Beyond the Shackles of Double Tree

By Xlibris US

I've read and studied the history of slavery most of my life. I know that there are many who would like to know more about the history of slavery. the inhuman treatment of a people kept in bondage. Writing this book I feel will give those who want to know more, like the younger generation, regardless of their ethnic background to know and understand what slavery was about.

Growing up in the South, in the Civil Rights era, I have experienced first hand the cruelty of one human being to another. As a Child I heard the many stories of slavery, from my grandparents who learned from their parents about slaves in America. This part of history was not taught in schools, but my novel although a fiction tells the true story of a people that lived in human bondage.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493177110

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Copyright © 2008, 2014 by Sharlene Tate.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 05/05/2014

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1 Double Tree Plantation (1700S)

A New Land

The Meeting

Chapter 2 Starting A New Life

Chapter 3 Double Tree

Chapter 4 The Wedding Day

I dedicate this book to my husband for his love and support, and my children and friends for their encouragement and support.

CHAPTER 1

DOUBLE TREE PLANTATION (1700s)

The hot Georgia sun beat relentlessly down on Jackson Sinclair as he rode his horse through the rows of his vast sugarcane crop, observing the tall, leafy green stalks with pride. He was pleased with himself. Looks darn good, he mumbled to himself.

Poppa thought I wouldn’t be able to keep the plantation running without him around, thought he was the only one that could get a good day’s work out of these niggers. Jackson was deep in thought when suddenly his steed reared and pranced skittishly to the side.

Trying to get the horse under control he swore loudly as the tall, thin, dark body of Pike, one of his slaves, jumped up from between the cane rows. Frightened by the skittish horse’s movement, Pike fell backward, landing on his butt close to the horse’s moving hoofs. He was only missed by inches of being stepped on by the jittery animal.

Lying in the dirt, Pike’s eyes widened in shock, not at being narrowly stepped on by the horse but at being caught by Massa asleep instead of working. Boy! Jackson shouted, pulling his coiled cat-o’-nine from the side of his horse and pointing the butt of it at Pike. What you doing out hea laying down? Ya spose to be cutting this cane.

Yas suh, Massa, Pike said, jumping up and adjusting his torn, dirty britches and shuffling from one foot to the other. I’s jes come out hea ta pee, Massa suh; I’s bout ta bust, suh, he said, looking down at the scurrying ants crawling around his encrusted dirty feet.

He dared not look up into the master’s eyes.

You squat to pee, boy? Jackson asked, narrowing his eyes.

Looks to me you was squattin down.

Oh naw suh Massa suh, ole Pike hea was jes squattin down ta git de blade fa cutting de cane suh, he said grinning at the ground.

Ya callin me a liar, nigger! Jackson shouted at Pike, waiting for his answer.

Oh, naw suh, naw suh, Massa, Pike said quickly, his large lips trembling with fear.

Standing at the end of his cane row Big Mose some called him stood watching the exchange between master and slave. He watched as Pike shuffled from one foot to the other, afraid to look the massa directly in his eyes. Pike kept his eyes down watching the ants scurry across the top of his feet; a nervous twitch made his large lips move at will. Dat boy jes shiftless an lazy. He gwonna git hisself in big truble one a dese days, Big Mose thought to himself, shaking his head. He a good boy. Jes lazy.

"You! Over there! Big Mose! What ya lookin at, boy, ain’t enough work to keep ya blade swinging?" Jackson shouted, pointing the cat-o’-nine now in Mose’s direction.

Yas suh, hit’s pleny nough ta do, Massa suh. I’s sho nuff keep dis blade a swaing, Mose answered, turning back to his work.

Bending his broad back he lifted his powerful arm, delivering a mighty blow downward, cutting into the stalks of cane, using strong, swift strokes with his cane knife. You better not let me catch you or this boy lazing around again, Jackson yelled at his back, cause if I do I’m going to skin both yo black hides, you hear me, nigger, Jackson called out, throwing the whip out and snapping it in the air toward Big Mose. Yas suh, Massa Sinclair, yassa I heas ya, Big Mose said, nodding his head but not looking up. He swung his huge arms back and forth cutting the thick cane stalks with one swift whack after another. Git back to work, boy, Jackson yelled down at Pike, fo I put the cat-o’-nine to yo back. Pike was caught off guard; his attention had shifted to Big Mose, but the snap of the whip made him jump in fear. Fearful, Pike bowed his head down, looking at his feet. He was afraid to move even while the ants bit away at his dirt-encrusted foot. You hea me, nigga, Jackson shouted, making Pike tremble at the thought of his threat to lash him. Turning quickly he ran back to the spot where he’d stopped cutting cane, and grabbing the cane stalk with one hand, Pike started whacking away with the sharp blade, cutting the thick sugarcane stalks with renewed vigor. It was common knowledge to all the slaves how young Massa Sinclair could make a cat-o’-nine-tails sing in the air before he brought it down to gouge out deep groves on one’s back. Every slave who had been whipped by the young Master sported badly disfigured backs. Jackson didn’t whip often like his father, old Jeb Sinclair had when he was alive, but when the young Master did, it was for a serious crime like murdering another slave, running, or lying. Pike never did any of these crimes except maybe stealing, which wasn’t a crime to him; it was a way of life on the plantation, but Jackson was about to add another one to his list—laziness—and Pike would be one of the first to feel the sting for this crime. Cutting the stalks with renewed gusto, just thinking of the cat-o’-nine-tails on his thin back made Pike shiver with unthinkable fear. Big Mose slowed his pace as he cautiously looked up to see the Master turn his spirited horse around and gallop toward the plantation. Pike also watched him gallop away; he knew that Jackson was headed home to eat his noon meal.

Dropping his cane knife and finding himself another comfortable spot between the cane rows, he lay back down to finish his nap. Dat lazy Pike gonna git hissef whupped good one’a dese days, Mose thought to himself as he watched him lay back down between the cane rows to continue his interrupted nap.

Peaches! Young Massa a comin, come on hea an git his julep fo he gits down offa dat hoss. Hop to it gal, fo I back han ya one cross de lip, Hattie the plantation cook shouted. Jes cos yo ole Massa’s git, don mean ya git special treatin.

Yassum, Momma Hattie, Peaches said, running at breakneck speed through the kitchen and into the pantry to get dried mint leaves to crush for the massa’s drink.

Ya be quick ni, gal, Massa’s yea bout on de poch, Momma Hattie yelled at her, hurriedly preparing the table.

Hattie was a big-boned tall black woman, and Peaches had never seen her back down from anyone, man or woman. Even the Masters spoke civil to her. As long as Peaches was old enough to walk and talk, she had never seen either of the Masters fuss at or whup Momma Hattie. She had a motherly kindness about her; she wasn’t always hollering. But she wanted everything to always be right for her Master so she threatened the slaves with some type of punishment, but never carried out her threat. Hattie hurriedly pulled the hot biscuits out of the old iron contraption, which took up half the kitchen wall. The huge iron box had been there as long as Hattie could remember. Old Massa Jeb Sinclair had the contraption special made after he’d seen one like it when he went to New Orleans to sell some livestock along with several slaves he had branded for running. The contraption had been a surprise for his wife. Massa Jackson’s mother. When she invited guests over for her fancy parties, she would have Hattie fix her special dinners and desserts when she entertained her many guests. The gigantic iron contraption had to be shipped in parts, by two different ways of transportation to the plantation in order to arrive around the same time, about a week apart instead of months apart. The three large parts of iron were shipped by boat and then by wagon; two supply wagons traveled many miles to carry the large metal pieces. When all three parts of the metal arrived, the plantation blacksmith, old Jake was summoned and told to put the three pieces together. Jake shook his head in amazement when he saw the monstrosity. Hump, white folk sho got dem some fool notions he said to himself, whut dey needs wit dis gret big ole piece a iron, bisskits an de gravy cooks jes de same on de fie an ashes.

Double Tree Plantation was built to be self-sustaining; the slaves were taught to build houses, do all the blacksmith work, and the women slaves were taught how to do all the seamstress work as well as making candles, soap, doing all the laundry, and cooking for a few special guests or a banquet meal for hundreds if needed. There were trained midwives to deliver the picanninies in the community birthing house, and the young slave girls who had given birth not only suckled their own child but whoever child needed feeding. The Sinclairs didn’t have to go outside of Double Tree for much of anything. Not even to sell or buy slaves, because each wench was assigned to a buck, and if too many wenchs gave birth Jeb would send several slaves out to surrounding plantations to let neighbors know that they would be holding an auction right on the plantation grounds. Jeb Sinclair ran a self-sufficient plantation when he was alive, and now his only son Jackson followed in his footsteps.

Hattie hurriedly placed the biscuits on a tray laden with ham, chicken, fried rabbit, and fresh-caught fried fish. She knew her master loved a variety of meats for lunch, and every day she delighted him with something special. Hattie was a fixture around the plantation. Most of the slaves came to her if they had a problem or needed advice. Even Jackson from time to time consulted her on slave matters. Jackson could not remember a time without her being there. She was the only mother he’d ever known. She had raised him when his own mother died when he was just a baby. She would scold him, but always lovingly or in a teasing manner, and he’d obey her demands as the slaves did. It seemed to the slaves as if Hattie was as old as Double Tree itself. Hattie had been born on the plantation when Massa Jeb’s father, Master Nelson Sinclair, ran the plantation.

By the time Jeb was born, Hattie and her brother Jessie were old enough to sit and watch their mother in the big kitchen as she prepared meals for the Sinclair household. Jeb was just a young man when he took over the running of the Double Tree, because his father Nelson could no longer run the place. Jeb, cruel and mean-spirited like his father, was also hotheaded like him. Hattie never forgot the time Massa Nelson had branded and sold away her oldest brother Jessie because he kept running away to a neighboring plantation to see a slave girl there.

Hattie remembered how her mother Attie Mae had died begging Massa Nelson to please buy her son back, but old Nelson turned deaf ears on her pleading. On the day she died Attie Mae whispered to Hattie, Wok hard, chile, an do whut dey wonts ya ta do, an ya stay strong, gal, ya hea me, she’d said, pulling Hattie down to her so she could hear her weak voice. Den one dey when ya gits de chance git away fom hea an fine yo brother. Attie Mae had always worked hard for Master Nelson, and had taken care of Massa Jeb when he was a little boy, only to have her own boy sold away.

As a little boy Jeb had that cruel streak, too. He had all of the slaves afraid of him. Hattie remembered that he always demanded that the slaves young and old call him Massa. If anyone forgot they might end up missing a toe, finger, sometimes even an eye. When he became sixteen not one female slave was safe from him including Hattie, although she was four years older than him. On the night when Attie Mae closed her eyes for the last time, young Jeb waited until everyone was in bed before he snuck into Hattie’s little room off the kitchen that she had shared with her mother, and forced her onto her pallet on the floor right next to Attie Mae’s cold body.

Months later Hattie found herself with child. When Jeb found out, he threatened Hattie. If you so much as breathe a word to anyone that that’s mine, he said pointing to her belly and looking into her frightened eyes. I’ll kill you and that darkie you carrying, hear me nigga? He grabbed her arm in a viselike grip and pulled her close to him with lips drawn back in a murderous snarl. Hattie shook her head in agreement, fearing for herself and child. Jeb’s lips turned up into an evil grin, and he pushed her away from him so hard she fell to the floor. Holding her stomach, Hattie cried in silent fear as he walked out the door. She knew that he would surely kill her and her unborn child if she ever said a word to anyone. Even when she was questioned by old Master Nelson and Maude, who was Jeb’s mother, the mistress of the house, she refused to talk. She didn’t believe Master Nelson or the mistress would really harm her because they had loved her mother, but she had no such beliefs about Master Jeb. She knew he meant every word he had said to her. The promise she had made to her mother stayed in her mind; one day she would leave this place, take her baby, and run and look for her brother Jesse. She’d promised her mother on her dying bed she would find him.

When the good Lord told her it was time to go, she was gonna go without looking back, not knowing whether her brother was still living or not after all these years, but she would keep her promise to her momma.

After Hattie had the baby, the old mistress ordered it taken to the community slave quarters to be left with the other slave children to be cared for by the old women slaves who could no longer work in the fields. Hattie cried, begging the mistress to let her bring her baby into the house. You tell me who got you with that picanniny and I’ll think on it," the mistress said to her; she was sure it was either her husband’s or young Jeb’s because the picanniny was as white as a white child. Hattie said nothing. She knew Massa Jeb would keep his word and kill her and her baby for sure.

As the years passed by, Hattie only got glimpses of her child. She knew who she was because she was the whitest child on the plantation except for Jackson, who was born three years after her Peaches. Jeb had finally taken himself a wife, marrying a young plump girl named Abigail Whittington who loved Jeb in spite of his cruelty. Abigail took over the running of the house after old Mistress Maude fell ill and died, unable to fight the raging fever that ravaged her body, and three years later Abigail died, never fully recovering after Jackson’s birth. Abigail had been kinder than Maude and had allowed Peaches to come help Hattie in the kitchen. She had heard it rumored that the white-looking child was Hattie’s but she never asked Hattie who the father was. Hattie didn’t tell little Peaches that she was her mother; she had not raised the child, and old Jeb was still as mean as ever, never acknowledging Peaches as his own, so she kept the secret in her heart. Hattie was given the task of raising Jackson, Jeb’s only son, when Abigail died. Jackson was still a baby, unable to remember much about his mother; he remembered only what he’d been told by his father and Momma Hattie.

Momma Hattie didn’t look her age. She was big-boned but not fat, and her skin was like smooth, dark oak, not a line or a wrinkle to tell of the hard times she had endured when Master Jeb took over running the plantation. Jeb had been four years younger than Hattie, but when he died he’d looked ten years older than she, and after he died she continued to keep the secret about Peaches being her child.

By the time Jeb died, Jackson was old enough to run the plantation. Jeb had taught him well. Although he was not as cruel as his father when it came to disciplining the slaves, Jackson knew how to handle them if they needed disciplining.

Jeb loved his son, and knowing that he didn’t have long to live, he would entreat Jackson to sit with him many evenings before retiring to bed, often telling him of how his family had come to America and built the biggest sugarcane plantation in the south. Jackson had heard the story told many times by his father when he was growing up about how his family came to be. He grew tired of the story, but he let the old man ramble on until he’d fall asleep.

Don’t ever forgit where you came from, son, Jeb told him. All this will be yours one day, he said, waving his hand in a sweeping motion to show the vast inheritance that would one day be Jackson’s.

A NEW LAND

The Sinclairs had owned Double Tree since the early 1600s. Old Jeb Sinclair’s great great grandfather Drake had come over from England with his family as poor immigrants; this story was related to Jackson many times by Jeb as the story had been told to him by his father of how the Sinclairs had become one of the richest families in the new world. In England the Sinclairs had taken care of, and farmed land for a wealthy Duke. When the Duke died of an unknown disease his family moved away after selling off all of his land and holdings. The Sinclairs were left with nowhere to go, and with only a few livestock and the pittance that the Duke’s wife had given them for their years of service. This was barely enough to feed the family, and Drake Sinclair was forced to beg the new tenant to let him and his family remain in the run-down cottage until he could find other lodgings. Then one morning while Drake Sinclair was out and about looking for work he heard about the new land across the ocean.

Pondering this he decided to sell what little belongings he had and buy passage for his family. Little did he know what the new world had in store for him and his family, but he was willing to take the risk. Many did not survive the perilous journey crossing the ocean, and the ones who did, including the Sinclairs, had little money or personal belongings to start over with, and knew nothing about the red-skinned people who inhabited the new land called Georgia. By sheer will and back-breaking work, Drake and his family managed to work hard and secure land that the new land government was offering to all newcomers who were willing to cultivate and live on the land alongside the Indians. The Indians resented the new invasion of whites, but the whites had nowhere else to go, so they stayed and fought.

The Indians ran off or killed many of the whites, but the Sinclairs were farmers and accustomed to fighting for their survival. In theSinclair family there were six. Three boys-Troy, Jebulon, Patrick and one sister, Clarissa, and then there was Poppa Drake Sinclair and his wife Muriel. After being in the new country for just three years and fighting the Indians off, the Sinclairs soon became well known for the sugarcane and cotton they grew. As more money was made, more land was bought and cleared, and Drake began to invest in slave labor to help with the work. At first Drake was unable to purchase many slaves, but as the demand for sugar grew, the Sinclairs increased the planting of the profitable crop and began to buy more and more slaves to harvest the fields. In the space of seven years the Sinclairs owned over 200 acres of land and over one hundred slaves. They became known as the most prosperous slave and landowners in Georgia. Being the head of the Sinclair family, Drake dreamed of building a large house for his family one day. When they’d first arrived, he and his sons cut trees and built a small log cabin for his family of six. As time went by Drake’s dream for a bigger and better house for his wife and family soon became a reality. He looked for and found a man from England who was highly recommended for building large stately homes. Drake hired the man to build with no regard to price. He wanted something better for his wife, who had worked hard by his side all those years and he felt she deserved the best.

Drake did not live to see the house completed, but when the house was finished Muriel planted two small oak trees at the front entrance of the wooden gate in memory of her husband, and she named the Plantation Double Tree, which became known as one of the most prosperous plantations in Georgia. The plantation was handed down to Jeb Sinclair after his father Nelson Sinclair died. Nelson Sinclair was the son of Thomas Sinclair, who was the oldest son of Jebulon, who was Drake Sinclair’s middle son. It was a rich history, which old Jeb often told his son Jackson.

THE MEETING

Planning The Escape

It was a hot day and Jackson was tired and ready for his noonday meal. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he took the steps two at a time reaching his favorite chair. Sitting back in the comfortable rocking chair he looked out over his land. He enjoyed doing this every day. It made him feel like he’d done a little better than his poppa. Peaches hurried onto the porch with tray in hand, holding the drink out for Jackson. Where you been, gal? he asked, taking his drink from the tray. I been sitting here waiting for my drink for some time now. How come you just now getting here with it?

Peaches looked down at her hands trembling at her side. Next time I sit down, my drink best be in my hand befo my butt hits this chair.

Yessa, Massa Sinclair, I’s gwine be right hea wit yo drank, fo yo butt hits de chair, Peaches said, fumbling with her apron, looking down at her toes. She hoped the master wouldn’t see how nervous she was. Jackson glared at the white-looking girl standing before him. He had heard whispers by slaves and white neighbors alike that Peaches was his sister. Waving his hand at her, Peaches stepped back against the wall and waited for his next command.

Jackson always wondered about that rumor, and one day getting up the nerve before Jeb died he’d asked him the question that everyone whispered about and Jeb had kept secret for many years.

Ya she’s one of my gits, he said weakly. And the whitest one I eva seen, he said, looking up at Jackson from his bed. Who’s the gal’s mammy? Jackson asked him, wanting to know more about this secret past that Jeb had kept secret for so long. Jeb lapsed into silence, closing his eyes with a weary sigh. I’m tired, boy. I needs my rest. Jackson looked down at the frail old man wanting to shake the secret from him; instead he turned quietly, leaving the old man to rest. Two days later Jeb died in his sleep, taking the secrets with him to the grave.

How’s my Massa Jackson dis purty noon day, Hattie said, walking with stately grace onto the veranda, smiling, pulling Jackson back to reality as he sat sipping his julep. Yo vittles all ready in de dinin room, massa suh, all hot an jes awaitin fo ya, she said, looking down at him. Doggone it, Hattie, ain’t I told you to stop calling my food vittles. I ain’t no nigger you hear, slaves eat vittles, not white folks, Jackson said, draining his glass and plunking it down on the tray that Peaches hurriedly held out as he stood up. I’s sorry, Massa Jackson, Hattie said, holding her head up a notch and looking him in the eyes. I’s been callin vittles, vittles all ma days an yo hollin an fussing bout me callin vittles, vittles ain’t gwan mek me start ta callin it supten diffrin. Hattie looked him in the eyes without batting her own. You’re set in your ways, Hattie, Jackson said with a hint of a smile on his lips, but you the only one who can talk back at me and git away with it. He bent to whisper this in her ear quietly as he moved to go into the dining room. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly as she turned on Peaches, who was standing and looking, trying to catch every word. Gots iron in dem foots gal, whut cha standin dere fuh? Ant ya gots wuk dat need tendin.

Yesum, Momma Hattie, Peaches said as she turned, disappearing into the house. Peaches did not want to displease Momma Hattie today. There was going to be a secret meeting for the slaves at midnight, and Momma Hattie had said she could go and find out what the meeting was about, if she finished all of her work.

Hattie knew that Big Mose had called the meeting and many of the slaves trusted and looked up to him and looked forward to hearing what he had to say. She liked Big Mose herself; he reminded her of Jesse, her big brother whom she had lost many years ago. She had known when Mose came to Double Tree as a young boy, defiant and always sullen-looking, running around in ragged clothes, he had a certain way about him—strong-willed yet caring. He’d always ask questions when a slave was beaten for some small thing he had done.

Hows come de white man whups him fuh dat, or Hows come he whups dat boy fo dat? He had lots of questions that Hattie didn’t have answers for, but he was always around to comfort and encourage the slaves.

If I’s could, Hattie thought, I’s sneak out me self an hea whut dat boy gots ta say, but she knew that Massa Jackson was always calling for her to bring him this and get him that. He kept her busy taking care of him and the house slaves. She dared not sneak out to the meeting in case Jackson called and she couldn’t be found and he came looking for her. Hattie knew it would kill her if Big Mose was caught holding a secret gathering at night with the slaves. Massa would surely whup him dead and that would be like losing her brother Jesse all over again.

The noonday bell ran for the slaves working in the fields to stop for their meal. Big Mose straightened up, wiping his brow. He looked over at Pike, who had dropped his cane knife and was running down the rows to get his meager meal, wrapped in a cloth and hanging in a tree to keep the scavengers away. The only thing you had to worry about when your food was hanging in a tree was ants, and if you hung it out far enough on the limb you didn’t have to worry about too many of them getting to the food. The food was a meager staple of fatback hog meat and ash bread, cooked in a hole dug in the ashes of the fire built for cooking in front of each slave shack. The master had given the overseer permission to give every slave an allowance of food at the end of each week, and if you didn’t ration your food properly each day, by the end of the week you would surely go hungry. Big Mose headed for his food, also hanging in the big gnarled oak tree where he’d hung it before they started work early that morning. The gleeful laughter of the other slaves could be heard as they all went to the tree where they’d hung their noon fare.

The trees were littered with rags with food tied in them. Some had not rationed their food properly and had none to eat. When Big Mose got to the tree, there were several men already sitting and eating.

Reaching up to untie his cloth from the tree limb, he squatted down to eat. The overseer rode by on his horse glancing at the slaves as he passed them by, a tall thin white man who the slaves paid little attention to when Jackson wasn’t around. Hey, Big Mose, Jasper called out to Mose as he looked up biting off a piece of his ash bread. Set ova hea, he said, patting a space beside him, so’s we kin talk. Kant let too many yars hea whut we talks bout, he said, looking over at Pike. It’a sho nuf git back ta ole Massa fo we gits back ta da quarters ta night." Jasper was a lot older than Mose, and he and Mose had been friends for a long time. When Jasper first met Mose he could see that he was an intelligent boy, someone he could rely on and talk to. Out of all the slaves on the plantation Jasper would bet his life that Mose was the only one who he could trust.

Jasper noticed that whenever Mose talked to the other slaves he always looked them in the eye, even Purdy, the shiftless drunken white overseer; everyone Jasper noticed except for the master. Jasper couldn’t figure it out. He knew that it was dangerous to do so, and he knew that Big Mose wasn’t afraid of anyone black or white, or so it seemed that way to him. He remembered one day asking Mose while they were working in the field, Hi comes ya don look de massa dead in de eyes when he talks ta you, Jasper asked, like ya do de ole overseer? Mose gave him a half smile, stopping a few minutes to rest beside the sugarcane stalks. Well, I’s reckon I’s learn fom my pappy, he said, wiping the sweat from his face. "He useta tells me, ‘If’n ya talks ta folk ya oughta look em in de eyes, black an white.’

My pappy he be too proud ta look down or away fom his massa an he end up gittin sold. I agree wit em bout lookin folks in de eyes, cept fo when deys talkin wit de massa. Ya see, he said, bending down, grabbing a cane stalk to cut, de Massa hols de ropes ta yo lif in his hans, an he kin pull em any way he wonts ta, so I’s carful not ta look him in de eyes cus he takes it lak I’s one a dem uppity niggers who figger dey’s betta den him. But ya gotta thank aroun em, an let em figger ya ain’t gots no sense an one dey if’n ya eber thank bout runing fom hea ol Massa he gwon say… (Mose looked up from cutting the cane and smiled at Jasper) I figgered dat nigger din hab a nuff brains in de head ta run. Jasper laughed shaking his head, matching Mose stroke for stroke as he continued to cut the cane stalkes. But dere gwon always be slaves grinning an shufflin dey feets, an bowin down ta de massa. An killin a nigger wont mean nuthin a tall ta em, Mose continued. But he gwonna be riled up fa sho if’n de nigger gots de sense ta run off. But, Mose said, bending over close, looking Jasper in the eye, he gwina be mo watchful de nexs time cus dey thank deys smarter den us slaves." Jasper listened, nodding his head as they both fell silent.

Sitting back against the tree Jasper chewed his food. He had no family and never talked about any, and no one ever asked. His past was so dark and hurtful that he kept it to himself. The only ones he’d thought of as family since he’d arrived at Double Tree were Mose and Momma Hattie.

Mose chewed his food slowly, his attention suddenly turned to Pike, who was trying to talk to Thadus. Jasper had also noticed Pike trying to talk to Thadus, who seemed to be asleep. Shaking his head he turned back to Mose, putting the last piece of greasy meat in his mouth. I hea you called a midnight gathering of the faithful folks, Jasper said, chewing quickly and talking quietly so only Mose could hear. Mose looked around himself, noticing who was within earshot.

Most of the men there were part of the faithful folks, as he called them. The ones who he knew would tell Massa nothing even if it cost them their lives. Out of the eight who were there, there were only two he did not trust, Pike and Thadus. He didn’t trust Pike because he was a young hothead, lazy and shiftless, thinking of no one but himself. Thadus was just plain ole crooked. He was big and always looked mean and angry. He was missing an ear because his former Master Kyle Bowman, who had owned him before had a plantation somewhere down in Louisiana had caught him stealing when he was about fifteen and cut it off. Thadus had run away only to be caught and whipped within an inch of his life; when his wounds had healed, old Kyle Bowman sold him to the highest bidder. Jackson didn’t care about his scars or the absent ear, only that he was big and healthy enough to work. He’d bought him because he looked strong, and would probably last at least five years in the cane fields. No one trusted Thadus, and Thadus trusted no one. Big Mose and Jasper sat talking among themselves, and the other boys, Nate, Jesse, Semmie, Gus, and Ben, gathered close around to listen. Thadus sat leaning against an old tree stump, sitting a few feet away from the big oak.

After eating his food he lay back against the stump with his eyes closed as if taking a nap. Thadus knew none of the slaves liked him but it didn’t bother him; he didn’t like any of them either, especially Mose, who everyone treated like he was a leader. Thadus sat quietly and was trying to catch a word of what was being said by the men gathered under the oak. Pike was sitting on the ground next to him leaning against the stump and kept whining to him about how tired he was of working in the fields. Why don we runs fom dis hea place, Thadus, he said. We kin do it tagethur, jes you an me, we kin do it one night when de big moon is shinnin brite. Ant nobody gwan know we’s don gon come monin.

Shet yo mouf up, boy! Thadus yelled, aggravated at not being able to hear the conversation by the oak tree. Opening his eyes and staring at Pike with a mean look. I kan’ res wit ya flappin yo lips he said slunging a ham-like arm out at him, hitting Pike on the side of the head with his fist. Git on fom me, ya lazy good fo nuthin nigga, fo I knocks yo crazy. Yapping loudly, Pike jumped away holding his head from the painful blow. Thadus rose up on one knee to strike again. Pike moved hurriedly away, so as not to get caught by another of Thadus’s big fists, he rubbed his sore head tearfully. Everyone turned to stare over at the two. No need ta hit da boy like dat, Big Mose said to Thadus, he don mean no harm."

Mose hadn’t heard Pike’s plans to run; all he’d seen was Thadus’s fist aimed at the boy’s head. Thadus stood up, walking slowly over, looking down at Big Mose. The other slaves eased up and moved away from Big Mose. Jasper sat still. He would move if the time came because he wasn’t worried about Big Mose getting hurt; he knew his big friend could take care of himself. He just didn’t want him to get caught fighting because Massa would whip both of them and then have them both locked up if the news of the fight got to him. Then they would not be able to meet or congregate for months, and that would set their plans back. Jasper didn’t want anything to get in the way of their plans to escape from the shackles of Double Tree. He would intervene if necessary.

Yo say sumethin ta me, nigger boy? Thadus said, leering down at Mose. Big Mose looked up at Thadus from a sitting position. Ni ain’t de time an ni ain’t de place but de times a comin, Thadus, de times a comin, an I hope ya be ready cos one a us ain’t gwine ta live ta tell bout it. Thadus’s eyes got big and his bottom lip jutted out like a big sausage. I’s take care ya right hea an ni, he said, balling his huge fist up. Just then the noonday bell rang, bringing an end to the confrontation. Thadus slowly let his arms drop, looking around at the others. Backing out of the crowd that had surrounded him and Big Mose, he walked away, pushing the nearest slave to him angrily out of his way. Big Mose was glad the bell had sounded; he didn’t want anything to happen to spoil his plan to get free of this place. Jes a lil bit longa, he said to himself, an I’s be free, an who eber ames ta go wit me we’s gwinna be free, den I’s gives dat ole Thadus whut he wonts fore I leaves, a good whuppin. Jasper and Big Mose stood up to go along with the others who had already started back to the fields.

We gwon be meetin at de ole ova’seea shack, Mose said to Jasper as they parted. Ta night at de full moon, a few of de ones we trus dey nos bout it, ya git wurd ta dem dat don no bout de meetin dat wonts ta come, Mose said, putting his hand on Jasper’s arm, but only de ones ya kin trus. Jasper nodded as he headed for the cane field. Mose thought about this life of drudgery, and the older he got, the more determined he was to break the chains.

The overseer on the plantation, whose name was Purdy, was afraid of his own shadow, and none of the slaves was afraid of him.

He was a tall white man who had grown flabby from drinking too much. The slaves considered him weak and paid him little attention as he rode around the fields on his mule. Whenever the master rode up on his horse he’d straighten up in his saddle and try to look intimidating but as soon as Jackson rode away he would slump back down in his saddle, his red-rimmed eyes staring off into the distance.

Purdy had no interest in the slaves or the work; he couldn’t wait to get home in the evenings to drink himself into a stupor. The slaves had no interest in Purdy either. They pretended to work hard for Purdy when Massa Jackson was around. Good day ta ya, Massa Purdy suh, fine day, Massa Purdy, they’d call out to him whenever Jackson happened to come around, but when he wasn’t around they talked to him like he was one of them. Purdy never mistreated the slaves or yelled at them because he had been around these slaves all his life, had played with many of them as a boy. The neighboring white slaveowner’s children laughed and poked fun at him and his poor family. He’d been taught how to read by his mother, who had made him read their tattered Bible every night by the fireplace light before he went to bed, and by the time he was grown he had read the Bible completely through several times. Purdy secretly taught some of the slaves to read, and the ones he liked most, he taught to write, including Big Mose. Purdy was perfectly content staying in his rundown shack and drinking his whiskey that Massa Jackson had provided for him. Jackson had never invited Purdy to dine in the big house or even to sit on the plantation veranda with him to have a cool drink. He’d always considered Purdy as being poor white trash, a little above the darkies. Purdy didn’t mind; he was closer to the slaves than to the men who had the same white skin as he did.

Purdy had been around long enough to know when the slaves were up to something, but he never said a word. The only thing that concerned him was having enough whiskey to last until he could get more. And he wasn’t about to tell on his friend Big Mose. He and Mose became good friends when Mose was brought to the plantation, a silent, unsmiling little boy. They were about the same age. Jasper wasn’t worried about Purdy telling if he found out about the plans; it was Thadus he was worried about. If Thadus knew anything about the meetings he would go right to the massa with the news.

Mose had been brought to Double Tree when he was very little. He had no recollection of how old he was, but he would never forget the day old Jeb Sinclair had come to the plantation where he was born.

Hickory Ridge Plantation was a small plantation in Alabama, and compared to Double Tree it was nothing but a large farm. Big Mose remembered a lot about his family and how they had been torn apart, never to see one another again. He didn’t know where his father had been taken after being sold to a mean-looking, red-haired, gray-eyed slave trader by ole Massa George. The funny-eyed white man left him that morning standing with his two younger siblings and his mother, who screamed and cried after the slave trader locked his father in shackles and marched him and the other slaves down the dusty road. Then Massa Jackson showed up, taking him from his mother, never to see his family again. Eventually Mose found out that his mother had died some years after he’d left the old farm. He had been at Double Tree about three years when a bunch of captured slaves were passing through with a slave trader who spent the night at Double Tree, bedding his slaves down in the slave pen. Ordered to help feed the slaves, Mose saw one of the slaves named Bose who had been born on the same plantation as himself. Bose told him that night what had happened since he’d sold away from the Hickory Ridge plantation.

Yo mammy was shot by dat cruel ova’seea Massa Fry cos she fused ta lay wit em. Den ole Massa Fry tol Massa George dat he shoot hur cos he catches hur tryin ta run. Don knows bout de othua chillins tho. Mose’s eyes clouded with tears, and he sat sniffing and rubbing his eye at the news of his mother. He could hardly see Bose in the dark, but Mose could see from the dimly lit lamp light that Bose had suffered hard under Massa Fry’s hand. Bose was only a little older than himself, but his scarred-up appearance made him look older than his years. He turned his back to Mose and showed him the deep imbedded scars that had healed over into deep, thick, rope-like ridges. There was a deep, dark hole where one of his eyes had been, and two fingers on his left hand were missing. Dis whut I gots fo runnin, he said, showing his scarred back and pointing at his missing eye to Mose. Old Fry poked dis eye out when I tries ta run de fust time, den I tries agin an he bout beat me ta deaf. De nex time he cuts off my fangus, Bose said, lifting up his mutilated hand, say he don wanna cut my lags doe, cos den I’s won be fit ta wok an he won be able ta git nuthin fo me if’n he wonts ta sell me.

Mose shook his head. Squatting down next to Bose he wrapped his arms around his knees; rocking back and forth with his head down on his knees, he could no longer bear to listen to the slave’s testimony of torture. In his shack that night lying on his pallet, his whole body shook with suppressed anger and sorrow as he cried again thinking about how his mother had died. The next morning before daybreak Bose was herded away with the other slaves so quietly Mose didn’t even hear them leave. Now he was determined to find his father and brothers if he could.

He remembered his father Paddy as being proud and strong, and not afraid to speak out. Old Massa George didn’t like Paddy, said he talked too much around the other niggers, putting bad thoughts into their heads, and he was too dangerous to have around. After Massa George had him whipped several times for speaking without permission and looking him in the eye, he sold him. It was whispered that the red-haired man who had bought Paddy had a large cane plantation somewhere down in Louisiana. This news had traveled to Big Mose and his mother from the gossiping house slaves at Hickory Ridge before he was sold to Jackson. Now years later, a slave told him that his mother was dead, shot by the hands of ole cruel Massa Fry the overseer, and he knew he had to find his father someday, somewhere.

Good evening, folks! Glad ya’ll come, Big Mose said, nodding to everyone who was able to sneak away and meet at the old shack. Each face that looked up at him had a look of fear mixed with anticipation.

The old shack was falling down from years of neglect. There were no windows, part of the roof was ripped away by many years of strong winds and rain, the inside smelled of old moldy, rotten wood, and the dirt floor was packed down and hard from years of trodding dirty feet, and now was home to whatever insect was seeking shelter.

It was the old shack that Purdy the overseer had grown up in, where he had been born. His father Cal and mother Matilda Clackett had been poor dirt farmers trying to survive by eking out a living helping Jeb Sinclair with the slaves. The story was told how they had arrived on Double Tree, how Cal had wandered onto the Sinclair’s plantation, just him and his pregnant wife. Both were raggedy, dirty, and half starved, and they looked as if they had traveled a great distance. Cal walked up to the back door of the big house and begged Jeb for a job. I’ll work for nothin, he said, just need a place for my little woman hea and myself to stay for a spell. He nodded toward Matilda. We don’t eat much and I’m a hard worker. The spell turned out to be eighteen years and a son. Cal was a strict but fair overseer. Matilda worked on the small piece of ground that surrounded the shack growing food and raising Purdy. When Purdy was ten Matilda died giving birth to her second child, who died along with her. Cal didn’t last too many years after her; he seemed to lose his will to live and drank himself into a stupor every night. One cold night during one of his drinking binges, he pulled himself up on his horse and galloped away. The next day they found him lying in a deep ravine, with his neck broken where he had fallen off his horse.

Now Purdy was grown and needed to provide for himself, so he talked Jackson Sinclair into letting him be overseer. He was moved up a notch by being granted a slave shack, which was a little better than the one he grew up in. It wasn’t much but it was his. Jackson Sinclair gave it to him in exchange for the work he did for him.

Big Mose looked at the slaves who had dared to sneak out, knowing what the punishment would be if they got caught. The ten adults sat looking at him. Mose noticed that Peaches the house slave was there too. He had a strong feeling for Peaches, and he could tell that she liked him too by the way she looked and smiled at him when he came to the house for some reason or another.

I ast yall hea ta night, Big Mose said, looking at each of them, cos I’s got wod fom de Pine Stone Plantation fom one a dem night runners dat some of dem slaves gwona run too. Night runners were slaves who had family or sweethearts on neighboring plantations and would sneak off in the middle of the night to visit them, and get home the next morning before they were missed. If we do dis right,

Big Mose said, "by hidin some vittles an tools we kin make it to de Nof. Jes de strong un’s be able ta go cos it be a long way. I knows we’s gwan be hunted fo, but I knows dere be white foks dat be willin ta hep us. I kin right jes as good as old Massa. I kin right us a pass ta take wit us if’n we needs one. It gwina take some time but we needs some time fo gittin thangs ready. It be almos de las of de summa days so I says we oughta be fixin ta go