log onto the fire. Flames spiraled up the brick flume. He pulled a pipe from his suit pocket, tapped it against the stone hearth, and with a small silver pin pushed a wad of tobacco into the bowl.
Still glanced up from his writing, and at his nod, Nathaniel walked back to the table. “Elijah, we want to ask you some questions about Master Fowler now,” Still said.
Elijah shook his head back and forth before lowering his chin to his chest, his eyes pinched closed. He saw the ruddy face of Buckra, his whiskey breath laughing with each violent crack of the whip. The image boiled in his memory.
He turned to Still. “Elijah don’t want to talk about this no mo’.”
Still leaned back and tossed the pen onto the table. “I know it’s difficult, Elijah. But it really will help you to talk about him. He wasn’t like Master Ramsey, was he?”
“No, Mistah Still.”
“Is Fowler the reason you ran away?”
“Yes, suh. Mastuh and Buckra. He the overseer.”
“How long were you at Master Fowler’s before you escaped?”
“Ol’ Joe say Elijah there three months’ time.”
“Three months? Not such a long time with a new slaveholder,” said Charles Wise.
Confused by the white man’s comment, Elijah fidgeted in his seat, turned, and looked at Billy and Anna. Anna twisted a lace handkerchief in her lap. Billy chewed on his thumbnail.
After an awkward silence, William Still leaned over and spoke in a hushed tone to Nathaniel Depee. Elijah watched as the committee members whispered among each other, finally nodding their heads at William Still.
“Elijah, I know this is difficult for you. So only I will ask the questions right now. Will you try?”
“Yes, Mistah Still.”
“Good.”
“Where does this Master Fowler live?”
“Danville, Virginia.”
“And what crops does he raise?”
“He got this big tobacco farm. Lots of slaves … mor’n Mastuh Ramsey,” Elijah said.
“Had you ever seen a tobacco plantation before?”
“No, suh.”
“And how were the living arrangements there?”
“Elijah live with Ol’ Joe and some other slaves. Ain’t no floor in the hut, not like Mastuh Ramsey’s. Dirt only, and when rains come, floor all turn to mud. Elijah sleep on a plank board only.”
“How were you treated by this new master, Elijah?” Still asked, lowering his voice.
Elijah stared at his hands for several moments. The steely faces of Mastuh Fowler and Buckra exploded in front of him. He blinked his eyes to make their faces disappear.
“Take your time, son,” Still said. “Remember, you’re among friends here. You may say whatever you want. No harm will come to you for speaking freely. In fact, Elijah, it may help you put some painful memories to rest.”
Elijah whirled in his chair and looked questioningly at Billy.
“Go on and tell ’em, Elijah,” Billy whispered, leaning forward.
Turning back, his eyes focused on the floor, Elijah spoke. “Mastuh Fowler didn’t let me say good-bye to my pappy. Whupped me right off.”
He took another deep breath. His heart was beating hard against his chest.
“So he whipped you the first day he owned you?” Still asked. “In front of your pappy?”
“Yes, suh. Whupped me afore Elijah even get in the wagon. Pappy say run like the wind. But Elijah too scared to run then.”
“Tell us about the work you did on the farm.”
“Farm so big Mastuh have an overseer. Slaves call him Buckra. He a big-bellied white folk. He feedin’ the slaves food in a trough, just like hogs. Buckra come to the hut first night, and he cussin’ and sayin’ he hear Elijah strongest nigguh in North Carolina—say he gonna break me.
“Then in the mornin’ time when the farm bell ring, Elijah go to the field like he supposed to. Overseer, he right off collar Elijah. Buckra unhitch the wagon and he say Elijah
got to pull it all day with the tobacco leaves. Sun real hot and Elijah didn’t get no water ’til evenin’.”
“Finally Elijah just fall down. Legs don’t move no mo’, so Elijah crawl on the ground. Buckra laugh and drink his rum while he watch Elijah crawl. He say maybe Elijah not so strong now.”
Still wrung his hands. “Every muscle in your back must have been torn or strained,” he asked. “Did things get any better after that? Did he leave you alone?”
“No, suh.”
“Tell me.”
“Elijah work hard in the tobacco fields, but Buckra, he keep on whuppin’ for any little thing.”
“How did he whip you?”
“Most times he tie me across a barrel and then lash me with the cowhide.” Elijah stirred uncomfortably in his chair as if the pain were still raw on his back.
“Do you know how many lashings you received?”
“One time he say he count a hunnert and twenny times before he tire and take a rest. Ol’ Joe, he put wet rags on Elijah’s back.”
“Tell me about Ol’ Joe.”
Elijah remembered lying on his stomach on his plank, the wet rags on his back, intense pain shooting through him, and Ol’ Joe beside him playing his harmonica during the long suffering hours. His eyes brightened when he thought of his kind old friend. “Ol’ Joe know a lot of things. He been at the farm a long time and he not afraid of the overseer ’cause he say Mastuh like Ol’ Joe.” Elijah smiled to himself. “Ol’ Joe say Elijah just like his own chillun—his boy die when he fall from the rafters in the curin’ barn when he tyin’ tobacco leaves. Ol’ Joe say overseer most like pushed him, and now he worry for me.”
“What about the master? Did he know about this?”
“Mastuh didn’t pay no mind to Buckra. He let him do what he want. Then Elijah get in trouble with the Mastuh.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“One day in the field Buckra say stop plowing. But Elijah plow down one furrow and go on and furrow another one.”
“So you ignored the overseer?”
“Yes, suh. Buckra jest all liquored up and Elijah know Mastuh want his field plowed. Mastuh say that morning, field got to be plowed good.”
“But that only got you in trouble with Master Fowler?”
Billy Boy Page 16
