Alvin Fernald's Incredible Buried Treasure Read online

  Ma was what we called a house slave. She had some skill in cooking, taught to her by an old slave woman called Ol’Nan. Ma worked in the big house, helping with the cooking, doing the washing and working as a part time maid. I thought she was very pretty. She had light tan skin, was very graceful on her feet, and had a slim figure.

  She told me once how she and Pa got together. She was about sixteen years old, and had noticed a big handsome slave looking her over once or twice. Then, one morning, she came out of the big house with an empty bucket, to get some water at the spring in the back yard. The young man, perhaps eighteen years old, had anticipated what she needed, and was leaning against a fencepost, obviously waiting for her with a full bucket of water in his hand. It was Pa. She said she dropped her empty bucket and ran into the house in embarrassment. But she looked back through the door to make sure he disappeared before he was punished.

  They became a family soon after that. Ol’Nan did the ceremony. On a Sunday, with all the other slaves watching, Ma and Pa stood up in front of Nan and said they wanted to be a family. Nan sang a religious song, and told them they were now free to go into the slave cabin together.

  To all of us, Ol’Nan was a remarkable person. She moved at a painfully slow and strange gait on her arthritic knee. First she threw forward that knee. Then her whole body dipped as she put her weight on it. Then she reared upright as she advanced her other leg. Forward. Dip. Spring upright. Very strange to watch.

  Nan taught us the words to religious songs. Then, with her clear voice ringing like a bell, she led us in singing them. She prayed over us each Sunday when we gathered on the little hill behind the big house. She baptized each new baby, and she officiated when one of us was buried.

  When the weather was especially bad and the residents of the big house were on a rampage, Ol’Nan would gather us about her and tell us cheerful stories. She was our savior whenever times were bad.

  Ma told me that Nan had helped bring me into this world, and had saved my life two days later when I developed pneumonia. Maybe that’s why Nan took such a special interest in me. She often talked to me about what makes the cotton grow, how to treat people properly, and where the stars overhead, which she called God’s candles, came from. She had a special name for me—Sprout. I guess it was because I was so small. One day she secretly snuck me something small wrapped in a bit of paper. She said it was her gift to me, and that it would bring me good luck. It turned out to be the tuft of tail feathers from an owl.

  When I grew big enough to pick cotton, Ol’Nan always made sure that I picked right next to her. Once when we were picking a particularly long row, she said to me, “Sprout, you’re going to learn to read and write.” It was a statement, not an opinion.

  “How?”

  “I don’t know how, and I don’t know when, but you’re going to learn. Freedom don’t come lessen you know how.”

  “Is it the same? Freedom, and knowing how to read and write?”

  “There’s two kinds of freedom, Sprout. There’s body freedom, which your Pa seeks all the time. Then there’s mind freedom.”

  “Nan, you cain’t read or write.”

  “No. I cain’t. But I ain’t free, either.”

  I once asked Ma who gave Nan the authority to do all those things. Ma answered in one word. “God.” That didn’t leave much room for discussion or doubt.

  I guess Nan thought Ma and Pa made a good union. They obviously worshipped each other. And they told me when I was five or six years old that life was even better for them after I was born. I knew, though, that slave masters didn’t like tiny babies because they couldn’t provide work. By the time the top of my head was about knee high to a big horse, I was given small jobs to do in the garden.

  One evening, while we were resting outside the cabin, Ma said, “Would you like to see what you look like, Caleb?” I had always been curious about myself, and jumped to my feet. Ma disappeared inside the cabin, and came out with a broken piece of glass that she’d rescued from the trash she’d carried out that day from the big house. She explained that it was called a ‘mirror,’ that it was like a big eye, and that its surface showed back whatever it saw.

  She held the piece of glass in front of my face, and in the dim light of dusk, I saw my own face for the first time. Looking back at me was a small head with kinky black hair at the top. Two extremely large eyes, sunk in deep sockets, stared back at me. My chin had a small dimple right in the middle. My teeth were so white they appeared to have a light of their own. My skin was so dark it was a bluish-black.

  I glanced down at my feet. They were bare, as I owned no shoes. My legs were skinny, and slightly bowlegged, and rose up to two knobbly knees. So that was how I looked!

  Ma and Pa were determined that someday they would escape to the North—especially Pa. I became more and more aware of this fact as I grew older. His determination came to a head one summer day when we learned that a slave named Cooter had vanished from the plantation across the road. No one knew what had happened to him. Had he escaped? We simply didn’t know.

  That evening Massa Joseph assembled all of us in front of our cabin. He waved his staff, and shouted at us. “COOTER! Would you like to know what happened to him? I don’t think you would! And if any of you ever try to follow him, I promise you we’ll make an example of you!” That’s all Massa Joseph said. Just before he stormed off, he stuck the end of his walking stick in Pa’s ribs, then shoved as hard as he could. Pa toppled over backward.

  Instead of making Pa scared, it made him even more determined to escape. He waited for conditions to be exactly right. Late one afternoon it started to rain, and the darkened sky looked as though the rain might continue for hours. Tonight was the time, he said.

  As darkness fell it was obvious that the black rain clouds would obscure the moon and the starlight. The rain also would help obliterate our scent, confounding the dogs that were certain to follow us.

  With all our belongings tied to two sapling sticks, which Ma and Pa carried on their shoulders, they took me by the hand and slipped through the door of our home shack. A woman lying in bed started to object, but Nan shushed her. Pa had always been one of Nan’s favorites, and I reckon she didn’t want anyone to squelch his determination.

  In pitch darkness we made our way to the nearby river, and crept northward through the shallow water near the banks. Progress was painfully slow. At daybreak Pa estimated we had put scarcely three miles behind us.

  It was then we heard the faraway barking of the dogs, and we knew that our absence had been discovered. I shuddered at the sound. Pa insisted that we redouble our efforts. At times he held up Ma, and I was left to stumble along on my own. Never in my life had I worn shoes, and as a result my feet were as rough and tough as an old hog’s hide. Nevertheless they now were bruised and bleeding from all the contact with tough oak roots.

  By nightfall we were exhausted. We passed a small cave on a mound surrounded by small maple trees. Pa crawled inside, and Ma and I followed.

  That night we slept the sleep of exhaustion, but when we stirred ourselves the next morning, and crawled out of the cave, the sound of the dogs was much closer. Quickly Pa and Ma discussed what to do. No longer could we outrun our pursuers. Ma argued for staying right there, among the saplings, and surrendering. Perhaps if we gave ourselves up we would be punished, but the punishment would be bearable. Reluctantly, Pa and I agreed.

  At midmorning a dog and a tracker bearing a rifle broke into the clearing. Apparently the trackers had split up in order to cover more ground. My heart sank as I recognized the tracker. It was Massa Joseph.

  He pointed his gun at Pa. Pa and Ma immediately raised their arms in surrender. I was standing close to Massa Joseph, my heart beating like a drum. I froze. I saw Ma and Pa fall on their knees, their arms outstretched, as though praying.

  I heard two gunshots, so loud they deafened me. I found myself looking through maple leaves at two puffs of gun smoke. I raised my hand, and without even th
inking about it, I seized the limb of one of the maple trees. I stumbled backward, dragging the limb with me, until I could go no further, and the limb began to pull me toward the gun smoke.

  Suddenly I let loose, and the bent limb swung in a semicircle, gathering momentum as it moved. I saw the limb strike Massa Joseph in the face with the strength of a battering ram. The rifle instantly fell to the ground. Massa Joseph quickly followed.

  I ran without thinking. I ran, and ran, and ran. I stumbled for a half mile up a river, then up a hill and across a cotton field. I forced myself not to think of my parents. I ran all day, until I could run no more. In the distance I saw a tobacco barn, black with smoke that had accumulated over the years. I stumbled to the barn, slipped through the door, kicked it shut behind me, and fell to the ground.

  Daphne’s eyes were wide. Alvin was staring at the storyteller, his mouth open. And Shoie’s arms were rigid as he clutched the edge of the bed.

  Professor O’Harra said, “My mouth and throat are getting dry from reading, Alvin. May I have a glass of water, or something else to drink?”

  Alvin got to his feet. “I’ll get you something better than a glass of water, Professor.” He opened the door, and shouted, “Mom! Will you please bring up enough Thingers for all four of us?”

  Two minutes later, Mrs. Fernald appeared at the door with a large tray in her hands. It bore a pitcher of milk, four glasses, a dish of butter cookies, a bowl of homemade strawberry jam, and one table knife. After thanking her, Alvin took the tray, kicked the door closed so she couldn’t inspect his room, and placed the tray on his Inventing Bench, where Daphne had opened up a spot for him.

  “Professor, you’re in for the treat of your life. Thingers!”

  “What-ers?”

  “Thingers,” said Daphne. “Alvin invented them, but I made up the name.” She said it proudly. “It’s more than just Things. It’s Thingers.”

  “What’s a Thinger?”

  “Here. I’ll show you,” said Alvin. He picked up a cookie, spread it with jam, then placed another cookie on top. He poured a glass of milk, and handed it to Professor O’Harra, along with the Thinger. “What you do,” he explained, “is dip the Thinger in the milk, then take a bite.”

  The professor rather daintily followed instructions. A moment later a look of ecstasy crossed his face. “Fantastic!” Quickly he dipped the rest of the Thinger, and ate it. “Alvin, you have invented the pièce de résistance of the culinary world. You will undoubtedly become famous when the rest of the world experiences Thingers.”

  Alvin said, “There’s only one trouble.”

  “What’s that?”

  “After a while, the milk becomes lumpy.”

  The professor waved his hand. “A minor matter. May I have another one—or perhaps two?”

  By now, Shoie was helping himself to the tray. At least ten minutes passed before Liam was able to resume reading:

  I had no way of knowing how long I slept, but it must have been several hours. When I awoke I opened the door a crack and peered out. The sun had set in the west, and darkness was falling. Locusts began their night-long rasp. I shuddered when I heard the baying of dogs nearby.

  I was terrified, but I forced myself to stand up straight and shrug my shoulders. I pushed open the door, took one step outside, and immediately knew that I had made a mortal error.

  A huge hand came out of nowhere and clamped itself across my mouth. Another hand pushed against the back of my head.

  “Got him!” said a deep male voice.

  “Hang on until he quits thrashing around,” said another voice.

  My big deep-set eyes on my face must have grown even bigger. I saw two shadowy figures in front of me. White men.

  “Calm down, boy!” said the deep voice. “You’ve nothing to fear. At least not yet.”

  The pressure on my mouth eased a bit, and I gulped in a deep lungful of air.

  “I reckon you don’t know who’s captured you, do you son?”

  I coughed, and shook my head. My eyes must have been pleading for more air.

  The man with the deep voice tilted his head to one side. He raised a palm, and placed it behind his right ear. “Hear that? Those dogs are less than half a mile away. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  The men pushed me down a dusty trail to a patch of chestnut trees. Two horses were tied there. The two men mounted, and the larger one motioned me to get on behind. I knew I had no chance to escape, so with the help of the man’s strong right arm I swung up behind him.

  We clattered down the dusty lane, which soon turned into a narrow trail. For an hour or more, the men rode through the darkness without a word. Finally, I looked past the man’s left arm, and sensed a lightness in the sky. We soon came to a clearing. I perceived that the reason the sky was lighter was that we had left the forest and were approaching a river.

  The men tied their horses to a fencepost. The older one opened a saddlebag and produced a well-wrapped packet. He unfolded the wrapping and took out a halfloaf of bread and a chunk of meat. I must have winced as he pulled a wicked looking knife from a sheath on his belt, but he only used it to cut the meat and bread into three pieces.

  “I reckon you’re a mite hungry by now, son. When’s the last time you had anything to eat?”

  I eyed the food that was handed to me. “Yesterday, ’bout daybreak.” There was a pause until I suddenly remembered what to say next. “Sir.”

  “Then you go right ahead and eat. We don’t pay no attention to manners out here.”

  Realization had been a long time coming, but I suddenly knew that these two men were my friends, that I had been captured by people who were intent on helping me!

  I stumbled over the words while mouthing the food. “Who are you?”

  “Don’t worry your black little head about that,” said the bigger man. “You ever hear of the underground railroad?”

  “Yes, sir. They’re the people who help us blacks get up north.”

  “Well, my name’s Earl Simpson, and you might say that me and my son Dustin here are conductors or engineers or at least firemen on that railroad. You see that ol’ river right there?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “In a few minutes we’re going to put you on a boat, and another man is going to row you across that river. A woman will meet you on the other side. She’ll keep you in her attic until it’s safe for you to move farther north. Then she’ll arrange more transportation.” A pause. Then, “How come you’re alone, son?”

  At that point I had to face the awful truth I’d been trying to blot from my mind. “My Ma and Pa were with me. Massa Joseph came. He killed them.”

  The man put his hand on my shoulder, and looked me in the eye. “Hmmph. You’ve swallowed a lot of tragedy for a boy your age. You goin’ to be alright?”

  I looked at my bare feet, and nodded my head. “I have to be. There’s nobody else.”

  “You’ve become quite a celebrity, at least locally. Your escape has been spread by word of mouth. Word about you has been passed up and down the railroad. That’s how come Dustin and me came to find you. We drew a line on a map straight north from your plantation, and figured you might be hereabouts. We’ve known about that tobacco barn for some time, and figured it might make a good hideout.”

  “So that’s the way you found me?”

  “Yep. We were just a’waitin’ nearby when—” he cocked a hand behind his ear, “Listen. I hear your boat comin’.”

  I heard the creak of boat timbers, and the splash of an oar. Then a rowboat loomed up out of the river, and ground ashore. A man shipped the oars, and clambered out. He was so short and rotund that his belly stuck momentarily on the prow of the rowboat. Then, “Howdy, y’all. Am I late?”

  “No, neighbor. Right on time. This here’s your passenger.”

  The man walked over to me and stuck out his hand. I didn’t know what to do. I’d never shaken hands with a white man before.

  Earl said, “Shake his hand, son
. It won’t bite.”

  I barely touched his hand with my forefinger.

  “What’s your name?” asked the round little man.

  “Caleb.”

  “Well, Caleb, my name’s Henderson. We’d best get on the river before someone sees us here.” He led the way to the boat and climbed in. His belly again snagged on the bow.

  I turned to Earl and Dustin. “I reckon you know better’n I do how much I owe you.”

  Dustin held up his hand. “Don’t think about it, son. Some of us abolitionists just think God was wrong to let slavery get started here.”

  My eye seemed to be shedding a tear, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand before I climbed into the boat.

  The round man said, “Now lie down, Caleb, and stay in the bottom of the boat till we reach the far shore. We don’t want nobody seeing you.”

  Earl and Dustin waved, then turned and headed for their horses. They had played a pivotal part in my life, and I never saw them again.

  It must have taken us half an hour to splash across the river. I couldn’t see anything, both because it was nighttime and because I was lying on the floorboards of the boat.

  When we ground into the dirt on the far shore, a woman’s voice said softly, “Glad you made it, Henry.”

  I figured that was my signal, so I stood up.

  “My, you are a young’un,” she said. She was what I calculated to be approaching old age. She wore an apron over a long black dress, and there was a bonnet on her head even though the sun wasn’t out yet.

  “This here boy’s known as Caleb,” said the boatman. “Caleb, meet Miz Grovesnor.”

  “Come in the house, young man. You’ll be staying in the attic until I can arrange more transportation. I think you’ll be comfortable there.”

  I mumbled something like, “Thank you,” and followed her up a path to a small two-story house that faced the river. The attic was lavish compared to my old quarters at the slave shack. There was an inviting cot in one corner, made up with the cleanest white sheets anyone ever saw, and a red blanket.