The Watchman's Grace Read online

  After leaving the pale man’s village, Kigwa laid eyes on a very large farm. All about, he witnessed a place teaming with the activity of many dark men and women hard at work. As their wagon slowed to a stop, he looked upon one of the largest single structures he had ever seen. It was white in color and as threatening as the wooden ship which took him from his homeland.

  When their wagon pulled up to this imposing building, another pale man quickly came outside to meet them. But there was something different about this one. His costume appeared cleaner; his garments more expensive. His body was broader around the chest, and he stood a touch shorter than average height. He wore a large growth of hair above his mouth, covering a tensed upper lip.

  This peculiar man craned his thick neck in every direction, studying a bound Kigwa very carefully. Within minutes he spoke in their strange language to the wagon driver before motioning him away. Immediately Kigwa was led towards a row of small wooden huts. He was pushed inside the first one they came upon.

  Then, the wagon driver motioned Kigwa with rough gesturing to speak. When Kigwa would not respond, he became angry and hit him hard on his back before continuing. Still no words came from Kigwa’s pressed mouth.

  As this routine carried on, Kigwa finally lost patience. He shouted back in anger at the pale man in his native tongue. A smug grin appeared upon his interrogator’s hardened face before leaving Kigwa’s presence. Ten minutes later, he returned with an older, dark skinned gentleman.

  “You see this young buck here Nathaniel? He sounds like Oliver and Tim did when they first came to White Rose. I bet you he’s from the same tribe! You know Master Smith has high hopes for this one, yes indeedy! And since you did so well in training them you can do the same with this one. Am I making myself clear, Nathaniel?”

  The lanky, wiry Colored man replied in deference. “Yes sir, Mister Willis. We will make this one just as good a worker, if not better!”

  “I sure hope so Nathaniel. This buck cost Master Smith a hell of a lot of good money. And you know how he gets when he loses on a trade. Oh yes, none of us wants to see that side of him much! I’m off now to see if those field hands picked enough for our next cotton shipment, so I’ll leave him to you. But I best not hear of any trouble, you understand Nathaniel?”

  “Yes sir, Mister Willis. You can be sure with old Nathaniel, that’s right!”

  Willis nodded with a tight grin of approval before striding towards the vast planting fields of White Rose Plantation. Master Smith’s iron grip on all aspects of White Rose Plantation made no quarter for forgiveness, pity or losses. To him, all he surveyed was subject to his rule. Those that disobeyed would truly not be long for this earth.

  When Willis’s heavy footfalls faded into the distance, Nathaniel turned to face Kigwa’s untrusting glare, breaking their silence with a short greeting. Kigwa’s ears instantly recognized the old man’s words. To his amazement, he spoke in his native tongue!

  “You welcome me here with open arms?” Kigwa replied incredulously. “They have me in shackles and treat me as a slave. Are you partners with these pale men?”

  Nathaniel shook his head, grinning broadly. “No, I have as much freedom as you, probably less because of my age. You have been taken against your will from your homeland like every Colored person you see here. They own all of us! The pale man will never let us go.”

  Kigwa could not believe what he heard. “Surely there are many strong warriors among those that have been captured. They can rise up against the pale man and set themselves free if they still have a warrior’s heart!”

  Nathaniel’s smile faded quickly as he looked nervously about him. “Now listen here to me. You are fortunate no one who could understand your language heard those words. It surely would have been the death of you! You’ve been bought and paid for. You are their slave and they hold the decision of life and death over you. Their kind hold weapons we’d have no chance to match!

  “My duty is to teach you how to earn your keep and make money for our master. But if you keep talking like that you will not live long in this land! They call me Nathaniel and you best get used to that name. Cause I’m the only one that will protect you. Understand me? I watch out for the good of all on this plantation, and keep things well and fine.”

  Kigwa was moved to anger by this old man’s sudden harshness. Did he have any idea who he was speaking to? Such insubordination would not have been tolerated from anyone in his tribe.

  “Listen Na-than-i-el,” Kigwa strained to pronounce. “I am Kigwa, descended from a long line of tribal chiefs, with all their dignity running through my veins! How dare you tell me these weak looking pale men have power over me! Have you no honor to set yourself free from them? What have they made you into? What potions have they made you drink? What spell have they cast to make your mind so feeble?”

  The incensed elder man shot Kigwa a contemptible look. “Come with me now!” he hissed back.

  Nathaniel reached out to lead Kigwa by his still bound arms, exhibiting surprising strength for his age. After walking five minutes they came upon a large red barn, from which sounds of domestic animals pierced muggy afternoon air. Nathaniel led Kigwa around back of this structure before pointing directly ahead.

  Kigwa could not believe this grotesque sight before his eyes. An overpowering stench from a hanging, decaying corpse almost made him vomit. Flies were thick upon rotting scarred flesh, while bulging eyeballs protruded in haunting surprise. Kigwa was utterly repulsed by this wretched scene.

  “See that? Here is the price you pay for noble African heritage! This one tried to raise a few other field hands for a night time escape. He spoke big ideas like you about taking back their freedom and getting away from the pale man. But the pale man has ears everywhere, he knows everything! Besides, what do you know about the wild beasts waiting to eat human flesh beyond the plantation!

  “This was the second time Cecil tried to escape. He was such a damn fool! After all, Master Smith showed mercy the first time he tried to run away. Master Smith wants this to be an example for anyone else that tries getting uppity around here. There will be no warnings anymore!

  “I also brought you here for another reason. See this here? It’s called a barn. Inside, there are animals called horses, like that which pulled the wagon on which you came to us. We lost our last blacksmith to whooping cough. And now we need another. Master Smith got you because they need someone young and strong to be a blacksmith. None of this will make sense to you now, but it sure will later. Now follow me back to your hut. You will be going away soon.”

  Kigwa was bewildered by this onslaught of sights and words from Nathaniel. “What is a black-sm-ith? Where am I going? What is happening to me Na-than-i-el? I demand an answer from you now!”

  Nathaniel slowly turned back in Kigwa’s direction before responding. “I see it will take some doing to put out that fire in your heart. But it will happen, believe you me. Didn’t I already say you had to earn your keep? Always remember you have to earn your keep on White Rose Plantation. Otherwise they have no use for you. Who knows what would happen to you then?

  “You’re gonna be moving to Springwater Plantation for a bit. But before you go I’m gonna teach you some words, so you understand what they’re saying to you over there. For now we will work you in the fields by day. At sundown, we will learn you a little of the pale man’s tongue. You understand me Kigwa?”

  Kigwa masked his surprise at hearing the first tiny advantage he may steal in this hostile environment. Thinking back to those miserable depths within The Relentless’s fetid hold, he recognized a chance to understand this pale man’s strange words, and quite possibly a means to an end.

  “You will teach me to speak his strange tongue?” queried Kigwa.

  Nathaniel scowled back. “You will only hear enough to do your tasks, nothing more. And don’t ask about reading his language! No slave is allowed to read, do
you follow me Kigwa?”

  Kigwa held his gaze for a brief moment before giving a strained nod of acceptance. To himself, he began the process of seeking any means to fulfill his personal vow of freedom.

  Through every scorching day that followed, Nathaniel would enter Kigwa’s rickety wooden shack to wake him at the stroke of dawn. Following a starchy meal of boiled cornmeal, molasses and weak coffee, he was herded out into the vast fields of King Cotton.

  At first, his strong hands would bleed freely from that awkward prickly bush. As days melted into one week, then a couple more, he became adept, his strong hands cut less. After fourteen hours of nonstop labor under gazes from surly overseers, he would retreat to his cabin for a sparse setting of fatty pork, rice and boiled potato.

  It was after those winking hours of nightfall when Nathaniel would visit again to commence a daily task of teaching simple words for understanding the pale man. Fortunately, Kigwa was a learned man, so he could adapt quicker than most unfortunate souls to learning this staccato speech. When his lessons concluded, Kigwa would snatch a few hours of uncomfortable sleep on a filthy woven mat before returning to ceaseless labor in the fields.

  An endless routine of thankless servitude was the unholy lot of most plantation workers. They were mere caricatures of their living self, beasts of burden restricted from basic dignities. When their dying days approached, they were allowed a painful isolation in the “dying shacks” located deep within the old woods of White Rose. Weeks from a certain death, their every ounce sapped from Master Smith’s pursuit of profit, they expired in a thankless prison of abject squalor.

  For Kigwa, he was one of an anointed few to escape such an ill-fated path, at least initially. For Master Smith’s man Willis had been sent to auction over three weeks ago to find a strong featured fellow possessed of good industry. A blacksmith was needed to fill a post, and it was critical to find a replacement immediately. Willis took one look at Kigwa and chose him to suit their needs.

  Now, more than three weeks after purchase, Nathaniel reckoned Kigwa could make out enough English to be ready for his next step in apprenticeship. Fortunately, it was not a moment too soon, as Nathaniel was paid a visit that day by Willis.

  “Say Nathaniel!” he shouted, striding towards him with purpose. “Is that young buck I gave to you having any hope, or should I tell Master Smith he made a big mistake? Tell me now boy.”

  “Yes sir, he’s as good as rain!” grinned back the elder man. “I reckon he’s good enough to send off to Springwater Plantation, that’s for sure.”

  Willis came up close to Nathaniel’s face. “Are you sure about this Nathaniel? I don’t want to be made a fool in front of Master Smith, because it will come out of your hide! So better fess up now if we need to get rid of this buck.”

  Nathaniel held his ground. “You asked me once, Mister Willis. And you know Nathaniel’s word is as good as gold, ain’t it so?”

  Willis would not accept such talk from any other worker on White Rose except Nathaniel. More than once the old man’s efforts have saved his employment.

  “Fair enough Nathaniel. I will make sure he is out of the fields a little earlier today. And give him an extra serving of pork will ya? We need this buck to work out at Springwater!”

  “He’ll be fine, Mister Willis. I looked after him well.”

  “Have him ready to leave by the horses’ stables at crack of first light tomorrow. Herman Ford over at Springwater will be waiting to put him through his paces. Oh damn it! I knew I forgot something. Have to give this boy a name don’t we? What do you think Nathaniel?”

  The elderly man had never been asked to name a servant. It took him completely off guard. His utter surprise was obvious.

  “Well now Mister Willis; can’t say that I know what to make of that. No sir, nothing really comes to mind. But we sure are lucky to have a worker like him. You sure picked a good one this time ‘round!”

  Willis was equally stumped with this decision. Then his thin lips curled in complete satisfaction.

  “Now look here Nathaniel. You said we were lucky to find this boy, though Lucky sounds like a sissy’s name! So that got me thinking. And I think we had some good fortune indeed! And there it is. He’s Fortune, to White Rose that is, cause he should do well for us. So Fortune Smith he shall be.” Without a further word, he turned on his heels and walked briskly towards the imposing main house.

  Later that evening, after giving Kigwa his last oral lessons, Nathaniel prepared to tell Kigwa his new name. While standing a moment to stretch his tired limbs, he began.

  “Well Kigwa, this is going to be your home for a very long time. So always remember White Rose Plantation will give you back all the care you give it if you let it. And now we’re giving you a proper name. From here on in you will be known as Fortune. Through master’s good graces, your surname shall be Smith. Welcome to White Rose, Fortune Smith; Kigwa died back in Africa!”

  Kigwa’s eyes narrowed in seething anger. “My name is Kigwa, damn you!” he shouted back in his native tongue. “No pale man can tell me otherwise. How dare you play with the name my father gave me; you have no right! The pale man cannot make me forget I am a noble from Ehra tribe. It is shameful for you Nathaniel if they brainwashed memories of your forefathers from mind and heart!”

  Weary Nathaniel felt resentment radiate the surface of his face. Years of indoctrination made such recollections grow to naught as a matter of necessity. But he made such decisions long ago, feeling that knowledge had no place in this new land. It was with similar reasoning he responded to Kigwa’s outburst.

  “There’s no shame in being smart enough to know how to survive! You show great ignorance to think like a prince in a land that looks upon you as a slave. They took royal robes from your body before setting sail, and may I suggest you take the attitude that went with those clothes from your conscience! I am not your enemy Fortune; I am here to make sure you see another day.”

  Fortune glared with naked hostility upon Nathaniel. But soon rationality came to bear. There was no means or opportunity to get out of his present circumstances. And until he could find both, any attempts to escape would meet the same fate as that pitiful creature rotting behind the horses’ barn.

  “In my heart I will always be Kigwa. But in this land of the pale man they will call me Fortune. And I will answer to it…for now.”

  Nathaniel wore a look of pleasant surprise. “Fortune, you spoke to me in English, and sounded mighty good! There just may be some promise in keeping you around. Now go to sleep; tomorrow is a big day for you, leaving to Springwater and all.”

  Morning sunrise spied Fortune, Nathaniel and Willis meeting beside the horses’ stables and preparing for an important rendezvous at Springwater Plantation.

  “Can this boy understand some words?” asked Willis quizzically. “It will do no good to be sending a mute off to Herman Ford!”

  “Yes sir,” replied a confident Nathaniel. “He even surprised me with how good he can talk now.”

  “You don’t say…I hope he isn’t one of those uppity darkies. That will not do at White Rose, no how.” Then Willis turned towards the soon to be apprentice.

  “Now listen to me boy. Fortune, you are part of White Rose Plantation. Everything you do has to be right by White Rose, and that means learning well and good while you’re at Springwater. Herman Ford is good people, and he will teach you skills that will make you useful. So let’s get in the wagon and haul off. I’ll see you later Nathaniel.”

  As their wagon rode down a smooth dirt laneway towards the commanding gates of White Rose, Nathaniel heaved a sigh of relief. “That boy is bound to be a handful,” he muttered under his breath before attending to other chores.

  Not one word broke a long silence during their ride out to Springwater Plantation. For Fortune, he was too preoccupied with the dire consequences of being a prisoner against his will. Fortun
e’s current position of vulnerability was new to him. And try as he may to assess his options, to be kidnapped within a strange land meant no easy way back to regaining his former way of life.

  As for Willis, he knew Harriston Smith would not tolerate any problems from this recent purchase. After all, Smith gave Willis free reign to find a new blacksmith, expecting complete capability on his part. With this promotion in responsibilities, failure was surely not an option.

  Then, after an hour of steady pace, their wagon slowed down to pass through the main entrance of Springwater Plantation. A stately pillared main house looked down from a small rise on all who entered. These surroundings were familiar enough for Willis. Yet while Fortune eyed the scene about him, he immediately detected a difference in the air.

  Surprisingly, he did not feel an undercurrent of repression like when he first arrived at White Rose. Of course there were plenty of servants performing numerous tasks of grueling labor, but not many pale men were exercising brutish authority. Nor were harsh screams from relentless whippings constantly assaulting one’s ears.

  Fortune had no chance to make further evaluations once Willis pulled to a halt near the bricked main house. Motioning Fortune to come off the wagon, he spread out his right hand in a flourish.

  “We have arrived Fortune. You will now meet your teacher, Herman Ford. He’s the best at putting learning into heads of boys like you. When he’s finished, we’ll put you to real use. And count yourself lucky not to be working in a field. We reckon you can do a little more than that! But you cross us once and off to the fields you go for good! Ah look here, there comes Herman.”

  From behind the main house there appeared a middle aged man of wiry build and strong disposition. Fortune could see years of wear in his creased face, though a steely determination burned through probing blue eyes. Here, Fortune surmised, was a pale man not used to easy tasks.

  “Greetings Willis, good to see you again at Springwater,” he exclaimed while extending his hand. “So, is this the boy you want to make into a blacksmith?”