Part 14 (1/2)

”Maybe that's the plan.” Henry slapped Townsend's back. ”The shortage of rations won't be noticed, except on those rare days when a sympathetic breeze lifts the fragrance of this stinking hole from our midst.”

Chapter Twenty.

July 1861 Sweat stung the gashes left by the whip on Isaac's back. He rolled over. The cool brick floor momentarily soothed the burning.

Had he slept or pa.s.sed out? Dank air held the stench of a summer outhouse. He struggled to his knees. The movement tore at fresh scabs. Lord, such pain. He'd best move slow or he'd reopen the wounds. Careful . . . . He reached into the darkness: cold, rough, a brick wall. He hit something that moved and rattled. He groped . . . a tin cup? He set it against the wall and then crept forward again, brus.h.i.+ng against an object covered in a rough cloth. A leg? Isaac jerked back his hand.

”I reckon it's past midnight,” a deep voice spoke from the shadows.

Isaac recoiled.

”You gets used to the dark in time.”

Isaac fled to the far side of the cell.

”Constable Branson, he locked up and headed home *bout nine o'clock. Courthouse clock rings the hour, so's you knows the time. He returns most mornings around eight to feed us, if'n he remembers. They calls me Perkins, Moktar Perkins. Who is you?”

”They . . . they calls me Isaac.”

”Got caught running, did ya?”

”I had me a pa.s.s, but I lost it. I been visiting my woman and this here pattyroller, he was just a young'un, he s.n.a.t.c.hed me.”

”Sounds like a heap of bad luck, sure enough.”

”Come morning I'll be telling Ma.s.sa Branson and he'll talk to Mr. Day-he's my boss man. Mr. Day, he'll get this fixed. I'll be heading up to Milton again real soon.”

”You ever work cotton, boy?”

”Tobacco,” Isaac said to the silhouette of a man across the cell. ”But I's learning carpentry. I might have my own place up in Philadelphia one of these days.”

”Dreaming of that freedom land, are ya? I been running too. Left my whites in Mississippi during planting time. Got caught stealing chickens a few miles south of here *bout a week ago.” He shrugged. ”A man gots to eat.”

Isaac lowered his voice. ”I thinks on running right often, but Pa says it ain't our time. He carved me a token to remind me about that journey to the freedom land. It had the North Star on one side, the drinking gourd on the other.”

”Sounds real nice. Perkins would sure like to look on that.”

”I lost it. Wish I had it now.” Isaac rubbed his hand across his chest. ”It brung me comfort.”

”You keep looking, boy. That star's out there.”

Isaac nodded. ”What happens now? They telling our people we's here?”

”Don't reckon it works like that, boy. If'n he sells you, constable keeps the money. If'n he gives you to your ma.s.sa, he just gets a small reward. Boy, you's headed south, sure enough. Now get some sleep. You'll be learning that cotton business soon enough.”

Cotton? He didn't want to learn cotton, just wanted to get home to Mr. Day's-and see Raleigh again . . .

Isaac pulled his knees under him and dozed. When he awoke, a pale light cast shadows from the window bars onto the brick wall.

Isaac studied the small cell. No furnis.h.i.+ngs. A single tin plate lay in one corner. A wooden bucket rested beside the far wall. Flies swarmed above a narrow brick-lined trench built into the floor on the far end. No deeper than the span of a man's open hand, it ran to a hole in the outer wall.

Perkins curled in a ball, appearing hard asleep. From the gray of his whiskers he looked to be close to his pa's age. He wore nothing more than a pair of britches cut off and frayed below the knees. Dark welts, some festering, covered his back. Until yesterday, Isaac had never known the sting of a whip. Perkins's scars told a very different tale.

Isaac leaned against the wall, then recoiled as his wounds touched the coa.r.s.e brick. He peeled his s.h.i.+rt away from his back, eased it over his head, and held it out. Slashes of dried blood stained the shredded fabric.

A grunt. Perkins stretched and groaned, then stood and hobbled to the trench. He lowered his britches and made water.

The cell door clanged open. ”Back off or you get no grub.” Constable Branson stood in the doorway, whip in hand. He set a bucket of water on the floor, then tossed two pieces of black bread in the direction of the tin plate. ”Give me your empty.”

Perkins tied up his trousers, then placed the empty bucket at the constable's feet.

The constable grabbed the bucket and slammed the door. Metal sc.r.a.ped against metal as a heavy bolt slid into place.

”Some days he forgets.” Perkins tossed Isaac a piece of bread. ”Some days we gets chitlings too, can't never tell. Water's for drinking, mostly. If you has to make a pile, wash it down the trench-but don't be wasting none-one bucket's all we get today, and maybe tomorrow too, if'n he forgets.”

Isaac turned the bread over. The crust, soggy in places, crumbled in his hand. There was a sharp, bitter smell. ”Bread's turning . . .”

”Eat. You ain't getting fed again today.”

Isaac took a small bite. He gagged, then grabbed for the tin cup and washed another small bite down with water.

”Tell me about Isaac. You married? Has you any childrens?”

”Naw, no children.” Isaac said. ”I was visiting my girl yesterday. She's a free woman, working for the Pattersons up north of here. I lives in Virginia, but my ma.s.sa loaned me to Mr. Day, up in Milton, to help get some furniture orders filled. You?”

”I jumped the broom twice,” Perkins said. ”Back in Louisiana I married a pretty young thing, '42 or '43 was the year. We had us a pa.s.sel of childrens, seven last I counted, then I runned away. When they caught me, I got sold down to Mississippi. Didn't have no way to get over to Louisiana, so I found me another woman. She lived on the next plantation and her ma.s.sa, I *spect he took a liking to her, *cause when he found out I jumped the broom with his little wench, he went all crazy, had me hung by my thumbs and whipped something terrible.”

”You got whipped just for jumping the broom?”

”I *spect I ruined his fun. He couldn't abide putting his little white p.e.c.k.e.r where my black*n had been. *Bout that time was when I skedaddled.”

The sound of chains clanking against paving stones echoed from beyond the barred window. Isaac raised on his toes and peered out. Three black men in shackles were being loaded into a wagon.

Perkins laughed. ”Another freedom train done come to the end of the line. Best get used to it, boy. Them's the sounds of n.i.g.g.e.rs heading south.”

Chapter Twenty-one.

August 1861 ”Company, Fall in.”

Henry snapped to attention.

Lieutenant Bruce saluted the company commander. ”Sir, the company is formed.”