Promises to the Dead (6 page)

Pulling us together, she commenced to pray loudly for our safety and our brotherhood. "Believe me," she ended, "you'll never be out of the good Lord's sight. He'll be holding you both in the palm of His hand."

Though I kept my thoughts to myself, I hoped the Lord would keep a better grip on Perry and me than he'd kept on many another person I could name. Lydia, for one; Mama, for another. He had surely let them slip away into the darkness without paying any heed.

Perry didn't come fast or even willingly, but at least he allowed me to accompany him to Captain Harrison's dock. When we got in sight of the
Sally
H.'s masts, we hid in the tall marsh grass and studied the scene. Nothing seemed amiss. No strangers about, no horses.

But just as I stepped out of the shadows, Captain Harrison appeared on the ship's deck and held his hand up. "Get back," he whispered. "Somebody's coming."

We hunkered down in a clump of tall grass as quick and quiet as foxes. A few seconds later, Colonel Abednego Botfield rode out of the dark like some cussed nightmare, the kind you have over and over again till you're scared to go to sleep. I was beginning to think that my fate, whatever it was, was somehow tied up with that villain.

Not ten feet away, the colonel stopped his horse and hollered for Captain Harrison. His voice rang across the black water like Satan summoning his troops from hell.

Captain Harrison leaned over the boat's railing to have a look at Colonel Botfield. "Why, Abednego," he said, sounding a heap more cheerful than he must have felt. "What brings you here in the middle of the night?"

"I need passage to Baltimore," Colonel Botfield said. "I understand you're shipping a load of fish to market before sunup. How about taking me along?"

Captain Harrison paused a second. "Why, I don't believe I can do that," he said slowly. "I have my crew and a hold full of rockfish. There's no room for anyone else. Wouldn't be safe."

"I can pay you a handsome fee," Colonel Botfield said.

"I'm sorry, Abednego, but I can't take the risk no matter what you're willing to pay." Captain Harrison managed to sound truly apologetic.

Colonel Botfield swore a long string of cuss words. "I tell you, it's imperative I get to Baltimore."

"And I tell you, I can't take you," Captain Harrison said, no longer sounding a bit sorry. I reckoned hearing those cuss words riled him something terrible. Methodists just don't tolerate that kind of talk.

Colonel Botfield cursed again and wheeled his horse around so fast the big bay's hooves scattered bits of oyster shells in all directions. "I'll find someone else, William Harrison," he shouted. "And when I arrive in Baltimore, I won't smell like a stinking fish."

With that, the man galloped off the way he'd come, passing so close we heard him swear as he rode by.

A few minutes later, Captain Harrison called to us, and we hurried aboard the
Sally H.
I looked back once, to make sure Colonel Botfield was truly gone. The road was empty, the night dark, the stars high in the heavens. For now, at least, we were safe from the villain. I wished, hoped, and prayed he wouldn't find his way to Baltimore, for if he did, I had no doubt he'd find us.

Captain Harrison hid us in the boat's dinghy on the stern. He'd lined the small boat with some of Miss Sally's quilts and made sure we had water and food. "Stay put till we reach Baltimore. I don't want my crew to see you."

So saying, he covered the dinghy with a canvas and went on about his business.

Somehow the two of us managed to fall asleep, or at least I did. Perry was so quiet, who knows whether he slept or not? Maybe he just lay there all night, staring into the dark and thinking the Lord knows what.

When I woke up and saw the tarpaulin over my head, I thought I'd been buried alive. If Perry hadn't sighed in his sleep, I'd have started hollering for help, but as soon as I saw him, I remembered where we were. The boat was moving, I could feel the rock and sway of it, and there was enough light seeping through the tarpaulin to tell me it was early morning.

I had to pee something awful so I used the little pail Captain Harrison had left for that purpose. Then I eased the tarp back and peered out. In the dim dawn light I saw the captain standing at the wheel, his back to me. A man I knew, Daniel Wrightson, swabbed the deck a few feet away. Two or three other fellows busied themselves with their tasks. None of them looked my way.

Taking a quick glance at the water and the sky, I saw farmland and trees and one small town with docks poking into the Bay like wooden fingers and boats as small as toys bobbing on the water. I couldn't tell if I was looking at the western shore or the eastern shore. All I knew was we were somewhere on the Chesapeake Bay between Talbot County and Baltimore.

As I dropped the tarp, I glanced at Perry. He lay on his back, eyes wide open, staring at me.

"Hey," I whispered. "You feel all right?"

Perry said nothing, didn't even nod his head. Just looked at me as if he hated me too much to waste his breath talking.

"You want something to eat?" I showed him the biscuits and cheese Miss Sally had given us.

He made no response. Feeling irked, I told myself he was missing his mama something terrible. Maybe it had nothing to do with me at all. Maybe he was just too sad to talk.

"How about a drink of water?" I asked, trying to be patient. "Ain't you thirsty?"

Still nothing.

"Maybe you need to pee." I pointed at the bucket, which was already beginning to scent the air under the tarp. "You can use that."

When he was done with the bucket, I ate my share of the biscuits and cheese. Perry watched like he'd forgotten what eating was and had no interest in remembering.

"Come on," I begged, waving a biscuit under his nose. "You need to eat. You'll get too weak to walk."

Perry kept his mouth shut so tight it might have been drawn on his face with a pencil.

"Listen here," I said, running out of patience with him. "You ain't the first child in this world to lose your mama. My own mama died when I was younger than you, and my daddy died soon after. I still feel mighty bad about it, but I don't go round making everybody else miserable."

Perry looked at me as if my loss had no bearing on his own misery. "It's not the same," he said. "You have kin to care for you. You're not all alone in the world like me." Tears filled his eyes and ran down his cheeks.

"You got kin, Perry. That's why we're going to Baltimore. Remember? Your mama wants you to be with your aunt Polly, your daddy's very own sister."

Perry scowled at me through his tears. "What if she gives me back to the Widow?"

"Why on earth would she do that?"

He gave me a look that clearly said I was too stupid to put one foot in front of the other. "I'm not white like her, am I?" Then, without saying another word, he turned away and curled up into a little ball.

I stared at his back. It was true that some white folks scorned their black kin, but others treated them real good. I figured Lydia knew Polly a sight better than Perry did. If she trusted Polly, then I trusted Polly, too.

Weary of arguing with the child, I set the food down beside him. "There it is," I said. "Your share. Take it or leave it." I lay back and closed my eyes. My stomach rose and fell with the boat, and I wished I hadn't eaten so much. Hoping to feel better, I let the motion rock me back to sleep.

The next time I woke, I could tell by the noise and commotion we'd docked. The crew was unloading the fish, shouting and calling to each other to mind this and watch that. Perry was awake, too. I noticed he'd eaten his food.

Captain Harrison had told us not to show ourselves till he said it was safe, so we stayed in the dinghy and waited. It was hot and stuffy and the bucketful of pee stunk like an outhouse in desperate need of lime. Though Perry didn't so much as wrinkle his nose, I was busting my britches to breathe some fresh air.

At last Captain Harrison poked his face under the tarpaulin. "You can come out now, boys," he said. "And dump that bucket overboard. I swear, it reeks to high heaven."

After I'd done as he said, I stood on the deck of the
Sally H.
and stared at the harbor. Never had I seen anything like Baltimore City. Ships of all sizes and kinds rocked on the water—steamboats with tall stacks and paddlewheels, old schooners, sloops, barges, and I don't know what all. Some were from foreign places, China, England, Holland, India. Their names were painted on the prows in strange writing with curlicued letters, and they flew flags I'd never seen before. Others were as American as the
Sally H.

The ships' decks swarmed with crews loading and unloading everything from fish to tea and silk. They called out to one another in languages I'd never heard. The whole world seemed to be right here in Baltimore. Why, the very air smelled like spice with a tang of dead fish and salty water mixed in.

Beyond the harbor, tall, skinny houses crowded together, row after row of them, climbing uphill from the water. Their rooftops and chimneys stretched toward the sky. Here and there church steeples poked up, higher than everything else, pointing the way to heaven. Closer to the ground was a jumble of waterfront taverns. Most likely that was as far as Uncle Philemon got on his visits to Baltimore.

Somewhere amongst all those buildings was the house where Miss Polly Baxter lived. I hoped with all my heart to get Perry there safely and be back to the Shore before my uncle even noticed I was gone.

CHAPTER 7

Captain Harrison tapped my shoulder to get my attention. "Where are you taking the boy?"

"Number 115 West Monument Street," I told him.

"That's not too far from here." He thought a second or two and told me the way. "Just be sure and aim for the Washington Monument at the top of the hill on Charles Street," he finished up. "West Monument Street will be to your left."

It seemed a long way to walk with a runaway slave, but Captain Harrison said nobody would pay Perry any mind. "If they ask," he added, "just say your daddy owns him."

"Nobody owns me," Perry spoke up for the first time all morning. "If you say anyone does, I'll call you a liar, Jesse Sherman."

"That's the right spirit," Captain Harrison said, "but sometimes you have to lie to protect yourself, Perry. You can't go around announcing to the world you're a runaway. Got to show some sense."

Perry frowned and jammed his hands deep in his pockets. The captain turned his head and spat overboard into the thick brown water. The Bay was a sight dirtier here in Baltimore. I saw a rat floating belly up, keeping company with a mess of dead fish, rotten fruit, bottles, broken crates and barrels, all washing against the sides of the
Sally H.

Captain Harrison laid his hand on my shoulder. "Be careful, Jesse. The city's in an ugly mood today. Got something to do with Union troops coming through on their way south. Looks like trouble."

Perry paid no mind to this, but I remembered what Uncle Philemon had said. "What kind of trouble?" I asked.

The captain shook his head. "All I can say is keep your wits about you. If anything goes wrong, I can't wait on you. My crew expects to be home tonight."

Before we left the wharf, I looked back at the
Sally H.
Captain Harrison was watching us from the deck, his face worried. "Remember what I said," he called. "Get back to the boat before dark."

With Perry beside me, I led the way up Fell Street. It seemed like everyone was out and about, rushing here and there, pushing and yelling. Women as well as men, blacks as well as white, free men as well as slaves, all going about their business. Some sold wares, shouting out what they had—fish and crabs, mostly. Others shouted what they could do for you—mend your pots, sharpen your knives, pull your teeth, cure your ills.

Nobody paid Perry and me any notice. To keep from being shoved into the street, we edged along close to the houses, dodging doorsteps and trash. So far I'd seen nothing to make me like Baltimore. I could scarcely wait to get back to the Shore and breathe fresh air again.

As we passed a tavern, three men barged out the door and nearly knocked us flat. "Those Yankee soldiers ain't coming through Baltimore," one of them yelled.

"No, sir, just let 'em try," another hollered and waved a South Carolina flag.

At the same moment, a gang of rough-looking sailors and roustabouts surged past us. Some were carrying clubs and bottles. One brandished a harpoon. Others had rocks in their hands. They were shouting and swearing about Mr. Lincoln's army, too.

Another mob poured out of a tavern across the street. "To the train station," a big red-faced man shouted. "That's where the Yankees are. Come on, boys, let's bust some heads!"

Perry and I pressed ourselves against a building and watched them go by. Though I tried to hide it, I was scared. The men were looking for a fight, any fool could see that. And drunk, too, from the smell of them. Like the captain had said, trouble was brewing for sure.

On Lancaster Street, the crowd was bigger. The men were all going the same way, and we were carried along with them like bits of wood in a flooded river. Though Perry didn't have nothing to say, he kept close to my side without me telling him to. I reckoned he realized it was a good thing he had company.

At the President Street Station, we were stopped by a team of horses trying to pull train cars full of Yankee soldiers along a track running right down the middle of the road. I don't know where the locomotive was. Maybe it was busted.

But whatever the cause, the soldiers were in a bad situation. All around them, men were tearing up cobblestones and hurling them and whatever else they could grab at the cars. Train windows shattered. The Yankees inside ducked and swore. The horses pulling the cars whinnied and reared up.

A bunch of roustabouts dragged anchors and timbers from the wharves and shoved them on the tracks. Gunshots rang out here and there. People cursed the Union and Mr. Lincoln both. A skinny man in a shabby frock coat waved the South Carolina flag and cheered for the rebels.