Trouble the Water_A Novel

by Jacqueline Friedland

  “Don’t the rest of you agree?” Douglas asked. “The government can’t continue treating the North like the favorite son when so much of the country’s wealth is being created down South.”

  At a few murmurs of agreement, Douglas felt his companions warming to him. Perhaps attending this party had been a sunny idea, indeed. Dispelling suspicion was crucial if he hoped to disappear soon on another voyage in the Eastern Atlantic.

  “Elling, how can you stand by us in the South when you don’t support slaveholding? How can you sit there, pretend you’re one of us?” That was John LeGrave, one of the younger men.

  “Look, gentlemen,” Douglas responded carefully, glancing around the bar to make eye contact with each of the men. “I come from Liverpool. I was not raised with slaves. It’s not what I know or need. What the rest of you do, that’s your business. Why should I care when it’s your rice and cotton that keep my boats loaded with cargo? You people do your business, and I’ll do mine. I am a Southerner now, and I stand with you all as my neighbors.”

  The men began nodding slowly, in what Douglas hoped was approval, even acceptance. Had he realized it would be so easy, he would have attempted months ago to recast himself in the eyes of the local aristocracy. Only, Douglas straightened as a feeling of dread crept into his veins, perhaps this was too easy. It didn’t ring true that a few offhand remarks would be sufficient to undermine months of scorn and disapproval.

  “Elling,” Grant Howard spoke up, “a few of us were going to meet Thursday for a spot of gentleman’s poker. Join us?”

  Something wasn’t right. Their brief debating was not sufficient to warrant this invitation into the fold. He would play along until he could figure just what had set his former enemies to opening their hearts so easily. He remembered his conversation with Ben Baylis and decided he would visit that farmer, Wilson Bly, as soon as possible. Bly was known for speaking his roughneck mind. Maybe he could shed some light on the question of these mercurial men.

  “As long as you all don’t mind being catawamptiously chewed up, it would be my pleasure,” Douglas forced out a laugh and then excused himself to return to his wife.

  Three Days Later

  DEMETT KNOCKED TWICE ON THE OUTER DOOR OF THE deserted barn, a staccato pronouncement signaling that William Lloyd Garrison had arrived. Supporters of the Southern States Liberation Congregation, or the SSLC, had traveled surreptitiously to an abandoned property on the outskirts of town to be present for Garrison’s visit. Many of those in attendance were young men seeking adventure, blessed with youthful indifference towards the risks inherent in their actions. Even so, Douglas felt the weight of their peril like sandbags on his shoulders. At least the isolated barn where they now waited was a secure location. The long-abandoned structure stood alone at the entrance to a wood, an overgrowth of thorny brush obscuring its decaying walls. The place was almost entirely camouflaged during day-light and hidden even more so behind the curtain of night.

  Douglas slid the door open to reveal Garrison, along with two bulkier companions. Garrison was surprisingly diminutive, nearly dwarfed by the two men flanking him, ironic for a man with such a hefty reputation. He certainly looked much younger than his thirty-seven years, but Douglas knew better than to be deluded by appearances. Garrison was a thunder stroke, and Douglas was anxious to impress him.

  “Mr. Garrison,” Douglas ushered the men inside and hastily shut the door before extending his hand, “I am Douglas Elling. I hope the journey was uneventful.”

  “It’s long overdue we meet, Mr. Elling,” Garrison responded with his Northern twang and a sturdy handshake. “Though I cannot claim it a pleasure to be here, ensconced in the mud of your Carolina swamps, hiding like a criminal.” Garrison’s eyes shifted from Douglas toward the other men scattered throughout the shadowy barn. “I hope everyone is aware of the acute risks we face.” Garrison addressed the room, and Douglas noticed a handgun hanging at the hip of one of his beefy comrades.

  “Indeed,” Douglas answered, looking toward the group, “And I’ve reminded each fellow over and again that there will be no repercussions should anyone develop reservations. Their feet have remained planted, though. These men are committed. Mad as hatters, perhaps, but committed.” There were concurring murmurs from amongst the men.

  “Let me lay out who’s in attendance.” Douglas continued, “Twelve of these men accompanied me aboard The Voyager. Several of those twelve have traveled here from up North, like you. As for the others,” Douglas surveyed the men, “that’s Kyle Doogan,” he pointed toward a tall man who was leaning against a stall divider. The cloudy gas lamp in Doogan’s hand illuminated only the bottom half of his square face. “I met him only recently,” Douglas explained, “but Doogan was recommended to the SSLC by Tommy Branch, who has been an SSLC member since its inception.”

  “You needn’t bother with further endorsements then,” Garrison nodded crisply at Doogan. “I’m quite familiar with Branch. He’s risked hide and hair for the movement, not just with those antislavery pamphlets, but also sheltering refugees. Any friend of Tommy Branch is a friend of mine.”

  “Of course.” Douglas felt himself beginning to sweat beneath his collar, possibly from the oppressive air in the withering barn, but more likely a product of his ambition to impress Garrison. “This fine fellow,” Douglas motioned to an older man with thinning hair, “is Archibald Hutchins.” An errant shaft of moonlight reflected off the man’s wire-rimmed glasses, obscuring his eyes behind the glare.

  “I discovered Mr. Hutchins’s antislavery sentiments only recently, after his Negro coachman confided in Demett, whom you met outside. It’s almost laughable, as I have been doing my banking with him for years, yet I hadn’t an inkling. I trust this man, and I’m confident he would not betray us.”

  Archie Hutchins extended his pale hand to Garrison and explained, “Obviously a gentleman of my age cannot commandeer slave ships, but what I do have is money. I’ve been trying to help with buying supplies, rations, whatever it is that needs buying.”

  Garrison pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the damp night from his brow.

  “Tell me, Mr. Hutchins,” Garrison inquired, “the money you see, it comes through slavery, isn’t that so? All the wealth in this town is generated by a slave workforce. When bondage comes to an end, so too does the flow of money. If the money from plantations dries up, what becomes of your banking business?”

  Archie shrugged, “I speculated on some land in Virginia years back. Petersburg Railroad bought it from me for more than a whole hog at Christmas dinner. Haven’t needed any business beyond that for years. What I care about now is not sitting idle, not averting my gaze while guiltless people spend their lives in bondage. Families getting ripped apart . . .” His voice caught in his throat, and he coughed into his hand, attempting to regain composure. “I only regret I didn’t speak up when I was a younger man, that I was so involved in my own life that I didn’t think to care.”

  “Well,” Garrison bobbed his head, “it’s never too late to find your personal hallelujah. Glad to have you.”

  Douglas pointed back toward Doogan, where three other men stood beside him. “The only other additions to the group are men you recommended, Frank and Gabriel Tompkins and John Colby. Hold the lantern higher, Frank, so everyone can see your faces.”

  “The Tompkins brothers!” Garrison nearly cheered. “There’s no organized group for them in Columbia County, but they knew there must be Underground nearby. They came through a convoluted channel, but I thought these strapping boys would be a boon to your Blackbirder Blockade.”

  Douglas nodded, as Garrison had alluded to this idea in previous letter. Their written correspondence had been opaque, as it needed be, so Douglas was pleased to learn that he interpreted the letter properly. The growth of the Blockade by even two men was a tremendous benefit when the whole brigade consisted of only twelve other souls.

  Motioning to the other newcomer, Garrison called, “Jo
hn, come closer.” As the man emerged from the shadows, Garrison explained, “John Colby, here, came down from New York. He’s built relationships with local free blacks and has established new railroad stations, as we like to call them. I’m confident there are more sympathizers to be found down these ways, but I understand the difficulty of ferreting them out.” He shook his head in dismay. “Bravery like the kind in this room is scarce.” He paused and looked from each man to the next, sending a message of approval with his hard, dark eyes. “I expect Colby will travel between North and South frequently, hopefully escorting runaways along the way.”

  John Colby’s shaggy dark hair fell just below his jawline, a messy, hodgepodge affair that was at odds with the sophisticated cut of his collar. He nodded soberly at the group and then reached out to shake Douglas’s hand. “I’ll be doing what Mr. Garrison says, but I’d as much like to get out there on the seas with the rest of you. Scare me up some traders,” he joked.

  With introductions complete, Douglas cleared his throat and began, “I’d like to take this opportunity to speak about the SSLC and update everyone on some recent developments.” Several of the men in the spectral room nodded and moved closer, creating a haphazard circle around Douglas in the shadowy dust and grit.

  “We formed the SSLC three years ago. Sam Green over there,” Douglas motioned to a squat man on the edge of the group, “he and I were the first, and we’ve been quietly growing our membership ever since. We have been focused on the illegal slave trade that continues to flourish, despite having been outlawed for nearly thirty-five years. Until international trafficking in slaves has ceased, there can be no meaningful abolitionist movement domestically.”

  “Hear, hear!” Sam Green called out. Others nodded and mumbled in agreement.

  Encouraged, Douglas continued, “Slave trading is a crime punishable by death, yet only one man has ever been executed under the law, despite the numerous illegal shipments every year. By the by, there are similar smuggling problems in Britain.” Douglas saw that Garrison was nodding along with the others.

  “For this reason, we formed the Blackbirder Blockade. With only twelve active members, our operations are primitive, but our first mission was a great success. The ship from Britain that we seized was carrying over two hundred captives. After disenfranchising the ship’s crew, we deposited them back on the coast of Ghana and then brought the Africans to Freetown in Sierra Leone. From there, the Africans were permitted to determine for themselves the manner in which they wanted to repatriate.”

  “And what of the traders?” one of the Tompkins brothers asked. “We leave them to die?”

  “Nah,” Douglas shook his head. “We left them a few days’ walk from the Cape Coast Castle and told them the way. They could find passage home from there, one way or another, providing they were willing to suffer the humiliation and risk criminal arrest.”

  “Ha!” Garrison called out, apparently delighted anew by the mischief of it, even though he was already thoroughly familiar with this information.

  Douglas continued, “Slave traders have become careless in the wake of lax enforcement. The crew we met was entirely ill-equipped to defend themselves. Given the nature of my export business,” Douglas explained, “we have access to ships and supplies for scouting and pirating efforts. We have tremendous financial support, too. Certain of my merchant contacts have enlisted a few foreigners to re-situate the captives once they return to African shores, helping them to return to their former lives or find better than what they left behind. At this juncture, what we need is more manpower, so I am elated to see the new faces here tonight.”

  “If I may add,” Garrison stepped toward the middle of the cluster, “the Blackbirder Blockade has been one of the most significant recent triumphs for the abolitionist movement. The diversion by the Blockade of that one ship may not sound like much, but it resulted in the return of more than two hundred would-be slaves to Africa. The ship was likely bound for Havana, and nearly half of those people would have died during the Middle Passage, from starvation or disease. Of those who made it to Havana, many would have been auctioned and then smuggled to other destinations, especially the American South.”

  “Furthermore,” Garrison said, “these blackbirding slavers haven’t devised any effective precautions to help themselves avoid detection, by our men, or by Britain’s Royal Navy. If only the Royal Navy ever apprehended anyone,” he scoffed. “In the six months since the Blockade’s mission,” Garrison chuckled, “I bet they’ve already become a legend, a cautionary tale. The deterrent effect may be even more powerful than the actual missions.”

  Douglas felt his chest rising in response to Garrison’s praise, his entire being bolstered by the knowledge that his efforts created a source of optimism for other abolitionists.

  After the meeting concluded, the men made staggered exits, some walking as far as two miles to the locations where they had left their horses and wagons. Garrison lingered with John Colby, the shaggy-haired man from New York, both waiting for a final word with Douglas.

  The lanterns were now extinguished, and the room was dark but for the moonlight edging in through the fragmented roof.

  “Douglas,” Garrison began, putting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him slowly toward the exit, “I see great promise in our relationship. I believe you are an immediast, like me, who will settle for nothing less than immediate emancipation of all souls held in bondage. Full rights granted at once, and no compensation for former slaveholders either.” He seemed as though he wanted to spit at the thought of reimbursing slaveholders for the cost of slaves who were freed.

  “Some consider my approach too radical,” he went on, tugging at his necktie. “They would prefer a gradual end to bondage, to avoid mutiny or what have you. And then there are the issues about whether women should be permitted to participate in our meetings. To my mind, equality is an easy concept and there can be no exceptions, whether predicated on color or sex. I know, Douglas, that we are like-minded gentleman. We will be heard!”

  Spittle flew from Garrison’s mouth as he shouted the last bit, and Douglas felt himself becoming nearly intoxicated on the strength of Garrison’s passion. “Just tell me how I can be of service,” Douglas responded, anxious to hear what Garrison had in mind.

  “What I envision is you and Colby overseeing all developments in the South. You will be our eyes and ears, our outrider down this way. Sympathizers will end up at your doorstep, one way or another, and you will either enlist them in the Blockade, or assist in finding local tasks for them. We can enumerate the details at a later date. All you need to digest at this moment is that if you’re willing, you and Colby will be our freedom commanders for everything south of the Mason-Dixon Line.”

  “Mr. Garrison,” Douglas answered with a grin, “I’ve been hoping for years to work alongside your people. We will improve this nation for all its inhabitants, black and white alike. I would relish nothing more, sir.”

  Douglas reflected that his own fervor seemed to grow deeper, more urgent, with each action he took to advance freedom, like he was fueling an addiction. He was further inspired by Garrison’s apparent faith in his abilities. He wondered if he ought to mention his declining reputation amongst the planters of Charleston, that their suspicion toward him as a sympathizer had been growing steadily. Perhaps the scrutiny by his neighbors would undermine his effectiveness as one of Garrison’s soldiers. He thought back to the Cunningham ball, remembering the foreboding he felt after those men warmed to him. Douglas resolved to hold his tongue until he knew more. There was no need to jeopardize his position with Garrison after working so long to capture the man’s attention. Whatever the situation, he would handle it.

  “Well that settles it,” Garrison concluded as he and Colby proceeded toward the door, Garrison’s two henchmen stepping out of the shadows to follow. “You will be hearing from us, Douglas.” Garrison patted Douglas on his shoulder.

  As Douglas returned home, he hoped Sarah woul
d be waiting up like she often did.

  “Sarah!” Douglas called from the hall as he spotted the candlelight casting a glow from his study. “Sarah, my love!” Douglas huffed with excitement when he found her waiting peacefully on the settee beneath the windows, a needlepoint pattern poised on her lap. “Now that was a meeting. Nearly twenty people, new manpower for the Blockade, accolades from Garrison. I hardly know where to begin. I could feel it in my blood, the changes that are coming down the lane! Abolition is going to take hold at long last, until the whole ghastly system has been destroyed.”

  “I’m so pleased the meeting went well,” Sarah smiled, as she stood to put her arms around his neck. “If there is anyone who can add force to Garrison’s army and valor to his ideals, it is you, my darling.”

  “Really, I couldn’t be more glad about anything than I am to have this opportunity.”

  “I don’t know, Douglas,” Sarah pondered in a wistful tone, planting a light kiss on his cheek and taking his hand in her own. “I’m sure we could find something that might just be the cherry on top of this exciting day.” She ran her hand slowly down his arm to make herself clear.

  Douglas raised his eyebrows at Sarah’s invitation.

  “What?” She blushed as he smiled down at her. “I’ve got to remind you that younger girls like Cora Rae Cunningham have not a single advantage over a fully ripened woman like me.”

  Douglas barked out a laugh. He had forgotten about Cora Rae’s forward behavior at the ball.

  “Here I thought you might be focused on my involvement in a criminal enterprise, but all you can think about is getting me into bed with you then? It is no wonder I adore you.” He gathered Sarah into his arms and lowered his face to kiss her.