The Confessions of Nat Turner Part 8

"Mr. Pemberton is one of the wealthiest gentlemen in Richmond.

He is an architect and a builder of houses and he is in great need of skilled hands right now. Besides being a man of cultivation and learning, Mr. Pemberton shares most of the ideas I myself possess about the use of labor. In his business in Richmond he employs many accomplished free Negroes and slaves as carpenters, bricklayers, tinsmiths, and other artisans.

What I propose to do, Nat, is simply this. If all goes well with you during the next three years-and I have no reason to doubt that anything will go awry-"

He's going to hire me out, I thought, he's going to hire me out to Mr. Pemberton, that's what he's going to do. I began to feel a creeping fear, thinking: So he trained me all these years just so he could hire me out in Richmond to Mr. Bushrod Pemberton- "-Then I shall send you to Mr. Pemberton, under whose employ you will work as a carpenter for the following four years. Mr.

Pemberton lives in a beautiful old home in the shadow of St.

John's Church. I have seen the quarters where he sleeps his 154.

servants; they are in a quiet alleyway behind the house and I can tell you, Nat, that never a darky could wish for a nicer place to live. Another thing, Mr. Pemberton is engaged in building a block of fine row houses in the center of town, and I expect you will fit in perfectly on the job from the very beginning. You will pay me half of the wages you earn from him-"

So it is all as simple as that. He's getting rid of me. And so what all this means is that I will have to go away from Turner's Mill. It all this means is that I will have to go away from Turner's Mill. It ain't fair. It ain't fair ain't fair. It ain't fair.

"-retaining the other half for yourself in savings for the future.

Thereupon, at Mr. Pemberton's good report of your labor-and again I have no doubt that this might be anything but exemplary-I shall draw up the papers for your emanc.i.p.ation.

You will then at the age of twenty-five be a free man."

He paused and gave my shoulder a soft nudge with his gloved fist, adding: "I shall only stipulate that you return to Turner's Mill for a visit every blue moon or two-with whichever young darky girl you have taken for a wife!"

Suddenly I realized that he was trembling with emotion. He ceased talking and blew his nose with a loud honk. Baffled, helpless, I opened my mouth but my lips parted on a fragile wisp of air, unable to speak a word, and just at that moment he turned aside brusquely and tapped his horse into a quick trot, calling back: "Come on, Nat, time's flying! We must get to Jerusalem before that jeweler has sold out all his pearls!"

A free man. Never in a n.i.g.g.e.r boy's head was there such wild sudden confusion. For as surely as the fact of bondage itself, the prospect of freedom may generate ideas that are immediately obsessed and half crazy, so I think I am being quite exact in saying that my first reaction to this awesome magnanimity was one of ingrat.i.tude, panic, and self-concern. And the reasons were as simple and as natural as a heartbeat. Because such was my attachment to Turner's Mill-the house and the woods and the serene and familiar landscape which had composed my entire memory and the fact of my becoming becoming and had fas.h.i.+oned me into what I was-that the idea of leaving it filled me with a homesickness so keen that it was like a bereavement. To part from a man like Ma.r.s.e Samuel, whom I regarded with as much devotion as it was possible to contain, was loss enough; it seemed almost insupportable to say good-bye to a sunny and generous household which, black though I was, had cherished The Confessions of Nat Turner and had fas.h.i.+oned me into what I was-that the idea of leaving it filled me with a homesickness so keen that it was like a bereavement. To part from a man like Ma.r.s.e Samuel, whom I regarded with as much devotion as it was possible to contain, was loss enough; it seemed almost insupportable to say good-bye to a sunny and generous household which, black though I was, had cherished 155.

me as a child and despite all-despite the unrelenting fact of my n.i.g.g.e.rness, the eternal subservience of my manner and the leftovers I ate even now and my cramped servant's room and the occasional low ch.o.r.es I was still compelled to do, and the near-drowned yet lingering and miserable recollection of my mother in a drunken overseer's arms-had been my benign and peaceable universe for eighteen years. To be shut away from this was more than I thought I could bear.

"But I don't want to go to any Richmond!" I heard myself howling at Ma.r.s.e Samuel, galloping after him now. "I don't want to work for any Mr. Pemberton! Naw Naw sir!" I cried. "Unh- sir!" I cried. "Unh- unh unh, I want to stay right here!" (Thinking now of my mother's words long ago, and still another fear: Druther be a low cornfield n.i.g.g.e.r or dead than Druther be a low cornfield n.i.g.g.e.r or dead than a free n.i.g.g.e.r. Dey sets a n.i.g.g.e.r free and only thing dat po' soul a free n.i.g.g.e.r. Dey sets a n.i.g.g.e.r free and only thing dat po' soul gits to eat is what's left over of de garbage after de skunks an' gits to eat is what's left over of de garbage after de skunks an'

dogs has et . . . ) "Naw!" I yelled. "Unh- . . . ) "Naw!" I yelled. "Unh- unh! unh! " "

But all I could hear was Ma.r.s.e Samuel shouting not to me but to his horse, now plunging ahead through flying and pinwheeling billows of autumn leaves: "Hey, Tom! Old Nat won't feel that way for . . . long . . . will . . . he . . . boy!"

And of course he was right. For many months afterward I worried off and on about my future in Richmond. But my worst fears began to melt away even that morning as we approached Jerusalem, when like some blessed warmth there slowly crept over me an understanding of this gift of my own salvation, which only one in G.o.d knew how many thousands of Negroes could hope ever to receive, and was beyond all prizing. I would have, after all, several years before I'd be leaving Turner's Mill. As for the rest, to be a free man in a fine city working at a trade he cherished was not a fate to be despised; many a poor outcast white man had inherited far less, and therefore I should give thanks unto the Lord. I did so that day in Jerusalem, while waiting for Ma.r.s.e Samuel in the shadow of a stable wall, taking my Bible from the saddlebag and praying alone on my knees while carts clattered by and the sound of a blacksmith's hammer rang out like the clang of a cymbal: O G.o.d, thou art my G.o.d; O G.o.d, thou art my G.o.d; early will I seek thee . . . because thy lovingkindness is better early will I seek thee . . . because thy lovingkindness is better than life, my lips shall praise thee than life, my lips shall praise thee . . . . . .

Yet that afternoon on the way back to Turner's Mill, just as my joy and exultancy grew and I listened to Ma.r.s.e Samuel describe the kind of good work that would be in store for me in Richmond (he too was in radiant spirits, he had bought Miss Nell a 156.

resplendent gold and enamel French brooch and was glowing with pride), we encountered on the road a sight so troubling that it was like a shape of darkness pa.s.sing across the bright October sun, and it looms over my memory of this day as persistently as the recollection of some exhausted moment toward the year's end when one looks out and finds that all is hushed and that night has begun to fall, and there steals over the tongue the first flat dead taste of winter.

The slave coffle had halted at the side of the road, not far below the clearing where the wagon trace began. Had we started out ten minutes later it would have been on its way again, we should not have seen it. I began to count, and I saw that there were about forty Negro men and boys skimpily clad in ragged cotton s.h.i.+rts and trousers; they were linked to each other by chains that girdled their waists and each was manacled with double cuffs of iron which now lay loose in their laps or on the ground. I had never seen Negroes in chains before. None of them spoke as we pa.s.sed, and their silence was oppressive, abject, hurtful, and chilling. They sat or squatted in a line straggling through the fiery mounds of fallen leaves at the wayside; some were chomping on handfuls of corn pone in a listless fas.h.i.+on, some dozed against each other, one gangling big fellow rose as we approached and wall-eyed and expressionless began to p.i.s.s into the ditch, a small boy of eight or nine lay weeping desperately and hopelessly against a fat middle-aged s.h.i.+ny liver-colored man gone sound asleep where he sat. Still no one spoke, and as we moved on I heard only a faint c.h.i.n.king sound of their chains and now the single lugubrious plunking of a jew's-harp, very slow, tuneless, and with a weird leaden monotony, like someone pounding in senseless rhythm on a crowbar. The three drovers were youngish sort of sun-reddened men, fair-haired and mustached, and all wore muddy boots; one of them carried a leather bullwhip and it was he who tipped his wide straw hat to Ma.r.s.e Samuel as we came up to them and stopped. The chains c.h.i.n.ked faintly in the ditch, the jew's-harp went bunk-bunk-bunk-bunk bunk-bunk-bunk-bunk.

"Where are you bound?" Ma.r.s.e Samuel said. He had lost all trace of his gaiety now, and his voice sounded disturbed and strained.

"Dublin, in Georgia, sir," was the reply.

"And where do you hail from?" he asked.

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"Up in Surry County, near Bacon's Castle, sir. They done broke up the Ryder plantation and these here is Ryder's n.i.g.g.e.rs. sir.

Georgia bound, we is."

"When did you leave Surry?" Ma.r.s.e Samuel said.

"Morning of the day afore yesterday," the drover said. "We'd be a heap further along excepting we took a wrong turning after dark somewheres up in Suss.e.x and got ourselves proper lost for a bit." He grinned suddenly, exposing teeth so black with tobacco stain that they seemed almost lost in the hollow of his mouth. "It ain't always easy to find the way down here, sir. In Jerusalem we got many misdirections. Are we headed the right way for Carolina and the routes south, sir?"

But Ma.r.s.e Samuel failed to respond to the question then, exclaiming in a voice touched with disbelief: "The Ryder plantation too! And these are the Ryder Negroes. Lord G.o.d, things must be getting bad up there when-" But abruptly he broke off and said in reply: "Yes, you should arrive at Hicks' Ford after nightfall. Then I believe there is an overland trace which will take you across the line to Gaston, thence down to Raleigh by the regular route. When do you expect to reach your destination in Georgia?"

"Well, sir," the drover replied, still beaming, "I has taken many a gang of n.i.g.g.e.rs from Virginia down to Georgia though never from Surry before on account of the trading gentleman I works for is Mr. Gordon Davenport, who has bought most of his n.i.g.g.e.rs up on t'other side of the James in counties like King William and New Kent. The n.i.g.g.e.rs from up there is mostly old stock Lower Guinea n.i.g.g.e.rs with short leg shanks and poor const.i.tutionals and seeing as how you can't walk n.i.g.g.e.rs like that for more'n twenty miles a day you'd be lucky sometimes to make Savannah River inside of six weeks. And has to lash the mortal s.h.i.+t out'n 'em all the way." He paused and spat into the leaves. "But see, sir," he continued patiently to explain, "I happens to know that these Southside n.i.g.g.e.rs from Surry and Isle of Wight and Prince George is most all of them late stock true Upper Guineamen with long shanks and healthy const.i.tutionals, by and large, and you can get twenty-five even thirty miles a day out of 'em easy, even the b.i.t.c.hes and young'uns, and hardly ever have to lay on none of 'em a stroke of the whip. Which is all fine with me. So I reckon that except for floods and such like we will fetch Dublin the second week in November."

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"And so the Ryder place is finished too!" Ma.r.s.e Samuel said after a long pause. "I knew it was failing but-so soon! The last grand old place in Surry; it is hard to believe!"

"'Tain't hard to believe, sir," the drover said. "Land up there has got so miserable poor you can't make a gift of it. Ain't nothing but the acorns to eat in Surry, sir. They says a bluejay flyin' over has to tote his own food-" One of the other drovers began to chuckle and snort.

As he spoke, my mare who was disposed to sidle at times sidestepped her way a few yards down the line away from the drovers, tossing her mane and drawing to a nervous stop near the place where the jew's-harp was dully strumming. Bunk-bunk Bunk-bunk.

Suddenly the noise ceased and the mare jerked about and I could hear the c.h.i.n.king of the chains along the ditch and the child's heartbroken wail as he sobbed without ceasing against the plump liver-colored grayhead who now blinked awake and cast rheum-filled dreamy eyes down at the little boy, murmuring: "Das awright." He stroked the child on his kinky brown head and said again: "Das awright." And then he began to repeat the phrase gently, over and over, as if they were the only words he knew: "Das awright . . . das awright..."

Without warning a gust of wind came up, and a moment's shadow crossed the face of the day, and the frost-tinged shuddering breeze ran down the line of Negroes, shoveling the leaves up around their decrepit lumpish shoes, flicking the edges of their cotton sleeves and the cuffs of their gray tattered trousers. I felt myself give a s.h.i.+ver, then as quickly as it had come the shadow vanished, the day brightened warmly like a blossom, and at that moment I heard at my elbow a voice soft and slick as satin: "Isn't you gwine give Raymond a nice sweet potato, honey chile?"

I ignored the voice, still listening to Ma.r.s.e Samuel, who was saying: "I presume they are separating Negro families in Surry then, otherwise you'd have a number of women in this coffle."

"'Deed I couldn't say, sir," the drover replied. "Mr. Davenport jest hires me to drive 'em."

"Pretty please, honey chile," the voice below persisted, "isn't you got a nice sweet potato for ole Raymond? Us is jes' sick of apples. And pone. Sour apples from de road an' pone. Us is jes'

sick of dat mess. Come on, honey, isn't you got a nice sweet potato fo' Raymond? Or a tiny ole piece of bacon?"

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I looked down and saw a freckled ginger-colored Negro, squat and muscular, with thick lips and a spa.r.s.e reddish head.

Thirty-five or perhaps forty, he had the blood in him somewhere of an Irish overseer or the scion of a James River manor or a traveling Pennsylvania tinker; from the way he sat with a certain shabby yet subtle prestige-maybe it was the manner in which the two boys chained on either side had cozied up against him, or the impudence of the jew's-harp clutched in one thick clumsy hand-I could tell that deference was paid and due him: there was a Raymond on every plantation. It was surely owing to his white blood that Raymond achieved his eminence but also to some native bankerish wit and sagacity which, however forlornly crippled, made him store up a meager authority and was ever a beacon for all the others. What caused an eclipse of the moon?

Raymond knew. Hit caused by a gret mystery cloud flyin' up Hit caused by a gret mystery cloud flyin' up out'n de swamp out'n de swamp. Was there a way to cure rheumatism? Ast old Ray. Make you a portice of turkentine wid red earthworms and Make you a portice of turkentine wid red earthworms and de juice of a red onion, dat's de onliest way de juice of a red onion, dat's de onliest way. Having a little trouble with your old woman at night? Git you de cotton dat she's Git you de cotton dat she's thowed away when she got her monthlies and wear it sewed up thowed away when she got her monthlies and wear it sewed up inside yo' pants, dat'll start a woman humpin' inside yo' pants, dat'll start a woman humpin'. When would the n.i.g.g.e.rs be free? In 1842, I seed it in a dream, n.i.g.g.e.rs led by a In 1842, I seed it in a dream, n.i.g.g.e.rs led by a wooden-legged white man from up in Paris, France. wooden-legged white man from up in Paris, France. And so the talk goes round among the n.i.g.g.e.rs: And so the talk goes round among the n.i.g.g.e.rs: Ast ole Ray. Raymond he Ast ole Ray. Raymond he know near 'bout ev'ything in de whole wide world. know near 'bout ev'ything in de whole wide world. Won't it be bad times down in Georgia? Won't it be bad times down in Georgia? Naw, dat's rich peopleses' country, Naw, dat's rich peopleses' country, dat's why us is goin' dar. n.i.g.g.e.rs down in Georgia eats fried dat's why us is goin' dar. n.i.g.g.e.rs down in Georgia eats fried eggs three times a day . . . eggs three times a day . . .

"What yo' name, sweet?" he whispered up at me.

"Nat," I said. "Nat Turner."

"Where you live at, honey chile?"

"Live at Turner's Mill," I said, "down-county." So little called for were the words I uttered next that I have wondered since why the Lord did not wrench out my tongue. "My mastah's goin' to set me free in Richmond."

"Well, ain't dat jes' de nicest thing," said Raymond.

"G.o.d's truth," I replied.

"Come on, sugah," he importuned in his glossy voice, "don' a rich 160.

n.i.g.g.e.r boy like you got a bite to eat for ole Raymond? My, dat's a pretty bag on dat saddle. I bets dey's all kinds of nice things to eat in dat bag. Come on, sugah, give ole Raymond a bite to eat."

"Dey's on'y a Bible in dat bag!" I said impatiently, though full-lapsed into a field n.i.g.g.e.r's tongue. I gave the mare a slap behind the ears, checking her crabwise gait, and brought her about toward Ma.r.s.e Samuel. Late afternoon had begun to settle down upon us as we stood there, it had grown cold. Light from the descending sun fell amid the October leaves and through wood smoke and haze lay streaming upon a tangled desolation of weeds and brambles, so furiously luminous that it seemed a field ready to explode into fire. Drawing near Ma.r.s.e Samuel I heard the jew's-harp again, bunk-bunk-bunk bunk-bunk-bunk.

"Come, we must be on our way," he said to me, wheeling about, and we turned together then; for some reason I hesitated and stopped entirely, gazing back, and he said again: "Quickly! Quickly! Quickly! We must be on our way!" We must be on our way!"

Now moving again down the long line of Negroes, I was aware that the jew's-harp had stopped playing; we came by the place where Raymond sat in his chains and I heard him call to me as we trotted past-the voice sweet and slow, highpitched, not unkind, as ever knowing and prophetic and profound: "Yo' s.h.i.+t stink too, sugah. Yo' a.s.s black jes' like mine, honey chile."

At along about this time in my life-it must have been the following spring-I came to know a Negro boy named Willis.

Save for Wash and my mother and house servants like Little Morning, Willis was the first Negro I was ever close to. Two or three years younger than I, the son of a woman who had done much of the weaving at the Mill and who had died that winter of some lung complaint, he had caught Ma.r.s.e Samuel's eye as a suitable replacement for me in the carpenter's shop, now that my duties called for me to work in the shop only half a day. As soon as I saw him at work, learning how to plane and hammer under the tutelage of Goat, I could understand why Ma.r.s.e Samuel had chosen him to be my successor, for unlike most Negro boys- who become clumsy and ruined for anything but the sloppiest jobs after four or five years of bent-over toil chopping and hoeing in the cornfields, and in whose hands a hammer only turned into a weapon to fracture their own s.h.i.+ns-Willis was skillful and neat, a quick learner, and he gained Goat's favor and approval almost as quickly as I had done. He could not read or write a 161.

word, of course, but he had a sunny, generous, obliging nature and was full of laughter; despite my early suspicion of him-a hangover from my lifelong contempt of all black people who dwelt down the slope-I found something irresistible about his gaiety and his innocent, open disposition and we became fast friends. Considering my habitual scorn, I do not know why this happened: perhaps it was as if I had found a brother. He loved to sing as he worked, helping me brace a timber, the voice a soft little rhythmical chatter: "Gonna milk my cow, gonna catch her by de tail, Gonna milk her in de coffee pot, po' it in de pail." Gonna milk her in de coffee pot, po' it in de pail."

He was a slim, beautiful boy with fine-boned features, very gentle and wistful in repose, and the light glistened like oil on his smooth black skin. His only faith, like most of the Negroes', was in omens and conjurs: with the long hairs from the c.o.c.k of a bull that had died of the bloat he had tied up three fuzzy patches on his head, to ward off ghosts; the fangs of a water moccasin he wore on a string around his neck, a charm against fever. His talk was childish and guileless and obscene. I was very fond of him; feeling thus, I was troubled for his soul and longed to bring him out of ignorance and superst.i.tion and into the truth of Christian belief.

It was not easy at first-leading this simple, unformed, and childlike spirit to an understanding of the way and an acceptance of the light-but I can recall several things working in my favor.

There was his intelligence for one thing, as I have said: unlike so many of the other black boys, half drowned from birth in a kind of murky mindlessness in which there appeared not the faintest reflection of a world beyond the cabin and the field and the encompa.s.sing woods, Willis was like some eager, fluttering young bird who might soar away if only one were able to uncage him. Perhaps growing up near the big house had something to do with this, only briefly had he known the drudgery of the fields.

But there was also the mere fact of his nature, which was-different. He had come into life blessed with an unenc.u.mbered, happy spirit, bright and open to learning; everything about him was lively, dancing, gay, free of that stupid and brutish inertia of children born to the plow and the hoe.

More than all this, however, was the sway I kept over him by virtue of what I had simply become. I possessed an unusual position and authority, especially for a Negro who was so young, 162.

and I was certainly fully conscious of the respect and even awe in which I was held by all the black people at the Mill now that it had become known that I was second only to Abraham in control. (Being too young, too dumb, too prideful at the time, I could not have realized-as I sat astride Judy in some noisy timber lot thronged with toiling Negroes, aloof, disdainful, intoning from a requisition in a voice ostentatiously educated and loud-how much sour resentment boiled behind those awed, respectful glances.) Owning such power and advantaging myself of Willis's innocence and the trust he had in me, I was able eventually to bring him into an awareness of G.o.d's great handiwork and the wonder of His presence abiding in all the firmament. Do not think ill of me when I confess that it was during these hours with Willis in that spring of my eighteenth year, praying with him in the stillness of a noontime meadow, exhorting him to belief as I clutched my Bible with one hand and with the other pressed long and hard on the smooth heft of his shoulder until I could feel him shudder and sigh in response to my whispered supplications-"Oh Lord, receive this poor boy Willis, receive him into Thy almighty care, receive him into belief, yes, Lord, yes, yes, he believes," and Willis's voice in a gentle fluting echo, "Das right, Lawd, Willis he believes"-do not think ill of me, I say, when I confess that then for the first time like a yellow burst of sunlight which steals out from behind a cloud and floods the day, there swept over me the mysterious sense of my own hidden yet implacable and onrus.h.i.+ng power.

That spring I remember we went fis.h.i.+ng together on Sat.u.r.days and Sundays. A muddy creek wound through the swamp beyond the millpond. The walnut-brown water was thick with bream and catfish and we sat long morning hours in a swarm of gnats on the slippery clay bank, angling with pine poles we made in the shop, our hooks fas.h.i.+oned from bent nails upon which we skewered crickets and earthworms. Far off the mill groaned, a m.u.f.fled watery rus.h.i.+ng and mumbling. The light here was diaphanous, the air warm and drowsy, astir with darting buggy shapes and the chattering of birds. One day, his finger p.r.i.c.ked by a hook or the sharp spine of a fish, Willis cried out-"f.u.c.kin'

Jesus!" he yelled-and so swiftly that I hardly knew what I was doing I rapped him sharply across the lips, drawing a tiny runnel of blood. "A filthy mouth is an abomination unto the Lord!" I said.

His face wore a broken, hurt look and he reached up to lightly finger the place where I had struck him. His round eyes were soft and childlike, trusting, and suddenly I felt a pang of guilt and pain at my anger, and a rush of pity swept through me, mingled with a 163.

hungry tenderness that stirred me in a way I have never known.

Willis said nothing, his eyes were br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears; I saw the moccasin fangs dangling at his neck, bone-white and startling against his s.h.i.+ny bare black chest. I reached up to wipe away the blood from his lips, pulling him near with the feel of his shoulders slippery beneath my hand, and then we somehow fell on each other, very close, soft and comfortable in a sprawl like babies; beneath my exploring fingers his hot skin throbbed and pulsed like the throat of a pigeon, and I heard him sigh in a faraway voice, and then for a long moment as if set free into another land we did with our hands together what, before, I had done alone.

Never had I known that human flesh could be so sweet.

Minutes afterward I heard Willis murmur: "Man, I sho liked dat.

Want to do it agin?"

For a time I couldn't bring myself to look at him, averting my eyes, keeping my gaze up toward the sun through leaves atremble like a forest of green fluttering moths. Finally I said: "The soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul Jonathan loved him as his own soul."

Time pa.s.sed and Willis said nothing, then I heard him fidget on the ground next to me, and he said, chuckling: "You know what j.i.z.zom puts me in mind of, Nat? Hit look jes' lak b.u.t.termilk. Look dere."

My skin still tingled with pleasure, a tired gentle luxurious feeling which at the same time I felt to be a danger and a warning. I recall a catbird high in the water oak above, swinging like a rag amid the branches, jabbering and screeching; gnats whirred madly in the air around my ears, beneath my skull the clay bank was as cold as a sliver of ice. They kissed one another, and wept They kissed one another, and wept one with another one with another, I thought, until David exceeded. And he rose until David exceeded. And he rose and departed. And Jonathan went into the city and departed. And Jonathan went into the city . . . . . .

"Come on," I said, rising. He pulled his pants up and I led him to the edge of the creek.

"Lord," I said in a loud voice, "witness these two sinners who have sinned and have been unclean in Thy sight and stand in need to be baptized."

"Das right, Lawd," I heard Willis say.

In the warmth of the spring air I suddenly felt the presence of the Lord very close, compa.s.sionate, all-redeeming, 164.

all-understanding, as if His great mercy dwelt everywhere around us like the leaves and the brown water and the chattering birds.

Real yet unreal, He seemed about to reveal Himself, as fresh and invisible as a breath of wind upon the cheek. It was almost as if G.o.d hovered in the s.h.i.+mmering waves of heat above the trees, His tongue and His almighty voice trembling at the edge of speech, ready to make known His actual presence to me as I stood penitent and prayerful with Willis ankle-deep in the muddy waters. Through and beyond the distant roaring of the mill I thought I heard a murmuration and another roaring far up in the heavens, as if from the throats of archangels. Was the Lord going to speak to me? I waited faint with longing, clutching Willis tightly by the arm, but no words came from above-only the sudden presence of G.o.d poised to shower Himself down like summer rain, and the wild and many-voiced, distant, seraphic roaring. "Lord," I cried, "Thy servant Paul has said: And now why And now why tarriest thou tarriest thou? arise and be baptized, and wash away thy sins, arise and be baptized, and wash away thy sins, calling on the name of the Lord calling on the name of the Lord. That's what he said, Lord, that's what he said! You know that, Lord!"

"Amen!" Willis said. Beneath my fingers I could feel him begin to stir and shudder and another "Amen!" came from him in a gasp.

"Das right, Lawd!"

Again I waited for G.o.d's voice. For an instant indeed I thought He spoke but it was only the rus.h.i.+ng of the wind high in the treetops. My heart pounded wildly and I recall thinking then: Maybe not now. Maybe He don't want to speak now, but at another time. A thrill of joy coursed through me as I thought: He's just testing me now. He's just seeing if I can baptize. He's going to save His voice for another time. That's all right, Lord.

I turned to Willis, tugging at his arm, and together we went out into water waist-high where I could feel the mud squirm warm between my toes. Off near the other bank a little water snake scurried along like a whip on the surface of the creek, in frantic S-shaped ripples disappeared upstream; I took it as a good omen.

"For by one Spirit are we all baptized into one body," I said, "whether we be Jews or Gentiles, whether we be bond or free, and have been all made to drink into one Spirit and have been all made to drink into one Spirit . . ." . . ."

"Amen," said Willis. I grasped the back of his head and shoved him under, pressed him down beneath the foaming murky waters. It was the instant of my first baptism, and the swift brief 165.

exaltation I felt brought a sudden flood of tears to my eyes. After a second or two I brought him up in a cloud of bubbles, and as he stood there dripping and puffing like a kettle but with a smile as sweet as beat.i.tude itself on his s.h.i.+ning face, I addressed myself to the blue firmament.

"Lord, I am a sinner," I called, "let me be saved by these redeeming waters. Let me henceforth be dedicated to Thy service. Let me be a preacher of Thy holy word. In Jesus' name, amen."

And then I baptized myself.

Walking back to the Mill that afternoon we pa.s.sed down a lane of dogwood, white and pink in wanton lovely splashes, and a mockingbird seemed to follow us through the woods, making a liquid chanting sound among the wild green leaves. Willis kept up a steady excited chatter all the way-we had caught half a dozen bream-but I paid little heed to him, being lost in thought.

For one thing, I knew that I must consecrate myself to the Lord's service from this point on, as I had promised Him, avoiding at all costs such pleasures of the flesh as I had experienced that morning. If I could be shaken to my very feet by this unsought-for encounter with a boy, think what it might be, I reflected, think what an obstacle would be set in my path toward spiritual perfection if I should ever have any commerce with a woman! woman!

Difficult as it might become, I must bend every effort toward purity of mind and body so as to unloose my thoughts in the direction of theological studies and Christian preaching.

As for Willis-well, I realized now that loving him so much, loving him as a brother, I should do everything within my power to a.s.sure his own progress in the way of the Lord. I must first try to teach him to read and write-I figured he was still not too old for learning; that accomplished, maybe it was not beyond the bounds of possibility that Ma.r.s.e Samuel might be persuaded that Willis, too, was fit for freedom and could be set loose in the outer world-Richmond perhaps!-with a grand job and a house and family. It would be hard to describe how much it pleased me to think of Willis free like myself in the city, the two of us dedicated to spreading G.o.d's word among the black people and to honest work in the employ of the white.

The thought filled me with such hope and joy that I stopped on 166.

the path beneath the dogwood trees and there in the clear spring air knelt with Willis in thanksgiving and blessed him in the Lord's name, replacing before I arose again his moccasin fangs with a tiny white cross I had carved from the s.h.i.+nbone of an ox.

Whenever in later times I recollected that day and thought of my first eighteen years, it seemed to me that all that long while it was as if I had been mounting a winding and pleasant slope toward the distant hills of the Lord, and that that day was a kind of promontory on the way. Not knowing the future, I had expected to pause at this lofty place and then go on, proceeding upward by gentle stages to the remote, free, glorious peaks where lay the satisfaction and fulfillment of my destiny. Yet as I say, whenever I reflected upon that eighteenth year of mine and that day and the events which quickly followed, it was plain to me that this promontory had been not a restful way station but an ending: beyond that place there was no gentle, continuing climb toward the great hills but a sudden astonis.h.i.+ng abyss into which I was hurled like a willow leaf by the howling winds.

One long weekend late that spring there was to be a Baptist camp meeting just outside of Jerusalem. A wellknown revivalist named Deacon Jones would be the leader, coming all the way down from Petersburg, and Baptists for miles around were expected to meet there-hundreds and hundreds of planters and farmers and their families from a dozen counties, some traveling from as far away as the coast of North Carolina. Tents would be pitched, for four days and nights there would be singing and praying and feasting from wild turkey and barbecue. There would be a laying-on of hands and organ and banjo music, and general salvation for all lucky enough to attend. Some of the slaveowners, I knew, would bring what Negroes they owned and these privileged souls too might partake of the spirit of the revival, and would be welcome just like the white people to approach the holy bench, even though few of them them would get a taste of the turkey or the barbecue. When I learned of the camp meeting I became greatly excited, and I asked Ma.r.s.e Samuel if I might be permitted to go for the Sat.u.r.day gathering, taking several of the servants in one of the wagons. I intended to include Willis and Little Morning, who had gotten religion many years before and who, ailing now and feeble and with a pitiful wandering mind, might be going to his last revival. Although Ma.r.s.e Samuel was an Episcopalian he had long ago put churchgoing out of his head; yet he did not scorn the Bible and often sought ways that his Negroes might be led into religious The Confessions of Nat Turner would get a taste of the turkey or the barbecue. When I learned of the camp meeting I became greatly excited, and I asked Ma.r.s.e Samuel if I might be permitted to go for the Sat.u.r.day gathering, taking several of the servants in one of the wagons. I intended to include Willis and Little Morning, who had gotten religion many years before and who, ailing now and feeble and with a pitiful wandering mind, might be going to his last revival. Although Ma.r.s.e Samuel was an Episcopalian he had long ago put churchgoing out of his head; yet he did not scorn the Bible and often sought ways that his Negroes might be led into religious 167.