The Resurrection Of Nat Turner: The Testimonial Part 5

Nat Turner lowered his son to his shoulder. "I promise. Things will be different for you." He enfolded Ridd.i.c.k in his arms. "On my own life, I promise you a better one. On my own life, I promise you a better way."

Cherry was a quiet wife, and he hoped no one would notice her with the scarf around her head and her rags on. He did not talk about her to others because he wanted to keep her for his own. Ridd.i.c.k was a quiet baby, and Nat Turner kept him close. He was quiet with his family; he did not want others to notice them.

But he knew. They had already taught him. A slave could not have anything.

NAT TURNER LOOKED across the room at Cherry and, though it was winter, he smelled apple blossoms. She bent over the stove in the kitchen, helping with Christmas dinner. Watching her, her brown hands and sweet brown face, still did the same things to him. When she combed her hair, when she smiled, when she touched his hand, she still took his breath away. As he was to his mother, she was his shame and his glory.

He came back to do the will of G.o.d. But in truth, he also came back for Cherry. He came back to never leave her, to be a man who would never abandon her, no matter the cost.

His presence was his sonnet to her. She read it; he could see it in her eyes. He came back for her and for his son.

Harriet

Chapter 13.

Plymouth Church, Brooklyn Heights 1856.

The service over and all the visitors and congregants greeted, Harriet retired to the pastor's study with Henry and Frederick Dougla.s.s. Henry, still full of life, bounded through the door and onto his favorite sitting place, the sofa, in his favorite position-on his knees, curled almost into position like a Ches.h.i.+re cat. "Hattie, do take off that atrocious bonnet, you look like a country schoolmarm."

She glanced at Mr. Dougla.s.s to see how he was receiving her brother's foolishness. "Henry, please!"

"Oh, Hattie, settle your feathers. You are both at home here and we are all family." Smiling, he reached for a nearby plate. It appeared to have once been full of cookies, but now there were only two left. "Here, a peace offering."

"No thank you, brother. We have business to attend to."

Henry half pouted, half smiled. "Don't be cross with me." He turned to Frederick Dougla.s.s. "You see, a prophet is without honor in his own family." He turned in the seat like a five-year-old, not like a world-famous pastor. "Please have one. They are delicious ginger cookies. See the crumbs? But I saved these last just for the two of you. I knew you would be famished. Take one, and then pour tea so that you will be refreshed." He beamed at the two of them, his blue-gray eyes sparkling. "I thought of everything." He pouted again. "Please, Hattie."

When they each had tea, Harriet and Frederick accepted the last two cookies. Frederick nodded at Harriet. "Please, ladies first."

Harriet sipped her tea and then bit into the cookie.

Henry leaned forward, one eyebrow raised. "Delicious?"

Harriet frowned and then, without thinking, she spit crumbs onto the floor.

Henry clapped his hands, lifting partway from his seat. "Perfect!"

She gulped tea to wash the taste from her mouth. "Henry, the cookies are horrible!"

"I know." He giggled. "One of the good church ladies baked them for me." He looked back and forth between Harriet and Frederick. "The sweet woman's eyesight is not what it once was. I believe she reached for the salt when she thought she had the sugar." He laughed out loud. "I threw most of them away, but I wanted to share my good fortune with friends."

Frederick Dougla.s.s attempted to cover his laugh with his napkin.

Her younger brother had always been a prankster, and age had not cured him. "I should have known better." She looked at Frederick. "Did you know about this, Mr. Dougla.s.s?"

Frederick shrugged, trying not to smile. "This is a family matter. I never step between brother and sister."

"You are both children. I am here on a serious matter, and you both waste time with silly games."

The two men laughed aloud. Henry bounced on the sofa like a child, sputtering, "'A m-m-merry heart doeth good like a m-m-medicine.'"

Frederick wiped tears from his eyes as he chuckled. "'The joy of the LORD is our strength.'"

"How can the two of you laugh when there are such heavy matters before us?"

Henry and Frederick began to outdo each other, quoting Bible pa.s.sages.

"'They that sow in tears shall reap in joy!'"

"'Make a joyful noise unto the LORD, all the earth: make a loud noise, and rejoice, and sing praise.'"

They paid no attention to her. "Henry, behave!" With each round of quotes, the two got louder and louder. "Hush, you two, anyone about will think you have gone mad." They ignored her and continued.

"'But let all those that put their trust in thee rejoice: let them ever shout for joy!'"

"'Be glad in the LORD, and rejoice, ye righteous: and shout for joy!'"

It was unseemly. The two of them were shouting now. "What kind of example are you two gentlemen-if I may call you that-setting?" Her protests were futile. "You are infants! I have come all this way to discuss the letter I have with me, and the two of you are playing whirligig and rolling the hoop."

Frederick Dougla.s.s stood and bowed. "'Rejoice in the LORD, O ye righteous: for praise is comely!'"

"Henry, you have had a terrible influence on Mr. Dougla.s.s. You have turned a perfectly intelligent gentleman into a jokester, like yourself."

Not to be outdone, Henry stood this time and sang his quote in a booming baritone. "'Hitherto have ye asked nothing in my name: ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full.'"

"What would Father say, Henry?"

Mr. Dougla.s.s joined Henry in song. The two linked arms, raising one toward the ceiling. "'Rejoice in the LORD always: and again I say, Rejoice!'"

Harriet tried to hold back the smile creeping onto her face. "A couple of blasphemers is what you two are. If only the newspapers could get wind of this." A giggle leaked out. "I think I shall tell them myself." She let go and laughed.

No matter the circ.u.mstances, Henry had always been the child in the family to brighten events by making everyone laugh. She had been so worried, had cried so many tears. Laughter was medicine. Harriet pressed her napkin to her face and allowed herself to laugh and weep.

Chapter 14.

The three of them divided the pages of the letter containing excerpts from Governor Floyd's diary. Each one shook his head as they read-Henry perched on his sofa, Frederick Dougla.s.s behind Henry's desk, and Harriet in the great chair-pausing at times to read out loud. Next to Frederick's pages was a copy of The Confessions of Nat Turner.

She had read the entire letter over and over again; it still made her flinch. Deep in thought, Frederick rubbed his fingers over his beard, sometimes pulling at it. He looked up and spoke. "Twenty-five years have pa.s.sed since Nat Turner's hanging, but these excerpts make it all seem contemporary." He tapped the pages in his hand. "Even at that time, during the confusion surrounding them, the governor had doubts about the trials."

He began to read excerpts from the governor's diary. "'This day the record of the trial of Mischek, a negro in Greensville for conspiracy was brought. The evidence was too feeble and therefore I have reprieved him for sale and transportation.'"

Frederick Dougla.s.s s.h.i.+fted forward in his chair. "We hardly hear about the others who were hanged, or slated to be hanged, and this poor fellow was not even from Southampton County."

Henry nodded. "I imagine that in addition to rampant fear, lucre tempted them. The average family in the area might expect to make little more than one hundred fifty dollars in a year's time. My wife, Eunice, and I sometimes reminisce about when I was hired to pastor, making twice that amount and still we would have starved had it not been for donations of food and such.

"With such easy convictions and Virginia paying for each convicted slave, the temptation to sacrifice slave lives for money must have been overwhelming. Their consciences were already dulled." The smile was gone from Henry's face, his cheeks reddened, and Harriet thought she saw tears in his eyes. He was a prankster, and a man's man, but her brother was so compa.s.sionate that he was easily brought to tears.

Henry read the entry for October 30, 1831. "'Received news that the dead body of the negro which was supposed to be Nat had been taken up and examined by General Smith of Kanawha.'" He paused, looking over the top of his pages. "Kanawha? The county is more than three hundred miles away from Jerusalem, in western Virginia. It makes me wonder how many other slaves died at the hands of men seeking the bounty on Nat Turner's head. And the poor fellow who lost his life means nothing to them."

Harriet began reading. "'Twenty-seventh day, September, 1831-I have received record of the trial of three slaves, for treason in Southampton. Am recommended to mercy, in this case I cannot do so, because there is not one member of the Council of State in Richmond.'" She lifted her eyes to look at the others, swallowed, and then continued. "'Wherefore the poor wretch must lose his life.'" She coughed nervously and then pressed on. "'I have received this day another number of the "Liberator," a newspaper printed in Boston, with the express intention of inciting the slaves and free negroes in this and the other states to rebellion and to murder the men, women, and children of those states. Yet we are gravely told there is no law to punish such an offence. The amount of it then is this, a man in our States may plot treason in one state against another without fear of punishment, whilst the suffering state has no right to resist-'" Harriet choked in indignation and stopped reading.

"Treason? Treason?" She realized she was yelling and lowered her voice, though she felt her heart thumping and blood rus.h.i.+ng in her ears. "Inciting slaves and free negroes to rebellion and murder! Because we oppose slavery, because we insist that this country must live up to its promise of liberty for all, then we are described as disloyal. And it is ridiculous to accuse Garrison of inciting slaves and free Negroes to murder-he is a devout pacifist, for goodness' sakes." She fanned herself with the pages. "Plotting treason... and rebellion? Slaves have every right; in fact it's their duty, to stand up against the tyranny imposed upon them. But Governor Floyd describes us as the villains."

"Garrison speaks the truth." Harriet was surprised to hear Frederick Dougla.s.s speak in support of the man who had openly criticized him. "He s.h.i.+nes light into the gray, swirling storm of slavery. Why, even Governor Floyd is double-minded. He argues against abolitionists, seeking to have them prosecuted. He lays the blame for the rebellion not on man's desire to be free, but on Negro preachers, saying, 'The whole of that ma.s.sacre in Southampton is the work of these preachers as daily intelligence informs me.'" Dougla.s.s thumped the pages. "The governor does not once consider that the intelligence might be false. Or, at least, not before it is too late.

"Yet, in the next breath, he seeks to save the slaves from the noose and declares, 'Before I leave this government, I will have contrived to have a law pa.s.sed gradually abolis.h.i.+ng slavery in this state.'

"Governor Floyd did not seem to recognize that his thoughts, if not brothers to Garrison's, were at least cousins."

"Gradual emanc.i.p.ation? He is indeed double-minded. He speaks of emanc.i.p.ation but thunders against efforts by Garrison and the others, efforts to ensure liberty and peace." She continued, "Floyd says, 'If this is not checked it must lead to a separation of these states.'"

Frederick lowered the pages he held. "Garrison's Liberator and the words of abolitionists are thorns in the sides of Floyd and his compatriots. They cannot deny the truth of what Garrison says, but they don't want to hear it, so they accuse him of plotting murder and rebellion."

Harriet pressed on, reading from Floyd's diary. "'If the forms of law will not punish, the law of nature will not permit men to have their families butchered before their eyes by their slaves and not seek by force.'"

She looked up from her reading. "It is senseless to me. One man insists he has a right to defend his family while he insists that another, who seeks to do the same, is a criminal. There is such venom in Floyd's words when he writes of Negro preachers and abolitionists.

"If we do not conform to his way-if we do not conform to the ways of slavery men-then we are the worst kind of villains and traitors, not worthy of citizens.h.i.+p. What is it that we say that is wrong? It is the teaching and the prayer of Christ that we all be one."

Henry nodded. Her thoughts were mirrored in the sadness she saw in his eyes. He began to speak softly. "'Blessed are ye, when men shall hate you, and when they shall separate you from their company, and shall reproach you, and cast out your name as evil, for the Son of man's sake. Rejoice ye in that day, and leap for joy: for, behold, your reward is great in heaven: for in the like manner did their fathers unto the prophets.'"

Harriet sighed, looking at the two men who shared the study with her. She turned back to her pages. "Here Governor Floyd continues, 'An anonymous writer from Philadelphia gives me to understand that the Northern fanatics are in that city plotting treason and insurrection in this State and planning the ma.s.sacre of the white people of the Southern States by the blacks.'"

Harriet paused. "I do believe he is referring to the Philadelphia Convention." She blushed. "You see? The governor refers to people we know, describing these lovely patriots as though they are the worst sort. Listen. 'Allen, a negro of Philadelphia and two white men of Boston, and some of New York'-most likely the Tappans-'besides a numerous band of white men and negroes in their train.'

"To think of him describing Bishop Allen in this manner, Garrison, the Tappans-these are some of America's great patriots and G.o.d's great servants." It was disconcerting to hear them described as though they were criminals to be hunted. It was strange to hear them described as though they meant harm when their intent was to deliver others from harm. "I read it and I am ashamed, infuriated, and confused all at once. It is all very odd to me. He does not speak of strangers, but people we know. He speaks of us."

Harriet touched her face. She was a preacher's daughter, the famous Puritan Lyman Beecher's daughter. She wrote Sunday school lessons and Bible tracts. She sewed flags and sang "Yankee Doodle" at Fourth of July outings. Her brother was a pastor who preached love, a husband and a father who would give all he had to help a soul in need. And Frederick Dougla.s.s was as charitable, as intelligent, and as deserving of freedom as Floyd or any other man. How did standing up for another's freedom make one a turncoat or a criminal?

Henry shrugged. "We call what they do sin and it offends them. We propose taking away their stolen treasure and they do not want to relinquish it."

Harriet looked at her brother. "I read it over and over; I try to understand the logic of it, but to no avail."

Henry laid his pages on the couch beside him. "The devil's work most often makes no sense. Still we are deluded and go gaily skipping behind him."

Frederick Dougla.s.s went straight to the point. "Has this letter convinced you to retell the story of Nat Turner?"

She was prepared, even excited, to share the anonymous letter. But, foolishly, she had not prepared to answer the issue they had been pressing her about for months. "What is here, in these excerpts, does match the stories told me by Phipps and William."

Henry nodded. "You must begin writing at once, then."

Harriet reached out for the papers she had shared with her brother. She had made only trouble for herself by sharing them. "I think I need more."

Henry's gaze was unrelenting. "More? Why?"

Because she wasn't sure. Because for so long, like everyone else, she had thought of him as a baby-killer and a ruthless, indiscriminate murderer. Because... she was not comfortable. "I want to be certain."

"What would make you more certain?"

She turned at the sound of Frederick's deep, authoritative voice. "Everything I thought I knew has turned out to be a hoax. I have no idea who Nat Turner was. What kind of slave, what kind of man must he have been to have these men, men who had all power in their hands, bother to concoct such an elaborate lie?"

Henry picked up his pages from the couch. "Governor Floyd says of President Andrew Jackson, 'Jackson with all his unworthy officers, men not gentlemen, who lie, mutilate records, alter dates.' Maybe the men in Southampton were infected by the behaviors of the reigning administration."

Truthfully, Harriet felt pressure from all sides now. At first, the pressure had come from without-from her brother and Frederick Dougla.s.s, who wanted her to write the story. Now she felt pressure from within-as though her heart was wrestling with her mind. "Perhaps if I could speak with someone who knew him I might be more rea.s.sured."

Frederick Dougla.s.s's gaze was sympathetic. He seemed to understand her struggle, but still he pressed her-as though he were saying that what needed to be done was bigger than her insecurities. "You have spoken with Will. Would you speak with him again?"

"No!" The word popped from her mouth, too soon for her comfort. She breathed then went on speaking. "No. His anger, his pa.s.sion distress me."

Henry was her brother, and he was not so gentle with her. "Be reasonable, Hattie. How would you expect someone who has suffered as he has to behave?"

Harriet looked back at the pages she held, wanting to change the subject. She did not want to see William again. She did not want to speak with him. He frightened her. She worked to regain her composure and slow her breathing.

She began to read again, taking a lighter tone. "Governor Floyd calls us a 'club of villains.' A club of villains 'maturing plans of treason and rebellion and insurrection in Virginia and the Southern States.' He speaks of withdrawing from the Union." She looked up from her reading. "South Carolina and the others have threatened secession each time something did not suit them. Do you believe the South really might secede?"

Henry nodded. "They might try."

"And if they do?"

"Then there will be war."

There had already been b.l.o.o.d.y skirmishes, like the gory ma.s.sacre and firing of Lawrence, Kansas, by slavery men. And John Brown had used rifles, like Henry's Beecher's Bibles, against proslavery men. She did not want to think of the nation at war. Each of them had sons. She did not want to think of their sons marching off to war. "I do not want disunion. I do not want war."

"Perhaps, if you will consent to write the story," Henry said pointedly. "Uncle Tom's Cabin has already done so much good. If the nation knew the truth about Nat Turner, more might be persuaded to stand against slavery. It might die without bloodshed, like in England."

Harriet tried to laugh away her anxiety and pressure about the Nat Turner story. What did it all have to do with her? "I'm a Yankee, you know. We're mind-your-own-business kind of people. I'm not sure this is my business."

Henry would not let up. "You believed Uncle Tom's Cabin was your business. How is this different?"