It was late and they had been traveling 3 days. they were close to the Kentucky border, when one of the adults was unable to continue, he was carrying children across a ditch and fell backwards, with his leg stuck in the ground, tearing his knee to shreds. He waited in the bush, not betraying his position, so that the group could progress and not be found out.
They waited until night to cross the final ten or so miles to the river, hoping that there would be some help from the other side in the form of a boat, to ferry them across. Slave catchers, poor whites and poor free blacks abounded on the Kentucky border. But tonight, something special, and heartbreaking was to occur.
A slave catcher, one of the best was onto the trail of the children. He tracked down dozens of escaped slaves, nearly a hundred in the last few years. His dogs were well trained, knew the scent and were always allowed to rip into the flesh of the runaways that were found.
This man looked upon his trade as a business. nothing more. He was sanctioned by the law. The law was on his side. As much as he could make the skin crawl of even the most weathered and conditioned slave owner through his calculating ruthlessness, he was not so much evil, as he was unfeeling.
as he came upon the trail, he gave the signal for his dogs to become quiet, so that the element of surprise would be his.
When he caught up to the children, they were making their way through an orchard in the half-full moonlight. dashing from tree to tree. brother, sister, cousin, friend, following the movements of their one remaining adult, 19 year old "Jebby". the youngest of the children, 7 year old Freddy followed. His eyes wide, stomach empty. feet raw, he fed on the anticipation that came with the promise of being so close to freedom, and hot food, a warm bed, and some form of roof over their head. he would so gladly trade his terror and loneliness for that.
The slave catcher eased up to the children. They were still a mile or two from the river. They would not succeed tonight. Surely, they would be punished, whipped, the oldest would be cut to ribbons. The children, branded, or an ear cut off, or teeth knocked out, to label them more easily should they try to run away again. worse than all of this, they would be chained and made to walk the 300 or so miles back to the plantation, struggling on already raw and bloody feet, to keep up with the slave-catchers horse.
The slave catcher caught up to the last one in the line, grabbed him fiercely by the neck and ordered the others to stop dead in their tracks, as she cocked his pistol against the child's head.
the slave catcher stood between trees in the orchard, his dogs at bay as he watched 2 more children come out. The sight of the young children took even his hardened eyes aback. two of the children were nearly white. all of them wide eyed, tired, cold, hungry. another child came out. tall, sleek and beautiful and dark. quiet and beautiful. and finally, Jeb came out, with 7 year old Freddy in his arms. The whole capture took less than 10 minutes.
The slave catcher was used to fighting to the death, running, stumbling, wrestling, and his dogs biting and tearing before the final struggle for freedom was decided.
As the children, Jeb, the slave catcher and the dogs stood in the light. All silent, and then it happened. The slave catcher looking at these children. beautiful, quiet, so close to freedom. the impossible occurred. He was moved, as he had never been moved before. he began to cry. at first covering his mouth, and then his face grew contorted under the strain of emotion and he let the gun fall in his hand to his sides.
This was the night, he stopped being a slave catcher, and became a conductor on the underground railroad. He looked up in the sky, finding the drinking gourd and pointing out the north star. he let the boy go that was in his grasp, and then, he joined the group in their dash between the trees of the orchard on their way to parts north.
within the hour they were at the Ohio river. The slave catcher knew these lands. Where he could go, the shortest point in the river. he stole a boat from a boat house near the river and he himself ferried the group of children to the other side of the river to freedom. All of this happened without so much as a word. No explanation, no thank-yous, just the drinking gourd, and the final dash to freedom, and a conversion in silence.
When the children grew up. they told the tale to their children, and their children, adding to the legacy, the magic, and redeeming power of the drinking gourd.
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