The Confessions of Nat Turner Part 3

It is curious how sometimes our most vivid dreams take place when we are but half asleep, and how they occupy the briefest s.p.a.ce of time. In the courtroom this day, dozing off for several seconds at the oaken table to which I had been bound by a length of chain, I had a terrifying dream. I seemed to be walking alone at the edge of a swamp at nightfall, the light around me glimmering, crepuscular, touched with that greenish hue presaging the onslaught of a summer storm. The air was windless, still, but high in the heavens beyond the swamp thunder grumbled and heaved, and heat lightning at somber intervals blossomed against the sky. Filled with panic, I seemed to be searching for my Bible, which strangely, unaccountably I had left there, somewhere in the depths and murk of the swamp; in fear and despair I pressed my search into the oncoming night, pushing now deeper and deeper into the gloomy marshland, haunted by the ominous, stormy light and by a far-off pandemonium of thunder. Try desperately as I might, I could not find my Bible. Suddenly another sound came to my ears, this time the frightened outcry of voices. They were the voices of boys, hoa.r.s.e and half grown and seized with terror, and now instantly I saw them: half a dozen black boys trapped neck-deep in a bog of quicksand, crying aloud for rescue as their arms waved frantically in the dim light and as they sank deeper and deeper into the mire. I seemed to stand helpless at the edge of the bog, unable to move or to speak, and while I stood there a voice echoed out of the sky, itself partaking of that remote sound of thunder: Thy sons shall be given unto another people and Thy sons shall be given unto another people and The Confessions of Nat Turner 64.thine eyes shall look, and fail with longing for them all the day long, so that thou shalt be mad for the sight of thine eyes long, so that thou shalt be mad for the sight of thine eyes . . . . . .

Screaming their mortal fright, black arms and faces sinking beneath the slime, the boys began to vanish one by one before my eyes while the noise of a prodigious guilt overwhelmed me like a thunderclap . . . "The prisoner will . . ." The sharp rapping of a mallet interrupted the horror, and I snapped awake with a start. . . ." The sharp rapping of a mallet interrupted the horror, and I snapped awake with a start.

"If the court please . . ." I heard the voice say, "it is a crying outrage. Sech behavior is a crying outrage! crying outrage! " "

The mallet cracked down again. "The prisoner is cautioned to stay awake," said another voice. This time the voice was more familiar: it was that of Jeremiah Cobb.

"If the court please," the first voice continued, "it is a disgrace to these a.s.sizes that the prisoner goes to sleep, and in the full view of this honorable court. Even if it is true that a n.i.g.g.e.r can't stay awake any longer than-"

"The prisoner has been duly cautioned, Mr. Trezevant," Cobb said. "You may proceed with the reading of the deposition."

The man who had been reading my confessions aloud now paused and turned to stare at me, obviously relishing the pause, his own sparkling gaze, the total effect. His face was filled with hatred and disgust. I returned his gaze without faltering, though with no emotion. Smooth-featured, bullnecked, squinty-eyed, he now turned back to the papers, leaning forward aggressively on thick haunches and poking the air with a stubby finger. " 'The aforementioned lady fled and got some distance from the house,'" he recited, " 'but she was pursued, overtaken, and compelled to get up behind one of the company, who brought her back, and after showing her the mangled body of her husband, she was told to get down and lay by his side, where she was shot dead. I then started for Mr. Jacob Williams's. . ' " I ceased listening.

There must have been two hundred people in the jammed courtroom: in holiday finery, the women in silk bonnets and ta.s.seled shawls, the men in black morning suits and patent leather shoes, stern, aggrieved, blinking and blinking, they crowded together on the straight-backed benches like a congregation of owls, silent now and attentive, breaking the steaming stillness with only a sneeze or a strangled, rattling 65.cough. The round iron stove sizzled and breathed in the quiet, filling the air with the scent of burning cedar; the room grew stifling warm and vapor clung to the windowpanes, blurring the throng of people still milling outside the courthouse, a row of tethered gigs and buggies, distant pine trees in a scrawny, ragged grove. Somewhere in the back of the courtroom I could hear a woman sobbing softly, but hoa.r.s.ely and bitterly and with that particular rhythmic scratchy persistence of a female close to hysteria. Someone tried to shush her up, to no avail; the sobs continued, heartbroken, rhythmic, unceasing.

For many years it had been my habit, when situated in a position where time grew heavy on my hands, to pray- often not so much beseeching G.o.d for special favor (for I had long since come to believe that He must surely frown upon too many pesky requests) as simply out of some great need to stay in touch with Him, making sure that I never strayed so far away that He would be beyond hearing my voice. The Psalms of David I knew by heart, almost all of them, and many were the times each day when I would stop in the midst of work and recite a Psalm half aloud, feeling that by so doing I did not bother or hara.s.s the Lord yet magnified Him all the same by adding one voice to the choir of ascending praise. Yet again as I sat in the courtroom, listening to the restless stir and fidget of bodies on the benches, the hacking and coughing, the woman's persistent sobbing like a single thread of hysteria, the same feeling of apartness from G.o.d which I had felt early that morning, and for past days in numbers beyond counting, washed over me in a chill, desolating gush of anguish. Beneath my breath I tried to murmur a Psalm, but the words were flat, ugly, without meaning. The sense of His absence was like a profound and awful silence in my brain. Nor was it His absence alone which caused me this renewed feeling of despair, absence itself might have been endurable: instead it was a sense of repudiation I felt, of denial, as if He had turned His back on me once and for all, vanished, leaving me to mouth prayers, supplications, psalms of praise which flew not upward but tumbled hollow, broken, and meaningless into the depths of some foul dark hole. As I sat there I felt again almost overwhelmed by weariness, the weariness of hunger, but I forced my eyes to stay open and my gaze drowsed across the room toward Gray, still scribbling at his writing box, pausing now and then only to splash tobacco juice, with a dull pinging sound, into the bra.s.s spittoon at his feet. Nearby in the crowd an old hatchet-faced man sneezed enormously, again and again, the sneezes exploding violently from his nose in a shower of mist.

66.My mind turned inward upon my abandonment. I found myself thinking of some lines from Job: Oh that I were as in months Oh that I were as in months past, as in the days when G.o.d preserved me; when his candle past, as in the days when G.o.d preserved me; when his candle shined upon my head, and when by his light I walked through shined upon my head, and when by his light I walked through darkness darkness . . . . . .

Then suddenly, and for the first time, with the same kind of faint shivery chill at my spine and shoulders that announces the commencement of a fever-a p.r.i.c.kle at my neck as if from the lighest pa.s.sing touch of icy fingers-I began to fear the coming of my own death. It was not terror, it was not even panic; it was rather an apprehension and a faint one at that, an airless mounting sense of discomfort and uneasiness as if, knowing that I had eaten a piece of tainted pork, I was awaiting the cramps and the griping flux to come, the sweats and the gut-sickness.

And somehow this sudden fear of death, or rather this tremulous and hesitant emotion which was more like a dull worry than fright, had less to do with death itself, with the fact that I must soon die, than with my inability to pray or make any kind of contact with G.o.d. I mean, it was not that I had wanted to beseech G.o.d because I was afraid of dying; it was rather that my own failure in praying to Him had caused me now this troublesome fear of death. I felt a trickle of sweat worm its humid way down the side of my forehead.

Now I could tell that the man they called Trezevant was approaching the end of my confessions, the voice at once slowing its pace and rising in tone on a note of dramatic finality: "

'. . . I immediately left my hiding place, and was pursued almost incessantly until I was taken a fortnight afterwards by Mr.

Benjamin Phipps, in a little hole I had dug out with my sword, for the purpose of concealment, under the top of a fallen tree. On Mr. Phipps's discovering the place of my concealment, he c.o.c.ked his gun and aimed at me. I requested him not to shoot and I would give up, upon which he demanded my sword. I delivered it to him forthwith. During the time I was pursued, I had many hairbreadth escapes, which your time will not permit me to relate. I am here loaded with chains and willing to suffer the fate that awaits me. . .:' "

Trezevant let the paper slip from his hand onto the table beside him and wheeled toward the six magistrates at the long bench, speaking quickly, almost without a pause, his next words surprisingly quiet but coming in such a rush that they seemed almost a continuation of my confessions: "If it may please this honorable court, the Commonwealth rests its case. All this here 67.is self-evident and self-explained. It would be very unseemly to indulge in a prolixity of words after the simple fact of sech a doc.u.ment-each b.l.o.o.d.y and horrifying phrase of which reveals the prisoner setting here as a fiend beyond any parallel, a h.e.l.l-born and degenerate ma.s.s-murderer the likes of which has been unknown to Christendom. Now, this is no elaboration on the truth; this is truth itself, your Honors. Search the annals of all time, uh-huh, pry into the darkest and obscurest chronicles of human b.e.s.t.i.a.lity and you will search in vain for the equal of sech villainy. Attila the Hun that they aptly called the Scourge of G.o.d-him that ransacked Rome and held the very Pope in thrall-the Chinese Khan, nicknamed Genji, that with his rapacious Mongol hordes laid waste to the great empires of the Orient; the nefarious General Ross, all too well known to most of those older people here still living, the cruel Englishman that in the conflict of 1812 devastated our capital of Washington, D.C.- vipers in human clothing in human clothing all all, yet not a man amongst them that does not tower as a pillar of virtue andrect.i.tude alongside the monster setting here this day, right here, in this court of law . . ."

Bemused, the grand names tolling in my brain like chimes, I felt a kind of horrible, silent laughter welling up within me as the stupid-looking, bull-necked man propelled me thus into history.

He again turned and gazed at me, squinty eyes filled with scorn and hatred. "Yeah, uh-huh, those men, your Honors, abominable as their deeds may have been, was yet capable of a certain magnanimousness. Even their their vengeful and ruthless code demanded that they spare the lives of the young, the helpless, the old and the frail, the pitifully weak. Even vengeful and ruthless code demanded that they spare the lives of the young, the helpless, the old and the frail, the pitifully weak. Even their their hard rules allowed them a smidgen of human charity; and wanton in their cruelty as they was, some spark of grace, some quality of mercy compelled them oftentimes to withhold the sword when it come to shedding the blood of helpless innocence, babies and so on. hard rules allowed them a smidgen of human charity; and wanton in their cruelty as they was, some spark of grace, some quality of mercy compelled them oftentimes to withhold the sword when it come to shedding the blood of helpless innocence, babies and so on.

Your Honors-and I shall be brief, for this case needs no clamorous protestation-the prisoner here, unlike his b.l.o.o.d.y predecessors in evil, can lay hold on to no mitigation by reason of charity or mercy. No compa.s.sion, no memory of past kindnesses or of gentle and paternal care deviated him from the execution of these bleak deeds. Tender innocence and feeble old age-sech alike fell victim to his inhuman l.u.s.t. A fiend incarnate, self-confessed, his diabolical actions now stand revealed in all their hideous lineaments. Your Honors! Your Honors! The people cry out for swift retribution! He must pay the supreme penalty with all due speed, that the stink of his depraved and hateful flesh be erased from the nostrils of a 68.shocked humanity! . . . Commonwealth rests its case." He was finished. Suddenly I was aware that his eyes were spilling over with tears. He had made a prodigious effort.

Dabbing at his eyes with the back of his hand, Trezevant sat down beside the whispering stove; there was no great sound in the courtroom-only a subdued mumbling and a shuffing of feet, a renewed outburst of hacking and coughing through which that solitary noise of hysterical female weeping rose and rose in a soft despondent wail. Across the room I saw Gray murmuring behind his hand to a cadaverous man in a black frock coat, then he quickly arose and addressed the bench. And immediately, with no shock, I realized he was now speaking in tones that he always reserved for court, not for a n.i.g.g.e.r preacher.

"Honorable Justices," Gray said, "Mr. Parker and I, speaking as counsel for the defendant, wish to commend our colleague Mr.

Trezevant both for his persuasive and fluent reading of the prisoner's confession and also for his splendid summation. We heartily concur and submit the defendant's case to the court without argument." He paused, turned to glance at me impa.s.sively, then continued: "However, one or two items, if it pleases your Honors-and I too shall try to be brief, agreeing with the able prosecutor that this case needs no clamorous clamorous protestation protestation. Felicitous phrase! I would like to make it clear that Mr. Parker and I submit these items not by way of argument, nor out of the desire for mitigation or extenuation for the prisoner, who to our minds is every bit as black-no play on words intended!-as he has been painted by Mr. Trezevant. Yet if these a.s.sizes have been convened to apportion justice to the princ.i.p.als in this conspiracy, they have also been held in the spirit of inquiry. For this terrible event has given rise to grave questions-crucial and significant questions the answers to which involve the safety and the well-being and peace of mind of every white man, woman, and child within the sound of my voice, and far beyond, yes, throughout every inch and ell of this Southern empire where the white race and the black race dwell in such close propinquity. Not a few of these questions, with the capture and confinement of the prisoner here, have been answered to our considerable satisfaction. The widespread fear-nay, conviction-that this uprising was no mere local event but was part of a larger, organized scheme with ramifications spreading out octopus-like throughout the slave population universally-this terror has been safely laid to rest.

69."Yet other questions perforce remain to trouble us. The rebellion was put down. Its maniacal partic.i.p.ants have received swift and impartial justice, and its leader-the misguided wretch who sits before us in this courtroom-will quickly follow them to the gallows. Nonetheless, in the dark and privy stillness of our minds there are few of us who are not still haunted by worrisome doubts. Honesty, stark reality-naked fact!-compel us to admit that the seemingly impossible did, in truth, eventuate: benevolently treated, recipients of the most tender and solicitous care, a band of fanatical Negroes did, in truth, rise up murderously and in the dead of night strike down those very people under whose stewardship they had enjoyed a contentment and tranquillity unequaled anywhere among the members of their race. It was not a fantasy, not a nightmare! It was an actual happening, and its awful toll in human ruin and heartbreak and bereavement can be measured to this very day by the somber pall of mourning which hangs like a cloud here- here in this courtroom, two months and more after the hideous event. We cannot erase these questions, they refuse to dissolve like a mist, as the Bard put it, leaving not a rack behind. We cannot wish them away. They haunt us like the specter of a threatening black hand above the sweetly pillowed head of a slumbering babe. Like the memory of a stealthy footstep in a murmurous and peaceful summer garden. How did it happen?

From what dark wellspring did it flow? Will it ever happen again?"

Gray paused and again turned toward me, the square ruddy face impa.s.sive, bland, regarding me as ever without hostility. I had grown only mildly surprised by his voice, filled as it was with eloquence and authority, free of the sloppy patronizing half-literate white-man-to-a-n.i.g.g.e.r tones he had used in jail. It was obviously he-not the prosecutor Trezevant-who was in charge of things. "How did it happen?" he repeated in a slow, measured voice. "From what dark wellspring did it flow? Will it ever happen again?" And he paused once more, then with a flourish toward the papers on the table, said: "The answer lies here, the answer lies in the confessions of Nat Turner!"

Again he turned to address the bench, his words momentarily drowned out as an ancient toothless Negro woman fumbled with a clattering noise at the stove door, hurled in a cedar log; blue smoke fumed outward, and a popping shower of sparks. The door clanged shut, the woman shuffled away. Gray coughed, then resumed: "Honorable Justices, as briefly as I can I want to demonstrate that the defendant's confessions, paradoxically, far 70.from having to alarm us, from sending us into consternation and confusion, should instead give us considerable cause for relief.

Needless to say, I am not suggesting that the prisoner's deeds mean that we must not enforce stricter and more stringent laws against this cla.s.s of the population. Far from it: if anything, this dreadful insurrection shows that stern and repressive measures are clearly indicated, not only in Virginia but throughout the entire South. Yet, your Honors, I will endeavor to make it plain that all such rebellions are not only likely to be exceedingly rare in occurrence but are ultimately doomed to failure, and this as a result of the basic weakness and inferiority, the moral deficiency of the Negro character."

Gray picked up the confessions from the table, shuffled through the pages briefly, and continued: "Fifty-five white people went to a horrible death in this insurrection, your Honors, yet of this number Nat Turner was personally responsible for only one murder. One murder One murder-this being that of Miss Margaret Whitehead, age eighteen, the comely and cultivated daughter of Mrs. Catherine Whitehead-also a victim of the insurrection- and sister to Mr. Richard Whitehead, a respected Methodist minister known to many of those in this courtroom, who likewise met a cruel fate at the hands of this inhuman pack. One murder alone, it seems plain, was all that Nat Turner committed. A particularly foul and dastardly murder it was, to be sure-taking the fragile life of a young girl in all her pure innocence. Yet I am convinced that this was the defendant's sole and solitary victim.

Convinced, your Honors, only after much preliminary skepticism.

For indeed-perhaps like your honorable selves-skepticism nagged at, nay, overwhelmed me when I pondered close the evidence I transcribed from the prisoner's own lips. Would not the admission of a single slaying-a single slaying alone-be tantamount to a sly plea for clemency? Thoroughly in key with the malingering nature of the Negro character, would not such an admission be typical of the evasiveness which the Negro perennially employs to cloak and disguise the base quality of his nature? I thereupon resolved upon a st.u.r.dy confrontal of the defendant with my strictures and doubts, only to discover that he was adamant in his refusal to admit a greater involvement in the actual slayings. And at this moment-if the court will permit me the levity-I had begun durn well to doubt my doubts. For why should a person, knowing full well that he must die for his deeds anyway, having already owned to one ghastly murder, and having displayed otherwise a remarkable candor in terms of the extent of his crimes-why should he not own all all? 'The man hath 71.penance done,' quoth the poet Coleridge in his immortal rhyme, 'and penance more will do.' What availed the defendant any further reticence?" Gray halted, then resumed: "Thus, not without some reluctance, I concluded that in terms of this beaucoup beaucoup important item-the killing of one individual, and one individual alone-the prisoner was speaking the truth . . . important item-the killing of one individual, and one individual alone-the prisoner was speaking the truth . . .

"But why?" Gray continued. "Why only one? This was the next question to which I addressed myself, and which caused me a severe and worrisome perplexity. Cowardice alone may well have served to explain this oddity. Certainly, pure Negro cowardice would find its quintessential expression in this base crime-the slaying not of a virile and stalwart man but of a fragile, weak, and helpless young maiden but a few years out of childhood. Yet once again, your Honors, logic and naked fact compel us to admit that this insurrection has caused us to rearrange, at least provisonally, some of our traditional notions about Negro cowardice. For certainly, whatever the deficiencies of the Negro character-and they are many, varied, and grave- only one? This was the next question to which I addressed myself, and which caused me a severe and worrisome perplexity. Cowardice alone may well have served to explain this oddity. Certainly, pure Negro cowardice would find its quintessential expression in this base crime-the slaying not of a virile and stalwart man but of a fragile, weak, and helpless young maiden but a few years out of childhood. Yet once again, your Honors, logic and naked fact compel us to admit that this insurrection has caused us to rearrange, at least provisonally, some of our traditional notions about Negro cowardice. For certainly, whatever the deficiencies of the Negro character-and they are many, varied, and grave- this uprising has proved beyond any captious argument that the ordinary Negro slave, faced with the choice of joining up with a fanatical insurgent leader such as Nat Turner or defending his fond and devoted master, will leap to his master's defense and fight as bravely as any man, and by so doing give proud evidence of the benevolence of a system so ignorantly decried by the Quakers and other such moralistically dishonest detractors. 'Whatever is unknown is magnified,' quoth Tacitus in Agricola! Agricola! So So much much for Northern ignorance. To be sure, Nat Turner had his misguided adherents. But the bravery of those black men who at their good masters' sides fought faithfully and well cannot be gainsaid, and let it be so recorded to the everlasting honor of this genial inst.i.tution . . ." for Northern ignorance. To be sure, Nat Turner had his misguided adherents. But the bravery of those black men who at their good masters' sides fought faithfully and well cannot be gainsaid, and let it be so recorded to the everlasting honor of this genial inst.i.tution . . ."

Now as Gray spoke, the same sense of misery and despair I had felt that first day when, in the cell, Gray had tolled off the list of slaves acquitted, transported, but not hung- them other n.i.g.g.e.rs, them other n.i.g.g.e.rs, dragooned, balked, it was them other n.i.g.g.e.rs that cooked your dragooned, balked, it was them other n.i.g.g.e.rs that cooked your goose, Reverend goose, Reverend-this same despair suddenly rolled over me in a cold and sickening wave, mingled with the dream I had had, only a few minutes before, of the Negro boys screaming their terror in the swamp, sinking out of sight beneath the mire . . .

Sweating, the sweat rolling in streams down my cheeks, I felt an inward, uncontrollable wrench of guilt and loss, and I must have made a sound in my throat, or moved in my rattling chains, uncontrollably again, for Gray suddenly halted and turned and 72.stared at me, as did the six old men at the bench, and I could feel the eyes of the spectators on me, blinking and blinking, watching. Then I slowly relaxed, with a kind of icy interior shudder, and gazed out through the steaming windows at the ragged grove of pine trees far off beneath the wintry sky-of a sudden then, for no particular reason other than that once more I had heard her name, thinking of Margaret Whitehead in some fragrant, summery context of dappled light and shade, dust blooming up from a baked and rutted summer road, and her voice clear, whispery, and girlish beside me on the carriage seat as I gaze at the mare's clipclopping hooves beneath the coa.r.s.e and flourishing tail: And he came himself-the Governor, Nat! And he came himself-the Governor, Nat!

Governor Floyd! All the way down to Lawrenceville he came!

Isn't that just the most glorious thing you ever heard? And my own voice, polite, respectful: And my own voice, polite, respectful: Yes, missy, that must indeed be Yes, missy, that must indeed be something grand something grand. And again the breathless and whispery girl's voice: And we had a big ceremony at the Seminary, Nat. And it And we had a big ceremony at the Seminary, Nat. And it was the most splendiferous thing! And I'm the cla.s.s poet and I was the most splendiferous thing! And I'm the cla.s.s poet and I wrote an ode and a song that the little students sang. And the wrote an ode and a song that the little students sang. And the little girls presented the Governor with a wreath. Want to hear little girls presented the Governor with a wreath. Want to hear the words of the song, Nat? Want to hear them? the words of the song, Nat? Want to hear them? And again my own voice, solemn and polite: And again my own voice, solemn and polite: Why yes, missy. I'd sure love to Why yes, missy. I'd sure love to hear that song hear that song. And then the joyous and girlish voice in my ear above the jogging, squeaking springs, mountainous white drifting clouds of June sending across the parched fields immensities of light and dark, dissolving patterns of shade and sun: We'll pull a bunch of buds and flowers, And tie a ribbon round them; If you'll but think, in your lonely hours, Of the sweet little girls that bound them.

We'll cull the earliest that put forth, And those that last the longest, And the bud that boasts the fairest birth, Shall cling to the stem the strongest . . .

Gray's voice swam back through the courtroom above the restless shuffle, the hiss and hum and torment of the stove, panting like an old hound: ". . . was not Negro cowardice in this case, honorable Justices, which was at the root of the 73.defendant's egregious and total failure. Had it been pure cowardice, Nat would have conducted his operation from a vantage point allowing him but little if any propinquity with the carnage, the b.l.o.o.d.y proceedings themselves. But we know from the prisoner's own testimony, and from the testimony of the n.i.g.g.e.r . . . Negro Hark and the others-and we have no clear reason to doubt any of it-that he himself was intimately involved in the proceedings, striking the first blow toward their execution, and repeatedly attempting to wreak murderous acts of violence upon the terrified and innocent victims." Gray paused for an instant, then said with emphasis: "But note well, your Honors, that I say attempting attempting. I stress and underline that world. I put that word in majuscules! majuscules! For save in the inexplicably successful murder of Margaret Whitehead-inexplicably motivated, likewise obscurely executed-the defendant, this purported bold, intrepid, and resourceful leader, was unable to carry out a For save in the inexplicably successful murder of Margaret Whitehead-inexplicably motivated, likewise obscurely executed-the defendant, this purported bold, intrepid, and resourceful leader, was unable to carry out a single feat of single feat of arms! arms! Not only this, but at the end his quality of leadership, such as it was, utterly deserted him!" Gray paused again, then went on in a soft, somber, deliberate voice: "I humbly submit to this court and your Honors the inescapable fact that the qualities of irresolution, instability, spiritual backwardness, and plain habits of docility are so deeply embedded in the Negro nature that any insurgent action on the part of this race is doomed to failure; and for this reason it is my sincere plea that the good people of our Southland yield not, succ.u.mb not to the twin demons of terror and panic . . ." Not only this, but at the end his quality of leadership, such as it was, utterly deserted him!" Gray paused again, then went on in a soft, somber, deliberate voice: "I humbly submit to this court and your Honors the inescapable fact that the qualities of irresolution, instability, spiritual backwardness, and plain habits of docility are so deeply embedded in the Negro nature that any insurgent action on the part of this race is doomed to failure; and for this reason it is my sincere plea that the good people of our Southland yield not, succ.u.mb not to the twin demons of terror and panic . . ."

But listen, Nat, listen to the rest . . . . . .

Yes, missy, I'm listening. That's a very fine poem, Miss Margaret.

We've run about the garden walks And searched among the dew, Sir, These fragrant flowers, these tender stalks, We've plucked them all for you, Sir.

Pray, take this bunch of buds and flowers, Pray, take the ribbon round them; And sometimes think, in your lonely hours, Of the sweet little girls that bound them.

74.There! That's the end of it! What do you think of it, Nat? What do you think? you think?

That's a very beautiful poem, missy. The mare's rump tawny and glistening, and slower now clipclopping past green hayfields busy with the cricketing st.i.tch of insects; slowly I too turn, eying her face with a n.i.g.g.e.r's tentative, cautious, evasive glance (some old black mammy's warning ever a watchword, even now: The mare's rump tawny and glistening, and slower now clipclopping past green hayfields busy with the cricketing st.i.tch of insects; slowly I too turn, eying her face with a n.i.g.g.e.r's tentative, cautious, evasive glance (some old black mammy's warning ever a watchword, even now: Look a white folks in de eye you prayin' for trouble Look a white folks in de eye you prayin' for trouble), catching a glimpse of the cheekbone's lovely swerve and the fine white skin, milky, transparent, the nose uptilted and the shadow of a saucy dimple in a round young chin. She is wearing a white bonnet, and beneath it glossy strands of hair the color of chestnut have become unloosened, which all unconsciously lends to her demure and virginal beauty the faintest touch of wantonness. Sheathed in white Sunday linen, she is sweating, and I am close enough to smell her sweat, pungent and womanly and disturbing; now she laughs her high, giggly girlish laugh, wipes a tiny bubble of perspiration from her nose, and suddenly turning to gaze straight in my eyes, takes me off guard with a look joyous, gay, and unwittingly coquettish. Confused, embarra.s.sed, I swiftly turn away. You should have seen the You should have seen the Governor, Nat. Such a fine-looking man! And oh yes, I almost Governor, Nat. Such a fine-looking man! And oh yes, I almost forgot. There was an account of it in the Southside Reporter, and forgot. There was an account of it in the Southside Reporter, and it mentions my poem, and me! I have it right here, listen it mentions my poem, and me! I have it right here, listen. For a moment she is silent as she gropes in her handbag, then reads rapidly, the voice breathless and excited above the drumming hooves. The Governor was then conducted into the Academical The Governor was then conducted into the Academical Apartment where upwards of a hundred pupils were handsomely Apartment where upwards of a hundred pupils were handsomely arranged to receive him, and where a brilliant circle of ladies had arranged to receive him, and where a brilliant circle of ladies had previously a.s.sembled to witness the scene. After being previously a.s.sembled to witness the scene. After being introduced, an address was delivered by the Princ.i.p.al, to which introduced, an address was delivered by the Princ.i.p.al, to which Governor Floyd made a feeling and appropriate reply. An original Governor Floyd made a feeling and appropriate reply. An original ode for the occasion was then sung by the young ladies, ode for the occasion was then sung by the young ladies, accompanied by Miss Timberlake on the piano, to the air of accompanied by Miss Timberlake on the piano, to the air of Strike the Cymbal. Miss Covington then delivered the Strike the Cymbal. Miss Covington then delivered the committee's address in behalf of the school, in a style of pathos committee's address in behalf of the school, in a style of pathos and eloquence which could not easily be surpa.s.sed . . . (Now and eloquence which could not easily be surpa.s.sed . . . (Now listen, Nat, this is about me . . .) Miss Margaret Whitehead's ode listen, Nat, this is about me . . .) Miss Margaret Whitehead's ode then followed, at the close of which the youngest pupils sang, in then followed, at the close of which the youngest pupils sang, in the most charming manner, Buds and Flowers, as a sequel to the most charming manner, Buds and Flowers, as a sequel to the ode, and at the same time presented a wreath. The effect the ode, and at the same time presented a wreath. The effect was electrical, and almost every eye was in tears. We doubt was electrical, and almost every eye was in tears. We doubt whether the Governor has anywhere witnessed a more whether the Governor has anywhere witnessed a more interesting scene, than this one in our own Seminary, dedicated interesting scene, than this one in our own Seminary, dedicated The Confessions of Nat Turner 75.to the highest principles of Christian female education . . .

What do you think of that, Nat?

That's mighty fine, missy. That's mighty fine and grand. Yes, yes, that's just grand. that's just grand.

There is a moment's silence, then: I thought you would like the I thought you would like the poem. Oh, I knew you would like it, Nat! Because you-oh, poem. Oh, I knew you would like it, Nat! Because you-oh, you're not like Mama or Richard. Every weekend I've come over you're not like Mama or Richard. Every weekend I've come over from school you've been the only one I could talk to. All Mama from school you've been the only one I could talk to. All Mama cares about is the crops-I mean the timber and the corn and cares about is the crops-I mean the timber and the corn and those oxen and all-and making money. And Richard is just as those oxen and all-and making money. And Richard is just as bad almost. I mean he's a preacher and all but there's nothing, bad almost. I mean he's a preacher and all but there's nothing, oh, spiritual about him at all. I mean they don't understand oh, spiritual about him at all. I mean they don't understand anything about poetry or spiritual things or even religious things. anything about poetry or spiritual things or even religious things.

I mean the other day I said something to Richard about the beauty of the Psalms and he said, with that sort of scrunched-up beauty of the Psalms and he said, with that sort of scrunched-up sour look: What beauty? I mean can youimagine that, Nat? From sour look: What beauty? I mean can youimagine that, Nat? From your own brother and a preacher, too! What is your favorite your own brother and a preacher, too! What is your favorite Psalm, Nat? Psalm, Nat?

For a moment I am silent. We are going to be late to church, and I urge the mare along at a canter, tapping her rump with the whip as the dust swarms and billows around her prancing feet. Then I say: That's right hard to tell, Miss Margaret. There's a whole slew That's right hard to tell, Miss Margaret. There's a whole slew of Psalms I dearly love. I reckon though I love the best the one of Psalms I dearly love. I reckon though I love the best the one that begins: Be merciful unto me, O G.o.d, be merciful unto me: that begins: Be merciful unto me, O G.o.d, be merciful unto me: for my soul trusteth in thee: yea, in the shadow of thy wings will I for my soul trusteth in thee: yea, in the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge, until these calamities be overpast. I pause, make my refuge, until these calamities be overpast. I pause, then say: I will cry unto G.o.d most high; unto G.o.d that performeth then say: I will cry unto G.o.d most high; unto G.o.d that performeth all things for me. all things for me. And then I say: And then I say: That's the way it begins. That is That's the way it begins. That is number Fifty-seven. number Fifty-seven.

Yes, yes, she says in her whispery voice. she says in her whispery voice. Oh yes, that's the one Oh yes, that's the one that has the verse in it that goes: Awake up, my glory; awake, that has the verse in it that goes: Awake up, my glory; awake, psaltery and harp: I myself will awake early psaltery and harp: I myself will awake early. As she speaks, I feel her closeness, oppressive, disturbing, almost frightening, the flutter and tremble of her linen dress against my sleeve. Oh yes, Oh yes, it is so beautiful I could just weep. You're so good at it is so beautiful I could just weep. You're so good at remembering the Bible, Nat. And you have such a knowledge of, remembering the Bible, Nat. And you have such a knowledge of, oh, spiritual things. I mean it's funny, you know, when I tell the oh, spiritual things. I mean it's funny, you know, when I tell the girls at school they just don't believe me when I say I go home girls at school they just don't believe me when I say I go home on weekends and the only person I can talk to is a-is a darky! on weekends and the only person I can talk to is a-is a darky!

I am silent, and I feel my heart pounding at a great rate, although I do not know the reason for this.

76.And Mama said you were going. Going back to the Travises. And that makes Margaret so sad, because she won't have anyone to that makes Margaret so sad, because she won't have anyone to talk to all summer. But they're only a few miles away, Nat. You talk to all summer. But they're only a few miles away, Nat. You will come by sometime, won't you, on a Sunday? Even though will come by sometime, won't you, on a Sunday? Even though you won't be carrying me to church any more? I'll just feel lost you won't be carrying me to church any more? I'll just feel lost without your society-I mean reciting to me from the Bible, I without your society-I mean reciting to me from the Bible, I mean really knowing it so deeply and all mean really knowing it so deeply and all . . . On she prattles and chirrups, her voice joyful, lilting, filled with Christian love, Christian virtue, Christ-obsessed young awe and discovery. Did I not think that Matthew was of all the Gospels the most . . . On she prattles and chirrups, her voice joyful, lilting, filled with Christian love, Christian virtue, Christ-obsessed young awe and discovery. Did I not think that Matthew was of all the Gospels the most sublime sublime?

Was not the doctrine of temperance the most n.o.ble, pure n.o.ble, pure, and true true contribution of the Methodist Church? Was not the Sermon on the Mount the most contribution of the Methodist Church? Was not the Sermon on the Mount the most awe-inspiring awe-inspiring message in the entire world? Suddenly, my heart still pounding uproariously, I am filled with a bitter, reasonless hatred for this innocent and sweet and quivering young girl, and the long hot desire to reach out with one arm and snap that white, slender, throbbing young neck is almost uncontrollable. Yet-strange, I am aware of it-it is not hatred; it is something else. But what? What? I cannot place the emotion. It is closer to jealousy, but it is not even that. And why I should feel such an angry turmoil over this gentle creature baffles me, for save for my one-time master Samuel Turner, and perhaps Jeremiah Cobb, she is the only white person with whom I have experienced even one moment of a warm and mysterious and mutual confluence of sympathy. Then all at once I realize that from just that sympathy, irresistible on my part, and unwanted-a disturbance to the great plans which this spring are gathering together into a fatal shape and architecture-arises my sudden rage and confusion. message in the entire world? Suddenly, my heart still pounding uproariously, I am filled with a bitter, reasonless hatred for this innocent and sweet and quivering young girl, and the long hot desire to reach out with one arm and snap that white, slender, throbbing young neck is almost uncontrollable. Yet-strange, I am aware of it-it is not hatred; it is something else. But what? What? I cannot place the emotion. It is closer to jealousy, but it is not even that. And why I should feel such an angry turmoil over this gentle creature baffles me, for save for my one-time master Samuel Turner, and perhaps Jeremiah Cobb, she is the only white person with whom I have experienced even one moment of a warm and mysterious and mutual confluence of sympathy. Then all at once I realize that from just that sympathy, irresistible on my part, and unwanted-a disturbance to the great plans which this spring are gathering together into a fatal shape and architecture-arises my sudden rage and confusion.

Why are you going back to the Travises, Nat, so soon? she says. she says.

Well, missy, I was just hired out for two months by Ma.r.s.e Joe.

It's what they call trade-fair-and-square.

What's that? she says. Trade . . . what?

Well, missy, that's why I've been working for your mama. Ma.r.s.e Joe he needed a yoke of oxen to pull stumps and Miss Caty she Joe he needed a yoke of oxen to pull stumps and Miss Caty she needed a n.i.g.g.e.r to work on her new barn. So Ma.r.s.e Joe traded needed a n.i.g.g.e.r to work on her new barn. So Ma.r.s.e Joe traded me for two months for a yoke of oxen. That's what they call me for two months for a yoke of oxen. That's what they call trade-fair-and-square. trade-fair-and-square.

She makes a thoughtful humming noise. Hm-m. A yoke of oxen. Hm-m. A yoke of oxen.

I mean, and you . . . That seems so very strange. She is silent 77.for a moment. Then: Nat, why do you call yourself a n.i.g.g.e.r like Nat, why do you call yourself a n.i.g.g.e.r like that? I mean it sounds so-well, so sad somehow. I much prefer that? I mean it sounds so-well, so sad somehow. I much prefer the word darky. I mean, after all, you're a preacher . . . Oh, look the word darky. I mean, after all, you're a preacher . . . Oh, look yonder, Nat, the church! Look at how Richard has gotten one yonder, Nat, the church! Look at how Richard has gotten one whole side whitewashed already! whole side whitewashed already!

Now again, the soft reverie flowing away in my mind like smoke, I heard Gray's voice as he addressed the court: ". . . are doubtless familiar, perhaps actually conversant, with an even more important work by the late Professor Enoch Mebane of the University of Georgia at Athens, a study of still more commanding stature and exhaustive research than the opus by Professors Sentelle and Richards just quoted. For whereas Professors Sentelle and Richards have demonstrated, from a theological standpoint, the innate and inbred, indeed the predestined predestined deficiency of the Negro in the areas of moral choice and Christian ethics, it remained the achievement of Professor Mebane to prove beyond the iota of a doubt that the Negro is a deficiency of the Negro in the areas of moral choice and Christian ethics, it remained the achievement of Professor Mebane to prove beyond the iota of a doubt that the Negro is a biologically biologically inferior species. Certainly this court is aware of Professor Mebane's treatise, therefore I shall refresh your honorable minds of its contents only in the barest outlines: videlicet, that all the characteristics of the n.i.g.g.e.r head-the deeply receding jaw, measurable by what Professor Mebane has termed the gnathic index; the sloping, beetle-browed cranium, with its grotesque and brutelike width between ear and ear and its lack of vertical lobal areas that in other species allow for the development of the most upwards-reaching moral and spiritual aspirations; and the extraordinary thickness of the cranium itself, resembling not so much that of any human but of the lowest beasts of the field-that all these characteristics fully and conclusively demonstrate that the Negro occupies at best but a middling position amongst all the species, possessing a relationship which is not cousin-german to the other human races but one which is far closer to the skulking baboon of that dark continent from which he springs . . ." inferior species. Certainly this court is aware of Professor Mebane's treatise, therefore I shall refresh your honorable minds of its contents only in the barest outlines: videlicet, that all the characteristics of the n.i.g.g.e.r head-the deeply receding jaw, measurable by what Professor Mebane has termed the gnathic index; the sloping, beetle-browed cranium, with its grotesque and brutelike width between ear and ear and its lack of vertical lobal areas that in other species allow for the development of the most upwards-reaching moral and spiritual aspirations; and the extraordinary thickness of the cranium itself, resembling not so much that of any human but of the lowest beasts of the field-that all these characteristics fully and conclusively demonstrate that the Negro occupies at best but a middling position amongst all the species, possessing a relationship which is not cousin-german to the other human races but one which is far closer to the skulking baboon of that dark continent from which he springs . . ."

Gray halted, and as if pausing for a moment's breath, leaned forward with both hands against the table top, resting his weight there as he contemplated the magistrates at the bench. The courtroom was silent. Quiet, blinking in the steamy air, the people seemed to attend Gray's every word, as if each syllable was atingle with the promise of some revelation which would a.s.suage their fright and their anxiety and even the grief which st.i.tched them together, one and all, like the hysteric thread of that woman's sobbing anguish still persisting in the back of the 78.courtroom, a single noise in the stillness, out of hand now, inconsolable. The manacles had made my hands numb. I flexed my fingers, felt no sensation. Gray cleared his throat, then continued: "Now then, honorable Justices, I beg to be permitted a philosophical leap. I beg to be permitted to connect these una.s.sailable biological theories of Professor Mebane with the concepts of an even greater figure in human thought, namely, the great German philosopher Leibnitz. Now, you are all acquainted with Leibnitz's concept of the monad. The brains of all of us, according to Leibnitz, are filled with monads. These monads, millions and billions of them, are nothing but tiny, infinitesimal mental units striving for development striving for development according to their pre-established nature. Now, whether one takes Leibnitz's theory at its face value or more or less in a symbolical fashion, as I myself am wont to do, the fact remains-and it seems indisputable-that the spiritual and ethical organization of a single mind may be studied and understood from not alone a according to their pre-established nature. Now, whether one takes Leibnitz's theory at its face value or more or less in a symbolical fashion, as I myself am wont to do, the fact remains-and it seems indisputable-that the spiritual and ethical organization of a single mind may be studied and understood from not alone a qualitative qualitative standpoint but from a standpoint but from a quant.i.tative quant.i.tative standpoint likewise. standpoint likewise.

That is to say, that this striving for development striving for development-and I emphasize and underline that phrase-may in the end be only the product of the number of monads that a single mind is physically capable of accommodating."

He paused, then said: "And here, your Honors, is the crux of the issue which, I submit, if we now examine it closely, can lead only to the most optimistic of conclusions. For with his unformed, primitive, almost rudimentary cranium, the Negro suffers from a grave insufficiency of monads, so grave indeed that this striving striving for development for development-which in other races has given us men like Newton and Plato and Leonardo da Vinci and the sublime inventive genius of James Watt-is unalterably hampered, nay, mutilated, in the severest degree; so that on the one hand we have the glorious musicianship of Mozart and on the other, pleasant but childish and uninspired croonings, on the one hand the magnificent constructions of Sir Christopher Wren and on the other the feeble artifacts and potsherds of the African jungle, on the one hand the splendid military feats of Napoleon Bonaparte and on the other-" He broke off again, with a gesture toward me. "On the other the aimless and pathetic and futile slaughter of Nat Turner-destined from its inception to utter failure because of the biological and spiritual inferiority of the Negro character!"

Gray's voice began to rise. "Honorable Justices, again I do not wish to minimize the prisoner's atrocious deeds, nor the need for stricter controls upon this portion of the population. But if this trial 79.is to illumine us, it must also give us room for hope and optimism! It must show us-and I submit that the defendant's confessions have done so already-that we must not run in panic before the Negro! So crudely devised were Nat's plans, so clumsily and aimlessly put into effect . . ."

Again his words fade away on my ears, and I briefly shut my eyes, half drowsing, and again I hear her voice, bell-clear on that somnolent dusty Sunday half a year past: Oh me oh my, Nat, too Oh me oh my, Nat, too bad for you. It's Mission Sunday. This is Richard's day that he bad for you. It's Mission Sunday. This is Richard's day that he preaches to the darkies! preaches to the darkies! Alighting from the buggy, she casts me a sweet, rueful look. Alighting from the buggy, she casts me a sweet, rueful look. Poor Nat Poor Nat . . . And she is gone ahead of me through the dazzling clear light, the white linen swishing as she runs on tiptoe, disappearing into the vestibule of the church, where I too now enter, cautiously, quietly, stealing up the back ladder to the balcony set off for Negroes, hearing as I climb Richard Whitehead's voice nasal and high-pitched and effeminate as always even as he exhorts that black sweating a.s.sembly among whom I will take my seat: . . . And she is gone ahead of me through the dazzling clear light, the white linen swishing as she runs on tiptoe, disappearing into the vestibule of the church, where I too now enter, cautiously, quietly, stealing up the back ladder to the balcony set off for Negroes, hearing as I climb Richard Whitehead's voice nasal and high-pitched and effeminate as always even as he exhorts that black sweating a.s.sembly among whom I will take my seat: And think within And think within yourselves what a terrible thing it would be, after all your labors yourselves what a terrible thing it would be, after all your labors and sufferings in this life, to be turned into h.e.l.l in the next life, and sufferings in this life, to be turned into h.e.l.l in the next life, and after wearing out your bodies in service here to go into a far and after wearing out your bodies in service here to go into a far worse slavery when this is over, and your poor souls be worse slavery when this is over, and your poor souls be delivered over into the possession of the devil, to become his delivered over into the possession of the devil, to become his slaves forever in h.e.l.l, without any hope of ever getting free from slaves forever in h.e.l.l, without any hope of ever getting free from it it . . . High above the white congregation, beneath the church roof where heat as if from an oven blooms stifling and damp amid a myriad swarming motes of dust, the Negroes, seventy or more from the surrounding countryside, sit on dilapidated backless pine benches or squat helter-skelter on the gallery's creaking floor. . . . High above the white congregation, beneath the church roof where heat as if from an oven blooms stifling and damp amid a myriad swarming motes of dust, the Negroes, seventy or more from the surrounding countryside, sit on dilapidated backless pine benches or squat helter-skelter on the gallery's creaking floor.

I cast a quick glance over the crowd and glimpse Hark and Moses, and I exchange looks with Hark, whom I have not seen for nearly two months. Intent, absorbed, some of the women fanning themselves with thin pine-bark shingles, the Negroes are gazing at the preacher with the hollow-eyed fixity of scarecrows, and as I regard them I can tell whom they belong to by what they wear: the ones from Richard Porter and J. T. Barrow and the Widow Whitehead, owners who are fairly rich, dressed cleanly and neatly, the men in cotton shirts and freshly laundered trousers, the women in printed calico and scarlet bandannas, some with cheap earrings and pins; the ones from poorer masters, Nathaniel Francis and Levi Waller and Benjamin Edwards, in dingy rags and patches, a few of the crouched men 80.and boys without shirts, picking their noses and scratching, sweat streaming off their black backs in shiny torrents, the lot of them stinking to heaven. I sit down on a bench near the window in an empty s.p.a.ce between Hark and an obese, gross-jowled, chocolate-colored slave named Hubbard, owned by the Widow Whitehead, who sports a white man's cast-off frayed multicolored vest over his flabby naked shoulders, and whose thick lips wear even now, as he meditates conscientiously upon the sermon from below, a flatterer's avid smirk. Beneath us, from a pulpit elevated above the a.s.sembled whites, in black suit and black tie, pale and slender, Richard Whitehead raises his eyes toward heaven and remonstrates to those of us squatting beneath the roof: If therefore you would be G.o.d's free men in If therefore you would be G.o.d's free men in paradise, you must strive to be good, and serve him here on paradise, you must strive to be good, and serve him here on earth. Your bodies, you know, are not your own; they are at the earth. Your bodies, you know, are not your own; they are at the disposal of those you belong to, but your precious souls are still disposal of those you belong to, but your precious souls are still your own, which nothing can take from you if it is not your own your own, which nothing can take from you if it is not your own fault. Figure well then that if you lose your souls by leading idle, fault. Figure well then that if you lose your souls by leading idle, wicked lives here, you have gained nothing by it in this world and wicked lives here, you have gained nothing by it in this world and you have lost your all in the next. For your idleness and you have lost your all in the next. For your idleness and wickedness are generally found out and your bodies suffer for it wickedness are generally found out and your bodies suffer for it here, and what is far worse, if you do not repent and alter your here, and what is far worse, if you do not repent and alter your ways, your unhappy souls will suffer for it hereafter ways, your unhappy souls will suffer for it hereafter . . . . . .

Black wasps soar and float through the windows, drowsily buzzing as they lurch against the eaves. I but barely listen to the sermon; from these same lips I have heard these same sour and hopeless words half a dozen times in as many years: they do not change or vary, nor do they even belong to the one who speaks them, having been composed rather by the Methodist Bishop of Virginia for annual dispensation by his ministers, to make the Negroes stand in mortal fear. That they have a profound effect on some of us, at least, I cannot doubt: even now as Richard Whitehead warms up to his subject, and his pale face dampens and begins to flush as if from the glow of promised h.e.l.lfire, I can see around me a score of faces popeyed with black n.i.g.g.e.r credulity, jaws agape, delicious shudders of fright coursing through their bodies as they murmur soft Amens Amens, nervously cracking their knuckles and making silent vows of eternal obedience. Yes, yes! Yes, yes! I hear a high impa.s.sioned voice, then the same voice croons I hear a high impa.s.sioned voice, then the same voice croons Ooooo-h Ooooo-h yes, so right! yes, so right! And I shift my glance and see that this is Hubbard: obscenely he sways and wiggles on his thick b.u.t.tocks, his eyes squeezed tightly shut in a trance of prayerful submission. And I shift my glance and see that this is Hubbard: obscenely he sways and wiggles on his thick b.u.t.tocks, his eyes squeezed tightly shut in a trance of prayerful submission. Ooooh yes! Ooooh yes! he groans, a fat house The Confessions of Nat Turner he groans, a fat house 81.n.i.g.g.e.r, docile as a pet c.o.o.n. And now I feel Hark's big hand on mine, firm and and friendly and warm, and I hear his voice in a whisper: Nat, dese yere n.i.g.g.e.rs goin' git to heaven or bust dey Nat, dese yere n.i.g.g.e.rs goin' git to heaven or bust dey britches. How you been, Nat? britches. How you been, Nat?

Eat high off the hog at ole Widow Whitehead's, I whisper back.

Afraid that Hubbard might overhear, I keep my voice pitched low: There's a gun room there, Hark, it's something enormous. She's There's a gun room there, Hark, it's something enormous. She's got fifteen guns locked up behind gla.s.s. And powder and shot got fifteen guns locked up behind gla.s.s. And powder and shot enough to fill a shed. We get them guns and Jerusalem belongs enough to fill a shed. We get them guns and Jerusalem belongs to the n.i.g.g.e.rs. to the n.i.g.g.e.rs. Last March, a month before leaving the Travises' Last March, a month before leaving the Travises'

for the Widow Whitehead's, I told Hark of my plans-Hark and three others. Where's Henry and Nelson and Sam?

Dey all here, Nat, Hark says. I knowed you'd be here, so I got I knowed you'd be here, so I got dem to come too. Funniest daggone thing, Nat, lissen . . . dem to come too. Funniest daggone thing, Nat, lissen . . .

Already he has begun to chuckle, and I start to shush him up, but he continues: You know dat Nelson, his white folks is Baptists You know dat Nelson, his white folks is Baptists and goes to church down Shiloh way. So Nelson didn' have no and goes to church down Shiloh way. So Nelson didn' have no business goin' to no Meth'dist meetin', specially when dey was business goin' to no Meth'dist meetin', specially when dey was preachin' to de n.i.g.g.e.rs like now. So his ma.s.sah-you know dat preachin' to de n.i.g.g.e.rs like now. So his ma.s.sah-you know dat mean ol' Ma.r.s.e Jake Williams what has one leg-he say: mean ol' Ma.r.s.e Jake Williams what has one leg-he say: "Nelson, how come you want to go to a Meth'dist meetin' where they's exhortin' the n.i.g.g.e.rs?" So Nelson he say: "Why, ma.s.sah, they's exhortin' the n.i.g.g.e.rs?" So Nelson he say: "Why, ma.s.sah, dear ma.s.sah, I feels right sinful. I feels I done bad things to you, dear ma.s.sah, I feels right sinful. I feels I done bad things to you, and jes' needs the fear of G.o.d in me so's I can be your faithful and jes' needs the fear of G.o.d in me so's I can be your faithful n.i.g.g.e.r from now on!" n.i.g.g.e.r from now on!" For a moment Hark shakes and trembles with silent laughter, I fear that he might give us away. But then he is whispering: Now dat Nelson is a caution, For a moment Hark shakes and trembles with silent laughter, I fear that he might give us away. But then he is whispering: Now dat Nelson is a caution, Nat! Ever I seed a Nat! Ever I seed a black man wanted to stick a knife in some white foks it's dat ole black man wanted to stick a knife in some white foks it's dat ole Nelson. Dere he is, Nat, over yondah . . . Nelson. Dere he is, Nat, over yondah . . .

I have acquired the strongest faith in Hark, during the past six months slowly undermining his soppy childish esteem for white people, his confidence in them and his reliance upon them, digging in hard on the matter of the sale of his wife and little boy, which, I have insisted, was an irredeemable and monstrous act on the part of our master, no matter how helpless Ma.r.s.e Joe has claimed to be in the transaction; I have battered down Hark's defenses, playing incessantly, almost daily, upon his sorrow and loss, coaxing and wheedling him into a position where he too must grasp, firmly and without qualm, one of the alternatives of freedom or death-in-life, until at last-revealing my plans for a b.l.o.o.d.y sweep through the countryside, the capture of Jerusalem, and a safe flight into the bosom of the Dismal Swamp where no white man can follow us-I see that my campaign has borne 82.fruit: on a winter day in Travis's shop, hara.s.sed to the breaking point by one of Putnam's yowling, peevish harangues, he turns on the boy, brandishing in one hand a ten-pound crowbar, and with the glint of murder in his eye, saying nothing but presenting such an aspect of walled-up rage breaking loose that even I am alarmed, faces his quaking tormenter down once and for all. It is done, it is like once when I watched a great glorious hawk burst free from a snare into the purity of a wide blue sky. Hark is exuberant. Dat l'il sonab.i.t.c.h never run me up a tree again Dat l'il sonab.i.t.c.h never run me up a tree again. Thus Hark becomes the first to join me in this conspiracy. Hark, then Henry and Nelson and Sam: trustworthy, silent, without fear, all men of G.o.d and messengers of His vengeance, these have shared already in the knowledge of my great design.

I see Nelson now across the packed gallery: an older man, fifty-four or fifty-five or fifty-six-as is common among Negroes, he himself is not quite sure-he sits oval-faced and impa.s.sive amidst this addled, distraught, intimidated throng, heavy-lidded eyes making him appear half asleep, a presence of unconquerable patience and calm, yet like a placid sea beneath which lie boiling vast convulsions of fury. A slick and shiny, elevated "S" the ragged length and width of a small garter snake, souvenir of old-time branding days, winds its way through the spa.r.s.e gray hairs of his black chest. He can read a few simple words-where or how he has learned them I do not know. Weary and sick-close to madness-of bondage, he has had more than a half a dozen masters, the last and present one an evil-tempered, crippled woodcutter his same age who dares not whip him after his one adventure in this area (with no more emotion than if he had been slapping a gnat, Nelson struck him back full in the face, and said that if he tried it again he would kill him) but now in frightened retaliation and hatred works him like two, and feeds him on the nastiest kinds of leavings and slops.

Nelson had a wife and family once but can hope no longer to see them either together or often, scattered as they are all over three or four counties of the Tidewater. Like Hark he has little religion-and like Hark is often foul of mouth, which generally causes me some distress-but this does not really trouble me; to me he is a man of G.o.d: shrewd, slowmoving, imperturbable, his slumbrous eyes conceal a maddened defiance, and he will be a strong right arm. n.i.g.g.e.r life ain't worth pig s.h.i.t right arm. n.i.g.g.e.r life ain't worth pig s.h.i.t, he once said to me; mought make a n.i.g.g.e.r worth somethin' to hisself, tryin' to git mought make a n.i.g.g.e.r worth somethin' to hisself, tryin' to git free, even if he don't free, even if he don't. And his counsel about strategy is many times inspired: Rock de places what's got horses first, horses'll Rock de places what's got horses first, horses'll git us amoverin' fast. Or: Rock on a Sunday night, dat's a git us amoverin' fa