If whites had not talked so casually around him at the shop and around Ellen at Rebecca’s, as if slaves did not have ears or brains, they would not have known what to do. But by putting together the conversations they had overheard so many times, they learned how to travel from the South to the North and freedom. At least he hoped they had.
When they arrived at the wharf, William leaped down and opened the door to assist his “master.” While he took the valises, Ellen paid the driver. They walked up the gangplank in silence, and William waited nervously while his “master” bought the tickets. The ship’s captain directed the ill-looking “white man” toward “his” cabin.
Once inside, Ellen threw her free arm around William and they clung to each other for a moment.
“How are you?” William wanted to know.
“Good, I suppose,” she said, weariness in her voice. “I had a frightful scare though,” and she told him about her encounter with Mr. Cray.
William related the sudden appearance of Mr. Knight and the train’s fortuitous departure before he got to the Negro coach.
“Well, with two narrow escapes like that, do you suppose it could be an omen?” she wanted to know.
“I hope so.”
Ellen sank down onto the bed. “Could you take the sling off?”
William shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. What if something happens and someone comes in the middle of the night and you don’t have it on?”
She sighed. “You’re right. But my arm is so stiff, I wonder if I will ever have feeling in it again.”
“Once we’re in Philadelphia, I’ll kiss it back to life,” he said, smiling broadly.
“William Craft!” she exclaimed, laughing and blushing.
“I love you, wife,” he said, kissing her softly. “Now, it’s about time for you to go down to supper, isn’t it?”
She shook her head. “Not tonight, William. I just don’t think I could carry off being the young slave owner tonight.”
“But you haven’t eaten all day,” he protested.
“I’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “Sleep is what I need.”
“Very well. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
“Must you go so soon?”
“It’s best not to arouse suspicion.”
She nodded. “Be careful, husband.”
“I will.”
When William returned to the deck, he was surprised that he could not see the wharf. It took him a moment to realize that the ship was moving. How could that be? To move and not feel the motion. Was this what it felt like to be a white, fluffy cloud on an endless blue sky?
He stood at the rail for a moment, looking out into a black nothingness that he knew was the ocean. What did it look like? He couldn’t imagine water so wide that there was nothing else to be seen. So dark was it, he would’ve thought that he had become a star against the night if he had not been able to see the stars above him.
The breeze carrying the smells of the unseen ocean was chilly now, and just as he was wondering where the colored passengers slept, the captain came up to him.
“Your master didn’t look too well, boy,” he said roughly.
“No, sir. He sick.” William deliberately responded with the poor grammar expected of him.
The captain laughed harshly. “You’d have to be blind not to see that. What’s wrong with him?”
“He sick, sir,” William said, grinning. “I don’t know he sickness.”
“Well, I just hope he doesn’t die on my boat.”
“Massa die?” William exclaimed, laughing. “Aw, sir. Massa not gon’ die. No, sir! He just don’t look so good right now, because of all the traveling. That’s all, sir.”
The captain nodded. “Hope you’re right,” he said, and turned to walk away.
“Begging your pardon, sir?” William called after him.
The captain stopped and turned around. “What is it?”
“Where is the place the niggers sleep at?”
The captain laughed. “Boy, you know how to sleep on your feet, don’t you? That’s all niggers good for anyway. Sleeping and eating. Ain’t no cabins on my boat for niggers.” Laughing loudly, he walked away.
William walked the deck until he saw a pile of cotton sacks lying near the steamer’s funnel. It was warm there and he lay down, placing his hat beside him. As tired as he was, he did not sleep, but gazed into the night sky. He remembered when he was a child, before his parents were sold. He remembered the summer nights he stared up and into the night as he was doing now. It had made him feel that he wasn’t a slave anymore, but just a little boy wondering why the stars did not fall out of the sky. He remembered wondering why he had been born a slave and not a star.
He wasn’t a child any longer, but he wondered still, not only about that, but if the stars could see him as clearly as he saw them. Did he twinkle in the night to their eyes as they did to his?
When the sun rose, he got up and went to the rail to look at the ocean. He was disappointed that it looked scarcely different from a large, wrinkled piece of cloth. Unlike the night sky, which made him wonder about himself and the world, the ocean was simply there. It did not twinkle or brood. It just lay there.
He did not know how much time passed before he heard voices. He walked into the dining hall. Five men were sitting down to breakfast. William moved forward quickly to help his “master,” who was just taking a place next to the captain.
“You seem to be feeling better this morning,” the captain said to Ellen.
“Yes, thank you.”
“I hope your ailment is not serious.”
“I don’t think so. My doctor believes it to be an attack of inflammatory rheumatism,” she added, using a term she’d overheard once from one of Rebecca’s dinner guests. “He recommended that I see a physician in Philadelphia.”
Breakfast was served and William leaned over to cut his “master’s” food into small pieces.
“Will there be anything else for now?” William asked.
“No, William.”
As soon as he returned to the deck, the captain said, “You have a very attentive boy, sir. But you had better watch him like a hawk when you reach Philadelphia. I know several gentlemen who have lost valuable niggers in the North.”
Before Ellen could muster a reply, a man sitting opposite, with a long mustache that curled downward to the corners of his mouth, both elbows on the table, a large chicken breast in his hands, and a fair portion in his mouth, spluttered, “Good advice, Captain. Very good advice.” He dropped the chicken breast into the plate and leaned across the table, staring intently at Ellen. “I would not take a nigger to the North under any circumstances. I have dealt with many niggers in my time. I never saw one who put his heel upon free soil that either didn’t run away or amounted to a hill of beans when he came back to these parts.” He picked up the piece of chicken. “Now, sir, if you wanted to sell that nigger of yours, I’m the man to talk to. Name your price, and if it’s reasonable, I’ll put the silver dollars on the table right this minute.”
The man took a large bite out of the chicken breast, but his eyes did not waver from Ellen’s face. She forced herself to meet his gaze, though she felt she was staring into Death’s very own face.
“I do not wish to sell, sir,” she said calmly. “I cannot get on well without him.”
The man snorted. “You’ll do without him pretty quick if you take him to the North. I have seen lots of niggers in my time, and I guarantee you that that is a keen nigger. I can see from the cut of his eye that he is certain to run away. You’d better sell him to me and let me put him on the market down in New Orleans.”
“I think not, sir,” Ellen responded firmly. “I have great confidence in his fidelity.”
“Fidevil!” the slave trader exploded, banging his fist on the table and accidentally catching the edge of his saucer, sending the cup of hot coffee spilling into the lap of the man seated next to him. The scalded man jumpe
d up with a sudden shriek.
The slave trader patted him on the arm. “Sit down, neighbor,” he said brusquely. “Accidents will happen in the best of families.” Then, pointing his finger directly at Ellen, he continued, “It makes me mad to hear a man talking about fidelity in niggers. There isn’t a one who wouldn’t run away, given a chance. If I was President of these United States, I wouldn’t let any man take a nigger into the North and bring him back to the South. These are my flat-footed, everyday, right-up-and-down sentiments. I am a southern man, every inch of me to my backbone.”
Suddenly the men at the table stood, shouting, “Three cheers for the sunny South! Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!”
Alone in the midst of the raucous yells stood a portly, balding man, the front of his trousers wet and stained with coffee. Ellen thought he looked as if he wanted to cry, and when he noticed the “young gentleman’s” look of sympathy, he smiled gratefully.
Just then someone opened the dining-room door and announced that the steamer was approaching Charleston harbor. The men dispersed and Ellen returned to the cabin, grateful to find William waiting for her there.
“That was an ordeal!” she exclaimed after they embraced.
“The noise had me a little nervous.”
Ellen chuckled. “Oh, they were worried about your fidelity, William. You aren’t going to get up North and fall in love with some fancy northern girl, are you?”
“What are you talking about?” he asked, bewildered.
Suddenly her body slumped and William held her to him. “I was just trying to make a joke before I became hysterical,” she said weakly.
“Three more days,” William whispered.
“Three hundred years would not seem so long.”
Knowing there would be a crowd at the dock, William and Ellen were afraid to disembark immediately, fearing they might be recognized, or that Knight had acted on his suspicion and telegraphed a message for the authorities to be on the lookout for them.
The wharf was practically deserted when they finally left the boat, William holding Ellen by the arm. A carriage took them to the hotel, one which Ellen had heard Rebecca mention as the best in Charleston.
Ellen rested through the day. That evening she and William returned to the wharf for the next part of their journey.
“A ticket for myself and my slave to Philadelphia, sir,” Ellen told the ticket agent.
The agent’s face was the color and texture of cheese, and he scowled through the grill. “Boy!” he yelled suddenly at William, who stood to the side.
“Sir?” William responded quickly.
“Do you belong to this gentleman?”
“Yes, sir!”
The agent turned back to Ellen. “You have to register your name here, sir, the name of your nigger, and pay a dollar duty on him.”
Ellen paid the dollar and, pointing to her bandaged hand, said, “As you see, I am not able to write.” This was literally true. She was glad now that she had thought of having her arm and hand bandaged. Nothing would have given them away as escaping slaves more quickly than the inability to write. “I would be grateful if you would sign for me, sir.”
The agent shook his head vigorously. “I won’t do it! No, sir! I won’t do it!”
Ellen wondered if he suspected something. Or was he one of those people who enjoyed being contrary? Whatever his motive, it didn’t matter. What would she do if he continued to refuse? Would it be something ridiculous like this that would lead to their undoing?
Just then a man with a round, pudgy face and wearing a top hat walked up to Ellen, smiling. “Having a problem?” he asked warmly, patting Ellen on the back.
For an instant Ellen was confused. Then she recognized the man on whom the coffee had been spilled that morning. She smiled warmly.
“The ticket agent says I must register my slave, but as you can see, my infirmity prevents me from writing, and the agent will not do the writing for me.”
“Nonsense!” the man exclaimed. “See here, sir!” he continued, pointing his finger at the ticket agent. “I know this young man’s people. Good family. One of the best in the South. Now, kindly enter his and his slave’s name in the register so he may be on his way.”
Ellen couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Why was he telling such a lie? Was he that grateful for the look of sympathy she had given him as he stood at the table looking very foolish and alone?
The ticket agent appeared confused now, and looked over his shoulder at someone Ellen could not see.
“That’s good enough for me, Eli.” Ellen heard a voice, then saw the captain of the steamer come into view. “I will register the gentleman’s name and take the responsibility myself.”
Ellen thanked the captain and her companion from the boat warmly, and William moved forward quickly to assist his “master” from the terminal and onto the steamer.
Once the steamer was under way, the captain came to Ellen and explained. “I hope that you will not take what happened as a sign of disrespect, Mr. Johnson. They make it a rule to be very strict at Charleston. I have known families to be detained there with their slaves until reliable information could be received respecting them. You know, it would be mighty easy for an abolitionist to come down here, pose as a slave owner, and take off a lot of valuable slaves.”
“Yes, you’re quite right,” Ellen agreed. “Quite right. I appreciate your assistance more than I can say.”
William slept fitfully that night, curled in a corner of the deck near the funnel. He awoke often, however, not only concerned that they had come closer to being caught, but worried even more about Ellen. If his own nerves were frayed, Ellen’s must be near to unraveling.
“Only two more days,” he whispered through the night to her. “Two more days, my love.”
The steamer reached Wilmington, North Carolina, after breakfast the next morning. William and Ellen transferred without incident to the train for Richmond, Virginia.
Ellen settled wearily onto the lumpy train seat. She had thought by now she would be accustomed to her role. But the closer they came to freedom, the more nervous and frightened she was. How much worse to be caught now than at the beginning. And the closer they came, the more she doubted that they would succeed. How could they? How could everyone not see there was a woman behind the bandages and green spectacles?
But maybe there was something about her that looked like a man. She wanted to take her mirror from the valise and look at herself closely to reassure herself that there was something womanly about her. She needed William to tell her how beautiful she was. When these four days were ended, she would want to hear him tell her that for the next 40,000 days, and then make him begin again.
A young woman and a man with a full and neatly trimmed black beard sat down in the seat across from her. The woman looked to be only a year or two younger than Ellen, and with her sparkling blue eyes and cheeks flushed red from the morning chill, she was quite lovely.
Though Ellen didn’t want to talk, she found herself in yet another conversation about the bandages and her “health.” The young woman chattered a little too eagerly, Ellen noticed, her cheeks flushing red long after the chill should’ve left them. When the young woman shyly and gravely offered “Mr. Johnson” an apple, her eyes cast downward, Ellen couldn’t help blushing. The girl was attracted to William Johnson!
Ellen thanked the girl warmly, and didn’t know what else to say, embarrassed for herself and the girl who was being deceived. Ellen pleaded fatigue, closed her eyes, and pretended to sleep.
After some moments Ellen heard a deep sigh.
“Papa, Mr. Johnson seems to be a very nice young gentleman.” She sighed again. “I have never felt so much for a gentleman in my life!”
Ellen was greatly relieved when the train came to the next stop and she opened her eyes to see the man and his daughter preparing to get off.
The girl’s father handed Ellen his card. “The next time you are traveling this way, Mr. Johnson, I wou
ld be honored if you would do us the kindness of calling on us. I would be pleased to see you.” Smiling, he added, “I believe my daughter would be too.”
The girl’s face turned a deep red. “Oh, Papa!” she exclaimed. Then, trying to muster her dignity, she looked at “Mr. Johnson” and said solemnly, “It has been a pleasure meeting you, and I will pray for your health.”
“Thank you,” Ellen said, holding the card in her hand, afraid to cast a glance at it for fear that she might be holding it upside down and would not know. Only when the man and his daughter had left the train did Ellen put the card in her pocket.
The ride from Richmond to Fredericksburg, Virginia, was quiet, and Ellen slept. A little beyond Fredericksburg she and William transferred without incident to the steamer for Washington, D.C.
Only two more changes, Ellen thought, as she settled into a chair on the deck. Maybe they were going to make it.
Perhaps she was more optimistic because, for the first time in three days, she was able to share part of the trip with William. He was leaning against the rail at the other end of the deck. He looked so handsome in his black suit, black cravat, and white beaver hat. When she’d seen it in the store window in Macon, she had insisted he buy it. He had been afraid it would attract too much attention on the trip. She wanted him to dress as handsome as he was, and he was the most wonderful sight she had ever seen.
“Sir!”
The harsh voice was at Ellen’s shoulder, and though it startled and frightened her, she willed her body not to tremble.
“I am speaking to you, sir!”
She turned slowly to look into the angry face of a thin man peering at her through wire-rimmed spectacles. “Sir?” she responded with a coolness she couldn’t feel.
“Is that your nigger?” he asked, pointing at William.
She inclined her head in a curt nod.
“What are you trying to do?” the man sputtered, spittle flecking his lips. “Spoil him by letting him wear such a fine hat? Just look at the quality of it. The President couldn’t wear a better hat. If I had my way, I’d go and kick it overboard.”
This Strange New Feeling Page 8
