They listened for every sound, every snap. Any creak in the darkness might be a group of captors who had discovered them. Every rustle in the brush might mean they had been betrayed. “Be with us, Lord,” Nat Turner whispered. Maybe he had told too many people. Maybe there was a spy among them. An owl screeched. Wings flapped. Nat Turner stopped. Was it really a creature, or a man with a gun?
They ran again, straining to hear; their nerves on edge. Nat Turner glanced up at the stars. He might never see them again. A cloud passed over the sliver of moon, and then they were in perfect blackness.
When they reached Salathiel Francis’s, as they’d planned, one man pounded on the door. The others waited among the corn that grew from the fields up to Salathiel’s small ramshackle cabin, covering the window, the walls of the shack, everything except the front door. Red Nelson answered.
When the matter was put to him, he joined them. He awakened Salathiel. The man was a giant. When he stumbled outside, half-asleep, it took several men to hold him.
Nat Turner raised his sword. “‘He that stealeth a man, and selleth him, or if he be found in his hand, he shall surely be put to death.’ This is the judgment of the Sovereign Lord!” They dispatched Salathiel Francis quickly.
They divided then—the leaders left to join their squads and render judgment on the others, as they had agreed. Nat Turner had Will now, and he needed to keep the man with him. Yellow Nelson needed someone strong, and they had decided Hark would be the one.
The two of them, Nat Turner and Hark, embraced as brothers. Nat touched his hand to his waistband. “I could give you a pass now,” he whispered to Hark. “You could get away. Head for the Dismal Swamp, get on a boat. Women from all over the world.” Nat Turner hoped his friend would take the pass. He hoped one of them would get away. “You could be gone before anyone discovers us.”
Hark shook his head. “I understand now. You came back for me, brother. Why would I leave you now?” They shook hands.
Hark looked over his shoulder. “Don’t look after me sad-eyed.” Hark smiled. “You will see me again.”
“We will meet at the great oak.”
“Or at the first resurrection.” Hark nodded, still smiling, though his eyes were sorrowful. “If I don’t see you again, know this—women are my delight, but you are my brother—you made me a better man.”
Words never failed Nat Turner, but he was bereft. “Keep your eyes open,” he whispered. “And your head down.”
Hark was still smiling when he turned, calling over his shoulder. “Why be careful now? You’ve been trying to get me hanged since the day we met.”
Nat turned with his team and began to make their way to his sister-in-law’s, Elizabeth Turner’s farm.