Song of Freedom

I was born in the middle of the summer. All the other slaves were out bringing in the harvest of cotton, but my mother was in the shed, having me, with Aunt Betsy helping. Mother thanked me once for arriving at such a convenient time; she always hated working in the burning sun.

It seemed strange to me that someone born in such hot, dry weather should be stuffed in this wagon, leaving for a place that, in the winter, was inflicted with bitter winds and frosty snows. My mother and I were finally escaping the drudgeries of slavery after many long years. Even Mother had been born as a slave, thirty-six years ago, and her mother before that. Africa, our homeland, was only an idea to me - a vision of tropical sun, lions and giraffes, and being free to live in the tribe of my ancestors.

I was achieving freedom now, but it was not of the same caliber. For Mother it was much more miraculous, seeing as she had been put into hard labor in the fields. My work, however, was inside the household. Miz Amelia, the fourteen-year-old daughter of Master and Mistress, treated me as her little pet. My life had not been all that bad, but I hated the idea that I was owned, like a piece of furniture or clothing.

I spent my time inside trying to learn the ways of the rich ones: their mannerisms, knowledge, and most especially, their words. I knew that it was illegal to learn to read and write, so I expanded my verbal vocabulary instead. Mother was constantly trying to interpret my big words to the other slaves, who disliked me anyway because I didn't call my mother "Mama" as they would have done. They thought that I was ashamed of my heritage and was deserting them; actually I am not but I want my heritage to belong to me, not someone who bought me for a few meager coins.

As the wagon bumped and jolted on the coarse dirt road, Mother slept and I worried. We were being taken by one of the "conductors" on the Underground Railroad, a white abolitionist by the name of Mr. Carson. Mr. Carson would lead us from South Carolina to Virginia, where someone else would take over. Eventually we would get past the American border into Canada. But what would we do when we got there? We knew no one outside of the plantation, and our skills were bare. I supposed that Mother could be a seamstress or a cook, for she had sometimes performed those duties, with adequate success. Perhaps I could even go to school in Canada.

Suddenly the wagon jerked to a halt. Mother woke up beside me and blinked a few times. I frowned. It was not possible that we were already at our destination of Virginia, so why were we stopped? I strained my ears as Mother whispered, "It will be all right, Carrie," and patted my hand.

"What's in the cart?" asked an unknown person.

"Coffee, tea, sugar, and rice," replied Mr. Carson promptly. "I'm a merchant from Richmond, and I deliver goods to those who order them down here. I've just been to Mr. Harris, my last stop, and now I'm heading home."

"If that was your last stop, why do you still have goods in the cart?" The voice was analytic and cynical.

"Oh, I always carry extras in case someone who has not ordered would like to purchase anything. Also, Mr. Jackson in Georgia decided that he didn't want to pay so much money for this, and now I have to take them back."

The person snorted. "It sounds as if you've rehearsed this whole speech."

"Sir?"

"Would you be so kind to let me search your goods?"

"By all means." Mr. Carson's voice sounded nearer to me and I stiffened. Although we were hidden in a space under the false bottom of the wagon, I was still nervous. My heartbeat seemed to pulse through my head instead of my chest, and I felt this man, who was undoubtedly a slave catcher, would be able to hear it.

But all that I heard was a scraping as the boxes above were cleared away to reveal the oak planks that had been set there. I heard the man snort with disgust and then there was a thump and a crack, as one of the boxes of sugar fell off and broke, emptying it onto the ground and ruining the goods. Mr. Carson gave out a cry and I could hear him trying to sweep up the sugar as the slave catcher walked away, his boots tapping out an even rhythm. I realized that the man had cruelly pushed the sugar off, merely to spite poor Mr. Carson. Luckily, Mr. Carson was not really a merchant, and someone else paid for the goods. I was relieved that nothing serious had happened and I tried to fall asleep.

The journey lasted many days, and I began to grow immensely bored from hours of lying down in the wagon, not allowed to speak or even whisper. Even at night we would sleep in the wagon if there were no houses around. Finally, we neared the border of Virginia and Pennsylvania, and Mr. Carson came and got us out of the hiding space. "We're here!" he whispered delightedly. "Mrs. Layman in that house will help you from here on. You'll get a night of rest first, and then you'll be in Pennsylvania. It's much safer there and you won't have to hide in a wagon like this."

He tipped his hat towards us as we stumbled out. "Now, go up to the house and knock on the door. You know the code, right? Well, good luck!" He got back in the wagon and trotted off, leaving us standing in the middle of the woods, nearby a large brown house.

Mother yawned, and we set off towards the house. When we reached the doorstep Mother rapped pleasantly, and we waited. Finally the door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman wearing a sensible cotton dress and an apron. Immediately Mother stuck her left hand out to for shaking, and the woman smiled. Holding your left hand out meant that you were an escaped slave in need of assistance, or that you were a conductor.

"Ah, I've been expecting you," Mrs. Layman said with a smile, taking the offered hand. "Come on in. You can sleep here for tonight and then tomorrow someone will lead you through to Pennsylvania and to Canada. But first have something hot to eat, I'm sure you are tired."

After a substantial supper we fell asleep in downy beds in the attic. My slumber was so deep that I didn't hear anything until I felt a hand shaking me, and a voice calling my name. "Carrie! You must get up now, dear," said the woman urgently. "The slave catchers are coming!"

I leaped out of the bed with a start. Mother was already up, fumbling with her buttons.

"I'm so sorry," said the Mrs. Layman sadly. "We've just got news that slave catchers are coming to search the house. They'll be here any minute now. My maid Gladys will show you out the back door."

"Which way do we go?" I asked, trying to catch my breath.

"Do you know which way is North?" Mother and I shook our heads. "Then wait for the sunrise. Face the direction the sun rises, and then go right of that way. Do you have it? Good luck!"

Gladys hurried us downstairs with a bundle filled with clothes and some food. Without saying a word she lead us to the back of the house, and out the door into the woods. The forest was dark and elusively mystifying in the twilight. We rushed out and began to run.

From inside the house I heard Mrs. Layman call out in surprise. "Oh, no!" she cried. "I forgot to tell them." She was about to yell some direction out the window when the clip-clop of hooves sounded up the road. Mrs. Layman saw them and gulped. She then began to sing in a cheery, happy manner:

The sun will rise in the morning

The light of hope in the sky

Although now it is night time

Until then we must fly

The tune changed and her voice went husky, echoing among the shadows. The song became mournful and watchful, like a warning. It was as if she was trying to combine two songs into one to make them fit together.

So, wade in the water

Wade in the water, children

Wade in the water

God's gonna trouble the waters. (

Mother and I looked at each other, puzzled, but then began to run when the horses came closer. We ran until we were panting with exhaustion. I finally fell on the ground in weariness, not being so used to physical activities. Mother stopped and felt my forehead.

"My poor baby," she said quietly. "Don't worry, there's a stream nearby. I'll get you some water in this little cup." As she fetched the spring water I tried to catch my breath as I contemplated Mrs. Layman's final message. What did she mean by the song? In the distance I faintly heard a howl, and some low-pitched barks.

I shivered, and the temperature did not cause my quivers. The men were sending out dogs to track and find us. For the first time I felt like a hunted animal, my whole existence filled with irrepressible fear. The whole time that we were running we had carelessly left out scent for the dogs to easily pursue us with.

Then it came to me. The song had been a coded message! As Mother came back I jumped up and did not even drink the water. "You did say there was a stream nearby, Mother?"

"Yes, Carrie, but what.?" I hopped around in frenzy, trying to pull my boots off. "Easy does it," said Mother and took them off for me gently. "But why do you have this sudden wish to let the sticks and stones and worms gobble your feet up?"

"That song the lady was singing," I managed to burst out. "She told us to wade in the water until morning. If we walk in the water then the hunting dogs cannot get our smell. We must walk in the stream far away until the day breaks, so they will lose our trail."

"Our feet will freeze and fall off," said Mother sternly, but nevertheless she began to take her own shoes off.

I smiled, and I knew that she could see it although it was dark. "I suppose that's the price we must pay for freedom, Mother. Come, let's go." We clasped hands and began to walk, our shoes knotted together and hanging around our necks. We stepped into the water, slipping on the gleaming stones at the bottom and the cushiony green moss. But although we stumbled, we walked proudly down the creek.

I could feel my worries slip away, along with the dirt clumped on my feet. Easy does it, as Mother said. Worrying would not do any good to help us get free. All we needed was the power of our will, and our love to help us along. We had to believe that we could do it, and work to make the beliefs come true.

Mother squeezed my hand reassuringly. The water rested on our toes like the cool caress of a dream coming true.

( Wade in the Water is a song that was sung by conductors and slaves as a message for escaping slaves. I am not sure of the source, but it is an actual song. However, I invented the first song.