The Resurrection of Nat Turner, Part 2: The Testimonial (30 page)

How could he sleep? He didn't want to sleep; he didn't want to dream. Not until he met with the men again that night. Each had his own hiding place, unknown to the others. It was safer that way. Only Hark and Will knew this place.

Nat Turner had dug himself a cave, a pit, at the base of the great oak tree. He pulled branches and fallen logs in behind him. From underneath, he covered the opening with the logs, branches, and leaves. It was light outside but dark in the cave.

Nat Turner smelled the rich, loamy smell of the earth. He sat propped against the damp, musky wall. He did not want to sleep. He did not want to dream. He was afraid to dream. He did not want to think; imagining the worst would do no good. They were all in God's hands.

There was no food, though he was not sure that he could have eaten. Exhausted, Nat Turner leaned back against the wall and prayed for night to come. He prayed for his men. He prayed for news of their safety.

Against his will, the dark and mossy smell lulled him to sleep. Mercifully, he dreamed of Cherry. He dreamed of his mother. He dream of Ethiopia.

He startled awake. He was still exhausted, panting, though night had come again. Holding his breath, Nat Turner listened. There were three shrill calls, mockingbirds' cries. It was the signal he and Hark had agreed on. It was his friend, his brother. Safe.

Nat Turner waited until he saw a shadow and heard footsteps above him. He reached his hand through the branches to make an opening. He made out the shape of one of his men.

It was not Hark. It was the death angel: It was Will.

W
ill had not kept to the plan. Instead of hiding, he had joined Yellow Nelson and Hark's band. He had met up with them at Benjamin Blunt's farm.

“Blunt was already alerted, his men on guard.”

Nat Turner was certain of it now. Someone had given them away.

Will was panting. “Handguns and shotguns. They were barricaded in the house. They shot at us. We could not get close to them.”

Even in the dark, Nat Turner saw that Will was covered with blood. He smelled the saltiness. But where was Hark? Nelson? “But the plan was if we were discovered we would scatter. Where are the others?”

Will did not seem to be listening. He was lost in his thoughts. “The men were still on foot.”

“But without ammunition and guns, there was no way you could fight—”

“We decided then and there to take a stand. It might be our last chance. We would die fighting.”

It was not the plan. It was not as they had agreed.

“It was a slaughter. We had clubs and axes against shotguns and rifles. We could not get close enough. Most got away. A few are dead.” Will paused, breathing heavily. “They captured Hark.”

The wind was knocked out of Nat Turner. He slumped back against the wall.

N
at Turner and Will planned in the darkness. They would find the others. They would try to gather those still alive. Nat Turner would rescue his brother Hark.

Will's breathing was ragged. “Hark made himself a target so the others could get away.” As Will described the encounter, Nat Turner realized it was the first time he had heard the man's voice. “Hark was like a bear! Like a bull!”

They would wait for darkness and then they would find the others. They would attempt to rescue Hark.

When darkness came again, they left the cave to search. They flagged down one of the Cheroenhaka Nottoway freemen, one of the Artis brothers riding on the road. “It's not safe for a black man to be out,” he told them. “Not even for a freeman.” But he promised to gather the others he could find—Berry Newsom, the Hathcock brothers. He told them to wait until the next night and then they would meet.

Nat and Will scrounged for berries and wild corn on their way back to the cave. It was hard waiting, both of them tormented with worry for the others. Nat fought imagining what the captors might do to Hark. He did not want to sleep; he might dream of Hark suffering, or of Sallie and the others. But sleep captured him and he dreamed of Cherry in the moonlight.

When they were not sleeping, Nat and Will sat in silence, occasionally whispering. They would meet with the Artis brothers and the others. They would get horses from the freemen and this time they would have weapons.

But when darkness came, the roads were already thick with
whites carrying torches and rifles. From their hiding place, Nat and Will saw the flickering lights of passing torches and heard the crack of firing guns.

They heard the faraway screams of captive men, women, and children. It was over. The revolt was over.

T
hey sat together in silence.

Both of them could not die. Someone had to get away, to tell the story. Nat Turner could not leave: It was his fate. But Will could get away. Nat Turner stared in the other man's direction. “Did the blood take the pain away?”

For a while, Will did not respond. Then he said, “I am not afraid to die.” Will's voice was full of venom. “I won't be finished until I see them all dead.”

“Has it made you better?”

“You question me? You started this whole thing,
Prophet.
We are both here together in the same hole. Are you better?”

“You are here because you wanted revenge. I am here because I want to see men live.”

Will's arm pounded against the earthen walls of the cave. “What difference does it make?”

“You could live.”

“Live? I am a dead man. I been dead a long time. How can I live when I have lost everyone I love?” Then, as though a scab had been torn away, Will told Nat Turner the story of his family, the land they lost, and how they came to be slaves. He told him of the loss of his father, his mother, his sister, his wife, and his little girl. “They killed me when they took my wife and child.” Nat Turner thought he heard him sob.

Will told Nat Turner about the things Nathaniel Francis and his friends had done. “I been watching, biding my time.” He told Nat Turner of the things he had seen done to Charlotte, and about Two Feet, Easter, and the others. “I will not be satisfied until I see
all of them—all white people—dead. I waited for years for this day to come, for my revenge. When I die, I'll take as many of them as I can with me. I will bathe in their blood.”

“You don't have to die, Will. You get away. This death is not for you.”

“I am as willing to die as anyone.”

“This death is not yours. Someone must live to tell the story. This death is mine. I will stay here, here with my family. You go. Go and find yours.”

“Find them how? Like a needle in a haystack. I will never see them in this life again.”

“You will find them.”

“How? The patrollers will catch me on the road. Even if I slip past them, where would I begin to find my family?”

“None of us is here by happenstance. Let Providence guide you.”

“Providence?” Will's laugh was bitter. “God abandoned me long ago.”

Nat Turner felt the rag still at his waist, the rag that held the passes. “You will travel by night. I will tell you the way to go and give you a pass.”

“They will catch me. They will kill me.”

“What is the difference if you are already a dead man?”

Will was silent.

“While others have died, you still live, Will. It is for a reason.”

“You still live, Nat Turner. Why don't you go instead?”

“My place is here, near my family. My place is here: It is God's will. When my time comes, they will deliver me up. My brothers will deliver me to death, but not before the truth is known. I bear the yoke of Christ, but it is not for you.” Nat Turner swallowed. “There is a family debt I owe.” He coughed to clear away the stone in his throat. “You can live again. Let yourself hope again. Go and find your family.

“The road will be long, but you will find your way. Don't be afraid.”

“I'm not afraid. I'm willing to die!”

“Dying is easy, Will. You have been bathed in their blood. Has it taken the ache away? Are you satisfied? Is your heart full? Is your loneliness gone? Has any of it brought back your daughter?” The questions hung in the darkness. “Has their blood brought you new life?”

“How can you question me, Nat Turner? You are the one who began this battle. You started this.”

“You have done your part. Those who have been captured will die. I will die. But you will live. You think your life is over, but there is new life for you in Christ.”

“Christ? Where was He when I needed Him, when I begged Him not to let them take my family? What does the white god care about black men's burdens?”

“You need to be alone with Him. If you ask Him He will give you the answers—if you really want them.”

“Why should I live? You are the preacher. You have a family. I am a slave with no family. I am no one.”

“If you don't live, there will be no witness. Our voices will die. They will bring false witnesses against me. But you will live and carry the truth with you of what was done to God's people and what happened here. The day will come when you will be called to be a witness. But first you must find life again. You must find love again. You must go and find your name.”

“But why me?”

Nat Turner sighed in the darkness. “I would like long life. But that is not God's plan for me. I am His servant. I will do His will. Our people will get to the Promised Land—I have my part to play in it and you have yours. I have been the hand of God's judgment. Now you must be His witness.

“Though I have had loss and suffering in this life, the Lord has given me some small joy. It was at my time of greatest suffering, buried in it, that I discovered my true joy.” He thought of his time in the Great Dismal Swamp. Nat Turner thought of his mother, his wife, and his family. He thought of his friendships with Hark
and Thomas Gray. He thought of his experiments, the books he'd read, and preaching as a circuit rider. “That time is over now. This grief and sorrow is for me to bear until the end.

“For the Lord's sake, and for the sake of His people, I have put on righteousness as a breastplate and salvation as a helmet. I put on vengeance for clothing and zeal as a cloak. I have meted out the Lord's judgment. According to their deeds, accordingly they have been repaid. I have carried out judgment and I will receive my reward.” Nat Turner thought of all the times he had seen Will at church. Always alone. He had never seen Will smile. “I have loved, I have lived, and I will live again.

“But you are a lonely man—no family, no friends, no wife, no daughter.”

There was silence again, only the wind rustling the leaves of the tree above their cave. “The Lord has looked past your anger. He sees it is just a mask you wear.” In the silence, in the dark, Nat Turner saw and heard Will's broken heart. “He has seen that you have lost your way. He has seen your broken heart. He is a God of mercy. Make your way to the place of refuge. Make your way to Hebron; you will find healing there. Freedom. He will give you new life. He will lead you home.”

“I have seen enough of the white man's freedom.” Will told Nat Turner the story of his father-in-law's death, of finding his moldering, unburied body. “What has God to do with me? He killed me long ago when He took my wife and my daughter. I am a dead man,” Will repeated. “I have had enough of the white man's god.”

“Not the white man's freedom. Not the white man's god. I speak of the One True God, who is God of all men, God of all nations, God of heaven and earth.”

“If God loves black men, how can He forgive white men?”

“Because He is Father to all; He is Father to those who offend and to those who have been offended. He is the Father and we are all brothers. God takes no pleasure in the death of His children, not even wicked ones.

“I have lost my family, too. But we must not confuse God with the power that pretends to be Him. He is love. He is the God of our forefathers.”

Nat Turner told Will the history that his mother had told him—of Sheba and Solomon. He told him of the great stone churches of Lalibela, and the Nile. “Lift up your head.

“God chose us to be here in Southampton, to be His mighty army. He could have chosen other men, greater men, but He chose us. We are His chosen—the foolish things, the weak things, the despised—sent to confound those who think they are favored above all others.

“He came to restore the lost and mend the brokenhearted. Why not us? Why not you? He is the God of judgment and also the God of love. Let Him bind your broken heart. Let Him free you.

“The blood of a thousand men could not make up for what has been done to you. Go find the One who can give you peace. Find the One True God, the God who smiles on Africa. Let Him be your Father, your friend. Find hope.”

In the darkness, Nat Turner told Will of King Xerxes' wicked reign and his repentance before God. He told him about Apollos the African from Alexandria, the great first-century orator and teacher who converted many to Christianity. He told him about St. Moses of Ethiopia, the warrior priest.

“He is Lord of all.” Nat Turner told Will that the first pictures painted of Christ and His mother were in Ethiopia, pictures from the fourth century that showed them with African skin and features. He told Will of the great cities of Aksum and Gondar and of the African saints. “The Lord thought the people of Africa so precious that He gave us to His mother as a special gift to care for and intercede for—she is our Mother of Mercy.

“He loves you. You are His son.

“He came to restore the lost, heal the sick, raise the dead, and mend the brokenhearted. I believe He wants to restore your life. God is a God of judgment and righteousness, but He is first the
God of love, of comfort, and restoration. In the midst of this warfare, I believe He seeks you.