No Greater King: A Story of Slavery and War

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© 2014 David W. Holman. All rights reserved.

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Published by AuthorHouse 02/28/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-6077-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-6075-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-6076-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014902214

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Be advised that I, being free, do not have to pay tribute to anyone, nor do I believe there is a greater king than I.

—Inca Chief Atahuallpa’s answer to Father Vicente de Valverde, who called upon him to submit to the representatives of the Spanish crown

This book is dedicated to Bonnie, the love of my life.

Contents

BOOK ONE Caleb July, 1860

BOOK TWO The Palantines October, 1860

BOOK THREE Caleb November, 1860-January, 1861

BOOK FOUR Win July, 1861-May, 1862

BOOK FIVE Caleb May, 1862-December, 1862

BOOK ONE

Caleb

July, 1860

1.

The foreman, Tunney, yelled out to them, Massa say drop what you doin’, we goin’ on back now. So, drop it right dere. Fo’m de line now

The field workers dropped their canvas sacks to the ground. The children dropped their ladles into the water buckets. Everyone formed a line, just as they did at the end of each day.

Caleb stood behind Big Earl. Big Earl wiped his forehead. Damn hot today, he said.

Caleb smiled. Big Earl, who is dat ah hear complainin’? You know, Massa he don’ want to hear you complainin’ now.

Big Earl shook his head. Ain’ complainin’.

Everyone speculated about the reason for the midday work stoppage. Some thought that the overseer, Mister Otter, would yell at them because the production was too low. Some thought that a member of the family had died. Some thought that they were going to be introduced to the new preacher that Massa had promised. Some were somber and feared the worst. Caleb whistled.

Big Earl glared. You, he said and shook his head. You whistlin’? What you got to whistle for?

Caleb laughed. Don’ like my tunes, Big Earl?

Big Earl started to say something, then evidently thought the better of it. He shook his head.

Caleb said, Ah got tunes you never heard, all ramblin’ inside of me. Caleb brushed his hand across his body. Sometimes, when we don’ have to pick cotton no more, dat ol’ tune just a-rise up here inside of me and ah caint keep it out, no, not for da life of me. He whistled again. Well, by Lordy, dere it go again.

Big Earl nodded, as if he understood, then turned away. Caleb smiled, then continued to whistle as they walked.

Tunney lined them up in front of the Massa’s house, on the broad lawn, by the two tall oak trees. The workers gathered in tight groups in the shade of those trees. One of the waterboys, Tommy, lugged over a pail of water and handed up a ladle to whoever wanted it. The people did not talk much. They looked toward the house.

Katie sidled up to Caleb. As she looked up at him, her dark eyes sparkled in the sun. So, dere, Mis’ Caleb, she said, what you think ’bout dis here?

He smiled and then looked away, toward the house. He said, slowly, ’Spect we goin’ be standin’ here. He smiled again. Dat’s ’bout what ah know.

She frowned, then poked him in the ribs. Ah ’spect you do know. Ah ’spect you do. You jes don’ want to tell dis l’il gal.

He winked. Well, iffen ah don’ tell you, den you don’ be surprise’.

She smiled. Then nodded. Then she beamed. So, let’s see, yeah, ah get it. You don’ know. Dat’s it. You really don’ know. Da Mighty Caleb, he don’ know. You been stumped, huh, boy? She giggled into her hands.

Caleb smiled and started to say something else when Tunney yelled out, Hush up, y’all! Someone was at the door of the Massa’s house. It was Uncle, the first house servant. Uncle was dressed in his finest broadcloth coat, with brocaded vest, jumpers and shined boots. His bald head glistened in the sun like a watch fob. He gestured for the rest of the house servants to follow him outside. They gathered together in a little group to the left of the front steps, away from the field hands.

Then, young Massa Win came out the door, walked down the steps and leaned up against the right wall of the house. Winston Palantine was a tall, handsome lad in his early 20s, with dark blond hair, the color of winter wheat, and an easy disposition. He was followed by his brother, Sanford Palantine, or Sandy, as he was called. Sandy was older, shorter and darker and he always appeared to be upset with something. He cradled a shotgun, casually, across one arm. He walked over and stood beside Win.

In a planned entrance, Massa Mo appeared. He was a short man who moved with the grace and power of an aged lion. Maurice Mo Palantine was a Texas legend. He captained the right side of the line in the Battle of San Jacinto, the battle that won for Texas her independence from Mexico. He battled Indians and helped clear the Texas frontier. He was known far and wide as the best horseman in Brazoria County. And, he was one of the best cotton planters, having earned a fortune with efficient management and timely innovation. He was loved by his people.

Massa Mo was dressed in his Sunday clothes, his best broad-brimmed hat, his long outer coat, a dark patterned scarf, and brilliantly shined knee-high boots. It was an odd outfit for such heat, but it was the custom for important occasions. He descended the stairs and walked up to the group. He looked out at them, looking everyone in the eye, and then lowered his head. After a time, he raised his head and spoke.

Ah am sad today, he said, and he paused to let that thought sink in. Ah have let y’all down.

Gertrude, a house servant, piped up as she always did. No Marse Mo, you never done let none of us down, never, you never done let us down at all.

Massa Mo nodded. Yes, Gertrude, yes ah have. Ah have, my dear. Ah have let us all down.

Massa Mo took off his hat and wiped his brow. My job, and ah know that many of you know this, ah take my job very very seriously, but my job, my main job is to make sure that each and every one of you live the good life. Ah have to make sure each and every one of you is fed, and clothed, and housed, and protected from the weather, and that your medical needs are taken care of, and that you, each and every one of you, are happy. That is my job. My job. But, ah have another job too, and that is a much more important job. And that is to take care of your spiritual needs.

No one moved. They were afraid to break the rhythm. There were no other sounds. The Massa’s dog, an old bloodhound named Puck, paid no mind. Puck got up, walked around in a circle and eased back down, dripping drool on his hindquarters.

No one knew what the Massa meant. No one knew why he was upset. There could be no question that Massa Mo took care of their spiritual needs. Years ago, on Sundays, he took them all in dozens of wagons to the church in Old Velasco. But, on one occasion, the preacher said something to antagonize Massa, and Massa vowed never to return. He built his own church, a large one story log building in the woods, within walking distance from the outbuildings. A well-worn path lead to the church through the woods. The path was lined with flowers. On Sunday mornings, the church was the center of plantation life, with celebration, singing, fiery gospel, followed by a big dinner at which everyone, including the Massa and his family, attended. Massa conducted most of the sermons, but he had promised that he would find them a real preacher.

Puck the bloodhound yawned. Massa Mo continued.

The Bible, it tells me that it is my job, no one else’s job, but my job to make sure that y’all live a good spiritual life. And, ah know y’all know this, but a good a spiritual life is a moral life, a life that is committed to following all of God’s laws. Ah want to teach you those lessons so badly.

Massa Mo looked to his left, saw Mister Otter, the overseer, and nodded. Mister Otter disappeared behind the barn.

Let me continue. Let me continue here. Ever so often, ah realize that ah have failed to properly teach you the moral laws of God. These are not just the laws that you have to follow. These are the laws that all men must follow. All men. Everywhere. We are here on this Earth for a such a very short time. This is all just preparation. How we live our life here in this world, that determines how we will live our life in the glorious hereafter.

Mister Otter walked out from behind the barn, leading someone by a rope. The rope was tied around the person’s neck. Caleb could not see who it was, but he recognized the awkward gait. It was Larry.

Now, one of God’s laws that we all must follow is this: that one man cannot steal from another man’s possessions. You know what God says. Y’all have heard God’s commandments: ‘Thou shalt not steal.’ I say again, ‘thou shalt not steal.’ Now, we all know that if you do not follow God’s laws, you cannot live a good life. That’s what we know. And, it is my job to ensure that y’all live a good life.

Larry grinned. He sauntered about like he did not know what was going on. He probably did not. Larry was an idiot.

Larry and Mister Otter stood near the hitching post. The rope hung loosely off Larry’s neck, and drooped down to the ground between them. Larry saw Caleb and waved. Caleb made sure that Massa could not see him, and he winked back.

Well, obviously, Massa Mo continued, ah have not taught that lesson sufficiently to all of you. Ah have failed you. This morning, ah learned that someone had stolen the Virginia Ham from the ol’ smokehouse. We investigated this here crime and found out that the ham was stolen by Larry.

A high crime, indeed. Everyone knew that Massa Mo had the Virginia Ham shipped in especially for the Massa and Mistress’s anniversary celebration.

Massa Mo continued, Now, ah know we all love Larry. And, my first inclination, my very first inclination, was to just overlook this here crime. But, if ah did that, it would not be fair to you. God’s laws are for the best of us, but they are also for the least of us.

Hearing the Massa say his name, Larry jumped up and down and laughed. Stop it, Mister Otter ordered in a low voice. Larry stopped.

So, ah have decided that Larry should be punished, just as ah would punish any of you for violating God’s laws. Ah have brought you down here to witness this so that all y’all will know how strongly we feel about this.

A voice broke from the crowd. It was Estelle. But, Massa Mo, Larry don’ know nothin’. Her voice quivered. He don’ know what’s wrong.

Massa Mo looked to the sky. He frowned, as if he himself were trying to hold back the tears. He shook his head, regained his composure, and looked out to the crowd.

Ah know, ah know, and believe me, ah cannot tell you how long and how hard ah have struggled with this. But, ah cannot treat Larry any differently than ah would treat any one of you. Larry has violated one of the most fundamental of God’s laws. He must be punished. We’re goin’ to go with forty lashes here. Mister Otter, will you see that it is done?

With that, Massa Mo turned on his heels and walked back into the house, followed by young Massa Win. Massa Sandy moved forward to supervise.

Mister Otter took the rope off Larry’s neck and looped it around Larry’s wrists. He pulled it tight. Larry shrieked, Hurts! My hands, my hands! Mister Otter threw the rope over the hitching post and pulled Larry into it. Larry fell to his knees, his wrists cinched against the hitching post. Mister Otter tied off the rope. Then, almost casually, he tore Larry’s shirt off of his back.

Larry looked up at the crowd and grinned. Several people turned their heads. Caleb reached over and grabbed Katie’s hand. She was shaking.

Mister Otter pulled the cat-o-nine-tails out of his belt. The sun glinted off the black leather. Because of its many heads, the cat looked alive. Without a word, Mister Otter wound up and brought the cat down hard across Larry’s back. Larry did not know it was coming and his face convulsed into horror. He screamed, He’p me!

One of the men moved forward. Massa Sandy cocked his shotgun. Another yelled out, Be strong, Larry, be strong! Massa Sandy growled, No talking, you. You’ll be the next.

Larry screamed like an animal with its foot caught in a trap, shrieks, guttural noises, noises that were not human. Tears flooded from Larry’s eyes, drenching his contorted face. Mister Otter continued about his task, his arm going back and forth like he was churning butter.

One woman fell to her knees. Others tried to console her. She moaned, Oh, my Larry. Katie turned away and hugged Caleb tightly. She whispered, Ah caint watch no more. Please, Caleb, no more.

Larry issued a series of short screams, like barking. Caleb stroked Katie’s hair. It’s all right, he said, knowing it was not. Caleb was repulsed by this, like being forced to watch the torture of a child. He wanted to free Larry, but he knew he could not. Caleb looked over at the foreman, Tunney. The foreman looked ahead, with no emotion. Katie sobbed.

Mister Otter continued to flail the black snake at Larry’s back. Larry’s screams turned to blubbering gasps, louder each time the cat hit. Finally, he collapsed. Even though he was unconscious, Mister Otter continued to lash him a few more times. Then, Mister Otter stopped and nodded to Massa Sandy.

Massa Sandy walked toward the crowd. He shifted his shotgun from one arm to the other. All right, everyone, entertainment’s over. Estelle, you and Miz Branch and Big Earl take Larry on back to his cabin and y’all tend to him. Everybody else, back to work.

Caleb squeezed Katie. He said softly, C’mon, let’s go on back.

Katie looked up at him, tears still in her eyes. But, Caleb, dis caint be da God’s will to hurt our sweet innocent Larry. Can it Caleb?

You heard Massa. Larry warn’t innocent. He stole dat ham. Now, c’mon, let’s get on goin’.

The field hands returned to the field. They usually sang when they walked to the fields. There was no singing.

2.

At the far end of the quarters was a small cabin. There were always flowers in the window of that cabin, wildflowers mostly, but on occasion some cut flowers from the Mistress’s garden. Today, there was a bright bouquet of yellow daisies in a water jar. On the side of the cabin was a well-tended garden, with an assortment of tomatoes, squash, greens, and even a small melon patch. A large homemade broom stood on the porch next to the front door

At the end of the work day, Caleb walked back to that cabin. He went to see Miz Branch.

Miz Branch was a healer. She had always been with Massa Mo, since the early days back East. She was very old, no one knew just how old. She was a thin, wrinkled, white-haired woman with one leg quite a bit shorter than the other, which made her bob up and down as she walked.

Whenever the workers suffered any illness, they were taken to Miz Branch. Massa supplied Miz Branch with all the current medicines, but most of the time, she chose not to use them. Instead, she relied on the remedies that had been passed on to her, the potions, the charms, the spells.

Caleb knocked on her door.

Sorry, we got no time for you right now, please.

It’s Caleb, Miz Branch. Ah’m here to he’p.

What?

Caleb, Miz Branch.

Well, well, all right. Caleb. Very well, c’mon in.

When Caleb opened the door, he was overwhelmed by the scent of lard, a waxy pungent odor. Miz Branch had her back to him. She attended to Larry, who lay face down on her bed. Larry was not moving. Next to the bed, on the floor, there was a pile of bloody clothes and sheets. Miz Branch had wrapped Larry in a sheet covered with lard.

How’s he? Caleb asked.

Bad. Dey got ’em pretty bad. Dat Mister Otter’s cat, it a mean one. It got da metal on it and ah think he wet dat leather, jes to get it real good n’ tight. Dat thing tore some chunks of Larry’s skin offen his back.

Can ah see?

What’d you say?

Can ah see him?

Miz Branch pulled back the sheet. Larry’s back looked like wild cats had mauled him. Deep, raw lacerations still oozed blood. Dried cakes of blood surrounded the cuts. Caleb winced.

He say anythin’?

No, he ain’ woken up yet. Ah knows dat when he do, he’s goin’ be up wild and screamin.’ Ah knows it. Ah ready for it. Ah’ve got a little pull of whiskey to give ’em, but ah jes may need your he’p.

Yes, ma’am.

Miz Branch turned back to Larry. She applied more lard and replaced the sheet. When she was done, she turned and smiled at Caleb.

You know, Caleb, you a good boy. Ah always said you was, even when you was jes a young-un.

Caleb lowered his head. He did not take praise well. Thank you, he mumbled. He quickly changed the subject. You know, ah thought ah heard Massa Sandy say to take Larry back to his cabin. Ah went dere and dere was no one dere. Den Ruth Day she told me that you had taken him back to dis cabin.

Well, boy, dat’s easy enough. Dere was nobody in dat cabin to tend to him. Dis here boy’s goin’ need a lot of tendin’ to.

Can ah get you some water?

Yes, boy, thank you, we’ll need dat.

Caleb looked around. Your pail?

Be out back.

Caleb went out the door. The sun was low on the horizon. The air was hot and thick, a steam bath. Caleb walked down the path, through the trees, to the stream, filled Miz Branch’s pail, then returned. Miz Branch was busy wrapping greens into a tube of some sort.

Dat for Larry?

She looked up. Yep. Dis here’s his poultrice. Dese greens will loosen up da blood. We caint let him dry up any.

Caleb nodded, although he did not really understand. Miz Branch sometimes spoke in riddles. He sat in a cane-backed chair and watched her work. She finished wrapping the last poultrice and set it aside in a pile by the foot of Larry’s bed.

By da way, young Caleb, did ah ever show you my picture of Nathaniel? she asked.

It was the question that Caleb dreaded. He had seen the picture of Nathaniel often. So had everyone else. Miz Branch kept the picture with her at all times. Nathaniel, she would say, was her greatest love. She was separated from him a long, long time ago. But, he was coming back to her. He assured her of that. And, she waited for that day.

Here it is, let me show you. Miz Branch delicately placed the small framed picture in Caleb’s hands. It was a picture of a black man in a hat and shirt. He looked furious.

Yes, Caleb said. He smiled and handed it back to her. Yes, ah have seen dat. Yes, he is a fine lookin’ man.

She giggled. Oh, my, yes. Her smile revealed few teeth. She put the picture back in her apron. Dat man was a fine man. He was da strongest man on da whole crew. Yes, he was. He once done 500 pounds of cotton in one day, dawn to dusk. You ask Massa, he’ll tell you dat for sure. Massa called him Nate, but ah called him Nathaniel. He’s a-comin’ back here to me. You hear?

Yes, ma’am. Dere anything else ah can he’p you do?

Miz Branch did not hear him. She was lost in her own reverie. Ah was not ’round dat day, you know, dat day Massa took him off to New Orleans to sell him. Dem was some hard times, when Massa had to sell his most valuable people, just so’s we all could get by. But, the last thing dat Nathaniel says to me, he says, ah’ll be back, honey, you don’ worry. And, he was a good man. He was a fine man. Ah knows he be back.

Yes, ma’am. Caleb looked over at Larry. Miz Branch’s story changed so much that the listener doubted that there ever was a Nathaniel. Sometimes he was sold off, sometimes he was leased out, sometimes he ran up North on the underground railroad, and sometimes he got his freedom. Caleb stood up.

He said, Ah’m a-goin’ to look in on Larry again, iffen it’s all right.

Miz Branch looked around, and then, as if remembering something, looked over at Larry. Dat poor li’l creature of God. But, we bring him back. Yes, we will.

Within the hour, Larry woke up. His moans turned to shouts and then to anguished screams. Caleb held him down while Miz Branch poured whiskey into his mouth. Larry cried, then shook as if in spasms, then calmed down. He said nothing. Miz Branch wiped the fresh blood from him with a cloth. She put another wet cloth on his forehead. He shook a few more times, and then went back to sleep.

There was a small knock on her front door. It was Edward, Miss Callie’s son.

Mis’ Caleb, Mama says come get you. Mister Otter wants you. Mama says you better come quick.

Caleb smiled and rubbed the boy’s head. You tellin’ me what to do, boy?

The boy stepped back. No, no, Mis’ Caleb. Ah warn’t tryin’ to do dat, no, sir. It’s jes dat Mama says you’s in trouble. The boy looked down at the floor and began to shake.

No, no, boy, no problem. Caleb turned back to Miz Branch. You okay here for now, Miz Branch? You want ah should get one of the other boys to he’p?

No, no, Caleb, ah thank you, son. We’ll be okay. Ah think he’s been through da worst. Thank you for comin’ by.

Caleb nodded and grabbed her hand with both hands. You a good woman, Miz Branch. Ah’ll he’p if ah can. Come get me iffen you need me.

She smiled, her toothless grin. You best believe it, ah will, sonny. Now you best be gettin’ goin’.

Caleb turned to the young boy, who stood with his hat in his hands and looked like he’d seen a ghost. Edward, you go ahead home now and tell you Mama dat ah’m not in trouble. Ah’m goin’ go talk to Mister Otter. Right now. Where is dat man?

At the front, up at the front, the boy muttered. He eased backwards out the door and then, as soon as he saw his opening, he darted away.

3.

Mister Otter leaned against one of the big oak trees and smoked his pipe. As he sucked in the pipe, the red embers glowed on his face. Mister Otter was a thin man with a thin face, but big features: big nose, big eyes, big ears. He never smiled. His cat was stuck in his back pocket. He also wore a pearl-handled pistol in a holster, hung low across the front of his trousers.

Caleb approached him. Mister Otter, you want to see me?

Yeah, boy, I do. What have you been doing back there?

Nothin’. Ah was just a-seein’ how ol’ Larry was a-doin’.

What business is that of yorn?

No business, Mister Otter. Ah jes want to go on by an’ see ’em.

Mister Otter shook his head. Had to be done, you know that it had to be done, don’t you.

Yes, suh.

Did you know what he did with that ham?

No, suh. Ah didn’ even know ’bout dat ham until today.

Fed it to the damned horses.

Caleb smiled.

Caleb, don’t disappoint me. Mister Otter walked closer to Caleb. Think that’s funny?

Caleb’s smile vanished. No, suh.

Well, you know I don’t have any favorites, I can’t, you know that, don’t you, Caleb? Just like you, I do what I am told to do around here. It could of just as easily been you out there today, though, and I would of done you just like that, you know that, don’t you? If Massa had told me?

Caleb looked away. He mumbled, yes, suh, you was jes doin’ you job, Mister Otter.

Mister Otter took another step toward Caleb, less than a hand length away. Can’t hear you.

Caleb lifted his head. He spoke calmly and clearly. Yes, suh. Ah know you was jes a-doin’ you job, dat’s all.

That’s right. Mister Otter let his hand rest on the pearl handle of his revolver. That’s right. And you, Caleb. Tell me that you haven’t been up to any funny business, now. Have you, boy?

No, suh.

Mister Otter took his hand off the revolver and placed it gently on Caleb’s arm. Yep, and you can pick some cotton, boy. Truth be told. Ready for the contest?

Caleb smiled, this time broadly. Yes, suh. Yes, ah am. Always ready for dat contest.

Each year about this time, in late July, to celebrate the harvest, the plantations got together for a grand celebration. This year, the celebration was to be held at Liberté—the Palantine plantation. The highlight of each year’s celebration was the cotton picking contest. Each planter chose his best picker. At the designated hour, the pickers went to work, observed by planters and workers alike. People placed bets and cheered and shouted as each picker returned a full sack from the field. The champion picker was given a silver cup and the honor of being known far and wide as the best. For the past two years, Caleb had finished second, bested in both years by Tiny Newton, from Massa Cyrus Newton’s plantation. The rumor this year was that Tiny had been sick, thus making Caleb the odds-on favorite.

My money’s on you, boy, Mister Otter said. You’re not going to disappoint me again this year are you?

Caleb shook his head. No, suh. Ah’ll be workin’ extra hard jes for you.

I’m sure you will, I’m sure you will. Mister Otter tamped on his pipe. Okay. Now, here’s why I needed you. Massa Mo needs to see you up at the house.

Me, suh? Why?

I don’t know that, boy. Not my business to know that. Now, you get along now, get on over there.

Yes, suh, Mister Otter.

4.

From the Palantine’s large dock on the Brazos River, you could see the Palantine’s house, framed as if in a painting at the end of cascade of oak trees. It was a large Tidewater style plantation house with a hipped roof and a porch that encircled the second story. A caliche road went from the dock through the line of trees and ended in a circular driveway. Abutting the driveway was a porte cochere to protect guests from the rain. The house was painted a soft blue—at the Mistress’s request—with white shutters around the windows and white railings on the lower porch and the upper balcony. The slave quarters and outbuildings were in a large community behind the main house, and they could not be seen from the river. Behind the slave quarters and outbuildings were the immense cotton fields.

There were two enormous dark doors in the front of the house, doors made of mahogany shipped in from Mobile, Alabama. Each of the doors had a huge brass door knocker in the shape of a lion’s paw, a gift from Governor Houston. A dark blue mat, embroidered with the phrase "Bienvenue à tous," lay in front of the doors.

Caleb could not stand on that mat or strike the brass door knockers. Field hands were not allowed to enter the front door, except for Christmas day when they lined up to get their presents. At all other times, they had to go to the back door where they were let in by a house servant. Then, they had to wait in a small room designed for that purpose until Massa Mo or one of the boys requested that they be brought in. This was the same room that Tunney waited in each morning for his instructions.

Caleb turned the switch that rang the back doorbell. Uncle came to the door. Although everyone called him Uncle, even those not related to him, he really was Caleb’s uncle, the brother of his mother. Uncle was still dressed in his formal attire, with white gloves. When he saw Caleb, he smiled broadly and threw the door open.

Well, well, iffen it’s not my favorite nephew. How you doin’, boy? C’mon in, Massa’s ’spectin’ you.

Caleb removed his hat. He followed Uncle to the sitting room, and took the chair that Uncle indicated. Although the kitchen was in another building in back of the house, Caleb could smell sweet herbs and cinnamon.

Uncle said, Right now, Massa he’s a-meetin’ with Massa Cash an’ da boys. Tell you what, when dere done, ah take you in. Can ah get you anythin’?

Caleb shook his head. No, suh, ah’m happy to jes wait. Dere anythin’ ah can do to he’p you?

Uncle laughed, a deep baritone laugh that reverberated throughout the room. Oh, Lordy, my no, we got plenty of he’p in here. You just worked a full day, boy, you need to rest yo’self a spell. You just sit on back here an’ ah’ll see if ah can rustle you up somepin from da kitchen.

Caleb looked around the room. He had never been there before. Caleb sat in a straight-backed chair in the center of the room. There was a large stuffed armchair directly across from him, a chair that looked a great deal more comfortable than his, but he dared not move from the seat where Uncle directed him.

The sun was a sliver of orange against a violet sky. The dark room was lit by a single kerosene lantern, whose flames danced in shadows on the walls. The floor was a series of oak planks, with no rug. On the far wall, there was a brown desk with a lot of square compartments that were filled to overflowing with various papers. To his right, there was a small loom and some sewing items. Next to that was a child’s rocking horse, on which someone had laid a newspaper. On the wall to his left was a calendar. Caleb could not read, so he did not know that the calendar was turned to July, 1860.

Caleb could hear voices raised in the next room. He recognized the voice of Massa Cecil Cash, who lived nearby.

It’s inevitable, Mo, you know that, Massa Cash said. Them Yankees can’t keep beating us down at every step and not ’spect us to get up onto our hind legs, now can they? They’re just laughing in our face, thinking we’re too weak to stand up to them.

Win chimed in: We’re a lot stronger than they think we are. Them Yankees spend their days coughing their lungs out in some mine a hundred feet under the ground, or in some godforsaken factory. We are out riding everyday, working our crops, staying strong. I think it’s true what they say: one Texan can whip about four of them Yankees.

Massa Mo said: Now, you don’t get cocky, boy. You’ve never been in war. It ain’t like in the books, boy. It ain’t no cakewalk.

Win: Sorry, sir.

Massa Cash: But, you know the boy is right, Mo. We’ve been doing the North’s bidding for far too long.

Massa Mo said something, but his voice was lower, and Caleb couldn’t hear it. Caleb shifted his focus to looking out the window. He watched the last bit of color retreat from the sky.

You doin’ okay, boy? Uncle asked, as he entered the room. He carried a tray. Well, here, ah jes want to tell you, ah told Auntie Alice you was in here and she say she was goin’ to make you up somepin special. Uncle smiled, as if sharing a secret. Ah don’ know what it is, dat power you have over da womenfolk, but boy, you sure got yo’self somepin.

On the tray was a muffin, topped with some kind of fruit. Caleb laughed. Oh, my, my, my, dis here is special. Ah’m goin’ to have to come up here more often

Uncle looked around, and then leaned forward. He rubbed his bald head, as he did when he was agitated. In a dark whisper, he said, No, suh. You don’ want to come up here too often, son.

Caleb met Uncle’s eyes. No, suh. No, suh.

Uncle looked at Caleb a moment longer, then stood up and let the moment pass. All righty now. Yes, yes, on dis here tray, we have for you— Uncle heard the men talking next door. Hold yo’self dis moment, he said and he handed the tray to Caleb. Ah’ll be right back.

Uncle left. Caleb heard a door close. The sounds of the men talking ceased. Uncle returned.

You didn’ hear anythin’ dey said, did you?

No, suh, not really.

’Cause ah could get in a lot of trouble iffen you did.

No, suh, ah promise, no.

Now, Caleb, you adorable mother taught you better than that—

What, suh?

You haven’ touched dat delicious muffin. It’s a-gettin’ cold. Go ahead now and eat it, and ah’ll come on back here in a li’l bit.

Caleb bit into the muffin, and savored a new combination of textures and tastes. The muffin was crusty on the outside, soft on the inside, and covered by a sweet blueberry sauce. Caleb swore to himself that it was the best thing he had ever eaten. He also swore to himself that the next time he saw Auntie Alice that he would give her the biggest hug in the world, which he enjoyed, because there was a lot of Auntie Alice to hug.

5.

After he waited a while longer, Caleb was summoned by Uncle. He followed Uncle down the hall.

Massa Cash stood halfway in the doorway, saying his goodbyes. He was a tall man with hooked nose who was always very animated, as if his facial features and his limbs moved without his control.

When Massa Cash saw Caleb, he bobbed up and down and burst into a smile.

There’s that boy! How’re ya doin’, young Caleb?

Caleb lowered his head, as he had been taught to do when addressing white people. Ah’m doin’ fine, thank you very much, Massa Cash. Caleb made sure that he said everything correctly, because another thing that Massa Mo taught them, drilled into them, was that maybe it is okay to slip up with your manners a little bit around the plantation, but if you are in the company of folks from outside the plantation, you best be on you best behavior. Massa Mo explained that how we appear to others is how we will be treated by others.

You gotten bigger, boy? Massa Cash asked.

Caleb shook his head. No, suh, ah really don’ think ah have, but maybe so, suh, maybe so.

Well, you look to me like you got a little bigger. Little stronger. You’re my boy, you know that. I’m counting on you at the Harvest Time, boy. My money’s on you.

Yes, suh, thank you, suh, ah’ll do my best, Caleb said, his head still down.

I’m sure you will, boy, Massa Cash said, and then turned to finish his goodbyes. Well, Mo, thanks again, and remember what I said. We have to stand as one, or we’re not going to stand at all.

Massa Mo replied, And you remember what ah said. War is the last resort. The very last. You must believe that. Whatever we can do to avoid this war, we should do, and we must do.

We need you standing with us, Mo, now. You can’t sit this one out.

There was a long pause. Massa Mo concluded, Well, thank you for coming by, Cecil. We’ll talk again, soon. Uncle, would you kindly show Mr. Cash to the door. Oh, and, uh, you did have Mr. Cash’s horse watered and fed and scrubbed, didn’t you?

Uncle nodded, Yes, suh, of course, suh.

Massa Cash laughed and put his hands on his hips. Now, Mo, I’ve told you this before, you know you don’t have to go to that trouble every time I come over here.

Massa Mo laughed. Well, Cecil, let’s face it, if ah don’t look after your horse, who’s going to do it?

Massa Cash laughed again, waved goodbye, turned on his heels and followed Uncle to the door.

Come on in, Caleb, Massa Mo said.

Caleb had never been in this room before. It was the gentlemen’s study. On the walls were dark bookcases. A chandelier with lighted candles hung from the ceiling. A tall window was framed by burgundy velvet curtains. The room smelled of cigars.

The men sat in leather armchairs. Massa Mo sat in the largest chair in the center. He swirled a snifter of brandy. Massa Win, the blond-haired son, sat ramrod straight in the chair next to his father. Massa Sandy, the brown-haired son, slumped in the chair off in the corner. Sandy’s right cheek was puffed up twice its size with a wad of chewing tobacco, whose dark brown juice Sandy spit into a cup. Tobacco juice ran out of the corner of his mouth. There was an empty leather chair directly to the right of Caleb, where Massa Cash must have been sitting, but Caleb did not sit down. He stood before them, with his hat in his hands.

You feeling a little special, boy, being asked to come into our house like this? Massa Sandy asked.

Massa Mo waved him off. Sandy, now, you behave yourself. Ah have invited Caleb in here as our guest. Now, how you doin’, son?

Caleb looked away from Sandy, directly at Massa Mo. Ah’m doin’ fine, suh, he mumbled.

And your pretty mama, how’s she doin’? Ah don’t get around to see all of you like ah used to.

No, suh. Ah think she be fine. She had a little touch of the consump’ is all, but ah think she be fine now.

Massa Mo shifted in his chair and smiled broadly. And how’s that little gal you’re sweet on?

Caleb smiled, blushed, put his head down.

Isn’t that Katie, Eben’s daughter? You goin’ to do some dancin’ with her, son, at the big shindig?

Caleb grinned and half looked up. Jes might do dat, Massa.

Well, and Massa Mo pointed at Caleb, don’t do too much dancin’, ’cause you have to be strong for that contest in the mornin’. We’re all countin’ on you.

Yes, suh. Ah’ll be ready.

Massa Sandy asked, You doing any jigging with the gal?

At the big Harvest Time dance, there was always a jigging contest between the young men from different plantations. It was never planned, in the sense that it arose spontaneously, but at each dance there was a small platform built just for the jigging contest. Each young man who competed tried to outdo the other, whirling around like a cyclone, feet moving faster than feet can move, arms snapping out new rhythms, showing off brand new dance moves, until one or the other dropped from exhaustion. The object of the exercise was to win the affections of a girl. The white people liked to gather around and watch the contest.

No, Massa Sandy, ah warn’t never too good at jiggin’, Caleb said.

Well, you just make sure you’re good at the picking, Sandy said.

Massa Mo cleared his throat.

Now, Caleb, the reason ah called you here is ’cause ah have been observin’ you over the years, and ah think you’re ready for a little bit more responsibility. Do you know that word, responsibility?

Yes, suh.

You’re a smart boy and there are goin’ to be duties around this ranch for a smart boy.

Massa Mo paused as if waiting for Caleb to say something, but Caleb said nothing. He continued, Here’s what ah would like. After the Harvest Time celebration and after we bring in the crop and gin it and get it to market, ah’m plannin’ to take a trip down to New Orleans. We need us some more help around here, and ah need to go down to New Orleans to get us some more people.

Sandy sat up. You don’t need to go to New Orleans, Daddy. They have auctions in Galveston or Houston.

Massa Mo stared sharply at Sandy. Riff raffs, cast offs, rabble. That’s all you get in Galveston or Houston. Ah know there’s good stock in New Orleans. And you know it too. Ah’ve taken you there. New Orleans is the big affair. There’s a lot of estate sales, lot of people movin’ west. And, with the talk of war, Sandy, a lot of people from Georgia and Virginia and elsewhere are packin’ up their things and movin’ on out here. Some of them are sellin’ off their people to make ends meet.

Sandy turned his head.

Win smiled, True, Daddy.

Caleb really did not understand what Massa Mo was talking about.

Do you understand what ah’m sayin’? Massa Mo asked.

Caleb looked around, assuring himself that Massa Mo was talking to him. He hesitated, Ah, no, suh, sorry, ah don’ understand.

Well, ah would like for you to come on the trip to New Orleans with me. You’ve never been to Louisiana, have you, son?

No, suh. You know, ah’ve been here at this plantation all my whole life. You remember when ah was a little boy, you took us all to Galveston one year. But dats da furthest ah’ve ever been in dis world.

Yes, ah do know, son. Well, would you like to go? It’s going to be a long trip.

Caleb smiled broadly. Yes, suh. Ah would love to go. And, ah’ll be a big he’p, too, you jes wait an’ see, suh.

Well, that’s what ah thought, boy. Now, do you know how to use a gun?

No, Massa Mo.

Sandy.

Sandy still sat with his head looking away, facing the wall.

Sandy, Massa Mo said, do you hear me talkin’ to you?

With his head still turned, Sandy replied, Yeah, I hear you.

Well, can you at least do me the courtesy of facin’ me when I talk with you?

Sandy turned his head around. What?

Are you listenin’ to me now, son?

Sandy shifted in his chair. Yes.

All right, this doesn’t need to be painful. Massa Mo took a big drink of brandy. When y’all get a chance, ah want y’all to teach this boy to shoot straight. Ah may need his help protectin’ me and our property on the trip to New Orleans. You know, there’s rumors of outlaws on those roads.

Sandy frowned and shook his head, his dark eyebrows furrowed. He sat up in his chair. Now, Daddy, he said, his voice a little louder than normal, that’s not too smart. You remember four years ago when the colored people in Colorado County got guns and knives? Yeah, that’s all they needed. Their plan was to murder all the white people and escape to Mexico. That what you want to happen here?

Massa Mo gave Sandy a look that ended the conversation. Then, in a voice softer than normal, he said We will talk about that another time. He turned back to Caleb and smiled. Now, you make us proud in that contest, boy. We always have the best harvest and that’s because we have the best workers. You snatch them bolls quick and clean, you hear me?

Yes, suh.

And, as we get closer to the trip, Mistress Francy and Susan will help you pack up you things. Massa Mo stood up and walked over to Caleb. He put his arm around Caleb and subtlely directed him out of the room. Massa