47

Champ yelled at the gray mare and we took off. There was gunfire now and then and plenty of shouting from the fight in front of the plantation. On our way down the road behind the mansion a white man, Roger Brice, jumped at us.

He landed on the side of the buggy and yelled at Champ, "Pull this wagon ovah, niggah!"

For the first time in his life Champ did not obey the direct order of a white man. Instead he lifted Brice by the front of his pants and threw him off into a ditch on the side of the road. The bearded white man hit the ground hard and he didn't rise to continue his attack.

Champ and I looked at each other then, and even though we didn't say a word we knew the content of each others' minds. Champ had used his great strength to fight back against a white man. He might have killed that man. It wasn't just a crime punishable by torture and death but it was also unheard of in the history of us slaves. It was as if he had broken some higher law that would call down hell-fire upon us.

I had already conspired to attack Mr. Stewart with Eighty-four. I had thrown my rock at him. Eighty-four had struck him in the head. But neither act seemed as bad as a full-grown man-slave going against a white man. A man-slave throwing off the yoke of slavery meant that the rules we had lived by our entire lives had been broken.

We both turned our heads to the sky, looking for God's retribution. But it didn't come. Champ yelled at Tobias's horse again and we were hurrying away from the scene of the battle.

In the distance we could see the tall flames rise from the Corinthian Plantation. The sounds of the battle faded but then I heard something like both a gasp and a scream.

"Did you hear that, Champ?" I asked.

"What?"

I heard another scream. It was a girl.

"That," I said.

"I don't heah nuthin', Forty-seven," Champ replied, cocking his ear.

"Stop the wagon, Champ. Stop it."

He did as I said just as soon as he was sure that we were hidden behind a stand of dark trees.

"What's wrong, boy?"

"You know where the hangin' oak is?" I asked him.

"I guess I do," he said. "They hanged the man I called uncle from there onceit."

"Numbah Twelve will be theah waitin' for me. You go to him and I'll be by in just a while."

"Where you goin'?"

"Hand me that rope from under yo' "seat," I said.

Big Champ Noland did as I asked and I ran off in the woods faster than a deer fleeing a cougar.

Running through the deep forest toward the sound of the girl's scream, I realized that it wasn't one girl yelling, but two.

I was agitated and afraid for my life and the lives of the only family I had ever known. But even though I was so distressed it was still amazing to me how I managed to run through those woods. My feet moved surely between the low-slung branches, and if there was no place to stand I easily climbed high and moved quickly through the upper branches like a wily chipmunk avoiding some land-bound predator. At times I was nearly at the top of the trees, finding the fastest footholds there.

I was at such a lofty place when I saw Mr. Stewart fall upon Eloise Turner and her faithful servant, and half-sister, Nola. Eloise, dressed in a mere slip and barefoot, was trying to evade the leather-skinned madman while Nola, wearing only a nightshirt herself, was standing to the side yelling for help.

Stewart grabbed Eloise and lifted her in the air.

"Help me!" she cried, and I remembered when Pritchard had slapped me silly and branded me.

I knew I had to save those two girls. I knew I had to face my fear of the man who daunted me since as far back as I could remember. But before I could steel myself Nola ran forward and threw a rock, hitting Stewart in the head. That blow would have knocked any ordinary man out cold. But Elias Ainsworthy Stewart was no longer an ordinary man. He had risen after Eighty-four delivered a fatal blow to his head, and so Nola's pebble wasn't going to bother him.

The stone made a metallic sound upon striking his skull, and for a moment Stewart froze, tilting his head as if he had forgotten something. Eloise was screaming and I chose that moment to jump down from the tree.

I came down on the ground behind Stewart. I made to run up to him but I tripped on something soft. I was up on my feet soon enough but then I saw that the obstacle that made me fall was the body of Tobias Turner. He was lying half on his side with his head turned at an impossible angle. He wore black pants and a white shirt with the tails out and no shoes. It was his bare feet that made me feel sorry for him. The big difference between the master and all of his slaves was that he was always shod and we never were. Now that he was fallen down to our level even the musket lying next to his outstretched hand was impotent.