Escape by Night (7 page)

Time was critical. If the plan didn't work, the search party would be on them in no time. They stepped out of the alleyway onto Washington Street.

“There it is!” Tommy said. Saint Paul's stood majestically before them with its bell tower shining in the moonlight.

The train whistle blew again. Tommy and Red raced down Washington.

They paused at the corner and looked up Reynolds Street. They could see the brightness of lanterns moving toward them.

“I don't see Annie,” Red said.

“She should be coming out any minute,” Tommy said.

They stared into the darkness. The lanterns grew brighter; the voices of men, louder.

A gun went off, and Tommy jumped.

“That's the direction Henry will come from. Do you think they got him?”

Red shook his head. “Henry's a smart man. If anyone can make it, he can.”

“There's Annie,” Tommy said.

They could barely make her out in the distance. Then they heard barking.

“That's Samson,” Tommy said. His heart filled with pride.

Samson barked and barked and barked again.

“Good dog,” Tommy whispered. “Good boy.”

The lanterns stopped, and the pride turned to fear. Men's voices grew even louder.

“What are they saying?” Tommy asked.

“I can't hear, but they're talking to Annie.”

“Red, what if they don't believe her?”

“I trust Samson. Listen, he's still barking. He's putting up a big stink. They have to think something is wrong.”

A man in the group suddenly yelled, and the group turned.

“They're headed in the opposite direction,” Red said. “I knew we could count on that dog of yours.”

Tommy and Red ran across Reynolds Street and collapsed in the bushes beside Saint Paul's. They crawled on hands and knees along the side of the church until they reached the corner.

They peered out of the bushes. There before them stood two giant railroad trestles, like gray monster snakes slinking their way to South Carolina.

“You better go,” Tommy whispered. “The train is coming, and those men could be back any time.”

“I can't leave without Henry,” Red said.

“What if Henry didn't make it?” Tommy asked.

“I won't leave until I'm sure. Let's go back up Reynolds and look for him.”

Tommy couldn't believe what he was hearing. Here they were—they had made it all the way, free and clear, and Red was talking about going back!

“We can't—” Tommy said.

The bushes behind Saint Paul's stirred, and Henry appeared.

“Henry, it's you,” Tommy said.

“Sure is,” Henry said.

“You're going to be free,” Tommy said.

Henry smiled. “I've been free in Christ. Now I'll be free in this world.”

Red peered out of the bushes. “It's clear,” he said. “Tommy, thank you.” He shook Tommy's hand.

“God bless ya, Master Tommy.” Henry turned and made a dash for the trestle.

At that moment, Big Steve rang again. Red smiled. “I bid you farewell with Whittier,” he said.

“But blest the ear

That yet shall hear

The jubilant bell

That rings the knell

Of slavery forever.”

The train whistle blew, and Red ran for the trestle. That's when Tommy heard his father calling.

 

Tommy peeked out of the bushes. His father and Annie were standing in the middle of the intersection, calling his name. Tommy was never so glad to see anyone. He stepped out and waved. Samson bounded toward Tommy.

“There he is,” Annie yelled. She and their father ran toward Tommy. Reverend McKnight's great strides covered the distance in no time.

Tommy looked back, just in time to see Red and Henry disappear inside the tunnel over the trestle. In the moonlight he could see the train chugging its way toward the entrance on the other side, the noise growing louder.

“Hurry, you can make it,” Tommy whispered.

Then Annie and their father were there, grabbing up Tommy in a huge hug. Suddenly Tommy felt as tired as a slave picking cotton.

Reverend McKnight relaxed a little and said, “Tommy, I was beside myself when I saw Annie on Broad Street and she told me what happened. You put yourself in danger.”

“But, Father, Red is going home to his family in Ohio and Henry's going to be free,” Tommy said, relieved to unload the burden.

“Where are they?” Annie asked.

“They're in the tunnel, but I don't know if they made it.”

“Perhaps we can see them,” Reverend McKnight said. He grabbed Tommy's hand and they hurried to the edge of the Savannah River. The earthy smell of the river and the loud approach of the train engulfed them as they peered into the darkness.

“Can you see them?” Annie yelled.

On the South Carolina side the shadows shifted in the darkness.

Tommy squinted hard. “I can't see anything. Father, can you see them?”

As the train rumbled onto the trestle, grinding noise drowned out his father's response.

Tommy stared into the darkness and remembered the first time he had seen Red: in the bright sun, lying on that pile of dead men, clutching his commonplace book. That was only three days earlier, but it seemed like a lifetime.

It wasn't only for Red's benefit that this had happened. It was for Tommy, too. Just a few days ago mercy was something you talked about in church, not something you actually did.

The train burst out of the tunnel next to them and continued down Washington Street.

“Do you see them?” Reverend McKnight yelled above the noise.

Tommy pointed. “Over there.”

“Yes, there they are!” Annie yelled.

Tommy and Annie waved high and hard. One of the shadowy figures lifted a hand in response.

Tommy held his arm out straight, extending his hand high, just like his father did at the end of the church service when he pronounced a blessing on the congregation.

“Father?” Annie asked. “How will they make it all the way to Ohio?”

“I imagine there'll be people who will help them along the way.”

“People like us,” Tommy said.

“People like you.”

“Father, I feel like the last two days have changed everything. I have so much to tell you,” Tommy said.

Augusta, Georgia

December 1863

 

The letter arrived on December 1 and was addressed to Thomas McKnight. Tommy's father called him into the study and handed it to him.

“What's this?” Tommy asked.

“A letter for you … from Ohio.”

As soon as he heard “Ohio,” Tommy knew it was from Red.

Tommy opened the envelope and recognized the paper. “It's from his commonplace book.”

“Would you like me to read it to you?” Reverend McKnight asked.

Tommy wanted to share the letter with his father. Together they had stood by the river and watched Red and Henry make their final escape. His father had not punished Tommy for sneaking off at night or helping a Yankee escape or any of the other things Tommy had done.

As they walked home, Tommy had told his father about Henry and Red and mercy. Reverend McKnight had said only one thing.

“I admire a person with the courage to follow the leading of God, regardless of whether I agree or not.” It was the best compliment he could have given, and Tommy loved him for that.

Tommy handed the page to his father, who read it out loud.

“Freedom is a good thing,” Tommy said.

Reverend McKnight nodded. “It is indeed. I have something for you.” He opened his desk drawer, pulled out a book, and handed it to Tommy.

“There's no title or author's name,” Tommy said, smiling. “A commonplace book.”

Reverend McKnight nodded again. “And you can fill it with your own poems and sayings.”

“The first thing I'm going to write,” Tommy said, “is the story of Red and Henry.”

 

A
UTHOR
'
S
N
OTE

The idea for this story came from the life of Thomas Woodrow Wilson (1856–1924). When he was a year old, his father became pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Augusta, Georgia. They lived across the street in the church manse (the home for the pastor). The church and home still stand today and are open to the public.

As a child, Woodrow Wilson was called Tommy. In law school he began using his middle name, and from then on, he was known as Woodrow. This was his name when he was president of the United States.

Tommy Wilson grew up in a close and loving family. He was a smart child, but did not learn to read until about age eleven. Some experts suggest he was dyslexic. His father taught him at home and coached him in debate. Tommy Wilson and some friends formed the Lightfoot Baseball Club, and Tommy served as president. Tommy's curiosity and hard work enabled him to excel. His Presbyterian faith remained strong throughout his life.

Mountain Boy was Tommy Wilson's greyhound dog. In the Woodrow Wilson house in Augusta, there is a picture that young Tommy drew of Mountain Boy.