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When we reached the island, we grabbed onto branches and pulled ourselves out of the river. We wrung the water out of our clothes and picked leeches off our legs. Then we looked for logs, logs that weren’t too rotten to float. While my pa carried the logs to the far side of the island, Moses and my ma tore strips from the bottom of their skirts. Pa lashed four big logs across two shorter logs with those strips of cloth. The raft was small but it would carry us downriver if Grower Brown and his men came to search the island.

  We huddled together in the hollow tree where Moses led us. It was damp and musty but I was so tired that I quickly fell asleep. I slept all through the rest of the day and would have kept sleeping all through the night but my ma woke me up. “Rebecca, it’s time to get moving. It’s dark.” We were about to start walking in the river, when Moses raised her finger to her lips and motioned for us to hide again.

  We stopped and listened. Men were shouting and dogs were barking on the riverbank. We heard Grower Brown shout, “Men, we’ve got to cross to that island. Those slaves could be hiding there.”

  Master Jeff answered, “Let’s go back and get some horses so we can ride across the river. I’m not partial to walking in water that’s full of snakes—and gators, too.”

  “Let’s hurry and get those horses then,” Grower Brown said. “I’m betting that those slaves didn’t run away on their own. This may be our chance to catch Moses!”

  I was shaking with fear. My ma took my hand; she was trembling, too. We looked at Moses, waiting for her to show us what to do. As soon as the men left the riverbank, Moses quietly crawled out of the hollow tree and started running to the raft. My pa crawled out of our hiding spot and followed her. Ma and I, we followed, too.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Bayou of Death

  When we reached the raft, Moses whispered, “We’re going to take that raft and drift downstream to the Bayou of Death. We’ll hide for a piece in the bayou and let the gators and water moccasins guard us. Grower Brown and his men can ride their horses in the river but not in the bayou; with all the bushes and tree roots, the horses would be likely to break their legs. And we know Master Jeff is scared to walk in the water. He’ll be in no rush to search for us in the bayou, not any time soon.”

  My pa frowned. “Isn’t the bayou to the south?”

  “Yes,” Moses said. “Sometimes on the Railroad you have to go south to get north.”

  Pa climbed onto the raft. The logs sank in the water but they held his weight. Then my ma climbed on, then me and last Moses. The raft barely held us afloat and my pa shifted his weight to keep us balanced. My pa whispered, “I know the Bayou of Death. When I was a boy, I played there on Sundays.”

  Moses used a pole to steer us into the current. We all crouched down, with our faces just above the water. Moses told us to keep looking for a small creek that ran between the river and the bayou. Moonlight fell on the water and we hoped there was enough light to find that creek. The raft followed the river, twisting and turning. We sat up now but held each other tight so we wouldn’t fall into the water.

  Like my pa, I knew about the Bayou of Death. On Sundays, field workers from the plantation would throw logs across one creek, then another. The boys would dare each other to wade into the water of the bayou alone, but no one would because they were all afraid. So in the end, all of them would go in together. Sometimes they brought back snakes to scare us girls. My ma said I should never go near that bayou, not because of the snakes, but because, from time to time, runaway slaves hid there. She didn’t want me near trouble.

  One summer day Miss Clarissa had asked me to come and play in an old log cabin across the river from the bayou. Her granddaddy had built the cabin when he started clearing land to plant cotton. She carried some china dishes and a blanket and I carried a basket of food. Now I remembered that, as we ate our picnic, I told Miss Clarissa that runaway slaves hid in the bayou.

  Had Miss Clarissa told her father or her brother that runaways hid there? She couldn’t have known that there would be any harm in that. How could she have known that one day I would be a runaway hiding in the bayou? I didn’t know whether I should tell Moses what I had told Miss Clarissa, but Moses was busy guiding the raft downstream, and I decided not to tell her, at least, not for now.

  Pointing to a narrow opening along the riverbank, Moses said softly, “There. We go in there.” My pa knelt, took the pole from Moses and pushed the raft into the creek. Moses said, “Push deeper until we find a patch of dry ground. Then we can get some sleep.”

  Overhead, moss hung on the cypress trees and made the dark night darker. It was quiet except for the sound of frogs croaking. As the raft struggled through the weeds and tangled roots, I knew that I had to tell Moses what I had told Miss Clarissa. I said that Miss Clarissa and I used play in a log cabin across the river from the bayou. It was a secret place where we could play without her father knowing. From there, we could see the field hands crossing the creek into the bayou. One day I had told Miss Clarissa that runaway slaves hid in the bayou.

  My ma said, “Oh, no, Rebecca, you should never have told her that. Now they’ll be looking for us here.” My face burned with the shame I felt.

  Moses said, “Take this pole, child, and push us deeper into the bayou. There is no going back now, whatever Miss Clarissa did or did not choose to tell her brother and her pa. Put your back into it. We’ve got to get to the heart of the bayou.”

  I knew Moses was right; there was no going back. Moses was not only strong but wise, and I knew I would learn much from her as we made our way to freedom.

  We found a dry spot in the middle of the bayou. In the darkness, it was hard to get off the raft and I slipped on the muddy shore. My pa pulled me up and carried me to dry land where we sat and ate the cornbread that my ma had carried in the calico bag. It was soggy but we ate every last bit of it. Moses told us to try to sleep. I rested but could not sleep. The croaking of the frogs was loud and I thought I heard snakes and gators sliding in and out of the water.

  My pa hugged me. “I’d rather be on the run—even with the gators—than a broken man under the whip of Grower Brown. Try to sleep, Rebecca.”

  My ma put her head on one of my pa’s shoulders and I put my head on the other. Moses broke the silence, “There’s nothing to do but wait. We may have to wait two, three days until Grower Brown and his men give up and start looking farther north. He’s probably hired patrollers to look for us and those patrollers will want the money he’s offered them for our capture. I just hope that Miss Clarissa didn’t tell her pa about the bayou.”

  Soon after, and out of the quiet of the night, we heard singing. Moses held her finger to her lips and we all listened. I recognized the voice and the song. “Moses, it’s my friend Miss Clarissa. She’s come to help us.” I was about to call out to my friend when Moses put her hand over my mouth.

  Moses looked at me and shook her head. “Rebecca, runaways don’t have any white friends who live on plantations. Hush, child.”

  The sound of Miss Clarissa’s voice got stronger as she walked along the creek. Moses said, “Her father and brother may be using the girl to trick us. We can’t take any chances.”

  Miss Clarissa stopped singing and started talking. “I don’t know if you are in the bayou, Rebecca, but I’m leaving two bags of food for you. If you are in there, you must be hungry. I had to come. I had to come even though I was afraid because I need to warn you. Rebecca, you and your pa and your ma—you’re all in great danger. If you are in there, you must leave the bayou right away.”

  I started to move toward Miss Clarissa, but Moses grabbed my arm and whispered, “Wait.”

  Miss Clarissa went on, “I want to tell you what happened. If my father and brother find you here, you need to know that I didn’t betray you.”

  She paused to catch her breath. “Patrollers searched the island with dogs today. The dogs picked up your scent in a hollow tree but the trail went cold on the far shore. My father said you couldn’t swim be
cause he thinks slaves sink like stones in the water. My brother said the only way to escape from the island was on a raft and that raft would carry you downstream to the Bayou of Death.”

  As we listened to what Miss Clarissa was saying, Moses relaxed her grip on my arm. “My father said he and his men will search the bayou tonight and, if they don’t find you, they’ll ride upriver in the morning. I had to warn you, even though my father will be very angry if he finds out. Before I came, I went into the kitchen and asked Ada to fill some sacks with food. At first Ada looked puzzled, then she smiled and realized that it was food for you. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tom, the son of Grower Timothy. I hid in the pantry and waited for him to leave before I slipped out the back door. When I got to the log cabin, I started singing the song we used to sing together, Rebecca, so you would know it was me coming to warn you.”

  She paused, out of breath. “You must flee tonight, Rebecca. When you reach freedom, ask someone to write a letter to me so I will know that you are safe. I’m your friend. I will always be your friend.” As she walked back to the big house, I heard her crying.

  Moses said, “Well, child, I reckon I was wrong about your friend Miss Clarissa. Thank the Lord I was wrong. Obadiah, will you cross the creek and get the food?” My pa disappeared into the darkness and was back soon. We tore off chunks of bread and ate them hungrily.

  “Now, let’s get these tired bodies back on the raft,” Moses said. “Deborah, hold the food as high as you can so it doesn’t get wet. We have to move, and we have to move fast, but before we go, I’ll cover our tracks.”

  Moses reached into a sack of food, took out a ham, and cut off a large slice. She stamped her feet on the marshy ground and pulled her kerchief off her head. She wrapped the ham in the kerchief and left it in the mud. Then we all climbed onto the raft.

  She chuckled. “When Grower Brown sees those scraps of cloth, he’ll think the gators got us.” She shoved her pole into the mud and pushed the raft off the bank. As we left, we saw a gator swimming toward the ham. In a moment, all that was left were scraps of cloth from the kerchief and the slithering marks of the gator’s claws.

  We passed from the creek into the river. Through the night, we moved north, upstream. It was hard, hard work, even for a strong man like my pa. I thought to myself, “We’ll never get upstream by morning.” I looked at my pa and saw that his face was glistening with sweat. But, as he looked back at me, his lips curled into a smile.

  He spoke softly, “Rebecca, you were right when you said we had to run away. I’ve been waiting for freedom all my life without knowing it.”

  Just before the sun came up, we stopped and went ashore. The raft slipped back downstream, twisting and turning in the gentle current. Moses told us to hide in a thick clump of bushes in the cool shade. We ate some of the food Miss Clarissa had brought us, and my ma and I tried to sleep while Moses and my pa sat up and watched over us.

  After Grower Brown and the patrollers searched the bayou, they would search for us along this stretch of the river. I hoped we were safe, hidden in the bushes.

  When my ma and I woke up, the sun was going down. My ma asked Moses, “What do we do next? When do we get on the Railroad?”

  Moses laughed. “Deborah, honey, we are on the Railroad. The next station is the Pickerings’ farm. But before we get there, we’ve got to stop and pick up one more passenger for this train. Tonight we’re going to Grower Timothy’s plantation. Right now we’ve got to start walking, fast but quiet. The last place a grower thinks to look for runaways is another man’s plantation.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  My Uncle Josiah

  We reached Grower Timothy’s plantation just as the sun was beginning to rise. We were more frightened than tired because we knew Grower Timothy was as mean as Grower Brown.

  Moses knocked on the door of a slave shack. When the door opened, we were surprised to see my uncle Josiah, my pa’s brother. Moses clapped her hands. “Obadiah, I wanted to surprise you. Josiah is going to ride the Underground Railroad with you.”

  We hugged one another and talked until we heard a loud bell, a bell that called the slaves to work every morning. Uncle Josiah hurried to the fields while we hid out of sight of the window in a corner of the shack. We did not dare to look but we pictured what was happening outside—the slaves coming and going, the overseers shouting at them to hurry, the chickens clucking and the dogs barking.

  The grapevine was busy that day, carrying news from slave to slave. The house slaves listened to Grower Timothy and his son as they talked about us runaways and they carried news to the fields, along with food and water. They told Uncle Josiah what Grower Timothy had said, and that night Uncle Josiah carried that news back to us.

  “Last night Grower Brown sent his patrollers into the Bayou of Death,” Uncle Josiah said. “But, of course, they didn’t find you runaways. He thinks the gators got you. But Grower Timothy’s son, Tom, has a different opinion. He was staying at Grower Brown’s last night and he saw Miss Clarissa heading to the bayou. He thinks she warned you that the patrollers were headed that way. Grower Timothy knows I’m your brother, Obadiah, and he knows I’m not afraid to run away. After my wife and little son died of the fever last spring, I have nothing to lose. I’m ready to ride the Underground Railroad and he knows it. He’ll be watching me.”

  Moses said, “That’s exactly what I want Grower Timothy to do, to watch this shack. Under the bed, there is an empty well. A long time ago slaves dug a tunnel there that leads to the woods. Now that it’s dark, we can make our way down the well and through the tunnel. A driver will be waiting for us in the woods.”

  Then Moses and Uncle Josiah lifted the bed out of the way and began scraping away the dirt. When Moses lifted up two old boards, we smelled the mustiness of the old well. We heard footsteps and Uncle Josiah whispered, “Grower Timothy and his men are starting to surround my shack.”

  Moses said, “It’s time to go.” She hurried down a wooden ladder that was set in the old well and motioned for me to follow her, then my ma, my pa and Uncle Josiah. When we reached the bottom of the well, Moses lit a candle, and in the flickering light I could see a tunnel, a tunnel just big enough for us to crawl through.

  “Wait here,” Moses said. “I’ve got some business to do in the shack.” She climbed back up the ladder, carrying the candle in one hand. At the top of the ladder, she held the candle to some kindling. We saw the fire and smelled smoke. Moses left the kindling burning on the floor of the shack and pulled the boards back over the hole.

  The tunnel was narrow and low so I had to crawl on my hands and knees. Moses said, “Now, child, just pretend you are a little mouse crawling through the earth. Go as fast as you can!” I put one hand down, then the other, and kept crawling. I kept crawling until I saw moonlight and knew I had come to the end of the tunnel. I climbed up a log ladder into a small clearing.

  I thought we had gone a long way from Uncle Josiah’s shack, but when I looked through the trees, the burning shack was a stone’s throw away. Sparks jumped from shack to shack, and Grower Timothy shouted for his slaves to pour water on the flames. I turned away; I never wanted to see Grower Timothy again.

  Uncle Josiah stood silent, watching the fire destroy the shack where he had lived with his wife and son. He spoke in a low, soft voice, “Goodbye, my dear wife. I must leave you and our son here, but we’ll meet in the next world.” He wiped tears from his eyes and my pa put a hand on his shoulder. “Amen,” he said.

  We bent low and ran into the woods. In a small clearing, we saw a man standing beside a wagon. Moses said, “This is Ezekiel and he’s been waiting for us. Josiah, you know Ezekiel. He’s a slave on Grower Timothy’s plantation and I’m hoping he won’t be missed in the confusion of the fire.”

  Ezekiel laughed, “I hope I won’t be missed, too, Moses. But I’ll drive you and these good people in any case.”

  “Where are we going?” my ma asked.

  Moses said, “To North C
arolina.”

  “I like the sound of that word ‘north,’” my pa said.

  After we climbed into the wagon, Ezekiel put bags of feed around us and covered us with planks. Then he loaded more feed on top of the boards. The bags were so dusty I started to choke, and Moses whispered for me to hold my breath. We had to stay quiet as we crossed a wide lane on Grower Timothy’s plantation, a lane that led to the main road.

  We moved slowly and quietly until we reached the road. Grower Timothy and his men were so busy with the fire that they didn’t notice Ezekiel driving the wagon. We stopped by a creek and washed the dust out of our mouths. After Ezekiel told us to get back in the wagon, he again packed the bags of feed tight around us, then covered us with the planks of wood and more feed. Now we moved along at a fast pace, bouncing as the wagon jolted along the rough road. My pa tried to hold tight to me so I wouldn’t be thrown against the hard wooden boards above and below us. Even so, I felt bruises rising on my arms, knees and forehead.

  We heard Ezekiel talking to the two horses pulling the wagon, talking to them as though they were people. “You’ve got to get these runaways up the Railroad fast. Far from Grower Timothy’s. Then you and I will hurry back to the plantation before that man even knows we were gone. Giddy-up!”

  When Ezekiel fell silent, Moses sang softly. “Ezekiel saw the wheel, way up in the middle of the sky. The big wheel turned by faith, the little wheel turned by the grace of God. A wheel in a wheel, way up in the middle of the sky.” The words were familiar because field hands sang this song when they picked cotton.

  I closed my eyes. My body ached but the rumble of the wheels was a comfort to me. Every turn of the wheels brought us closer to Canada.

  Without warning, the wagon lurched to a stop. I held my breath and my pa hugged me tight. I heard a man’s voice, a voice I did not know. “You there, boy, what are you doing out at this time of night? You know, south of here, two growers lost some slaves.”