by Ginny Dye
“You have my word, Moses,” Captain Jones said in a rough voice. Then he cleared his throat. “This is nonsense. You’ll be back. I figure you have about a week, but if the action starts sooner, figure out a way to get across the lines and back to our side.” His voice became brisk as he cleared some things away on his desk. “Now, what do you need?”
Moses forced a grin. “Don’t reckon as how I’ll be needin’ much, Massa Jones. I sho be needin’ to get rid of dese here clothes, though. Ain’t no slaves dress like this. I be needin’ me somethin’ a bit more plain.” He looked down ruefully at his blue pants and shirt. It wasn’t a regular uniform, but it definitely identified him as a Union man.
“You’ll need to carry some kind of identification so you can cross back over to our side,” the captain protested.
Moses shook his head firmly. “I won’t carry any identification, Captain, not behind southern lines anyway. The papers I have right now will do just fine. I’ll get rid of them when I need to. Slave people don’t hesitate to search a Negro if they have even a glimmer of suspicion about them. I’ll be hanging from a tree, for sure, if they find anything hooking me to the North. No, sir,” he said, shaking his head again. “I’ll figure out a way to get back here. Right now I reckon I’ll just go rustle me up some clothes that be more fittin’ for a slave,” he drawled.
Captain Jones’ laughter followed him as he moved easily away. There was no answering smile on Moses’ face. He would do what was necessary to help the Union, but he hadn’t figured on marching right back into slavery.
Moses started out as soon as it was dark enough to obscure his movements. His plan was simple. He would go several miles to the north in an attempt to reach the end of the lines. Then he would circle back down on the southern side and let the Rebels discover him. It was risky, but it sounded a lot better than trying to sneak through lines where hundreds of guns waited in either direction. Walking rapidly down a back road, he stayed deep in the shadows and fingered the identification he would carry until he left Union lines. Thankfully the sky was heavy with clouds. The full moon hiding behind their murky depths would not be able to betray him tonight.
Two hours later, Moses figured he had gone far enough north. Cutting west, he continued to walk rapidly until he reached a road he guessed would take him toward Richmond. He could only hope he was well behind Confederate lines. It was nothing but guesswork at this point. He stopped beside a stream, pulled his identification papers from his pocket, and tore them into tiny pieces. He leaned down and picked up a large rock, gripped the papers tightly, and then held his hand in the water until they were soaked through. Water dripped from his fingers as he laid the papers in the shallow water on the edge of the stream and placed the rock over them securely. Even if someone found them before they had a chance to disintegrate, it would be impossible to read them.
Satisfied, Moses stood, looked around carefully, then continued his rapid walking. He wanted to be within Confederate lines before the sky began to lighten. He couldn’t appear to be skulking. That would only make him look more suspicious. As he walked, he allowed his mind to wander. The idea of walking back into the slavery he had fought so hard to be free from sent a flood of memories rampaging through his mind.
He would forever carry the image of his daddy hanging from a tree after he was caught during an escape attempt. Just as he would always carry the image of his mama and sisters being separated from him and sold on the auction block in Richmond. The same auction block that had landed him on Cromwell Plantation almost two years ago. He had made a vow that day that he would find his mama and sisters some day and set them free. His efforts now were part of that vow. If his actions helped the Union win the war, one of the results might be freedom for slaves.
Moses scowled at that thought. As far as he could tell, there weren’t too many Yankees who were fighting to free the slaves. Sure, there were some like Joe who understood and hated slavery, but too many of them couldn’t care less what happened to slaves. They just wanted to save the Union so that they could go home and continue living their lives. If people in the South wanted to own slaves, that was their business. Yet Moses still hung onto the hope that one of the eventual results of the war would be the freedom of his people. It was the only reason he was willfully walking back into the life he had longed to escape.
His thoughts swung to Carrie Cromwell. He wished he had some way of knowing if she had indeed made it to the safety of Richmond after he had helped her escape the Union troops that had descended onto her plantation in search of food. Thank goodness his captain had never figured out he had played a key role in her escape. He had heard the stories of how Carrie had flown from the barn on Granite and then jumped a high fence to make good her escape. Beyond that he had no idea whether she had made it to Richmond. He had done everything within his power to help the friend who had made his escape from slavery possible. He just wished there weren’t still so many questions.
Then, as it always did, his mind turned to Rose. The image of her beautiful face and slender body rose up to both soothe him and taunt him. There was not a moment he did not miss her. He carried the memory of her gentle voice and loving smile close to his heart. She had given him the courage to follow his dreams. She had taught him to read and had given him a thirst for knowledge. Her confidence in him was what kept him going. Surely it would be all that would carry him through the week ahead.
“Halt! Who goes there!” a stern voice shouted.
Moses jerked to a standstill and raised his hands above his head in submission. “It just be ole Samuel,” he called out. “I be lookin’ for my master. You be knowin’ my master?”
He moved not an inch when three soldiers stepped from the woods. The beating of his heart slowed when he recognized Confederate gray. At least he was on the right side. Now he would have to trust his wits.
“What are you doing here, boy?” one soldier demanded in a hostile voice. “Don’t you know I could put a bullet through you right now? You must really be as stupid as you look!”
“He sure is a big one!” another of the soldiers whistled. “Keep your guns on him, boys.”
“Y’all keep your guns on him,” another one, whom Moses quickly identified as the leader, snapped. “I’m going to check our darkie here out. Let’s see what he’s carrying on him.”
Moses thought with relief of the soaked papers buried under the rock a few miles back. He managed to stand still as the soldier searched him thoroughly then stepped back to scowl at him.
“You don’t have papers of any kind, boy.”
“No, sir. I know I don’t be havin’ no papers. I had to come find my massa. I know he be here fightin’. He be needin’ me, sir.”
The soldier who had searched him laughed derisively. “What does a soldier need from you, boy?”
Moses watched him carefully even while he kept the pleading look on his face and the whining tone in his voice. He knew he was keeping the man off guard. “Why, my massa been needin’ me all his life!” he exclaimed indignantly. “I been takin’ care of him since he was a little thing. There’s plenty I’s can be doin’. He be needin’ someone to bring him his meals. He be needin’ someone to keep an eye on thin’s while he tries to sleep. I been hearin’ the horrible thin’s happenin’ on these here battlefields.” Watching the men closely, he pulled himself up to his full height. “I reckon this ain’t just be a war to be fought by the white man. These Yankees be down here trying to take my home, too. I reckon I need to be doin’ whatever I can to help!”
The three men stared at him for several long moments before the leader visibly relaxed. “What’d you say your name is, boy?”
“Samuel.”
“Where are you from?”
Moses mind raced. He was taking a big chance. What if these three soldiers knew the area well? He would have to trust that their strong accents meant they were from much farther south in cotton country. “A plantation ‘bout forty miles from here. A place called Cru
mpton.”
“How in the world did you get here?”
“I walked,” Moses stated proudly. “I done walked all this way to find my massa.”
“Well, Samuel, my name is Mitchell Palmer. And I’m afraid you aren’t going to find your master.”
“Why not?” Moses asked in alarm.
“Do you know how many men are out here?” Palmer laughed. “Over eighty thousand the last I heard. How are you planning to find him in this many men?”
Moses remained silent, allowing a look of confusion to play over his features before he hung his head to stare at the ground.
Palmer continued, in a slightly kinder voice. “Look, if you’re really wanting to help, then I guess we can find a place for you in our unit.”
“What!” one of the men exclaimed. “You’re going to bring that slave into our unit? Are you crazy? He ain’t goin’ to be nothing but trouble.”
Palmer silenced the man with a glare. “He sounds like a man who knows what side his bread is buttered on. There is a lot of those wealthy plantation boys who have their slaves with them. I’ve seen how easy these black boys make it for them. I don’t see any reason I shouldn’t have some of those same benefits. I always wanted to own a slave. This may be my only chance.” He paused and stared thoughtfully at Moses.
Moses knew Palmer relished the idea of having power over him. Let him relish whatever he wanted. His little game was working just the way he wanted it to, so far.
“I say he comes,” Palmer stated with finality.
The other two men muttered and shook their heads but said no more.
Then Palmer turned back to Moses, and his voice hardened. “You give me any trouble, boy, and I’ll shoot you square between the eyes. I’ve killed a lot of Yankees, and I sure won’t have any trouble killing you. You’ve put yourself on a battlefield with your crazy ideas of looking for your master. As far as I’m concerned, you’re nothing but a runaway slave. And that means someone might come looking for you. Give me any trouble, and I’ll make sure they only have a corpse to carry away.”
“Yessir!” Moses said eagerly. “I ain’t gonna cause no trouble. You’ll see. You’ll be mighty glad you let me come along!”
“Yeah. I better be,” Palmer said as he swung around. “Let’s go. Our guard time is up.”
“Moses! Bring me some fresh coffee,” Palmer snapped.
“Yessir!” Moses responded as he jumped to his feet and moved toward the fire. Only one more night he reminded himself. He forced down the anger surging through him at the degradation and humiliation he had suffered during the previous six days, and fixed a submissive look on his face as he carried the coffee pot to where Palmer lounged against the tree.
Palmer, in spite of the fact he had never owned slaves, had moved easily into his role of master. Moses had watched him carefully all week long. He seemed like a basically decent man. He showed consideration and respect for the men around him, and they looked up to him. He treated Moses like a piece of meat. Moses had watched slave owners long enough to understand what was going on. Ownership of another human being required a certain deadening of the soul. Slave owners had to forego some of their own humanity when they took away another’s. It hardened them. It gave them a sense of power but required a dehumanizing of the one they held power over.
“Here you is, sir. Can I be gettin’ you anythin’ else?” Moses asked quietly.
“Yeah. I left my hardtack in the sack on my horse. Get it for me.”
“Yes, sir.” Moses was glad to escape into the darkness of the night. It allowed him to relax his vigilance. Only under cover of darkness could he allow the studied submissiveness to leave his face. Just one week back in bondage had left him wondering how he had ever endured all the years of slavery before he and Rose had escaped. It took every bit of effort he had not to release the anger he felt when they treated him as if he was just a stupid animal.
Nonetheless, he had gained valuable information to bring back to Captain Jones. He had listened carefully as the soldiers discussed what they knew of the defense of Richmond. Moses walked toward the horses as he allowed the information he had gleaned to flow through his mind. He knew General Lee was working hard to dig in around Richmond - to build fortifications and breastworks to withstand the attack the Confederates were sure would come soon. He had managed to hide his amusement when the soldiers returned from a hard day of digging, complaining bitterly about the “King of Spades,” as they called their new commander. He hadn’t minded all the digging he did for Palmer because the soldiers talked as they dug. By listening carefully, he had managed to gain some idea of the strength of the Confederate forces, and he was convinced McClellan had the power to take on the South. Tomorrow morning he would carry his report back to the captain. His job would be done.
“Easy, fellows.” Moses talked soothingly to the horses as he stepped up to Palmer’s big bay gelding and pulled out the hardtack and salt pork he found there. Holding it, he turned to stare into the woods. Would he be able to cross over the next day? He had avoided the question all week, knowing he would lose his ability to listen and concentrate if he was focused on crossing back to the Union side. Now it could no longer be avoided. His only hope was to wait until late that night and pray everyone was asleep as he stole out of camp. He would try to go around the lines in an attempt to return in the same way he had accomplished his entry onto the Confederate side, but if his attempt failed he would be forced to push through the lines and pray he wasn’t shot. He thought longingly of the shredded paper beneath the rocks but pushed the thoughts aside. It had been necessary to destroy his identification. He would just have to trust God to get him back safely.
Moses took a deep breath and turned back to camp. It was time to get back. Now was not the time to arouse suspicion. He had almost reached the circle of light when he heard a voice that stopped him dead in his tracks.
“I got a message for you boys,” a voice rang out. “The colonel said to prepare three days rations.”
Moses knew what that meant. A battle was imminent. Now he really did have to get over the lines - or risk being caught in the battle. None of that seemed important right now, though. It was the voice itself that made his blood run cold - and boil with fury.
“What’s going on, Adams?” Palmer asked.
“All I know is what I just told you. Prepare three days rations.”
“Why’d they send you to tell us? Where is the colonel’s aide?”
“Busy I guess. How would I know? How would I know anything? I shouldn’t even be here fighting this stupid war. This whole conscription thing is a violation of my Southern rights,” Adams said bitterly. “I ain’t even supposed to be fighting. I’m an overseer. My job is on the plantation controlling the niggers.”
“From all I’ve heard, you lost your job on the plantations. Been hunting runaway slaves for a while,” Palmer said sarcastically. “Besides, I don’t know that you’re any better than the rest of us. There’s a war going on, in case you didn’t know. It takes real men to fight a war.”
Moses could imagine the fury tightening Ike Adams’ face as Palmer taunted him. In spite of his fear, he allowed himself a small smile. It vanished quickly. Palmer was going to notice he hadn’t returned in just a few minutes. But there was no way he could step out into the firelight. Adams would recognize him in a heartbeat, and then it would all be over. Not only his mission - he knew it would be the end of his life. There was not a Rebel around who would not be eager to hang a black man serving as a spy for the Union, especially after Adams told the story of how Moses had disposed of him on the side of the road.
Moses stifled a groan as his mind raced to figure a way out of his newest dilemma. He could not think of a worse person to show up in his camp. Ike Adams had been the overseer on Cromwell Plantation until Carrie had thrown him off for trying to rape Rose. Adams had always carried a hatred for Moses. It was a hatred that encompassed everyone around him. It was his betrayal that had sent Capta
in Jones and his men to Carrie’s plantation. Moses had been forced to knock him out, dispose of his clothes, and tie him before going to Carrie’s aid. He regretted not killing the man when he had his chance. He knew nothing would stop Adams from killing him now if he found him there. Instinctively, Moses ducked farther back in the shadows as he struggled to find a solution and prayed Adams would get back on his horse and ride off.
“You boys got some spare coffee?” Adams asked. “You’re the last unit I was sent to give the message to. I sure could use a cup of something hot.”
“Give him a cup, boys,” Palmer growled. Then he looked around. “Where did Samuel go? I told him to get my food. What’s that darkie doing? Playing around in the woods?”
“You got you a nigger out there, Palmer?”
“Yeah. He was looking for his master,” Palmer said with a nasty laugh. “I figured I would give him a new one. He’s been right handy to have around.”
“Better keep an eye out for him. Them slaves been getting right uppity since this war started. The grapevine works real well around here. They know a lot of their kind are taking off and ending up in what the Yankees are calling contraband camps. Those Yankees are shielding them from their rightful owners and are even giving them education and paying them some for the work they do. The news is getting around. It hasn’t done much to help the attitudes, if you know what I mean,” Adams said with a sneer.
“Samuel is all right. He’s big and strong - one of the biggest blacks I’ve ever seen. He sure made my life easier this week. I didn’t have to do much digging,” he said boastfully. “Yep, he came in real handy.” Suddenly he looked around. “Where is he, anyway? I told him to come right back.”
“You can’t never trust them,” Adams growled as he took a sip of his coffee. “There’s a nigger I’m looking for right now. I reckon I’ll stumble on to him one of these days. Real big fellow. Slave by the name of Moses. He’s done turned himself into a Union spy.”
