The Confessions of Nat Turner Part 16

Even so, there had begun to dwell in my mouth a sinister taste of death-a sweetish-sour and corrupt flavor that rose thickly up through the nostrils like tainted pork-which I had never experienced before and which I could not rid myself of; it persevered through all the great events of the following summer, and even to the very end of the upheaval. Moreover, I began to suffer from that strange illusion or dislocation of the mind that from then on I could not shake loose or avoid. In short, not always but often when I encountered a white person after that day-man, woman, or child-there was an instant when his living presence seemed to dissolve before my eyes and I envisioned him in some peculiar att.i.tude of death. On the morning following my revelation to my followers, for example, when I came back out of the woods as I returned to Travis's, I was smitten by this hallucination to an intense degree. Now overtaken with weakness again from my fast, I headed east to the farm just before noon. As I walked unsteadily along the path which straggled out of the last clump of pine trees I saw that the place was a hive of activity and work. From the distance I could see the two boys, Putnam and young Joel Westbrook, carrying between them a sheaf of strip iron toward the wheel shop.

Farther away, on the front porch of the house, Miss Sarah waddled about with a busy broom, sending up puffs of dust. Still farther off in the barnyard the angular, ap.r.o.ned form of Miss Maria Pope hunched along, strewing handfuls of corn amid a crowd of chickens. The big treadmill saw I had built stood outside the wheel shop; it drove across the field a singsong rasp of metal on wood, and a monotonous clatter. Below the treadmill Travis occupied himself with a hammer and chisel, while above him on the treadmill itself, looming naked to the waist and enormous 279.

through a cloud of steam, Hark plodded at a slant toward the sky, his great legs moving as if in some ageless pilgrimage toward an ever-receding and unattainable home.

As I approached the farm I saw that Travis, turning about, had caught sight of me; he shouted something to me in words that were lost on the wind, then pointed at the treadmill and threw me a welcoming, amiable wave with his hand. He shouted again, and now I caught the words. "Durned good job!" was what I heard; but I stopped then-stock-still and with the taste of death sweet and yellow beneath my tongue-seized for the first time by that hallucination. For like the moment once in a far corner of childhood when at Turner's Mill I had happened on a white child's book in which the woodcut-shapes of small human beings were hidden among the trees, or in a gra.s.sy field, and I was teased by the captions to know, "Where is Jacky?" or "Where is Jane?"-now the distant people before me leaped out similarly from their benign and peaceable scene and I discerned them instantly in the postures of death, prefigured in att.i.tudes of b.l.o.o.d.y immolation: the two boys sent sprawling with heads bashed in, Miss Sarah disemboweled upon the quiet porch, Miss Maria Pope hacked down amid her chickens, and Travis himself impaled upon a pike, the ice of incomprehension freezing his eyes even while he raised his arm, now, in beneficent greeting.

Only Hark endured as he strode ceaselessly upon his treadmill- Ah, Hark Ah, Hark!-high above the dead, paddling like a glorious black swan toward the plains of heaven.

"Well yes, Nat," Hark told me once late that spring. "I reckon I kin kill. I kin kin kill a white man, I knows dat now. Like I done tol' you, I done had some hard times thinkin' 'bout killin' white folks when we start de ruction. I ain't nebber killed n.o.body in all my bo'n days. Sometimes at night I done woked up all asweat and atremble wid dese yere terrible dreams in my head, thinkin' 'bout how it gwine be when I got to kill dem white folks. kill a white man, I knows dat now. Like I done tol' you, I done had some hard times thinkin' 'bout killin' white folks when we start de ruction. I ain't nebber killed n.o.body in all my bo'n days. Sometimes at night I done woked up all asweat and atremble wid dese yere terrible dreams in my head, thinkin' 'bout how it gwine be when I got to kill dem white folks.

"But den I gits to thinkin' 'bout Tiny and Lucas an' Ma.r.s.e Joe sellin' dem off like dat, sellin' dem off widout no nem'mine fo'

how I I feels 'bout it, den I knows I kin kill. Hit like de Lawd feels 'bout it, den I knows I kin kill. Hit like de Lawd ax ax me to kill, 'cause it plain long me to kill, 'cause it plain long sinful sinful to sell off a man's own fambly, like you say. to sell off a man's own fambly, like you say.

"Lawd, Nat, hit sho done cause me a powerful misery, de lonesomeness I done had in my heart after Tiny and Lucas was gone. Like Lucas now-I mean, you know hit kind of funny, de 280.

way I tried to figger out ways not not to grieve over dat little boy. to grieve over dat little boy.

After dey took him away wid Tiny de lonesomeness got so bad I could hardly stan' it. An' so I begun to think 'bout all de mean mean things dat Lucas done. I begun to think 'bout all dem times dat he screeched an' hollered an' kep' me fum sleep an' de time he done got mad an' whopped me wid a hoe handle or dat time he th'owed a mess of grits right in Tiny's face. An' I'd think about all dese times an' I'd say to myse'f: 'Well, he was a mean young'un anyway, hit good to git shet of him.' An' dat ud make me feel better for mebbe a little bit. Den, Lawd, I'd think of de mean things I done to things dat Lucas done. I begun to think 'bout all dem times dat he screeched an' hollered an' kep' me fum sleep an' de time he done got mad an' whopped me wid a hoe handle or dat time he th'owed a mess of grits right in Tiny's face. An' I'd think about all dese times an' I'd say to myse'f: 'Well, he was a mean young'un anyway, hit good to git shet of him.' An' dat ud make me feel better for mebbe a little bit. Den, Lawd, I'd think of de mean things I done to him him, an' dat ud make me feel bad other way aroun'. But hard as I'd try I couldn't keep feelin' mad about dat little boy, an' by an' by I'd think about him a-chucklin' an' ridin' on my back an' us playin' together behin' the shed, an' de grief ud come back an' pretty soon I'd get so lonesome I could almost die . . .

"No, Nat, you right. Hit sinful to do dat to folks. So when you ax me kin I kill, I figgers I kin, easy 'nough. 'Thout Tiny an' Lucas I wouldn' like to hang roun' dis yere place any longer noways . . ."

That I chose Independence Day as the moment to strike was of course a piece of deliberate irony. It seemed clear to me that when our eruption was successful-with Jerusalem seized and destroyed and our forces soon impregnably encamped in the Dismal Swamp-and when word of our triumph spread throughout Virginia and the upper southern seaboard, becoming a signal for Negroes everywhere to join us in rebellion, the fact that it had all arisen on the Fourth of July would be an inspiration not alone to the more knowledgeable slaves of the region but to men in bondage in even more remote parts of the South who might take flame from my great cause and eventually rally to my side or promulgate their own wild outbreaks. Yet the choice of that patriotic extravagancy which I made in the spring also involved a very practical consideration. For many years the Fourth of July had been the largest, noisiest, and most popular of all general celebrations in the country. The festivities had always been held at the camp meeting grounds several miles from Jerusalem, and were attended by nearly every white person in the region save for the feeble, the ailing, and those already too drunk to travel. As has been seen, it was my purpose to slaughter without hesitation each man, woman, and child who lay in my path. Needless to say, however, I was sure that the Lord wished me to take Jerusalem by the most expedient means, and hence if I were able eventually to enter the town by stealth and 281.

seize the armory when most of the people were away at their jubilee, then so much the better-especially if, in addition to the advantageous momentum such a thrust would give me, it might result in naturally fewer casualties among my men. Although Joshua's initial concept had been a planned ambush-luring the people out-it was through a somewhat similar maneuver of capturing an empty town that he defeated the cities of A! and Bethel-and this led after all to the ultimate downfall of Gibeon and to the Children of Israel's inheritance of the land of Canaan.

Timing my a.s.sault for the Fourth of July likewise seemed to me for a while to be strategy inspired by the Lord.

But early in May my plans along such a line were dashed to pieces. One Sat.u.r.day while at the market in Jerusalem conferring with my inmost four disciples, I learned from Nelson that for the first time in local history it had been decided that the Independence Day to-do would be held not at the outlying meeting grounds but within the town itself. That of course made the prospect of attacking Jerusalem on July Fourth even more hazardous than it ordinarily might, and so in great consternation I abruptly canceled my plans. Now in a near-panic, unaccountably, I felt that the Lord was playing with me, taunting me, testing me, and shortly after that Sat.u.r.day, I fell ill with a b.l.o.o.d.y flux and a racking fever that lasted nearly a week. During this interval I was wrenched with anxiety. In my despair I began to wonder if the Lord had really called me to such a great mission after all. Then I recovered from my seizure almost as quickly as I had been stricken. Pounds lighter but somehow feeling stronger, I rose from bed in my shed adjoining the wheel shop (where I had been nursed and fed, alternately, by Hark and the ever-ebullient Miss Sarah, soon to cease her existence) to learn of a new development that made me feel-in joyous relief mingled with shame at my faithlessness-that the Lord had not misused me; instead in His great wisdom He had caused me to wait for a grander day and the beginnings of an even more propitious design.

The news came to me one morning during the following month of June, when once again I had been hired out by Travis to Mrs.

Whitehead. Or traded, I should say-traded for two months fair-and-square, as the phrase went, for a yoke of oxen that Travis sorely wanted to yank stumps on burnt-off land he intended to plant in apple trees. Mrs. Whitehead was in a sweat of pleasure as usual to have me back: she needed me both as 282.

coachman and as carpenter, having contemplated extensive additions to her barn. At any rate, it was while I was back at her homestead that I overheard a pa.s.sing Baptist preacher inform his colleague, Richard Whitehead, that amammoth camp meeting had been planned for the brethren of his own sect late that summer down in Gates County, across the line in North Carolina. Hundreds if not thousands of Baptists from Southampton had already signified their joy to attend, the preacher-a wholesome-looking, ruddy-faced man-said to Richard, and added with a wink that he did not really mean to poach on Richard's territory by suggesting that Methodists too were more than welcome to come and shed their sins. We are all brothers in one faith, he a.s.serted; the camping fee this year was only half a dollar a head-no charge for n.i.g.g.e.r servants and children under ten. Then he made a wan joke about Methodists and temperance. In recollecting Richard's answer, I seem to remember that he thanked his fellow pastor in tones characteristically bleak, chill, and dry, allowed as how he thought few Methodists would attend-being spiritually so well provided for here in their native parish-but went on to say that he would keep the event in mind and inquired desultorily about the time.

When the other preacher replied, "From Friday the nineteenth of August until Tuesday, guess that's the twentythird," I (who was holding the bridle of the preacher's horse) understood that the date of my great mission, emanating from those ecclesiastical lips, had just then been revealed to me as vividly as the fire of the Lord that showered down at the feet of Elijah. What an unforeseen bounty! Deprived of several hundred Baptist sinners-half of its population-Jerusalem should be child's play to capture and destroy. Silently I offered up a prayer of thanks. It was my very last sign.

There were left then a bare two months to complete the final preparations, although I was pleased that so much had been done since that day of the sun's eclipse. Primarily, I was gratified by the progress that had been made in the area of recruitment-a matter which, because of the extreme secrecy and confidence involved, I had thought would be formidably difficult but that had succeeded beyond my hopes.This was largely due to the skill, tact, and force of persuasion that both Sam and Nelson possessed to a high degree. (Henry gained one or two converts but his deafness made him less effective.) It was due also to the scientific manner in which I went about a.s.sembling my body of men. First I consulted the map where many months before I had outlined the direction of march toward 283.

Jerusalem. That route was not a direct a.s.sault upon the town by the most obvious approach-the seven-mile road from Cross Keys to the cedar bridge that provided entry into Jerusalem across the Nottoway River. Such a route, while arrow-straight and quite short, would leave us mercilessly exposed on either flank. I set down rather a plan of march in the shape of a slovenly, reclining "S," an enormous double loop nearly thirty-five miles in its total length which avoided the few main thoroughfares while at the same time took advantage of secluded lanes and cowpaths in its snakeline journey to the northeast across the countryside. Along the way, I calculated, our force would encounter over twenty plantations, farms, and homesteads-twenty-three to be exact-but all of these with scant exception were lands owned by the more affluent gentry of Southampton and so contained items of utmost importance to the success of our expedition: Negroes, horses, provisions, guns.

Mainly Negroes. Consulting the map and carefully listing the names of the owners of the properties which were due to be attacked, I made a meticulous inventory of the Negroes in each household-not too difficult a ch.o.r.e since on market day in Jerusalem, when from all of those places one or two Negroes at least came to town, it was a simple business for me or any one of my close followers to mingle among them and by asking innocent questions (and some not-so-innocent) to determine the composition of the slave brotherhood at each house. After this, a subtle whisper about runaways proved often to be an effective approach. Negroes who had run away were likely to have fiery spirits. Thus Nelson would sidle along toward a young Negro from Benjamin Blunt's estate, exchange a few words of pointless palaver, and offering the boy a bit of sorghum sugar or a chaw of tobacco, might ask in a sly voice: "You done got any peoples up at yo' place dat evah run off?" As often as not this would elicit a little headscratching, followed by galloping eyeb.a.l.l.s and the cautious disclosure that uh-huh, well, dey was a n.i.g.g.e.r boy run off not long ago. Name of Nathan. Was gone three weeks.

Ma.s.sah done cotched him though. And so the following Sat.u.r.day, or the next, Nelson would cozy up to Nathan-a strapping brown buck with a glint mean and rebellious in his unhappy eyes-and draw him aside into the patch of weeds behind the market, where he would sound him out about his runaway nights and days, and lazily jaw along with him about freedom and probe softly but firmly for the hot pulsating aching boil that was Nathan's fury. And at last Nelson would utter those 284.

three naked uncompromising words he was to repeat so many times: "Kin you kill?" Then Nathan's own words would pour out in a savage, strangled rush all wet and garbled with hatred: "s.h.i.+t, man, kin I kill! kill! I mean, man, git me a ax, I I mean, man, git me a ax, I kill kill awright! I chops de d.i.c.k an' b.a.l.l.s off'n a white man an' you awright! I chops de d.i.c.k an' b.a.l.l.s off'n a white man an' you see see how I kin kill!" And at that moment-as with Daniel and Davy and Curtis and Stephen and Joe and Jack and Frank and so many more-a recruit was born into my great cause. how I kin kill!" And at that moment-as with Daniel and Davy and Curtis and Stephen and Joe and Jack and Frank and so many more-a recruit was born into my great cause.

Yet if the enlistment of zealous young Negroes was central to our activity at that time, it was equally important that we guard against treachery. As for our killers, the enthusiasts, the trustworthy converts-of these by midsummer I counted a committed two dozen, all tough, stalwart, desperate young men around whom the other Negroes would rally as we swept the countryside. On pain of death, each of them had been sworn to the profoundest secrecy. I had had the opportunity to speak to them in private, one by one, either behind the market or at my woodland sanctuary, where they were brought on a Sunday by Sam or Nelson. I was impressed by the ardor of these plowboys and pig tenders and woodcutters; the idea of freedom had stirred and inflamed their hearts, the prospect of a long and dangerous journey made them quiver with excitement. For them the threat of death as a penalty for betrayal was a needless flourish, since they were quite beside themselves with joy at the b.l.o.o.d.y adventure in the offing, and would not (except inadvertently, which became my nagging fear) have given away their magnificent secret for all the world. These young men were safe, captured, within the fold. What kept me at an agonized pitch of tension was not the fear of treachery among the faithful ones, but apprehension that through a careless murmur or slip of tongue my great scheme would come to the attention of some obsequious c.o.o.n of a house n.i.g.g.e.r who, wringing his hands and asweat with lubricious intent, would hurry to Old Ma.s.sah or Ole Mistis with the tidings. For if I was touched to my very roots by this revelation that there were, after all, Negroes proud and furious enough to stake their flesh and souls on this gamble for liberty, my own pride was somehow diminished by the certain knowledge that there existed other Negroes, and many of them, who to gain no more than a plug of tobacco or a couple of fishhooks or half a pound of stew beef would tattle away their own mother's life. Indeed, that summer I lived cheek by jowl with one of these in the stable quarters at Mrs. Whitehead's-with Hubbard, an obese and chocolate-colored toady, a lard-haunched mincing flatterer with an artful tongue who at the 285.

faintest hint or flicker of trouble could be expected to croon his suspicions into Miss Caty's ear. It was Hubbard, and others like him living in proximity to any of my men in houses up and down the county, that gave me nightmares and grounds for my most piercing disquiet.

But as the warm days pa.s.sed with their blue skies and sweet smell of hay and as summer reached its zenith, I becamemore and more confident of success. So far as anyone could tell, the secret was kept; both the white people and the Negroes went about their customary business-building barns, haying, chopping corn and cotton, cutting timber, making wheels and money. Toward the end of my hire at Mrs. Whitehead's-on that "Mission Sunday" I have earlier described-I managed to gather my inmost followers around me at a service preached by Richard Whitehead at his church. During the parley we held down by the creek afterward, while the white people were interring one of their number in the graveyard (some pox-stricken infant-among the favored last, it struck me at the time, to be spared the disagreeable events to come), I was able to impart to the group my final plans for the campaign.

I had long pondered the strategy of my a.s.sault, and had come up with the conclusion that to a.s.semble my force in one place was not only disadvantageous but virtually impossible-the sudden gathering together of so many Negroes would surely be noticed and would arouse suspicion or alarm. No, my attack had to be one of accretion and rising momentum, a s...o...b..ll-like acc.u.mulation of forces whereby the spearhead group (in this case, myself and my inmost four) must be joined by single individuals prepared and waiting at the various homesteads as we swept through the county on our serpentine way toward Jerusalem. Each of the Negroes, then, of the twoscore or more who had committed themselves to me would be "spotted" in this or that house, along the route-almost always at the place he belonged to anyway-and there would stand ready to take up arms against his master as soon as we appeared-my fine black h.e.l.lion then partic.i.p.ating in the slaughter and continuing on with us to the next objective where still another black killer, or several, would be waiting. Such a scheme required timing and coordination, and to this end I delegated to each of my inmost four the task of riding herd on and closely instructing a "troop" of five or six of the others; he must keep in touch with his little troop as much as possible during the intervening weeks while he drubbed into them incessantly the idea of secrecy and made 286.

certain that each man-on that fateful August Monday now hovering near-would be at his station. If all went well, I calculated that from our first midnight strike at Travis's until our capture of the armory in Jerusalem the time elapsed would be thirty-six hours.

And I felt that all would would be well. be well.

That Sunday as I dismissed my followers with a prayer, my spirit was filled with a strange exaltation and with a sense of the imminence of glorious victory. I knew that my cause was just and, being just, would in its strength overcome all obstacles, all hards.h.i.+ps, all inclement turns of fortune. I knew too that because of the n.o.ble purpose of my mission even the most cowed and humbled of Negroes would divine its justice, and I foresaw legions of black men everywhere rising up to join me. Black men all over the South, all over America! A majestic black army of the Lord!

Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight: My goodness, and my fortress; my high tower and my deliverer; my s.h.i.+eld . . .

Yet no sooner than I was about to leave Mrs. Whitehead's and go back to Travis, when a frightening and, indeed, almost unprecedented incident took place-something which, because of the sudden enmity and distrust for Negroes it was bound to stir up among many of the white people, caused me to fear that my entire mission would be thrust into jeopardy, or ruin.

What occurred had to do with Will-Sam's fellow slave at Nathaniel Francis's. While submitting to one of his owner's periodical beatings, Will had finally snapped, perpetrating what for a Negro was the gravest of deeds: he had struck Francis back. Not only that, he had struck Francis savagely enough (with a lightwood f.a.got wrenched from a barnyard stack) as to have broken Francis's left arm and shoulder. Then Will lit out for the woods, and had yet to be found. In certain ways the episode-when I first heard of it-caused me a mixture of feelings. On the one hand, I felt a distinct relief that Will was gone. I feared his mania, his unfocused hatred and madness, and I pa.s.sionately wanted him to have nothing to do with my campaign of destruction, sensing that I could in no way control or govern him. I knew that he was obsessed with the idea of raping 287.

white women-something I could not abide. His a.s.sault upon Francis and his flight to the woods-provided he was gone for good-was thus for me the resolution of a minor but nagging problem. Yet I was appalled. For at the same time, such a violent act, even though well provoked and not entirely unheard of, was rare and shocking enough so as to make it likely that an atmosphere of suspicion would close in upon Negroes in general. The gossip would get started: G.o.d durned n.i.g.g.e.rs gittin' G.o.d durned n.i.g.g.e.rs gittin'

so they hit back. I was deeply afraid that with such feelings prevalent, our Negroes would become unsettled by the overall mistrust and lose heart for the venture or-even worse-would under this new pressure somehow give away our great secret.

As at other houses in the vicinity, tumult reigned at Mrs.

Whitehead's when the news came of Will's atrocity. It was noon on a Friday, and I was. .h.i.tching up the buggy in order to take Miss Margaret to her friend's house down-county-she was to spend the weekend-when word was brought by two melodramatic-looking white men on horseback, sagging with sidearms and rifles. A posse was being organized to track the black b.u.g.g.e.r down, one man shouted to Richard from the saddle. "Git a gun, preacher," he cried, "and come along!" The sweating, stamping horses filled the barnyard with a cloud of dust; one of the men listed sideways, grinning, already inebriate with brandy and the thrill of the chase. "That air n.i.g.g.e.r," called the other, "we goin' have to shoot him down!"

I watched Richard disappear inside the house. There was something incongruous about the idea of this delicate and enervated man of G.o.d in his lethal pursuit through the swamps of a demented unarmed black runaway, but soon he emerged from the house with a musket and a pistol, prim lips vengefully set as he adjusted a beaverskin hunting cap at a rather rakish tilt over his brow. One of the other Negroes had saddled the fat gelding. Trailing her son with a look of pale concern, Miss Caty clutched her hands together while entreaty charged her voice: "You must must take care, Boysie! A darky like that is like a mad dog!" take care, Boysie! A darky like that is like a mad dog!"

And now Margaret's three married sisters, just arrived for a summer's visit, spilled out from the house with gingham skirts ballooning on the wind; they also began to implore their brother to watch out for his safety, and as he climbed aboard his bovine steed they uttered little chirps and squeals of alarm. "Do be careful, Boysie dear!" Miss Caty cried, clinging to his hand. Then the three little grandchildren scampered from the kitchen to wave their uncle on his way, while at the same instant, like some 288.

grotesque harbinger of all in black folk gone emasculate forever, the egregious house n.i.g.g.e.r Hubbard wiggled out on sloping ladylike hips to add his blessing to the chorus of G.o.dspeeds.

"You take good care ob yo'sef, ma.s.sah," he gabbled unctuously, his hoa.r.s.e caution a fawning echo of Miss Caty's own. "Dat Will he some mean n.i.g.g.e.r, I knows! Will jes' a mad dog mad dog, ma.s.sah, an'

dat's de troof!" He resembled nothing so much as some asinine fat mammy, and I could have seen him dead on the spot. Only Margaret remained detached from the scene. I glimpsed her at the doorway of the house, where she lingered among the shadows, a look of solemn annoyance engraved upon her pretty face. Then as Richard, murmuring, "Don't worry, Muvva,"

pressed a brave kiss upon Miss Caty's outstretched knuckles and wheeled about to join the other men, Margaret's annoyance deepened; she made a grimace of disgust and, turning, vanished from sight.

And, "Such stupid folderol!" she was saying soon after, as we rode southward toward the Vaughans'. "I mean all those guns and everything, and chasing down this poor darky Will who's probably just half crazy with fear and everything, out there in the swamps. And they'll probably shoot him! Oh, it's just terrible!"

She paused for an instant; out of the corner of my eye I saw her wipe a fleck of dust from her nose. Descending, my eyes caught a glimpse of the fabric of her skirt, drawn tight across her lap, jiggling to the rhythm of the buggy, while even closer to me was her hand, white as milk gla.s.s, blue-veined, twirling the bone handle of her parasol. "I mean of course he shouldn't have done what he did," she went on, "striking Mr. Francis back like that.

But honestly, Nat! Every single solitary soul in this county knows about Mr. Francis, and how he treats his darkies. They all think it's just terrible what he does to them. I know Mama does. And look at her! I should hardly blame Will for striking him back like that. Wouldn't you have struck Nathaniel Francis back if he'd abused you so much like that? Just wouldn't you, Nat?"

Now I sensed her eyes full upon me even as I escaped looking back at her, and connived in my mind at a way to answer that question which she alone among all the white people I had ever talked to would have been artless enough to ask. Such a question no Negro should be forced into a position to answer, and because it was asked in such a spirit of sympathy and innocence I resented her for it, now, somehow all the more. I 289.

was unable to refrain from stealing a glance again at the twin soft ridgelike promontories where her skirt drew tight across her thighs, the wrinkled valley of taffeta between, the stiff round bone twirling ceaselessly in the porcelain hand. I sensed her eyes again, the saucy tilt of a dimpled chin, her face turned, poised, waiting. I struggled for an answer.

"I mean just wouldn't wouldn't you, Nat?" she repeated, the girlish voice whispery and near. "I mean, I'm only a female, I know, but if I were a you, Nat?" she repeated, the girlish voice whispery and near. "I mean, I'm only a female, I know, but if I were a man man and a darky and I was abused like that by that horrible old Nathaniel Francis, I'd just hit him right back. Wouldn't you?" and a darky and I was abused like that by that horrible old Nathaniel Francis, I'd just hit him right back. Wouldn't you?"

"Well, missy," I replied, choosing a tone of humility, "I don't rightly know as how I would. That way you might just end up dead." I paused, then added: "But I guess Will he just had about more than he could stand. And by and by when you have more than you can stand you sort of go crazy and hit back before you even know it. And I reckon that's just what Will done with Mr. Francis.

But I'd be mighty careful about retaliating against a white mastah, I would indeed, missy."

She said nothing then, and when she spoke finally her voice was grave, pensive, filled with a kind of ample, questing, hurtful sorrow I had never before heard, or overheard, in a white person so young. "Oh me me, I don't know!" she sighed, and the sound rose from deep within her. "I just don't know, Nat! I just don't know why darkies stay the way they do-I mean all ignorant and everything, and getting beaten like that Will, and so many of them having people that own them that don't feed them properly or even clothe them so that they're warm enough. I mean so many living like animals. Oh, I wish wish there was some way that darkies could live decently and work for themselves and have-oh, real selfregard. Oh, guess what, Nat, let me tell you something!" Her tone changed abruptly, the quality of lament still there but now edged with indignation. there was some way that darkies could live decently and work for themselves and have-oh, real selfregard. Oh, guess what, Nat, let me tell you something!" Her tone changed abruptly, the quality of lament still there but now edged with indignation.

"I got in the most terrible fight with this girl at the Seminary named Charlotte Tyler Saunders. She was one of my very best friends and still is, but we got into this terrible fight in May just before school was over. Well, the fight was over darkies.

Because you see this girl Charlotte Tyler Saunders's father owns, oh, just quintillions quintillions of darkies on this plantation up in Fluvanna County and he's in the legislature in Richmond and whenever the thing comes up there about emanc.i.p.ating the slaves he always gives these big long boring speeches about it The Confessions of Nat Turner of darkies on this plantation up in Fluvanna County and he's in the legislature in Richmond and whenever the thing comes up there about emanc.i.p.ating the slaves he always gives these big long boring speeches about it 290.

that Charlotte Tyler finds in the Gazette Gazette and reads to the other girls. I mean he's all against emanc.i.p.ation and he says all these things about how darkies are irresponsible and have no morals and are and reads to the other girls. I mean he's all against emanc.i.p.ation and he says all these things about how darkies are irresponsible and have no morals and are b.e.s.t.i.a.l b.e.s.t.i.a.l and lazy and how you can't teach them and all that balderdash. Well, this time I'm talking about she'd just finished reading this speech that her father gave and, I don't know, Nat, I just sort of finally exploded. And I said, 'Well listen, Charlotte Tyler Saunders, I don't intend any disrespect to your father but that is simply folderol because it just isn't so!' And and lazy and how you can't teach them and all that balderdash. Well, this time I'm talking about she'd just finished reading this speech that her father gave and, I don't know, Nat, I just sort of finally exploded. And I said, 'Well listen, Charlotte Tyler Saunders, I don't intend any disrespect to your father but that is simply folderol because it just isn't so!' And oh oh, she got mad at me, and said, 'It is is so, any person with a grain of sense and eyes to see so, any person with a grain of sense and eyes to see knows knows it's so!' And I was almost crying then, I was so mad, and I reckon I was almost screaming. And I said, 'Well, listen to me, it's so!' And I was almost crying then, I was so mad, and I reckon I was almost screaming. And I said, 'Well, listen to me, Miss Miss Charlotte Tyler Saunders, I happen to know that where I live in Southampton my mother hires a darky slave who is almost as intelligent and refined and clean and religious and profoundly understanding of the Bible as Dr. Charlotte Tyler Saunders, I happen to know that where I live in Southampton my mother hires a darky slave who is almost as intelligent and refined and clean and religious and profoundly understanding of the Bible as Dr.

Simpson'-Dr. Simpson is princ.i.p.al of the Seminary, Nat-'and not only that, my erstwhile erstwhile friend'-I was positively almost screaming-'if you want my humble opinion, and I'm friend'-I was positively almost screaming-'if you want my humble opinion, and I'm certain certain that I'm the only girl in school who thinks so, but that I'm the only girl in school who thinks so, but my my humble opinion is that the darkies in Virginia should be humble opinion is that the darkies in Virginia should be free!' free!'"

After a pause, Margaret said: "Oh, she made me so angry! And the thing is, Nat, she is au fond au fond a very kind, sweet, considerate girl. a very kind, sweet, considerate girl. Au fond Au fond means 'deep down' in French. It's just that some people-" She broke off with a sigh, saying: "Oh, I don't know. means 'deep down' in French. It's just that some people-" She broke off with a sigh, saying: "Oh, I don't know.

Sometimes life is so complicated, isn't it? Anyway, Nat," she concluded slowly, "that darky I was talking about was you. I mean, it really was was."

I made no reply. Her closeness, her presence stifled me, even now as the summer air flowed past my face, wafting toward me her odor-a disturbing smell of young-girl-sweat mingled with the faint sting of lavender. I tried to inch myself away from her but was unable to, found instead that I could not avoid touching her, nor she me, elbow lightly kissing elbow. With a longing that made me wet beneath the arms I ached for the ride to be finished, even as I realized that we had half an hour more to go. I watched the horse's black tail ripple and flourish, and the brown rump glistening. Along the rutted road the buggy wheels counted off the hillocks and humps in a steady clatter of iron on stone.

We were riding through a deserted part of the county where fields of broom and briar and sedge and yellow mustard became interspersed with patches of dappled woodland. It was country I knew well. There were no dwellings here, no people-only a 291.

decrepit fence or, far off in an empty meadow, the shattered hulk of an ancient barn. The air was clear, the sun dazzling bright; grand pinnacles and peaks of summer clouds sent across the fields racing shadows shaped like gigantic hands. Again I smelled the warm girl-sweat, sensed her presence, soap, skin, hair, lavender. Suddenly, despite myself, the G.o.dless thought came: I could stop now and here, right here by the road in this meadow, do with her anything I wished. There's not a soul for miles. I could throw her down and spread her young white legs and stick myself in her until belly met belly and shoot inside her in warm milky spurts of desecration. And let her scream until the empty pinewoods echoed to her cries and no one would be the wiser, not even the buzzards or the crows . . . The sweat poured down my sides beneath my s.h.i.+rt. Then I uttered a silent prayer, and furiously thrust the thought out of my mind as one thrusts away the very body and spirit of Satan. How did I dare think such disastrous thoughts with my great mission so near? Even so, I still could not help but feel my member swollen and pulsating underneath my trousers. My heart was pounding. I prodded the horse on with a snap of the reins.

And again the whispery voice in my ear: "I mean Charlotte Tyler really tries to be a very religious person-that's the thing. That's why I can't understand really religious people holding such views. I mean, look at Mama! And Richard Richard, for pity's sake! And every one one of my sisters! And that Charlotte Tyler Saunders- of my sisters! And that Charlotte Tyler Saunders- au au fond fond she professes to believe in love when, honestly, I don't believe she has the faintest she professes to believe in love when, honestly, I don't believe she has the faintest inkling inkling of what the Bible teaches about love. I mean all those beautiful teachings of John about love and how you shouldn't fear it. Fear and torment. Oh, you know, Nat, that verse that speaks about of what the Bible teaches about love. I mean all those beautiful teachings of John about love and how you shouldn't fear it. Fear and torment. Oh, you know, Nat, that verse that speaks about torment torment. How does it go?"

"Well, missy," I replied after a moment, "you must mean the verse in the first epistle that says: There is no fear in love; but There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: Because fear hath torment. He that perfect love casteth out fear: Because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love feareth is not made perfect in love. That's how it goes."

"Oh yes!" she exclaimed. "And he said: Beloved, let us love one Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of G.o.d; and every one that loveth is born of another: for love is of G.o.d; and every one that loveth is born of G.o.d, and knoweth G.o.d G.o.d, and knoweth G.o.d. Oh, it is the simplest thing in the world, is it not, Nat-the perfect Christian love of G.o.d, and of one another, yet how many people shun that blessed grace and live in fear and torment? G.o.d is love G.o.d is love, John said, and he that dwelleth and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in G.o.d, and G.o.d in him in love dwelleth in G.o.d, and G.o.d in him . . . Could anything be more simple or easy or plain?" . . . Could anything be more simple or easy or plain?"

292.

On she prattled in her whispery voice, love-obsessed, Christ-crazed, babbling away in an echo of all the self-serving plat.i.tudes and stale insipid unfelt blather uttered by every pious capon and priestly spinster she had listened to since she was able to sit upright, misty-eyed and rapt and with her little pantalettes damp with devotion, in a pew of her brother's church.

She filled me with boredom and l.u.s.t-and now, to still at least the latter emotion, once and for all, I let her constant rush of words float uncaptured through my mind, and with my eyes on the horse's bright undulating rump, concentrated on a minor but th.o.r.n.y problem that was facing me at the very outset of my campaign (This concerned Travis-I should say, rather, Miss Sarah. I had resolved on a mercilessly intransigent course of action when it came to killing the white people, determined that not a single soul-no matter how friendly our relations had been-would be spared the ax or the gun. To contemplate otherwise might be fatal, for if I allowed my heart to soften in the case of one person, it would be all too easy for such clemency to overtake me with another, and another, and still another. I had granted only one exception to this rule-Jeremiah Cobb, that stern and tormented man whose encounter with me will be remembered. Now, however, despite my efforts to thwart a fondness for her in my heart, I could not help but feel that Miss Sarah-who had never regarded me with anything but kindness and who during my last illness nursed me with a motherly, sisterly, clucking solicitude-should escape the blade of my wrath. I had no qualms about the others of the house, including Travis, who although decent enough stirred in me few fraternal reverberations; the others, especially young Putnam, I heartily wished to see removed from their existence. About Miss Sarah's fate, however, I suffered already painful guilt and misgivings, and I felt that if in some devious fas.h.i.+on or other I could contrive to make sure-perhaps through subtle ministerial urging-that she, a good Baptist, was shouting hallelujahs at that Carolina camp meeting on the night of my attack, out of harm's way with her infant child-Yet was that any answer? Because then she would only return to a scene of grievous devastation-) I was pondering this difficult matter, greatly troubled and suddenly despondent, when Margaret Whitehead gave a little gasp, clutched my sleeve, and said: "Oh, Nat, stop! Please stop!"

A pa.s.sing wagon or cart, hours before, had run over and crushed a turtle. Margaret had spied it from her side of the buggy and she insisted-with another tug at my sleeve-that we climb down and help it, for she had seen that it was still alive. "Oh, the 293.

poor thing thing," she whispered as we viewed the little beast. The black and brown mosaic of the turtle's sh.e.l.l had been split down the center from side to side, a pale b.l.o.o.d.y paste oozed out of the fissure and from a spiderweb of minute fracture marks that grooved the surface of the sh.e.l.l. Yet, indeed, the turtle still lived; it wiggled feebly and hopelessly with its outstretched legs and craned its long leathery neck and remained immobile, dying, jaws agape and hooded eyes mossed over in some dim reptilian anguish. I touched it lightly with my toe.

"Oh, the poor thing," Margaret said again.

"Ain't nothing but a turtle, missy," I said.

"Oh, but it must suffer so."

"I'll put it away," I replied.

She was silent for a moment, then said softly: "Oh yes, do."

I found a hickory branch at the side of the road and smote the head of the turtle hard, a single time; its legs and tail quivered briefly, then relaxed with a soft uncurling motion, the tail drooped, and it was dead. When I threw the stick into the field and turned back to Margaret, I saw that her lips were trembling.

"'Twasn't nothin' but an old turtle, missy," I said. "Turtle don't feel anything. He's pretty dumb. They's an old n.i.g.g.e.r sayin' about animals that goes, 'They that doesn't holler doesn't hurt.'"

"Oh, I know it's silly," she said, composing herself. "It's just-oh, suffering things." Suddenly she put her fingers to her forehead.

"I'm kind of dizzy. And it's hot. Oh, I wish I could have a sip of water. I'm so thirsty."

I kicked the turtle into the ditch.

"Well, they's a brook that runs along back in those trees there," I said. "Same brook that goes by yo' mama's place. It's fit to drink here, I know, missy. I'd fetch you some water but I don't have a thing to carry it in."

"Oh come, we'll walk," she replied.

Her spirits brightened again as I led the way across a scrubby parched field toward the stream. "I'm really very sorry that I 294.

spoke of Charlotte Tyler Saunders in that fas.h.i.+on," she said cheerfully behind me. "She's really just the sweetest girl. And so talented. Oh Oh, did I ever tell you about this masque that we wrote together, Nat?"

"No, missy," I replied, "I don't believe so."

"Well, a masque is a sort of a play in verse-you spell it with a q-u-e q-u-e on the end-and it's quite short and it has to do with elevated themes-oh, I mean things of the spirit and philosophy and poetical matters and such like. Anyway, we did this masque together and it was performed at the Seminary last spring. It was on the end-and it's quite short and it has to do with elevated themes-oh, I mean things of the spirit and philosophy and poetical matters and such like. Anyway, we did this masque together and it was performed at the Seminary last spring. It was quite quite some success, I can tell you that. I mean after it was performed, do you know, Dr. Simpson told Charlotte Tyler and me that it was the equal of dramas he had seen performed up North on the stages of Philadelphia and New York. And Mrs. some success, I can tell you that. I mean after it was performed, do you know, Dr. Simpson told Charlotte Tyler and me that it was the equal of dramas he had seen performed up North on the stages of Philadelphia and New York. And Mrs.

Simpson-that's his wife-told us that rarely if ever had she seen a performance that was so affecting and imbued with such lofty ideals. Those were her words. Anyway, this masque that we wrote is called The Melancholy Shepherdess The Melancholy Shepherdess. It's laid in first-century Rome. In one way it's very pagan but at the same time it exemplifies the highest aspirations of Christian belief.

Anyway, there are these five characters. At the Seminary they were all played by girls, naturally. The heroine is a young shepherdess who lives on the outskirts of Rome named Celia.

She is a very devout Christian. The hero is the young manor lord whose name is Philemon. He's very handsome and everything, you see, and au fond au fond he's very kindly and good but his religion is still quite pagan. Actually, the truth is that his religion is animistic he's very kindly and good but his religion is still quite pagan. Actually, the truth is that his religion is animistic . . ."

As the dry field gave way to a patch of woods I could hear water splas.h.i.+ng in the brook. The sunlight dimmed out as we entered the grove of trees; a ferny coolness enveloped me, there were pine needles underfoot and I smelled the sharpbittersweet odor of rosin. The closeness, the stillness, the seclusion here created once more a voluptuous stirring in my blood. I turned now to guide her by my glance, and for an instant her eyes met mine unflinchingly, not so much coquettish as insistent-inviting, daring, almost expecting expecting my gaze to repose in her own eyes while she prattled blissfully on. Although as brief and fleeting as the s.p.a.ce of a blink, it was the longest encounter I could remember ever having with a white person's eyes. my gaze to repose in her own eyes while she prattled blissfully on. Although as brief and fleeting as the s.p.a.ce of a blink, it was the longest encounter I could remember ever having with a white person's eyes.

Unaccountably, my heart swelled in my throat in a quick ball of fear. I turned away, swept with l.u.s.t again, hating her guts, now driven close to distraction by that chattering monologue pitched 295.

at a girlish whisper which I no longer bothered to listen to or to understand. Years and decades of pine needles made a buoyant sweet-smelling carpet sibilant beneath our feet. I paused to dislodge a pine branch that lay across our path, then rose, and she gave a little murmur of surprise as the fullness of her breast b.u.mped the flesh of my arm in soft collision. But she paid it no notice, continued talking while we walked down toward the stream. I was oblivious of her words. The place where her breast had met my arm was like an incandescence, tingling; again I was smothered by remorseless desire. Insanely, I found myself measuring the risk. Take her Take her, a voice said. Take her here on this Take her here on this bank by this quiet brook. Spend upon her all afternoon a bank by this quiet brook. Spend upon her all afternoon a backed-up lifetime of pa.s.sion. Without mercy take your pleasure backed-up lifetime of pa.s.sion. Without mercy take your pleasure upon her innocent round young body until she is half mad with upon her innocent round young body until she is half mad with fright and pain. Forget your great mission. Abandon all for these fright and pain. Forget your great mission. Abandon all for these hours of terror and bliss hours of terror and bliss . . . I felt my virile part stiffen again beneath my trousers, and I was suddenly and absurdly torn between fear that she might see my state and an impulse to expose it to her-oh G.o.d, forget it, forget it! Never could I remember having been so unhinged by desire and hatred. Trying to settle my emotions I said in an uncertain voice, too loud: . . . I felt my virile part stiffen again beneath my trousers, and I was suddenly and absurdly torn between fear that she might see my state and an impulse to expose it to her-oh G.o.d, forget it, forget it! Never could I remember having been so unhinged by desire and hatred. Trying to settle my emotions I said in an uncertain voice, too loud: "There's the water!"

"Oh, I'm so thirsty!" thirsty!" she exclaimed. Fallen trees made a little rapids here, and the water foamed over the logs cool and green. she exclaimed. Fallen trees made a little rapids here, and the water foamed over the logs cool and green.

I watched as she knelt by the brook and brought pale cupfuls of water up to her face in the curved hollow of her hands. Now Now, the voice said, take her now take her now.

"Oh, that's better!" she said, drawing back. "Don't you want some, Nat?" And without waiting for an answer, went on: "Anyway, Nat, after this wicked Fidessa kills herself in remorse, then Philemon takes his sword and kills Pactolus, the evil old soothsayer. I played Philemon in our performance and that part was such fun, I mean with wooden swords and all. Then Philemon is converted to Christianity by Celia and in the very last scene you see them as they plight their troth. And then there are these last lines, I mean what is known on the stage as curtain speeches. That's where Philemon holds his sword up in front of Celia like a cross and says: We'll love one another by the light of We'll love one another by the light of heaven above heaven above . . ." . . ."

Margaret rose from her knees and turned, standing at the edge of the brook with her arms outstretched to the air, transfigured as 296.

if before a crowd of onlookers, her eyes half closed. "Then Celia says: Oh, I would fain swoon into an eternity of love! Oh, I would fain swoon into an eternity of love!

"Curtain! That's all!" she said brightly, proudly, looking toward me. "Isn't that a wonderful masque? I mean it has a very poetical, religious quality, even if I do say so myself."

I made no reply, but now as she moved from the side of the stream she tripped, gave a little cry, and for the briefest instant fell against me, clasping my arms with her still-wet hands. I grabbed her about the shoulders-only as if to prevent her falling-and as quickly let her go, but not so quickly that in the intervening s.p.a.ce I did not smell her skin and her closeness and feel the electric pa.s.sage across my cheek of strands of chestnut-colored hair. During that moment I heard her breathing and our eyes met in a wayward glint of light that seemed to last much longer than any mere glance exchanged between two strangers journeying of a summer afternoon to some drowsy dwelling far off in the country.