Chapter Sixteen

    The afternoon of the first of September promised heavy rains.

    Mr. Nettle drove him in the carriage. Cassius sensed his seething resentment at being assigned this chore. The ride unfolded in silence, giving Cassius time to consider Ellen Howard's surprising choice of a reinsman, wondering about her motive. Had she taken into account the coming harvest and the demotion of the Driver? If so, then she was taking Cassius's journey seriously, delegating a white man to convey him. As they rode past the fields, the hands watched them ride off the rim of the property.

    Mr. Nettle dropped him at the fork and stared at him coldly.

    "Reckon the next time I set eyes on you, you'll be in chains."

    Mr. Nettle swung the carriage around to sprint back to Sweetsmoke. Cassius began his walk north. He passed the Chavis farm and saw Weyman far off in the field, but this time he did not stop.

    Cassius was obliged only once to show his pass on the road, and

    he offered the one signed by Ellen Howard. The man reluctantly accepted it as real, and Cassius had the impression that he could not read.

    By midday he had arrived at his first destination. Ralph had described the location of his isolated one-room shack, and Cassius had no difficulty locating it.

    Ralph gave him food and, despite Cassius's objections, insisted he sleep there that night, as he anticipated a full day's ride. They would leave in the morning. Although impatient to begin, when the thunderstorms arrived, Cassius was glad they were not on the road.

    Cassius told Ralph as little as possible, but he did say that he wanted to get to Lee's army. Cassius asked about Shamburg and the Underground Railroad. Ralph told him that he was not likely to see that town as he was to travel in a different direction altogether if he was to find Lee.

    Ralph's roof leaked under the aggressive storm until the interior smelled of wet lamb's wool and something musky. The raucous thunder habitually stomped at the very moment Cassius was nodding off, so he slept poorly and woke ahead of the sun. Ralph, however, was not a man to be rushed. He had waited most of his life to be free, and reveled in the languid pace of his current existence. He woke late and ate slowly. He owed speed to no one, and made no apologies for his torpor.

    They set out under a strong sun, Cassius staring at Carolina's backside as she pulled them. They avoided the large milky brown puddles, staying to the center of the road as trees dripped on both sides. The road gradually dried, but the journey was not unpleasant as the coating of rain kept dust to a minimum. By nine o'clock Ralph informed Cassius they had left the county. Cassius considered the journey ahead. He had memorized the maps, but lines and shapes and names could not prepare him for reality. From here on, the world would be unfamiliar. He could not control the large things, so he concentrated on the small. He would not use Ellen's pass again, trusting Shedd's wisdom, and hoped the forged passes would suffice. He had filled them out with planter names that he hoped would be common throughout Virginia, names like Johnson and Smith, fudging the signatures so that they would be tricky to read. He thought to affect a stutter if questioned, in hopes that any slave catcher or patroller would suggest a local name out of impatience. He did not need to implement his plan on this day, however. They passed farms, travelers, villages, and just as in the journey to the train trestle, Ralph was known. Cassius glanced at Ralph to view him from a white's point of view. A fat, grizzled old uncle, salty haired with silver stubble defending his chin and cheeks who would bring next to nothing at slave auction. They would not know he only pretended to rejoice when seeing this or that fool, and that he mumbled insults through his smile. Cassius was initially unaware of his words, but after he'd heard the quiet mutterings a half dozen times, he leaned in and caught the nodding grinning remark about "waistcoat can't hide that watermelon abdomen, Alistair y'old peahen," and Cassius laughed out loud. Alistair glanced back over his shoulder and Ralph looked at Cassius as if he'd gone brain simple on the spot, and he urged Carolina forward and did not mutter again.

    Cassius gauged the sun and estimated they had reached the noon hour. That meant the halfway mark, assuming Ralph was correct. They approached a small town nestled among a dense cluster of trees, a white church spire jutting from the middle of all that green, and as they rounded an elbow in the road they came upon a black man swinging by his neck from the stout branch of a white oak. He had been hanging a few days, his corpse bloated and gray, a sad swaying message to someone somewhere. Then Cassius started because the man's eyes moved. He leaned forward as the buckboard crawled closer and saw it was just the flies vying for position inside the man's eye cavities. He stared at the man, his whole head turning as they passed by, but neither he nor the swinging man uttered a word.

    "Martin, of Orchard Bloom Plantation," said Ralph. "Good worker."

    You knew him?

    "Well enough."

    Cassius twisted around in his seat to watch the man grow smaller behind them.

    "Ran one too many times."

    Had to be worth something if he was a good worker, said Cassius.

    "Ran so many times they ended up payin the catchers and paddyrollers more'n he was worth. Nothin more than a business decision."

    They rode through town. A hand-painted sign with black letters dripping into the grass leaned against the side of the church: "God Loves You." Cassius looked at the men and women engaged in their daily affairs and thought the sign was intended for them. He wondered which of the dapper gentlemen owned the swinging man, which one of them insisted Martin remain squeezed at the neck dangling. He wished to punish them for their casual capricious greed. He surprised himself, knowing that just a few months before he would not have imagined such a thing—as a slave he had endured in silence the horrors perpetuated by white men, and yet here he contemplated retribution. He was different and he did not know if that change was for the good.

    Ralph stopped at the railroad tracks on the far side of town, out of the shade of trees and beside a water tower.

    "This is it."

    Thought you said it would take all day, said Cassius.

    "All day for me. I got to get back," said Ralph. "You wait. Train'll be along soon enough."

    Wait here?

    " 'Less you care to walk. Long way to Gordonsville. Train'll make it a good deal easier."

    Why would it stop for me?

    "Wouldn't. Stop for water." Ralph pointed at the water tower. "Talk to the boys in the freight cars, they likely help you."

    What boys, who are they?

    "Slaves, Cassius, like you."

    On a train?

    "Work for the Confederate Army."

    Cassius was surprised to learn such men existed. A body servant going to war with his master, yes, but slaves working for the army?

    "Godspeed," said Ralph, as he turned Carolina and was off the way he came. The dust from the buckboard gradually settled against the road and Cassius was alone. Cassius listened to the afternoon insect song, a unanimous chorus from the meadow that built in tone and volume until the entire meadow trembled with sound. Then it ended in a great inhale of silence, only to begin all over again starting on a low note that gradually began to swell. He watched cows in a distant field, and for a time watched a dog sleeping on his back in the shade of a thatch of fountain grass alongside a fence, pink- spotted belly visible, rear legs bent up in the air, front legs and head rolled to the side. He envied the dog's leisure.

    Cassius stood in the sharp sun for a time. Within his unknowable journey, his situation had taken yet another unanticipated turn. He had thought it would be easy to track an army, a creature so massive as to leave a conspicuous trail in its wake, but no such army had even glanced off this town. He stood enmeshed in uncertainty, seeing his grand plan evaporate before his eyes. He was not even clear from which direction the train would come.

    Someone emerged from the shade and walked along the tracks toward him. At first he thought it was a boy, but the pitch of his amble betrayed mileage and age. As he got closer, Cassius saw he was indeed old and tiny, hands tucked into the top of his trousers. Cassius fingered the pass hidden in his pouch, but did not bring it out. When the old man reached hailing distance, Cassius called out: I'm a friend of Ralph.

    "Whyn't you get out the sun, y'damn fool."

    Cassius nodded and moved to sit in shade provided by the water tower.

    The man set about working the pump. Cassius heard water rush into the tower above his head, and understood the man was there in anticipation of the train. Coming out of the southeast, he saw the familiar billow of smoke, as he had seen it on the trestle the day he met Morningside the telegraph man. He was again thrilled by the sight of such a commanding beast. He felt its reverberation and heard its bell clang out a warning. He hoped to get close enough to touch it. He was on his feet and as the train came closer he instinctively took a step back, not knowing what it would be like to have it pass close to him.

    The train decelerated and the horizontal connecting rods that drove the large wheels slowed, their long oval motion hypnotic. Sand dropped out of a small pipe onto the tracks directly in front of the wheels, and the wheels ground to a halt. The locomotive stood massive and majestic before him and he admired each part of it, the pleasing triangular shape of the cowcatcher carried his eye from the tracks up to the long thick cylindrical gray body. Rising over the front of this drum was an enormous smokestack, expanding from a narrow waist up to a proud full chest, shaping the emergent smoke as it entered the air. A noise over his head spooked him and he looked to see the tiny old man lower the end of a long pipe from the water tower. The engineer came out of his cab to open the steam dome and help guide the pipe into position. Cassius was enthralled, with the train, with the operation, with every part of this moment. He wanted the men to yank on the rope and ring the bell again. He walked closer to the looming engine and reached to feel the metal with his palm, but the searing heat forced his hand away. Water poured through the chute to the steam dome and splashed over the boiler, exploding into a cloud of vapor, ripping the air with its harsh sound.

    Cassius walked toward the rear of the train, trailing along the line of boxcars until he came to one with open doors. A group of five blacks sat in the car with their legs dangling. None wore shoes and their clothes were filthy and tattered. He had heard whites call poorly dressed slaves "tatterdemalion negroes" and these men certainly qualified.

    I'm going north, to meet my master, said Cassius.

    'Course y'are, said a high yellow man with prominent freckles across his nose and cheeks.

    He's with the army, said Cassius.

    Freckles and his friends laughed, all but one who scowled at him with half-lidded sour eyes.

    Not enough food for you since out of the five of us, we got six hangin on, said Freckles, and the others laughed at his joke.

    You got the wrong railroad, boy, we don't cater to no runaways, said Sour Eyes.

    Already got your quota? said Cassius, and immediately regretted his smart mouth. He tried to recover by saying: You don't got to feed me.

    You got that right, said Sour Eyes.

    Look, I'm just trying to get north, Ralph left me here and went off—

    You come with Ralph? Whyn't you say so, brother, climb aboard, said Freckles.

    Owlcrap, said Sour Eyes, shaking his head. 'S all we need, one more broke darkie.

    Cassius climbed in and looked around the boxcar. He tried to disguise the pleasure he felt in anticipation of riding on the train. Sun slanted in through the vertical slats, falling on the stacks of some unidentifiable wooden objects that resembled boats.

    What are those? said Cassius, pointing them out.

    Pontoons, boy. Goin to the front, ain't that where you say you goin? said Freckles.

    Where's the front?

    Darkie gets on board, don't even know where he goin, said Sour Eyes. And he say he ain't no runaway.

    Never been this far north.

    Owlcrap.

    Don't matter if you believe me, but I'm going after Lee's army, said Cassius, resigned to the hazing.

    Well, you on the right train. This here the Virginie Central and we goin stop in Gordonsville. Army been through there couple weeks back, kicked up some shit with the bluebellies, said Freckles.

    What're you boys doing here? said Cassius.

    We the loaders, said Freckles.

    The tall meager one cleared his throat.

    All right, three of us loaders, them two is unloaders. We just ridin along, back and forth, army feed us sometimes, and this here better'n most roofs, said Freckles.

    Noisier, too, said the tall meager one.

    Now you a loader, too, said Freckles. Till you ain't. 'Less you want to be a unloader. But I'm warnin you, that job be crap.

    The train lurched and Cassius was thrown against a pontoon. The loaders laughed, and the tall meager one offered him a hand up.

    You git your train legs soon enough, he said.

    The journey was a jerky stop-start ride that, around sharp curves, threw him against the boxcar's walls and would at one point have thrown him out the open door if one of the men hadn't caught him. Smoke blew into the boxcar, his eyes and throat burned and he struggled to breathe, but even that did not diminish Cassius's pleasure in the ride. They approached a bridge that spanned a deep ravine and he leaned far out the door, holding on with one hand to look straight down, and it was a very long way to the distant ground. He had never before been at such a height, and the experience frightened and exhilarated him. The river below appeared small, the trees minuscule, and, impossibly, a flock of birds flew beneath his feet between the girders. Something inside his chest urged him to leap into the air and join them in their flight. He shouted aloud with pleasure, not at all aware that he was making the noise. In time, as his initial enthusiasm waned, he watched the now flat landscape roll by with great curiosity. The land passed swiftly. He saw straight rows of crops stretch out and, by a trick of the eye, seem to repeat in a pattern so consistent it was as if the rows moved along with them. He sat there for hours, watching the world change, mile by mile. He had had no conception that the world was this large. They traveled so far that he expected to run directly into the army at any moment. In the evening, they approached Gordonsville, and he watched the setting sun drop behind mountains running south. Freckles sat down beside him.

    You ain't lyin, never been up this way before.

    First time. Those mountains got a name?

    Them's just some itty bitty hills, couldn't name 'em if I tried. Blue Mountains are beyond, they bigger. But if you goin north, you miss 'em if you follow the army.

    So you're working for the Grays, said Cassius.

    Not so bad workin 'round the army. They call these the rear jobs so's the whites can fight.

    Why? If they're fighting to keep you slave, why do it?

    Why d'you?

    Cassius was trapped by his own story about traveling to be with his master.

    You ever been close to the Yankees? said Cassius.

    Close enough. They overran the cook wagons once, shootin and hollerin.

    Why not go along with them? Be a contraband.

    Freckles was offended: You lookin at a patriot, boy. I know the truth of things, South be our real friends. End of the war, whites'll be grateful we supported 'em and give us better rights and priv'liges. I am loyal, and all the ones I know think the same.

    Cassius thought about the man's words. He had met few blacks who thought like Freckles, and while Cassius did not believe the South was his friend or that his rights would improve after the war, he did wonder about his own loyalty in the face of his being a piece of property. Could a man be loyal when he was coerced into his situation? He thought it was a possibility, although he wondered about the idea of coercion for someone born into that situation. Maybe that meant he had coerced himself. He knew he had been unable to coerce himself out of it.

    Jackson's regiments took this train to Gordonsville, said Freckles. See them lights over there? Cassius looked, saw the lights, then looked above them at the stars. A cool breeze whipped into the freight car.

    Gonna be a cold one tonight, said Sour Eyes.

    The train stopped in Gordonsville, and Cassius was sorry to say good-bye to it. He slipped away in the darkness, after helping unload most of the pontoons. He heard Freckles call out after him, but he kept going.

    Cassius knew to spend no time in town. He found a road that skirted the main streets, but even from that vantage point he saw the effects of the army's bivouac. The town looked as if it had been scraped and shaken. He traveled beyond the outskirts of Gordonsville and kept track of the Drinking Gourd pointing out the North Star. Once he was far enough outside the town, he abandoned the road and crossed a field. Evidence of bivouac surrounded him, soldiers had cooked their meals here and trampled down grass. Cassius reached the far border of the field and entered a wooded area and set himself on the ground. The night was cold and clear and he slept well.

    He woke to a light frost that covered the ground as well as his shirt and trousers, and the fabric was stiff when he stood. He separated out a small portion of his provisions from the haversack and ate, then began to walk quickly through the field back to the road.

    Sometime in the afternoon he caught up to the tail of the supply train and walked alongside, moving forward among the wagons. He had removed his shoes and hidden them in his haversack so that others would not requisition them, as he was surrounded by barefoot men, both white and black, all dressed like beggars. He was mistaken for a member of the company, and as such no one paid him any mind. Someone offered to let him ride in one of the covered wagons; he did so, and his feet thanked him.

    He spoke to a white teamster in the covered wagon who told him they were following in the footsteps of Old Pete, who had taken his corps due north to White Plains. The teamster admired General Longstreet, and went into close detail about a battle that had just been fought at a place called Manassas Junction; a battle he could not have witnessed, yet spoke of as if he had been there killing the dirty Yanks himself.

    Cassius asked if he knew Captain Whitacre. The teamster spat into the dust alongside the wagon. Cassius took his response as an affirmation. Cassius asked if Whitacre was with the wagon train.

    "What do you think of his hat?" said the teamster, ignoring the question.

    You don't like his hat? said Cassius.

    "Ain't the hat I argue with so much as the man looks like he run into a tree, the way his brim got stuck up in front."

    Maybe got tired of scorching the underside lighting his cigars, said Cassius.

    The teamster laughed and said, "Whitacre gone on ahead of the wagons a week ago, maybe more."

    The supply wagons crawled forward. Cassius knew he could travel more quickly on foot, but these wagons were certain to find Lee's army, and he was not. Progress was pitiful. Wagons often became stuck or would throw a wheel, holding up whatever portion of the train was behind them until they could be repaired or dragged out of the line. Cassius pitched in to help free the immobile wagons, but never did the speed improve. After interminable days they reached Salem and the Manassas Gap Railroad, made a hard right turn to White Plains, and followed the tracks in the direction of Manassas Junction. The closer they moved to Manassas, the more the men bragged about the victory, which had caught their imagination because it was the second victory in the same location and it felt like a perfect bookend. The war should end on such a poetic note. The overall mood of the men in the supply train was high, as they assumed the Bluebellies to be demoralized. To a man, they sensed that the war would soon be over. With the South victorious, they would return to life as it had been, the way God intended. That Lee was about to take it to the Yankees in their own country became a certainty on a journey that rode on gossip, where a rumor could travel in one direction, wagon to wagon, for miles, and then come back again as something different. Men repeated the phrase "Carry the war into Africa," which Cassius understood to mean Pennsylvania. What excitement, what joy, what anticipation followed when it was decided, independent of actual proof or knowledge, that Lee's target was Harrisburg, a center of Northern commerce where supplies for the Union Armies were manufactured. Once the idea was confirmed by repetition, the men projected themselves in brand-new uniforms and shoes, carrying the good Yankee rifles and plentiful ammunition.

    Cassius had mixed feelings about the news. The Confederates fought for their way of life, which included slavery, but he had learned from newspapers that the Federals were no better. They fought to keep the South as part of the Union. If they won, Cassius did not see how things would change for blacks. Their President Lincoln had said he was against equal rights for negroes. Lincoln was known to dislike slavery, but his ambition was to keep it out of the territories, as the country expanded west, not eradicate it altogether.

    The supply wagons turned north around Manassas Junction, then ground to a halt yet again, and this time they were stopped for a full day. Cassius saw that the army had been in the area recently and thought that he could now follow it on his own, so he climbed down from the wagon in which he was riding and set out alone. He walked past wagons for what seemed like miles, until he was in front of them. Once out of sight, he returned his shoes to his feet, and his speed of travel increased.

    He came to the outskirts of a town that he learned from a local black was close to Leesburg. The army had camped at Leesburg, and had crossed the Potomac into Maryland only a few days before. Lee was in the North. The optimism that had infected the wagon train haunted Cassius, and he saw the inevitable: Lee would now win the war for his country. This thought depressed him more than he had thought possible. The overcast day brought rain, and he traveled more slowly.

    Foraging for food was difficult and time-consuming, although he was less likely to be challenged in the rain. The Army of Northern

    Virginia had blanketed the area around Leesburg and consumed what there was to consume. In an orchard near a farmhouse, Cassius found a crock of peaches that looked as if they had been rejected, growing soft gray fuzz. The rotting slick flesh slid out from under thick peach skin and turned to dripping mush in his hands. He dug down in the crock until he found portions of peach flesh that were almost firm and not overly infested with insects, and those bits he ate ravenously, finding the fruit both overly sweet and bitingly sour. The juice ran off his chin and he stood in the rain and wondered why he was there, cold and wet and miserable, until he remembered his vow.

    The rain stopped and night fell. He again deserted the road to cross a field, again choosing a clump of trees for sleep. Patches of ground under the trees were dry, and he was nodding off when he heard someone or something in the field coming directly to where he lay. He raised his head to see only one man approaching, but the man carried a rifle. Cassius watched him inspect the area in the dark. Cassius was not afraid of one man, unless he proved to be a scout at the head of a unit. The man kicked the ground in the dark, and in a moment would have located Cassius's ribs. Cassius came to his feet, his hand grabbing for the man's rifle, but he caught only night air, as the man hurled himself to the ground with a squeal. The rifle went out of his hand.

    What the hell you doing? said Cassius.

    "Jesus, I was just looking for a place to sleep, you didn't have to scare me like that," said the man in a high-pitched voice.

    You almost kicked me.

    "I didn't see you there, can't see nothing in this place."

    The man patted the ground around him for his rifle. Cassius stepped to where the rifle had fallen and put his foot on it. He bent to pick it up.

    "Okay, all right, listen, I don't know you and I can just get out of here, you found this place, it's yours."

    Cassius set down the rifle where he intended to sleep. When the man said nothing, Cassius lay down beside it, watching the man's silhouette.

    Do what you want, said Cassius.

    "Well, then, if you don't mind, I think I'll just rest here for the night. I am mighty tired, and this ground is mercifully dry and I don't much wish to drag my sorry self through the wet grass again. These sad trousers are heavy enough."

    Up to you, said Cassius.

    "Name's Purcell. James Purcell. With the Nineteenth Georgia."

    Cassius merely grunted.

    "Little behind my unit. Wasn't feeling well. Fell behind. You know how it is."

    Cassius said nothing.

    "Not that they miss me. I ain't much for fighting. You'd probably like to go back to sleep. I'll just shut my mouth, I been known to talk too much. Still feel my hands tingling after you stood up like that, whoo-ee, never been so scared in my life, 'cept maybe facing those goddamn Yanks."

    Cassius rolled over to face the other way; anyone who talked so much was probably harmless.

    He woke in the morning with the man looming over his legs, admiring his shoes. Cassius sat up quickly, coming face-to-face with him.

    "Now now, friend, you only get to do that to me once," said James Purcell.

    Cassius felt the rifle, which the man had not taken back, then looked to see that they were alone.

    "I did not know last night that you were a negro. That was a secret you kept, wasn't it? Handsome shoes."

    Cassius saw that James Purcell was barefoot, in threadbare gray trousers and a shirt that had once been green. He was emaciated, and appeared to be in worse overall condition than the loaders on the train. They were alone, and Cassius was glad to see, in the light of a day that promised to warm up, that the road was far away. Cassius thought he could easily snap this man in half like a toothpick. He did not feel threatened, but remained on his guard.

    "Not that I'm interested in your shoes, my feet are too small for those, no sir, those would hurt my feet something terrible, worse than walking barefoot, and by now, my feet have calluses thicker than your soles. You look hungry. Are you hungry? I was just going to look for something, you want I should find something for you?"

    Cassius handled the man's rifle. It was poorly kept, and unlikely to fire. He tossed it aside.

    "Not much of a weapon, is it? I only carry it to scare away pests."

    Where you say you were going? said Cassius.

    "Back to my unit, but not on an empty stomach, I can tell you that." James Purcell looked over his shoulder at the field behind him. "You see any hint of food around here?"

    Army been through, picked it clean like a plague of locusts.

    "We got hit bad by the cicadas couple years back. Right now I'd gladly roast up a pan of cicadas and eat for a week. Been living on a steady diet of pickled doorknobs and candied tenpenny nails."

    Cassius did not mention that he was hungry as well.

    "Tell you what, you seem like a decent fellow, we'll go into town together, see if we can't find ourselves a meal," said James Purcell.

    Cassius looked at him suspiciously.

    "You wonder why I'd make such an offer."

    Cassius waited.

    "If you saw the officers in the Army of Northern Virginia, you'd know most of them look a whole lot like me in their uniforms. Sure, there's fancy ones still got decent clothes, but they are few and far between. No sir, we done walked right out of our shoes and our uniforms ain't far behind. So let's say I walk into some kitchen with my 'body servant,' maybe people think I am somebody and show me a little respect. You play along, and we'll both get to eat."

    Cassius considered the man. He did not trust him, but his proposal was not unreasonable and Cassius might well benefit from it. His thoughts must have played out on his face.

    "Listen, I got no weapon, I'm a long way from my unit, you think I care what you're doing out here?"

    James Purcell assumed he was a runaway. A reasonable assumption.

    They followed the road back to the town near Leesburg, an easy walk, and Cassius noticed that James Purcell's feet were split on the bottom, and he walked with pain.

    See much action? said Cassius.

    "Feel like I've been fighting my whole life. Been in it since the beginning, Manassas last year."

    My people lost one of theirs at Manassas.

    "A lot of fine men gone," said James Purcell.

    They walked a little farther, and James Purcell began to laugh.

    "Who am I fooling? I not only don't have my musket, it wasn't working anyway. I ain't no soldier. I'm nothing but what they call a parlor soldier. I mustered in at the start, but I've been ducking the fight ever since. Found myself staring at Yankee guns and the minute the first bullet buzzed my cheek, I was up and running like a rabbit with a bayonet poking its tail. Found myself a spot back in the rear, and put my head in the ground. Surprised they didn't shoot my cheeks off."

    You don't say, said Cassius.

    "The God's truth, every word."

    Hard to disbelieve a story like that, said Cassius. He relaxed somewhat. If the man was being truthful, and confession to cowardice made him appear veracious, he was on the road to earning Cassius's trust.

    "I have turned being yellow into an art. Once I smell a battle, I get the sublime urge to wander off to forage, or maybe find a private place to evacuate. Sergeant, got the dysentery bad this morning, you mind if I go over there and set a spell? All right, Purcell, but get back here 'fore the shootin starts. And I skedaddle, always finding my way back once things are clear again. And I ain't alone. Others doing it too. Boys up front, they tough sons a bitches, they good at fightin, they know how to kill. Found themselves a comfortable place with it, inside." He tapped his chest. "How they do it, I couldn't say. I'm what you might call one of those nervous types."

    What you do for a living?

    "Ain't you listening? I run yellow for a living."

    I mean before, your profession?

    "Hard to remember anymore, but I guess I was a teacher. College in Tennessee."

    Cassius nodded.

    "Was up in Maryland not two days ago. Said we'd be welcomed like liberators, Maryland being a slave state and all, forced to stay with the Union by that bastard Lincoln. And here comes the Army of Northern Virginia to set you free and you can join up with us because once we come into the North, those Yanks are going to throw their hands up in the air and ask us to kindly go home and the war will be over. Well, if there was a welcome, I missed it. And the order come down, No looting, boys, because we want all them Mary- landers out there to like us. Pay for everything, boys, show them respect. Well hell, what if you got no money? There we are surrounded by crops, none of it harvested, a whole damned state full of food and we can't touch it. You imagine that? Sure, some of the officers bought up whole fields of corn, or apple orchards, out of their own pockets, and the Marylanders even took Confederate money, but how much corn can you eat without your insides turning to rusty water? Speaking of which," he said and scampered off the road, pulling a newspaper out of his haversack, going out of sight. Cassius sat down on a rock and waited for him to finish, and when James Purcell came out of the woods, he was carrying what was left of the newspaper he had used to clean himself. The front page was still intact, and Cassius saw it was the Baltimore Sun, dated September 4.

    Mind if I look at that? said Cassius.

    "You read?"

    No, just never did see a newspaper before.

    James Purcell handed him the newspaper. He pointed to the top and said, "That says Baltimore Sun, that there's a newspaper from the North."

    Cassius looked at it as if he were amazed to see something so fantastic. But he read quickly, learning that all of Baltimore was in an uproar, people fleeing into Pennsylvania with their belongings because Lee was rumored to be coming. James Purcell took the newspaper back and folded it into his haversack.

    "Maybe I'll read some of it to you later. You doing all right? Feet feel good? Not too hot?"

    I'm fine, said Cassius. He could not remember a moment in his life when a white man had asked about his condition. It was an odd feeling.

    So you were a teacher.

    "War started and I wanted to do my part before they came after me, I mean, I don't own no twenty niggers, and I didn't have no six hundred dollars to buy a substitute to fight in my place like some of the planters, so I thought I'd just go. Joined the Nineteenth Tennessee."

    A bell rang in Cassius's head. The night before, James Purcell had said he'd joined the 19th Georgia. When he'd said he taught school in Tennessee, Cassius had let that pass, imagining Purcell had gone to Georgia to enlist when that state seceded. Now he knew the man was telling tales. While an innocent explanation might be forthcoming, Cassius kept this knowledge to himself. Purcell wouldn't have known, in the dark, the color of his companion. Cassius might have been military, might have ordered him to his unit, so a lie might have been in order. It was also possible that James Purcell was a harmless storyteller. He might have suffered a head wound, leading to legitimate confusion, although Cassius saw no scars. By tomorrow he might wholeheartedly believe he had deserted from the 19th Alabama.

    They kept to the main road that ran into the center of town, leaving behind farmland. Cassius lowered his head, but furtively scrutinized everyone who passed him, on foot or by buggy. No one seemed interested in him, until he noticed, half a block ahead, a young man wearing a small bowler hat. The young man had a great red mustache that covered his mouth and part of his chin, making him resemble a goat. The red goat stopped dead and looked directly at him. Cassius turned his head away, but a shiver ran down the backs of his legs.

    He walked with Purcell past the occasional home until buildings began to cluster creating a business district. As they passed an alley, Cassius thought that he saw the red goat again, and he had an overwhelming sensation that the man was following him. Cassius became so obsessed with his presence that he almost missed seeing a brick slave auction house on a perpendicular street to his left. They continued on for half a block when, without warning, James Purcell stopped.

    "I don't know that I can go another step. I need to eat soon."

    Cassius nodded.

    "Thought I saw a place on that last block. Why don't you have a sit down and rest your feet, I'll go back and have a look. Maybe they'll serve us both instead of you having to be out back."

    Cassius entered a patch of shade in an alley where he wouldn't be conspicuous and he scanned the street up and down for the red goat. No sign of him. He looked back in time to see James Purcell turn right onto the perpendicular street they had just passed. Cassius began to move. Purcell had turned in the direction of the slave auction house.

    Cassius walked in the opposite direction as rapidly as he thought could be interpreted as casual, but he was not quick enough, because a moment later James Purcell and a slave trader came on the run, rounding the corner behind him.

    "Fugitive slave! Fugitive slave!" James Purcell yelled, and the fat slave trader joined him in the chorus, "Stop him, fugitive slave, by law it's your duty to stop him!"

    Cassius ran full-out. He turned at the next corner and his eyes darted, for places to hide or alleys to utilize. He needed to get out of sight, but he had to be careful not to trap himself. He felt the lack of food as his weak legs struggled to reach top speed. His arms pumped but felt soft, as if the bones had turned to rope. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the slave trader round the corner, a man whose profession gave him the wherewithal to eat and drink in prodigious quantities, and yet for all his girth he ran easily. James Purcell was not with him. Cassius pushed harder. He ran by people who didn't understand or hadn't heard the man yell "fugitive slave," and were therefore slow to react. He glanced back again and James Purcell was finally around the corner, too weak to keep pace with a slave trader who made his living in chases. Cassius wished he knew the town so he might make smart choices. He could only run and turn randomly, hoping to get far enough ahead of the slave trader to duck out of sight.

    People in front of him were beginning to understand the situation, and two burly men squared up to intercept him. He saw them crouch, shoulders close together, and knew that he faced real trouble. He had seconds to decide. They waited, he was close now and he faked left and went right. The man on the left bought it, and shifted, opening a small space between them. The man on the right was not fooled, keeping focused, staying in front of Cassius, reaching for him. Cassius made one last move, going between them instead of around, and the men, off-guard, grasped for him and caught each other and he was past. Women scurried out of his way. In one case, in her hurry, a woman blocked another man from getting to him, and both man and woman tumbled in the street.

    Just ahead, he saw the red goat. His heart sank. The man had been on to him from the moment Cassius walked into town, and now he would grab him. Cassius began to slow, looking for some way around him, knowing he could not retreat, as that would lead him back into the arms of the slave trader. The red goat, however, did not crouch or set his feet, or do anything to intercept him. Instead, he brought his hand deliberately to his earlobe and tugged on it. Then he turned and walked quickly around the corner out of sight.

    What had he seen? Cassius had mere seconds to make a decision as he ran toward the spot, wondering if the red goat would grab him at the corner or if something else was in the offing. Shedd's words returned to him. Had he witnessed a signal? Was the man part of the Underground Railroad? Or was he scratching an itch, indulging a nervous habit? Cassius reached the corner, decision upon him. He could keep running from determined townspeople compelled to capture him by the Fugitive Slave Act, or he could trust Shedd and hope this man represented an escape. He turned the corner. The red goat hovered in a doorway. The street was momentarily empty. The red goat tugged his earlobe again, an obvious and deliberate gesture, and Cassius hoped he wasn't a slave chaser imitating Underground Railroad tactics. Cassius hurled himself at dumb luck and followed him through the doorway. The red goat closed the door behind him and raised a finger for silence.

    Cassius struggled to be silent as he fought to catch his breath. The red goat cracked the door and watched the street. Cassius heard the slave trader. "Fugitive slave, where is he?!" He had stopped in the middle of the street, turning in a full circle.

    The red goat closed the door and gestured that Cassius follow him, then led him up a flight of stairs to a dining room. At the far end, using his fingernails, he struggled to pry something loose from the wall. After a moment, a waist-high panel of wainscoting came free and revealed a hidden space. Cassius went inside. The red goat left, then returned with a lit lantern, which he passed in to Cassius. He replaced the wainscoting and Cassius could only see the square edges of light. He heard the red goat's footsteps walk away.

    He inspected the hidden space. Blankets were piled on a bench and smelled of fresh soap. A pitcher of water sat near the opening, while at the back was a clean chamber pot. Cassius thought none of it had been used before.

    Cassius heard a pounding at the door downstairs. He heard the red goat's footsteps as he descended the stairs, heard him speak to someone, then heavier footsteps came up the stairs and tramped through the rooms. Cassius waited to be taken. They came to the dining room and he heard a man say, "You see, no one is here but me."

    Gruff words were exchanged, but the heavy footsteps retreated. The front door closed. It was a while before he heard fingernails clawing at the wainscoting.

    "You are safe for now," said the red goat. "My name is Bill Bryant and I help the Underground Railroad."

    Cassius decided to offer little information. Bryant would make assumptions. That was fine.

    "We will get you to Canada. We've had great success with our route, and our conductors have yet to lose a passenger. Now I just want to tell you, so you won't be concerned, that my wife will be coming back shortly. When she arrives, the door will open. I promise you, it will only be her, nothing to worry about; it won't be the slave catchers coming back. Nothing to worry about, she's an abolitionist as well. In fact, she once spoke with Harriet Beecher Stowe. May I offer you tea?"

    Bryant took down two cups and two saucers from a cabinet and set them at the table.

    Cassius thought that Bill Bryant was likely a nice man, despite his frightening visage—the heavy mustache, the grim eyebrows—but he detected no humor in this young man whatsoever. Bryant spoke as if to make certain that Cassius understood that he considered him an equal. In a cruel assessment, Cassius thought Bryant would be more upset to commit a social faux pas with a passenger than to lose him to the slave traders. Cassius had preferred the company of the devious rat James Purcell. For all his disingenuousness, he was at least entertaining and considerably more comfortable in his own skin, able to tell tall tales with sincerity.

    The front door opened, and despite Bryant's warning, Cassius did start, dropping his tea cup, which clattered against the saucer loudly. Bryant quickly had a towel in hand and wiped up spilled tea as he spoke soothingly, nothing to be concerned about. Bryant's young wife came up the stairs and bustled in, petticoats rustling, her tiny round face consumed by unmistakable joy at his presence. "Praise the Lord!" she said.

    Ma'am, said Cassius.

    "The entire town is positively abuzz with the news of the commotion. I only prayed we would get you in time," she said. "I ran all the way here!"

    "I was lucky to be there when he was running," said Bryant.

    I was lucky to be running where he was being, said Cassius, attempting levity.

    But she was as completely earnest as Bryant. "Oh, you were lucky indeed," she said, and reached out to take his hand and look into his eyes.

    Cassius smiled and sighed inside. Two of them.

    Bryant and his wife excused themselves elaborately to step into another room. They returned together to face him.

    "We want you to know that you are welcome, most welcome, to remain here as long as you like," she said. "As long as you need."

    I appreciate your help, ma'am, but I best be going soon as possible, said Cassius.

    She smiled widely, and turned to look at Bryant, as if this was the most perfect answer imaginable.

    "Perhaps in a few days," said Bryant.

    Better tonight.

    "They know you are still in town, they'll be waiting for you," said Bryant.

    "That dreadful man Griggs is across the street. He watches us," said his wife.

    Yes, I see, said Cassius, and the news that the house was under surveillance made him more determined to leave.

    They closed every curtain in the house. He sat with them, all three at the same table, for a meal, and he was grateful to eat well for the first time since his journey began. But their style of food preparation was unusual, and he found the meal bland, as they used little salt; the provisions in the quarters were packed in salt to prevent spoilage. They served him wine in a glass with a stem. The Howard family owned such glasses, but Cassius had never used one, and it felt delicate and awkward in his hand. He had to concentrate to be sure to keep it upright so that the liquid did not spill. He had also never tasted wine, and it paled in comparison to the whiskey he bought from the patrollers, albeit much less abrasive. He watched them eat and attempted to imitate their actions as well as their manners. He found Bryant's excessive use of a cloth napkin confusing. He was grateful when the meal came to an end.

    He learned that they had been married for less than a year; that they had each come from families with money; that they alone, in each of their families, were abolitionists and that they had moved near the border intentionally to help the Underground Railroad. He finally stopped paying attention as they told him the rather standard stories of their young, brief lives.

    They led him to a bedchamber where he was to sleep and shut the door behind them, speaking quietly to each other as they moved down the hall to their own room. Cassius could not have been more uneasy. Never in life had he slept in what the planters thought of as a bed. It was high off the ground, with wooden legs and an open space underneath, and he feared if he didn't fall through the middle of it, then he still might slip off the side while sleeping and land on the floor. He found he could not fall asleep, and spent much of the night at the window observing the street. He identified two men watching the Bryant residence. By morning he had been forced to use the chamber pot, which was set inside a wooden commode that had pillows set on top to cushion the seat. As he was unable to step outside for any purpose, much less to use the privy, he could not dispose of the contents. The idea of a white man or woman emptying his slops made him deeply uncomfortable.

    The following day, there was no end to their politeness, no moment where their hospitality was anything less than ideal. No sign of tension had flared up between them. Nothing suggested that this awkward situation in any way reflected on their temporary guest. He was grateful for their kindness, but he found it easier to be in the company of hostile planters. In that situation he understood the rules and was able to act accordingly.

    Bill Bryant went out and brought back a newspaper that was a few days old. They read aloud a story about the Confederate invasion of the North, and how, in the town of Urbana, Maryland, J.E.B. Stuart had invited charming young women from a Female Academy and thrown a dance for his officers. During the dance, word came that the Yankees had attacked a Confederate position a few miles away at Hyattstown. Stuart's cavalry had left the ladies, leaping upon their horses to ride into the night, putting down the attack, only to return fresh from battle to the Female Academy, where they continued the dance.

    "That is unimaginable, unthinkable," said Bryant's wife.

    "Unthinkable," said Bryant.

    Cassius was secretly amused by the tale, a perfect example of Southern gallantry. He thought again that the South would not lose the war, exhibiting such dash in the enemy's homeland. He wondered if Jacob had been among the cavalry, as in his previous letters he had mentioned that the 7th Virginia Cavalry on occasion rode with Stuart.

    Cassius asked Bryant's wife: Will others come to this stop, to be conducted north?

    "Yes, if we're lucky," she said.

    "Yes," said Bryant, "if we're very lucky."

    I see, said Cassius.

    "Although perhaps not soon, as we do have spying eyes upon us," she said.

    I'll go tonight, said Cassius.

    "Tonight?! But that would be out of the question. What about the men, what about them?"

    They want me here, thought Cassius. I could live out the rest of my days right here in comfort. I am the abolitionist prize to be awarded to the most virtuous.

    Smart to go sooner than later, said Cassius. They know I'm hiding, they think I'm here. If I didn't go immediately, then they'll know you won't move me. They don't expect anything now. In a day or two, maybe.

    "You make an interesting point," said Bryant's wife. "Let me speak to my husband."

    Bryant and his wife huddled again out of earshot. Bryant returned alone.

    "Of course, we hope to eventually guide you to Canada and freedom. But we recognize that you make an excellent point," said Bryant. "I will conduct you out after dark."

    Bryant laid out a plan that included back windows and fast horses. His wife joined them and Cassius listened and nodded.

    A fine plan, said Cassius. You have thought it through and it is admirable. But there are times when it is best to be simple. If Madam might complain of a malady.

    "But I am perfectly well," said Bryant's wife.

    "My wife is never ill," said Bryant.

    A summer cold, said Cassius. And if Madam would wrap herself in a shawl and cover her head with a bonnet while keeping a handkerchief at her nose, she might depart the front door for a visit to a doctor.

    The Bryants exchanged confused looks.

    Madam returns home, then departs once more so the men across the street will be well acquainted with her attire, said Cassius.

    "I believe I understand," said Bryant to his wife.

    Would you say the sun sets behind your home?

    "Why yes I would."

    Would you say it then would be directly in the eyes of someone on the far side of the street?

    "Why, yes. At this time of year, that would be the case," said Bryant.

    Cassius had seen that very circumstance the previous afternoon, and knew it to be so.

    At sunset, I would ask to borrow your shawl and bonnet, ma'am, and Mr. Bryant, perhaps you might bring the carriage around front. The men will be blind in the sun and I will wear the bonnet and the shawl and hold the handkerchief to my face. You might wish to instruct your horse to walk, respecting the Missus's malady.

    Bryant and his wife looked at each other.

    "That is a fine plan," she said.

    Once we're gone, ma'am, you need to stay indoors, said Cassius.

    "Of course."

    Sunset came, and Bryant did as Cassius suggested. Cassius wore the shawl with his own hat and haversack hidden beneath. The sun blared into the faces of any curious onlooker across the way. Cassius had to admonish the nervous Bryant to drive slowly, very slowly.