MOSANA (THE UNION) - PART XVIII

EPISODE 18

I was on edge that entire week. The Society had told us to “be ready”, but they hadn’t said when. I didn’t know the day or the time. But I did know what I could do to get ready. I could begin to sow a few seeds. By seeds, I mean hinting about the impending liberation in the ears of my fellow slaves.

But I was careful. Not everyone wanted to be free, you see. On a plantation like mine, some slaves were comfortable, choosing to work to an age where they could request for emancipation. Some were even promised that. And some were able to bring their emancipation time forward by ratting out those who threatened to flee. 

So I couldn’t tell everyone. But I could tell Sue. When I told her, she almost had a heart attack.

I came into the kitchen like I did every other day, and asked her casually, “Do you wanna leave?”

Sue didn’t look up from the pot she was stirring, but I saw one eyebrow go up.

I clarified for her. “I mean, leave here. The plantation.” In case she still didn’t catch my drift, I added, “Run away.”

At that, the spoon fell from her hand into the pot and she turned her head sharply at me, her eyes wide.

‘Girl, shut your mouth!” she hissed.

I stopped talking, but I maintained a cool, calm air.

Sue could see I was serious, and that made her all the more panicked. 

“You’re serious,” she asked in a loud whisper, looking all around her as if our masters could magically appear at any moment.

“Yes,” I said simply.

I confessed to Sue that I was a member of the Pennsylvania Abolitionist Society, and a rescue party was coming to the MacGregor plantation to free slaves. When Sue had finally determined that I wasn’t delirious but actually sane, she calmed down but did not lose her worried look.

“I ain’t gon’ be able to run anywhere, child. We a long way from the North. I don’t think I could make it.”

I had heard stories of how a running party would be slowed down by the elderly, to the point where they’d have to be left behind to avoid the risk of getting everyone else caught. I could understand where Sue was coming from. 

“Take my son and his family instead,” Sue said to me.

I knew Sue’s son, Howie. He managed the grounds and sometimes drove the truck that took the cotton bales to the local engines in town to separate the cotton from the seeds. Howie had a wife he had married on the plantation and a daughter that he had also birthed on the plantation. Howie himself had been born on the plantation when Sue was just 21. I didn’t know what side Howie was on, but he seemed pretty comfortable on the plantation. I doubted he wanted to upend his life here.

Sue must have seen the skepticism on my face when she said, “He’ll leave with you, trust.”

“You’re sure I can trust him?” I asked, to be 100% sure.

“Yes, yes. If you like, I’ll talk to him about it.”

I thought for a moment. “What about his wife and daughter?”

“They’ll follow him anywhere. You ain’t gotta worry about that.”

“Alright, then.”

By the next day, Howie was on board. I was surprised at his enthusiasm. Apparently, his mother had told him stories about when she was free. Sue had been born to an emancipated black couple, but their former masters had betrayed them and sold their daughter at only 8 years old. Sue had never let her son forget that he could be free. Howie was only too happy to jump at the chance of freedom. He even offered to fight.

The Missouri Raid happened quickly. When Brown and his small band of followers appeared on our plantation, they walked right up to the slaves and announced their mission. Then they asked as many as were willing to board the trucks they had brought. Slaves were already boarding when Mr. MacGregor and Angelia ran out with guns. But Brown and his men already had guns trained on them.

I ran out from the kitchen where I was, to see what the standoff was about. I was already wondering at the strange men who were pointing guns at Mr. MacGregor when I saw Brown himself. I recognized him from the papers, but even without that, it was hard to miss him. He stood at the centre, an enigmatic figure, charisma radiating off him. This was a man in control. He held a gun pointed towards the ground, while his men held their guns steadily aiming at the MacGregors’ heads.

Brown spoke. No, he proclaimed.

“Let them go, and there can be no bloodshed today.”

Mr. MacGregor brandished his gun, seething. “Over my dead body!”

Brown advanced forward, seemingly oblivious to MacGregor’s fun pointed at him. Actually, the latter’s gun was flailing about, not sure who to point at.

“You might want to rethink your words, sir. Because I am prepared to leave at least one dead body here.” Brown wasn’t playing. He raised his gun, started pointing at Mr. MacGregor, and then shifted it slowly to Angelia, his smile widening.

“What’s it gonna be, sir?”

At this point, I felt an itch in my brain. I clawed at it mentally, trying to figure out what my brain was trying to tell me, when I suddenly realized. There was one slave that wasn’t here.

I turned and ran back towards the field where Brown’s trucks had parked to carry slaves. There I found who I was looking for.

Flint had a gun, likely one of Mr. MacGregor’s, and was stopping slaves from going to the trucks nearby. From where he stood, he couldn’t be seen by the drivers of the trucks, who were also holding guns. Flint backed them and faced the slaves trying to escape to the trucks. 

“Let them go.” I was surprised at the voice that came out of me.

Flint turned sharply, his gun raised. When he saw it was me, he lowered it. Slightly.

I repeated myself. Flint sighed and said, “You know I can’t do that, Mo.”

He had called me by my real name, but I didn’t have the time to correct him.

“Yes you can,” I shot back. “You have a way out, but they don’t. Let them go.”

His face contorted at my mention of his “way out”, knowing I was referring to his marriage to Angelia. Doubtless, he had heard the tone I said it with too.

“Step out of the way, Mo. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You would, huh? For your mistress?”

Flint wiped his face, his exasperation showing. He was fully facing me now, his back towards the slaves he had been threatening earlier. His gun was still slightly raised, almost as if he couldn’t decide whether to point it at me or not.

I kept talking. Some of the slaves had started to edge towards the trucks, seeing that Flint was distracted. But that wasn’t why I kept talking. I had seen Sue edging towards Flint as well. Her son was one of those that Flint had been trying to prevent from getting on the trucks. I couldn’t see Howie’s wife and daughter, so I assumed Howie had sent them ahead of him and they were safely on the trucks. Sue was coming to make sure her son got on as well. I didn’t know what she had in mind, but something told me she needed me to keep Flint distracted.

I succeeded in doing that until Sue was right on top of him. Flint sensed her behind him and turned abruptly, mid-sentence. But it was too late. Sue, a small portly woman, started hitting Flint with all the strength in her body. Flint, discombobulated at the sudden barrage of blows, completely lowered his gun when he realized who was hitting him. There was no way he would raise a gun to Sue. This gave me my chance. 

I rushed Flint. Tackling him to the ground, I wrestled the gun out of his hands, stood up quickly, and pointed it at him.

Keeping my gaze at him, I shouted to the slaves around me, “Go!”

I couldn’t interpret the look Flint gave me - it looked like a mixture of anger and awe - but I couldn’t dwell on it at that moment. As soon as everyone had run to the trucks, I went with them. I gave Sue one more look and saw the gratitude in her eyes. Nodding to her, I ran to the trucks, my gun still trained at Flint. He got up, but didn’t follow after us. Maybe because he had given up. Maybe because I had the gun now.

It was in December of 1858 that Brown and his men carried out the Missouri Raid. MacGregor couldn’t stop us, even after all his raving. He couldn’t let his daughter be killed. Seemed he knew enough about John Brown to know that the man would do what he said. We ran all the way to the station in Iowa. Brown's plan was to see the slaves all the way north to Canada. I didn't go with them all the way; I made my way to Pennsylvania.

While we traveled, I scolded myself for feeling the way I felt while Flint had his gun pointed at us.

Betrayed. All over again.

I told myself that it wasn't surprising that Flint had chosen to stay with his masters. Didn't some other slaves do that back at the plantation? Not everyone had come with us.

But a part of me had dared hope that Flint would take this chance at a real life. But maybe he preferred life with Angelia.

That knowledge stung. I brushed it off aggressively. I had come back to the South to find Flint. I had found him. Mission accomplished. I had other missions now. Now that the Flint matter was over and done with, I could focus on the Society's tasks. Like John Brown's campaign. I was going to be very busy.

10 months later in October 1859, Brown attacked Harpers Ferry.

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Ava.