The moon eclipsed the sun; in Southampton County the sky darkened. It was as though God Himself had turned away—as though the Lord’s mother, Maryam, the Kidane Mehret, had turned away—and Nat Turner knew the time for mercy was finished. Nat Turner saw the darkness and it was good.
The sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon into blood before the great and terrible day of the LORD come.
The singing in the fields ceased. There were no birds in the air and no breezes. The horses were skittish. He had prayed that God would give him the courage, that God would give him flintlike resolve. Now the day was here. Judgment would begin at the house of God. Nat Turner recalled God’s pronouncements to him in the Great Dismal Swamp.
Loose the bands of wickedness, undo the heavy burdens, let the oppressed go free, and break every yoke…
They would strike down the pastor, Richard Whitehead, the trustees, and their heirs. The members of Turner’s Meeting Place who professed God but whose hearts were full of cruelty and wickedness, who gave no mercy, would see this world no more.
He and the other warriors, God’s soldiers, would do their business in secret, by the light of the sickle moon. There would be others, those who didn’t have the courage to fight, who would bury the dead. When the survivors awakened it would be a great mystery to them, like Jamestown.
Nat Turner’s tongue was loosened then and he began to share the revelation of the Dismal Swamp and of the Lord’s coming judgment. “Beat your plowshares into swords…”
They had no voices. Their actions would speak for them. So they would steal no money, damage no property, and rape no women. They would not dishonor God. They would plan carefully, every detail. It was not murder; it was a war for freedom. It was the only language left to them.
Nat Turner saw the visions again. He saw the battle—white men fighting their brothers, then black men fighting white men in heaven. He saw the blood on the corn and knew the time would be in summer. He shared God’s message with a few trusted men—Nelson, right then. Yellow Nelson said the Lord had already confirmed the plan with him.
Later he shared with Hark, Dred, Sam, Tom, and a few trusted others. Hark said he was ready. They planned their strike for Independence Day, July 4th, 1831.
When they were alone, Nat Turner spoke to his friend, his brother Hark. “Are you certain? You are not compelled to come.”
Hark laughed at first. “You have been trying to get me killed for years.” Then his face sobered. “How can I not come? I see, I feel. Even women have not been able to blind me.” It was the most serious Nat Turner had seen his friend. “I believe God and I have never known you to lie—even when it would have been best for you. You are God’s prophet.
“If you are caught they will say I was with you anyway.” Hark laid a heavy hand on Nat Turner’s shoulder. “You are my brother. How could I not go with you?” Hark stared at him quietly for a while and then laughed again. He plucked Nat Turner’s right biceps. “Scrawny. You need me. God would never let me rest in peace if I didn’t go with you!”
War was the price of hope. It was the price of the coming generations’ freedom. It was the price for his wife, for all the innocent brides who were defiled. July 4th. “Strengthen our arms, Lord.”
God had given His sign.