Boss dismounted and walked up to the back door of the mansion. He shuffled from foot to foot as he rang the bell and waited. After a minute, the door opened, and a black servant appeared. Matt couldn’t hear what Boss said to him, but the servant suddenly looked at the wagon, put his hand to his mouth with surprise, then disappeared into the house. Boss strolled back to the wagon.
“Well?” Sonny asked, crawling down from the buckboard seat and rubbing his rear. Hank did likewise.
“He’s coming,” Boss replied.
The door slammed, and Matt looked up in time to see a short man with a chiseled, white face and billowing housecoat race down the walkway.
“Boss! What’re you doing here at this ungodly hour on a Sunday morning? Don’t you know that—” He stopped himself when he saw Clarence and Eveline in the back of the wagon. “Good heavens, look at that!”
“I thought you’d be wanting your property back, Mr. Ramsay,” Boss said.
Ramsay glared at Clarence and Eveline. “As a matter of interest, no. I don’t want my property back. And it’s taking every ounce of strength to keep from grabbing a horsewhip and driving these two troublemakers into the next county!”
Clarence refused to look at Ramsay in the eyes. Eveline kept her gaze locked on her hands, which were neatly folded in her lap. Matt felt like throwing up.
“Wait, now, Mr. Ramsay,” Sonny gulped. “You say you don’t want them back? But you put out a reward! You said you—”
“Oh, don’t start sniveling. That doesn’t mean you won’t get money for them. Come into the kitchen, Boss. I have a proposition for you.”
Boss followed Ramsay back up to the door, and the two of them went inside.
“This better not be some kind of trick,” Hank snarled. He pointed a finger at Clarence. “If we don’t get what’s coming to us, I swear I’ll skin you alive.”
Fifteen minutes later Boss returned to the wagon. Sonny and Hank watched him expectantly as he ran his fingers through his greasy hair, then put his hat on. “He doesn’t want them. He said they’re too much trouble, trying to run away every chance they get. It’s bad for the other slaves. Doesn’t even want the boy.”
Matt wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or insulted.
“So what’s he want to do with them?” Hank asked.
“He’s selling them to us.”
“Us!” Sonny complained. “We don’t have that kind of money.”
“No—but we might in Huntsville. He wants us to sell them, and in return we’ll give him part of what we make. I think it’s a fair deal. We stand to make more from that than we would’ve just with the reward money.”
“I’m not sure I like it,” Hank said. “But I reckon we don’t have much of a choice.”
Sonny scratched his nose thoughtfully and said, “It suits me.”
Boss came alongside the wagon and peered in at his three packages. “Did you get all that?”
Clarence and Eveline nodded. Matt looked perplexed. “I don’t understand. What’re you going to do with us?”
“I’m selling you, boy,” Boss said earnestly. “Tomorrow you’re gonna be on the auction block.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SUNDAY WAS A SLAVE’S day off for rest or to go to church or to visit nearby relatives. Since Clarence and Eveline were runaways, the overseer—a man named Watson who was in charge of the slaves—locked them up in an empty storeroom. Matt wasn’t considered a threat and Watson waved his hand at him in dismissal.
“But I have to talk to you,” Matt said.
“You can go on,” Watson scowled as he locked the door on Clarence and Eveline. “Go play or something.”
“But I don’t want to go play. I need to talk to somebody in charge. There’s been a big mistake!”
Watson pushed him away. “You wanna talk to Mr. Ramsay? Forget it. Consider yourself fortunate that we’re letting you stay here until the auction. It’s not as if you belong to us.”
“That’s what I mean!” Matt persisted. “I don’t belong to anybody. I don’t belong here. I’m free.”
“Leave me alone,” Watson snapped and walked away.
Matt followed him. “Boss picked me up without having a right to. Don’t you have laws against that? Somebody’s going to be in big trouble. Understand? I’m free!”
“Shut up, boy,” Watson said. “I don’t want to know.”
“But you do know.”
They rounded the corner of a stable and nearly ran straight into Boss. He was brushing down his horse.
“What’s wrong, Watson?” he asked casually.
“This boy says he’s free, but you’re selling him anyway,” Watson replied.
“I am and you know it!” Matt said.
“Shut up,” Boss said to Matt.
Watson looked at Boss uneasily. “We don’t want anything illegal going on here, Boss. Mr. Ramsay won’t like it.”
“There’s nothing illegal about you putting up my slave for the night—as a favor.”
“I’m not your slave!” Matt said.
Boss grabbed Matt by the shirt and yanked him so close to his face that he could smell yesterday’s potatoes on his breath. He spoke softly, “You won’t be anybody’s slave if you don’t close your mouth. That backhand I once gave you is nothing compared to what I’m willing to do.” He thrust Matt away so hard that Matt fell and hit his head on a post.
“Do you have papers for him?” Watson asked.
Boss smiled. “I might have them around here somewhere. But you don’t have to see them.”
“Mr. Ramsay might ask.”
“Only if someone gives him a reason to ask. I won’t and this boy won’t—how about you?”
“Depends on what it’s worth,” Watson said.
Boss nodded, went to his saddle, and pulled out a bag of coins. He fished around until he found an appropriate number and tossed them to Watson. “That should help to keep things quiet.”
Watson considered the money. “I reckon it will.”
Boss threw him another coin. “This is to help make sure the boy keeps quiet, too.”
“Easily done,” Watson said. He walked over to Matt, who was standing up. He put his hand on the leather hand of the whip attached to his belt. “Come on, boy.”
Matt looked at Boss’s face, then Watson’s, and realized what was going to happen. “No!” he said and tried to run in the opposite direction.
Watson was too quick for him and had him by the collar instantly. Matt shouted. Watson gave him a hard thump on the back of the head with the end of his leather whip handle. Stunned, Matt began to cry. “No, no, no,” he said over and over.
Watson dragged Matt back to the empty storehouse where Clarence and Eveline were held prisoners. He opened the door and shoved Matt inside. “Keep this boy quiet or the three of you won’t live to regret it,” he said to Clarence. He closed the door again and locked it.
Splinters of light came through the uneven boards on top of the shack. Matt lay on the ground and continued to cry. All his pent-up emotion had been unleashed and wouldn’t be stopped. Eveline leaned down and held him close. “It’s all right,” she said gently.
Clarence also knelt down next to him and stroked his back. “Go ahead, Matthew. You go ahead and cry. Cry for all of us.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JACK SAT IN THE STEAM train’s passenger car at the Corinth railway station and stared at the Western Union Telegraph office across the platform. He fidgeted anxiously in the brown cloth seat. What was taking Reverend Andrew so long? he wondered.
It was yet another delay in what seemed like a trip of endless delays. First, they couldn’t leave Odyssey until Reverend Andrew found someone to take his pulpit and pastoral responsibilities for a couple of weeks. That raised questions about why he was leaving and though Andrew answered discreetly, word got back to the sheriff who warned him not to try any of his “abolitionist” stunts. Jack remembered well how the sheriff had squinted an eye and said, “I promise you,
Reverend, that if you intentionally bring any runaways back to this town, there’ll be more trouble than either one of us’ll know how to handle.”
The reverend politely thanked him for the warning.
Later that day Jack and the reverend rode down to a wharf on the Mississippi and caught a riverboat headed south. Andrew insisted that he and Jack stay in their stateroom for the journey, since Jack’s “obvious unfamiliarity with the ways of the riverboat” (he said) would make him stand out in a crowd. Jack suspected that there were things on the riverboat that Andrew didn’t approve of. The heavily made-up, perfumed women and the card games were probably two of those things, Jack guessed.
They made good time on the river until, just south of Cairo, Illinois, they came upon a boat that had hit some river debris and blown up. For that, they were delayed a day getting to Columbus, Kentucky.
At Columbus they took a train deeper into the South. Jack was surprised by the overall sootiness and dinginess of the steam train. The passenger cars were plain and boxlike with seats barely covered in thin fabric for marginal comfort. Jack had complained to Reverend Andrew about it. The reverend then informed him that some of the cars—particularly the ones the blacks were allowed to ride in—had hard wooden seats. “Be grateful for what you have,” he said.
Travel on the train was anything but smooth. There was a great deal of jolting and rocking, noise, and grating screeches. At night, the sparks from the engine flew past the dirty window like wild fireflies. Jack worried that the sparks might land on the wooden cars and turn to flames.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Andrew said as he hooked a thumb toward the stove in the middle of the car. “That’ll start a fire long before the sparks will.”
Jack wasn’t comforted and didn’t sleep much.
According to his plan, Andrew reminded Jack not to call him “Reverend” anymore. Now he was simply Andrew Jamison or, to Jack, Uncle Andrew. He had given up his role as a minister and was now an ornithologist—a man who studied birds.
“Isn’t that lying?” Jack had asked.
Andrew had smiled and said, “Not at all. Studying birds has been a hobby of mine for years. That I choose to omit the fact that I’m a Northern minister who abhors slavery is no one’s business but mine. We’ll get onto the plantations to spread the word among the Alabama slaves about the Underground Railroad. Meanwhile, we’ll look for your friend in Huntsville.”
The plan seemed terribly simple to Jack. What if Matt wasn’t in Huntsville? What if they took him somewhere else? What if they hurt him along the way?
They stopped at the station in Corinth, Mississippi, where they would then catch another train heading east to Huntsville. That’s the train Jack was now sitting in. He squirmed in his seat and tugged at the collar of the shirt Andrew had bought for him. It was stiff and uncomfortable. The new, wool trousers also made his legs itch. And the shoes pinched his toes.
Andrew emerged from the telegraph office and leaped onto the train. He sat down across from Jack. “Well, that’s done.”
“What did you do, Rev—er, Uncle Andrew?” Jack asked.
“I telegraphed ahead to a friend of mine in Huntsville. He’ll help us when we arrive.” He smiled and rubbed his hands together. “I’m quite pleased, Jack. If my estimations are correct, those slave hunters will only just be arriving with Clarence, Eveline, and your friend. I believe this excursion will yield much fruit for their freedom—and the freedom of others.”
“Just so we find Matt,” Jack said.
“Don’t worry, lad. God is with us. What could go wrong?”
A man in a blue uniform and matching cap opened the door and poked his head into the train. “Sorry, gentlemen, but this train’ll be delayed a few hours.”
“What!” Jack responded.
Andrew put a restraining hand on his knee. “What is the problem?” he asked the man.
The man scratched impatiently at his ear. “Train went off the track just outside of Decatur. Awfully messy. Since it’s the Sabbath, they can’t rally the men they need to get it cleared until morning. Corinth’s a nice little place. I’m sure you’ll find lodgings.”
“But what about Matt?” Jack asked.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ON MONDAY MORNING, BOSS took Matt, Clarence, and Eveline to Huntsville. They had been given fresh clothes to wear, for reasons Matt learned later. After a half hour’s drive they made their way past the homes and businesses on the outskirts of town to a cluster of rough, wooden buildings. Several saddle horses were either tied or held by servants as their owners assembled around a building in the rear.
“This is the slave market,” Clarence told Matt. While Boss spoke to a bearded man off to the side, Sonny pulled them off the back of the wagon and led them to a dozen other slaves standing along a wide gate. As they walked, Clarence took Matt’s hand in one of his own. He held Eveline’s in the other. Matt’s heart beat so fast that he thought it might explode.
“Listen to me, son,” Clarence whispered. “You’ve got to learn to keep your mouth shut or you’ll get sold to the worst possible master. You hear? Because none of the nicer masters will want a black who is too big for his britches. Keep your eyes down—never look ’em full in the face—and just say yes, sir and no, sir.”
“I’m afraid,” Matt said.
“We all are,” Clarence said.
Matt glanced around at the other slaves. They were men, women, and children of all sizes. Some clung to each other with tight fists and eyes wide and unblinking. They weren’t dressed in the raggy work clothes that Matt expected, but had on clothes given to them for the auction. The men had on black fur hats and coarse corduroy trousers with nice vests and white cotton shirts. The women wore peasant dresses with scarves on their necks or over their heads. Clarence called them “market clothes”—which the slaves would be stripped of as soon as they were sold. That’s why the three of them had been “dressed up”: to make a good impression and bring a higher price.
On a signal, the slaves entered through the gate into a narrow courtyard, where they were ranged in a semicircle for the white buyers to get a good look at them.
A woman fell to her knees and wept loudly, only to get a swift kick from the bearded man who was obviously in charge of the day’s business. He turned to the white buyers as if nothing had happened. “Good morning, gentlemen! Would you like to examine this fine lot? It’s as fine as ever came into a market!”
“This can’t be happening,” Matt said to himself.
The buyers moved down the line of blacks, looking them over from head to foot and checking their teeth and muscles as if they were horses or cattle. The slaves stood perfectly still.
A man with a goatee stepped up to Clarence, looked him over, and passed his gaze down to Eveline and then Matt. “Is this a family?” he asked.
The bearded man nodded. “They are. For what service in particular did you want to buy?”
“I need a coachman,” he replied.
“I have an excellent coachman right here,” the bearded man said, stepping past Clarence to another slave. “He’s strong and good-looking. A nice adornment to sit atop your coach.”
The goateed man leaned forward to look at the slave. “What’s your name?”
“George, sir.”
“Step forward, George,” the goateed man said. George obliged him. “How old are you?”
“I don’t recollect,” George replied. “I’m somewhere around 23.”
“Where were you raised?”
“On Master Warner’s farm in Virginny.”
The man stroked his goatee. “Then you’re a Virginia Negro.”
“Yes, Master, I’m a full-blooded Virginny.”
“Did you drive your master’s carriage?” he asked.
The slave nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, sir. I drove my master’s and my missus’ carriage for more than four years.”
“Have you got a wife?”
“I had one in Richmond an
d wish you would buy her, Master, if you’re going to buy me.”
The goateed man grunted indifferently then issued a series of orders like “Let me see your teeth and tongue. Open your hands. Roll up your sleeves. Have you got a good appetite? Are you good tempered? Do you get sick very much?” He seemed satisfied by George’s answers and finally said to the slave trader, “What are you asking for him?”
“He’s worth a thousand dollars, but I will take $975.”
The goateed man talked him down to $950.
Just as the deal was concluded, another man named Mason stepped forward and thumped Clarence in the chest. “He’s a sound one,” Mason said. “I’ll take him.”
The slave trader smiled and said, “Oh, he’s a good one, all right. A hard worker and—”
Mason turned on the slave trader with a cold look. “Don’t butter me up. I know this slave belonged to Mr. Ramsay and is notorious for running away. But I’ll get that notion out of his head. I’ll give you $850.”
The bearded slave trader looked over at Boss, who’d been standing quietly by the courtyard fence. Boss nodded. “Sold!” the slave trader announced happily.
“Come along, boy,” Mason said.
Clarence hesitated.
The slave-trader grabbed Clarence by the collar and pushed him along. “You heard him. Go.”
But Clarence couldn’t go very far, because Eveline and Matt held firmly to his hands.
“What’s this?” Mason asked angrily.
The slave trader punched out at Eveline and Matt to let go. He caught Matt in the side and knocked the wind out of him. Matt slumped to the ground.
“No, no!” Eveline cried out.
“Don’t lose your head,” Clarence told her. “You know how to behave.”
Eveline stubbornly held on to her father’s hand. “Please!” she cried.
The slave trader struck out at her with both fists, sending her to the ground. Clarence spun around with wild eyes. A whip cracked the morning sky like a gunshot, and all Matt could see was the expression of agonizing pain on Clarence’s face.
Point of No Return Page 15
