Christian Cameron - Washington and Caesar

In the cold and wet of early morning, it was hard to get them to move. The walking kept taking its toll, and the tedium of constant anxiety was sapping their desire to go to Williamsburg at all. They were all tired from bad sleep, and a little hungry all the time. The wet was new. Their camps in the swamp had been snug. The rain was hard on their brush shelter and beginning to drip through, the drops cold on Caesar’s skin as he considered the others, mumbling to each other as they tried to crawl deeper into the shelter for warmth. He let them lie a while, and the rain brought warmer air. Caesar stayed awake. Four days of walking and good food were building him up. He felt better than he had since the fever hit. After a bit he threw the woman’s cloak over Jim and got up into the light rain and cleaned their pot with ash from the fire, a very rudimentary job. Then he wiped down his fowler, checked his pouch, gathered their few belongings, and woke them all up. In a few minutes, they were shambling off back up the track to the road, although Virgil slowed them while he fetched a coal from the old fire and tried to get his pipe lit. As soon as they reached the road, they were faced with choices of direction.

Caesar looked at the three paths headed off into the endless trees. “They all go north, now.”

“Right enough.” Tom had a strong sense of direction.

“Williamsburg is north and then some.”

“And across the bay, too. How we gon’ cross the bay?”

“Deal with that when we get to it. I reckon we can get a boat, or steal it.”

He looked at the three trails and reached out for Virgil’s pipe, which was lit and making the round. He didn’t usually smoke, but it helped his energy, and it kept the flies at bay.

“I figure it’s time to go east a bit. So we take the right.”

No one argued, and off they went.

By the end of that day, Caesar was growing tempted to head across country even if it meant facing the wet edge of the swamp. The trails and roads at the edge of the cultivated parts of Virginia were so unmarked, so empty, and so winding that he feared they might be going in circles. The added fear of discovery settled the issue. After a warm camp and no rain, they set off across country the next day, leaving the rough roads. The shortage of food that now worried Caesar was a cause for Jim’s secret rejoicing; the wallet of corn meal was three-quarters empty and no longer hurt him to carry. Virgil’s quarter of bacon was well down, too, although it still drew a cloud of flies every time they stopped.

Perhaps because of the lightened loads, or perhaps because they really were out of the swamp, they moved north quickly, and nightfall found them on the edge of a big plantation, the first they had seen. Caesar gave the word, and after a hasty meal in the woods they moved in the dark across the fields. No dogs barked, although the houses they saw now were lit. They clutched their guns and moved as quietly as they could, every one of them conscious that capture with a gun in hand would mean certain death. When they were too tired to go further, Caesar kept them at it past several lesser farms until they reached a wooded break extending off into the dark on both sides. The trees were large, and Caesar thought the area had been left for the master to hunt. All the better. He led them in on a deer path, and in an hour, the rising sun found them buried in fresh fall leaves, warm and asleep.

He wouldn’t risk the smoke from a fire when they awoke. They grumbled, but thirst drove them out of the woods before the sun was fully set, and they slipped down to the stream at the base of a long shallow ridge. The water was brackish and muddy from recent rain, and Caesar didn’t want to drink it, but he did. They all did. The sun went down in a blaze of color, somehow startling after the swamp. Sunsets happened in the swamp, but far away above the ever-present trees. The open country stretched away, beautiful and alien after the limited horizons they had lived with for months. They all stopped together in silent wonder. They sat on rocks under the bank of the little stream and watched the sun until the western sky showed only a faint trace of pumpkin afterglow and stars, and then Caesar led them away.

They moved in better moonlight that night, as the half moon was tending toward full. Caesar couldn’t remember the moon waning, and he could only figure that he had lost some time in his fever. Superstition and the sunset tried to tell him that time might pass differently out of the swamp, where things were open and it was harder to hide.

He didn’t want to try the loyalties of other slaves as they passed plantations and farms. He was afraid of betrayal and afraid that any slave who helped him would be dead if his own little band were caught and questioned. But as they headed a little east and stayed parallel to the road he knew they needed a fire and food. They had about one good meal left.

He led them east for half a day and got into some trees along another little muddy creek. It was miles from the nearest house and the country seemed wild. The last plantation was two days behind and they had seen only scattered cabins. Caesar judged it safe to build a small fire and cook the rest of the bacon. He risked a shot at a goose on the water, which Jim swam out and retrieved. They didn’t do a thorough job of cooking the goose, but it was fatty and it fed them, with the bacon as a breakfast, and corncakes to fill in the nooks and crannies. Grumbling decreased immediately, although Caesar knew they were at the end of the food.

He had a hazy idea that Williamsburg was on the other side of the bay; that much he remembered from the day when he had sailed into the Chesapeake as a new slave. He had no idea how they were going to cross that huge body of water, and he knew that it was miles around and with many inlets, bays, and rivers, all populated by slave owners. This was Tidewater, the heart of plantation country. By comparison, the Great Dismal Swamp was a haven. They were going to need food before crossing the bay. Caesar felt that the obvious solution would be to kill and butcher a big animal like a deer, if any could be found, and he was out early looking at the ground. What he found was both good and bad.

They were all awake when he returned, a tiny fire burning among the roots of an old oak. The smoke ran right up the tree and got lost among the branches, a good trick they had learned in the swamp. It didn’t cover everything, though.

“Smelt that fire a mile away,” he commented acidly as he entered their little camp.

“We kept you some tea, an’ it’s hot,” said Jim. He didn’t seem apologetic for the fire. They didn’t really believe that anyone would be looking for them, thought Caesar. Every one of them had been pursued, or had fought the slave-takers, and yet they didn’t really believe.

“There’s tracks down by the creek,” he said. “Man tracks, in boots.”

“Dogs?” asked Virgil. He was suddenly more alert.

“No dogs. But three men, moving fast. They went off north and east, the way we have to go.”

“Boots means white men,” said Tom.

“That it do. I saw deer tracks, too, over the hill.”

“Can’t shoot no deer while there’s men out there.”

“I’m goin’ to see if I can do jus’ that, friends.”

“We should all go.”

“Nope. I’ll take Jim. He’s the quietest. Virgil, you an’ Tom stay here, don’ make much fire, and keep your ears open. We need a place to go if we get spotted. Build us a frame to hang a deer and sharpen the knives. We need the meat an’ I’m goin’.”

It was a long speech, for Caesar. He sounded firm and decided, and none of them saw much point in arguing. It was the way he had-sure of himself, and sure of others. Jim followed him with the eagerness of a young dog, and Virgil rubbed out the little fire. Tom pulled out his razor knife and picked up a branch.