Fantasy & Science Fiction Mar-Apr 2013 (3 page)

Thomas felt a gathering. All the colors in the room gradually became brighter. The silence deepened. Even the little Wilbur boy, who often found it difficult to hold still through Meeting, sat like one transfixed.

There came a stirring on the facing bench, where old Margaret Coffin sat. Most of the time, she was so quiet, Thomas was not sure if she were awake. Her joints popped when she got to her feet. She stood, head bowed, hands clasped before her. The feeling of expectancy, of immanence, heightened.

She lifted her head, and a trick of the sun bathed her face in light. "If a stranger sojourn with thee in thy land," she cried out in a ringing voice, surely too powerful for such a frail body, "thee shall not vex him; but the stranger that dwelleth with thee shall be as one born amongst thee, and thee shall love him as thyself."

For a moment longer she stood. The scriptural reference hung in the air as if it had been written there in invisible fire. Then she bowed her head, her back bent under the weight of her years, and lowered herself to the bench. After that, Thomas sensed the entire room drifting through a mist infused by sunlight that lifted slowly, sweetly, until everyone realized that the Meeting had ended.

As was their custom, the men and women divided for their separate meetings. The women tended to matters of caring for the sick, marriages and births and the like, and Hannah had been one of the clerks these last few years. Adam sat beside Thomas in the men's meeting. If the automaton understood or was aware of the unifying ministry, he gave no sign. Much of the time was taken up with a discussion of those Friends who had been convicted and fined for helping runaway slaves. Two members were selected to receive donations on their behalf. It seemed to Thomas that Adam listened with particular attention.

The women had not yet concluded their business when the men adjourned. This was often the case, and Thomas could never be sure whether the women had more issues to settle or simply moved more slowly through their discussions. William took Adam to examine the architecture and construction details of the Meeting house. While they were gone, Samuel Pusey approached Thomas.

"Friend, a matter is weighing on my mind concerning the automaton."

Thomas nodded encouragingly.

"I think—I cannot be certain, but I
think
I did not reassemble him in exactly the same manner in which he was originally fabricated."

"Thee was well favored in thy work, Samuel. Adam appears to function properly, although we cannot know what he was truly like before he was damaged."

Samuel frowned, visibly cogitating. "Thee described him as dull-witted and stubborn. Does it not seem that he now functions
better
? That he is more articulate, more spiritually responsive? Or might that be a result of us knowing him better, and he, us, so that he is more at his ease?"

What Samuel did not say, and what Thomas understood very well, was the troubling matter of whether Adam possessed a soul, and whether such a soul had been present when he first appeared in the yard that rainy night. Was it possible for a being to look like a man and to speak as one, and yet have no share in redemption? Thomas could not believe it, but the matter was for Divine, not human, judgment.

Three days later, a party of men trotted into the Covington farm. The sun had passed overhead two hours ago and the yard was dry, the air warm. From where they were working in the potato field, Thomas and William saw the riders turn off the main road. They reached the house just before the three men. Hannah stood on the porch, drying her hands on her apron. Adam was not in view, most likely still within the house. The last time Thomas had seen the automaton, he had been sitting on a bench in the kitchen, slowly and carefully shelling peas.

The leader was a big-boned man with a thick, ginger-colored mustache and a distinctive red vest under his open coat. Thomas had never met the man before, but thought he must be Robert A. Cochoran, the same slave-catcher named on Adam's warrant. Cochoran pulled his horse to a halt, sending the long tails of his coat flapping, but did not dismount.

"Afternoon." He tipped his hat to Hannah. "Ma'am."

Thomas stepped forward. "Good afternoon, friend."

Cochoran sucked air through his teeth. "I've come for the nigger. Don't give me no story, neither, 'cause I know he come by here."

"Thee is searching for a runaway slave?"

"You heard right. We can do this the easy way—you hand him over and we'll be on our way. Or me and my men can drag him out, and I can't guarantee what might get broke in the process."

"Thee will find no slaves here."

"You'll understand if I don't take your word for it." Cochoran lifted one hand to signal his men.

"Friend, thee is in Delaware. We have laws, and thee could go to prison for breaking into another man's premises. I assure thee I have none of thy property here." Thomas spoke smoothly, having had similar conversations a number of times.

Hannah came down the steps. "By thy appearance, thee has traveled a long way. Thee and thy companions must be thirsty as well as tired. Come in, rest with us, and share our dinner."

Her words produced the usual effect in those unaccustomed to the ways of Quakers. The two hands shifted in their saddles, exchanging glances. Cochoran looked confused, then suspicious, then even more confused. "That's kindly of you, ma'am, but my business is tracking down the nigger. I'll have to search the house. And the barn."

"Of course," she said with her gentle smile, "but thee will do so with clean hands and a full stomach."

The slave-catcher wavered visibly. Before he could respond, however, Adam came out onto the porch. In his plain white shirt and trousers with suspenders, he looked like any other Quaker. He did not speak, only stood there. Something in his stillness reminded Thomas of the intent, listening silence of Meeting.

Cochoran stiffened in the saddle. "Where's the nigger? Why ain't you caught him?"

For a moment, no one answered.

"Well? Get down here!"

Adam did not move. Thomas wondered if this was the first time Adam had deliberately disobeyed a command. He thought,
Only men may choose to answer the leadings of the Inward Light, rather than the commands of a worldly authority.

He turned to Cochoran. "I have told thee, friend, there are no slaves here."

"Maybe not," Cochoran said. "Maybe the nigger's long gone. But
that
—" with a jerk of his chin toward the porch where Adam stood, "—that belongs to my employer, Durham N. Turner. For all your fine words, Pastor, you are indeed in possession of another man's property."

Hannah walked up to Adam and took one of his hands in hers. "Adam, does thee wish to go with this man?"

Adam's shoulders hunched. "No, I do not. I do not wish to catch slaves."

Her voice was gentle, relentless. "And why is that?"

"Servitude is hateful to me. I will not inflict it on another." If it were possible for a mechanical throat to form a sob, that sound permeated Adam's response. "If I, who am metal and glass, can comprehend this, then so much more must a living man, no matter the color of his skin or his station in life. Even—" and here his gaze returned to the face of Cochoran "—even thee."

Hannah nodded, released Adam's hand, and stepped down off the porch. She halted an arm's-length from the horsemen. "Thee has thy answer," she said to Cochoran.

"If thee would seize this man—" Thomas took up the argument, only to be interrupted by Cochoran.

"It's not a man!"

"Is he not shaped like one?" Thomas demanded. "Does he not speak as one, with conscience and goodliness?"

"Don't you go quoting no scripture to me! That there's one of those auto-ma-jigs, and I've got every lawful right to haul it back—"

"Then thee must return with the sheriff and a warrant for his arrest, stating what crime he may have committed. Otherwise, I bid thee depart in peace."

Cochoran's free hand moved toward the stock of the rifle, in its holster tied to the saddle. One of his men glanced pointedly toward Hannah, as if to say he was not easy about threatening violence against a woman who had been so hospitable.

The slave-catcher gathered up the reins and wheeled his horse. "You ain't heard the last of this!"

Thomas moved to Hannah's side as they watched the riders trot back down the road. "No," he said quietly, "I expect we have not."

Adam joined them. "Thomas, I fear I have brought thee much trouble."

"No. Thee has brought us hope. But thee must not tarry. William will take thee north to Friends who will see thee safely to Pennsylvania."

Adam's face lacked the mobility of flesh, but Thomas had learned to read the subtleties in his posture. "I do not want to leave thee, Friend Thomas, or thee, Friend Hannah. I have so much to learn. I think…I have been pondering the awakening of my spirit, and wondering if Friend Samuel put me back together in a different way, or if—" Adam stumbled to a halt. "A thought has come to me, that once I was a man of flesh. Not a…a good man, but one who took delight in chasing a terrified runaway. A man who…I do not want to be. I think it would have been better to let Cochoran take me, and send me back to be put once more into endless sleep, rather than to remember."

Thomas did not know how to answer. If Adam had been human and a Christian, citing Scripture on redemption and hope would have been appropriate. But Adam had no such shared knowledge, being so clearly guided by the Inward Light alone.

In the end, Thomas decided to bring Adam to John Hunn himself. They went along briskly in the same covered buggy in which Thomas had driven his family to Meeting. Adam spoke long and earnestly, and as Thomas listened, he remembered the teachings of George Fox, who had founded the Religious Society of Friends almost two centuries ago. Thomas wondered how, in these dark times, Adam or any of them might
walk cheerfully over the world, answering that of God in everyone.

Two weeks later, Thomas learned that charges had been brought against him by the former owner of both Nat and Adam, although the latter was not mentioned by name, only referred to as "a mechanical device."

The day after the summons arrived, a Friend traveling north from Maryland brought word that Adam had been captured and returned to his owner. Thomas received the news like a physical blow, as if his own child had been delivered into slavery.

"
I think it would have been better to let Cochoran take me,
" Adam had said, "
and send me back to be put once more into endless sleep, rather than to remember.
"

It took another six months for the United States Circuit Court to schedule the trial, during which time there was no further news about Adam's fate. Inquiries revealed nothing. Thomas did not know whether Adam had been put to the work of catching fugitives or had refused and been condemned to that
endless sleep.
The matter troubled him sorely. He understood that slaves had little power to resist, but few runaway slaves faced execution upon their return or were forced to hunt down their fellows. This Durham N. Turner, who claimed Adam as his property, would not understand. Nor might those who championed the rights of African slaves, but who might see Adam and his kind as machines without agency or moral choice. If the plight of enslaved blacks was dire, what of those who were not even recognized as human?

 
THOMAS ARRIVED EARLY at the New Castle courthouse, an imposing structure of red brick. The courtroom itself was large, chill and damp in these winter months. Thomas took his place in front of the railing, not a little surprised to find every chair and bench in the viewing section occupied, a few women among the men. More onlookers stood shoulder-to-shoulder along the back of the room, spilling out onto the corridor beyond. The audience was equally divided between fellow Quakers and sympathizers, and well-dressed folk who, by their expressions of disapproval, represented the pro-slavery position. Several reporters, including a man from the magazine
The Blue Hen's Chicken
, stood at the back, taking notes. The atmosphere was tense, with many hostile glances cast in the direction of Thomas and the other Friends. Even so, Thomas found cause for optimism. Thomas Garrett had prevailed upon his good friend, the abolitionist John Wales, for the defense. On the other hand, the judges were Charles W. Hall, an undistinguished District judge, and Chief Justice Roger Taney. Taney had presided over the
Amistad
case, considered a victory for the anti-slavery movement, but he was also known as a strict proponent of states' rights.

The judges took their places on the bench, the jury was seated, and proceedings began with a series of motions followed by opening statements. John Wales had warned Thomas that the case was likely to go against him. There was no evidence that Thomas had harbored Nat. On the other hand, three eyewitnesses had seen Adam at the Covington farm and had heard Thomas refuse to hand him over to Robert Cochoran. Those witnesses proceeded to give testimony, as did Durham N. Turner. On cross-examination, Wales asked each to describe the automaton, a self-locomoting machine in the shape of a man, and for Turner to give its provenance. Turner produced a bill of sale from an importing firm, the Lake Geneva Trading Company. The sheriff testified that once a complaint had been filed and a warrant issued, he had searched the Covington farm but found no sign of the described property. He could not state of his own knowledge if such a device had ever been present.

Chief Justice Taney had been listening to the testimony, a frown on his long, dour face. He wanted to know how the defendant had been able to prevent a self-locomoting machine from carrying out the instructions of an agent, meaning Cochoran, placed in authority over it. Had Thomas instructed the machine otherwise? Had he physically restrained it?

Cochoran returned to the stand and was reminded he was still under oath. "Nossir, your Honor, Covington didn't do nothing but stand there."

"Then why were you unable to retrieve the automaton?"