It was difficult to see the crowd once he sat down, but Nat Turner felt them and heard them. He felt the anger, the hot bloodl.u.s.t in the air around him. Nothing would satisfy them but death.

"You had us fooled before, n.i.g.g.e.r, with your reading and your bowing, but we got you now!"

"You gonna dangle from that tree, boy!"

When William Parker entered Nat Turner's "not guilty" plea, the crowd erupted with outrage. He was a murderer, they said, and they demanded his head.

There was not to be much to the trial. Nat Turner did not expect more. He was not allowed to speak in his defense. There was no one to speak in his defense.

There was only one witness against him: an eyewitness, Levi Waller.

Levi Waller spoke lies, drunken lies. He drank even as he gave his testimony. Then Levi Waller said one true thing.

A slip of the tongue, or the hand of G.o.d?

William Parker seemed startled, then quickly regained his composure. He paused momentarily. He sighed and then began to press Levi Waller. "My question is this: Where were you, Mr. Waller?" Parker sighed again. "You testified you were in your home, and then you testified you were hidden in the weeds. Now, today, you tell us you were hidden in the plum grove and then in the swamp. Is there a swamp close to your house?"

Levi Waller was silent.

Parker cleared his throat. "Where were you? Where were you, Mr. Waller?"

Levi looked at the judges but did not answer.

"You mentioned some other place I've never heard you mention before, Mr. Waller. You said the teacher came to meet you there. Where was it you said you were?"

Waller looked at Nathaniel Francis. He nodded at Levi to rea.s.sure him, but Levi's mouth began to tremble. He hung his head. "My still."

Waller did not see anything. He frowned as though the words hurt, as though they were being pulled from inside him. Waller did not see anything. He was at his still.

Nat Turner looked away then. He imagined those who had died because of Waller's perjury. Families left fatherless. Children without a mother. So many broken hearts. He thought he saw them among the martyrs, among the witnesses. Though the courtroom was silent, as before a tornado, he thought he heard their voices among those of the witnesses.

Who would pay for their murders? No one moved to charge Levi Waller.

Then, in the courtroom, the screaming and shouting began again. The crowd demanded Nat Turner's blood. Waller's lies, his failure, only intensified their need.

Nat Turner looked at the two judges, Trezvant and James Parker. Would they speak? Would they warn the people and encourage them to repent?

Then Congressman Trezvant smiled at the people in the courtroom, as though to rea.s.sure them. Then his face was solemn, sitting as a judge, now testifying as a witness, Trezvant began to speak. "Nat Turner is a religious zealot, a fanatic, carried away by the l.u.s.t for power and money. He has confessed his guilt to me. Persuaded by zealotry, Nat Turner and his band were motivated by ignorance and greed-by the love of money," Trezvant said.

But when they deliver you up, take no thought how or what ye shall speak: for it shall be given you in that same hour what ye shall speak.

For it is not ye that speak, but the Spirit of your Father which speaketh in you.

"Nothing I have done has ever been for money!" Nat Turner shouted the words in the midst of Congressman Trezvant's impromptu testimony. Nat Turner had not intended to speak.

The words had gushed from him, pushed up from his belly. But the people and the judges did not want to hear him. Nat Turner was warned to be quiet.

He sat mute in front of the drunken, screaming mob. There was no deliberation.

Trezvant smiled as he delivered the verdict. "The Court after hearing the testimony and from all the circ.u.mstances of the case is unanimously of the opinion that the prisoner is guilty. It is considered by the Court that you be taken hence to the jail from whence you were taken therein to remain until Friday the 11th day of November, on which day between the hours of ten o'clock in the forenoon and four o'clock in the afternoon you are to be taken by the sheriff to the usual place of execution and there be hanged by the neck until you are dead." Trezvant struck the gavel thrice for show.

The congressman looked at the clerk and then at Nathaniel Francis. "The Court values the said slave to the sum of three hundred and fifty"-Nathaniel Francis objected and Trezvant changed the amount-"three hundred and seventy-five dollars." William Parker, relative to young Acting Judge James Parker, was allowed the sum of ten dollars for defending Nat Turner.

Chapter 89.

Outside the jailhouse people yelled, pelting the jail with stones. Pounding the outer door, they threatened to take Nat Turner. Frenzy. His six final days Nat Turner spent alone without visitors, except for one visit by Thomas Gray.

None of his family, no black people could be seen in town; it was too dangerous. The white people of Cross Keys and Jerusalem were united now. All of Southampton County and their guests were celebrating; they had tied a black man to a horse and dragged him to his death.

Two days after Nat Turner's trial, Thomas Gray came. Gray was his friend. But Thomas would have to be both friend and family now. Nat Turner was comforted at the thought of him.

Tears filled Thomas's eyes when he saw Nat Turner. "I wanted to come sooner. But it has been too dangerous for me to see you. You understand?"

What did Thomas want him to say in response? Weren't friends born for times of adversity?

"Now they've asked me to come to you. They've asked me..."

They? It was so easy to read his childhood friend's thoughts and heart. It was what made him endearing. It was also the same trait that made him dangerous. It was always a game, a game Nat Turner could not win.

"With all the confusion in the courtroom, they've asked me to help clarify what happened. They've asked me to write, to create a sort of confession."

"A confession? What confession? I pled innocent, just like all the others. I have confessed to nothing. I am not guilty. I have offered no confession. The trial is over. There is already a record."

"They mean to recreate the record... the trial."

They meant to devise a lie. "Trezvant, Nathaniel Francis, Levi Waller? They want you to be their writer."

Thomas Gray bowed his head. Nat Turner thought he saw a tear slide down his friend's face.

"You don't understand, Nat. They threaten my family... me." He looked up and then down again. "I'm not as strong as you."

"What have you done, Thomas? What is your part in this?"

To save his own life, Thomas would offer up the private things the two of them had shared, their childhood-Nat's private thoughts, not Thomas's-Nat's dreams. "Will you write it alone? Will others work with you to create the lie? Trezvant, I suppose?" His sense of betrayal was worse than any anger he had ever felt. "What part will you tell in the story? Our childhood, the things I told you in private? I imagine Trezvant will add his fantasies to it."

"I am not the only one. John Clarke is involved, and Nathaniel Francis, and Levi Waller."

"I might have known. You trade men's lives for a few coins. What was your share?" Nat Turner looked at his friend. "They use you to plunge the blade and turn it; they use you to betray me." The drying scabs made it painful, but he smiled at his friend. "So, finally, you will write your novel."

"You don't understand." Thomas Gray wept.

Of course he understood. Everything Nat Turner had and hoped for in this world was lost. He was about to give up his life, and what would be left behind now, the story of his life, would be a lie. It was futile. He should have sailed away.

There is no man that hath left house, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my sake, and the gospel's, but he shall receive an hundredfold now in this time, houses, and brethren, and sisters, and mothers, and children, and lands, with persecutions; and in the world to come eternal life.

But many that are first shall be last; and the last first.

He could not sail away. He had promised and there was a family debt he owed.

For his surrender, for his service, he was promised an eternal reward. The first resurrection. What of Thomas? Nothing now, nothing hereafter. "Repent while there is still time. Ask G.o.d to forgive you and walk away from this thing, Thomas. Repent.

"They will do it, no doubt, but you don't have to be involved. Don't surrender your soul for this-for nothing." He looked at Thomas Gray, pleaded with him. "You are my friend."

"You don't understand. My life would be worth nothing."

There was no point. It was finished. It was over. "Go, my friend."

"I have no choice. If I did, I-they are forcing me."

"What you do, do quickly!" When his friend left, Nat Turner prayed to G.o.d to cauterize the spot where his heart bled.

Chapter 90.

Nat Turner prayed for a quick death; that his neck would break and there would be little pain.

Friday, November 11, 1831, the guards marched him to the hanging tree as the crowd cheered. Children hung from nearby trees, laughing, sucking on sweets. Their parents pelted him with stones. Others threw apples, overripe tomatoes, and rotten eggs.

There were no black faces. Nat Turner did not expect to see any. The crowd would have turned on them, too.

Chains jangled around his ankles. It had been six years since his time in the Great Dismal Swamp, but today he remembered the earthy smell, the marshy ground that sprang back against his feet when he walked. He remembered the little stream near where he slept. He could have stayed there. Hebron. He could have sailed away.

Obey me and 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.

Sheriff b.u.t.ts put the noose around Nat Turner's neck-rough, thick rope that scratched him-and told him to step up on the chair, the stool they used for hanging.

Hebron. He had called the place Hebron. He could have lived a quiet life in Hebron. Then Nat Turner saw before his eyes and heard in his ears the screams of the pregnant captive woman being beaten on Hebron's sh.o.r.e.

There was no quiet place for him. There was no place to be but here.

Let it be over soon, Lord. He had prayed that the witnesses would come to him, that they would be with him and console him, sing to him.

But he was alone. Would he be forgotten like the first snowfall, the first flower? Let it all be for something, Lord. My wife. Who would care for her? My son. Who would help him become a man? My mother. Who would she have now? She would be all alone. Take care of them. Promise me you will take care of them.

"Does the prisoner have any last words?"

The chair rocked beneath Nat Turner's feet. The rope scratched his neck. Nat Turner saw his brother John Clarke jeering at him, shaking his fist. His brother would never love him.

He spoke to the crowd. "The man you are set to hang is our brother whom you love. That girl you sell as a concubine is your beloved little sister. You put Father's beloved sons in chains. I am your brother, and I warn you." Nathaniel Francis, clad in a new expensive coat, smirked at him. "Judgment rests on you, on Southampton, on Virginia, and on this nation. I am only one of the first; others will come. The Lord will raise up an army. War will come and you will fight against yourselves, brother against brother. There will be blood on the corn.

"'Woe to her that is filthy and polluted, to the oppressing city! She obeyed not the voice; she received not correction; she trusted not in the LORD; she drew not near to her G.o.d.'" He was the hope of his people, sent to deliver this message.

"'Her princes within her are roaring lions; her judges are evening wolves; they gnaw not the bones till the morrow. Her prophets are light and treacherous persons: her priests have polluted the sanctuary, they have done violence to the law.'" He was sent to warn the captors.

"Shut up, you black c.o.o.n!"

All the eyes were against him. "'Thou art the land that is not cleansed, nor rained upon in the day of indignation.

"'There is a conspiracy of her prophets in the midst thereof, like a roaring lion ravening the prey; they have devoured souls; they have taken the treasure and precious things; they have made her many widows in the midst thereof.

"'Her priests have violated my law, and have profaned mine holy things: they have put no difference between the holy and profane, neither have they shewed difference between the unclean and the clean, and have hid their eyes from my sabbaths, and I am profaned among them.'" Nat Turner looked at the faces jeering and scowling. He must deliver the message. Perhaps one heart would turn. He looked at the children laughing, swinging from the trees. Perhaps one child would turn.

"'Her princes in the midst thereof are like wolves ravening the prey, to shed blood, and to destroy souls, to get dishonest gain. And her prophets have daubed them with untempered mortar, seeing vanity, and divining lies unto them, saying, Thus saith the LORD G.o.d, when the LORD hath not spoken.

"'The people of the land have used oppression, and exercised robbery, and have vexed the poor and needy: yea, they have oppressed the stranger wrongfully.

"'And I sought for a man among them, that should make up the hedge, and stand in the gap before me for the land, that I should not destroy it: but I found none.

"'Therefore have I poured out mine indignation upon them; I have consumed them with the fire of my wrath: their own way have I recompensed upon their heads, saith the LORD G.o.d.'"

Nat Turner looked for a friendly face but could not find one. "You can be forgiven. There is still time. G.o.d takes no pleasure in vengeance. Open your hearts, my brothers and sisters, and turn." The Spirit controlled his mouth then and Nat Turner looked at their faces. Gaping, twisted mouths and excited, angry eyes. Eyes filled with hate.

What about sweet Cherry? What about his little son?

Sheriff b.u.t.ts kicked the chair. Nat Turner dangled, the rope tightened.

There was so much pain. He had prayed that there would be no pain. So much pain, Father. He choked, but there was no sound.

So much pain, Father. Let it be over.

He heard cheering, and then he thought he felt someone cut him. But he could not be sure because he could not look down. And there was pain everywhere.

There was only gray sky, bare branches, and the angry, laughing, hard faces of the children. Eyes full of rage and death.

So much pain, Father. Make it go away. The waves shifted, and he choked as the water threw him up and down. The water was filled with gray faces, faces full of teeth to devour him. All their eyes were against him. He wanted to be brave. Forgive me, Father.

The pain was lessening. It would be over soon. He wanted to sing now, to the eyes, to comfort them. It would be over soon. Nat Turner drifted on the waves. But no sound would come from his mouth. He would be brave for his people-all of them. He was a man of two continents, a warrior priest, and there was a family debt he owed.

He wanted to tell them they were forgiven, but he could not speak. He was choking. He saw past the anger, saw the fear, saw the wounded hearts. So many wounded, broken hearts. Forgive them.

The witnesses joined him then. They sang to him. Their hands touched his face.

Forgive me.