Which Way Freedom (13 page)

“You see her?” Obi asked dully, his mind still on Easter.

“Not yet, but I get there an' I bringin' them back here with me.”

“It be dangerous.” Obi looked at his friend, his eyes large and sad.

“I know, but I gettin' them anyway. An' I gonna pick up a rifle an' show them slavers that I a man too.”

As the month of May wore on, the heat of the sun grew more intense. Daniel and a few of the other men on the plantation joined the black regiment. Obi wanted to continue his search for Lorena, but Daniel persuaded him to stay on the island a while longer.

One evening, as they ate supper in the communal eating area near the cooking shed, Daniel said, “I a army man, but I still do my same job. I leavin' tomorrow, Obi, an' I comin' back with Minna, little Daniel, an' Easter.” He smiled and scooped up a spoonful of rice. “I be gone a little longer this time. Ain't leavin' Charleston without Minna an' the baby. I a soldier now,” he said proudly.

“Be careful. Rebels say you a slave—not a soldier,” Obi said.

Daniel grinned as if he didn't have a care in the world. “My hide be wide an' strong.”

“Them Rebel shells be wider an' stronger,” Obi warned.

Daniel rested his spoon on the plate. “Don't go runnin' off nowhere till I get back, Obi. I bringin' them women
with me. Maybe I even pick up Gabriel an' that hardhead, Mariah, an' bring them back too.”

Daniel left the next morning. Obi watched sadly as his friend walked toward the river, where the ferry would take him to the mainland. He almost ran after him, to tell him again to be careful.

Obi worked the rice fields and waited impatiently for Daniel's return. A few more men joined the black regiment, but not Obi.

In the sweltering evenings as he walked from the rice fields to the quarter, he barely noticed the ex-field hands, still in overalls and straw hats. They were being drilled by a soldier on what used to be the well-kept lawn in front of the family house.

By the middle of July, when the rice was beginning to ripen, Daniel had not yet returned. Obi began to worry. He'd sit by the wharf when he wasn't working and look for the familiar face among the fugitives who were still escaping in droves to the Sea islands.

On a burning mid-August afternoon, while Obi pulled the weeds from around the rice plants, he thought he heard someone calling him. Looking toward the edge of the field, he saw a man he knew approaching him.

“Obi,” the man yelled excitedly, “Daniel been kilt.”

“You lie, man!” Obi cried.

“No,” the man said, “a soldier tell me when I sell he the eggs his mornin'. Rebels shoot he. Find out he spyin' for the Yankee.”

Obi felt like flying into a rage, but just as suddenly he felt empty, as if life had been drained out of him also. The man shook his head sadly. “Son, better time comin'.”

Obi left the field and walked back to the quarter. He sat on the ground in front of the shack where he and Daniel had often sat and talked in the evenings.
Lorena gone. Easter an' Jason gone. Buka dead. Daniel dead. Everything dead.
He didn't cry outwardly, but inside, the tears flowed like the river when the floodgates were opened onto the rice fields.

Over the familiar cries of birds and the sounds of hammering and horses whinnying, he heard the shrill voice of the drillmaster. Recalling how slaves helped one another complete their tasks, Obi stood up. He had to complete Daniel's job now.

Obi walked toward the big house. Moving with precision, the soldiers of the black regiment drilled on the lawn. They wore a uniform of dark-blue trousers and wide, black hats. Obi stepped up to the young, white soldier who assisted the drillmaster.

“Suh,” he said softly, “I joinin' those men.”

“Sorry, feller. This regiment is about to be disbanded,” he said.

Obi was confused, “Suh?” he asked.

“Orders from Washington. The Captain gave us the news today. Said that there'll be no black regiments in the army, but now you fellers will be paid when you work for us.”

Obi watched the men turning left, then right as they followed the drillmaster's orders.

“This is the last drill for them,” the soldier said as he watched the men. Then he turned to Obi. “Don't look so downhearted, feller. You're free as long as you're on our territory. You'll be earning a wage too.” He smiled pleasantly.

Obi walked back to the quarter. He didn't have the energy to figure out what the soldier meant, except that there would be no black soldiers in the Union Army.
Daniel die for nothin' an' l can't help him.

As he trudged along the oak-lined lawn, he wiped the sweat running down his smooth face. Even the trees couldn't offer shade from the fiery August sun.

Instead of going to the fields the next morning, he headed toward the river. He'd collect the reeds and palm leaves he needed in order to make another boat and continue to look for Lorena. He pulled up a few long reeds and then stopped. Making a boat only made him feel worse about Easter and Daniel.

A man who had been in the black regiment walked over to him. “You gonna work for the Yankees too?” he asked.

A flock of rice birds flew above them. “Yankee don't want us for soldier. I goin' south to Mexico, just like them bird,” he said quietly.

“The drillmaster say they go start another regiment. In the meantime, I goin' to the wharf an' make some money. Yankee hirin' men to load an' unload the boats an' supply wagons.”

Obi left the reeds where he'd dropped them and walked along the riverbank with the man. Maybe Daniel was right. Lorena was the past. He had to think about the future.

“We get pay for work? We get real money?” Obi asked.

“Yes. No more slave for someone else. No more workin' for nothin'.”

Obi stayed on the island and worked as a stevedore for the Union Army, loading and unloading boats. Not a day went by that he didn't think about Easter and Daniel. Slowly he came to believe that if the Yankees won the war, then slavery would be dead too. He began to think like Daniel and wanted to help make sure the Yankees won.

As 1862 drew to an end, a rumor spread through the plantation like the winter rains. President Lincoln was going to sign a paper declaring all slaves free.

Nor are they lazy, either about work or drill; in all respects
they seem better material for soldiers than I had dared to hope.

Colonel Thomas W. Higginson,
December 3, 1862
From
Army Life in a Black Regiment

1863
It was a chilly New Year's Day when the captain summoned everyone to the plantation lawn so that he could tell them about the paper the President had signed.

Standing tall and pale on the steps of the family house, he made the announcement. “The paper says that all slaves in those states fighting us are now free.”

Suppose there were slaves in places that didn't fight the Yankees,
Obi mused.
Were they free too? Was Easter an Jason free now? Maybe the Yankees only fought people who had slaves.
A young woman standing near Obi crossed her arms as the wind blew her tattered shawl.

“Captain, suh,” she called out, “do them slave-drivin' Rebels know 'bout this paper?”

“That's what I thinkin' too,” a man behind Obi mumbled.

The captain hesitated for a moment before he answered. “The Confederacy knows, but they're rebelling against us,
and that's why we're fighting,” he answered, fingering the gold-colored sash around his waist.

The same young woman spoke up again. “If them Rebels come an' take this island back, we be slave again?”

Before the captain could respond, another man called out. “Suh, in other words, them Rebels ain't payin' that paper no mind, is they?”

The captain cleared his throat as his face started to color.

“We'll make them pay it some mind,” he said.

Everyone began to talk at the same time. Obi wondered whether this news meant that he could go to the mainland and bring Easter and Jason to the island. He didn't have the nerve to question the captain like the others did. Anyway, he reasoned, the Rebels weren't freeing anyone, and Easter and Jason were in Rebel territory.

The captain held up a thin hand. “Quiet. I have more news. All able-bodied men of African descent will be allowed to join the military.”

Obi smiled slowly while some of the men cheered.
Now I finish Daniel's task.

On a rainy, dreary morning two weeks after the captain's announcement, Obi was on a ferry with about thirty other men from Green Hills Plantation. They were headed for the training camp at another Sea island off the Carolina coast.

Obi and some of the others leaned over the boat's railing as the ferry pulled out from the island. A few of the men waved to friends and relatives who'd come to the wharf to see them off. Obi's mind was on Daniel, wishing that they were making this trip together.

Obi touched his breast, checking to see if the pouch containing his twenty-four dollars was still pinned to the inside of his jacket. He'd earned the money during the five months he'd worked for the army. Money for him, Easter, and Jason when they began their new life together.

When the boat reached the landing at Hilton Head Island
, they left the ferry and were led by two white soldiers to the camp. Obi remembered the Confederate camp by the river as they passed the cabins and soldiers' tents. Some soldiers were already being drilled, and others were learning how to use the artillery. Obi's group was brought to a long, well-built log house that stood beside several frame buildings.

The log house had one large room. A few black men sat on benches lining the walls. Several other blacks stood in front of a white soldier who sat behind a desk covered with papers.

Another soldier sat at a desk in a far corner of the room. A couple of young white troops lounged on the edge of his desk, watching the new black recruits.

“Line up behind these men,” one of the soldiers ordered.

While Obi stood on line, he looked around the bare room. The white soldiers at the corner desk watched the scene with amused smiles.

Obi was startled when the soldier behind the desk yelled, “Next!” The other men from Obi's group had finished being questioned by the man. They sat together on several benches.

Obi stepped up to the desk.

“Your name?” he asked gruffly.

“Obi, suh.”

“Your full name.”

“Obidiah, suh.” He still had to listen carefully to understand Yankee talk.

“I mean full name. Two names. First and last.”

“Only have one, suh.”

“Mother Mary,” the man mumbled. “I mean family name. Ain't you got a family name?”

“No, suh. Got no family.”

“What was your master's name?”

Obi hesitated before answering. “John Jennings, suh.”

“That'll be your name, then.” The man wrote quickly on a piece of paper. “You're now Private Obidiah Jennings.”

“Suh, that's not my family. My mother name Lorena.”

“Doesn't count,” he said impatiently, handing Obi a piece of paper. “Take a seat until you're called.”

“But suh, my name ain't Jennings,” Obi insisted, clenching his fist.

“That's what it is now!” he shouted. “Move on! We ain't got all day!”

The room became quiet except for a loud laugh from one of the white soldiers.

A man from the group that had been on the boat with Obi left the bench and approached him. “It don't mean nothin'. I use Master Turner name. Now I John Turner.”

“I ain't care what you use. My name ain't Jennings!” Obi snapped. John shrugged his shoulders and sat down again.

Another man who'd also been on the boat said, “I use my mother name. Chaney. I Joseph Chaney. Go an' tell the man to change it to your ma's name.”

There was a long line of men still waiting their turn. Obi was too angry and embarrassed to go back to the man. He turned to the men on the bench. “None of you better call me that name. My name's Obi.”

He plopped down angrily on a bench by himself and turned the paper he'd been given upside down and right side up, then front to back. His head throbbed as he looked at the man again and then at the paper he couldn't read. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to join the army. Maybe he should have stuck to his original plans. He angrily crumpled the paper into a ball.

“Don't tear it up. You may need it.”

Obi looked at the speaker and couldn't respond at first because he thought he was seeing and hearing things. A black man he'd seen when they entered the room stood over him. Obi couldn't believe he was hearing Yankee sounds coming out of this man's full mouth.

“What's that you be sayin'?” Obi asked.

The man sat down next to Obi. “My name's Thomas
West.” He put out his hand. Obi, still staring, shook Thomas's hand slowly.

“My name Obi,” he finally responded. Though he knew it was impolite, he couldn't stop staring at the man. Even though his heavy trousers and jacket were old and worn, he didn't look like a field hand, nor did he look like an ex-slave house servant.

“How you learn that Yankee talk?” Obi asked.

“I was born in New York.”

“New York?” Obi looked puzzled.

“A northern city.”

“Oh. You free colored?” Buka had told Obi about free blacks in the North. Buka was the only “free colored” Obi had known personally.

“Who was you master before you free?”

“Never had one,” Thomas replied, looking down at the crumpled paper in Obi's hand. “You'll probably need that paper. Shows that you're in the army.” Thomas watched Obi intently with wide eyes.

“I saw you turning the paper back and forth. Can't you read?” he asked cautiously, not wanting to offend Obi.