Flash for Freedom by George Macdonald Fraser

Author:George Macdonald Fraser [Fraser, George Macdonald]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Action & Adventure, Historical
ISBN: 9780007532483
Google: gg05fXAPysgC
Publisher: HarperCollins UK
Published: 2013-08-08T15:48:36+00:00

9

If ever you have to run slaves — which seems unlikely nowadays, although you never can tell what may happen if we have the Liberals back — the way to do it is by steamboat. The Sultana, bound for Cincinnati by way of Baton Rouge, Vicksburg, Memphis and Cairo, beat the old Balliol College all to nothing. It was like cruising upriver in a fine hotel, with the niggers out of sight, mind and smell, no pitching or rolling to disturb the stomach, and above all, no John Charity Spring.

The speed and sureness with which Crixus and his minions organised our departure had almost banished my first fears. I had woken on a resolve to run from the house and take my chance with the Navy, but they kept far too close a watch on things for that, and by the afternoon I was glad of it. Crixus spent four hours drilling me in the minu test details of the journey, about cash, and passage tickets, and how the slaves would be fed en route, how I might answer casual inquiries and take part in river gossip without appearing too out of place, and by the end of it I realised how little chance I would have stood as a fugitive on my own account. The main thing was to talk as little as possible; there were enough Englishmen on the river in those days to make an extra one nothing out of the ordinary, but since I was meant to be a new-fledged slave trader it was important that I shouldn't make any foolish slips. My story would be that I had recently forsaken African blackbirding in favour of river dealing — I had all the expert knowledge for that, at any rate.

Really, it was astonishing how easy it was. In mid-afternoon, With a broad-brimmed planter's hat, my long-tailed coat, and half-boots, I joined my coffle in the cellars of Crixus's house. There Were six of them, in light ankle irons, with Randolph in the middle, looking damned miffed, which cheered me considerably. The other five, by the way, were free niggers in Crixus's employ, and like him devoted to the underground railroad. There was much hand-shaking and God-blessing, and then we were conducted through what seemed like miles of cellars to a deserted yard, from which it was a short step to the levee.

I had my heart in my mouth as I strode along, trying to look like Simon Legree, with my gang of coons shuffling behind; I had protested to Crixus that if the Navy were on the look-out for me the waterfront would be a deuced dangerous place, but he said not at the steamboat wharves, and he was right. We pushed through the crowds of niggers, stevedores, boatmen, passengers and bummarees without anyone giving us a glance; there were coffles by the score, with fellows dressed like me shepherding and spitting and cursing, bawling to each other and chewing on big black cigars; old ladies

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