He'd taken the buckets down to the cesspit that morning, wide-eyed with
fear, because the rumors said there were Yankees everywhere, and while they
were supposed to be friendly to black people, Davy wasn't so sure. He'd
heard Miss Lizzie talking about them the other day, and the terrible things
they did to women and babies, and if they were that mean, obviously you
couldn't trust them. He emptied the buckets and was about to go back when
he heard a horse galloping toward him. There weren't any trees or bushes
nearby, and he surely wasn't going to jump into the muck-filled pit, so he
stood his ground, and was filled with relief to see that the man riding
toward him wasn't a soldier.
The man didn't stop. "Run tell your Massa, boy," he cried, galloping past
Davy. "The Yankees have taken Florence!"
Davy needed no second bidding, but ran for all he was worth, Miss Lizzie's
stories of the misdeeds of Yankees pounding through his brain.
The few slaves in the field, tilling the soil in readiness for the new
planting, stopped work and tried to assimilate what they heard. If the
Yankees really had taken Florence, it wouldn't be long before they got
here. It was coming, it was coming, hallelujah, it was coming. Freedom was
at hand. They laughed among themselves, but instead of taking the day off,
512 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN
or the rest of their lives, they went back to work with renewed vigor, and
took up a joyous song.
Sally, organizing the beating of rugs with Poppy, heard the song and was
pleased. An odd thing had happened over the past few months. She had always
believed that the plantation was an island unto itself, and all who lived
there, white and black, were interdependent on each other. In a sense it was
true. Miles from their nearest neighbors, the travails of their daily lives,
the births and deaths, arguments and marriages, parties for the whites,
beatings for the blacks, were the basis of their conversation, with
occasional snatches of misunderstood gossip about the outside world reaching
them through visitors or the grapevine. The well-being of the plantation was
critical to all of them, because if it was a good harvest they all ate well,
and, for the slaves, their Massas might be in better tempers, and if it was
a bad harvest, everyone suffered. Yet one group had privilege and the other
did not, and if Sally thought of it as a community, the slaves regarded it
as a prison. They made the best of that prison, and while a few, especially
among the house slaves, had considerable affection for some of the whites,
there was always a barrier.
In the last few months, that barrier had, to a considerable degree, been
removed. With no Massa and fewer slaves, they had all got to know each
other better. Now everyone was dedicated to the common cause of immediate
survival. If there was food, everyone ate; if there was none, no one ate.
If jobs had to be done, they all pitched in to do them. They maintained the
charade that things were as they had been because that was the ordered
world they all understood, and in these frightening times, order was all
they had to cling to. Isaac, solid, reliable Isaac, had been put in charge
of discipline, and even given, to Lizzie's howls of protest, a gun. He used
it to shoot rabbits, because very few of the slaves left wanted to run
away. There was nowhere to go. Jeremiah and two other runaway field hands
had been recaptured and returned, bloodily beaten, and while they still
talked of escape, they did nothing about it. The runaways told awful
stories of the outside world-they'd lived in the woods bordering small
farms, they'd eaten nothing but turnips and potatoes for days, and
QUEEN 513
when one of them ventured to a house to beg, he'd been shot at. They all
understood that if they could get away, and get to Union lines, they would
be free, or hoped so, but no one was very sure where the Union lines were.
So they preferred to wait, and see what the war would bring. They had no
Massa and no overseer, except Isaac, so life was tolerable, and they ate
regularly. Happily, the barns at The Forks were still relatively full, and
the first spring vegetables ready for picking.
The most obvious evidence of this new communality to Sally was that she
now knew the names of all the slaves. Such as the boy Davy, who was
running toward her, yelling at the top of his lungs. She'd been expecting
his news for days; everyone in Florence had been prepared for an
invasion. There was no army nearby to protect them, only some local
militia units, and Sally, like everyone else, had been living in dread.
But she put her faith in her fellowman, and gave no credence to Lizzie's
lurid imaginings.
They were here, at last. It would not be long before they came to The
Forks, Sally was sure, because she could guess what they needed.
And two days later they came.
"They look so fearsome," Lizzie said. "Brutal."
"Pull yourself together, 11 Sally urged. "They're only men.
Lizzie corrected her with a fierce, defiant whisper. "They're Yankees!
"
But she stood beside her mother-in-law and tried to maintain her
composure as a small troop of Union soldiers made their way up the drive.
They were a foraging detail, requisitioning food. Once the first shock
of occupation had settled down, Tom Kirkman had come out to The Forks,
to assure them that the soldiers were reasonably well-behaved and looking
for provisions. He'd volunteered to stay, to protect them, but Sally had
laughed.
"You against so many, Tom? You said we had nothing to be afraid of. Go
home to your family."
Tom had gone, and the following morning Davy, who had been stationed near
the road to town as lookout, gave the news of the arriving Yankees.
514 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN
The captain, on horseback, led his men up the drive. He was impressed by
the grace and elegance of the house, which was as fine as any he'd seen,
and he looked with pity at the bunch of ragged slaves cowering near the
trees. These were the backs that made the fortunes that built the
mansions such as this.
He stopped his horse on the lawn in front of the veranda and looked at
the small group assembled there. An old woman, and a frightened, defiant
younger one. A couple of children, and some few house slaves.
And a beautiful young white woman, dressed as a servant. Mulatta,
probably, but hard to tell. The sergeant called the men to a halt.
"Ma'am," the captain said to the old woman, and touched his cap, out of
respect for her sex and her age, not her station.
Sally squinted and wished she could see his insignia of rank better.
"Good morning, Lieutenant," she said, and he did not correct her demotion
of him. "We are, as you see, a depleted family. There are no men here."
She did not see his eyes stray to the male slaves, but corrected herself
anyway.
"Apa
rt from these few slaves. I trust you mean us no harm?"
They were all the same, these tough Southern matriarchs, he thought, the
backbone of the whole society.
"We mean no harm to anyone who is loyal to the United States," he said,
by rote. He'd done it a thousand times before.
"I cannot swear allegiance to your flag, sir," Sally responded as he knew
she would, as they all did. "I believe in a different cause."
"Believe in whatever cause you like," he told her. "As long as you do not
intend to fight. I do not think that you would win."
He looked at the slaves and women, and then at his own rough-and-ready
soldiers, his point well made. Sally was surprised at his civility.
The captain was a very civil man, and loved his country. Second of three
brothers who had enlisted in the army, he was a college graduate, and a
teacher at a good school until the war came, this wretched. Rebel, war.
QUEEN 515
He went through the details, formally, officially, as he always did. He
told of the food they needed, and of the chits they would be given in
return for that food. He told them of the cottonseed that he intended to
seize.
"That is our only source of income!" Sally cried, and the captain smiled,
for that was why he was taking it.
Business done, he accepted her offer of refreshment, and listened to her
protests about the cottonseed.
"You will not hann us, but you will bankrupt us?" Sally reasoned.
"Orders, ma'am," the captain said, although it was not true. It was his own
idea, born of his own bitterness. If it had been in his power to drive
every Southern family to bankruptcy, he would willingly have done so. It
was with some pleasure that he added to her distress. Units of the local
militia had destroyed bridges to try to delay the Yankee advance, and the
cotton gins were to be blown up in retaliation.
To his surprise, Sally was there the following day, sitting in a carriage
on the riverbank, the cotton-white, pretty mulatta sittin- beside her,
watching as the gins were destroyed. Sally went because she had a complaint
to make to the captain, and because she wanted to see the destruction. Half
the town was there for the spectacle. The buildings were blown to smither-
eens. The riverbank shook with gunpowder.
"How would you have us live now?" Sally asked him, quietly.
He didn't look at her, and his face betrayed nothing of the vengeful
emotions he felt.
"I've lost two brothers in this war, ma'am, killed by Johnny Reb," he said
quietly. "I don't care how you live. Or if you live. "
He tipped his hat to her and rode away.
"I hate him," Queen said softly, and took Sally's hand.
Sally shook her head. "He's only doing his duty." She could not find hate
in her heart now, only an overwhelming sense of sorrow, and of loss.
But Queen had no alternative to hate. On the previous day, some of the
captain's men had beaten her gran'pappy, Cap'n Jack, viciously. Queen had
not wanted to come, but Sally in-
516 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN
sisted she be present for her complaint to the captain about the behavior
of his men.
They had been taking supplies from the bam, loading them onto a Jackson
cart, and Queen had protested they were taking too much. The soldiers had
made sport with her.
"Leave us something!" she demanded.
"I'll leave a little bun in your oven, lady," the sergeant laughed. They
surrounded her, teasing her, taunting her, thinking her white and a
serving girl. They smelled of sweat and state beer; their faces were
rough with stubble and their eyes bright with lust.
Queen was terrified. She didn't understand men; she had no experience of
them. The house slaves were no threat to her, the field hands were either
kind or ignored her, and although a few visiting white men, her father's
friends, had winked at her and called her pretty, she had been secure
from their advances because of the family. No one had ever taught her how
to handle men, for no white woman would bother with instruction, and a
slave woman had nothing to teach her, except submission to what the men
wanted. The incident of two years ago, in Florence, when the three
hooligans accosted her flared in her mind, but they had been boys, and
these were soldiers.
She hit their hands away when they touched her, and spat in their faces,
but her anger only seemed to excite them more.
"She wants to play," one said, laughing to his companions.
"I know a game she'd like," another grinned. He grabbed at Queen and
pulled her to him. He held her face with one hand, her body with the
other, and kissed her. She tried to break her mouth away, but he was
strong and his grip like a vise. His stubble grazed her face, his rough
uniform chafed her body, and she could feel the hardness of him, at his
groin, shoving against her. He pushed his tongue into her mouth. She
tried to scream, tried to bite, but he was ready for that, and clutched
his hand hard on her jaw, so she could not move it.
She heard a voice. "Don't touch her!"
It was Cap'n Jack. He had a hefty stick in his hands, raised in the air,
ready to strike.
The soldier who was kissing Queen looked at him in surprise.
QUEEN 517
"Who's this?" he laughed. "Your fancy man?"
Cap'n Jack hit him across the shoulders with the stick, and they all turned
on him. Desire for a pretty girl became lust for blood, and, methodically
and efficiently, they beat him senseless, while Queen screamed her
distress.
When they were done, Queen ran to him, weeping, screaming for aid.
"Help him, please," she begged Cap'n Jack's assailants. "He my gran'pappy."
The beating had sated them, and when they heard of the family relationship,
perhaps they were shamed, the sergeant at least. He called his men to
order, and led them away.
Queen ran to the slave quarters for help, and Isaac and Jeremiah had taken
Cap'n Jack to his bunk, where Queen nursed him, and bathed his wounds. When
Sally was told, she came to see him, and ordered that he be moved to a
comfortable bed, in the big house. She complained to the captain, who
apologized, reprimanded the men, and ordered the return of the Jackson
cart. No further action was taken because Cap'n Jack had hit first.
No one thought he would live.
He did live, after a fashion, for a while. The worst of his external wounds
healed, but there was some internal damage. He was almost always in pain,
and was incontinent. His mind wandered, and he seldom knew where he was.
There was no physician to attend him; the local doctor had volunteered for
the war, and the medical student who was running the practice said nothing
could be done and prescribed laudanum.
Queen took charge of him, washed him and bathed him, fed him and changed
the sheets on his bed when they were soiled. Sa
lly stayed with him when
Queen could not. To everyone's surprise, Lizzie volunteered as well when
Queen or Sally needed a break, although mostly she was busy tending the
children, for Poppy had to run the household.
For a time Cap'n Jack didn't seem to recognize Queen or Sally, and he
seldom spoke, except for a few muttered words-"Annie" and "broke his
promise." Toward April, he seemed to get a little better, as if the spring
were renewing
518 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN
him. He recognized people and things, and managed to speak, but the effort
of it obviously distressed him. He lay for hours holding Queen's hand,
gently caressing it with his thumb, and saying nothing. When Sally was
with him, he talked a little more, of the old days in Nashville, and of
the ol' Massa, and he always asked about Jass, who was a prisoner of war
and of whom there was little news. Talk of Jass's incarceration depressed
Cap'n Jack, and he would fall silent, and then mutter a few words of
friendship and happiness and youth.
Sally understood his difficulty in speaking, and so she talked instead.
She chattered endlessly about the old days in Nashville, when they were
happy, of parties and picnics and pedigree horses, and of mutual friends,
of Alfred, who lay in a tomb near his Massa now, loyal slave in life and
death, of Chief Doublehead and Monkey Simon.
"Gone. All gone," Cap'n Jack said. But he would not go himself. It was
as if he were waiting for something, some signal that he could leave
secure in the knowledge that the better day was coming for those he left
behind, as he had always promised.
In early April, they began to hear gunfire. It was distant and muffled,
but incessant, continuous. It lasted for two days.
It was the sound of a battle at Shiloh, over twenty miles away. Sometimes
the relentless, dull noise caused the glass in the windows to rattle, and
the crockery in the cupboards to shimmer. Lizzie heard it, and clutched
her children to her. Mrs. Henderson heard it, and moved to the big house.
Sally heard it, and prayed for the dead.
Parson Dick heard it when he was washing dishes. A little tremor caused
a cup to rattle on the table. It dropped to the floor and smashed. Parson
Dick looked at the plate in his hand. He smiled. And when the cannon
fired again, so many miles away, he threw the plate over his shoulder,
and let it break where it landed. And another. And another. Parson Dick
was laughing now.
The slaves heard the noise when they were gathered around the campfire
on that warm spring night, eating their evening meal.
"Awful close," said Davy.
QUEEN 519
"The closer it come, the closer my freedom," Jeremiah told him. Davy
idolized Jeremiah. But not enough to run away with him.
"Oh, man, I's gwine get me some of that," Davy dreamed.
Isaac dreamed of it, too, but was more practical. "An' what you gwine do
with it, boy?" he asked Davy.
"Get me a job," Davy said, surprised by the question. "Earn money."
"You cain't do nuttin' 'cept pick cotton an' empty shit pans, an' yo' ain't
too good at that," Isaac said, and the others laughed.
Davy was angry; everyone was always laughing at him, when he tried so hard
to please.
"Go North," he sulked, knowing Isaac couldn't have an answer for that.
Everybody talked about going North. The old people called it "Up South"
which Davy thought was stupid.
"An' beg fo' food, an' sleep in ditches?" Isaac burst Davy's bubble.
"Hear tell the Feds is takin' on niggers to fight, payin' 'em, too,"
Jeremiah said, to relieve the pressure on Davy. "Damn, I'd fight for
freedom."
"Let's do it, eh?" said Davy, who had a young man's energy.
"Yeh, but yo' better get a good night sleep first, an' make sho' yo'
belly's full," Isaac said. "Ask Jeremiah, he know about freedom."
"It's a'comin', Isaac," Jeremiah replied, still embarrassed from his
previous, failed attempt. "Yo' c'n laugh, but it's a'comin'. "