A quick note: I wrote this piece for a Social Studies assignment. The original assignment was to create a childrens' book about slaves escaping to freedom with a picture and a sentence on each page. However, my teacher knows I'm a writing geek, so she approved my request to just do a small chapter book for children instead. So, I appologize if this isn't completely accurate. I know slaves probably spoke differently, but I did my best to make it seem realistic enough. Also, part of the assignment was to include two well-known abolitionists, so that is why this story has the appearances of Susan B. Anthony and Harriet Tubman. That was not entirely my decision. So, with that said, enjoy the story. I put my heart and soul into it, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Also, on another note, I've been getting complaints that this story is too long, and I appollogize, but I really can't change that. The reason it's long is because it's a deep, complex story, but none-the-less one I'm in love with. This is the only way to tell it, so I ask of you to please appreciate it in it's true form, because though it is long, I feel it makes up for the length in value..
[center]The Four Gifts[center]
After everything I’d been through, I suppose I’d accepted leading the life of a slave. When they’d beaten me, I stood in silence. As they said I was nothing more than a procession to be owned, I’d extinguished my will to defy. But now, as I solemnly stared at my mother, the last of my family as she said her final “goodbye”, my malice toward my owner was almost untamable. This kind of pain, this kind of sorrow cut deeper than any whip.
“You can’t go, ma! I won’t let them take you away from me!” I wailed through my tears.
“I’m sorry, baby, but this is just the way it has to be. I promise one day we’ll be together again. You, me Pa, and your sister, one day we’ll all be free.” She said taking my hand in hers.
“What do you mean?” I asked in confusion. She stepped closer in the darkness, leaning in so only I could hear in the small quarters we shared with several other slaves.
“I know this doesn’t make sense now, but please listen closely, and I promise this will all work out. One day, a woman will come for you in the night, and offer you four gifts. Accept them, and do everything she asks of you, no matter what. Do this, and we will meet again. Do you promise?” She whispered.
I took a deep breath. “Yes.” Suddenly, the piercing clang of my owner’s bell arose in the quiet. Ma sighed.
“Then I must go.” She said with a mixture of pain and fear in her voice. “I have faith in you, dear. Be brave, and if anything becomes too painful to bear, close your eyes and think of happy times.”
I nodded.
“Goodbye, Grace. I love you.” She whimpered, and in great reluctance, slowly released my hand before disappearing into the night.
I don’t remember much after that, because, mentally at least, I wasn’t there. I was in my old home in Africa, gathered around a fire with my family as we joined in religious songs. I was unchained, and unafflicted. Everything was perfect, but I could have sworn, that deep in my subconscious background, I could hear the faint sound of a carriage slowly drive away, and even fainter yet, the sound of someone crying.
Two
The next few days dragged on uneventful, filled with nothing but penitence and sorrow over the loss of my mother. I glided through each day of back-breaking labor as gravely and apathetically as I was capable, hoping they would simply pass by in an anesthetic blur. But at night, even as a climate of sound surrounded me, I still felt so alone. I remember wanting more than anything to taste freedom. This tiny scrap of hope alone, was probably the one thing keeping me going, even as I cried myself to sleep-- the one thing that kept me alive long enough to finally reach that one fateful night when my prayers were answered.
“Wake up, Grace.” A voice whispered softly in the darkness, shortly followed by a gentle nudge. I turned wearily to face the stranger. I couldn’t find a way to verbalize my fear and confusion, so I managed a simple “Huh?” in reply. She laughed.
“I’m sorry, my child, soon you will be able to sleep again, but first I have come to ask of you something very important. I am here to bring you four gifts that with luck, will free you from this life. With them, you and your family will meet again in a wonderful place, where you will not belong to anyone but the Lord. Do you accept these gifts?”
My mother’s final words chimed softly through my memory, and I gasped. This must have been the woman she had spoken of.
“Yes” I whispered without even a small scrap of hesitance in my voice.
“Excellent!” She cried, wrapping her arms around me. “Here is what you must do. Work in the fields, like you would any other day, but stay as close to the outside border as possible. There, you must keep your ears open and your eyes peeled, only then will your first gift appear to you. Do you understand?”
“What do you mean a “gift”? What is it? How will a gift help me run away?”
“There is no time for questions, dear. Do you accept these gifts? Do you understand what you must do?”
I sighed. “Yes.” Though I didn’t know who this woman was, or what was to become of me in the near future, I had to trust her. She was the only way for me to see my family again, the only way for me to be free.
Three
Come morning, I did just as the woman had advised. I started the day routinely, picking cotton and placing it in a large wicker basket, where it would then eventually be brought to the cotton gin to be amended. The task was as dull as it was exhausting, leaving nothing to fully take my attention away from the multitude of questions and suspicions pounding in my head. It was a job I wore like a mirror.
Slowly, I began to sift through my memory, remembering what she had said word for word. And, as was commanded, I kept my ears open and kept my eyes peeled, though I had no idea what exactly I was searching for. A sound? A signal of some sort?
And then I saw her. She didn’t look up at me, and didn’t speak, but I knew she was the woman who had awoken me last night. She simply crept nearer and nearer, picking cotton as she went, seeming fully absorbed in her work. Minutes passed feeling like hours, before she’d finally drifted close enough for me to hear her softly humming a melody I didn’t have a name for.
I warily stole a glance at her. Something about her reminded me of my mama. The way her dark, aged skin reflected in the bright light of the sun, her smile gentle and warm. She looked back at me, and her grin widened. The low hum arose into a chorus.
“You’ve answered ‘Yes’ ,My dear, I hope,
Your journey has begun.
With which I will prepare you with the gift of number one.
For years, you have been beaten,
And acquired many scars.
But soon, My dear, you are to find salvation in the stars.
You are to trace the minor ladle,
You must heed every bend.
Swift and silent as death itself to meet Two at the end.
Two will be delivered late,
To excel in freedom’s game.
Trust in these words, My child of God, for Tubman is my name.
You’ll begin your journey eastward,
From where the thread is spun.
And from there lies a northern route to conclude number one.
The woman kept her head down, appearing once again focused on her work, but I could still feel her rich, almond eyes studying me closely. She held her gaze until I looked directly back at her. I didn’t know how to tell her I had understood her message, so I managed a quick, sharp nod that hopefully none of the white folk could see. She smiled, nodded back and began humming the melody once more while slowly inching away from me until the sound of her soft, sweet voice, and the overall warmth of her kind presence faded completely.
I continued my work slowly, savoring every moment. I breathed deeply inhaling the refreshing aroma of the newly-harvested cotton, fully absorbed all of my surroundings, until I too began to hum the peaceful, coded song. I took everything in as much as I could, terrified to forget such a valuable step on my road to freedom. After all, this would be the last time I was out here…
Four
I’d said my final goodbye to my small, crowded living quarters. It was where I was born, where I’d grown up. It was where I’d been secretly taught to read and write, and where my mother had mended both my mental and physical wounds. It was a place I would never again return to.
I’d gathered up my very few belongings—Some bacon and cornbread left over from supper, the clothes on my back, and all the courage I could muster, before finally setting off in the night towards where the final product of the cotton gin was stored. Where the thread is spun, I thought to myself, suddenly missing the presence of the strange woman. There was something about her that made me feel safe, being around her felt almost like being around my ma. She was always in a wonderful mood, always hopeful, rich in love.
My silent reflecting was suddenly interrupted by a dilemma standing before me. I was east of the cotton storage, and was expecting a path of some sort, the northern route—but the dark woods bordering the plantation showed no falter, no pathway of any kind.
I quickly reviewed the lyrics of the first gift in my head, looking for more clues. I reviewed them once, twice, three times with no success. I sighed, settling for a fourth time. I stretched them out and went over them slowly, carefully concentrating to decipher each meaning. The few phrases to jump out at me were salvation in the stars, and trace the minor ladle.
I peered desperately up into the night sky. It was a dark, cloudy night, but I managed to make out one particularly bright star, from which I recognized from bible studies as the North Star. From there I could connect it to several surrounding stars to make the faint outline of a drinking gourd.
“Hmm,” I muttered taking pride in my small accomplishment, with the thick black veil of fear keeping me from smiling. I took a deep breath, thinking of my family, my one motivation for moving forward, and ran as fast as I could with the guidance of the constellation. I didn’t look back, and refused to think of my owner discovering my absence, going after me with dogs, finding me, capturing me… No. I wouldn’t let myself think that. Not for one moment. From now on, I was heading for freedom, and only freedom. I was going to run. Run for my life, leaving slavery behind me.
Five
It was evening of the Sabbath day, which meant I had been attempting the impossible for five days now. I’d been following the drinking gourd by nightfall, and when I could, slept during the day. Other times I’d lie awake on the cold, wet ground with dirty branches hiding me from view of my hunters until I finally decided to give up and follow the river. Much like today.
I struggled to get a grip on myself as I trudged through the rain that crashed rampantly around me like bullets. No matter how far away I was, or how many precautions I took such as hiding my scent in a fog of raw onion, it seemed that fear would always remain my constant companion, a sharp edge scraping against my scars and bringing me back to reality.
Occasionally I’d think I’d seen something out of the corner of my eye, and freeze in terror trying to summon an audible scream, only to realize it was my imagination. This only made the anxiety worse. But, to both my surprise and advantage, they hadn’t come looking for me yet, or perhaps just hadn’t found me. And for that, I was truly grateful.
The day was dreadfully cold and the vast vegetation surrounding me seemed to consume the shallow waters I waded though while appearing still and lifeless in the falling of the rain. I didn’t know how far along the drinking gourd I had traveled, and didn’t know how much was left for me. All I could do was move forward, and wait for the night, wait for the sign, wait for my second gift.
Just then, an unidentifiable sound abruptly interrupted the untouched stillness of the forest. The hunters emerged from the shadows without warning, encircling the land at every angle. There was no escape. No hope of survival. I stood there self-convicted, bracing myself for my captivation, to be once again under the ownership of another human being, or worse; beaten beyond repair, maybe even to death. I stood there tall and motionless, stood with my head bowed facing the murky water. I knew it was all over, knew that I’d failed my family.
It was there that I was blessed with one alternative, it would be painful, and it would be difficult, but it was the only option I had. As quick as I could, I sank into the water before they could discover me. I balled my hands into fists and clenched my teeth together trying not to scream, feeling blue with cold. The hard, freezing rain stung my eyes, as I tried to keep everything but my face completely submerged.
I waited. The dogs made their rounds trying to sniff me out. I held my breath as one of the huge hounds began to approach my body, which had eventually become completely numb as if the river had frozen into solid ice around it. It slowly ran its nose across the surface of the water until our faces were just inches apart. It inhaled deeply, and I forgot how to breathe. My heart stopped. I was suddenly glad it was raining. Then, at least when I was captured, I might look strong and defiant. At least then, only I would know of my hopeless, weary tears.
Six
My eyes flew open in the dim lighting of early morning. I found myself dressed in new, dry clothes, and a warm quilt wrapped around me. My eyes scanned the forest in confusion. How had I gotten here? Why hadn’t I been captured? My eyes darted from the forest to the thick quilt. It was crafted in great detail, with a beautiful landscape in each square very much resembling my current surroundings. I even managed to locate several of the exact features displayed in the sceneries. It occurred to me immediately that this was much more than a just a quilt. It was the key to my freedom. An exultant smile crossed momentarily over my face. “Thank you.” I said in a low voice, and continued down the quilt’s directed pathway holding gift number two tightly to my side.
Seven
To my surprise I found that the next few nights consisted more of excitement than of my own fear. I continued following my quilted map carefully, and soon, I found that my days of wading in cold, dirty water up to my knees had come to an end. It also proved quite useful when the cold was too much to bear. I imagined it as the warm embrace of my mother. Though all my muscles ached, though my stomach roared eagerly, all my endeavors seemed to fade away when I thought of a free life in the north with my family.
That was what I did most nights, when traveling. I dreamed of freedom. Sometimes in Canada, sometimes in the north, sometimes even in Africa. I also dreamed of the gifts still to come. Would the woman bring them anonimously like last time? Would she bring them personally like the first? Would she do something completely different? The more I thought about the woman and her gifts, the more gratitude I felt towards her. I couldn’t help but think that if not for her, and if not for my mother, I would have had to undergo the agony of losing my family, and also the cruelty of my master for the rest of my life.
Eight
“Wake up, Grace.” A familiar voice whispered. I recognized her right away. “C’mon, Hun, you gotta’ get up. I have something to give you.” I rose up as quickly as I could. The day had darkened to night as I overslept, but I could still make out her basic features in the light of the full moon.
“Is it time for my third gift yet?” I asked trying to hide the anticipation in my voice. She chuckled.
“Why yes it is.” She said in a voice so quiet, it was almost a part of the dark. “But first, I must tell you something of great significance, so listen closely. I know this has been hard for you, and believe me, it was hard for me too. The fear itself is enough to eat you alive, but please don’t fret. You will not be traveling alone much longer. There are others on this journey who long for freedom just as much. Speak to them. Ask them for advice, and travel with them when you feel it is safe. And…” she reached into the pocket of her apron, and pulled out a small, reflective object “Take this. You will find that religion is one of your greatest strengths on the railroad to freedom. Trust it and protect it, and it will be of great help on your journey, I promise.”
I expected her to place the object in my hand, but instead she wrapped her arms around me and strung it around my neck. I held it up to my face to examine it more closely. She watched me patiently. It was a tiny, gold cross. “Umm, thank you, it’s beautiful. But how exactly does this help me in my journey?” I asked.
“Have faith, child, and the answer will be revealed to you in time.” I could hear the smile in her voice.
“Okay. I trust you.”
“Excellent dear. It is time I must go, and I’m afraid I will not have the privilege of meeting you again. But I assure you it has been a true honor to be your conductor, and if you are ever in need of my help again, my name is Harriet, Harriet Tubman.” She said as she took my hand in hers. “Farwell, my dear. I wish you the best of luck. --Oh, and I also meant to tell you that your mother is very proud. As am I.”
“Thank you, Harriet. For everything. It’s been an honor to be your passenger.”
“Any time. Goodbye, Grace. I hope you enjoy your gifts.”
“I will.” I assured her. She gave me a small smile, nodded, and disappeared into the night. That was the last I saw of Harriet Tubman.
Nine
After Harriet had left, I decided to get up, and set out farther down the railroad. The next square on the quilt rather than the deep green forest landscape, was a picture of a white house with blue shutters, a single lantern shown through the window. The picture captivated my interests at once, and I quickly packed up my other set of clothes, and rolled up my quilt. All the while, the necklace hung uselessly around my neck.
I spent most of the night warily creeping through the woods, in pursuit of my first official station. I told myself that at least the worst of it was over, and eventually I arrived at the same house as was shown in the quilt square complete with lantern and all. I could see the phantom of the early morning sun in the distance, and hastily walked up to the small door. Hesitant as ever, I lightly tapped on the door with my knuckles.
There was a pause, and then the door swung open to reveal a short woman with very fair skin. Her eyes widened in realization.
“Oh, why hello!” She said with a smile. “Won’t you come in?” I stepped into the warm house.
“Hi”, I said meekly.” Uh, my name is Grace. Thank you so much for letting me stay here.”
“But, of course! It’s the least we could do for all our country has done to you...” She sighed shaking her head.
“It’s okay. I know not all of you are like that. Thank you, so much for your hospitality.”
“No problem. Your room is just down the hall, if you’d like to get settled in. And I can run you a nice hot bath.”
I nodded. “Thank you” was all I could think to say. She had no idea how much I meant it.
Ten
I embarked once again on the railroad late the next evening. It felt strange to finally have food in my stomach after such a long time. I forced my legs forward as fast as I could, even as they shook in excruciating pain, I forced myself to keep going, growing impatient. I was tired of dreaming, tired of anticipation.
I was determined to reach freedom now more than ever. So, when I discovered that I had been accompanied by another runaway on the railroad, I was content to passing him by, but when I finally had a good view of him, Harriet’s words would echo in my head.
Talk to them. Ask for advice. Travel with them when you feel it is safe.
I decided she was probably right, and lifted my head back up to find that he was no longer in front of me. I blinked in confusion. Where could he have possibly gone? Surely he had not been captured just as I’d looked away—
“Hello.” He greeted me kindly. He’d been standing right next to me.
“Umm, hello. Are you riding on the railroad?” I whispered.
“Yes.” He said. “I’m from Louisiana. How about you?”
“Georgia. Cotton Plantation.”
“Oh…Hey, where did you get that necklace?” The stranger asked urgently.
“It was a gift.” I said with a slight smile.
“I thought so.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace identical the one Harriet had given me. I gasped.
“So are you also getting—
“The four gifts?” , He interrupted. “Yes. I’m hoping to meet my big sister in Canada. Our parents tried to run away once, and take us…but it didn’t work out. This has actually been pretty hard for me to do.”
I felt a wave of pity wash over me. “I’m so sorry.” I said.
“S’okay.” He replied uncomfortably. “The important thing now is that I have a chance to avenge them, a chance to be free.”
“How do you think it will feel?” I asked. “To taste freedom.”
“Amazing, probably. Amazing but terrifying.” He said, appearing deep in thought.
All was silent.
“So anyway, enough about me, what’s your story, uhhhh…”
“Grace.”
“Andrew.” He introduced himself extending his hand. I shook it.
“Okay, Grace, so what your story?”
I sighed. “it’s a long one…” I warned
“I’ve been out here for weeks, I’ve got nothin’ but time!”
I sniggered. “Good point.”
And so I told him my story, told him of my family, of my last night with my mother, of the pain, of the mysterious woman, of the fear, of the night I was hunted, told him of the gifts and how much they had helped me, told him everything, and by the end I was in tears. He said nothing and let me cry. We had both been so damaged, but we were here together now, still reaching for freedom in it all.
Eleven
Within the length of our conversation, I was pretty sure I could call Andrew my friend. With Harriet’s words in the back of our minds, we traveled together, exchanged advice, and kept each other company while following the same quilted maps. Sometimes we even found ourselves telling each other stories of our pasts. The ones we were scrambling to escape. I saw something in him I couldn’t explain, much like what I saw in Harriet. Somehow I knew I could trust him.
“So, where to, now, Grace?” He asked searching the squares of his quilt.
“Looks like we’re going to some kind of river crossing.”I replied
“Hmm, Perhaps we should leave the navigating up to you. You’re so much better at it. I don’t see how you can read these things.”
“You just have to hold them right so you don’t lose your place. It’s easy.”
Andrew muttered something I couldn’t hear.
“What?”
“Nothing…Oh, look over there! That must be the river crossing.”
There in the distance, I could see the faint outline of the river. At the side was a small boat with a lantern attached to it. There was a tall, broad white man sitting inside. As we approached him, he mechanically tipped his hat. The man then gestured for us to get inside. We obeyed.
The strange white man slowly pushed the boat into the water, hopped in, and began rowing us across. Andrew looked concerned.
“Are you okay, Andrew?” I asked, feeling my brows pull together.
“Yes.” He said, subtly shaking his head. He was staring at something on the white man’s side. I couldn’t see what it was. My heart started to pound uncomfortably fast.
“Grace?”Andrew whispered.
“Yes?”
“SWIM AWAY!” He yelled, pushing me into the river’s icy waters. I didn’t know how to swim, so I simply flailed my arms and kicked my legs as fast as I could until I had propelled myself across the rest of the river. From the other side, I watch in horror, as the white man beat Andrew brutally. He was then brought back to the other side with several other white men awaiting him , unable to stand up and wailing in pain, from what I could see through my tears, they began to tie him up. “RUN!” He cried.
I ran. I ran as fast as I could despite the tiring swimming efforts I had just endured. Even when I covered my ears, I could still hear the cracking of a whip. The sound brought back memories that made my scars sting just thinking about. I ran farther, and farther and farther, but it was never far enough. I could still hear the torture, I could still hear the pain.
After my legs couldn’t take me any farther, I collapsed onto the ground. My heart was beating so fast, I felt as if it would burst out of my chest, black flames torched my throat as I lay there sobbing. All the same, I could still hear the cries of my friend who had saved my life being beaten and maybe even murdered, while knowing that the same fate lie ahead if I went back there.
Surely there had to be a way to endure this pain. Suddenly, almost without thinking, I clutched my cross necklace. I prayed to God for Andrew’s safety. I prayed that this evil would someday be completely eliminated throughout the world. I prayed that God be with me during this sick, bizarre moment. I traced the cross again and again with my fingertips, knowing in my heart that He was.
Twelve
I awoke the next morning cold and alone, without a map, and without the ability to trust the white folk ever again. But even with all of this, I felt no concern for myself, only a deep penitence for Andrew. I didn’t feel like I deserved to be free anymore, but more than anything I didn’t feel that any of those terrible men should be given the right to own me, so I kept walking. Not looking for north, not looking for any destination in particular. Just walking. Living by Andrew’s last plea; running for my life.
I decided to let God lead me wherever it was he saw fit for me. From now on, he was all that I had. I walked for hours, then days, then weeks, until stumbling into civilization. I found myself on the outskirts of a small northern town where I saw a white woman stood beside a carriage. Apparently this was where God wanted me to go. I didn’t trust this white person, but I did trust the Lord.
The woman said her name was Susan B. Anthony, and said she was here to present me with my fourth gift. This surprised me. Had I really chosen to further my journey through my four gifts without the knowledge of doing so? Could this all just be a trick? Was I truly willing to take such a great risk? I paused deep in thought. The woman waited patiently, with a look of understanding in her icy blue eyes.
It was evident that God wanted me to go. I took a deep breath, raised my head and with filthy, black ringlets falling over my closed eyes, and with tears streaming down my cheeks, managed one stern, solemn nod as my only reply. The woman simply smiled, took my hand, gave me a blanket to cover myself, and warily assisted me into the back of the carriage. “So where is the fourth gift?” I wondered anxiously aloud. I struggled to keep my voice even in the inevitable fear.
“I’m taking you to it.” She proclaimed. I waited but she said nothing more, and at last we set out to what would hopefully answer my cries to God for freedom.
Thirteen
The trip was lengthy but not nearly as uncomfortable as traveling on foot. When I grew anxious, I practiced my mother’s counseling and I dreamed of happy times, and often reflected on my journey. I thought of all I had been through, the inky black nights, cold and bitter water, the agonizing fear. I thought of my family, thought of Harriet and Andrew, the conductors who had sheltered me. I also thought of what was to come. I imagined the strong embrace of my mother, her wide smile, her joyful eyes, as we were finally reunited, and refused to think of the dreadful alternative.
Sometimes, as I drifted further and further away from my crushing reality, I found myself weeping in grief and even occasional joy. In the times when the sadness fell upon me, as it began suffocating me under its weight, blinding me with its dark shadow, I’d glance down at my third gift, and prayed. It provided me with the faith and love to highly strengthen my spirit, the one thing the whites could never take away from me. It shined a bright light down a path that appeared completely enclosed in shadows.
The light shown brighter and brighter as I trekked closer.
“Grace! Grace!” I could hear my ma chant, though I could not see her. I looked around frantically, but could find nothing. “Grace!” she shouted again exultantly.
“Ma, is that you? Where are you, Ma?” I called back.
“I’m right here, Honey. Open your eyes. We’re free now.”
My eyes flew open to find my mom staring down at me. It had not been a dream after all. The mid-afternoon sun shined brightly from behind her, explaining the mysterious light. “I’m so proud of you, Sweetheart-you and your sister both made it here all by yourselves.” She said with a smile, wrapping her arms around me. Her tears of joy fell lightly onto my face as she kissed my forehead.
I couldn’t speak. There was no way to verbalize this feeling. After a life of toil and suffering, I was finally set free, free to choose for myself, free to do whatever my heart desired. I could now be whatever it was I wanted to be, not as a slave, but as a citizen of Canada, a child of God.
The rest of my family sat quietly behind my ma, accompanied each by their own conductors. They looked as if they felt the exact same way I did, and we eagerly began to embrace one another with the same happiness beyond words. We all tearfully sang and danced our traditional dances as we gratefully enjoyed the greatest gift of all.
The End
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