Queen

He'd taken the buckets down to the cesspit that morning, wide-eyed with

  fear, because the rumors said there were Yankees everywhere, and while they

  were supposed to be friendly to black people, Davy wasn't so sure. He'd

  heard Miss Lizzie talking about them the other day, and the terrible things

  they did to women and babies, and if they were that mean, obviously you

  couldn't trust them. He emptied the buckets and was about to go back when

  he heard a horse galloping toward him. There weren't any trees or bushes

  nearby, and he surely wasn't going to jump into the muck-filled pit, so he

  stood his ground, and was filled with relief to see that the man riding

  toward him wasn't a soldier.

  The man didn't stop. "Run tell your Massa, boy," he cried, galloping past

  Davy. "The Yankees have taken Florence!"

  Davy needed no second bidding, but ran for all he was worth, Miss Lizzie's

  stories of the misdeeds of Yankees pounding through his brain.

  The few slaves in the field, tilling the soil in readiness for the new

  planting, stopped work and tried to assimilate what they heard. If the

  Yankees really had taken Florence, it wouldn't be long before they got

  here. It was coming, it was coming, hallelujah, it was coming. Freedom was

  at hand. They laughed among themselves, but instead of taking the day off,

  512 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

  or the rest of their lives, they went back to work with renewed vigor, and

  took up a joyous song.

  Sally, organizing the beating of rugs with Poppy, heard the song and was

  pleased. An odd thing had happened over the past few months. She had always

  believed that the plantation was an island unto itself, and all who lived

  there, white and black, were interdependent on each other. In a sense it was

  true. Miles from their nearest neighbors, the travails of their daily lives,

  the births and deaths, arguments and marriages, parties for the whites,

  beatings for the blacks, were the basis of their conversation, with

  occasional snatches of misunderstood gossip about the outside world reaching

  them through visitors or the grapevine. The well-being of the plantation was

  critical to all of them, because if it was a good harvest they all ate well,

  and, for the slaves, their Massas might be in better tempers, and if it was

  a bad harvest, everyone suffered. Yet one group had privilege and the other

  did not, and if Sally thought of it as a community, the slaves regarded it

  as a prison. They made the best of that prison, and while a few, especially

  among the house slaves, had considerable affection for some of the whites,

  there was always a barrier.

  In the last few months, that barrier had, to a considerable degree, been

  removed. With no Massa and fewer slaves, they had all got to know each

  other better. Now everyone was dedicated to the common cause of immediate

  survival. If there was food, everyone ate; if there was none, no one ate.

  If jobs had to be done, they all pitched in to do them. They maintained the

  charade that things were as they had been because that was the ordered

  world they all understood, and in these frightening times, order was all

  they had to cling to. Isaac, solid, reliable Isaac, had been put in charge

  of discipline, and even given, to Lizzie's howls of protest, a gun. He used

  it to shoot rabbits, because very few of the slaves left wanted to run

  away. There was nowhere to go. Jeremiah and two other runaway field hands

  had been recaptured and returned, bloodily beaten, and while they still

  talked of escape, they did nothing about it. The runaways told awful

  stories of the outside world-they'd lived in the woods bordering small

  farms, they'd eaten nothing but turnips and potatoes for days, and

  QUEEN 513

  when one of them ventured to a house to beg, he'd been shot at. They all

  understood that if they could get away, and get to Union lines, they would

  be free, or hoped so, but no one was very sure where the Union lines were.

  So they preferred to wait, and see what the war would bring. They had no

  Massa and no overseer, except Isaac, so life was tolerable, and they ate

  regularly. Happily, the barns at The Forks were still relatively full, and

  the first spring vegetables ready for picking.

  The most obvious evidence of this new communality to Sally was that she

  now knew the names of all the slaves. Such as the boy Davy, who was

  running toward her, yelling at the top of his lungs. She'd been expecting

  his news for days; everyone in Florence had been prepared for an

  invasion. There was no army nearby to protect them, only some local

  militia units, and Sally, like everyone else, had been living in dread.

  But she put her faith in her fellowman, and gave no credence to Lizzie's

  lurid imaginings.

  They were here, at last. It would not be long before they came to The

  Forks, Sally was sure, because she could guess what they needed.

  And two days later they came.

  "They look so fearsome," Lizzie said. "Brutal."

  "Pull yourself together, 11 Sally urged. "They're only men.

  Lizzie corrected her with a fierce, defiant whisper. "They're Yankees!

  "

  But she stood beside her mother-in-law and tried to maintain her

  composure as a small troop of Union soldiers made their way up the drive.

  They were a foraging detail, requisitioning food. Once the first shock

  of occupation had settled down, Tom Kirkman had come out to The Forks,

  to assure them that the soldiers were reasonably well-behaved and looking

  for provisions. He'd volunteered to stay, to protect them, but Sally had

  laughed.

  "You against so many, Tom? You said we had nothing to be afraid of. Go

  home to your family."

  Tom had gone, and the following morning Davy, who had been stationed near

  the road to town as lookout, gave the news of the arriving Yankees.

  514 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

  The captain, on horseback, led his men up the drive. He was impressed by

  the grace and elegance of the house, which was as fine as any he'd seen,

  and he looked with pity at the bunch of ragged slaves cowering near the

  trees. These were the backs that made the fortunes that built the

  mansions such as this.

  He stopped his horse on the lawn in front of the veranda and looked at

  the small group assembled there. An old woman, and a frightened, defiant

  younger one. A couple of children, and some few house slaves.

  And a beautiful young white woman, dressed as a servant. Mulatta,

  probably, but hard to tell. The sergeant called the men to a halt.

  "Ma'am," the captain said to the old woman, and touched his cap, out of

  respect for her sex and her age, not her station.

  Sally squinted and wished she could see his insignia of rank better.

  "Good morning, Lieutenant," she said, and he did not correct her demotion

  of him. "We are, as you see, a depleted family. There are no men here."

  She did not see his eyes stray to the male slaves, but corrected herself

  anyway.

  "Apa
rt from these few slaves. I trust you mean us no harm?"

  They were all the same, these tough Southern matriarchs, he thought, the

  backbone of the whole society.

  "We mean no harm to anyone who is loyal to the United States," he said,

  by rote. He'd done it a thousand times before.

  "I cannot swear allegiance to your flag, sir," Sally responded as he knew

  she would, as they all did. "I believe in a different cause."

  "Believe in whatever cause you like," he told her. "As long as you do not

  intend to fight. I do not think that you would win."

  He looked at the slaves and women, and then at his own rough-and-ready

  soldiers, his point well made. Sally was surprised at his civility.

  The captain was a very civil man, and loved his country. Second of three

  brothers who had enlisted in the army, he was a college graduate, and a

  teacher at a good school until the war came, this wretched. Rebel, war.

  QUEEN 515

  He went through the details, formally, officially, as he always did. He

  told of the food they needed, and of the chits they would be given in

  return for that food. He told them of the cottonseed that he intended to

  seize.

  "That is our only source of income!" Sally cried, and the captain smiled,

  for that was why he was taking it.

  Business done, he accepted her offer of refreshment, and listened to her

  protests about the cottonseed.

  "You will not hann us, but you will bankrupt us?" Sally reasoned.

  "Orders, ma'am," the captain said, although it was not true. It was his own

  idea, born of his own bitterness. If it had been in his power to drive

  every Southern family to bankruptcy, he would willingly have done so. It

  was with some pleasure that he added to her distress. Units of the local

  militia had destroyed bridges to try to delay the Yankee advance, and the

  cotton gins were to be blown up in retaliation.

  To his surprise, Sally was there the following day, sitting in a carriage

  on the riverbank, the cotton-white, pretty mulatta sittin- beside her,

  watching as the gins were destroyed. Sally went because she had a complaint

  to make to the captain, and because she wanted to see the destruction. Half

  the town was there for the spectacle. The buildings were blown to smither-

  eens. The riverbank shook with gunpowder.

  "How would you have us live now?" Sally asked him, quietly.

  He didn't look at her, and his face betrayed nothing of the vengeful

  emotions he felt.

  "I've lost two brothers in this war, ma'am, killed by Johnny Reb," he said

  quietly. "I don't care how you live. Or if you live. "

  He tipped his hat to her and rode away.

  "I hate him," Queen said softly, and took Sally's hand.

  Sally shook her head. "He's only doing his duty." She could not find hate

  in her heart now, only an overwhelming sense of sorrow, and of loss.

  But Queen had no alternative to hate. On the previous day, some of the

  captain's men had beaten her gran'pappy, Cap'n Jack, viciously. Queen had

  not wanted to come, but Sally in-

  516 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

  sisted she be present for her complaint to the captain about the behavior

  of his men.

  They had been taking supplies from the bam, loading them onto a Jackson

  cart, and Queen had protested they were taking too much. The soldiers had

  made sport with her.

  "Leave us something!" she demanded.

  "I'll leave a little bun in your oven, lady," the sergeant laughed. They

  surrounded her, teasing her, taunting her, thinking her white and a

  serving girl. They smelled of sweat and state beer; their faces were

  rough with stubble and their eyes bright with lust.

  Queen was terrified. She didn't understand men; she had no experience of

  them. The house slaves were no threat to her, the field hands were either

  kind or ignored her, and although a few visiting white men, her father's

  friends, had winked at her and called her pretty, she had been secure

  from their advances because of the family. No one had ever taught her how

  to handle men, for no white woman would bother with instruction, and a

  slave woman had nothing to teach her, except submission to what the men

  wanted. The incident of two years ago, in Florence, when the three

  hooligans accosted her flared in her mind, but they had been boys, and

  these were soldiers.

  She hit their hands away when they touched her, and spat in their faces,

  but her anger only seemed to excite them more.

  "She wants to play," one said, laughing to his companions.

  "I know a game she'd like," another grinned. He grabbed at Queen and

  pulled her to him. He held her face with one hand, her body with the

  other, and kissed her. She tried to break her mouth away, but he was

  strong and his grip like a vise. His stubble grazed her face, his rough

  uniform chafed her body, and she could feel the hardness of him, at his

  groin, shoving against her. He pushed his tongue into her mouth. She

  tried to scream, tried to bite, but he was ready for that, and clutched

  his hand hard on her jaw, so she could not move it.

  She heard a voice. "Don't touch her!"

  It was Cap'n Jack. He had a hefty stick in his hands, raised in the air,

  ready to strike.

  The soldier who was kissing Queen looked at him in surprise.

  QUEEN 517

  "Who's this?" he laughed. "Your fancy man?"

  Cap'n Jack hit him across the shoulders with the stick, and they all turned

  on him. Desire for a pretty girl became lust for blood, and, methodically

  and efficiently, they beat him senseless, while Queen screamed her

  distress.

  When they were done, Queen ran to him, weeping, screaming for aid.

  "Help him, please," she begged Cap'n Jack's assailants. "He my gran'pappy."

  The beating had sated them, and when they heard of the family relationship,

  perhaps they were shamed, the sergeant at least. He called his men to

  order, and led them away.

  Queen ran to the slave quarters for help, and Isaac and Jeremiah had taken

  Cap'n Jack to his bunk, where Queen nursed him, and bathed his wounds. When

  Sally was told, she came to see him, and ordered that he be moved to a

  comfortable bed, in the big house. She complained to the captain, who

  apologized, reprimanded the men, and ordered the return of the Jackson

  cart. No further action was taken because Cap'n Jack had hit first.

  No one thought he would live.

  He did live, after a fashion, for a while. The worst of his external wounds

  healed, but there was some internal damage. He was almost always in pain,

  and was incontinent. His mind wandered, and he seldom knew where he was.

  There was no physician to attend him; the local doctor had volunteered for

  the war, and the medical student who was running the practice said nothing

  could be done and prescribed laudanum.

  Queen took charge of him, washed him and bathed him, fed him and changed

  the sheets on his bed when they were soiled. Sa
lly stayed with him when

  Queen could not. To everyone's surprise, Lizzie volunteered as well when

  Queen or Sally needed a break, although mostly she was busy tending the

  children, for Poppy had to run the household.

  For a time Cap'n Jack didn't seem to recognize Queen or Sally, and he

  seldom spoke, except for a few muttered words-"Annie" and "broke his

  promise." Toward April, he seemed to get a little better, as if the spring

  were renewing

  518 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

  him. He recognized people and things, and managed to speak, but the effort

  of it obviously distressed him. He lay for hours holding Queen's hand,

  gently caressing it with his thumb, and saying nothing. When Sally was

  with him, he talked a little more, of the old days in Nashville, and of

  the ol' Massa, and he always asked about Jass, who was a prisoner of war

  and of whom there was little news. Talk of Jass's incarceration depressed

  Cap'n Jack, and he would fall silent, and then mutter a few words of

  friendship and happiness and youth.

  Sally understood his difficulty in speaking, and so she talked instead.

  She chattered endlessly about the old days in Nashville, when they were

  happy, of parties and picnics and pedigree horses, and of mutual friends,

  of Alfred, who lay in a tomb near his Massa now, loyal slave in life and

  death, of Chief Doublehead and Monkey Simon.

  "Gone. All gone," Cap'n Jack said. But he would not go himself. It was

  as if he were waiting for something, some signal that he could leave

  secure in the knowledge that the better day was coming for those he left

  behind, as he had always promised.

  In early April, they began to hear gunfire. It was distant and muffled,

  but incessant, continuous. It lasted for two days.

  It was the sound of a battle at Shiloh, over twenty miles away. Sometimes

  the relentless, dull noise caused the glass in the windows to rattle, and

  the crockery in the cupboards to shimmer. Lizzie heard it, and clutched

  her children to her. Mrs. Henderson heard it, and moved to the big house.

  Sally heard it, and prayed for the dead.

  Parson Dick heard it when he was washing dishes. A little tremor caused

  a cup to rattle on the table. It dropped to the floor and smashed. Parson

  Dick looked at the plate in his hand. He smiled. And when the cannon

  fired again, so many miles away, he threw the plate over his shoulder,

  and let it break where it landed. And another. And another. Parson Dick

  was laughing now.

  The slaves heard the noise when they were gathered around the campfire

  on that warm spring night, eating their evening meal.

  "Awful close," said Davy.

  QUEEN 519

  "The closer it come, the closer my freedom," Jeremiah told him. Davy

  idolized Jeremiah. But not enough to run away with him.

  "Oh, man, I's gwine get me some of that," Davy dreamed.

  Isaac dreamed of it, too, but was more practical. "An' what you gwine do

  with it, boy?" he asked Davy.

  "Get me a job," Davy said, surprised by the question. "Earn money."

  "You cain't do nuttin' 'cept pick cotton an' empty shit pans, an' yo' ain't

  too good at that," Isaac said, and the others laughed.

  Davy was angry; everyone was always laughing at him, when he tried so hard

  to please.

  "Go North," he sulked, knowing Isaac couldn't have an answer for that.

  Everybody talked about going North. The old people called it "Up South"

  which Davy thought was stupid.

  "An' beg fo' food, an' sleep in ditches?" Isaac burst Davy's bubble.

  "Hear tell the Feds is takin' on niggers to fight, payin' 'em, too,"

  Jeremiah said, to relieve the pressure on Davy. "Damn, I'd fight for

  freedom."

  "Let's do it, eh?" said Davy, who had a young man's energy.

  "Yeh, but yo' better get a good night sleep first, an' make sho' yo'

  belly's full," Isaac said. "Ask Jeremiah, he know about freedom."

  "It's a'comin', Isaac," Jeremiah replied, still embarrassed from his

  previous, failed attempt. "Yo' c'n laugh, but it's a'comin'. "