Wild, Beautiful, and Free(25)

He leaned more in my direction and raised his voice. “Sir! I said it looks like we have a very good day ahead of us.”

I turned and, without looking at him directly, bowed my head. “Yes,” I said. Slowly I moved back toward the window again and said no more.

“A sad thing to be deaf in age, ain’t it?” Everett said. The passengers around him agreed, and I could hear him sniff and the pages of a newspaper unfold. “I won’t bother the poor old soul again.”

By God’s grace my enemy didn’t stay on the train. Everett’s destination was Topperville, not Savannah, and we arrived there before lunch. The man disembarked without, as far as I could tell, looking again in my direction. When the train began to move again, I felt such relief that I either passed out or fell asleep. I was too exhausted to tell either way.

When I awoke, I discerned the conversation around me and found myself in the perfect position to eavesdrop. I only had to pretend to continue sleeping and take in the information. The men were complaining of abolitionists.

From what I gathered, abolitionists made a lot of trouble for Southern landowners who kept slaves. I was stunned when I realized they were talking about God-fearing white people who didn’t believe in slavery—who thought it should be outlawed. In Aunt Nancy Lynne’s kitchen Silas had spoken of people who opposed the institution of slavery. Now I was thinking about them differently. I knew Silas and I were headed north because we could be free. But I hadn’t thought clearly about what freedom would mean for me or what it would look like. How could I make my way in the world? I had not shared these thoughts with Silas because my plan was to disconnect myself from him once we reached safety. It would be better for us to separate because anyone in search of runaways would look for a pair. Now, hearing that I could find people, perhaps these white abolitionists, willing to help me sustain myself in my freedom, I felt heartened.

We arrived at Savannah early in the evening and got into an omnibus, which stopped at the hotel for the passengers to take tea. Silas stepped into the house and brought me a small sandwich and coffee. I sat outside and ate a little. Silas knelt next to me and tended to me like he would Massa Holloway. He dusted off my boots and checked and retied the poultice.

“You all right?” he whispered.

“Boss Everett was on the train,” I said. “Silas—Henry, I thought I was going to die.”

Silas took small, nervous looks around the area, moving from me to the street and back again. “Damn it,” he said. “Where is he?”

“No, no.” I patted him on the shoulder. “He’s gone. Got off a ways back.”

Silas sat back on his heels, took out a handkerchief, and wiped at the sweat trickling down the sides of his face. “Well, the Lord must be looking after us then,” he said.

“Are you all right? Have you eaten? Here, take this.” I carefully wrapped the rest of my sandwich. I had only managed a few bites.

“No, you keep it. Gotta keep your strength up. We’ll be traveling over water soon. Might make you sick.”

He was right. The omnibus took us to a steamer bound for Charleston, South Carolina, and then another steamer to Wilmington, North Carolina. On board, the up-and-down motion of the waves gave me a painful ache at the back of my head. My stomach felt so unsettled it was all I could do to sit up straight on the bench outside. We stayed outside on both steamers. Silas said it would help me feel better. Still, the journey wore on me badly. We boarded a train for Richmond, Virginia, and by the time we arrived, my slow sick-man walk was no longer pretended.

Silas thought some fresh air might help. He led me from the platform to the street, and we were walking like that, speaking quietly about where we should go next, when Silas suddenly took my elbow.

“Stop,” he whispered. “You hear that?”

I wasn’t sure what “that” was supposed to be. We were surrounded by people and horses and carriages, all making their own noises. But the sound came to me: a low and rich melodic hum, the way a mother might sing to a child. The hum rose in tone and volume, and then a woman’s voice, deep and clear.

“Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home. Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home.”

“That’s a signal song,” he whispered. “Someone from the Underground Railroad. They’ll help get us someplace safe.” He looked around carefully.

“Over there.” Silas guided me to a shop stand of squash, collards, and potatoes. A colored woman wearing a dark-brown cloth wrapped around her head was stocking the table from a crate at her feet. She sang as she worked.

I pretended to examine the vegetables while Silas spoke to her.

“You lookin’ to hire a carriage for your man?” she asked him.

Silas nodded.

She glanced briefly in a direction opposite us and a little way down the street. “Take that one with the man in the green hat. Tell him Miss Maude said he has the finest carriage in town.”

I gave Silas a few coins to pass to her. She wrapped a butternut squash in brown paper and handed it to Silas. I gave her a slight bow, and we walked on.

When we got to the carriage, Silas repeated Miss Maude’s message, and the man opened the door and helped me in. Silas got up on the outside seat with the driver. The man never asked where we wanted to go. He just started. We traveled out of Richmond but still, I could tell, in a northerly direction. We ended up not going far, but the man let the horses walk, so our progress was slow. I figured that was best. We wouldn’t call attention to ourselves. There didn’t seem to be anything to fear, so I sat back and relaxed and felt better. I even managed to fall asleep for a bit.