Sallie wept. She took no responsibility for the death of her friendship; it was just another case of others not loving her enough. She seemed not to understand why things had gone awry.

Now Sallie offered her husband. Her brothers and her mother picked at his bones.

She sat an arm's length from Nat Turner, but Sallie was a world away. She did not see him or the other captives. She did not understand. She could not see the suffering and the despair-she was color-blind.

Nat Turner could not afford the luxury of turning away. He was one of them. He was a captive. They were one.

The captives wondered if there would be anyone to lift up a shield for them. They wondered if G.o.d would send someone to lift their heads. Where was G.o.d?

Chapter 26.

The Great Dismal Swamp 1821.

He would never return to Southampton County. Nat Turner walked past great trees-oaks, Virginia pines, cypresses, walnuts, and magnolias-past roads he had never seen before. He could not bear to live in Cross Keys without Cherry and Ridd.i.c.k. The Great Dismal Swamp was days away.

Nat Turner was a hopeless man.

He had never had a complete family. Except for his mother, his African family was lost to him. His American ancestors were never known to him-he was never invited to meet his grandfather, never included in family outings. There were secrets and things given to his white brothers that would never be given to him.

His dreams of education-his labor had paid for a wasted education for his brother John Clarke-of a career, of a farm had been stolen away. To comfort himself, he had buried himself in the leaves and the pages of the Bible. He could not serve in an Ethiopian cathedral or monastery, but he had been promised a place, by his father, in the little country church.

Then that dream had been stolen.

But he had wanted peace, and he had set about making compromises with life. If he could not be a trustee or sit in the church, then he would be a circuit preacher, preaching throughout the countryside to the rejected and despised. He would be like the patriarch Jacob and satisfy himself with the speckled, spotted, and brown sheep. Maybe one day he would travel far enough to Philadelphia to meet Bishop Allen.

He had told himself, before Cherry was stolen, that he would be satisfied with the gift of her love and the gift of his small family. Maybe this was all there was, maybe slavery was G.o.d's will for him; some men had cruel fates. Nat Turner would bear up under his. The love of his wife, Cherry, and of his son was G.o.d's gift to him and made his existence bearable. Perhaps his dreams were only dreams and G.o.d planned no more for him than bondage-with his family as his consolation.

Nat Turner loved his Father. It was not lavish gifts that G.o.d said He wanted as proof of His children's love. What G.o.d wanted was unyielding obedience. So Nathan Turner had been a most obedient son.

He had obeyed his mother, and to honor G.o.d, he had obeyed the earthly masters put over him. He had obeyed the earthly laws-he did not steal, he did not curse, he did not drink. Nathan Turner had obeyed not only the letter but also the heart of G.o.d's law-he had loved G.o.d with all his heart, soul, and mind. He had loved his neighbors and his brothers-those of all nations and tongues-as he loved himself. He had even given the most difficult obedience: He had loved his enemies. As a son of peace, he had learned to turn the other cheek.

He was G.o.d's obedient servant, even if it cost him his dignity. He had obeyed G.o.d in laying down his own will and allowing himself to love Cherry. He had laid down his own desires-to own a farm, to be a scientist, to be a bishop, to be treated as an equal. To be a man. He compromised his own desires all for the Father he loved.

In return, G.o.d made a promise: Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which G.o.d hath prepared for them that love Him.

Nathan Turner had obeyed by love and faith even when it did not seem reasonable to other men. In return for his love and obedience, G.o.d had made him a promise.

Then shall thy light break forth as the morning, and thine health shall spring forth speedily: and thy righteousness shall go before thee; the glory of the LORD shall be thy reward. Then shalt thou call, and the Lord shall answer; thou shalt cry, and He shall say, Here I am.

If thou take away from the midst of thee the yoke, the putting forth of the finger, and speaking vanity; And if thou draw out thy soul to the hungry, and satisfy the afflicted soul; then shall thy light rise in obscurity, and thy darkness be as the noon day: And the LORD shall guide thee continually, and satisfy thy soul in drought, and make fat thy bones: and thou shalt be like a watered garden, and like a spring of water, whose waters fail not.

And they that shall be of thee shall build the old waste places: thou shalt raise up the foundations of many generations; and thou shalt be called, The repairer of the breach, The restorer of paths to dwell in.

Now Cherry and Ridd.i.c.k were gone.

Where was G.o.d now? Instead of the promises, Nat Turner had received only sadness and more humiliation. What he got in return for his love and obedience was the pain of watching his heavenly Father chase after those who did not love Him. What he got in return for his obedience was G.o.d giving His favor to those who disobeyed Him, to ones who called themselves master. Nat Turner could see with his own eyes that G.o.d favored the sons who mocked Him.

No matter how hard he prayed and studied, no matter how temperate he was, no matter how he turned the other cheek and forgave others, G.o.d did not love him enough to spare him or to spare his family.

He was alone in the world.

Maybe he had not heard G.o.d at all. Maybe all along he had been deceiving himself. Maybe the One he had loved most in the world had never loved him.

Abandoned. Betrayed. G.o.d had vanished into thin air.

G.o.d had been his comfort: There was no big house, no wealth that he could look to for rea.s.surance. All that he had was G.o.d, and Nat Turner had given his life to Him. G.o.d had been the only Father he could whisper to, the only Father to wrap an arm around his shoulders. G.o.d's spirit and His Word had raised him. But now he was alone.

Nat Turner kept from the road and walked among the trees. The shoes were good protection, though he missed the feel of gra.s.s beneath his feet.

Maybe he had not heard G.o.d at all.

Maybe all along he had been deceiving himself. Doubt. G.o.d did not love him-denied by even his heavenly Father. The only Father he had been able to trust, the only Father he could openly claim, had turned His back on him.

Nat Turner had stood up for G.o.d and for righteousness because he loved Him. He had spoken the words that G.o.d had put in his mouth, and for them he had been beaten and ridiculed. He had stood up for G.o.d, but G.o.d had not stood up for him.

He was disconsolate. He was forsaken while those who did not love G.o.d, who mocked G.o.d and disobeyed His Words, prospered. Nat Turner continued walking, head down.

Righteous art thou, O LORD, when I plead with thee: yet let me talk with thee of thy judgments: Wherefore doth the way of the wicked prosper? Wherefore are all they happy that deal very treacherously?

Nat Turner paid little attention to the sky or the birds singing around him. Instead, he thought of those he had known all his life, the men and women of Cross Keys-the Francises, the Whiteheads, the Turners. He thought of the ones he had overheard plotting against him in his father's church.

Thou hast planted them, yea, they have taken root: they grow, yea, they bring forth fruit: thou art near in their mouth, and far from their reins.

He thought of the farms they had and the houses they'd built. He thought of the Whiteheads' foolish son, a false prophet, in the pulpit. He thought of the power in Elizabeth Turner's hands-soft hands that had never suffered. She had everything.

The wicked men and women had families and land and no one sold them away, hanged them, or bound them in chains. A wicked man stood in G.o.d's pulpit and G.o.d did nothing. The wicked ones had murdered their brothers and sisters, sold them into slavery, and even murdered the land with their dreams of cotton's wealth. Those who called themselves masters had committed adultery, raping slaves, and sold their own children away, and still the Lord said nothing.

Nat Turner thought of his mother, Nancie, of Hark, of Easter, of Will, of Berry Newsom, of the Artis brothers, and of all the others who had suffered. It did not seem fair that the ones who believed had nothing to show for their love and their labor. It did not seem just that those who made only a show of G.o.d were benefiting while the ones who turned their cheeks suffered. When would G.o.d send someone to vindicate them?

All over America, and throughout the world, the false prophets spread hatred. A precious gift of adoration, words of love smeared by power-l.u.s.t, greed, and bigotry that oozed out of teachers' mouths, dripped from pages as messages of hate. They blamed their wickedness on G.o.d. The stink of their lies spread like smoke from a wildfire.

G.o.d had turned His back on His darker children. The lighter ones said the proof was in their hands-they owned and controlled everything, including other men. The darker children of the world suffered, crying out, stretching their hands toward heaven.

The wicked ones, the plunderers, beat and murdered and stole and raped in His Name! Where was G.o.d? How long would He be silent?

How could anything change without G.o.d's intervention? If G.o.d didn't move, then faith was for nothing.

But thou, O LORD, knowest me: thou hast seen me, and tried mine heart toward thee: pull them out like sheep for the slaughter, and prepare them for the day of slaughter. How long shall the land mourn, and the herbs of every field wither, for the wickedness of them that dwell therein?

Then Nat Turner stopped himself. He looked briefly at the sky. G.o.d did not hear him. G.o.d did not know him. G.o.d did not love him; He preferred to prosper the wicked. He preferred to be the G.o.d of only white men.

If G.o.d turned His back, then Nat Turner would turn his.

He was finished with compromise. He would not pray anymore. He did not want to hear from G.o.d. He would find his own way to survive. He would make a life of his own and sail away.

The roads were mostly deserted. No one stopped him.

It took Nat Turner three days to reach the Great Dismal.

I got a hiding place.

Throw me overboard.

I got a hiding place.

He stepped into the forest, and darkness swallowed him.

Chapter 27.

It was like the forest he had known all his life. Why would anyone be afraid to set foot there? They were all woodsmen and knew how to wield an axe. Perhaps the stories of the Great Dismal were lies, like all the other lies he had been told.

But as he walked farther in, the trees began to thicken so that there was less light. Tangled, he tripped over roots and had to stop until his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

As he moved even farther in, the trunks of the trees were wider, the leaves denser. The gra.s.s and the weeds from the ground seemed to mesh with the tree branches and leaves, almost like a net.

Deeper still, the vines, leaves, and boughs became a wall, and Nat Turner had to hack his way through. The softness of the light that did filter through changed the color of things-so that the trees, the leaves, and the gra.s.s darkened in hue. The ground beneath his feet softened, turning to wet sponge, and sucked at his shoes.

The trees engulfed him and gave him refuge. He was more than twenty-one and now, at last, his first taste of freedom. No landmarks. Alone with his thoughts, he walked among the trees, a primordial cathedral.

He smelled green plants, he smelled musk, and then suddenly sweetness. He heard sounds he recognized-the screech of an owl, the scampering of a squirrel up a tree. But he also heard animal calls that he had never heard before-far away-and then just over his head. He heard rustling on the ground beside him and thought he heard wings flapping. Nat Turner gripped his axe tightly.

The trees engulfed him. Nat Turner looked around for a bent tree or a branch that would orient him, but this was not the forest he knew. There was no way to know left from right, and for all he knew, he was walking in circles. He moved forward, only stopping from time to time so that his eyes could adjust.

He had to hack his way through now, to fight for every inch, had to fight to untangle his feet. The leaves rubbed his face and his hands. He wanted to stop to examine them, to wipe off the moisture and whatever else clung to him. But Nat Turner knew he must keep moving and he knew why white men were afraid.

The Great Dismal Swamp was a dark, wild place, an untamed place, maybe as it was in the Garden of Eden. There was little difference between day and night. He saw plants and shapes he did not recognize. The Dismal was magnificent and menacing.

The swamp seemed to breathe, the air felt as though it was expanding and contracting around him. It was alive, beautiful, but it was dangerous. The trees whispered to one another, and the animals had no fear of man. It was lush and exotic. And he was certain that serpents watched, crawling near each footstep that landed.

He made his way over marshy ground, into deeper greenness that was blackness, until he was in the belly of the swamp. He found comfort in the darkness away from all other men he had known. He found healing in the green, the brown, and the blackness.

In the belly of Hebron he found a clearing. From high overhead, gentle light filtered through the tree boughs and leaves. There were fallen trees waiting for him and he made himself a lean-to shelter. There was a narrow bubbling stream of brown water. The birds sang to him in the morning and frogs croaked and crooned to him at night. There were salt-marsh mallow flowers and morning glories growing wild around him. He had expected to find it all blackness, but he soon adjusted and found that he could see. He used his axe to cut wood and used a flint that he had brought with him and sticks he found to make a fire.

He would follow the old ways, as in Ethiopia. He would fast some days and he would eat no pork.

Nat Turner learned to see.

It was a strange place, but there was comfort for him in the darkness, away from all the others he knew. Healing in the green, the brown, the blackness.

The Great Dismal Swamp was a place of refuge, his Hebron, his hiding place. Nat Turner did not ask G.o.d any questions and he ignored the answers that drifted down from the sky, sifting through the leaves and riding to him on the breezes.

At first Nat Turner saw no one else, but in a few days, his eyes and ears acclimated. Again, he learned to see.

Chapter 28.

February 1831 When they arrived at the Whitehead farm, Nat Turner looked out at the fields. It was cold, but the captives were still at work-Richard Whitehead's make-work: moving stones and logs. They sang the mournful songs of suffering people, the praise of the brokenhearted.

Just as the sun fought to rise each day, Nat Turner saw the courage of those who worked in the fields. Each morning they rose to bend their backs at work. They prayed to endure and for their suffering to end. Each day they found the courage to find some reason to hope and endure in spite of their circ.u.mstances.

Nat Turner pulled the wagon into an open s.p.a.ce beside a leafless tree, away from the fancy carriages. "Don't you get into any trouble, now, Nat Turner. You hear me?" Sallie said it loudly to show off to the other white women, so that they could see she had a slave she controlled.

"Yes, ma'am." He helped Sallie from the wagon and then spoke to some of the other captive men gathered at the Whitehead farm, men who had driven the wagons and carriages for their captors.

He saw Yellow Nelson, Hubbard, and Tom. The farms they worked on were far apart and weeks might pa.s.s, especially in the winter and during harvest, before they saw one another.

Nat Turner nodded at Mother Easter when he saw her arrive with Lavinia Francis. Another broken heart. He looked at her captor, Lavinia. Two.

But his gaze was drawn back to the fields. The captives sang, but beneath the words and the melody he heard sorrow-and an inexplicable enduring hope. No one sang the story of G.o.d's love more than someone despised, grateful for the tiniest sign of G.o.d's love. It seemed as though he had seen the same people in the Great Dismal Swamp.

Chapter 29.

The Great Dismal Swamp 1821.

The runaways, the Maroons in the swamp, were invisible to him at first. Then he began to see other black people-individuals, families, groups-walking by, keeping the silence of the Great Dismal Swamp.

Nat Turner understood as he watched the swamp people moving without sound, without disturbance; they had finally allowed him to see them.