Cy in Chains

by David L. Dudley

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Dish it up, then.”

  Cy served his father a plateful of beans, a piece of pone, a slice of fried fatback, and some dandelion greens.

  “Lord, I’s so tired o’ beans,” his father complained. He used his spoon to push the sticky mass to one side of his plate. “We got any syrup?”

  Cy went for the pitcher. “Bring the salt, too,” his father told him. He covered his pone with the thick brown syrup and poured salt on the beans. “That’s better,” he declared. “Next time, be sure to cook them beans with plenty o’ water.”

  “Yes, sir.” Cy had given up a long time ago trying to cook food the way Pete Williams liked it. Whatever he cooked was usually too this or too that, but he noticed that his father always cleaned his plate. There was too little of anything to waste it.

  The man took to pushing his beans into small mounds. “Guess we be leavin’ here real soon,” he said bitterly.

  “Why, Daddy? Even if Mist’ John lost the place, we can stay.”

  “For what? So I can break my back slavin’ for some new master? Hell, no! I’s done. Somebody else can kill hisself to make money for the white man. I been thinkin’ of headin’ over to Savannah anyway, get me a job on the docks. You, too. You almost old enough.”

  Cy put down his spoon. Maybe I don’t want to go to Savannah, he thought. Maybe I wants to stay here. If Mama ever come back lookin’ for us, and we was gone . . .

  But Cy didn’t dare say this to his father.

  “What’s a matter?” Williams asked. “Don’t you want to get outta here?”

  “Sure, Daddy. But—”

  “But nothin’! The sooner we go, the better I like it. Savannah can’t be no worse than this hole.”

  “How we get there? Mule belong to Strong.”

  “You got two feet that work, ain’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, then.” Pete took a bite of fatback, then spit it out. “Ain’t I told you ’bout cuttin’ off the rind ’fore you fry this up?”

  “Sorry, Daddy.”

  “Fetch me the jug.”

  Cy brought the moonshine, and the man took another long swig. They finished their meal in silence. Williams kept drinking, and soon after he’d eaten, his head dropped onto his chest. He began to snore.

  “Come on, Daddy,” Cy urged. “Lemme help you.”

  He half carried the big man to the bed and let him drop onto it. Cy lifted his father’s legs from the floor and got him to roll onto his side. The snoring wasn’t as bad that way. Then he cleaned up the dishes and put some wood in the fireplace. After a warm day, the evening was surprisingly chilly. Cy sat staring into the fire, brooding.

  Had John Strong really lost everything this time? Would a new owner take over the place? Would Travis have to leave?

  Hatred stirred in Cy’s belly. John Strong had so much, and Cy and his daddy had so little. Black folks tried to hold tight to what little they did have, while a sorry man like Strong went and threw away everything. Travis said everyone had told his daddy not to buy that horse. Yeah, he was fast, fastest ever seen in those parts. But there was something devilish about him, something no man could trust. And now see how it had turned out.

  The fire burnt low in the hearth, and Cy went to bed.

  Two

  A LIGHT BUT URGENT TOUCH ON HIS SHOULDER woke him out of sad dreams. He flinched, but then he recognized Uncle Daniel’s voice, whispering close to his ear.

  Cy sat up, wondering what the old man wanted. It had to be something important for him to come into the cabin in the dark of night. “Uncle Daniel?”

  “I tapped on the door, but I didn’t see no light, so I figured y’all was asleep. When they warn’t no answer, I stuck my head inside the door and heard him snorin’ the way he do when he been drinkin’.”

  “I put him to bed.”

  “It’s a shame. But you the one I got to talk to. Can you come with me fo’ a moment? We needs yo’ help.”

  Cy followed Uncle Daniel outside. The air was colder than inside the cabin.

  “What is it?”

  “Travis gone! Took Teufel with him.”

  “Naw! He promised me he warn’t gon’ do nothin’ like that.”

  “Y’all talked about it?”

  “After Mist’ John whipped Teufel so bad, Travis said he was gon’ run away. I made him promise he wouldn’t.”

  “Well, he ain’t kept his word. He took off, him and that damned horse. I was done with my work up at the big house and was headed home when I heard noises in the barn.”

  “Ain’t it real late?”

  “Naw. I stayed ’round tonight to finish puttin’ fresh mortar between them bricks in the kitchen fireplace. Had to wait for the hearth to cool down enough fo’ me to work. Like I said, I heard these noises, and when I went to check up on things, Travis come bustin’ outta the barn, ridin’ bareback on that black devil! I shouted at him, but he didn’t pay me no mind, just kept goin’, headin’ for the road.”

  “Travis was ridin’ on Teufel? He ain’t never been on that horse’s back! He ain’t big enough to get up there.”

  “I’d of said the same thing if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes. But that ain’t the point. We got to go after him, bring him back ’fore Mist’ John wake up and find him gone. If he catch him, they’s gon’ be hell to pay.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Son, I hates to ask you this, but I wants you to go look for him. I’s too old to come with you. I just slow you down. Them young legs o’ yours can carry you fast.”

  Uncle Daniel’s request was crazy, impossible. “I can’t! He on a horse—fastest one around. Travis bound to be long gone by now.”

  “Gone where? Don’t you see? He ain’t really runnin’ away. Boy that age got nowhere to run. I reckon he just gone off somewhere close, somewhere to calm down. In the mornin’, I bet he come home by hisself, but we can’t take the chance of his daddy findin’ out he left and took that horse.”

  “I can’t, Uncle Daniel! Where I even begin to look for him?”

  The old man put his hand on Cy’s shoulder. “I know you boys got you a secret hideout somewhere not too far off. Ain’t I right?”

  How did Uncle Daniel know? Cy and Travis did have a place of their own, down on the river, but they’d sworn a blood oath not to tell anyone about it.

  “I’s right, ain’t I?” Uncle Daniel asked again.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I bet if you go there, you find him wishin’ he hadn’t done such a thing. That boy probably scared o’ the dark, and cold, too. You go get him, and he follow you home like a little lost puppy. With any luck, we can get Teufel put up and Travis in his own bed without Mist’ John ever findin’ out. Please, Cy! Go an’ fetch him home. You know he look up to you.”

  Yes, Travis would listen to him, but Cy felt uneasy. This was between Travis and his father. How many times had his own father said that the black man must never get in the middle of white folks’ business? If he did, when everything was settled, somehow the black man was the one who ended up in trouble. No, best keep out of it. Let Travis come home on his own.

  But Cy couldn’t leave Travis out there somewhere in the dark with a horse he couldn’t really handle. Not with Uncle Daniel begging him to find the boy and bring him home. And what if Travis really was gone for good, if he hadn’t gone to their secret place near where the Ogeechee was extra wide, the spot folks called the Bull Hole? At the least, he’d have to try and find Travis, see if Uncle Daniel was correct.

  “All right,” Cy told the old man.

  “Oh, thank you, son! You can use my lantern. This place o’ yours, it ain’t too far, I hope?”

  “No, sir. It gon’ take time to get there in the dark, though.”

  “All right. You best hurry along. Sooner we have that boy home safe, the easier I can rest. Dorcas an’ me be sittin’ up, waitin’ on you.”

  Cy eased back inside the cabin. His father was snori
ng hard. He’d be out cold for hours. Cy grabbed his coat and closed the door behind him. Outside, Uncle Daniel gave him the lantern and put a piece of pound cake in his hand. “From Aunt Dorcas,” he said. “She always say a nice sweet make things seem better.”

  Cy left the clearing and headed for the Bull Hole, cutting through the woods on a narrow path only he and Travis knew about. Even in the dark, he could go pretty quickly because he knew the way so well. Still, it took what seemed a long time to get to the river, which he heard before he came up to it. Spring rains had been heavy, and the water was running high and fast.

  Cy slowed to a cautious walk as he came to the place. There was no light except from his lantern, but when he stood still, he could hear another sound besides the movement of the water surging to his right. The soft nickering of a horse. It had to be Teufel.

  “Travis, that you? It me, Cy.”

  For a moment, there was no answer. Then, “Cy? You alone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You swear? Daddy ain’t with you?”

  “I swear. Uncle Daniel saw you hightail it outta the barn, and he come get me, asked me to find you. I got to bring you home ’fore your daddy wake up.”

  “I ain’t coming home!”

  Cy moved forward into the small clearing. Travis stood facing him, Teufel beside him, his reins tied to a tree. In the lantern light, Cy could see the boy had been crying. His face was smeared with dirt, and the hair hanging on his forehead was wet with sweat, even in the cool night air.

  “Hey,” Cy said. “You all right? And Teufel?”

  Travis nodded. “He’s okay.”

  “Uncle Daniel claimed he saw you ridin’ him. That the truth?”

  “Uh-huh. I didn’t think I could do it. But I did like I’ve seen you do—talked to him quiet, told him we were going to run away, that Daddy wouldn’t touch him ever again. He understood me, Cy! I know he did.”

  Cy went to the horse. He held out the piece of pound cake, which Teufel took and swallowed in one bite.

  “We got to go home now,” Cy said.

  “I told you, I ain’t goin’ back there.”

  Cy stepped toward Travis, who turned his face away.

  “Let me see you,” Cy said, and Travis turned back. In the lantern light, a red slash mark stood out clearly on the side of Travis’s face. “Yo’ daddy do that?”

  “He was asleep on the sofa in his study when I went in the house the first time, but after you left, I started upstairs, and he come charging out into the hall like some kind of crazy man! I tried to get away without a fight, but he got hold of me and cut me with that whip.”

  “What for?”

  “He ain’t needed a reason since Mama died. Just because he was so bad drunk. He gets the devil in him when he’s drunk. That’s when . . . he beats me.”

  “Aw, Travis! You never told me about that.”

  “Come morning, I’m heading out. You got to come with me, Cy. I’d go now, but I’m so tired, and it’s so dark. Cy, please! I got to go, but I need you.”

  Cy reached for Travis’s hand, and the boy crumpled onto the soft sand. Cy sat down beside him. “Go on an’ cry some. You feel better after you do. Mama always say so. Then, when you calmed down, we go home.”

  “I’m not going back there. You got to believe me.”

  “All right. Let’s just sit here quiet awhile.” Cy kept his hand on Travis’s shoulder. After a few minutes, Travis’s muscles began to relax and his breathing got slower. He lay down on his side and was quickly asleep.

  Cy stood up and went to Teufel. The horse nuzzled his hand, looking for more pound cake. “Well, boy, what we gon’ do now? I got to get him home ’fore morning, but he so wore out, I hates to rouse him.” He stroked the horse’s nose. “You had a bad day, too, ain’t you? I reckon you don’t want to go back any more’n Travis do.”

  Cy stood in the glow of the lantern, not sure what to do. Part of him wanted to run away with Travis. There was nothing left at Warren Hall, not with the place lost to strangers. But how could he and Travis get away? All they had was a horse, a horse famous in those parts. Somebody would recognize them the very next day and send word to John Strong.

  The night air was growing colder. Cy sat down again beside the sleeping boy. He’d let Travis rest for a while, then rouse him and make him return home. He wouldn’t want to, but Cy could persuade him. Travis sighed in his sleep and pulled his arms closer to his chest. Cy was cold now too, but at least he had a coat. Travis was wearing only a shirt. He’d done a bad job of running away.

  Cy took off his coat and put it over Travis. The glowing lantern gave off a bit of heat, but the kerosene was more than half gone. They’d need its light to find their way home. He had to wake Travis soon, but he’d let him sleep while he, Cy, kept watch. Right away, his own eyes grew heavy, then closed. That was all he knew until dawn.

  Three

  A SHARP PROD TO HIS BACK JOLTED CY FROM sleep. For an instant, he didn’t know where he was. The world was predawn gray, his face wet with dew. Travis lay facing him, his arm draped across Cy’s neck. That was the one place on Cy’s body that felt warm.

  “Wake up, you!” John Strong commanded. His tone was menacing. “Get away from my boy! Jesus God, I never thought . . .”

  Cy moved and got to his knees. A second man stood nearby, holding a brown and white hound straining against its rope. Jeff Sconyers, a cracker farmer who messed with a few acres down the road from Warren Hall.

  “Get up, Travis!” Strong cried.

  Travis stirred, and Cy tried to stand, but Sconyers pushed him back to the ground. Nearby, Teufel, still tied to the tree, snorted in fear.

  “You want me to signal Burwell, Mr. Strong?” Sconyers asked.

  “Yeah. He’ll know to meet us back at the house.”

  Sconyers pulled a pistol from his belt and fired into the air.

  Travis jumped like he’d been hit. His pants and drawers were lying piled next to him. Except for his shirt and Cy’s jacket over his shoulders, he was naked.

  “Travis! Cover yourself,” Strong ordered. “My God . . .”

  Travis started to pull Cy’s coat down over himself.

  The cat-o’-nine-tails appeared from nowhere and came down on Cy’s shoulders. He cried out as the knotted leather thongs tore his skin.

  “Don’t, Daddy!” Travis shouted. Then the whip caught him across his back and he crumpled to the earth, face-down.

  Teufel pulled against the tree, frantic to get away. Sconyers stood back and watched, his face a blank.

  Strong came at Cy again, whip raised. Cy put his arm over his face to shield himself from the next blow. It bit through his shirt, cutting the flesh on his forearm.

  “Please, Mist’ John, stop! I knows Travis done wrong, runnin’ away and all—”

  “Shut your goddamn mouth! You ain’t got a thing to say that I want to hear.”

  From the corner of his eye, Cy noticed Travis moving. Stay where you is. Don’t call attention to yourself, he thought.

  To distract Strong, he kept talking. “We was gon’ come home last night. Uncle Daniel saw Travis run off with Teufel and ask me to find him—”

  Strong flailed at Cy and missed.

  “I was gon’ bring Travis back last night, but he was so tuckered out he fell ’sleep, and then I reckon I did, too. I meant to bring him home last night.”

  Strong turned on his son. “What kind of white man are you?” he snarled. “Lyin’ like that with a nigger?”

  Suddenly Cy understood. Travis without pants . . . Strong thought he and Travis were—he searched for the word and couldn’t come up with it. But such a notion was all wrong, crazy. He and Travis weren’t like that. They were friends, sure—brothers, even. But not that other thing.

  “What is it, Daddy?”

  “What is it? I got eyes! Why ain’t you wearin’ your britches?”

  “I took ’em off. I—wet myself in the night and didn’t want to sleep in my pants. Cy’s tellin�
� you the truth. I run off. He found me, that’s all. I didn’t want to come home, but Cy made me promise I would. We didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

  Strong’s answer was to raise the whip yet again. Travis cowered like a cur dog, trying to protect himself, but the whip fell on his back and he cried out.

  Cy jumped up. He had to save Travis. But his father’s warning leaped into his mind: The black man don’t never dare mess in white folks’ business. He couldn’t move. “Leave him alone!” he shouted. “He only run away ’cause he tired o’ you beatin’ him!”

  Strong’s arm stopped in midstroke. He fixed his eyes on Cy, then started toward him.

  I can take him, Cy thought. But the look of poisonous hatred in the white man’s eyes drained his courage. And there was Jeff Sconyers, pistol in hand. Two white men, one crazy, the other itching to use his gun.

  Cy broke and bolted for the river. When he came to the bank, he hesitated, for the water was surging by with terrifying speed. But Strong was right behind him. He jumped. Murky water closed over his head, and for a second, panic threatened, but he pushed back to the surface. The water was bitingly cold, so cold he could hardly catch his breath, and the current was more powerful than any force he’d ever felt. It was pushing him downstream, and he had to swim against it with all his strength just to stay where he was. Even so, with every stroke, he was losing ground.

  Behind him, Cy heard Strong cry, “No, Travis!” and then a splash as someone plunged into the water. Cy looked back and saw Travis bob to the surface, terror on his face.

  “Go back!” Cy shouted. “Go back!”

  Travis clawed against the current.

  “Travis!” shouted John Strong from the top of the embankment. “Swim for it, boy! Swim hard!”

  “You can make it!” Cy cried, treading water.

  “Get him!” Strong shouted at Sconyers.

  “I cain’t,” the man said. “I ain’t never learned how to swim.”

  Travis looked frantically at Cy, then at the men on the shore. Every second, the river was pushing him farther and farther away.

  Cy went after Travis, but even though he was swimming with the current, its power was draining his strength. Travis’s head appeared above the surface, then went under, only to resurface farther downstream. He didn’t even seem to be trying to help himself now.