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  In that next week, Hampton thought deeply about the charge Henry Warren had given him. He did not agree with it, nor did he say he would abide by his command. It was never his intention to stay behind. And even before the war had started he could go and come as he pleased. Catherine always knew Hampton wanted to join the fight, but he would need to do it in his own way, the way he felt was right.

  He was a freedman, true enough, but still not permitted to understand the magnitude of it—to think and act for himself, to freely choose, or to be and do as he saw fit for himself and his family. What Henry Warren had said did not take away the growing urge inside of him to leave and join the fight. Hampton would find some way to help defeat the rebels.

  It was not the threat from Henry Warren that brought the worry to his mind and indecision to his feet that moonless night. It was the thought of leaving behind Ruth, Callie, and his little boy, Charlie—what was left of his family.

  Hampton should not—he could not—leave without settling things with Ruth first. Only after would he speak with Catherine. After he was gone, Ruth would talk to the children. She was a good woman. He placed every trust in her.

  Hampton paced up and down the road from his cabin, stopping just short of the entry gate. He wanted to pass on through and walk right out of the gate, onto the main road. Not even the overseer, John Sweeney, could stop him. But Sweeney, like many of the other white men, had gone off to fight in the war; few were left behind, none at Belle Hill Farm.

  War had been declared. The new president had only been inaugurated a month before and was now fighting to regain half the country’s territory. Hampton felt he wanted to do something, anything, that could help this new man, Lincoln, and the Union Army.

  Hampton wanted to start walking and keep walking until he reached the James River. On the other side of the river was the Union Army outpost Fortress Monroe. He wasn’t sure what he would do when he got there. He knew they would not allow him to fight, to enlist as a soldier, or handle a gun, as this was said to be a fight for superiority between men of the same race.

  But where did that leave Hampton? At least he wanted to try. He had considered passing himself off as white. Others with his coloring had done the same, he knew. Never mind what would happen if he were discovered to be impersonating a soldier. Maybe it was a chance he would only take in such desperate times. But his heart was not completely made up in this direction. He never wanted to deny any part of himself. Though part of him was white, he was still a whole man, a whole person.

  The soil on which the soldiers fought was his home. Hampton knew his talents and skills could be of use. He knew the people. He knew the waterways, trails, and the roads. He could give information about the enemy. He was a good horseman. He would be happy just to dig ditches with his bare hands, as long as it helped the Union Army defeat the rebellion.

  Many, many years ago, the state of Virginia was known to be a leader in the struggle for this new country’s independence. Hampton often wondered why secession was necessary.

  He thought it was far too shortsighted of these many states to break away, to split off whenever new disagreements arose. Breaking apart would only make the nation weaker. Secession was no answer. Hampton’s side had long been chosen. He felt secession was the coward’s way, rather than facing the challenges that were laid down in the document that claimed this young country free and independent. He felt now perhaps there was too much independence.

  As a boy, Hampton was quick and bright. He had been taught to read and think and figure, at the behest of his father, Edward Wilcomb. His studies began later than his sisters’, but his eager mind and his father’s devotion made learning a joyful task.

  His education enabled him to read the document. Hampton knew what the words meant:

  Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes . . .

  And from the many books and histories and philosophies he read came a roaring flame inside of him; he most wanted with all of his heart to see an end to that barbaric system of slavery. Hampton’s father taught him so he knew and understood those words, as well:

  We hold these truths to be self-evident,

  that all men are created equal,

  that they are endowed by their Creator

  with certain unalienable Rights,

  that among these are

  Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.

  His father, Edward, was first and foremost a businessman who married late in life. When the children came, they came quickly—two daughters, Eloise, the elder, and then Catherine. With the birth of the second daughter, his wife, Mary Beth, became sick. All hopes of having a son were lost. But a son came to him though not of that union.

  Still, Edward lavished love and attention onto all of his children: his two girls, but especially the son he always wanted. He taught the boy to reason and stand up for what he knew was right. But only in the confines of Belle Hill Farm.

  Hampton could not be fully embraced by the Wilcomb family that Edward and Mary Beth created, because his mother, Elizabeth, was a slave. It was decided a year after Hampton’s birth that Elizabeth be sent away, but not sold, and because of that Hampton had no memory of her. When he could speak, he would ask, “Where is my mother?” But he was never given an answer that suited him.

  When Hampton turned ten, word came that his mother had been living in Baltimore and had died of pneumonia. He could not understand why he had not been allowed to know her. Why would his father, who claimed to love him as a son, refuse something that was allowed so many children in this world including his daughters: a mother. That left a loneliness in him that yielded to distrust for the man whom he loved and called Father.

  Years later, Edward decided that Hampton would accompany him to England. It was Edward’s thought to have the boy educated there. But Hampton would have nothing of it. He had fallen in love with Sara, the cook’s daughter.

  Hampton wanted to marry her and to travel to England together to start a new life, away from the shackles of this world they knew. Edward wanted the young man to expand his horizons for greater possibilities. There were times when Hampton would look back on his life and see that his father, in his own way, meant him well. Living with his family on Belle Hill Farm made him feel a sense of equality. But meeting Henry delivered such a shock and a reminder of what the world truly thought of him. Hampton knew the man never saw him as equal. In Henry’s presence, it surprised Hampton he had to fight to be equal in his own home.

  Hampton was tired of being considered as less. He had been treated as a slave all of his life, despite his freedom papers. He would have to carry them with him at all times, burning a hole in his breast pocket to his heart, the heart that yearned for freedom.

  He wanted to be free of the bonds that pressed down on him and made him feel not as a man should feel, but as powerless as a child. He wanted freedom for himself and his family. He wanted true freedom for his people and this country! His country! His home!

  Hampton’s mind was made up. He would speak with Ruth tonight.

  But all of that would have to wait for now. In the dim moonlight, Hampton could see someone moving quickly toward the crossroad. Hampton hurried to pass through the gate. He ran to greet the traveler. It appeared to be Raleigh, James Townsend’s boy from Colonel Stephen Mallory’s plantation, the next farm over. Something was certainly not right about that.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Raleigh Townsend

  May 23, 1861

  Later that same night

  From a closer distance, Hampton was sure it was Raleigh.

  He wondered what the boy was doing walking about alone at this hour of night, especially considering he was going in the opposite direction from his home. The Mallory farm was miles away and clear on the other side of a forest. The grove of wilderness separated the Mallory place from the Warren farm. It was the biggest and richest farm around; no one had more slaves than C
olonel Mallory.

  “Wooo hooo,” Hampton called to the boy, and waved.

  Hampton hoped no one was in need of medical care. With the war starting, doctors and their remedies were scarce to none now, outside of the army.

  “Raleigh?” Hampton called, jogging to reach him, “is that you?” He could see that the boy had been running. Raleigh stopped and gave acknowledgment to Hampton. He put his hands on his knees, bending over to catch his breath.

  “Yes . . . it’s . . . me.”

  “Where you off to, Raleigh, and at this time of night?”

  “Hampton . . .” the boy said, hardly able to talk and breathe at the same time. “Papa . . . sent me to . . .”

  “Your papa? Is everything all right?” Hampton felt worried.

  “Yes,” he huffed, “he’s fine. Well, I don’t know. I pretty much think so.”

  “What happened?” Hampton felt alarmed. “When did you see him last?”

  Hampton knew the boy’s father, James Townsend, very well. James and two more of Mallory’s field hands, Shep Mallory and Frank Baker, were being sent to build artillery placements for the Confederates. The three men were often gone for long periods of time. No slave wanted to fight on the side of the Confederacy and what they stood for, or help them in any way. Hampton felt himself lucky he was not forced to be in that position, to work for the rebels.

  “Tonight,” Raleigh began. “I mean just now.” The boy could hardly get his words out straight, he was so overwhelmed. “Oh, Hampton. You won’t believe what just happened. You just won’t believe what we did. I can hardly believe it myself. But it’s done, Hampton. It’s done. It’s done. And now it’s started.”

  “Started what?” Hampton feared the worst. “Slow down and tell me. Make sense to me,” Hampton said.

  But Raleigh could hardly pause.

  “Slow down now and catch your breath,” Hampton told Raleigh as he placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder to calm him. After sitting quietly for a moment, Raleigh was finally beginning to breathe easier.

  “Well,” the boy began, “as always, Master Mallory sent Shep and Frank and Papa to build another artillery placement. This time he sent them just near to the Union Fortress Monroe at the James River. This time Papa brought me along with him—because of my iron-working skills, he said. But they didn’t use them. I mean . . . they didn’t do it. I mean . . . we didn’t do it. I mean . . . we never built it.”

  Hampton’s heart had been racing but now it was going even faster. As the breath left his lungs, he broke out into a cold sweat at Raleigh’s words. He felt alarmed.

  Hampton knew he had to be patient and hear the boy out. Raleigh was already having a hard enough time catching his breath. Hampton needed to know the why of the mystery that was unfolding.

  “What happened? Speak plainly, Raleigh! Were you caught? Did you escape? Did Colonel Mallory change his mind?”

  “Not hardly,” Raleigh began again. Hampton could see how shaken up the boy was.

  “We did not build it, Hampton. . . . It had nothing to do with the colonel. Before we left, Papa and them got word that by the beginning of the week Master Mallory was planning to send the three of them farther down south, to South Carolina to do the same thing down there. Papa and Frank and Shep got to talking about it, for a long time, too. They all agreed, no matter what, they would not do it. They would find a way not to go. You know Papa doesn’t believe in what they’re doing.”

  “Yes,” Hampton said encouragingly, eager for Raleigh to continue.

  “So, instead of putting the artillery embankment at Fortress Monroe, we went across the river and turned ourselves over to the Union soldiers.”

  “You did what?!” Hampton’s eyes grew wide. He could not believe what he was hearing out of the boy’s mouth.

  “Yes, we did.” Raleigh took a moment to let his words settle over them. Hampton couldn’t help but remark how much the boy looked like his father, as if he’d gained more than ten years just by telling this story.

  “You see what I mean? Papa said it was bad enough Master Mallory forced them to work against the Yankees, but he said for sure he would not be sent into the Deep South, farther away from his family, to be of any more help to them. Papa said they didn’t know what else they could do.”

  Hampton was stunned. His mind was racing. If Raleigh’s story was true, Hampton could understand why the boy was so shaken up when he first arrived. Hampton himself needed time for this tale to catch up to his thinking mind.

  “What happened? What did they do to you? The soldiers, I mean.” Hampton wanted to know, fearing the worst. He had heard horrible tales of what the Northern army would do to slaves if they were caught, but thinking on it, it could be no worse than the capabilities of a slave’s master.

  A smile finally cracked on Raleigh’s face, and Hampton felt some of the tension leave his body. “Nothing bad—nothing bad at all. They took us into the fort and kept us. They were friendly enough. They fed us, all we wanted to eat. Then they talked to us.

  “At first, they asked us heaps and heaps of questions about why we came to the fort. We told them everything about what Colonel Mallory sent us to do . . . Papa and them are at the fort now. I was allowed to leave only to fetch Mama from Master Taylor’s farm.”

  Raleigh paused again, some of the earlier fear returning to his eyes. “That’s where I’m on my way now. He wants me to bring Mama back with me to the fort.”

  “Bring her to the fort?” Hampton wasn’t sure what this meant.

  “Yes, as quickly as I can,” Raleigh added.

  “What can she do there?”

  “It’s not what she can do. It’s what they’ll do for us,” Raleigh said. “Papa said the Union soldiers will protect us.”

  Protect them? Hampton thought. All this time, there was someone finally sent to protect the poor slave. Raleigh’s words fell hard on Hampton’s heart. Hampton did not know how the South would stand for this when word got out. The law insured that runaways must be returned to their masters. Hampton worried what would become of Raleigh and his father and the other men if they were wrong and they were sent back to Colonel Mallory; there was only one way to deal with runaways.

  “You want to come down to the cabin, and I can fetch you some water?” Hampton asked. “Might do you good to rest awhile.”

  “No,” Raleigh said. “Thank you. I brought my own.” He smiled, pointing to an army-issued canteen strapped to his back. Hampton studied it. The weight of it in his hands put more truth and hope in his heart than Raleigh’s words could.

  Still, he wondered if the Union soldiers could really be trusted. It all seemed so unbelievable. This blessed news did not feel as it should. Hope is not sweet when doubt lingers. Hampton did not want to dash the boy’s hopes—he wanted the story to be true.

  “Well, you better hurry on along then,” Hampton told Raleigh, patting his back.

  “Oh, Hampton,” Raleigh called back. “You should come too.”

  “Come to the fort?” Hampton asked, surprising himself at how magnificent the idea sounded in his own voice.

  Hampton watched as Raleigh headed off down the road into the night. At the pace he was going, the boy would get to his mother’s cabin by daybreak, maybe sooner. Hampton turned back down the path toward his cabin. Ruth was sure to be waiting for him.

  He knew what Ruth would say once he told her all he had learned from Raleigh. But how could he tell her what the boy had told him, something not even out of his wildest dreams? Hampton hardly believed it himself, and he knew there was only one way to know for sure.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ruth Wilcomb

  Even later that night

  Walking back to the cabin, Hampton knew what Ruth would say once he told her all he had learned from Raleigh. But how could he tell her what the boy had told him? Hampton was not sure if he even believed Raleigh’s story. He would have to go to the fort to see things for himself.

  Hampton saw her before she saw
him. He called out to her, and they ran to greet each other.

  “I thought you were gone,” Ruth said, her voice wavering. “I thought you had made up your mind to leave. I couldn’t let myself think you would leave without saying good-bye. When I saw you heading up the road toward the crossroad, and you took off running, I knew you were gone for good.” Ruth was in tears.

  Hampton held on to her to soften the hurt.

  “Have you come back? Does this mean you are giving up that notion of soldiering? Are you going to stay?”

  “I don’t know,” Hampton said. “There is something that I must find out first.”

  “What of Mister Henry’s order?” Her voice shook, and new tears threatened to spill from her eyes, even as Hampton wiped them away. “What will you explain to Mistress, Hampton?”

  He hesitated. Why won’t I just do as Raleigh says and go to the fort, tonight? he asked himself. What if Raleigh was right, but the Union soldiers went back on their word? Hampton wouldn’t let himself risk his family’s safety. He couldn’t. There was no way of knowing what would be waiting for his family if he took them all now. No, he would have to find out on his own.

  “I . . . I,” he started. “I will know what to say to Catherine when the time comes.”

  Hampton turned to his wife; the grief of losing her boy Joseph was still so new and a heavy weight, a thick cloud surrounding her heart, threatening to smother her. And Hampton’s call to leave would only add to that sorrow in her. The deceit and injustice of it was too much.

  Henry Warren had sold the boy away to a cotton farmer farther down south to pay the last of his farming debts, barely batting an eye as Ruth wailed on her knees.

  He had said that the boy had only been rented out for the cotton harvest. Henry Warren continued his lie, even with the word “Sold” stamped on the center of the receipt for the purchase of slaves.

  Everyone for miles around knew Henry Warren to be a man you couldn’t call a liar, but he had a way of twisting things, creating empty promises when convenience benefited him.