I Ran So You Could Fly

It was 40, maybe 45 miles south of Charlestown from the plantation but we had to get there on foot. We trudged through the swamp, water up past our knees most of the way through dense brush.

After we walked a good 2 hours or so, Cain pointed. “There’s a camp ‘bout 13 more miles this way, if we get there, we’ll be safe for a bit.”

I asked him how he knew that. And it turns out he’d been talking to one of Hiram Jackson’s slaves, a fellow by the name of Johnson who had run before and aimed to again. Last time he ran, he stayed out in the camp Cain was talking about for 4 months before he got foolish and got himself caught.

He and some other men went on a plundering mission one night. They went to Cherry Hill Plantation and took chickens, some rice, a bolt of cloth. and a few other sundry items. But that wasn’t enough for Johnson. He tried to snatch more than his hands could carry and he fell, making a lot of noise as he went down.

The other fellows were long gone by this time and just as he was scrambling to get up and gather his booty, he was snatched by a huge Negro called Simon.

Well, Simon beat him pretty good and then locked him in the pear shed overnight. First thing in the morning he ran straight to his master who returned him to Jackson.

Cain whispered to me sternly, “That there’s the number one rule ‘bout running, don’t get greedy.”

I nodded. Seemed like common sense to me. If you’re on the run, grabbing more than your arms can carry safely is just plum stupid.

The swamp got deeper and the woods denser as we went along and soon, we were almost up to our thighs in a murky, stale-smelling mix of mud and water. I fell into a sinkhole that took me waist-deep into that mess! Cain laughed. He covered his mouth, trying to keep the noise of his laughter inside him.

But then didn’t I take to laughing because he was shaking so hard, with his hands clasped tightly across his face? He looked as ridiculous as I did.

I pulled myself out of the hole, shook myself off best I could, and we took a minute to regain our composure before we continued on.

The cattails and swamp grass got thicker and thicker still as we went deeper into it. Soon, they were so thick, you’d never known any humans had ever walked through the area in a hundred years or so. My arms and legs ached in that way that felt like every ounce of muscle and flesh had been drained clean out of them.

We eventually found a small, dry patch of land. I paused for a moment, to catch my breath. I looked all around and up to the sky. Night was just starting to give way. The stars were still bright, but the blackness of the sky was fading into a softer greyish violet. There was a beautiful peace to it.

“Lyon!” Cain's harsh whisper jolted me from my repose, “We gotta get moving, they be out after us in a minute here!”

We stood for a second longer, listening to the silence. Truth be told, as far out as we were, I doubt any white man would bother. Even the patrols wouldn’t go to that much trouble. The militia might, but that was doubtful too.

Leaving aside the snakes and gators, the biggest concerns were Indians and hounds. Plantation owners sometimes used Indians to track runaway slaves. Let me correct that, they used Indians to track runaway Negroes because Indians themselves were slaves on many a plantation. I knew a couple personally that Master James had.

There was Charles, we all called him Charlie. Biggest man I ever saw! I swear to you I’d not be exaggerating if I told you he was at least 6 foot 7 and, I can’t fathom what he may have weighed, well over 300 pounds for sure. He had straight black hair that hung down his back, a long noble nose, and dark, dark, eyes that seemed always to be watching.

Charlie said very little, but he knew much. I say that without having any real firsthand knowledge of what the man actually knew, but I had a sense of it. He carried himself in such a way that it was evident to those who were looking that he was very wise.

He worked in the fields right alongside the rest of us. He never complained, just minded his work, and then went back to his cabin. If he exchanged a dozen words with a fellow, it was a talkative day for him.

The other Indian I knew was Charlie's wife, Mary. She was as small as he was big. She wasn’t even 5 feet I’d say, and even with 4 children, I’d guess she never saw 100 pounds. But that didn't stop her. She worked, like her husband, right alongside us and kept right up. I won’t lie, there were days she outworked me.

Mary was an uncommonly handsome woman with a very kind heart. She and Mama talked by times. And she had given her a bag she made. It was a pouch I think, for tobacco, maybe. It was a gift to Mama for bringing broth and tending to her when she was down after she had her last child.

Now, I can’t say I know anything about Indians aside from those two I met. Some, I guess are happy to trudge out into the swamp and the woods to track down a Negro. But I can tell you Charlie isn’t one of them. He’d go alright, it’s not like he’d have a choice if told. But I’d have laid my life on the fact that he’d never turn me or any other runaway in. Not unless there was a white man beside him, and that wasn’t likely.

No, the real problem we were liable to face was the hounds. Every plantation owner I knew of had a slew of hounds, called them chasers. And you can just imagine what they were trained to chase.

There was a time, when I was a small boy, about 3 before I went to Master Thomas, that I helped train Master James’ hounds. There were 4 puppies that he’d gotten. He had others but these new ones needed training. And they put me out in the yard and told me to run all around and hide and the like. Then the young pups chased me.

I don’t have a great recollection of those days. I do remember some, but Mama talked about it a bit. It was a funny sight, me, running all around the plantation, hiding in sheds and in the fields, waiting for the puppies to get me.

I didn’t know what the purpose was. I was having fun with the pups. I loved those dogs. I felt, in my young mind, that they were my friends. I didn’t know I was training them on my scent. I thought it was a game.

But there were no Indians or dogs to this point.

We reached the camp. It was situated on a huge island in the swamp, about 800 square feet, maybe a bit more. There were 3 small shelters, crudely constructed with a mix of scrap wood and boughs. There was a woman, about 35, I’d guess, short and thick, tending a small garden.

You have no idea how good it felt to step on that dry land! After trudging through water, squishing my feet through soggy peat, fighting off branches, brush, and endless mosquitoes, the camp was a blessing.

Cain called out to the woman, “Hallo...”

The woman moved swiftly toward us, hoe in hand, “Hush!” she ordered. Then waved us closer. “Ain’t no need to draw attention, now.”

I stepped in front of Cain. I wasn’t looking for no bother. “We run from James LeClair,” I explained, “hoping to make it to Charlestown to join the British.” I saw no other option but to throw ourselves on her mercy.

She leaned forward slightly, peering at me as if she were trying to look right through me. She grunted and released her garden tool, “You too young for any army far as I can see.”

“I’m 15, Ma’am,” I replied. I kept my head down, real respectful like. I was told these camps was welcoming to runaway Negroes. This woman didn’t look so welcoming to me.

She scowled at us both then nodded toward the shacks. “Got some ash cakes and some fish, you’re welcome to join us.”

We smiled and moved quickly in the direction she indicated. I can’t speak for Cain, but I was starving! Fish and ash cakes suited me just fine.

The woman called after us, “Name’s Ida, you can bunk with us ... last cabin to the right.”

“Thank you, “I said. I meant it. I was grateful.

“Won’t be a lot of room,” she walked toward us, “There’s me, my husband Reuben, my boys, Zeke and Zeb, and another runaway, Steven. Steven and Zeke aimed to go to the British too.”

Cain piped up, “We got no problem takin’ the floor.”

She grinned warmly, showing a mouth absent of teeth, “That’s what you gettin’. That’s what we all got.”

We ate our fill, settled in, and met the other residents. Reuben was a tall, thin man who struck me from his colouring as being Mulato. He somehow got his hands on a fiddle and could play like nobody’s business.

Zeke and Zeb were tall like their father but thick like Ida. They were 16 and 14, respectively.

If I’m being honest, I preferred Zeke to Zeb. Zeb was the younger of the two, but also the biggest. He had a way about him that didn’t sit well with me. I can’t put my finger on it exactly, except to say he had a pride about him that didn’t match who he was.

Zeb acted like he was in charge of everything when, in reality, he controlled nothing at all. He challenged Cain and I both to fisticuffs almost immediately. We both declined. We weren’t in our own territory; fighting was a bad idea. A man can’t show up begging for food and shelter and engage in combat. But I tell you here and now, the boy needed a good thrashing, and should circumstances have been otherwise, I’d have keenly taken him down a peg or two.

Zeke was quiet. He read by candlelight, the Bible and some other book I wasn’t acquainted with. He was whip-smart, polite, and eager to join the British. He and I became fast friends. That first night, I showed him I could read some too. He seemed impressed. And when I told him I could do carpentry and a bit of coopering too, he was amazed.

He wasn’t a physical sort. More of a mind sort of man and his mama said he was afflicted with mild breathing troubles during the spring and summer. They had run from a cotton plantation south of Charlestown but went clean past the city and landed where they did.

The cabin in the middle housed a couple, Martha Rae and Carter. They were older, childless, and largely kept to themselves. They weren’t rude or standoffish, mind, just seemed to prefer not to mix.

And then there was the last cabin. It was chock full, 2 adults, a couple of girls, a boy, and a baby. There was Edward, a short, jolly fellow with a quick smile and a friendly way, and his wife, Hilda.

Hilda, to me, looked older than time itself. Her face was heavily lined and tired-looking, like the weight of the entire world had crushed her. Her legs and arms were slender, but she was big around the middle. And she had the baby on her hip everywhere she went.

Then there were the two oldest children, adults themselves. Beth was 19 and surprisingly beautiful. Nells was 18 and honestly, non-descript. He was a good enough sort, he just blended in, if that makes sense. He was an average height and weight, average dark tone, didn’t say much. There was nothing about him that stood out, except that he didn’t stand out.

And then there was Gracie. She was my age, almost to the day. She’d be 16 come May 27, and I would be the same nearer the beginning of the month.

I think that maybe Hilda had ideas about us two getting married or some mess. First, not to be rude, but I wasn’t fixing to stay there, I was heading out to join the King’s Army. I wasn’t looking to get tied down with a woman. And second, nice a girl as Gracie might have been, she didn’t exactly make my fancy.

She was pretty enough. Fact was, she just wasn’t handsome like her older sister. Beth was one of them women that can make a man foolish just by setting eyes on her. Gracie was more pleasant looking in that average way. Not at all homely, but not as fine featured or as evenly proportioned as her sister.

There wasn’t a thing wrong with the girl. But she did have an awful lot of mouth. She was a spirited sort. Looking back, had times been other than they were, I could have seen her and I making a life together, perchance. Our ages were more compatible. And her personality suited me better than Beth’s. Beth was keenly aware of her beauty and it didn't make her pleasing company for any gentleman caller. Reckon why she was still unmarried.

After a few days, didn’t Gracie look almost prettier than her sister in my eyes! There was something, a keenness, an intelligence, a fortitude that let a man know come what may, that woman would rise to the challenge. She'd learn a baby reading and writing, tend a garden, and shoot varmin without a second thought

But I wasn’t about to bring no woman on the run. I was young. I wasn’t stupid. But I liked her fine. Truth be told, I found myself holding her in quite high esteem.

We spent a good deal of time together during my stay.

She begged to come with us. Said she wanted to join the British too. I couldn’t conceive of anything a woman would do in no army. She said she heard that women and children did join and that they were given jobs as cooks and cleaners. I didn’t know a thing about that and wasn’t concerned. I was worried enough about getting myself safely into British hands, I wasn’t taking on the responsibility of delivering a girl to them too.

I lied to her. I know it wasn’t right or proper, but I told her I’d send for her. I said it to keep her happy on account of she said she loved me. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Maybe I loved her too, after a fashion. I said the same back to her.

I think on some level I wasn’t lying, if that makes sense. I almost wished there’d been some way I could have sent for her. But how would I have ever done that? She had to know just as well as I did that my promises were hollow, just on account of circumstances.

I kissed her out past the garden on our last night there. I still remember that kiss. Her lips were full and sweet, and she twirled her full tongue around my mouth. I felt all sorts that I can’t discuss in polite company, but I tell you this, I knew that night I was a man.

She knew I was leaving to continue my journey toward Charlestown and made it plain as can be that she was ripe for the taking. I took what was offered. It was beautiful, her and I under the stars of the South Carolina sky as the crickets chirped. When it was done, she called me her husband, and I called her my wife. Her skin was smooth, and it tasted like honeysuckle and sweet morning dew.

I didn't feel like she was my wife exactly. Looking back, I didn’t have but a faint conception of what a wife was. I’d never been anywhere near a woman in that way before.

But I can say she was special. It just seemed the right thing to say at the time, particularly given what we’d just done.

A couple hours later, Cain, Zeke, and I were gone. Ida had told us there was another camp just about 12 miles south and she’d put word down the line we were coming.

I never saw Gracie again, but I’ve thought about her often. We shared something beautiful, and she was a nice girl. She’d have made a splendid wife and mother. I hope and pray she found what she was looking for. And I hope she forgives me. Seemed like I was making a list of folk I'd later be seeking forgiveness from.

When we set out, Cain and I were in a damn sight better position than when we arrived. We each had a change of clothes and a day’s worth of food. And Zeke made out fake papers saying we was all hired out to a Mister Jerimiah Rosenthal in the city.

Those papers looked official! I asked him why he chose a Jewish name and he said all them white folks know each other, that it would be more apt to be believed if we were hired out to a Jew on account of them not rightly knowing who this Rosenthall was.

I didn’t understand it, but I didn’t question it either. The way he said it sounded reasonable to me. In fact, come to think of it, of all the white folks that came ‘round the LeClair place, I don’t recollect no one being Jewish. That’s not to say there wasn’t anyone, but if there was, I sure didn’t know.

Most of our trip was uneventful if you can count water, sinkholes, a snakebite, and 2 days of beating down rain uneventful. The snake didn’t bite me, it got Cain on the ankle. He wasn’t no worse for wear, we put moss on it and carried right on.

We were about 2 miles from camp when two Indian fellows came upon us. They were walking and there were two white men behind them on horseback. They all had guns and they trained them right on us.

My heart sunk to my guts. It was over. I knew it was over. I willed myself to stop shaking even though I knew the terror running through me would never allow it.

Cain froze like stone. He stood there, mouth agape, still. He didn’t move a muscle.

And then there was Zeke. He stood tall and confidently strode right over to one of those white men, pulling the fake papers from his pocket. “Zeke, Ezekial Deveraux, sir, and this here’s Lyon and Cain LeClair, we heading to Charlestown, hired out from Mr. Deveraux to Mr. Jerimiah Rosenthal, sir.”

If times hadn’t been what they were, I might have laughed out loud at Zeke. Lord, that boy was brazen! Stood there, straight face in front of white men with guns ready to have our hides!

The white man Zeke addressed snatched the papers, examining them closely with some sort of eyeglass. I watched him, breathless, not sure if I should stay or run for my life. Not that it mattered, I couldn’t have run, my legs were useless, like jelly. I stood there, waiting to be snatched or shot.

Instead, the white man passed the papers back to Zeke and told him we best get on our way that Rosenthal wouldn’t be keen to be made wait. Then, as soon as they were there, they were gone.

I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. So, I did neither. Cain waited a few minutes and snickered a delightful snort. Zeke kept quiet as if he had been through this all a hundred times before. All he did was nod at me with a quick flash of a smile. But there was something about his smile that told me my fool mouth needed to keep shut until we were safely at the next camp.

And the next camp, well, that was something! It was bigger than the first one, but not by much. There were 5 shacks, not 3. We stayed there for a time, and it was there I got my first taste of plundering.

Now, I don’t normally go in for thieving. The Bible says “Thou shalt not steal,” but I have to believe that don’t apply when you got nothing to sustain your very life.

I can’t imagine the Good Lord meant for babies to starve when grown men and women grow fat off the excess they got. And as you know, Mama took a pig foot or two in her time and loves the Lord more than most.

We were welcomed warmly, and we spent 6 whole days of repose munching on pig fat and corn grits. We even had some rice and tomatoes. But those that enjoy have to pay the piper and our time came.

It was late one night, maybe 11 or 12, and Capitan, that’s what he called himself, Capitan Frederick, rounded up a handful of us. The usual amicable trading mission between the community and the nearby slaves from the Wilkins property wasn't netting the required gains. That meant it was time to move out further and take what needed taking.

Capitan Frederick picked me, Cain, and a big dark Negro called Albert. Zeke begged to come too, but Capitan felt he’d be more of a hindrance on a mission like this. He told him it was best to keep him ‘round for whatever brain work needed seeing to.

Cain, Albert, and I got strict instructions for what we were going to take over at the Abbey place about 3 miles down the road and just past Wilkins’. Capitan was stealing a hog, he said. He had a big sharp knife to slit its throat right there, keep it from squealing.

Cain’s job was to snatch chickens, as many as he could carry safely. Albert was supposed to grab any sort of guns, knives or tin goods, pots, pans, what have you.

And I was given a gun and told I was the lookout. I didn't have to steal, not in a proper sense, but I was party to it. I had to stand guard and if one of them Negroes that Abbey had happened to come out and make noise, I was to shoot on sight. No asking questions. No trying to bargain or make friends. Just shoot.

Made me sick to think about it. I didn’t have no mind to shoot anyone. But a man does what a man has to do, I reckon.

Thankfully, it never came to that. Everyone got what they aimed to get and then some. I’m not sure how, but Albert managed to snatch a bolt of cloth, a rifle, 3 knives, and 2 tin pots. Captain got his hog and Cain got 4 chickens. He broke their necks right away to keep the noise down.

I lent Captain a hand hauling that hog back. He let it finish bleeding right near the place, on account of not wanting to leave a trail. Then we cut it down the middle and stuffed grass in it, to soak up any other blood or liquid. Salt would have worked better, but we didn’t have none on hand.

When we got back, 3 women were waiting. They grabbed the hog and pulled it toward the water. They washed it, dug out the grass, leaves, and bits of stuff. They kept on working, and Captain dragged over a big barrel of salt to them so they could salt it. He ordered us to leave the women to their work. And we ate a whole chicken between us. We roasted it on a fire after we plucked and cleaned it and had it with rice and peas.

We stopped at two more camps along the way and each time, the happenings were much like what I’ve already described. There were plenty of hardships and discomfort. We were asked one more time by white men about our travels, and Zeke’s falsified papers served to keep us safe.

And on April 19, 1780, in the great town of Charlestown, South Carolina, I, along with Zeke and Cain laid ourselves on the mercy of the King and his Army.

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This is the 7th chapter in my upcoming novel, I Ran So You Could Fly which is a fictional account of my real-life 6th great-grandfather, Paris O'Ree. Paris was held as a slave on a rice plantation, along with his parents and sisters, owned by Col. Elias Horry in or around Santee, SC.

At 15, he ran away to join the British army in the Revolutionary War. As a result of his service, he gained his freedom and passage to Canada. He is listed in the Book of Negroes as, "Paris, 19, stout lad."

I wish I could write a factual account, but records are scant. The best I can do is study history and then imagine what it must have been like, what he must have been like as a child born into slavery, a teenage soldier, and then a young free man in a harsh and cold new land where British promises weren't exactly kept.

Without his bravery, I, in a very real sense would not be here. This novel is to honour his sacrifice because he really did run so I and his other descendants could fly.

My plan was to release 3 non-consecutive chapters. This is the final one. To find out what happens, you'll have to buy the book when it comes out. A girl's gotta eat, LOL.