A Deeper Sense of Loyalty (11 page)

James thanked the good man and said, “I am so taken with your trust and with the fact that you have revealed so much to me. I would like to prove that I am worthy of that trust. My name is not William Mason. I used an assumed name for whatever protection it might offer. My real name is James Langdon. I grew up on a large cotton plantation that my father owns near Macon, Georgia.”

Reverend Pyle was visibly moved. “For a young man to turn his back on such a prosperous life, to go against everything that he was raised to be, is a true inspiration.” He shook James's hand and said, “God bless you, James, and may He be by your side always.”

James climbed into the wagon and headed south out of Mapletown.

 

EIGHT

 

Escape from Live Oak

 

 

It took just over two weeks for James to get back to Dry Branch as he was not pressed to travel quickly on the return trip, nor did he use the same route he had taken going up.  He decided it might be wise to be familiar with more than one way to Mapletown; and  he purposely drove by a few of the other stations on the list, after having destroyed it, so they could easily be located if necessary. His mission would now be a little easier, having stumbled into the hands of Reverend Pyle and his wife. He had established a definite destination for his trips north, and he would not have as far to travel to be sure that the slaves he delivered would make it to freedom.

The first thing James had to do upon his return to Dry Branch was to take the horse and wagon back to the livery stable. It was good to see Star again, but for the time being, he left her in the care of the livery man. It was just past noon, so he walked up the street to Baxter's to fill his stomach, and with any luck, see Polly. As soon as he walked through the door he noticed how busy the place was. It took almost a five minute wait before he could get service. He ordered a steak, potatoes, beans, and a beer. The bartender told him to take a table if he could find one and his order would be sent over.

James sat down at the only table he could find and waited in anticipation, hoping the meal would be delivered by Polly. While he waited, he could not help but hear the conversation going on among the three men at the next table. The man doing most of the talking sat with his back to James. He was obviously very angry and extremely profane with his language. James thought the angry man seemed familiar and he understood why when he heard the man say, “It's been almost a month since them goddamn niggers ran off. Every day since, I been expectin somebody to bring them sons a bitches back. Now I don't think I'm ever gonna see them sons a bitches again. Beats me how they got away especially draggin their black wenches with em. I'd druther they was dead than to get away.”

It was gratifying to James to hear old Silas Turner complain so. As he listened to more of the conversation, it was apparent that Turner didn't even suspect that the slaves had been aided in any way. For his first effort at least, he had gotten away clean.

The eavesdropping was interrupted by a middle aged woman bearing a tray that held his order. When she sat it on the table James asked, “Is Polly here today?”

“Do you know Polly?”

“Actually I met her when I was here once before.”

“Oh,” said the woman. “She will be back in a couple of days. Her mother passed away night before last. The poor thing's takin it pretty hard.” James was about to say how sorry he was, but the woman didn't wait for his reply. She picked up the empty tray and was gone. James considered going to Polly's house but it didn't seem like the right thing to do under the circumstances, especially because of the way their first meeting ended. He would just have to wait for her to return to work to see her.

After he finished his meal, he went to the house to see if all was well. It was much on his mind to go home for a visit; he missed his family a great deal. But he really hadn't been gone long enough to warrant a leave of absence and he didn't want to arouse suspicion. He decided to rest for a day or two and plan his next move. This time, rather than continuing to hire a horse and wagon, James would buy them instead.

Once again he focused on Live Oak Plantation as the place to affect an escape. This time it would take something more elaborate to accomplish his purpose. Live Oak was a much larger place than Silas Turner's farm and it would not be as easy getting in and out.

 

Forty-eight hours later, James was ready to strike again. He waited until midnight and then he moved in as close as he dared to the slave quarters at Live Oak. After examining the situation, his thoughts gave way to an idea. He made a wide circle around the crude little dwellings and came up behind a ginning shed. He opened a small window, lit a match, and tossed it inside. In a matter of minutes, the building was engulfed in flames. His idea produced the desired results, quickly spreading an alarm and drawing the attention of every hired hand on the plantation. Like a fox to an unguarded henhouse, James moved in to make contact with the occupants of the nearest slave cabin. Following the same procedure as before, he explained his presence to a wide eyed young black man and told him to bring his family, if he had one, and to hurry down to the road where the wagon was waiting. Then he withdrew quickly. But halfway back to the road, James heard a desperate scream; something had gone terribly wrong.

 Filled with the irresistible notion of escape, one of the slaves split the overseer's head open with a shovel. For James, chaos hit when they started showing up at the wagon. Thinking that only a few would follow, in no time there was a crowd of twenty-five or thirty black men, all trying to get aboard. James began to panic, believing that he had incited madness. He started to lose his composure, shouting, “I cannot take all of you! We're going to be caught!”

By now, the situation had reached riotous proportions. Some of the men were pulling others out of the wagon to make room for themselves and fights were breaking out. Finally, James did the only thing he could do. He climbed into the wagon and lashed the horse until they were flying down the road at breakneck speed. The wagon bed was packed full of bodies; others chased after, pleading for him to stop, while a few more clung to the back and were dragged until they could not hold on any longer. His mind was racing like a rat trapped in a box. Any second he expected to hear the sound of gunshots behind him.

How completely different this was compared to the first time. Everything had gone smoothly and quietly. This time it had blown up in his face. It was difficult to think straight enough to decide what to do. But he did understand that he could not stay on the road for long and he could not continue on in the wagon. And although just four sets of manacles would have been of little use to him with a wagon load of slaves, it still added to his anxiety when he realized he'd left the house without them. Now, it would turn into a version of the classic escape attempt: hiding in the woods, crossing and re-crossing streams to throw off pursuit, and walking every step of the way.

With every mile he drove, James believed that he was pressing his luck. He did not know, with the pandemonium he'd left in his wake, how soon a pursuit could be organized. What with the fire, the slain overseer, and the slaves left behind who had scattered into the countryside, James hoped he had created enough of a diversion and that the upheaval had taken everyone at Live Oak by complete surprise.

Eventually he had no choice but to find some cover and stop to rest the horse. When he finally counted heads, he saw that there were twenty-three black men of varying ages crammed into the small wagon. What a daunting task it would be to get them all to safety. Having calmed his nerves a little, James began to wonder if he could make it to the closest station on the list that Reverend Pyle had given him. It was a farm located near Chattanooga, Tennessee. If that goal could be reached it would give him a safe place to leave his rig; then he could lead from there on foot, keeping mostly to the mountains for cover.

Before leaving the rest stop, which was close to a trickle of a creek, he advised his passengers to quench their thirst and then quickly return to the wagon. While James waited, he searched his mind to retrieve the information concerning the exact location of the farm, the farmer's name, and the proper way to approach him. There was a sign to be given, a question that had to be asked word for word. The proper response was the counter sign.

He checked his pocket watch for the time. It was almost four in the morning and he was getting impatient. He was just about to climb down and hurry the slaves along when he heard a shout and one of the men ran up to the wagon shouting, “Boss, boss, Joe's done been bit by a snake! He's bit by a snake down by the creek!” James jumped down from the wagon and ran towards the commotion, met halfway by two men carrying a third by the arms and legs. The injured Negro was not much more than James's age, maybe eighteen or so, and he appeared to be in shock. There was a nasty bite wound on his right arm, and it was beginning to swell. James's father had taught him how to care for a snakebite but he had never actually performed the procedure.

With very little light to work by, he took his knife and made a shallow cut across the fang marks. The young man twitched convulsively as the blade opened his skin. As best he could, James sucked out the poison then instructed one of the men to find some tree moss and dampen it from the creek. He applied the moss to the wound and tied it in place with a handkerchief. The wagon was so crowded that it was necessary to lay the man across the legs of several others.

He headed back to the road, slapped the reins down on the horse's back and prayed that he could find Mr. Gilmore's farm. He did not know, however, if finding the farm would guarantee that he would find help.

Just after sunup, they came to a turnoff that separated a field of corn on one side, tobacco on the other. Perhaps a mile or so in the distance, James could see a barn roof sticking just above the horizon. He knew that he was close to his objective but he couldn't be sure it was the place up ahead. But there were no other houses or buildings anywhere in sight, and the young man with the snakebite was moaning in agony. With no other alternative, he kept driving towards the only visible landmark.

It was a beautifully maintained farm with a little white house featuring a wraparound porch and flower boxes at the windows. The barn appeared to be freshly painted and the cattle grazing in the pasture were a product of good breeding. As they made their approach, two boys about ten or twelve years old stepped out through the open barn doors. When they saw James and the wagonload of slaves; they raced to the house, ignored the steps by jumping up on the porch, and then disappeared inside. The front door opened a moment later and a short, heavyset man in bib overalls came out on the porch with a double barrel shotgun cradled in his arms. He did not appear to be menacing, just cautious. When James pulled the horse to a stop, the man with the shotgun walked right up to the wagon.

“Can I help you, stranger?” he asked.

“Is there a railroad somewhere near here?” James asked him.

“Yes. It runs south to north,” was the reply.

“Mr. Gilmore?”

“That's right. I'm Sam Gilmore.” Then he smiled, raising the shotgun a little, and said, “Don't worry about old Betsey here, she ain't even loaded.” Then he broke open the breech to show that he was telling the truth. James extended his hand and said, “I'm happy to meet you, sir. I'm William Mason. I was warned that your station may not be operating any longer but to try anyway if I ran into trouble.”

“Well, it has been a while since we've had passengers, but I'm certainly not going to turn you away. What can I do to help, Mr. Mason?”

“We need food, rest, and something more. I have a young man who was bitten by a snake about three hours ago. I've done what I can, but he needs a doctor in a hurry.”

Concern covered Mr. Gilmore's face and he said, “Pull your wagon over to the barn. I'll see what I can do to make him comfortable.” The injured man was carried into the barn and laid on a pile of straw covered by a blanket. The rest of the men spread out, finding places to sit and relax. James removed the handkerchief and Mr. Gilmore inspected the arm. “I think you probably saved his life for now, William, but he does need a doctor sure enough. And if that arm gets infected he could lose that much for sure. I'll go to the house and tell my wife to make you all something to eat. I'll send my oldest son to Chattanooga for a doctor.”

“Can the doctor be trusted?”

“The one that I'm sending for can. Don't worry.”

He hurried off to the house. When he returned, James told him all about the escape from Live Oak the night before. “That is why,” said James, “I want to leave my horse and wagon here and travel by foot. We'll never make it any other way. We have to stay off the roads.”

“I guess you're right about that. Of course the sick man will have to stay behind. Ordinarily, we don't keep runaways here too long. It's always risky having them here at all. But I reckon we can hide one man for a while. When he can travel I'll see to it that he gets up north somehow.”

“I do appreciate everything.”  

“Don't mention it.”

By five o'clock that afternoon, James decided that it was time to begin the long, arduous journey to Pennsylvania. Mr. Gilmore's son had returned from Chattanooga with the doctor and it looked as though Joe would keep his arm. The farmer was more than a generous man, providing so much food and water that each man had a load to carry. James thanked Sam Gilmore profusely and promised to return for his rig as soon as possible. Then, the little band of fugitives moved out in the direction of the Appalachian Mountains.

On the second night after leaving the Gilmore farm, while resting in the foothills, James could hear barking dogs in the distance. They broke camp and moved out quickly, and the chase was on. Using every devious maneuver he'd ever been taught to stay out ahead of the posse, it took five grueling weeks before James stumbled across the Pennsylvania line, leading twenty-two runaways to Reverend Pyle's Church.