What we did instead was to tack back and forth for a while, and then by and by along came a big three-masted schooner, near the biggest ship I’d ever seen, and we waited it until it picked up a pilot and then we followed it in across the sandbar. The schooner wasn’t the only ship around, not by a long shot. I counted twenty-two of them, coming and going in—big schooners, brigs like the Junius Brutus, little sailing craft headed for nearby ports on the New Jersey coast. Once I saw some porpoises, too, leaping around in the water.
A couple of hours later we went through the Narrows, where the land was only a few hundred yards to either side of us. Then it widened out into the Upper Bay, and we eased forward, still limping along pretty slow. About five miles ahead was Manhattan Island, with the North River going off around it to port, and the East River going around it the other way. There was a couple of islands in the bay—Governor’s Island to starboard and Bedloe’s Island to port. We eased along, and about noon the captain gave the order to drop anchor, and we stopped. We’d made it safe into New York Port.
We was only about a mile off Manhattan Island, and I could see it plain as day, with the windows sparkling in the sunshine. My, it looked big. First there was the Battery, a great stone wall that rose up out of the water to make a sort of end to the island. There was an old fort, too, sitting up on a mound of dirt twice as high as a house. Just beyond the Battery there was a street lined with warehouses, and beyond that I don’t know how many houses—thousands, I guess, and a lot of them brick, too. Sticking up through the houses everywhere was church spires, and here and there tall buildings, some of them maybe five or six stories high, near as I could figure. Oh, it got me all excited, knowing that I was looking at one of the biggest cities in America and maybe the whole world, too. I was just as eager as I could be to get off the brig and see it all.
Soon as the anchor was down, Captain Ivers ordered the longboat to be readied so’s he could row into the city. “He’s going in to argue about the New York impost,” one of the sailors said. “He won’t bring the brig into a slip until he talks them out of it. I don’t blame him none, either. I don’t see why Connecticut folk ought to pay duties to New York, anyway. None of the rest of us figure on getting onto land for a spell.”
I stood on the deck, looking at the city across the sparkling water, trying to decide what I ought to do. When the captain went, I figured I could slip off the brig just before dawn, swim to shore, see Mr. Johnson, and swim back just before nightfall. It wouldn’t be an easy stunt, though. As close as I could reckon, it was a mile, more or less, to Manhattan. I’d never swum a mile, nor anything like it. Swimming around those rivers in Newfield, I’d never done more than a couple of hundred feet at a time. There wasn’t any occasion for it.
I looked around to the islands on either side of us. Bedloe’s Island, to port, was closest, about a half-mile away, I judged. There wasn’t much on it—trees, and on the side facing Manhattan a stone building and a little dock with a small boat tied up to it. I was pretty sure I could swim that far, anyway, and then beg somebody to give me a ride from there into the city.
Still, it was a risk. On the whole, it was probably a better idea to wait until we pulled into dock and watch for my opportunity to skip off for a few hours then.
I was thinking that when the idea came to me that I’d better get the soldiers’ notes out of the box of linen I’d hid them in. They’d ridden out the storm fine—I’d checked to be sure—but they was still in that box. I didn’t want to risk that box getting unloaded before I could get them out. It was best to do it quick as possible.
So I slipped away from the rail, went forward to the hatchway like I was on some business, climbed down the ladder, and slipped over toward the stack of boxes where the cherrywood linen chest was. There was a nice patch of sunlight shining on the barrels and boxes down there, so I could see my way around pretty well, even out of the sunshine patch. The oxen was on their feet, chewing away, looking like they was enjoying themselves for the first time in a week. I worked my way over to the stack of boxes and started to untie the rope that was around it. Just at that minute a voice shouted, “Arabus,” and I knew Captain Ivers had spotted me.
He was halfway down the ladder, looking at me, and I had a hunch he’d seen me come down and had followed me. “What are you messing around with these boxes for?”
“I ain’t doing nothing, Captain,” I said. “I just came down to see to the oxen.”
“You’re lying,” he said. “I know what you’re doing. You’re looking for something to set aside to sell for yourself when we dock.”
“No, sir,” I said. I knew right away that Big Tom had been talking about me. “I wouldn’t do nothing like that.”
“Don’t lie to me, Arabus. You’re out to steal what isn’t yours.”
“No, sir, honest, I wasn’t thinking of nothing like that. I just came down to check the oxen.”
Suddenly he jumped off the ladder and made a run at me. I ducked, but he caught me on the side of my head, and I fell down between the barrels. Then he grabbed hold of my shirt front, jerked me up again, and the next thing I knew, he had hauled me off into his cabin, stomped out, and slammed the door shut. I heard the key turn in the lock. I was trapped.
It was an awful feeling. Through the little windows in the stern I could see Manhattan Island aglittering away in the sunlight. How was I going to get there now?
I looked around. I’d never been in the captain’s quarters before. It was a good-size room for a ship—about fifteen feet square. Underneath the windows was a bunk, covered with a blanket, where the captain and the mate slept—they stood different watches and wouldn’t ever be sleeping at the same time. Across from the bunk was a table covered with charts and papers. It had a compass screwed into it. A telescope hung in a rack, and there was a little safe and some casks of rum the captain kept locked up so the sailors wouldn’t get into them.
I saw right away that the windows was too small for me to crawl through. I was in a peck of trouble, and I knew it. Oh, I hated Big Tom; it was his doing I was in this mess.
I lay down on the bunk with my hands under my head, staring out the little windows up at the sky. Chunks of white clouds drifted northeastward. In a little while some of them was going to be over Newfield, casting shadows over the harbor, the town, the house, maybe even Mum out in the backyard hoeing the garden patch or hanging up Mrs. Ivers’s clothes to dry. I wished I was back there, helping Mum with the washing in the warm sunshine. I wished I was anyplace but where I was.
As I lay there I heard the noise of ropes squeaking in pulleys and I knew they were lowering the longboat into the water. There was some shouting, and splashing. I raised myself up and looked out the window. The longboat was pulling away toward Manhattan. The captain was sitting in the stern. Big Tom was rowing.
Suddenly a suspicion crossed my mind that Captain Ivers was going to sell me as quick as he could. The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. He didn’t like me, and he didn’t trust me not to run off. On top of it, he was pretty sure I’d stolen our soldiers’ notes back. He was bound to figure that I’d got them hidden somewheres back in Newfield and would sell them the first chance I got. Oh, he had a dozen good reasons for getting rid of me, and if those weren’t enough, Big Tom would give him some more. Big Tom, he just didn’t like any other blacks around. He’d made himself special to Captain Ivers, and he didn’t want anybody getting in his way.
I felt about as low as I ever had. I didn’t see any way out of it. Captain Ivers would keep me locked up until he’d found somebody to sell me to, and then I’d be carried away in manacles. I’d seen a black man sold like that once. White folks didn’t take any chances when they sold you off; they tethered your feet with a short piece of chain so’s you could only take little steps. Oh, I felt terrible.
Then all at once in my head I saw my daddy standing up staring down at me. I looked at him, and he looked at me. I knew what he was thinking, too. He was thinking
that if he’d been in my fix, he wouldn’t have laid there on his back feeling sorry for himself. He’d have got up and done something about it.
I sat up and had a look around. Then I kneeled up on the bunk and studied the little stern windows. They was screwed shut.
I got off the bunk and crossed over to the door.
It was solid planking, with two big iron hinges strapped across it. I looked at the hinges. They wasn’t screwed down but bolted clear through the door. There wasn’t any way I could get them off, even if I had the tools to do it with.
Then I checked the lock. It was set in the door, and knowing Captain Ivers, I figured it was a pretty good one and wouldn’t be very easy to bust open. I leaned my weight on the door and pressed with my shoulder. The door didn’t give at all. I pulled back and gave it a little hit. It still didn’t budge. So I backed off and sat down on the bunk and looked around some more—the walls, the windows, and finally the ceiling, which was under the quarterdeck.
There was an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling. I stared at it for a minute, and all of a sudden an idea came to me.
I jerked the woolen blanket off the bed and dumped it onto the floor near the door. Then I unhooked the oil lamp from its holder and poured the oil onto the blanket, spreading it around as much as I could. I looked around for something to light it with. There wasn’t anything in sight. I went around behind the captain’s desk and pulled open the drawer. There was a flint and steel in a little leather case. I took them out, knelt over the blanket, and began to shower sparks down on the oily places. In a minute a red spot began to glow in the oil. I puffed on it a bit. It began to spread out, a glowing red circle in the wool with wisps of smoke coming up from it. I blew some more. Low, yellow flames began to flicker on the wool.
I stood back and waited. The smoke was rising up and drifting around the room. I backed off farther and climbed up onto the bunk, where I could bust open one of the windows if the smoke got too bad. It drifted up toward me. I coughed and pulled my shirt up over my head to filter out the smoke. It didn’t help much. I coughed again and lowered my shirt down.
The smoke was clouding up the room pretty good. I knew that in a couple of minutes I wasn’t going to be able to breathe very much. I put my arm over my mouth and nose, jumped off the bunk, snatched the telescope out of its rack, and took a swing at one of the little windows. The glass tinkled and fell out into the water, and the smoke began to ease out of the broken hole. “Help,” I shouted. “Fire, fire.”
I didn’t hear anything for a minute. Then there was a shout and a gabble of voices, and running footsteps, and in about ten seconds the cabin door flew open and the mate and two sailors was standing there. I dashed toward the door, choking and gasping. The three men came charging in. I bounced off them and nearly fell down, but I managed to stagger past them and race toward the ladder. Behind me I could hear the men cursing and shouting as they stamped on the blanket to put the fire out.
I hit the deck, jumped across it to the railing, and swung over it. Just then I felt a hand grab hold of the back of my shirt. I jerked and let the weight of my body hang out over the water. My shirt pulled free of the hand and then I was falling. I’d got away. But our soldiers’ notes were in the linen chest in the hold of the Junius Brutus.
7
The water was colder than I figured it’d be, but not so cold as to worry me. I began to swim, striking off toward Bedloe’s Island about five hundred yards away. Behind me, from the ship, I could hear shouting. I knew they couldn’t catch me. Captain Ivers had the longboat, and none of them on board could swim. I swum along for two or three minutes until I figured I was maybe fifty yards away, and then I stopped swimming, turned around in the water, and looked back. They was all standing at the rail, looking out at me. “Hey, Arabus,” the mate shouted. “The old man’s going to whip you good when he catches you. You better come back here.”
I smiled a smile to myself, which they couldn’t see. Then I gave them a big wave. “He’s got to catch me, first,” I shouted. I turned around again and began to swim at a nice steady pace toward Bedloe’s Island.
It took me about ten minutes. I was pretty well blowed when my feet hit bottom, and my arms was tired, but I could have swum farther if I’d had to. It encouraged me that maybe I could make it from Bedloe’s Island to Manhattan if I couldn’t catch a ride first.
I climbed up out of the water and onto dry land. I turned around again and had a look at the ship. It sat there in the water, pretty still, with only one mast upright. I could see the little shapes of the men still leaning over the rail, trying to spot where I was going. It gave me a funny feeling to think that probably I would never see any of them again.
At the back of the shore there were woods. I walked into them, where they couldn’t see me amongst the shadows from the ship, sat down, stripped off my clothes, squeezed them as dry as I could, and put them back on. Then I got up and walked through the woods toward the side of the island facing Manhattan. In a moment I came out of the woods again. There was a small stone house—for storage of some kind, I figured—and a wooden jetty sticking out into the water. Only one boat was tied up there. A man lounged against a post, smoking a pipe.
I was pretty nervous. Coming out of the woods with my clothes wet like that was bound to make anybody suspicious that I was a runaway. For a minute I thought maybe I shouldn’t risk it—maybe I ought to jump back into the water and try to swim to Manhattan Island.
But that was risky, too, so I stepped out of the woods into the sunshine and trotted down to the jetty, trying to look as easy as I could.
The lounger watched me. When I came up to him I said, “Say, you ain’t going into Manhattan, are you?”
The lounger took the pipe out of his mouth and puffed out smoke. “Maybe,” he said. “Where you headed for?”
His words were sort of slow, and I could smell whiskey, so I knew he was a little drunk. That was all to the good. But I didn’t know how to answer his question. I didn’t know the names of the streets or anything. There was only one place I knew of, so I said it. “Fraunces’ Tavern,” I said.
“You work there?”
“I work in the kitchen,” I said.
He put the pipe back in his mouth again. “How’d you happen to be out here?” he said.
I should have been ready for that. “Oh, I came out with a boat this morning, and they went off and left me.”
The lounger puffed on the pipe. “They just up and left you?”
I wished I’d thought up a better lie. “I was back in the woods there and I got lost and couldn’t find my way back,” I said. I was beginning to feel prickly and hot.
“You got lost? On an island that ain’t more’n half a mile from the water in any direction?”
I blushed. “I ain’t very smart,” I said.
“No, I can see that,” the lounger said. “A smarter liar would remember that his clothes was all wet.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t think of anything more to say.
“Come on, now,” he said. “Out with it. You fell off your ship. Which one was it?”
I looked down at my feet and blushed some more, which came pretty easy. “I’ll admit it. I was standing watch and I saw a whale or something—leastwise I took it for a whale—and I slung myself out over the railing to get a look at it and I went over.”
“I expect you was drunk,” the lounger said, taking his pipe out again.
“How’d you guess that?”
“Most times a nigger falls over the side that’s the reason. I expect you got into the ship’s rum.”
“Well, I’ll be honest, I ain’t much of a hand for drinking. I knew it was going to be chilly standing that early watch, so I had a tot of rum, and that one warmed me up so I figured two would do even better.”
He nodded and put the pipe back in again. “I reckon it’ll teach you a lesson. What did you say the name of the ship was?”
“The Housatonic,” I said, which was the name of a sh
ip from back home. “From Stratford.”
“The Housatonic? Where’s she berthed?”
“Well, that’s just it,” I said. “Nobody saw me go overboard, so they went on into port. I ain’t never been in New York before, so I don’t know. Once I found myself in the water, I hit out for the nearest land I could see, which was this here island. I been hiding out in the woods. I was ashamed to show myself. But I’d sure like to get back to my ship.”
“You’re in for a good hiding, I expect.”
“I reckon so, but it wouldn’t be the first time. Just so’s I get back to my people.”
He was convinced. Being a little drunk, he didn’t think it out too clearly, anyway. He was heading back across the harbor to Manhattan soon, he said, and if I’d take a turn with the rowing, he’d take me. Provided I didn’t get to leaning over the side looking for whales, which was no doubt just porpoises, anyway. And so he did. As I sat pulling on my oar, I thought about how much smarter white folks are than black. Here he’d gone and made up a much better lie than I’d been able to think up myself, without even knowing the circumstances.
So we went on across the harbor and into the East River. I tell you, I’d never seen anything like it in my life. There was ships and boats everywhere you looked, tied up on docks or wharves along the waterfront, and coming and going up and down the river. There was every kind you could think of, from little fishing dories to great three-masted schooners that had been to England and Africa and India and places that you couldn’t even imagine.
The lounger pulled the rowboat up to the wharf. “I’ll drop you off here,” he said. “You go on up and walk along the waterfront. You’re bound to come across your ship somewhere along here.”
Of course the last thing I wanted was to run into Captain Ivers and Big Tom. I was pretty nervous that they might be somewhere up there on the dockside. But I couldn’t do anything about that, so I thanked the lounger, climbed out onto the wharf, and went up onto the street that ran away from the river. It was called Whitehall. I decided I’d better look close at the signposts, in case I had to get back in a hurry.
Jump Ship to Freedom Page 6
