For all his calm and easygoing manner, Alex thought, Mr. Thornhill could be a pretty ruthless businessman. He wasn’t sure whether to find that impressive or scary.
“Now, this is interesting,” Mr. Thornhill said slowly, running his finger along a line in the accounts book. “Day, bring this book along, and mark the page so we don’t lose it.”
“Where are we going?”Alex asked.
“Outside,” said Mr. Thornhill.
Jupiter had gathered the twenty field slaves in the dirt yard in front of the house. Most were newly returned from the fields. They were wiping the sweat from their foreheads, and shading their eyes from the sun as they anxiously watched Mr. Thornhill and Alex emerge onto the porch.
“Is everyone assembled?” Thornhill asked Jupiter, who nodded in reply. “Very well. When you hear your name, raise your hand. Day, read the names from the book.”
Alex held open the account book to the marked page, and Mr. Thornhill stepped over and placed his finger on the list of slaves. As Alex hesitantly began to read aloud the names, Mr. Thornhill watched the assembled slaves closely.
“Um… George,” Alex said. A wiry and muscular man raised his hand.
“Cuffee.” Another man, this one a burly guy in his thirties, lifted up his hand.
“Jupiter… Sarie…. Little Jupiter…”
“Stop,” Mr. Thornhill said, holding up his hand. “Where is Little Jupiter?”
The adults looked off into the distance or down at the ground. But several of the children glanced at Jupe, and Mr. Thornhill saw them do it. The game was up.
Jupiter desperately tried to save the situation. “Massa Thornhill, Little Jupiter died…”
Mr. Thornhill waved at him to stop talking. “Little Jupiter, who I believe is your son, is my property, and now works in my household. I believe you sent him to find work in Savannah while your former master was absent?”
“Yes, sir,” said a crestfallen Jupiter, looking sadly at Jupe. Sarie burst into tears, aware that Mr. Thornhill was signaling that he was not planning to punish the family. Disappointed though he was, Jupiter looked back gratefully at Mr. Thornhill, knowing that he could well have accused Jupe of running away, and his parents of helping him. All three of them could have been whipped and sold. But Mr. Thornhill said nothing more, except to tell Alex to continue calling the names.
Alex’s mind was racing. How had Mr. Thornhill guessed?
When the inventory was complete, Mr. Thornhill dismissed the slaves, and returned to the house, calling in Jupiter and Alex as he did so. He poured himself a whisky, before taking a seat in the small parlor. Alex waited to be asked to sit down, but no invitation was forthcoming. Jupiter waited gravely for Mr. Thornhill’s judgment on Kintyre Plantation’s future, and his own.
Mr. Thornhill took a sip of his whisky, and then said, “I will sell George, since he is surplus to the labor requirements of the plantation.”
“Sir, George is my brother…..” said Jupiter helplessly.
Thornhill gave him a hard look. “Jupiter, I have already granted you a singular favor today. Do not ask me for another. Now, as I was saying, George goes to auction. You will manage with the remaining hands.”
Jupiter looked utterly defeated. “Yes, sir.”
Alex shuddered, thinking of poor Jupiter and George, doomed never to see each other again. He felt queasy.
Mr. Thornhill continued. “Jupiter, I noticed a young pecan orchard occupying part of a cotton field. Why is that? Pecans fetch nothing compared to cotton.”
Jupiter looked at the ground. “I reckoned it was a pretty poor corner for cotton planting, sir. The pecans will be mighty good to eat, and they will give us slaves something to sell at market…”
“You made that decision?” Mr. Thornhill said in surprise. Jupiter looked as though he wished he hadn’t opened his mouth.
Mr. Thornhill said briskly, “Georgia law requires that a master either supervises his plantation, or that he appoints a white man as overseer to act in his place. But it is practically impossible to find a man willing to do such work this far from Savannah, and even harder to keep him for long. Be that as it may, I doubt many lawmakers are paying much attention to this godforsaken part of the state. Jupiter, can you write?”
Jupiter hesitated, considered his answer, and then nodded.
Mr Thornhill said, “Good. Then you can run the place and keep accounts while I advertise for an overseer. I warn you, it might be a while. I shall drop in from time and time, and, meanwhile, you must send me weekly reports, is that clear? You may keep the orchard, but the pecans must be sold for my profit, or else counted into the slaves’ food allowance.”
After he had dismissed Jupiter, Mr. Thornhill turned to Alex, and said severely, “You have been extremely foolish. By rights, I should flog you senseless.”
Alex swallowed. “Sir?”
Mr. Thornhill stared hard at him. “Don’t play innocent with me, Alexander Day. You aided Jupe in his escape from Kintyre. You do know that that is a capital crime? You could be hanged.”
Alex was stunned, and he stammered, “I had no idea… That’s scary.”
“It certainly ought to make you afraid. What on earth possessed you?”
“I don’t know,” shrugged Alex. “He just kind of came with me. I didn’t ask him to, or anything…” Then it occurred to Alex what he was saying to Mr. Thornhill, and he didn’t like it. “Look, I don’t even believe in slavery…”
Mr. Thornhill gave a grim smile. “Oh, it exists, I assure you.”
Alex tried to explain. “No, what I mean is…”
Mr. Thornhill looked as though he was barely containing his fury. “We won’t discuss what you think of slavery. In fact, you would be well advised never to raise the subject again. And I mean never. You would cause me great embarrassment, and place yourself in terrible danger.”
“What about the First Amendment?” Alex blurted out. “I thought the Constitution says we have free speech?”
“In the South, the Constitution does not apply to a discussion of the demerits of slavery. And you are only a boy, hardly a free citizen of these United States. For so long as you remain within my household, you will keep silent on the subject of slavery.”
But this command only angered Alex more. He was not the most talkative of kids, and when he did give an opinion, even Hannah usually respected it. He didn’t like being told to shut up, especially on a subject about which he knew he was right.
They caught the train from Millen at 1 a.m., and reached Savannah before dawn. Alex could not sleep on the train, and when he got home, he sank into bed with a grateful sigh. He didn’t sleep for long. Early in the morning, he was awoken by a woman crying, and a man’s voice pleading. Alex hurriedly dressed, and anxiously tiptoed downstairs, to find Mr. Thornhill alone in the parlor, sitting on the edge of a chair and looking irate. “No breakfast this morning, Day,” he snapped. “We will have to take our victuals at the office. I shall send out Jupe to fetch us something to eat.”
“What’s wrong?” Alex asked.
Mr. Thornhill ran his hand through his hair. “When we returned last night, I caught Ezekiel and Martha the cook stealing a ham from the kitchen, to give to a poor relation of theirs, a free Negro.”
“Maybe he was hungry,” said Alex.
Mr. Thornhill almost yelled at him. “That is hardly the point! It was theft from my kitchen. That is the point. I have sent them both to be whipped.” Alex’s stomach lurched. He didn’t want to know the details. He hurriedly made excuses and retreated upstairs.
Back in the bedroom, Jupe was tidying away Alex’s nightshirt. Alex told Jupe what had happened, and begged him to explain. “You told me that Mr. Thornhill wouldn’t whip his slaves, but he said he’s going to have Ezekiel and Cook whipped. What does that mean?”
Jupe looked down at his hands, and then into Alex’s eyes. That had taken a lot of effort. He didn’t like to look any white man in the eye, even Alex. He took a deep breath, and
said, “He sent them to the Chatham County Jail House. That’s where Savannah masters send their slaves to be punished. They don’t do the whipping themselves, and they don’t like to see it done. So Mr. Thornhill sends Ezekiel and Martha to the jail, and the jail man will whip them bloody.”
Alex was trying to wrap his head around this. He struggled with his feelings: Loyalty to Mr. Thornhill, who was so kind to him, and revulsion against what he was doing to his slaves.
“But… Hey, they did steal a ham…” Alex said uncertainly.
“Yes, sir, they sure did,” Jupe replied. He looked as though he wanted to say more, and there was an awkward silence while he struggled with his thoughts. Finally, he spoke again, weighing his words carefully. “It’s like some folks say… negroes, that is… they say that we do all the work, and white people take everything. So when we got a chance to take some wages, it ain’t stealing. Otherwise, we get nothing. Leastways, that’s what some folks say…I don’t hold with it myself.”
Alex stared into space for quite some time, considering what Jupe had said. And then he thought about Ezekiel and Martha, tortured and humiliated in a filthy jail, out of sight and out of mind. He felt sick.
****
Hannah found work at the jute factory in Dundee was much like work at the cotton factory in New Lanark. But apart from the work itself, factory life was quite different. There was no system of silent monitors. Instead, there was Tam the Deil, who made up the rules to suit his mood. At first, he was nice to Hannah in a sinister sort of way, standing next to her and asking how she was settling in. Hannah couldn’t help notice the older women who worked around her exchanging looks, and trying to distract Tam from her. But as Hannah ignored him, only giving brief answers, and only when she had to, Tam’s attitude turned nasty.
He stood to one side watching Hannah work, which made her nervous. She began to make mistakes. Tam walked toward her, shaking his head, and took her aside while the frame was resting. “You’re too slow,” he said, his face in hers. “You don’t know anything about piecing, do ye?”
Hannah stepped away from him, but she managed not to lose her nerve. “Yes, I do. I was a piecer in New Lanark.”
He sneered at her. “Aye, but that was cotton. And anyway, you left there, didn’t you? Were you given the sack?”
Hannah didn’t know how to answer. Yes, she had been fired, but not because her work was bad. It was because she took a break when she was tired… and yes, okay, she had been a bit rude to the gaffer. But maybe she wasn’t good at the work, easy though it was? She tried to pull herself together, and remind herself that she had only recently learned to piece, and why did she care anyway? She wasn’t even supposed to be here. She was supposed to be in twenty-first century America.
Hannah and Maggie stayed together through the dinner break, so called because the mid-day meal was the biggest meal of the day. As usual, they bought meat pies, and went window-shopping. Hannah sighed, as she looked at a plain but new white dress in the window of Moon and Langlands’ store. “Maybe Mina’s right, and I should quit buying pies and save my money. I wish I could afford something new to wear. I’m so sick of this crummy dress. It’s filthy. Jessie only ever washes my shift, because this is my only dress.”
“And you’re planning to die of an unwashed dress?” said Maggie with a sly smile.
“Well, I mind being filthy, even if you don’t,” said Hannah. “I wish I had more money. It’s so not fair that someone like Tam the Deil makes, like, way more than me, when all he does is to walk around yelling at people and attacking them. And Mina says the owners like Sutherland live off the backs of the workers, with their grand houses.”
“Aye, Mina’s quite the radical, now,” said Maggie. “But I’d rather spend my money on what I can afford, like my pies, and do without what I can’t afford. My pal Bella Swan tried to help herself to something she fancied, and she pinched forty yards of printed cotton cloth from the draper’s doorstep on Reform Street.”
“Wow. What happened to her?”
“She was sent to the prison for eight months. She was lucky that they didn’t send her on a convict boat to Australia. I tell you, Hannah, there’s no sense in wishing for a better day. Might as well enjoy what we can. And maybe one day we can find men to marry me, then we can maybe leave the mill.” She shook her head sadly.
“Wow, I wouldn’t wait that long to quit Suttie’s,” Hannah said. “New Lanark was bad enough, but this…”
“Tell me about New Lanark,” Maggie interrupted.
So Hannah did. She told Maggie about the clean tenements and streets, and the school for workers, and the shop that sold cheap food, and the silent monitors. Even though she put a negative spin on all of it, Maggie’s eyes got wide. “And you left all that to come to Dundee? Are you daft?”
Hannah got defensive. “Well, it wasn’t that great. I hated it. And…” She hesitated to tell Maggie that she had been fired. “I… I wasn’t going to stand there and be insulted by the gaffer with his stupid silent monitor.”
Maggie narrowed her eyes at Hannah and poked her in the chest. “You’re a fool, Hannah Dow, that you are. Oh, what I would give to work in a place like that! If I could afford it, I would leave tomorrow. But it’s too risky. Mem Gordon says you almost starved to death on the way here. The Devil himself must have possessed you to make you leave there and come to Dundee. You should have known when you were lucky, that you should. Pity me, for I’ll never have a chance like that, not as long as I live.”
In a flash, Hannah suddenly saw the future through Maggie’s eyes: Trapped in a filthy slum, in a job without prospects. Good jobs in the mill went to people like the Gordons, whose family members were gaffers, and gaffers were never Irish. Who would marry Maggie when she had so little to offer, and when she had to support her drunken dad? Hannah had never thought of her own future like this… Or maybe she had. Her life in California never seemed to have any plan, beyond escape. And Snipesville seemed to her like a black hole, sucking away even her vague hopes for better times when she grew up. Her sympathy for Maggie rapidly ebbed away in a tide of self-pity.
Early that evening, Hannah forlornly trailed home in the rain along a busy street called the Cowgate. It was dark, and the only light came from the tall sputtering gas lamps next to the sidewalk. She was wet, which didn’t improve her mood. Suddenly two people ran up next to her, laughing and splashing her with muddy water as they landed in a puddle by her side: One of them was Mina, and the other was a young man Hannah didn’t recognize.
Mina linked arms with Hannah and pulled her close, almost knocking her off her feet. “Good evening to you, Hannah! I thought it was you I spied. Now, meet my intended, my soon-to-be husband, Jack MacLean. Jack, this is our wee lodger, Hannah Dow. She’s got the cheek of the devil… So she’s all right with me.”
Jack was already on the other side of Hannah, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and planted a big kiss on her cheek. Hannah was so embarrassed she didn’t know where to look, but Jack and Mina just laughed at her bashfulness. Then Mina grabbed Hannah by the hand. “Come on, we’re away to the pub. Would you no join us?”
“Um, sure. I guess,” Hannah said. She had never been to a pub. “But I’m too young.”
Mina dismissed her worry. “Och, no. It’s a right old spit and sawdust bar, but it’s friendly enough. Just dinna tell Janet we were there, ye ken? She wouldn’t approve.” Mina launched into a wicked impersonation of her straitlaced sister. “Ooh, no, what would the minister say? That’s not respectable, Mina Gordon.” All three of them laughed.
“Mind you,” Mina said, “I’d be much obliged if you’d join me in ducking behind a building if you see the minister coming up the street.”
Hannah joked, “What if we see him coming out of the pub?” Mina and Jack fell about laughing at that, and Hannah felt like the life and soul of their little party.
She followed the young couple down the High Street to the Nethergate. Then they turned right onto
Lindsay Street, walking between the office of the dentist who specialized in false teeth, and the massive church known as the Old Steeple. A little ways farther along, they came to a humble building, to which Jack gestured grandly. “Here it is, my place of employ, the Clarence Theatre, better known to one and all as Fizzy Gow’s!”
Hannah was agog. “You’re an actor? Wow, how cool is that?”
Jack bowed with a flourish. “I am indeed, miss, an actor and entertainer, known to discerning audiences from Dundee to Glasgow, and much appreciated from Aberdeen to Ecclefechan.”
Mina wasn’t going to let this go to his head. “Ach, awa’ wi’ ye! Hannah, he’s a just a singing clown in a penny gaff.”
“Eh?” Hannah needed this translating.
“A penny gaff,” Mina explained. “It’s a cheap wee place of amusement for us common folk. It’s a good laugh. Jack here acts, tells jokes, sings, and plays his banjo.”
“I’ll have you know I’ve performed Shakespeare at Fizzy’s,” Jack protested.
Mina whispered with a wink to Hannah, “Aye, the quick version of Hamlet, which lasted but a quarter of an hour.” They giggled as they followed Jack into the pub next door to the theatre.
Hannah turned down Jack’s offer of beer, and so did Mina. As Jack went to the bar for drinks, Mina muttered, “He knows fine that I abstain from liquor.” Hannah was actually surprised: Mina had always seemed to be a bit of a party girl. “Why don’t you drink beer?”
“Well, my minister and church dinna approve of liquor,” Mina said. “But that’s not really why I won’t touch the stuff. You see, I reckon that if the workers in Dundee spent as much time reading books as they did getting drunk, they would have a chance of standing up to the millowners. I hate to agree with my sister Janet, but for once, she’s right: The folk who drink to excess demean themselves, and lessen the respectability of all the common folk. Mind you, this isn’t a sentiment I express to Jack too often, although you may be sure I wouldn’t marry him if he were a drunkard.”
A Different Day, A Different Destiny (The Snipesville Chronicles) Page 18
