The Good Lord Bird

“There ain’t no need,” Owen said, coming out the cabin and stepping on the porch. “I is the master and I is awake.” I reckon he was hiding inside along with Tidd, a feller named Hazlett, and Cook. I got nervous then, for I’m sure them three had drawed a bead on that soldier from inside the house the minute he clomped up there. Owen stepping outside likely saved that soldier’s life, for them men had grabbed a few hours’ sleep and was bent on leaving in a hurry.

Owen stepped off the porch, took a step toward me and suddenly recognized me—seen me dressed as a boy for the first time. He didn’t have to play it slick. His shock was genuine. He liked to fell out. “Onion!” he said. “By God! Is that you?”

The soldier seen it weren’t no ruse then. He was a nice feller. “This nigger’s had quite a night. He says he belongs to Mr. Gourhand, who lives up the road, but I understand he is out of town.”

“That is correct,” Owen said, rolling with the lie. “But if you will hand his colored over to me, I will keep him safe for Mr. Gourhand, for it is a dangerous time to be about, what with what is going on ’round here. I thank you for bringing her back to me,” Owen said.

The soldier smirked. “Her?” he said. “That’s a he, sir,” he scolded. “Can’t y’all tell your niggers one from the other? No wonder y’all got insurrections all ’round here. You treat your colored so damn bad you don’t know one from the other. We’d never treat our niggers this way in Alabama.”

And with that, he turned on his mount and took off.

* * *

I didn’t have time to give ’em the full word on the Old Man’s situation, and didn’t need to. They didn’t need to ask. They knowed what happened. And neither did they ask ’bout my new look as a boy. They were in a hurry and making ready to run for their lives. They had slept a few hours from sheer exhaustion, but now that it was light it was time to go. They packed up on the quick and we took the tall timber together—me, O.P., Owen, Tidd, Cook, Hazlett, and Merriam. Straight up the mountain behind the Kennedy farm we went, with the sun coming up behind us. There was some fussin’ and fightin’ when we got to the top of the mountain, for everyone except O.P. wanted to take the mountain route direct north, and O.P. said he knowed another way. A safer way and more roundabout. Southwest through Charles Town and then farther west via the Underground Railroad to Martinsburg and then over to Chambersburg. But the others weren’t for it. Said Charles Town would be too out of the way and we were too hot. O.P. gived ’em a mouthful on it and that brought on more hard words, for there weren’t a lot of time, not with patrols likely rolling by then. So them five went their own way, direct up toward Chambersburg, while O.P. went southwest for Charles Town. I decided to cast my lot with him.

It was a good thing, for Cook and Hazlett got caught up in Pennsylvania a day or two later. Owen and Merriam and Tidd somehow got away. I never did see any of them ever again. I heard Merriam killed hisself in Europe. But I never did see Owen again, though I heard he lived a long life.

Me and O.P. got free through Mr. George Caldwell and his wife, Connie, who got us through Charles Town. They’re dead now, so it don’t hurt none giving ’em up. There was lots working on that underground gospel train that nobody knowed ’bout. A colored farmer drove us by wagon to Mr. Caldwell’s barbershop, and when Mr. Caldwell found out who we were, he and his wife decided to split us up. We was too hot. They sent O.P. off with a wagonload of coffins to Philadelphia driven by two Methodist abolitionists, and I don’t know what happened to him, whether he died or not, for I never heard from him again. Me, I was kept with the Caldwells. I had to sit with them, wait it out underneath their house and in the back room of Mr. Caldwell’s barbershop for four months before rolling ahead. It was on account of being ’bout the back room of the barbershop that I learned what happened to the Old Man.

Seems that Jeb Stuart and the U.S. Cavalry busted in the engine house with killing on their minds just minutes after I got out, and got to it. They overrun the engine house, killed Dauphin, Thompson, brother of Will, the Coachman, Phil, and Taylor. Watson and Oliver, both the Old Man’s boys, was done in. Killed every one in there, good and bad, all but the Emperor. The Emperor somehow lived, long enough to hang anyway.

And as for the Old Man?