Sweetsmoke (44 page)

    "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.

    Bill
Bryant intended to transport Cassius to Edward's Ferry and cross with Cassius playing
the role of his body servant. He informed Cassius that from there, they would
report directly to an Underground Railroad station in Maryland at Poolesville.
He had been informed that it was the house with the Jocko, a small painted
statue of a black groomsman. If a green ribbon was tied to it, or if it held a
flag, it was safe to enter. A red ribbon would warn them off. From there
someone would guide him through the intolerant North up to Canada.

    Cassius
expressed his heartfelt appreciation for all that Bryant had done, and then
suggested they cross where Lee's army had crossed. The red goat was appalled at
the suggestion, but Cassius pressed on, as it would be more difficult to find
the army once he was embraced by the Underground Railroad. He appreciated them
for all they had done and all they planned to do, and wished they had been the
ones to help Joseph, but Cassius had other plans; any strategy that would guide
him to his freedom was in abeyance. Cassius looked in the decent eyes of the good
man and said that if there was trouble, he would pretend to be a Confederate
officer's body servant working his way to the front lines. Bryant nodded.

    The
ferry means more whites, more danger. Safer to cross at a ford, said Cassius.

    "White's
Ford is not so far from Poolesville. But it will be difficult to cross with the
horse and carriage."

    I go
alone.

    "Out
of the question, I cannot allow you to do such a thing," said Bryant.

    You
and your wife already risked your lives for a stranger, a negro, said Cassius.
You have my true gratitude.

    Bryant
drove him to White's Ford.

    Cassius
sent Bryant back to his home, and was much relieved to be on his own.

    He
moved through the undergrowth and eventually came out on the southern bank of the
Potomac River. He was rendered breathless, and his hope abandoned him. Never
before had he set eyes on such a river. The far bank was five hundred yards
away, but to Cassius, it might have been five hundred miles. He could not
imagine how anyone could ford such a vast expanse of swiftly moving water. As
if to answer his query, a man emerged from brush a hundred yards downriver,
removed his shoes and trousers, and walked into the river up to his waist and
did not sink. Cassius watched him walk the entire distance, the water only
occasionally rising as high as his chest, emerging to claim the far bank in
safety.

    Cassius
re-concealed himself in the undergrowth and remained hidden until after
midnight. He had a clear view of the night traffic as many more men made the
crossing. As he waited, he counted out the days on his fingers and determined
it was the 13th of September; no, it was after midnight, so the 14th. He
watched closely each individual that crossed and imagined them stragglers
attempting to rejoin their units, but he did not know if they were Yankee or
Rebel. Each successful crossing rebuilt his hope. When there had been no
travelers in close to an hour, he decided to venture out, following the bank
downstream in the open to where he had seen the others embark.

    He
removed his shoes and trousers, as he'd seen them do. He waded into the
Potomac. The water moved quickly, washing up against his shins, then his knees,
thighs, and waist. He hesitated. The bottom was sandy and unstable beneath his
bare feet. He looked back, then forced himself to face forward. He tried to
maintain a steady stride, and hummed to himself to take his mind off of his
situation. As he walked, his eyes were drawn to the water flowing around his
torso and he stepped into a hole, water splashing to his chin. He looked up and
saw that while concentrating on the water, he'd gotten turned and had walked
parallel to the bank along with the current. He quickly returned to the shallow
ford, and in a panicked moment did not know which direction to go. He caught
his breath and located the moon and then the Drinking Gourd, which told him
where he was.

    He
had watched so many men cross that he had imagined he knew how long it would
take, but time moved at a different pace out here and he was only halfway
across. He looked back. He shivered. He was alone and surrounded by fast water
that delighted in luring and tugging him downstream, and he had a superstitious
moment wherein he expected the river to carry away the footing and swallow him
whole. He now wholly doubted the success of his crossing, and his breathing
grew ever more shallow. His head felt light and his desperate mind took control
of his reason; he had to return to Virginia as Virginia's ground was firm and
the path ahead was chancy. He stopped then, turned his eyes on the constant
moon, then considered the current, which also remained constant. He began to
trust that the bottom would remain underfoot. He forced himself into a place of
calm and pictured the dozen or so men he had witnessed complete the crossing
successfully. His sane mind took hold again and reminded him that it would take
no longer to reach the far side than it would to go back. He pressed on to
Maryland and while he concentrated on the distant bank, he pictured what it
would be like to get his hands on Whitacre, and before he knew it, the shore
was close, very close, then he was knee deep, ankle deep, and he was on dry
land.