Cy in Chains (27 page)

After three days, the sheriff had Cy brought into the courthouse. A judge listened to some men repeat what Cy had told them and pronounced sentence. The nigger Cy Williams would hang by the neck until dead for the murders of white men Dawson Stryker, Love Davis, and Onnie Prescott, citizens of Colquitt County, Georgia. Sentence to be carried out in three more days.

From his cell, Cy could see two sheriff's deputies sitting at a desk, chewing tobacco and making frequent use of the spittoon. One of them whittled, leaving a neat pile of shavings on the top of the desk, the way Love Davis had sat whittling the day Cy and Rosalee had agreed to kill him.

Cy lay down, turned his face to the wall, and shut his eyes. If he pretended to sleep, maybe the men would talk freely. In the last couple of days, he'd learned a lot that way. He'd overheard that they'd caught six other boys from the camp, but that was all, so the others were still at large. For that, he was glad. He also found out that Prescott was hated by almost everyone who knew him, and no one was particularly sorry that he was dead. That the murders at Cain's camp would lead to an investigation of conditions there. That Simon and all the other black men they'd arrested had been released.

Most important of all, Cy had learned that no one had found Billy. Lem hadn't been able to go after him because he had a dead man and a live prisoner to deal with. By the time the searchers returned to the Alapaha, Billy was long gone.

Billy gone. That was the great thing. That made tomorrow worth it.

Once, Cy and a friend had come to a river. In a moment of fear, he, Cy, had turned yellow and fled from danger. Had leaped into the death waters of the Ogeechee. Travis, his friend, had followed—and had drowned. This time, Cy had stood his ground, giving Billy the chance to cross over into freedom.

The first time, Travis had paid with his life. This time, Cy would pay with his. After all the blood he'd spilled, he figured that it was a fair reckoning.

“Sheriff gonna let 'em have some fun with the nigger before they kill him?” one deputy asked.

The other chuckled. “I wouldn't mind seein' that myself. You know one reason they put off the hangin' this long is so folks from all over can make it to town for the big event. Them as travels from far away don't like it to be over so quick. Give 'em some of what they come for, know what I mean?”

Since he'd been caught, Cy had walled himself off from this world of white people who wanted to kill him. He had tried to keep himself from thinking, from feeling. Now that the end was near, he was strangely unafraid. Hanging didn't hurt. It was quick. One moment you were alive, noose around your neck, black hood over your face, and the next . . . it was over.

“Sheriff said he ain't gonna have none o' that tomorrow,” the second deputy continued. “He don't care how disappointed folks might be. ‘Hang the nigger and get it over with,' he says.”

“Maybe he'll let 'em have the body,” the first replied. “Some folks get a kick out of messin' with what's left over.”

“You mean souvenirs? Shit. That's some kind o' sick stuff, Hank. I pray the sheriff don't let 'em get their hands on him. Just kill him and let the niggers in town take the body and bury it.”

“I reckon you're right.”

Cy opened his eyes and looked at the brick wall before him. How he wished he could use his strong arms to push through it. How he'd like to pull the building down, kill the two guards and himself with them.

He knew that if there was anything left to think about, now was the time. The night would pass quickly, and in the morning, he would face the world of white folks for the last time.

He thought of his mother and wondered if she was alive somewhere, and happy. He thought of her pink bonnet. He felt sure his daddy had taken it with him when he left Strong's plantation.

Cy thought about his father, waiting for him in Louisville. He'd be surprised when Billy showed up instead. Billy would tell him what had happened, how Cy had been brave and done what had to be done. How he'd set some others free. His father would be sad, but Billy would be a good son to him.

He thought about dying. He hoped it would be fast, like he imagined it would be. And after that?

Aunt Miriam believed there was a heaven. God was there, waiting. When folks got to him, what did the Bible say? God would wipe away all their tears. There would be no more sadness, no more pain. Cy wanted to believe that.

And what would God say to him? “You killed three men. I can't let you stay here. You got to go to the other place.” But hell couldn't be worse than Cain's camp, so Cy reckoned he could stand it if he had to. Or would God—Father, Aunt Miriam had called him—understand why Cy had killed, and forgive him?

Cy thought of West, who was always ready with a joke. And Pook, and the day he, Cy, had swung the child around and made him laugh. He thought of Jess, hoped he was still alive and would one day escape the coal mines of Alabama. He thought of Mouse and the dark spots on the moth's wings, spots like eyes looking back at you from the strange, unknown world on the other side.

If what the deputy said was right, maybe the black folks could have his body. Maybe Simon and Aunt Miriam would take him to their place and bury him beside Mouse. And Aunt Miriam would put flowers over him. He'd like that.

And then he thought of Billy, whose life he had saved.
Let Billy find Daddy
, Cy thought.
Let him go to school, learn to read and write, make something good out of his life
.

He touched the brick wall. It was still hard and unmoving. Here he was in a jail cell, prisoner in a world he didn't make. They would kill him, but it didn't much matter now.

His thoughts drifted to the moment Billy would walk up and introduce himself to Pete Williams. Their new lives together as father and son would begin.

Cy, who never prayed, prayed for them now, that this would come true.

He hoped they wouldn't grieve over him for too long. After all, come tomorrow, he would be free.

Some years ago, I was browsing in the Zach S. Henderson Library at Georgia Southern University and happened upon a book titled
The Rise and Fall of Jim Crow
, by Richard Wormser (New York: St. Martin's Press, 2003). Its cover caught my attention immediately: an archival photograph of black men in striped prison uniforms, chained at the waist and feet, working in a field. A closer look, however, revealed that the prisoners were not men but youths, some adolescent and others obviously still children.

From the book, I learned that by the end of the nineteenth century, between twenty and thirty thousand black Americans were caught in the system of convict labor. Perhaps as many as
one quarter
of them were children. Legal records show that some of these children received stiff sentences for petty crimes such as theft of small amounts of merchandise or money from retail businesses. Twelve-year-old Cy Williams got twenty years on a chain gang for taking a horse he was too small to ride.

We will never know what happened to the real Cy Williams and so many others like him.
Cy in Chains
, inspired by his case, was written to recall a shocking episode in our past and give voice to fellow Americans long silenced by time, forgetfulness, and our national shame. More important, however, this novel celebrates what poet Robert Hayden calls “the deep immortal human wish, the timeless will”: our universal desire for freedom and our unchanging will to grasp it, no matter the cost.

Cy Williams, I am privileged to imagine and share your story.

In 2004, editor Dinah Stevenson took a chance on an unknown and unpublished novelist and accepted my novel
The Bicycle Man
for publication at Clarion Books. I am deeply grateful that she did. As she guided me with patience, tact, and honesty through at least four major revisions of the book, she became my teacher, encourager, and friend. No one has taught me more about the craft of writing. As I sometimes tell people, my name might appear on the cover of my novels, but the finished books have Dinah's heart written all through them. Thank you for everything, Dinah!

So many people encourage me, love and accept me despite myself, and express their kindness in countless ways every day. Colleagues, friends, family—to all of you, including those whom I can't name here because the list would be too long, my gratitude and my love:

My brother Chris, his wife, Kellie, and their children, with a special nod to Sam; Katie and Tim Mather, all the Mather clan, and everyone dedicated to the work of Bear Creek Ranch; my brothers and fellow kings Justin, Jason, and David; my Georgia Southern University colleagues, especially all the members of the Department of Literature and Philosophy; my administrative assistant Rebecca, without whom I would be lost.

My children and their families, of whom I am enormously proud: Chris, Amanda, and Noah; Joy, Daniel, Aiden, Emma, and Madaline; Michael; and Will. I love you beyond my powers to tell you so.

God my Father.

And Eileen, my life's companion, Father's extravagant gift to me, my biggest fan, and the greatest hero in my life. My love always and forever, my dear. Couldn't have made it without you!

D
AVID
L. D
UDLEY
received a Ph.D. from Louisiana State University. After several years as a Lutheran parish pastor, Dr. Dudley turned to college teaching, specializing in African American literature. He is currently chair of the Department of Literature and Philosophy at Georgia Southern University. He lives in Twin City, Georgia, with his wife, Eileen, an artist. They have four children.