Chapter Three
Moses gritted his teeth as he fought to still the rage rising in his throat, threatening to choke him. Gripping the small square of material that held his few belongings, he cast his eyes around the small clearing as the wagon rumbled to a stop.
Dark shapes appeared in the doorways of tiny cabins, dim lamplight offering no more identity than gender. Soft conversation faded into silence as compassionate, understanding eyes followed the huddled forms in the back of the wagon. Many Cromwell slaves had never been further than the fields of Master Cromwell. There were plenty more, however, who were far too familiar with the upheaval and heartbreak of leaving family and home because of the auction block.
“This is far enough!” Adams yelled into the silent darkness. “Unload them here.”
He jumped from the wagon, released the pegs that held its gate closed, and let it fall to the ground. “This is your new home. You might as well start getting used to it.” His mocking laugh rang out into the night air as he jumped back on the wagon seat. The last huddled shape spilled onto the ground and he waved the driver on.
No one had moved from their doorways. As if in honor of their grief, no one wished to break the silence. Moses shifted, wondering where he was supposed to go. Surely someone was in charge around here. At his home plantation, there had always been someone in charge of the new slaves. The thought of home, of his family, caused a mixture of rage and grief to struggle for control of his body. Silently he fought off the weakness engulfing him.
The rest of his group seemed just as bewildered. It had been a long two days. Herded onto the auction block early the morning before, they had been sold and then moved to a holding area to await transportation to their new owner. Their holding area had been the back of the wagon. They had been left to sit in the bright sunshine until the sun was high in the sky, with neither food nor drink. Finally the driver had ambled up and, without a word, begun the seemingly endless drive that deposited them here long after the sun had gone down.
No one moved until the rumble of the wagon wheels faded in the distance. Then the soft rustle of a long dress broke the stillness. “I ‘magine y’all be right thirsty and hungry.”
Moses strained his eyes to determine where the mellow, smooth tones were coming from. Finally the owner of the voice moved close enough to see. Gliding toward them was a tiny woman clothed simply in a white cotton dress. Her hair, gilded with silver, reflected the dim light shining through the cabin doors. It was her eyes, though, that held Moses’ attention. The ebony eyes shone with a light that came from somewhere deep within. He fastened his own weary eyes on her as she glided to a stop in front of them.
“Welcome to Cromwell Plantation. My name be Sarah. I know y’all must be mighty tuckered out. And none of y’all look as if you’ve eat at all today. We’re fixin’ to fix dat problem.”
Her words were a signal to all the other watchers. Nameless shapes turned to disappear into their cabins. Moments later, they reappeared with corn cakes and large mugs of cold water. As Moses watched, two more women appeared with a basket full of fresh baked sweet potatoes. One man set up a primitive wooden table near the bewildered arrivals. The women deposited their bounty on the table and stood back with gentle smiles.
It was all Moses could do to keep from bolting to the table. His last food had been a piece of bread early that morning, but he waited along with the rest of the new slaves.
“Let’s pray,” Sarah said, lowering her still beautiful lined face.
Moses watched in astonishment as others bowed their heads. Finally he allowed his head to bend down toward his massive chest in a gesture of respect.
“Father, thanks for this her’ food. Thank you, too, for the safety you done given our new friends here. Amen.” Sarah raised her head. “Y’all can eat now.”
Moses didn’t need to hear anything else. With one giant stride he was at the side of the table, his towering frame dwarfing the tiny woman standing next to it. His eyes devoured the table, but he forced himself to look down at Sarah. “Thank ya, ma’am.” His duty taken care of, his work-worn hands reached down to grab several corn cakes and a couple of sweet potatoes from the piles waiting for them. He spotted a tall oak tree on the edge of the clearing and sank down next to it, allowing his long legs to stretch out for the first time that day. He had been careful to make eye contact with no one, save for his brief thank you to Sarah. He just wanted to be left alone. He wanted to eat, and he wanted to be left alone.
“Hello, boy.”
Moses jerked his head around. He had not heard Sarah’s approach. He looked up at her in confused anger and then lowered his head again. Taking a huge bite of a corn cake, he stared bitterly at the ground.
Without a word, Sarah sank down beside him. Muted conversation floated through the air as newcomers conversed with the slaves of Cromwell Plantation. But beside the tall oak, silence reigned. Sarah said not a word until he had finished his meal.
“What be yo’ name, boy?”
Moses glanced up to meet her glowing eyes. He stared, wondering at the source of light in the old slave’s eyes. Then he looked back down.
“Moses.” The silence stretched between them once again. Maybe she would catch the hint that he just wanted to be left alone. But she seemed content to sit there beside him.
Finally she spoke again. “Where ya come from, Moses?”
“Smith Plantation.” He recognized the look of sorrow that shadowed her face. She knew. In spite of the efforts to keep slaves from communicating with each other, the grapevine worked.
Sarah placed a work-hardened hand on his shoulder gently. Moses flinched but didn’t pull away. The caring touch felt like balm to his battered spirit, but it also brought up too many memories. His own mama... Catching his breath, he jerked his eyes back down to the ground.
“This here place ain’t like de Smith place, Moses.”
Moses shrugged his shoulders. He had heard that slaves were treated better at Cromwell Plantation, but what difference did it make to him? His whole world had been torn from him just that morning. It didn’t matter how anyone treated him now. He had lost his reason to live.
The dimly lit clearing seemed to fade before his eyes as his mind traveled back to the auction house. They had all been brought together from the Smith place, all of them to be sold at one time. That is what gave Moses hope—they were all still together. Maybe someone will... His hopes were short-lived. Who really wanted a whole family? Especially when the mother was old and bent from too much hard work and too much abuse, and the one sister would never walk right. But still Moses hoped. It had been his job for so many years to care for his family.
It took but the fall of the gavel on the auctioneer’s stand to end all of that. His mother and sisters were the first on the block. It didn’t take long to auction them off. At least his mama and Sadie were together.
“I know this old woman doesn’t look like a very fine specimen, but gentlemen, looks can be deceiving. You won’t find a finer cook anywhere in Virginia. For twenty long years she has set the table at the Smith Plantation with wonderful home-cooked food. She can do the same for the lucky gentleman who is the highest bidder.” The auctioneer paused and scanned the crowded room. Now was the time for his best salesmanship. He knew he would have to sell Sadie as a package deal with her mammy. How else would he unload a twelve-year-old cripple? “And with her, gentlemen, goes a fine girl, twelve years old. Don’t let her crippled condition turn you away. She works hard in the kitchen with her mammy and never lets her problem keep her from the work she has to do. Look at it this way, boys—you’ll never have to worry about her running away. She’ll stay where she’s put!” Laughter swept the crowd and he threw in one final shot. “Her crippled condition has not been since birth. She still has the capacity to bear many fine young specimens for the highest bidder!” One look told him he had done his job. Men were leaning forward in anticipation. “Where will the bidding begin? “
Moses watched in sullen silence as the voice of buyers rang through the room. Mama and Sadie went to a man named Johnson. All Moses was able to find out was that he lived almost one hundred miles north of Richmond on the river at the base of the mountains.
June went on the block next with three other young girls.
“Look at this fine young girl, gentlemen. At only fifteen years of age she is already a skilled housekeeper. She can sew and even does lacework.”
Moses wanted to cry at the terror stamped on his little sister’s face. She had clung to Moses’ hope that they would all stay together. He watched as she gazed beseechingly at Mr. Johnson, begging him silently to purchase her as well. Johnson indeed joined in the bidding but dropped out when June’s price went higher than what he already paid for the combination of her mother and sister. Shaking his head, he turned away from her beseeching eyes. His little sister went for a price of eight hundred dollars to a man named Saunders who owned one of the plantations farther south down the river. It was all Moses could do not to jump on the block and grab her. The tears running down her face and the fear that caused her to tremble were like a knife in his heart. He had promised his daddy, and he had failed. He could only watch in helpless agony as they led his mama and sisters away.
The thought of it caused him to want to break something. Anything. There must be a way to ease the war raging in his body.
His turn came shortly thereafter.
“You won’t find a strong buck like him every day, gentlemen. He stands at six feet four inches, and is solid muscle. He puts in a hard day’s work and doesn’t ever give any trouble. He’s only twenty years old. You’ll get plenty years of good work out of this fine specimen. And think what he could do for your breeding program.”
The bidding began. Most bidders dropped out when the price went above fifteen hundred dollars. Only two bidders battled it out to the end. Cromwell seemed satisfied with the price of two thousand dollars. When the gavel dropped, he merely nodded and turned away to talk to the man standing next to him. Moses had regarded his new owner stoically before he was marched from the stage and out to the wagon. There he had sat all day imagining his mama and sisters’ pain and terror, and being eaten from the inside with grief and guilt.
Sarah had sat quietly beside him all this time, but she had not moved her hand. The soft touch seemed to have given him the courage to allow his thoughts to travel over the events of that day.
Raising his head, Moses repeated, “Thank ya, ma’am.”
Sarah nodded. “You need ta git some rest, boy. Morning comes mighty early aroun’ dis here place. But at least tomorrow be Sunday. We don’t got ta do no work.”
“That’s a mighty fine looking lot of slaves, Adams.”
Adams looked over at the driver, Crutchins, and nodded with a smirk. “They’re a fine looking lot, but as far as I’m concerned they just mean trouble.”
“Whatcha mean?”
“Oh come on, man!” Adams’ craggy features flushed as his pale gray eyes gleamed balefully. “Surely you see what’s going on all around us here. Didn’t you here about the fire down at the Morgan place last week? And the barn that burned at the Simpsons’ place a few days before? That’s nigger work. There’s trouble coming, Crutchins. The niggers are smelling their freedom and it ain’t going to mean nothing but trouble.” Adams despised the slight sound of panic in his voice but his fear had been growing daily—along with his hatred.
Crutchins regarded him thoughtfully. “Yeah, I heard about the trouble. It ain’t nothing but those troublemakers in the North. They’re down here trying to stir up trouble just like they did with John Brown up in Harper’s Ferry last year. Our niggers aren’t coming up with these ideas on their own.”
Adams shrugged. “Don’t matter much if they are. The results are the same. I don’t mind admitting it makes my blood run cold to think of all these niggers free. All this secession talk has gotten me to thinking. I’ve heard some people talk about the possibility of a war if the South was to split off from the North. I don’t think the North has the guts to come down here and fight us Southern men. It wouldn’t be much of a fight anyway. They’d tuck their tails between their legs and run back up to their soft factory jobs before we’d had time to hurt them much, but it might be fun to have a shot at them. Maybe that would teach them to leave us alone down here. Those people just don’t understand what would happen if all these niggers suddenly got free. There wouldn’t be a safe place to live in the South. We might as well change the name of this part of our country to Little Africa. It wouldn’t take long before they would turn it into the same wildness they came from. What would happen to all of us?”
Crutchins response was a fearful silence, his eyes darting wildly as Adams’ somber question hung in the stillness of the spring night. Hovering above the wagon, it followed the two men as they rode the last piece down the road. Both were lost in the murky depths of their own thoughts. Neither took notice of the fragrant air that reached out welcoming arms to embrace him. Their fear kept any comfort at bay.
Adams fought to control the dark thoughts crowding his mind. It would never do to give in to fear. He knew if he did that he would lose control over the seventy-five slaves Cromwell paid him to oversee. It was hard sometimes, though. Especially like today when he was forced to stand next to Moses. The young giant made him feel like a peon. His wiry body seemed diminutive next to the young buck’s strength. He knew he wouldn’t stand a chance if Moses, or one of the other powerful men hardened by hours of hard work, were to turn against him. He knew he ruled because of fear. Cromwell didn’t like him to use the whip he carried with him at all times. Most of the time he complied with his wishes, but there were times when the slaves needed to know where they stood. They needed to be reminded who was the boss. What Cromwell didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And then there was the pistol. Even his wife, Eulalia, didn’t know he carried one with him all the time now. He aimed to be ready if the Cromwell slaves decided to stir up the same trouble as some of the other niggers in the area.
“He’s too soft on them, you know.”
“Huh?” Crutchins looked confused.
“Cromwell,” Adams snapped. “He’s too soft on his slaves. Someday it’s going to spell trouble. I can feel it coming.” He wanted to sneer as Crutchins looked at him quizzically. The portly, middle-aged man owned no slaves himself. He was content to make a living for his wife and two children by being a driver for area plantation owners. Adams knew the complacent man had no desire for the burdens that went with the responsibility of plantation wealth. Adams own desire burned in his gut. Losing his farm and five slaves several years ago had lit a raging fire of bitterness in him. He knew it would only be stilled when he was once again in the position he craved. He felt nothing but contempt for men like Crutchins.
“Take that Moses fellow,” Adams continued. “He’s going to be trouble.”
“What makes you think that?”
Crutchins’ tone said he didn’t care, but Adams chose to ignore it. He just wanted to talk. “I know where he came from,” Adams continued. “The fellow up at the Smith Plantation knew how to get a good day’s work out of the slaves there. He knew being too soft wasn’t any good. Mr. Smith put him in charge and left him in charge. Smith lived in town and only came out a few times a year to check on things. That’s the way it should be done.”
“I hear tell he lost that plantation. That’s why all the slaves were up for sale.”
Adams spun around, fire spitting from his hardened eyes. “It had nothing to do with how the plantation was run! My brother did a damn good job—”
“Your brother?” Crutchins’ eyes narrowed.
“That’s right! My brother.” Adams hadn’t meant to let that slip, but it didn’t really matter now. “It’s the Yankees who are causing all of our problems down here. Them, and all this fool talk of secession. It’s causing our economy to suffer. The little farmer is having a hard time keeping up.” The Smith Plantation, with over eight hundred acres, could hardly be called little, but it didn’t matter. Crutchins didn’t have to know everything.
Crutchins remained silent but lifted the reins a little to hurry up his team. Adams was lost in his bitter thoughts when they rounded the curve and he spotted his house.
“Here you go, Adams. My missus is waiting for me so I’ve got to go.”
Adams wasn’t done, however. “This is just another example of what I’m talking about.”
“What’s that?” Crutchins said, sounding bored and tired.
“My house shouldn’t be a half mile down the road.” He chose to ignore the fact he would live in constant fear if his house were any closer. “How does Cromwell expect me to keep things under control when I’m this far away? Those niggers are probably hatching up some evil plans right now.”
Crutchins just nodded and pulled the team to a halt. “Goodnight, Adams.”
Adams climbed wearily from the wagon and turned to continue his bitter tirade. But with a gentle cluck, Crutchins had his team rolling away before he could speak. Closing his mouth again, he wiped a grimy hand across bleary eyes and turned toward his cottage. He couldn’t blame the driver for wanting to get home. He had heard Missus Crutchins laid a fine meal. The thought sped his steps. His own wife wasn’t that great a cook, but he knew there would be hot food waiting for him. His two kids should be in bed by now. He could sit by the fire and eat in peace. The idea was a welcome one.