Part 8 (1/2)

It was pretty interesting to see a foreign place like New Jersey. It was all different. They didn't have many wooden clapboard or s.h.i.+ngle houses the way we did in Connecticut. In New Jersey they was mostly of stone, with piazzas across the front. Nor did I see so many oxen as I was accustomed to. The wagons was mostly drawn by horses, two or three abreast.

The land was flatter, too. At one place we went through a long marsh, four or five miles, I reckoned. We traveled through it on a narrow stone causeway just about wide enough for one carriage. There was breaks in the causeway, where we went over bridges or took ferries for a stretch. And after the marsh there was more ferries to take us across the Hackensack River and the Second River.

We came to a little village called Newark about eight o'clock in the morning and stopped at Pell's Tavern for breakfast. I reckoned I'd bring Mr. Fatherscreft his breakfast out to the carriage, but he said no, he was feeling better, he'd come into the inn. We had porridge, bread, and cheese-two s.h.i.+llings, six pence.

The breakfast put Mr. Fatherscreft in a talkative mood. ”Daniel, thou art very lucky. Thou art privileged to take part in a great event.”

”A great event, sir?”

”Oh, yes. If the convention can agree to a const.i.tution, thou will be witness to the founding of a new nation. It has never happened this way before.”

”There was never a new nation started before?”

Mr. Fatherscreft laughed a bit until he started to cough. ”Of course there have been new nations. But always in the past they've come out of war or conquest. Never before have nations come together to settle for themselves what manner of government they shall have. For really, Daniel, each of the united states has been acting like an independent little country in most ways. But if we can compromise our differences between large states and small ones, between farmers and merchants, and especially between states dependent on slaves and those with few of them, Daniel, we will have done what has never been done before. We will have peaceably combined twelve or thirteen little republics into one great one.”

Well, I didn't know much about history, so I reckoned he was right. ”Sir, suppose they can't get together on it. I mean, suppose they can't agree about whether the big states should have more votes, or whether there ought to be slavery.”

”Oh yes, Daniel, we're a long way from agreement yet. Some days I've been very doubtful of it all. But today I'm optimistic. We'll have our compromise on slavery, at least. It may not be what thou and I want, but it at least indicates that men of goodwill can find solutions to difficult problems.”

It didn't seem like much of a solution to me, being as I was likely to stay a slave for the rest of my life. I didn't want to say so, though, so I switched the subject. ”But if they agree, and get a const.i.tution, then my daddy's soldiers' notes will be worth the whole six hundred dollars?”

Mr. Fatherscreft thought about that for a minute. ”Not certainly, Daniel. And perhaps not right away. But there are men in the convention who own notes, too; and a good deal more than six hundred dollars, in many cases. I'll wager that they'd be worth something substantial within a year or so.”

”So the best chance for me and Mum to be free is for the convention to agree to a const.i.tution joining all the states into a new nation.”

”No doubt of it, Daniel. What the convention does over the next few weeks will touch thee deeply, as it will touch all of us.”

When he put it that way, it seemed clear enough that I ought to be pus.h.i.+ng for the new const.i.tution as hard as I could. But there was another side to it. For according to the compromise Mr. Fatherscreft was carrying down to Philadelphia, the new country would have slavery in the South and a fugitive-slave law that said anybody who knew I was a runaway had to turn me in. And sooner or later I'd get caught, sure. Captain Ivers was bound to put out a reward for me. He was sure to be having handbills about me made already. That's what they always did. Somebody was certain to turn me in for the reward and feel he was doing the right thing, too.

Oh, it was a puzzle. On the one side of it, if the convention agreed, and we got a const.i.tution, I'd have the soldiers' notes to buy me and Mum free. But on the other side of it, as soon as the const.i.tution was signed, I was likely to be captured and turned back to Captain Ivers. The first thing he'd do would be to take those notes away from me and sell me South. And that would be the end of me forever.

And that's when something else came to me: why was I helping Mr. Fatherscreft bring a message down to Philadelphia that could put me into the cane fields for the rest of my life?

12.

Talking about this seemed to give Mr. Fatherscreft the idea that we shouldn't waste time, so we finished up breakfast quickly and started off again. We figured on reaching Trenton by nightfall and then crossing the Delaware River into Philadelphia the next day. Trenton was where my daddy had fought, and I wanted to see it.

We went along through some little places called Spanktown and Bonhamtown. There was beautiful farms along through here, especially orchards, with about every kind of fruit tree you could think of. I didn't know the names of them all, but Mr. Fatherscreft did, and he told them to me. About one o'clock in the afternoon we came into New Brunswick, a pretty big place on the Raritan River. There were lots of fancy houses here, mostly brick or stone.

We pulled through town and up to the ferry landing on the Raritan. There was lots of little boats out in the river going up and down. On a hill in the middle of town was a great brick building. Mr. Fatherscreft said it had been used for a barracks during the Revolution. I wondered if my daddy stayed there. While we were waiting for the ferry, we stopped at a little inn called The Lion and ate some pork and beans. Then we crossed the Raritan on the ferry and headed for Princeton, seventeen miles farther south. We got there at ten at night. I could see that Mr. Fatherscreft was pretty tired from the traveling. It wasn't doing him any good. His cough was worse, and I had to sort of help him along from place to place. We ate supper and went right to bed.

Mr. Fatherscreft woke up coughing three or four times in the night. I went downstairs for some rum, but there wasn't anybody around. The place was dark and shut up tight. I found a pitcher of beer somebody had left and brought that up to Mr. Fatherscreft, but it wasn't the same. ”Daniel,” he said in his weak voice, ”I must rely on thee for everything now.”

”You ain't that bad off, Mr. Fatherscreft,” I said to cheer him up. ”Once we get to Philadelphia, you can get a good long rest.”

He reached out of bed, took my hand, and gave it a little squeeze. ”Daniel, thou art a good lad. Don't ever let anybody tell thee otherwise. Take pride in thyself.”

”Yes, sir,” I said. ”I will.” I meant it, too. My daddy, he was good as any white man, and I was determined that I would be, too.

In the morning I told Mr. Fatherscreft that we ought to go a little slower and maybe take a good long rest at noontime, so's he wouldn't get so tired out. He wouldn't hear of it. He was coughing pretty bad when we started off for Trenton, where we'd cross the Delaware River to Pennsylvania. But he was all fired up to get to Philadelphia as soon as we could. He'd rest when we got there, he said. I knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that he was bound to die soon, and he wanted to get to Philadelphia with his message before he went.

So he sat up, and coughed and dozed between times, and I tried to enjoy the view out the window. It was rich country; there was rye and oats and barley growing in the fields, and here and there they were reaping the wheat and tying it up in shocks in the fields to dry. But worrying about Mr. Fatherscreft maybe dying took most of the fun out of looking at the scenery, so after a while I lay down on my seat and tried to doze, too.

By the end of the afternoon Mr. Fatherscreft wasn't so much coughing as just lying back gasping for breath. He was hot and sweaty, too. We still had three or four miles into Trenton. Twice I had the driver stop by streams to get Mr. Fatherscreft some cold water. It didn't seem to help much. He went on gasping.

Finally, as the sun was going down, we came into Trenton. There was a little creek through it, and a big stone mill. We didn't stop but went right on through the town and out the other side to the ferry crossing on the Delaware. There was a tavern at the ferry landing called Vandergrift's. We pulled in here, and I hauled Mr. Fatherscreft out of the coach and into the tavern.

He had got so weak from coughing that I had to sort of drape him over my shoulders to get him up to his room. I propped him up in bed to ease his coughing, and wrapped him up good in a blanket. His face was soaked in sweat, and every once in a while he gave a big s.h.i.+ver. ”Daniel,” he said in a voice so low I could hardly hear it, ”we can be in Philadelphia tomorrow if we get an early start. I must live that long. I must.”

”Don't worry, Mr. Fatherscreft, you ain't going to die. I'll see to that. You just rest now and don't do no more talking. I'm going to get you some rum.”

I got a full bottle so I'd have enough for the night. He had trouble swallowing it, but I got some in him, and he dozed off. I was feeling pretty nervous and shaky, so I had a dram of it myself and lay down on the floor to sleep.

But Mr. Fatherscreft's breathing was coming so hard I couldn't doze off. It was loud and raspy as somebody sharpening a saw with a file. After a bit I got up and stood looking out the window at the Delaware River. It was three-quarters of a mile wide, as near as I could judge. The sun was going down in the west, laying great patches of red on the water. A ferry was coming across, loaded down with two or three wagons. Every little while a rider would come down the road to the tavern, tie up his horse, and come in for his dinner. It was a pretty sight, but I couldn't take pleasure in it for the rasping of Mr. Fatherscreft's breath behind me.

Finally the sun went down, and I lit a candle and had a look at Mr. Fatherscreft. His face was wet, as if somebody'd flung a bucket of water on him, and his hands was outside of the blanket, sort of picking and clutching at it, as if he was trying to hang on to something. I wondered if I ought to wipe his face off for him. I didn't want to wake him up, but I thought maybe he'd rest easier for it. So I set down the candle on the chair near the bed and took out my handkerchief. I guess it was the light s.h.i.+ning in his eyes that done it, for before I touched him he gave a sudden jerk and sat half up, his eyes big as eggs staring out into the room. Then he blinked and fell back and lay there gasping.

”Daniel,” he said in the low, hoa.r.s.e voice, looking straight ahead. ”I'm dying. Wipe my face.”

I did it. ”You ain't dying yet, sir. We'll make Philadelphia. Here, take some more rum.”

”No, no, it's too late for rum,” he said. ”I'm dying, Daniel. It's up to thee now; I've gone as far as I can go.” Slowly he turned his head over to look at me. ”Daniel, thou sayest thou knowest William Samuel Johnson.” His voice was weak and low.

”Yes sir,” I said, feeling pretty shaky. ”I seen him around Stratford since I was born. My daddy worked for him sometimes. He said he'd help us after my daddy got drowned.”

”Thou must find him. Thou must give him the message. Only him. Dost thou understand? To n.o.body else.” He stared into my eyes hard.

”Yes sir,” I said.

He took his hands off the blanket and s.n.a.t.c.hed at my wrist. ”Only to Johnson, Daniel, dost thou hear?” he said, all whispery, still staring into my face.

”Yes sir. I won't tell anybody else.”

”Give me thy word,” he said, his eyes wide in the middle of that pale, wet face.

”Yes, sir, you have my word on it.” I took the handkerchief and wiped his face dry.

”Daniel, tell Johnson that Congress will bar slavery north of the Ohio River, with nothing said about the South, new states or old. Tell him that if they give us this, we must accept a fugitive-slave law and leave the matter of slave importation till later.”