Nathaniel Francis would be at Waller’s still. Sad-eyed Charlotte had told Nat Turner that he would be there with Jacob Williams, Thomas Gray, and John Clarke Turner. They would be gathered there with others in the hours before dawn, drinking corn liquor—made from corn stolen from starving people’s mouths—at Waller’s still.
He prayed that his friend Thomas Gray would not be there. Thomas was not a member of Turner’s Meeting Place, but if he was present, there would be no choice. Kill or be killed.
Nat Turner prayed that his brother John Clarke would not be at Waller’s still. He imagined the face of his brother and wanted to spare him. But he was called to do no less than the others. God’s judgment required the lives of cousins, sisters, and fathers as well as brothers.
He knew the captors, even under threat of death, would deny their relationships. The captors felt no brotherhood; they sold their relations, beat them, sold them for prostitutes in New Orleans, and even hanged them. He must deny friends and relatives just as he and the others had been denied. It was a battle for freedom. It was God’s justice. Kill or be killed.
Nat Turner signaled the men to take care as they approached the still. Lamps were burning inside the building but there was no sound. It might be a trap.
Nat Turner hunkered in the grass. His muscles screamed. His head throbbed. Overhead and in the woods, owls called warnings from the trees. Waller, Gray, Francis, and the other captors might be waiting, guns sited on the captives.
If the captives were discovered, the captors would shoot at them from a distance; they would not fight them hand to hand. The captives’ axes and clubs would be nothing against shotguns, rifles, and handguns loaded with lead.
Nat Turner and the others crawled on the ground toward the still, listening for sounds, cautious of the slightest movement from within. But there were no shadows or noises. They inched toward the cabin.