Drum (65 page)

Tomorrow! Who-ee! It would be a busy day. First all the plantation slaves would be lined up for Mista Holcomb's inspection and Drumson hoped he'd be on hand to see them. Then Meg and Alph would have their knockers cut off, and Drumson was looking forward to seeing that too. As long as it was not his own which would be severed by the razor. . . . And then that goddam Clees was to be sold and again Drumson hoped he'd be on hand, just to see the expression on Clees' ugly face when he knew that he was going. Who-ee 1 It would be an exciting day. He had a big parcel of news to relay to the servants in the kitchen. He followed Hammond back to the dining room, only to find that the group was breaking up and the men were coming out to join

the ladies. He and Brutxis busied themselves setting the dining room to rights, discussing the events of the morrow in whispers. When they entered the kitchen with their trays full of glasses, they were both primed with the news they had to tell.

Clytie was kneading dough at one end of the table; Regine, Cassie and Berenice were still on duty in the upstairs rooms to help the ladies; Bruno, Holcomb's man, was examining his face in a pocket mirror near one of the candles; Ajax was entertaining the visiting coachmen with cups of coffee. Lucretia Borgia had gone up to her temporary room on the third floor.

"Big day here tomorrow," Brutus announced, important with his news.

"Big day any day when we's got company," Clytie grumbled. "Ain' used ter takin' orders no more from that 'Cretia Borgia. She think she mo' mistress than Miz 'Gusta."

"More'n company tomorrow." Drumson too was bursting with news.

"What a-happenin'?" Ajax leaned back in his chair, his fingers in the amaholes of his waistcoat which he was wearing to impress the other coachmen.

"Yo' masta," Drumson pointed to Bruno, "he's a-wantin' to see all the Falconhurst boys tomorrow. Says he's goin' to buy hisself some."

"Hopin' he takes me with him," Bruno's face lit up with anticipatory pleasure. "Al'ays likes to see my masta finger new niggers. Pleasures me, it does."

"And then," Brutus was waiting for his chance to contribute, "Masta Hammond he a-goin' to nut them two boys he been a-keepin' in the pen—that Meg and Alph. Says he's a-goin' to sell 'era fer house servants. Whaffor they's got to have they's nuts cut off fer ifn they's going to be house servants?"

"My masta sure never has cut mine off," Bruno simpered. "Pleasures him too much they does."

"What you mean?" Drumson looked at the smoothly rounded, almost girlish face of the yellow boy across the table.

"Keep yo' goddam mouth shet." Caleb, the Holcomb coachman who was sitting beside Ajax, half rose from the table. "Don' pay no 'tention to that biggity yella boy," he said to Drumson. "He new up at de Coign. Masta jes' bo't him down in New Orleans."

'Tells masta on you, you threatenin' me," Bruno bristled. " 'Sides, you jealous cause I won't pleasure you. You stinks, tha's why."

"I tells masta 'bout yo' foolish talk and you gets yo' ass whipped."

Bruno decided it was better to keep still. He drew out a comb and ran it through his long hair, cvirling his lips at Caleb.

In the awkward silence that followed, Drumson decided to drop another bombshell.

"And . . ." he paused for a second so that his words would have added emphasis, "come momin', Masta Hammond he a-sellin' Clees. Slave trader done come tonight and stayin' over to the old house. Got himself a caffle of thirty boys in the bam. Masta Hammond says he a-gettin' shet of that Clees tomorrow."

Clytie poised both flour-laden hands in the air. Silently she lowered them, hastily scrubbing her fingers together to remove the bits of dough, then wiping them on her apron. She gathered up the big pan and with a mumbled something about putting it behind the stove to rise, left the group. A moment later Drumson heard the back door close. His first impulse was to run after Clytie but just then there was a series of rings in the pantry. The Holcombs' room was registered on the board, as was Hammond's. Drumson sent the still pouting Bruno upstairs and went himself to Hammond's room. Although Clytie's absence was on his mind, he did not dare mention it to Hammond for he knew he would be punished for discussing plantation business before the other servants. He went through the long preparations of getting his master ready for sleep, helping him off with his boots, massaging his feet and spreading down the bed. As he was hanging Hammond's clothes up in the wardrobe, Regine came into the room. She started to impin the plain gold brooch which held the fichu around her neck but Hammond stopped her.

"Not tonight, girl. Too many people in the house and yo' mistress she a-sleepin' upstairs. Better go to yo' room up on the third floor."

If

chapter xiii

Clytie had been stunned when she heard Drumson's announcement that Clees was going to be sold the next day. Each year, when the caffle of slaves was made up to go to New Orleans, she had tortured herself with the possibility that either Clees or she herself might be included and that they would be sold separately. Without Clees she would kill herself. Through her intimacy with Lucretia Borgia, she had wheedled her into getting Hammond to let Clees be her man and her infatuation for him had increased over the years. After her training as a cook for the new house, and with Clees managing to ingratiate himself with Hammond, Clytie had been lulled into a false sense of security. As each year's caffle departed without them, she began to feel that neither of them would ever go. Their nights together had been a little more difficult for her to manage after she had moved to the new house, as she and Clees no longer shared a cabin with the other couples. But he knew his way around the plantation and had succeeded, night after night, in not being locked up in the dormitory. Since his whipping, however, things had changed and he was under closer surveillance. That she did not have nightly access to him had been torture for Clytie.

Clees must know the awful news. Yes, he must, if for no other reason than that they might spend this night, which might possibly be their last, together. Clytie felt she must have him once more, one last remembrance to treasure if she were to see him being led off in a caffle come morning, chained in a long black line that stumbled down the lane and out onto the main road behind the slave dealer's buckboard, never to be seen again.

Without any definite plan, she had put the bread dough down behind the stove, glanced nervously at the group of servants still talking at the long table, then had opened the kitchen door as noiselessly as possible and run out. She had

plunged headlong down the path, running through the woods and over the bridge to the old house.

The buildings loomed gray out of the darkness, enveloped in a ghostly quiet. Keeping in the shadows, she skirted the comer of the old house and ran down the street of cabins. Now she was glad she remembered where Clees slept in the dormitory, for he had always bragged that he had the coveted top bunk, directly under the barred window at the end of the slave barracks. This position had been a mark of his authority and she hoped he had not been forced to change since his punishment. The side of the barracks was in deep shadow and she groped her way along it, keeping track of the black rectangles that marked the small barred windows. From the inside, she could hear the snores and the rasping breathing of the men. When she reached the window which she felt still marked Clees's bunk she found that, stretch as she might, she could not reach up to it. Then she remembered stumbling over a bench which the men used to sit on in the early evening before they were locked up, and she returned to get it. Of heavy planks, it was so big that she could not lift it, but she managed to drag it along the ground until she had maneuvered it beneath the last window. Then, by holding on to one of the bars with her left hand, and pulling herself up, she could get her elbows on the window sill and stretch her right hand inside. Her fingers groped in the darkness, first touching the rough husk mattress and then, by stretching them to their very limit, the warmth of bare flesh. It was a knee, and as her fingers closed around it, the man inside moved, bringing his body closer. Her hands slid up along the thigh.

"Oh, let it be Clees," she thought.

Her experienced fingers told her that it was, and even in her anxiety to waken him, her fingers were loath to leave their familiar locale. She heard Clees sigh in his sleep. But she must resist the temptation, and her fingers moved to his chest.

"Qees," the fingers tweaked one of his nipples. "Clees, is that you?"

A hand inside clutched hers and as Clees jumped up, her hand slipped down to the hard muscles of his belly. A face appeared between the bars and although she could not distinguish his features in the darkness, she knew it was Clees.

"That you, Clytie?" He was surprised and pleased but shocked to see her. "What you a-doin' here? Wants to get

yo'sel' whupped? Cain' get out to pleasure you tonight, Sugar, but don' go. You pleasures me tonight. Sugar, through the window."

"Sh-h-h!" Her fingers extricated themselves from his grip and closed his lips. "Clees man, lissen to me! Jes' now, I heard over to de new house that you's a-goin' to be sold to-morrer."

"Me sold?" Clees was incredulous. "You ain' a-heard right, Sugar. Masta Maxwell not a-sellin' me. I'se his best nigger."

"No you ain'. That uppity Drumson his best nigger now. Shore goin' to sell you tomorrow. Slave dealer corned here tonight. He's a-sleepin' over to the old house. He's got a caffle o' slaves wid him. Masta Hammond done tol' him he sell you to him tomorrer. Wants to get shet of you cause yo' welted."

"Knows 'bout de slave dealer." Clees's head was close to the bars. "Bedded down his caffle in de barn. Got a lot of boys . . . mean bastards, too! They's all spancelled down 'cause they's runners."

"An' somepin' else, Clees man. 'Members those two boys in de pen? Them that Masta Hammond done fetched from N'Orleans? Knows who I mean?"

"That Meg and Alph?"

"Guess so." Clytie had never heard their names.

"He a-sellin' 'em too?"

"No, ain' a-sellin' 'em. Worse'n that. Tomorrow that ol' Doc Redfield, the vetemary, he a-cuttin' they's balls off. Druther you be sol', Clees man, than have that happen to you." Her hand went back through the bars once again to confirm Clees' wholeness.

"You sure Masta Maxwell say he a-goin' to sell me?"

"That Drumson say so and he tellin' de truf, I think. That Brute boy, he say so too. Tha's whaffor I come. Want you onct mo' 'fore you goes, Clees man. Can' bear to have you leave 'thouten I have you onct mo'."

"If'n I goes, you goes wid me." Clees had forgotten to whisper.

Clytie put her fingers to his lips again.

"What you mean? Masta ain' a-goin' ter sell me."

"Takes you and runs, I do. We runs together."

"Cain' run. You knows no nigger ever runned and got away. Cain' run 'thouten no pass and besides, how you think you can run? You locked up in here."

"Got to git out. Got me a notion. Got to think. Lissen,

drum 481

Clytie! Falconhurst slaves no good to help us. Only a few here help us. Mos' o' the res' jes' ignemt niggers that don' know what 'tis to be free an' don' care. Ain' got no guts. Jes' willin' to stay here and be sold, come fall. But tonight we got us 'bout thirty boys down in de bam. Big fellers too 'n mean bastards. Mos' of 'em runners afore. Clytie, sugar, you gets me outa here."

"How'm I gonna do that, Clees. Cain' break dese bars."

"Don' needs to. Lissen! Run down to the carpentry shop. Tain't locked. Inside right behin' de do' when you opens it, you fin' a crowbar. You knows what a crowbar is?"

"Don' rightly."

"Long bar, iron. You gits it. Don' let anyone see you. Bring it back to me. While you gone, I wakes some o' the other boys I think runs wid me. Rex, he go in a minute. He a mustee, whiter'n Masta Maxwell hisself. Lazarus he go, too, and Cobalt. Thinks Big Archer he come along, p'rhaps Dobbin and Amos Jesse. Mebbe Maresfoot. And I kin get that Meg and Alph. If n they knows they goin' to get nutted tomorrow, they shore run, too."

His face came close to the bars and their lips met.

"Loves you, Clytie sugar." His hand pushed her gently. "You run now. When you comes back, you raps on de bars here quiet like." He waited until he saw her run off into the shadows, then jumped down and walked on silent feet to several bunks, shaking the occupants and waking them, whispering so as not to wake the others.

"You wants to be free?" he asked each one. 'Tonight we a-goin' to run but we ain* skulkin' out 'lone. We goin' regular like so's they won' ketch us. We goin' to fix it so nobody follers us. Rex here, he a-goin' to be a slave dealer, a-drivin' he's horses, and we goin' to be his caffle, walkin' long behind he's wagon."

"But Masta Maxwell!"

"Come tomorrer, ain' goin' ter be no Masta Maxwell. We kills him and all de rest. We got thirty men down in de bam and we got them two in de pen. Ain' more'n four men over to the new house 'n a few slaves. We kill de whites and ain' nobody left ter send out no 'larm."

It was no great matter for Clees to convince them. In every group there are malcontents and Clees well knew whom he was talking to. Some of them, at Hammond's orders, he had punished for running. Rex, the big mustee, had always resented his slavery. Tall, white and blond, a

m.

typical Teuton despite his colored blood, he had always known that once he could manage his escape, the way would be easy for him. Clees' plan sounded like a good one.

There was a faint tapping on the iron barred window and Clees ran over to it. Clytie pushed the end of the crowbar between the bars and Clees clutched at it.

"You go down de road out to where the lane goes up to de new house. Purty soon Rex, the mustee, come along with a wagon. You waits wid him 'til I comes."

Clytie left and Clees slipped into his clothes and found those he had awakened all dressed and huddled at the door. He had to work by touch only, as it was so dark inside the dormitory he could not see, but he inserted the point of the crowbar in the crack of the door and pried it slowly open. They could hear the hasp of the padlock on the outside slowly tearing out of the wood. With the door open a crack, he was able to lift the heavy wooden bars that were placed there to reinforce the padlock. Some of the slaves were awakened by the noise.