Richard Zimler - Hunting Midnight

“That sure enough explains the mud-mean things he’s been doing lately,” Morri said when I outlined my reasoning to her. “My God, I guess we’re done for. And there ain’t a blessed thing we can do.” She slumped in her chair. “I don’t know how this could have happened. Poor Weaver. Though maybe … maybe there’s still time for one of us to get away,” she said excitedly. “Would you take him with you, somewhere, anywhere — to your friends near Stromboli?”

“I don’t think that’s going to be necessary.”

I spoke with confidence, because I had read enough military-history books to know that surprise was the most powerful weapon of all. The important thing was that Edward was not aware that we knew he had discovered the slaves’ escape plans. He was still expecting them to flee tomorrow.

“We must leave now,” I told Morri.

“Now?! We can’t do that — it’s too soon.”

“No, what we cannot do is wait for them to catch us.”

I told her then to tell Weaver and the others to get ready. As she had originally planned, we would first take Mr. Johnson, Master Edward, and the two black foremen prisoner and lock them in one of the barns. I believed I’d thought of everything essential until she said, “Martha, Weaver’s wife, is at Comingtee with their children. They expect us to leave tomorrow. We can’t go without them.”

As the curfew bell had already rung, Weaver was back in his cabin. Morri and I found him there and she asked him to slip outside with her. He took the bad news stoically and went back in to make a plea to Saul, Sweet-Pea, and Drummond for their help. Regretfully, they refused. Nevertheless, Weaver, Morri, and I agreed on a plan. We would go to Mr. Johnson’s cottage and take him prisoner. Using his keys, we would fetch rope from the First Barn or the Big House and tie him up, then proceed to take the two foremen prisoner. Lastly, we would restrain Master Edward and carry him to the barn as well. Then Weaver would run to Comingtee to bring back his wife and children.

Morri fetched us two swords from under the piazza. While she waited outside the kitchen, Weaver and I crept along the path to the overseer’s house, which was between the Big House and the wooden bridge over the Cooper River to Comingtee. His door was locked, but a side window was open. It squealed when I eased it up. With our hearts pounding, Weaver and I awaited the sound of Johnson stirring from his bed. Hearing nothing, I eased inside over the sill. Weaver held a lighted candle, but a lamp on a table inside already cast a yellow light through the barren parlor. A staircase led up to the open door of the bedroom. Weaver joined me.

Mr. Johnson had to have heard the creaking of our footsteps on the bare planks of his floor. I gripped my sword in both hands as hard as I could. When he appeared on the stairs, I would run for him and slash my blade across his legs. He’d likely get a shot off at me, but Weaver would be able to take him before he could load a second ball.

So tight was I holding my sword that my wrists were aching. Despite the heat, I felt chilled to the bone. Surely a minute had passed by already without a sound.

My sword upraised, I went up the stairs and peered in the doorway. The bed was empty. It was too dark to tell for sure if Johnson was standing in a corner waiting to put a bullet into my head. I slashed my sword before me and jumped inside the room.

No one was there.

Weaver then had the good sense to go to the window. About two hundred yards away was the bridge to Comingtee. By the light of the moon we could see two men seated there. One appeared to be Johnson. Both men had muskets.

Mr. Johnson and his colleague were plainly standing guard between the two plantations. Obviously, Master Edward had been told by whoever had betrayed Morri that Weaver’s family was hoping to join us. On this last night before our scheduled departure, they undoubtedly intended to prevent any communication between the two plantations.

As we rushed down the stairs, I was convinced that our hopes rested on Master Edward being as overconfident as he had always seemed. For if more than these two men were concealed around the plantation, waiting to spring on us, then all was truly lost.

A change of strategy was required. We would first have to subdue the black foremen and make quick work of them; if they succeeded in screaming, they would alert Johnson and his friend on the bridge to their plight. We needed a numerical advantage. Weaver would have to risk waking the slaves in the next cabin: Backbend, Parker, and Randolph.

Morri ran into the Big House to fetch Crow. They returned together with a length of rope. Weaver and Crow then went to the second slave cabin to get the other men. Morri and I remained outside. As her resolve seemed to be failing, I assured her we still had surprise on our side and that it would see us to victory. She said she hoped hanging was a quick way to die.

The two black foremen were given the privilege of sleeping alone in half of the ground house cabin. Weaver was the first in. He, Parker, and I dove for Copper, the stronger of the two, while Backbend, Randolph, and Crow went for Nighthawk. It is a difficult thing to subdue a frightened man who knows that he is despised, and I received a nasty kick in the jaw from Copper. Parker had to punch him twice in the gut to take the fight out of him.

When we had his massive hands tied behind his back, he strained at his bindings with such ferocity that I feared he’d kill us all if he were to break free. A towel was forced in his mouth and tied tight around his head with twine.

Nighthawk gave up much quicker and accepted the gag without a fight. Crow told him he would not be killed, and he plainly put his faith in that vow.

Morri had been standing guard. She did not believe that Master Edward or Mr. Johnson could have heard our struggle. We carried the two foremen back behind the First Barn and left them there, bound tightly together on their bellies, their feet tied back to their hands.

Wiggie, who slept in the Second Barn with his beloved carriages, must have been roused by our struggle and trudged to the door in just a nightshirt, rubbing his sleepy face. When we told him of our plans, he said it was madness and that we ought to confess ourselves to Master Edward immediately, which prompted Weaver to insist on tying him up. Wiggie assured us that he would not tell, but we could not risk it. While Weaver and Parker were at their work, tears ran down the coachman’s cheeks. Morri apologized for us. We left him with the two foremen.

I asked Weaver to go now to the boat landing and row across the Cooper River. From there, he could make his way on foot to Comingtee without being seen by the men on the bridge.

Weaver assured me he would be back with his family in less than two hours. Morri, Crow, and I then walked to the Big House to take Edward prisoner.

Crow had informed us that the Master was likely still in his bedroom with Joanne, the young cook who’d replaced Mary-belle. “He’s playin’ hide and seek with her,” he’d said.

When we barged in, we found him standing behind the girl. At first, they looked at us in horror. Then Joanne reached for a blanket and covered her modesty.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Edward bellowed.

“Put on your trousers. We are going for a walk to the barn, where you will remain for a time. You will not be hurt.”

“But this is preposterous! A white man like you helping the niggers … You will be hanged.” When I shrugged, he said, “Stewart, you are completely and utterly mad!”

“Put on your trousers.” It made me giddy to give him orders.

“This is treason.”

“Aye, it is, but nevertheless you will do as I say.”