MOSANA (THE UNION) - PART XII
EPISODE 12
“Move,” I said hurriedly to Fiona and Andrea. From the look of things, he wasn’t stopping us to ask for directions. “Faster,” I urged.
We geared our horses up into a canter, so as not to look suspicious. I didn’t know how much the patroller knew, and I didn’t want us to give ourselves away.
“I said, stop!” The patroller was already on us, trying to slow his horse down while aiming his gun at us. I reared my horse to face him, blocking Fiona and Andrea from view.
“Sir,” I said, forcing a smile unto my face. “A good evening to you.”
“Stop right there.” He aimed the muzzle of his barrel gun at Fiona and Andrea, then at me. He couldn’t decide who to keep his gun pointed at.
I worked to keep myself and my horse in front of his gun, trying to block a direct shot to Fiona, Andrea, and her baby. The muzzle was now aimed directly at my chest. Common sense screamed at me, what are you doing, Mosana? This is not the time to play hero! You could make a run for it. You know you’ll be faster than these two ladies! Besides, the patroller would rather catch two of them than only you. Run!
Ignoring the voice of survival, I took a deep breath and maintained my position in front of the gun. Turning my head slightly, I whispered to the women behind me, “Keep moving!”
“Don’t you move!” The patroller was now in close range, his gun moving between me and the two women on the other horse. I moved closer, one hand raised, the other on the reins, trying to draw his focus to only me. Patrollers had been known to shoot on sight and even worse.
“Now, sir,” I started. “You remember us? We met only a few days ago. We are still on our way to--”
“Quiet!” And the words died in my throat. “You’re runaways.”
“No, we’re not,” I said, with my best bullshitting face.
“Yes, you are,” the man said back. “Flounder runaways.” He smiled. “How did you do it? I heard no one’s ever escaped from him before.”
Wouldn’t you like to know, I thought.
“Get down from your horses,” he said to us.
“No.” I countered, like I had any say in the matter.
“No?” The patroller cocked his gun.
“Get down from your horses!” he shouted, now aiming squarely at them. He seemed to guess that would keep me in place. I wasn’t going to run as long as they were in danger.
“You don’t want to do that,” I said, moving in front of his gun again, and blocking the other women from view.
“And why not? I know for certain Mr. Flounder would be happy to have his slaves back – for a fine buck,” he added and spat.
“He’s not going to give you shit,” I spat back.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Mr. Flounder does not give his money away that easily.”
Movement from the corner of my eye told me Fiona and Andrea were moving again. Good.
The patroller studied me carefully. It was probably due to my accent. “Then I guess I would have to take you for myself.”
He raised his gun again, and I knew he was going to shoot. Not to kill, but to wound. A wounded slave could still fetch a price. Well, I couldn’t have that. I spurred my horse, just as Andrea screamed.
“Hyah!” My horse reared back on its hind legs and kicked. It frightened the patroller’s horse and also threw me to the ground. But that was enough to distract the man. His gun misfired and that sent Fiona’s and Andrea’s horse into a gallop. He cocked his gun again to shoot, but his horse was still trying to regain its balance, and he misfired. With relief, I watched Fiona and Andrea ride away, safe.
But I was in trouble now. A quick glance at the patroller’s face told me that this wasn’t going to go well for me. He got down quickly and hit me with the butt of his gun. My mouth quickly filled with blood. I spat.
“Get up!” Getting a rope from his horse, he tied my hands and climbed back on his horse, attaching the other end of the rope to his own hands. That way, I was stuck to him and wouldn’t get any funny ideas.
I didn’t need to ask where we were going. I had done it this time. Wiping my mouth, I chided myself.
Nice going, Mo.
I was taken to a slave market. The patroller figured he could make more money selling me himself than returning me to Mr. Flounder in hope of some reward. I silently thanked the gods above. I imagined I would be better off going somewhere new than having to return to the Flounders. Better for everyone involved.
My sale was quick. I guess the patroller didn’t want to be caught handling Mr. Flounder’s goods, and took the first high bid he could get for me. I was added to a chain link of slaves attached to two horses, bound neck, hand and foot, and headed to yet another slaveholder’s farm.
We walked for a long time. Stopped a dozen times for food and rest. Not that we were given much of any. We were fed irregularly; sometimes we went without food for two days before the next leftover came. And as for rest, our chains made that pretty difficult. Besides, the rest wasn’t for us. It was for the horses and their riders. It started to get easier as the days went by, and not in a good way.
Our buyers were slave traders who bought slaves in bulk from the market and sold them along the way to slaveholders who were too lazy to go the market themselves. So, one by one, our numbers dropped, as slaves, mostly men, one or two at a time, were sold to different households. Sometimes we even had slaves join us from the farms we stopped at. Sometimes it was an exchange instead of an outright sale. The food started to go round, sort of, and it was easier to sit down and rest your back on a tree; you weren’t linked to so many people. I tried to mentally prepare myself for when I would be sold. I knew the first thing I would do – write to the Society.
Nobody really spoke to anybody, I guess because we realized the futility of trying to form relationships. So, it was really quiet, except for the muted chatter of our traders. In the silence, I thought about Mrs. Flounder and what she had likely faced in helping us escape; if her husband had suspected anything at all. I also thought about Andrea and her baby, and what life they’d have together should she make it out of Maryland.
I was the thirteenth slave to be sold. I knew we were in a new city (we had crossed so many state lines), so I asked the woman in front of me, “Where are we?”
“Kansas,” she answered simply.
Missouri?
By the gods… Pennsylvania was a long way from there. How would I escape? How would I send my letters?
I quelled my fears and forced my mind back to the present. I had to pay attention to the now. The farm owner was talking to the two men who had dragged us halfway across the South. My guess was they were negotiating prices. Soon, he came over to inspect the line of slaves.
He picked me first. Then a younger girl. He sized a man up, trying to decide whether to take him to, but decided against it. He settled the traders for the two of us and sent them on their way.
I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.
“Joshua!” my new slaveholder called, apparently summoning someone from inside the house.
A black man ran out, answering as he did so, with a slight bow. “Yes, sir.”
“Show them up to the attic. Then show them how things work here too, so they can begin immediately, alright?”
I was getting a sense of déjà vu, hearing those words. I shook my head to clear it, as I remembered why this felt familiar. It was the same way I was received after Master Wells bought me from Marc. It sounded like what he had said to…
Oh, my gods…
That’s when I noticed the face of who my new master was talking to. There was now a beard where there had once been smooth skin, but there was no mistaking it.
It was Flint.
“Move,” I said hurriedly to Fiona and Andrea. From the look of things, he wasn’t stopping us to ask for directions. “Faster,” I urged.
We geared our horses up into a canter, so as not to look suspicious. I didn’t know how much the patroller knew, and I didn’t want us to give ourselves away.
“I said, stop!” The patroller was already on us, trying to slow his horse down while aiming his gun at us. I reared my horse to face him, blocking Fiona and Andrea from view.
“Sir,” I said, forcing a smile unto my face. “A good evening to you.”
“Stop right there.” He aimed the muzzle of his barrel gun at Fiona and Andrea, then at me. He couldn’t decide who to keep his gun pointed at.
I worked to keep myself and my horse in front of his gun, trying to block a direct shot to Fiona, Andrea, and her baby. The muzzle was now aimed directly at my chest. Common sense screamed at me, what are you doing, Mosana? This is not the time to play hero! You could make a run for it. You know you’ll be faster than these two ladies! Besides, the patroller would rather catch two of them than only you. Run!
Ignoring the voice of survival, I took a deep breath and maintained my position in front of the gun. Turning my head slightly, I whispered to the women behind me, “Keep moving!”
“Don’t you move!” The patroller was now in close range, his gun moving between me and the two women on the other horse. I moved closer, one hand raised, the other on the reins, trying to draw his focus to only me. Patrollers had been known to shoot on sight and even worse.
“Now, sir,” I started. “You remember us? We met only a few days ago. We are still on our way to--”
“Quiet!” And the words died in my throat. “You’re runaways.”
“No, we’re not,” I said, with my best bullshitting face.
“Yes, you are,” the man said back. “Flounder runaways.” He smiled. “How did you do it? I heard no one’s ever escaped from him before.”
Wouldn’t you like to know, I thought.
“Get down from your horses,” he said to us.
“No.” I countered, like I had any say in the matter.
“No?” The patroller cocked his gun.
“Get down from your horses!” he shouted, now aiming squarely at them. He seemed to guess that would keep me in place. I wasn’t going to run as long as they were in danger.
“You don’t want to do that,” I said, moving in front of his gun again, and blocking the other women from view.
“And why not? I know for certain Mr. Flounder would be happy to have his slaves back – for a fine buck,” he added and spat.
“He’s not going to give you shit,” I spat back.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Mr. Flounder does not give his money away that easily.”
Movement from the corner of my eye told me Fiona and Andrea were moving again. Good.
The patroller studied me carefully. It was probably due to my accent. “Then I guess I would have to take you for myself.”
He raised his gun again, and I knew he was going to shoot. Not to kill, but to wound. A wounded slave could still fetch a price. Well, I couldn’t have that. I spurred my horse, just as Andrea screamed.
“Hyah!” My horse reared back on its hind legs and kicked. It frightened the patroller’s horse and also threw me to the ground. But that was enough to distract the man. His gun misfired and that sent Fiona’s and Andrea’s horse into a gallop. He cocked his gun again to shoot, but his horse was still trying to regain its balance, and he misfired. With relief, I watched Fiona and Andrea ride away, safe.
But I was in trouble now. A quick glance at the patroller’s face told me that this wasn’t going to go well for me. He got down quickly and hit me with the butt of his gun. My mouth quickly filled with blood. I spat.
“Get up!” Getting a rope from his horse, he tied my hands and climbed back on his horse, attaching the other end of the rope to his own hands. That way, I was stuck to him and wouldn’t get any funny ideas.
I didn’t need to ask where we were going. I had done it this time. Wiping my mouth, I chided myself.
Nice going, Mo.
I was taken to a slave market. The patroller figured he could make more money selling me himself than returning me to Mr. Flounder in hope of some reward. I silently thanked the gods above. I imagined I would be better off going somewhere new than having to return to the Flounders. Better for everyone involved.
My sale was quick. I guess the patroller didn’t want to be caught handling Mr. Flounder’s goods, and took the first high bid he could get for me. I was added to a chain link of slaves attached to two horses, bound neck, hand and foot, and headed to yet another slaveholder’s farm.
We walked for a long time. Stopped a dozen times for food and rest. Not that we were given much of any. We were fed irregularly; sometimes we went without food for two days before the next leftover came. And as for rest, our chains made that pretty difficult. Besides, the rest wasn’t for us. It was for the horses and their riders. It started to get easier as the days went by, and not in a good way.
Our buyers were slave traders who bought slaves in bulk from the market and sold them along the way to slaveholders who were too lazy to go the market themselves. So, one by one, our numbers dropped, as slaves, mostly men, one or two at a time, were sold to different households. Sometimes we even had slaves join us from the farms we stopped at. Sometimes it was an exchange instead of an outright sale. The food started to go round, sort of, and it was easier to sit down and rest your back on a tree; you weren’t linked to so many people. I tried to mentally prepare myself for when I would be sold. I knew the first thing I would do – write to the Society.
Nobody really spoke to anybody, I guess because we realized the futility of trying to form relationships. So, it was really quiet, except for the muted chatter of our traders. In the silence, I thought about Mrs. Flounder and what she had likely faced in helping us escape; if her husband had suspected anything at all. I also thought about Andrea and her baby, and what life they’d have together should she make it out of Maryland.
I was the thirteenth slave to be sold. I knew we were in a new city (we had crossed so many state lines), so I asked the woman in front of me, “Where are we?”
“Kansas,” she answered simply.
Missouri?
By the gods… Pennsylvania was a long way from there. How would I escape? How would I send my letters?
I quelled my fears and forced my mind back to the present. I had to pay attention to the now. The farm owner was talking to the two men who had dragged us halfway across the South. My guess was they were negotiating prices. Soon, he came over to inspect the line of slaves.
He picked me first. Then a younger girl. He sized a man up, trying to decide whether to take him to, but decided against it. He settled the traders for the two of us and sent them on their way.
I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.
“Joshua!” my new slaveholder called, apparently summoning someone from inside the house.
A black man ran out, answering as he did so, with a slight bow. “Yes, sir.”
“Show them up to the attic. Then show them how things work here too, so they can begin immediately, alright?”
I was getting a sense of déjà vu, hearing those words. I shook my head to clear it, as I remembered why this felt familiar. It was the same way I was received after Master Wells bought me from Marc. It sounded like what he had said to…
Oh, my gods…
That’s when I noticed the face of who my new master was talking to. There was now a beard where there had once been smooth skin, but there was no mistaking it.
It was Flint.
_____________________________________________
Hehe.
Let me leave you to stew in that for a bit. FLINT IS BACK!
If you don't get why this is major, it means you haven't read Book One.
So do that!
xoxo,
Ava.
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