It was like the forest he had known all his life. Why would anyone be afraid to set foot there? They were all woodsmen and knew how to wield an axe. Perhaps the stories of the Great Dismal were lies, like all the other lies he had been told.
But as he walked farther in, the trees began to thicken so that there was less light. Tangled, he tripped over roots and had to stop until his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
As he moved even farther in, the trunks of the trees were wider, the leaves denser. The grass and the weeds from the ground seemed to mesh with the tree branches and leaves, almost like a net.
Deeper still, the vines, leaves, and boughs became a wall, and Nat Turner had to hack his way through. The softness of the light that did filter through changed the color of things—so that the trees, the leaves, and the grass darkened in hue. The ground beneath his feet softened, turning to wet sponge, and sucked at his shoes.
The trees engulfed him and gave him refuge. He was more than twenty-one and now, at last, his first taste of freedom. No landmarks. Alone with his thoughts, he walked among the trees, a primordial cathedral.
He smelled green plants, he smelled musk, and then suddenly sweetness. He heard sounds he recognized—the screech of an owl, the scampering of a squirrel up a tree. But he also heard animal calls that he had never heard before—far away—and then just over his head. He heard rustling on the ground beside him and thought he heard wings flapping. Nat Turner gripped his axe tightly.
The trees engulfed him. Nat Turner looked around for a bent tree or a branch that would orient him, but this was not the forest he knew. There was no way to know left from right, and for all he knew, he was walking in circles. He moved forward, only stopping from time to time so that his eyes could adjust.
He had to hack his way through now, to fight for every inch, had to fight to untangle his feet. The leaves rubbed his face and his hands. He wanted to stop to examine them, to wipe off the moisture and whatever else clung to him. But Nat Turner knew he must keep moving and he knew why white men were afraid.
The Great Dismal Swamp was a dark, wild place, an untamed place, maybe as it was in the Garden of Eden. There was little difference between day and night. He saw plants and shapes he did not recognize. The Dismal was magnificent and menacing.
The swamp seemed to breathe, the air felt as though it was expanding and contracting around him. It was alive, beautiful, but it was dangerous. The trees whispered to one another, and the animals had no fear of man. It was lush and exotic. And he was certain that serpents watched, crawling near each footstep that landed.
He made his way over marshy ground, into deeper greenness that was blackness, until he was in the belly of the swamp. He found comfort in the darkness away from all other men he had known. He found healing in the green, the brown, and the blackness.
In the belly of Hebron he found a clearing. From high overhead, gentle light filtered through the tree boughs and leaves. There were fallen trees waiting for him and he made himself a lean-to shelter. There was a narrow bubbling stream of brown water. The birds sang to him in the morning and frogs croaked and crooned to him at night. There were salt-marsh mallow flowers and morning glories growing wild around him. He had expected to find it all blackness, but he soon adjusted and found that he could see. He used his axe to cut wood and used a flint that he had brought with him and sticks he found to make a fire.
He would follow the old ways, as in Ethiopia. He would fast some days and he would eat no pork.
It was a strange place, but there was comfort for him in the darkness, away from all the others he knew. Healing in the green, the brown, the blackness.
The Great Dismal Swamp was a place of refuge, his Hebron, his hiding place. Nat Turner did not ask God any questions and he ignored the answers that drifted down from the sky, sifting through the leaves and riding to him on the breezes.
At first Nat Turner saw no one else, but in a few days, his eyes and ears acclimated. Again, he learned to see.