He could not turn around. He would not turn around. Nat Turner waded through the corn headed for the woods. He took no thought of overseers. This was the moment. God had sent him back for His people, for the children, for their dreams. He would blind the overseers and stop their ears.
Again, as he ran, Nat Turner heard the voice of God.
Fear not: for I am with thee: I will bring thy seed from the east, and gather thee from the west; I will say to the north, Give up; and to the south, Keep not back: bring My sons from far, and My daughters from the ends of the earth; Even every one that is called by My name: for I have created him for My glory, I have formed him; yea, I have made him.
As he ran, God’s words filled his ears and encouraged his heart for battle.
Yea, before the day was I am He; and there is none that can deliver out of My hand: I will work, and who shall let it? For your sake I have brought down all their nobles, whose cry is in the ships.
Nat Turner’s bare feet pounded the ground. What was before him seemed like a dream.
I am the Lord, your King, which maketh a way in the sea, and a path in the mighty waters; which bringeth forth the chariot and horse, the army and the power—they shall lie down together, they shall not rise: they are extinct, they are quenched as tow.
Remember ye not the former things, neither consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert to give drink to My people, My chosen.
Though he charged ahead, Nat Turner felt slowed, as if he ran through some thick substance like honey. It must have been the same for Washington, Nathan Hale, and Crispus Attucks. Each step forward brought him closer to the beginning. Each step forward brought him closer to the end. Nat Turner’s feet touched familiar grass, took him past trees he had grown with since a boy. Branches he had touched a lifetime ago reached out to touch him.
Going to Cabin Pond meant people, people he knew, people he was raised with, people he loved, were going to die. It was the price of freedom, revolution, and war.
Would any of the captives have the courage to meet him at the pond? Would they recognize the sign?
But there was no doubting the sign. The indigo sun was the sign of God’s judgment. God had made His choice and the time of mercy had ended.
The captives had talked—they were ready to be God’s army, they were ready to die for freedom. But they had had lifetimes of being afraid, of obeying tyranny just for survival. Now that it was time, would they have the courage to join him? They were farmers, not warriors—the descendants of generations of farmers stolen from Africa. They were peaceful people who wanted only to grow things from the soil. Who could expect them to do battle?
Nat Turner ran on, stopping at moments to use the scythe to hack his way through the brush. It would be a miracle if any of them came. His people had been frightened and tortured for so many years; it would be a miracle if someone had not already betrayed him. After waiting so long, there might be a hangman’s party waiting for him rather than an army.
The harvest had come. People would be killed—the roots of Turner’s Meeting Place—the pastor, the trustees, and their heirs. He had known the names all his life—the Whiteheads, the Francises, the Turners, the Newsoms. They would be the first among the deaths of the church’s members—all those who used God’s name in vain, pretending to be holy and pretending to love.
But it was not only family names; the names also belonged to faces. Like Sallie. Nat had known her since they were children. Nathaniel and Salathiel. Richard Whitehead. Nat Turner thought of all the faces. All of them were captors, but they were also his childhood friends and brothers. Brother to both captors and captives, he should not have to choose.
His own brothers would have no part in it—Samuel was already dead and John Clarke had no place in the Turner’s Meeting Place deed.
The blue sun was hot on his neck and shoulders. It changed the color of everything around him. The grass beneath his feet was dark gray, no longer green. The wind that blew about him lifted the leaves and the branches. Each step brought him closer to the end.