Which Way Freedom (9 page)

“Suit yourself, but let's git.”

Obi lifted Buka and carried him as before. They reached a clearing where trees had recently been felled and freshly cut logs lay on the ground. There were no people about, but Obi thought he heard voices in the distance, though it was hard to tell with Daniel and the soldiers laughing and talking.

As they continued walking, Obi heard a man shout, and he also thought he smelled bacon and coffee. Then they came to a field covered with sturdy-looking tents. Soldiers were lining up for breakfast. A black man, standing over a large, three-legged iron skillet, served coffee, bacon, and grits.

“I walk now,” Buka rasped in Obi's ear as they picked
their way among the tents. Obi put him down. “Look there,” Buka said, pointing straight ahead. “The Edisto River. This the farm.”

The river looked like a silver ribbon in the distance. Obi gave Buka a puzzled look as Jameson hurried them through the camp.

How could this be a farm,
he wondered,
with so many soldiers?

Obi looked to his left and saw tall, green stalks of corn. Peas, okra, collards, and other crops grew in several nearby fields. Cows and horses could be seen grazing in pastures beyond the fields.

To his right, he saw a row of small stick-and-mud shacks and some tents put together with old canvas and stakes. Daniel tossed the sacks and rifle to Smith. “Save some of that rabbit for me,” he said and walked in the direction of the broken-down shacks.

When they neared the riverbank, Obi saw the gun barrels mounted on two-wheeled carriages, the ammunition chests, and the soldiers manning the weapons. A long ditch, looking like a scar in the ground, had been dug a few feet behind the artillery. The sun was now positioned over the horizon.

They stopped in front of a large, white, two-story frame house with a spacious porch. Smith handed Buka's sack to Corporal Jameson.

“They carryin' weapons,” he said.

“Go get the Colonel,” Jameson ordered. Smith ran up the steps and knocked on the door. Obi was feeling so weary he could have stretched under the hedges that circled the building and gone fast asleep. Buka, standing next to Obi, looked as if he were about to collapse. Easter kept her head lowered.

Obi could see a mass of land—the island—on the other side of the river. It was so close! The colonel came out of the house. His dark-brown mustache reminded Obi of the captain who'd come to the Jennings farm. He motioned to Jameson to bring them up on the porch.

“Y'all can leave now,” Jameson said to Smith and Simon. They took off in the direction of the tents.

“What's this, Jameson?” the colonel asked with a bored and disgusted expression. He wore a grey tunic jacket and looked the way Obi thought a soldier was supposed to look.

Obi tried to read the man's heavily lidded, brown eyes in order to discover just what kind of person the colonel might be.

“Found them in the woods, sir. Say they ain't runaways, but I don't believe them.”

“You all runaways?” Colonel Andrews asked.

“No, suh,” Buka said.

“We took this off them, Colonel Andrews,” Jameson interrupted, holding up the shotgun. He handed it to Andrews.

The colonel inspected the gun. “Give it to the quartermaster.”

Colonel Andrews stared at the three of them again. “I believe you are runaways. Now, don't make me beat the truth out of you.”

“Probably stole the gun too,” Jameson said.

“Suh, there's a pass in the sack,” Buka said calmly. “We ain't no runaways.”

Jameson rummaged through the sack and pulled out the damp piece of paper.

“That's we pass,” Buka said hoarsely and then began to cough.

Jameson handed Colonel Andrews the paper. “I can't read this—it's all smeared,” Andrews said. Obi was relieved.

Jameson continued rummaging through the sack. “Look what else is here—a huntin' knife and some trousers.”

Colonel Andrews looked up from the paper he'd been turning from front to back. “Maybe this was a pass, but it seems to me that you wouldn't just drop something as important as a pass in an old croaker sack. Where were you going?”

“ 'Cross the river to the island, suh. I born there and want my grandsons to take me back.”

Andrews put his hands in his pockets. A slight smile played around his mouth. “Old man, you've been lying longer than I've been living.” He looked at the paper again. “This is worthless,” he said, crushing the paper. “I think you're trying to reach those Union gunboats on the ocean.

“Old man,” he continued, “you can go back to wherever it is you came from.” He looked at Jameson. “Put the two boys with the other slaves. They look healthy enough. We can use them for the trenches.” Then he took a second glance at Easter, who still held her head down. “Put him in the field.”

“And Jameson,” the colonel added, “you hear about people's slaves running off the farms around here, let me know. We'll return these when we finish with the trenches and breastworks. Nobody's going across that river.” He walked toward the door of the house.

Obi shot a quick glance across the water to the island. It seemed as if he could stretch out his arm and touch it.

Easter raised her head. “I can cook, suh,” she said softly.

Obi clenched his fists.
She don't care who she slave for long as she ain't in no field.

“I won't stand for somebody messing up my food. Can you really cook, boy?”

“Yes, suh,” she said firmly.

The colonel didn't seem to take any more notice of Easter. He put his hand on the doorknob. “Jameson, give the two boys something to eat. They've got a busy day ahead of them.”

Jameson led them in the direction of the shacks they'd just passed. He gave the sack to Buka after removing the hunting knife. Easter walked alongside Jameson.

They reached a shed where a man and a woman prepared breakfast for the camp. Black men in overalls were coming out of the nearby tents and shacks, headed for the cooking shed. The man and woman were old, but not as old as
Buka. She was short and wiry and had her head wrapped in a clean, white cloth. The man was also slight.

The woman took the lid off the skillet and stirred the grits as steam rose out of the pot. “Feed these two boys,” Jameson told the woman. “The old man gets nothin'. You hear me? Nothin'.”

She nodded, staring at Buka closely.

Jameson turned to the grey-haired man, who was putting tin plates on a table. “Take the small one to the field with you this mornin',” he said, pointing to Easter.

“Yes, suh,” the man answered pleasantly, staring at Buka as if he had never seen him before. The men were beginning to line up in front of the shed. “Get on line,” Jameson ordered Obi and Easter. “I'll be back for you,” he told Obi and headed quickly toward the soldiers' tents at the other end of the farm.

The woman handed her large, wooden spoon to one of the men on line and rushed to Buka. The grey-haired man followed. “Lord, is it you, Buka?” She grabbed him around his shoulders.

Buka nodded. “It's me, an' my two grandson,” he said, winking.

“Obi, Ezra, this Mariah an' Gabriel.”

“Welcome,” the woman said.

“They runnin'?” Gabriel whispered.

“Yes. I takin' them to the island—to Green Hills Plantation.”

“You come bad time,” Mariah said. Her husband nodded in agreement.

“The soldiers take over the farm since this war business. Old Master die three year ago, an' he son take over,” she continued. Her small, black eyes slanted over her high, sharp cheekbones. “He give this farm to the Confederates.” Her eyes darted back and forth as if someone were watching her.

“The soldiers stretch the big gun along the river. Say Yankees try to get to Charleston from here.” She moved
her long, thin fingers as she talked. “Master and Mistress stay on the island. Me, Gabriel, an' some of the hands from the plantation told to stay here an' grow food for the soldiers.”

“They have slave from other plantations too,” Gabriel said. “They buildin' wall an' diggin' big, big ditch they call trench.” He spread his arms to demonstrate how wide and long the trenches were.

Obi noticed that the men were now sitting on the ground eating their breakfast of grits. They didn't have bacon and coffee like the white soldiers. A few of them ate with wooden spoons, but most scooped up the grits with clam shells.

“I don't care what that Jameson say,” Mariah said to Buka as she touched his arm, “I feedin' you.”

“We give him some of our food,” Obi offered. “Don't want these soldier to trouble you.”

“I ain't scare of no soldier. Buka like family. I take he to our cabin, an' he stay with us long as he want to.” She patted Buka on his back but looked at Obi. “You an' your brother stay with us too,” she said.

Buka seemed as if he were going to faint. “No food now, Mariah, just rest. Then I tell you the whole story.” His voice faded into a dry cough.

Gabriel turned to Mariah. “I finish servin' the men. You take Buka to the cabin.”

After they got their grits, Easter and Obi sat outside the shed under an oak tree. Easter rested her plate on the ground and covered her face.

“Why you tell that man you a cook?” Obi asked her. “You think we stayin' here?”

She uncovered her face and looked at him. “I not a field hand. I a cook, an' I ain't stayin' here neither 'cause they be sendin' us back—an' I glad!” she said, almost in tears. “I don't want to be under that burnin' sun in the field.” She turned her back on him and scooped up some of the grits in the shell, twisting her mouth in disgust as she put the shell to her lips.

Easter ate a bit more in silence. Then she stuck the shell into the food and put the plate on the ground. “Soldier have you an' me now, Obi. An' Jason still waitin' for us.”

“I tell you to stay,” he said, loud enough for some to hear him.

“Where you from?” a familiar voice called out. “Who your master?” Obi hadn't seen Daniel sit down with a group of men under a nearby tree.

“Ain't got none,” Obi mumbled, his eyes avoiding Daniel's. He was too upset to talk to a stranger—even one who had helped him.

“You free?” Daniel asked, finishing off his food.

Obi ignored the question and looked away. Daniel, shrugging his shoulders, got up and headed to the cooking shed.

Obi noticed Jameson strolling in their direction. When he reached them, the corporal threw a pair of mustard-colored trousers and a white shirt at Easter.

“The Colonel needs a servant boy. Clean your whole self. There's a water pump back of them shacks. Can't go smellin' up the Colonel's house. When you finish, go there. He waitin' for you.” He turned to Obi. “I'll be back for you.”

Obi thought that Jameson's eyes looked a little glazed, as if he'd been drinking.

He left and Obi squeezed Easter's arm. “I told you! You should keep your mouth shut about cookin'.”

She pulled away. “I a cook.”

“How you gonna wash in the pump an' you supposed to be a boy?”

“I manage.”

Mariah, back from the cabin, walked over to them. “Buka restin',” she said, looking at Easter. “He tell me you posin' as a boy. It a good idea, especially in this camp with all these men. It okay for a old woman like me but not for a pretty girl.”

“Everybody know her secret soon!” Obi said angrily. He explained to Mariah what had just happened.

To his surprise, the old woman smiled. “Good! She don't need to be in the field. This way I don't have to be troublin' myself cookin' for the Colonel. I got all these men to cook for.”

“Where she gonna wash?” Obi asked her.

“I take care of that. She bathe back of my cabin. Nobody see her.” She tried to peer under Easter's straw hat. “You have a lot of hair?”

Easter nodded.

“I cut that. Make you look like a real boy.”

Easter left with Mariah and Obi looked around him. Some of the men had finished eating and gone to the field, while Daniel and a few of the others were on their way to the riverbank. Another group, carrying axes and saws, headed for the clearing in the woods. Others cleaned around the tents of the white soldiers and the rest of the campgrounds.

The air was becoming humid. Obi stood up as Jameson approached. He followed the man toward the riverbank. Glancing in the direction of the tents, Obi saw lines of soldiers standing before other soldiers who called out names.

“Never seen nothin' like this, have you, boy?” Jameson sneered as they walked. They were nearing the black men digging the trenches.

“Let me tell you somethin',” he said, turning to face Obi. He pointed to the river. “See, over that way is east, headin' to the Atlantic Ocean.” Then he pointed to the colonel's house. “That way is south—takes you down through Georgia and Florida—and soldiers there too.”

He spread his arms to indicate the woods that surrounded the farm like a horseshoe. “There is soldiers all through them woods. I don't know how y'all didn't get caught before we found you.”

Obi wondered what Jameson was trying to say.

“What I'm tellin' you is this:”—he leaned close to Obi—“you belong to us now, and you can't get away.”

In South Carolina, black folk floated to freedom on
“basket boats made out of reeds,” thus reviving an
ancient African craft.

Vincent Harding, author
From
There Is a River

September 1861
Obi had fallen uncomfortably into the routine of the camp. He and the other slaves had finished the trenches and were now building protective walls for the gunners at the riverbank.

“They bringin' in new soldier all the time. Gettin' ready for a real fight maybe,” Daniel said.