December 22, 1858
Macon, Georgia
The dawn light cast a red-orange glow over the train on the platform behind him as Elijah Johnson stepped up to the ticket window. “I require a first class ticket for myself to Savannah and a ticket for my slave in the slave car, if you please.”
“Round trip, or one way?” asked the ticket agent.
“One way.”
The agent produced the two tickets, stamped them, and gave the price without looking up.
Elijah pushed money through the window, and as he handed back the change the clerk finally glanced at him. “Hope you have a comfortable trip, sir,” he said, smiling from behind his thick spectacles.
Eli tipped his hat. And that was all. The agent did not send up the alarm, nor did he scrutinize Eli with suspicion. He simply took the money, handed over the tickets, and wished him a comfortable trip.
Eli walked to the train where Billy waited with their trunk.
“You got my ticket. Mr. Johnson?” Billy asked.
He nodded, handing him the ticket to the slave car. “Please put our trunk in the luggage compartment, Billy.”
“Yes sir, right away. And I’ll have it for you lickety-split soon’s we get to Savannah.”
“I’ll see you there, then,” he answered.
As Billy hauled away the trunk, Eli located the first class carriages and boarded the train. Finding an empty compartment, he placed his hat on a shelf above the seats and sat next to the window, watching the last passengers milling around on the platform amidst the general hubbub of families making their farewells and slaves and railway men shouting in preparation for the train’s departure. He also heard several more people board his carriage.
Eli hoped to have the compartment to himself, but knew that was unlikely. Sighing, he reminded himself he would have to talk to people on this long journey and the sooner he was accustomed to it the better.
So he was not surprised when the door opened and a woman asked, “Do you mind, sir, if we share your compartment?” Turning, Eli discovered Mrs. Ann Henderson and Mr. Joseph Cray standing in the doorway. Cray was a close friend of Miss Deb and her husband, and he and Mrs. Henderson had eaten dinner at the Collins’s home just three nights ago, when Ellie served them at the table.
Fearing the attentive Mrs. Henderson would recognize him, Eli grimly forced his face into a well-practiced, neutral expression. “Not at all. Please come in,” he answered, masking his terror with a cough and patting his chest while quickly turning to gaze out the window again.
Should I grab my hat and leave the train, he wondered? He braced for quick action, glancing sideways as the two stowed their small bags and seated themselves. They were not looking at him.
But if I leave, Eli thought, Billy will not know. If I cannot find him before the train departs, we’ll be separated and he won’t know why. When he arrives in Savannah without a master, he will be detained and sent back to Macon.
Eli concluded he would have to sit tight. He must, he told himself, use a slave’s skills in hiding his feelings. That part he could manage; but could he also succeed in presenting himself as an educated young man and slaveholder? He did not expect to be tested so early.
“Good morning to you, sir,” said Mr. Cray. Portly, clean shaven, and balding, he was fiftyish and owned a plantation just outside Macon. Eli knew him to be moderately prosperous, owning a few dozen slaves.
“Good morning to you, sir. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Elijah Johnson. I would shake your hand, but I’m afraid that I’ve suffered a grave injury to my right arm.”
“I quite understand, sir” answered Mr. Cray. “I am Joseph Cray, and this charming lady is Mrs. Ann Henderson, who is visiting us from New York. She is the cousin of a good friend of mine and is traveling to Savannah on her way back North. Since I have some business in Savannah, I have agreed to escort her there.”
“Very wise,” Eli answered. “It is not proper for a woman to travel alone.”
“Quite so,” Mr Cray nodded.
“I do so much appreciate your kind gesture,” said Mrs. Henderson to Mr. Cray, “but I am really quite able to manage on my own. I did travel from New York to Georgia by myself, and I everywhere found my fellow travelers to be most friendly and helpful. I quite enjoyed the trip.”
“Here in the South,” said Mr. Cray, “we respect our women and wouldn’t risk leaving a lady to travel alone without even a female house slave to assist her. As it is, one of my two niggers will be more than happy to carry your trunks and otherwise assist. Marcus is the name of the one helping you. I think you’ll find him polite and responsive. If he is not, be sure to let me know. He knows that if he misbehaves, I will thrash him with my own hand.”
Eli relaxed a little. Although astounded not to be recognized, so far neither paid him much attention. If he could succeed in fooling these two, he thought, he should be able to easily survive whatever comes after.
“Is that how you treat your slaves? You thrash them?” said Mrs. Henderson with distaste.
“Does that offend you, Madam?”
Mrs. Henderson shrugged, but her expression of distaste persisted.
Mr. Cray shook his head. “I hope you haven’t been listening to those damned abolitionists who would force us free our slaves.”
“No, Mr. Cray, I am not an abolitionist, although I confess that I have heard a great deal about your ‘peculiar’ institution, as you call it, and have been curious to see its function for myself.”
“And your conclusion, Madam?”
“Well, I don’t have one yet. I haven’t been here long, so my observations are limited.”
A shrill whistle interrupted the conversation. The train shuddered, and with a lurch they were on their way. A thrill ran through Eli. If God was with them, in three days they would be in Philadelphia.
“It’s a question of property rights, pure and simple,” said Mr. Cray, taking no notice of the train. “Northerners may not steal my house, my land, or my slaves. It’s as simple as that.”
“I see,” answered Mrs. Henderson, her brow furrowed. “But does that mean you would be satisfied with monetary compensation for the release of your slaves?”
Mr. Cray nearly choked. “I should say not, Madam. I’m afraid you misunderstand my point. I am a plantation owner, and if you take my land and slaves, it doesn’t matter if you pay me for them. Without my property I can no longer make a living. You are depriving me of my livelihood, and the money is no compensation for destroying my livelihood and my way of life.”
Elijah kept quiet, hoping they would concentrate on one another and not him. He knew all too well that without slaves, the plantation owners could not live in their relative ease. He remembered an evening when she’d (he’d, he reminded himself) brought a glass of whiskey to Colonel Collins after dinner as he sat on the front porch talking to several young sons of a neighbor.
The Colonel enjoyed this chance to impress the boys with his philosophizing, although his “observations” became less clear with each sip of whiskey. Ellie (no, Elijah!) heard Colonel Collins telling the boys that every Southerner knew his role, which is what made the North inferior. His own job, as head of the house, was to manage the plantation and insure that everyone on the property, family members and slaves, were well fed and cared for. The slaves knew that if their children became sick or if they had other troubles, he would help. “It’s a close and trusting relationship,” Colonel Collins said. “We all know clearly what our responsibilities are, and that’s why it works. In the North, no one knows his place and it’s every man for himself.”
Eli turned back to the conversation between Mrs. Henderson and Mr. Cray when he heard familiar names mentioned.
He was shocked to find himself at the center of the discussion. Mrs. Henderson said, “You know, Mr. Cray, I did find one curious thing concerning slavery. My cousin Debra has a serving woman who not only looked white, but who, I learned from another source, is Debra’s half sister by her father. You must have seen this young woman serving us dinner the other night. This being my first introduction to slavery, I confess to being rather shocked by this state of affairs.”
The color drained from Eli’s cheeks. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he caught Mrs. Henderson glance at him.
“You mustn’t read too much into the indiscretions of a few. Improper relationships among slaves and masters are quite uncommon,” muttered Mr. Cray, looking to Eli to back him up. “Pretty rare, isn’t it, Mr. Johnson?”
“Rare as hen’s teeth, I assure you,” Eli said in a neutral tone that hid his terror of being recognized. “No real gentleman would treat his slaves in such a fashion, and that’s the truth.” Eli gave Mr. Cray a wry smile. The real truth was very few of them were, in fact, real gentlemen.
“Just what I was saying. A Christian and an upstanding Southern gentleman knows how to comport himself.”
Eli snickered to himself. When Mr. Cray visited the Collinss, Eli had had the opportunity to speak with the man’s slaves. If you wanted to know what really happened inside a plantation, you only had to gossip with the house servants. Eli learned that Mr. Cray also had more than one child by his slaves. The whites acted as if slaves did not have eyes and ears, but they did, and they saw and heard everything.
“I meant no offense, Mr. Cray,” said Mrs. Henderson. “It’s just that the practice of slavery is still new to me. For all I know, such liaisons between master and slave are common.”
Elijah had to admire the woman’s boldness. Perhaps Northern women felt freer to speak their minds about such delicate matters as paternity and questionable relations between a man and a woman. If so, the Northern way of life grew in appeal him. As a slave, Eli didn’t dare to openly discuss many of his thoughts, but he also observed that Miss Deb was ruled by the strict hand of her husband. She could not act or speak freely much of the time. Her marriage was not a relationship of full respect, as hers was, because she could always speak openly to Will.
No, he reminded himself, he could speak to Will. Will, he thought with fear and longing. Will. Was it unusual for a Southern gentleman to think constantly about his male slave? Eli felt like laughing but was afraid he might sound hysterical.
“It’s the damn abolitionists,” Mr. Cray said. “They accuse us of all manner of debauchery. You have to understand something about the pleasure seeking nature of the African. I can tell you from experience that left to his own devices the African will not work, but will waste away the day in drink and fornication. It is their nature and they can no more stop themselves from this behavior than a hog can get out of the mud and attend a university.”
Eli felt a nearly frenzied need to laugh in fighting back the anger and incredulity he felt at Cray’s words. He ground his teeth to hide his emotions and prayed yet again for the day when he could expose the hypocrisy of such old frauds.
Mrs. Henderson frowned. “But you know, Mr. Cray, it seemed to me that I saw a real intelligence in Debra’s half sister. Something in her eyes, I thought.”
Cray tapped the ends of his fingers together and smiled knowingly. “The nigger is clever, Madam, of that you should have no doubt. For instance, they are endlessly creative in devising ways to avoid work, as I can tell you from personal experience. As I have said, left on their own they are naturally inclined to sloth. But you must not confuse slyness with intelligence. The fox, after all, is sly but it could never read a book or master the higher arts.”
“But how do you know?”
“We know from very long experience,” he answered confidently. “You cannot live together as closely as whites and blacks do in this society without gaining considerable insight into the character of the nigger. It’s very much like a family, as I have said before. There are no secrets.”
What you don’t know about your ‘family,’ thought Eli bitterly, would fill an ocean. He thought he might burst if he had to listen to the old fool pontificate one minute longer. Instead, he thought of his mother. He saw in his mind’s eye once more the small girl he had been, wrapped in her skirts as she plaited Ellie’s hair and murmured soft gospel hymns. Ellie breathed in happily the perfume of her mother’s warmth and closed her eyes, listening to birds twittering in the trees at sunset. The scent of honeysuckle tickled at her nose, and she said to her mother, “I want to stay here with you tonight. Can I?”
“I wish you could sugar, but there’d be hell to pay with the master. Someone’d be beat, for certain,” her mother said, stroking her hair. Her mother had never treated her as the child of a rape, only as the sweetest gift. “My little sparrow,” she called her. “God’s eye is on you, sugar. You trust in that.”
If only I were there in my mother’s arms again, Eli thought. Then he shook his head, thinking, look at me, posing as a white man on a train and missing my mother.
He felt restless. He rose and announced, “You’ll excuse me for a moment.”
Cray smiled at him and nodded. “Certainly, sir,” he said.
Eli bowed and left for the washroom. He splashed water on his face from the sink, thought again of his mother and of Will, and looked in the mirror. “This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done,” he sighed out loud. Gambling his future was a stupid risk, but what choice did he have? And was not the eye of God still on him, as his mother promised? A small tear formed in the corner of his left eye, so he splashed his face again.
He waited several minutes to compose himself and then returned to his seat.