Point of No Return (29 page)

“I suppose we've said enough about slavery,” the Colonel said, then turned his head and raised his voice. “Have you heard enough?”

The doors to the dining room were thrown open and several men— including Mr. Mason—marched in and surrounded the table.

“I certainly have!” Mr. Mason said in a loud and excited voice.

“What is this?” Uncle Andrew asked.

Two of the men grabbed him, and one put a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Hey!” I cried out.

Mr. Mason pointed at Uncle Andrew. “There he is. Arrest him.”

Another man with wild, white hair stepped forward with a pair of iron handcuffs to put on Uncle Andrew's wrists. “You, sir, are my prisoner.”

“I demand to know the meaning of these actions!” Uncle Andrew shouted.

Mr. Mason leaned on clenched fists. “I charge you with being an abolitionist!”

“What?”

“You persuaded my slave to run away!” Mr. Mason said. “If I had any doubt before, your words just now proved it!”

The two men holding Uncle Andrew yanked him to his feet. The white-haired man—who I guessed was a sheriff—put the handcuffs on him. “Let's go,” he ordered.

“Go where?” Uncle Andrew asked. “Am I supposed to believe you're taking me to jail somewhere? This is a well-dressed lynch mob.”

“Close your mouth, slave lover,” Mr. Mason said.

“Will you act the part of cowards by murdering me, or will you be brave and grant me a fair trial for these accusations?”

“Bring him!” Mr. Mason snarled.

Colonel Ross suddenly moved forward. “No. This man will not be taken from my house unless I have your word that he'll be given a fair trial. I won't be party to a lynching!”

Mr. Mason glared at the Colonel. “Are you taking the side of this man?”

“I'm taking the side of justice, sir,” the Colonel answered. “If you have an accusation, then take it before our magistrate in Huntsville. Otherwise, leave now.”

Mr. Mason snorted, then waved for the men to bring Uncle Andrew. “We will take him to the jail, on my word.”

Colonel Ross stepped back.

“What about the boy?” the man with the heavy hand asked about me.

“Bring him along. He's probably an accomplice—or he'll make a good witness.”

Mr. Mason and his men took us out to their wagon. As we pulled away, I saw Matt and Eveline watching us anxiously from the back of the house.

CHAPTER NINE

Jack tells about their day in court.

U
NCLE
A
NDREW AND
I were taken to the Huntsville jail and spent the rest of the day and that night in a cold and damp cell. The guards were polite, but didn't trust us. “You abolitionists are the curse of mankind,” one of them said.

They asked us if we wanted to secure a defense lawyer.

Uncle Andrew chuckled. “Is there a lawyer in this town who would try to defend accused abolitionists? It's doubtful. I'll defend myself.”

I spent most of the time worrying while Uncle Andrew read, prayed, and wrote in a diary.

“Aren't you afraid?” I asked at one point.

“Of course,” he replied calmly. “But there's little sense in worrying about it. The outcome to this situation is entirely in God's hands.”

I shivered most of the night, though I can't say whether it was because I was cold or scared.

The next morning we were taken to a crowded courtroom. “We must be quite a sensation,” Uncle Andrew said as we sat down.

Judge Thadeus Stallcup sat behind a tall, wooden desk and wearily asked Mr. Mason what the charge was.

“This scoundrel is an abolitionist who enticed my poor, weak-minded slave to run away,” Mr. Mason said. “The slave attacked my overseer, dashed into the cold, wet night, and has yet to be found. I have no doubt that this man will bear the brunt of the guilt if anything tragic happens to that unfortunate slave.”

“Mr. Mason, you had better elaborate the circumstances of this accusation and why you believe this man to be an abolitionist,” the judge said.

Mr. Mason paced around the court in a dramatic style. “I will make a statement and call witnesses who will support my claim.”

“Proceed,” the judge said.

Mr. Mason went on to say, “This man, who goes by the name of Andrew Jamison, called at my residence recently and requested permission to roam over my plantation to do a study of the birds there. In good faith, I granted it to him. He then claimed that one of my slaves—the one I had recently purchased called Clarence—knew something about local birds. He asked if Clarence might accompany him on his expedition, providing we removed the means we had secured to prevent him from running away again.”

“Your slave has a history of running away?” the judge asked.

Mr. Mason nodded. “Yes, sir. When he was owned by Mr. Ramsay, he ran away to the North, and was captured and returned.”

“And by what means did you secure him?”

“A head ornament with bells on it,” Mr. Mason replied.

The judge turned to Uncle Andrew. “Why did you want the head gear removed?”

“The bells made an awful noise, which I was certain would scare away the birds I had hoped to study,” Uncle Andrew replied.

The judge made a note of it, then waved at Mr. Mason to go on.

“He promised to take full responsibility if anything happened. They returned that afternoon without the head ornament. Mr. Jamison claimed that they had taken it off and forgotten where they left it. I realize now that it was merely a ploy to assist my slave's escape.”

“Why do you believe it was a ploy?” the judge asked.

“Because my overseer later used his tracking dogs to find the head ornament. It had been clumsily stashed beneath a pile of leaves in the woods.”

“Clumsily stashed?” the judge inquired.

“If they had simply forgotten it, then it would have been sitting next to a tree or on a log. But to be pushed under a pile of leaves makes me believe it had been intentionally hidden. Who but my slave, Mr. Jamison, or his young assistant would have done it?”

The judge conceded the point. “Any response, Mr. Jamison?”

Uncle Andrew shook his head. “Your Honor, I would have to be a clairvoyant to know how the helmet wound up under the leaves. We had misplaced it and, after searching and failing to find it, we returned to Mr. Mason's plantation. I offered to pay for the item, but he declined.”

“Is that true?” the judge asked Mr. Mason.

Mr. Mason was momentarily flustered. “Yes, it's true. He cleverly offered. As a Southern gentleman, I refused his money out of courtesy. I have no doubt that as an abolitionist he has the financial backing of wealthy Northerners to pay for incidentals like that helmet. Unfortunately, it was the only one of its kind in this district. My overseer constructed it himself.”

The judge scratched his temple. “Let me understand, then, that Mr. Jamison returned your slave to you, but without the helmet.”

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Mason answered.

“Then what happened?”

“As I said, the next day, my overseer took his tracking dogs into the woods and found the helmet. He returned to the plantation, whereupon he attempted to place it back on the head of my slave. But my slave refused, attacked my overseer, and ran away.”

The judge thought for a moment, then said to Uncle Andrew, “Your response?”

Uncle Andrew stood up. “Your Honor, I'm a stranger in these parts and must submit myself to the mercy of the court. The evidence against me is circumstantial at best. I admit to borrowing Mr. Mason's slave and removing the helmet for the reason I had stated, but I see no proof that I enticed the slave to run away. That he did so was unfortunate for Mr. Mason and his overseer, but I cannot connect the event to anything I did. Surely you must be wondering the same thing, Your Honor.”

The judge agreed. “Mr. Mason, if you are to make a case against Mr. Jamison, then you must have more evidence to prove that he was an abolitionist who enticed your slave.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. I couldn't imagine that Mr. Mason could come up with anything else. I breathed too soon.

“I have other suspicious elements, Your Honor,” Mr. Mason said.

“Speak, then.”

“I recall that when Mr. Jamison first arrived at my residence, he said nothing about a slave of mine knowing much about birds. But after seeing Clarence in the field, he returned to say that he needed Clarence's assistance the following day. How did Mr. Jamison come by this knowledge that Clarence was experienced with birds?”

The judge tilted his head to Uncle Andrew. “Mr. Jamison?”

Uncle Andrew frowned. “I'm sorry, Your Honor, but my travels put me in contact with a large number of people, slaves included. I cannot recall where I was told that Clarence knew about birds.”

There was a murmur through the crowd that told me that this wasn't a good answer.

“Perhaps you heard it from the slave auctioneer,” Mr. Mason offered.

“I beg your pardon?”

Mr. Mason looked to the judge. “Your Honor, I have here a witness who will testify that Mr. Jamison had inquired about Clarence and two other slaves prior to setting foot on my property. Perhaps this gentleman told him about Clarence's knowledge of birds.”

“Bring him forward,” the judge said.

A large bearded man came up to the witness box, gave his oath to tell the truth, then sat down. I recognized him as the slave auctioneer that Uncle Andrew and I spoke to when we first got to Huntsville. He was named Peter Fields.

“Did Mr. Jamison approach you after the last slave auction?” Mr. Mason asked the man.

“He did indeed,” Fields answered. “He wanted to know about the slave you keep calling Clarence—the one I sold to you, Mr. Mason. He also asked about Clarence's daughter and another boy that I sold to Colonel Ross.”

“Were you aware that Clarence was an expert in birds?” Mr. Mason asked.

“No.”

Mr. Mason directed his comments to the judge. “Is this mere coincidence, then, that Mr. Jamison came to my plantation and then went to the Colonel's? I believe he was trying to find Clarence with the intent of luring him away. Perhaps he had the same intent with Clarence's daughter and the other slave.”

“That's merely conjecture, Your Honor,” Uncle Andrew said. “I told Mr. Mason that I was going to Colonel Ross's—”

Mr. Mason cut in: “Because you had heard that the Colonel had several rare birds there. Again, I must ask, who told you that the Colonel had such birds? I've spoken with the Colonel, and he was not aware of having rare birds on his property.”

Uncle Andrew stood up again. “I must say once more that I can't remember who told me about the Colonel's rare birds.”

The crowd muttered to themselves, and I know I heard one or two voices say that the abolitionist should be punished. I felt frozen with fear about what would happen.

“How convenient,” Mr. Mason snarled. “I'd like to ask Colonel Ross to please come into the courtroom, along with my other witness.”

A bailiff called out the door for Colonel Ross. He entered and had Matt and Eveline with him, dressed smartly as attendants for the occasion, and the field slave named Washington.

On the stand, Colonel Ross admitted that he could not positively say that Mr. Jamison was an abolitionist—only that he was a man who was
not
sympathetic to slavery.

“Are there any rare birds on your property, Colonel?” Mr. Mason asked.

“None that I know of,” he replied. “Come to think of it, I don't remember Mr. Jamison saying anything about rare birds either.”

The crowd mumbled once more and I began to sweat. This wasn't looking good at all.

“You lent him one of your slaves, didn't you, Colonel?” the judge asked.

The Colonel said that he did. “I brought the slave with me to testify.”

“So the slave is still here—he didn't run away?” Uncle Andrew asked. “I must be a poor abolitionist, then.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

“Bring the slave to the witness stand,” the judge said.

Washington took the stand and, after he'd been sworn in, was asked by Mr. Mason if he had talked to Mr. Jamison about anything in particular during their afternoon looking for birds.

“Yes, sir,” Washington replied as he fixed his eyes on the hat in his lap.

“What did you talk about?” Mr. Mason asked.

“Me and Master Andrew talked about the Underground Railroad. I don't know why but he started telling me about it.”

“That's a lie!” I shouted, then immediately regretted it when all eyes fell on me.

“Is there something you want to say, young man?” the judge asked me.

“No, sir,” I said and sunk down in my seat.

Uncle Andrew patted my arm. “Your Honor, I believe this slave is confused. Our conversation was the other way around.
He
asked
me
about the Underground Railroad and I told him as much as I knew— which, in fact, was nothing.”

Washington shook his head slowly.

The judge leveled a gaze at Mr. Mason. “Sir, I will not have a contest of the truth between a free white man and a slave. I believe I'll disregard this portion of your case.”

Mr. Mason nodded and the crowd seemed to agree.

“Do you have anything else?” the judge asked.

Mr. Mason said, “No, Your Honor. I think what I've presented speaks for itself. This gentleman has concocted a series of untruths for some diabolical purpose—and since my slave has run away, I can only conclude that he enticed him to do so. I demand that this court punish him as a Negro thief, if not as a scheming abolitionist.”

The crowd shouted their agreement.

After the judge quieted them down, he pointed at Uncle Andrew. “Rise, sir, and give your defense before I render a judgment.”

Uncle Andrew stood up again. I held my breath. Whatever he was going to say had better be really good.