Chasing the North Star Page 2

  “I won’t have a thief on this place,” Mr. Williams said again, and lashed him across the back, and lower down on the small of his back. The whip cut wires of fire in his flesh, as it fell on his legs and buttocks, and then on his back again. Jonah felt something else hot on his legs and thought it must be blood, but then smelled his own shit. The shit ran down his legs, the streaming, steaming shit of a coward.

  Jonah must have fainted then for the next thing he knew he was being dragged out into the rain to the well. Buckets of cold water were thrown on him and rain pecked his face and shoulders.

  “You clean yourself up and go back to your place and rest,” Mr. Williams said and tossed a tow sack at Jonah to cover his nakedness. “I’m a fair man, but I won’t have thieves on my place.”

  Jonah wrapped himself in the sack and limped back to the cabin. Other slaves watched him go by and didn’t say anything.

  “What you go and do a thing like that for?” Mama said as he came inside. “Why you steal from Massa Williams?”

  Jonah didn’t answer her. There was no use. He lay down on his cot in the corner of the room face down, and he stayed there all afternoon.

  “I knowed you gone get in trouble with all that reading,” Mama said.

  “How you know I was reading?”

  “ ’Cause I got eyes,” Mama said. “You always pawing over and staring at them newspapers. I knowed you gone land yourself in trouble. I seen it coming.”

  When Mama hollered she had supper ready, fresh corn and green beans and new potatoes, he didn’t move. He wasn’t hungry a bit, not just because his back was hurting, and his legs, too, but because he was thinking. In the newspapers Jonah had read about slaves running away to the North. Most got caught by men with guns and horses and hound dogs, but some made it all the way. And if you made it to the North, people there would help you. He’d read about the Underground Railroad and abolitionists and he knew the song “Follow the Drinking Gourd,” which meant follow the Big Dipper and the North Star.

  As he lay on the cot with his back aching, Jonah thought and thought about what he’d heard and what he’d read. And along about dark, while Mama and the rest of the children were eating, he had an idea. In the lessons with the tutor, Betsy and Johnny had learned to read maps and Jonah had listened. He’d studied the maps himself and seen where South Carolina joined North Carolina. And he’d seen the chain of mountains leaning to the northeast and running all the way to the northern states.

  The tutor said those mountains were wild and full of Indians and outlaws and people that made moonshine. The tutor said there were no plantations in the rocky hollows and deep valleys, only cabins and people who didn’t even know how to read. The tutor said quality folks lived on the east side of the mountain chain, but only outlaws and squatters and trash lived in the mountains.

  Jonah wondered how hard it would be to travel through such mountains. There were probably no roads and only a few trails. With rivers and deep hollows, cliffs and thickets, it would be almost impossible to travel that way. But at the same time it would be almost impossible for anyone to follow him. That was why escaping slaves headed for swamps and canebrakes, where they couldn’t be easily followed. If he got into the mountains and became lost he could always follow the North Star. The problem would be to find something to eat, and to keep from being eaten by panthers, bears, wolves, and maybe Indians. It could take him months, even years to follow those mountains. But he’d rather take the risks that way than to stay here where he’d been whipped and shamed forever.

  Now that Mr. Williams thought Jonah was a thief, he would always call him a thief. Now that he’d been whipped before all the others, Jonah would always be called a bad nigger. His fate had been decided suddenly that rainy afternoon in midsummer, when Mr. Williams climbed the ladder to the loft and Mrs. Williams was away.

  Jonah lay on the cot and thought about what he could take with him. There were all kinds of things he’d need for such a journey. For one thing he’d need a knife and good shoes and strong clothes. He needed money and a map, and he needed a better hat. Mr. Williams only gave his slaves shoes in the winter time, cheap heavy brogans. Jonah needed shoes that didn’t leave tracks, and he needed to travel fast and light. He could steal a knife from the kitchen behind the big house, and he might take a hat from the pegs inside the kitchen door. But he wasn’t sure where he could find money. Mr. Williams kept his money locked in a box inside his bedroom.

  Mama saved coins in a jar over the door of the cabin. But she would hear the rattle on the glass if he tried to take them out of the jar in the dark. He was ashamed to think of stealing money from Mama, but it was the only way he knew to get the funds for his long journey.

  Jonah lay on the cot till all his brothers and sisters were asleep. He waited until he heard Mama snoring and then he quietly raised himself. Even if Mama woke she would just assume he was going out to pee. After lying on the cot all afternoon and evening it would make sense that he had to relieve himself. He slipped on his shirt and a pair of ragged overalls. When he reached the door he felt for the jar on the board above it, but the jar was not there. After a moment of panic, he walked his fingers along the wood and touched glass. The jar had been moved to the left from where he’d last seen it. He lowered the jar without rattling the coins and slipped out into the night.

  July is the quietest month of the summer. The crickets have not appeared in the hills of South Carolina and the katydids would not start their singing until later, in August. Only an occasional cicada, or jarfly, buzzed in the trees. The rain had stopped, and a crust of moon shone through the clouds. Jonah hurried to the kitchen and took a hat from one of the pegs, then found the shelf where the knives were kept. He didn’t want a large butcher knife, which would be hard to conceal, but he needed something bigger than a paring knife. There was a strong knife with a wooden handle that he’d seen the cook use for slicing meat. He felt in the dark for that knife, being careful not to cut his fingers on the blades, and when he found the right one he stepped quickly into the backyard and headed toward the road. He wished he had some shoes, and he wished he had a map, but he had to get far into the mountains before daylight, before anyone knew he was gone.

  Two

  Jonah

  By the time Jonah reached the woods, he was so scared he almost turned back. If he hurried he could return the knife and hat to the kitchen and replace the money jar over the door, slide back into his cot, and no one would ever know he’d tried to run away. For running away he could be whipped again, and put in chains in the smokehouse. Slaves that ran away could be branded with a red-hot iron also, and they sometimes had to wear leg irons, or a neck collar with spikes, and some had an ear cut off.

  Jonah paused in the bushes at the edge of the field and decided he’d better go back while there was still time. Maybe Mrs. Williams would help him when she returned from Flat Rock. Maybe she would even say she’d given him the fine Bible, and that she herself had taught him to read it. Maybe if he was careful he could get by. And if his manners were good he could serve in the tavern and make cider and work in the distillery. Maybe if he was lucky he could even save money enough to buy his freedom one day.

  It was the burning in his back and on his legs that stopped him from turning back. But it wasn’t just the fear of another whipping that prevented him from retracing his steps across the field. Jonah knew that he could never be a good Negro again. He’d been whipped for stealing a book that was already his. He would always be called a thief at the Williams Place and he couldn’t submit to that daily humiliation. If he didn’t run away tonight, he’d run away next week, or next year. That was certain as the wet ground under his feet and the twinkling heavens overhead.

  As soon as Jonah knew that he could not turn back, he remembered something important. He would need lucifers to start fires to cook whatever fish or game he could steal. And when it was rainy and cold in the mountains, he’d need them to build a fire to keep him warm. There was a box of
friction matches in the kitchen near the knives. He’d been foolish to not grab the lucifers while he had a chance.

  He was going to turn back to get the matches, but soon as he stepped out of the bushes a dog began to bark in the distance. No, he couldn’t turn back. Jonah had to get as far as possible up the mountain before daylight. As soon as he found Jonah gone, Mr. Williams would get the sheriff and they’d form a party to go looking for him.

  Rather than strike out through the woods and get lost in the dark, Jonah saw that he’d better take the Turnpike, at least tonight. He could travel faster and farther on the road, and now that he thought about it he saw it would be easier for men and dogs to follow his tracks in the woods than on the packed, much-traveled road. But soon as it got daylight he’d have to turn off the road and find a place to rest and sleep. It would be foolish to stay on the Pike in daytime. If he traveled by day he’d have to stick to the woods and thickets and skirt along the edges of remote fields.

  The world of the night was a different world, as mysterious as Jonah’s thoughts. He was as confused as he was determined. He was afraid as much as he was resolved. One of the things he was afraid of was snakes. He feared rattlers, but rattlesnakes rarely crawled at night and besides they warned you with the rattle of their tails before they bit you. He hated cottonmouths, but they stayed near water and were not seen often in the hills. What he feared most were pilots, copperheads, which did crawl at night and were said to be blind this time of year. Because they couldn’t see, they would strike at anything that moved. Copperheads were silent and sneaky. They hid in the grass and weeds. They were called pilots because they slept through the winter in nests tangled with rattlesnakes deep in the ground, and when spring came they led the drowsy rattlers to water for their first drink. Jonah was afraid of wolves, too. He’d heard that in the mountains there were lots of wolves that killed calves and lambs. And there were panthers that lived in cliffs and preyed on anything that passed below them. And in the highest mountains there were bears. Bears could attack you at night while you lay sleeping. He’d been told she-bears were especially mean when they had little cubs.

  When he reached the road, Jonah almost wished he hadn’t decided to go that way. The heavy rain had left the ruts filled with muddy water. He stepped through puddles with bottoms slick as wet paint. Mud squeezed between his toes, and he stubbed his big toe on a rock. There was just enough light to see the way between the trees. The road itself was a shadow, a long tunnel of shadow.

  Something else he’d forgotten while in the kitchen was to grab a few biscuits or a piece of cornpone, a little side meat. Anything left over from supper would come in handy when it got daylight and he had to rest and his belly was empty. Anything would do then, when he was hungry enough. Jonah had to stick to the edge of the road, out of the deep ruts. The edge of the road was firm ground, but overhanging bushes scratched him in the face and chest. He held out his arms and once got raked by a blackberry briar, or maybe a cat briar. Ticks hung on limbs and would drop on people as they passed; when it got daylight he’d have to search his hair and shirt and overalls and hat for ticks.

  Where the Turnpike ran through bottomland along the north fork of the Saluda River, it was a plank road. They’d laid logs side by side in the dirt and nailed boards on top of the logs to make a smooth track. He could walk faster once he got on the plank road. But he’d have to watch out for splinters. Jonah didn’t want to run, for if he hurried too much he’d wear himself out. Easy does it, he’d heard the tutor say to Betsy and Johnny. “Easy does it, Jonah,” he whispered to himself. He’d walk until daylight and then rest and walk again. A horse can walk a hundred miles a day, the tutor said. But a man is lucky to walk twenty-five.

  Despite the warning, as soon as Jonah reached the plank road he picked up his pace. The boards were wet and gritty, but they offered solid footing. He walked as fast as he could without trotting or skipping. While he walked on the planks it occurred to Jonah that this was a good season to be running away. Even though he’d not brought anything to eat, there would be fresh corn in fields wherever he went. Every place would have a garden, with new potatoes and beans, summer squash and tomatoes. If he was lucky he could slip into a garden and take what he wanted. It would be harder to find bread, whether biscuit or cornpone.

  Cherries would be ripe in some orchards, as well as apples, and back in the mountains there would be blackberries along creeks and huckleberries on hills, around old burns. Jonah was not so confident when he thought about meat. He had no gun or other weapon except the kitchen knife. He might be able to make a snare or deadfall to catch rabbits. Or if he was lucky he could kill a rabbit with a rock, or maybe even a groundhog. As he hurried along the level road across the wide bottomland, Jonah thought of something else he’d forgotten to bring. If he’d thought to take just one little fishhook he could have caught trout and other fish out of creeks. Jonah thought of the way Mama fried catfish in cornmeal so they were juicy and golden. He thought of the grits Mama would fix in the morning for his brothers and sisters, and his eyes got wet. He couldn’t believe he’d run away, run away without making any plans, just vague hopes.

  While Jonah walked, the stars grew brighter and he got his night eyes. He found he could see more if he looked sideways, out of the corners of his eyes, something he’d never noticed before. When he glanced that way, either to the left or to the right, the night was more vivid, the road ahead clearer. When he reached the other end of the long stretch of bottomland, the road turned steeply up the side of the mountain. He’d made such good time on the level plank road he was surprised at how quickly he got out of breath on the steeper grade. The road up the mountain was just dirt and rocks, and with every step he had to pull his weight up. Jonah had never been this far north on the Turnpike, and he’d heard that the steepest part, where it wound round and round and switched back and forth, was called the Winding Stairs. If he could reach the top of the mountain he’d be in North Carolina. Maybe because he was getting tired and out of breath, Jonah didn’t hear anyone on the road ahead of him. Suddenly a lantern was turned in his face. He was stunned, and didn’t know why he hadn’t seen the lantern before.

  “Where you going, nigger?” a man said.

  “Going to my massa at Flat Rock,” Jonah said in his flattest voice.

  “Like hell you are,” another man said.

  “I be going to Flat Rock,” Jonah said, his chin trembling.

  “You’re a runaway,” the first man said.

  Jonah saw the end of a shotgun poking out of the dark at him. He could hardly make out the face of the man holding it under his arm. “Ain’t done nothing wrong,” Jonah said.

  The man with the gun laughed like he was at a frolic. “Everybody has done something wrong,” he said. That was when Jonah saw the mule, loaded with heavy sacks strapped on either side. The sacks rattled and tinkled with jugs stopped with corncobs. The second man carried a shining jug in either hand. The man with the shotgun held the weapon under his right arm, which gripped the lantern, and he carried a jug with his left hand.

  “Since you ain’t done nothing wrong, and since you ain’t a runaway, you can carry a jug for us,” the man with the shotgun said. He handed Jonah the jug he carried. It was a heavy two-gallon jug. “You walk beside the mule,” the man said.

  The jug was so heavy it pulled Jonah down on his right side. He tried to hold it with both hands. He shifted the burden from his right side to his left side.

  “Hey, that ain’t fair,” the man with the two jugs said. “You ain’t carrying nothing.”

  “I’m carrying the gun and the lantern.”

  “Here, take one of these,” the other man said.

  “I’ve got to carry the gun to watch this runaway,” the first man said. “Not to mention the lantern.”

  As they labored up the road, the two men argued. Jonah wondered if he could drop the jug and dive over the bank and dash into the woods. The risk was that the man with the gun would shoot at h
im, aiming at the sound of his running. These blockaders would not mind killing him. He had to study what to do. He didn’t want to die before he even got out of South Carolina.

  “You’re a lazy bastard,” the man with the two jugs said.

  “Make the nigger carry one of them jugs,” the man with the shotgun said.

  “Here, take this,” the other man said, and handed one of his jugs to Jonah. As he took the second jug Jonah saw that the lantern was only open on one side. That was why he hadn’t noticed the light until they turned it directly on him.

  With a jug in either hand, Jonah felt his arms stretched almost to the ground. Each jug must have weighed thirty pounds. He took shorter steps to keep from tripping.

  “Carry them to the top of the mountain and we won’t turn you in,” the man with the shotgun said.

  “Bet there’s a re-ward for a young buck like you,” the other man said.

  Jonah didn’t bother to answer them. They could do whatever they wanted with him. They had the gun and there were two of them. He was worn out from the whipping and the walking. And he was even more tired from the climbing.

  “If we could collect a re-ward we wouldn’t need to carry no liquor,” the man with the shotgun said.

  “We’d be rich,” the second man said.

  “You’re already rich,” the man with the shotgun said and laughed, “rich around the asshole.”

  As they climbed up the Winding Stairs the two men cussed and argued and threatened.

  “This black boy would make a better partner than you,” the man with the gun said.

  Jonah’s back and feet were sore. His arms ached from lugging the heavy jugs. He was too tired to run for it. He thought about how he was going to get away from the bootleggers. The road wound higher and higher. Jugs clinked in the sacks on the mule’s back, and the men’s boots ground on the wet clay and gravel of the road. They’d climbed so far it seemed they must be already up in the sky.