When we reached the raft, Moses whispered, “We’re going to take that raft and drift downstream to the Bayou of Death. We’ll hide for a piece in the bayou and let the gators and water moccasins guard us. Grower Brown and his men can ride their horses in the river but not in the bayou; with all the bushes and tree roots, the horses would be likely to break their legs. And we know Master Jeff is scared to walk in the water. He’ll be in no rush to search for us in the bayou, not any time soon.”
My pa frowned. “Isn’t the bayou to the south?”
“Yes,” Moses said. “Sometimes on the Railroad you have to go south to get north.”
Pa climbed onto the raft. The logs sank in the water but they held his weight. Then my ma climbed on, then me and last Moses. The raft barely held us afloat and my pa shifted his weight to keep us balanced. My pa whispered, “I know the Bayou of Death. When I was a boy, I played there on Sundays.”
Moses used a pole to steer us into the current. We all crouched down, with our faces just above the water. Moses told us to keep looking for a small creek that ran between the river and the bayou. Moonlight fell on the water and we hoped there was enough light to find that creek. The raft followed the river, twisting and turning. We sat up now but held each other tight so we wouldn’t fall into the water.
Like my pa, I knew about the Bayou of Death. On Sundays, field workers from the plantation would throw logs across one creek, then another. The boys would dare each other to wade into the water of the bayou alone, but no one would because they were all afraid. So in the end, all of them would go in together. Sometimes they brought back snakes to scare us girls. My ma said I should never go near that bayou, not because of the snakes, but because, from time to time, runaway slaves hid there. She didn’t want me near trouble.
One summer day Miss Clarissa had asked me to come and play in an old log cabin across the river from the bayou. Her granddaddy had built the cabin when he started clearing land to plant cotton. She carried some china dishes and a blanket and I carried a basket of food. Now I remembered that, as we ate our picnic, I told Miss Clarissa that runaway slaves hid in the bayou.
Had Miss Clarissa told her father or her brother that runaways hid there? She couldn’t have known that there would be any harm in that. How could she have known that one day I would be a runaway hiding in the bayou? I didn’t know whether I should tell Moses what I had told Miss Clarissa, but Moses was busy guiding the raft downstream, and I decided not to tell her, at least, not for now.
Pointing to a narrow opening along the riverbank, Moses said softly, “There. We go in there.” My pa knelt, took the pole from Moses and pushed the raft into the creek. Moses said, “Push deeper until we find a patch of dry ground. Then we can get some sleep.”
Overhead, moss hung on the cypress trees and made the dark night darker. It was quiet except for the sound of frogs croaking. As the raft struggled through the weeds and tangled roots, I knew that I had to tell Moses what I had told Miss Clarissa. I said that Miss Clarissa and I used play in a log cabin across the river from the bayou. It was a secret place where we could play without her father knowing. From there, we could see the field hands crossing the creek into the bayou. One day I had told Miss Clarissa that runaway slaves hid in the bayou.
My ma said, “Oh, no, Rebecca, you should never have told her that. Now they’ll be looking for us here.” My face burned with the shame I felt.
Moses said, “Take this pole, child, and push us deeper into the bayou. There is no going back now, whatever Miss Clarissa did or did not choose to tell her brother and her pa. Put your back into it. We’ve got to get to the heart of the bayou.”
I knew Moses was right; there was no going back. Moses was not only strong but wise, and I knew I would learn much from her as we made our way to freedom.
We found a dry spot in the middle of the bayou. In the darkness, it was hard to get off the raft and I slipped on the muddy shore. My pa pulled me up and carried me to dry land where we sat and ate the cornbread that my ma had carried in the calico bag. It was soggy but we ate every last bit of it. Moses told us to try to sleep. I rested but could not sleep. The croaking of the frogs was loud and I thought I heard snakes and gators sliding in and out of the water.
My pa hugged me. “I’d rather be on the run—even with the gators—than a broken man under the whip of Grower Brown. Try to sleep, Rebecca.”
My ma put her head on one of my pa’s shoulders and I put my head on the other. Moses broke the silence, “There’s nothing to do but wait. We may have to wait two, three days until Grower Brown and his men give up and start looking farther north. He’s probably hired patrollers to look for us and those patrollers will want the money he’s offered them for our capture. I just hope that Miss Clarissa didn’t tell her pa about the bayou.”
Soon after, and out of the quiet of the night, we heard singing. Moses held her finger to her lips and we all listened. I recognized the voice and the song. “Moses, it’s my friend Miss Clarissa. She’s come to help us.” I was about to call out to my friend when Moses put her hand over my mouth.
Moses looked at me and shook her head. “Rebecca, runaways don’t have any white friends who live on plantations. Hush, child.”
The sound of Miss Clarissa’s voice got stronger as she walked along the creek. Moses said, “Her father and brother may be using the girl to trick us. We can’t take any chances.”
Miss Clarissa stopped singing and started talking. “I don’t know if you are in the bayou, Rebecca, but I’m leaving two bags of food for you. If you are in there, you must be hungry. I had to come. I had to come even though I was afraid because I need to warn you. Rebecca, you and your pa and your ma—you’re all in great danger. If you are in there, you must leave the bayou right away.”
I started to move toward Miss Clarissa, but Moses grabbed my arm and whispered, “Wait.”
Miss Clarissa went on, “I want to tell you what happened. If my father and brother find you here, you need to know that I didn’t betray you.”
She paused to catch her breath. “Patrollers searched the island with dogs today. The dogs picked up your scent in a hollow tree but the trail went cold on the far shore. My father said you couldn’t swim because he thinks slaves sink like stones in the water. My brother said the only way to escape from the island was on a raft and that raft would carry you downstream to the Bayou of Death.”
As we listened to what Miss Clarissa was saying, Moses relaxed her grip on my arm. “My father said he and his men will search the bayou tonight and, if they don’t find you, they’ll ride upriver in the morning. I had to warn you, even though my father will be very angry if he finds out. Before I came, I went into the kitchen and asked Ada to fill some sacks with food. At first Ada looked puzzled, then she smiled and realized that it was food for you. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tom, the son of Grower Timothy. I hid in the pantry and waited for him to leave before I slipped out the back door. When I got to the log cabin, I started singing the song we used to sing together, Rebecca, so you would know it was me coming to warn you.”
She paused, out of breath. “You must flee tonight, Rebecca. When you reach freedom, ask someone to write a letter to me so I will know that you are safe. I’m your friend. I will always be your friend.” As she walked back to the big house, I heard her crying.
Moses said, “Well, child, I reckon I was wrong about your friend Miss Clarissa. Thank the Lord I was wrong. Obadiah, will you cross the creek and get the food?” My pa disappeared into the darkness and was back soon. We tore off chunks of bread and ate them hungrily.
“Now, let’s get these tired bodies back on the raft,” Moses said. “Deborah, hold the food as high as you can so it doesn’t get wet. We have to move, and we have to move fast, but before we go, I’ll cover our tracks.”
Moses reached into a sack of food, took out a ham, and cut off a large slice. She stamped her feet on the marshy ground and pulled her kerchief off her head. She wrapped the ham in the kerchief and left it in the mud. Then we all climbed onto the raft.
She chuckled. “When Grower Brown sees those scraps of cloth, he’ll think the gators got us.” She shoved her pole into the mud and pushed the raft off the bank. As we left, we saw a gator swimming toward the ham. In a moment, all that was left were scraps of cloth from the kerchief and the slithering marks of the gator’s claws.
We passed from the creek into the river. Through the night, we moved north, upstream. It was hard, hard work, even for a strong man like my pa. I thought to myself, “We’ll never get upstream by morning.” I looked at my pa and saw that his face was glistening with sweat. But, as he looked back at me, his lips curled into a smile.
He spoke softly, “Rebecca, you were right when you said we had to run away. I’ve been waiting for freedom all my life without knowing it.”
Just before the sun came up, we stopped and went ashore. The raft slipped back downstream, twisting and turning in the gentle current. Moses told us to hide in a thick clump of bushes in the cool shade. We ate some of the food Miss Clarissa had brought us, and my ma and I tried to sleep while Moses and my pa sat up and watched over us.
After Grower Brown and the patrollers searched the bayou, they would search for us along this stretch of the river. I hoped we were safe, hidden in the bushes.
When my ma and I woke up, the sun was going down. My ma asked Moses, “What do we do next? When do we get on the Railroad?”
Moses laughed. “Deborah, honey, we are on the Railroad. The next station is the Pickerings’ farm. But before we get there, we’ve got to stop and pick up one more passenger for this train. Tonight we’re going to Grower Timothy’s plantation. Right now we’ve got to start walking, fast but quiet. The last place a grower thinks to look for runaways is another man’s plantation.”