Civil War Shorts

Heading Home: A Short Story

02-15-1863

One of the other slaves got hold of some paper. Knowing I love writing, she passed it to me. I am not going to mention names in case the Massa finds this but I have decided to share my story. And maybe one day, years from now, someone will find it and be surprised at what has been going on down here in the plantations. I doubt it, but maybe writing this will help me stop feeling all this. All this anger and hatred and sadness.

Our Massa only makes us work a few days a week 'cause there are a lot of slaves around these parts, so it will not be hard to sneak some time to write in this book.

It has been 12 years since I have known freedom since I have seen my mother, father, and my sister. I hope they are getting along well. Who knows? Maybe when the war ends, if the Northerners win, I could go and find my family.

It had been a sunny day, and I had been wandering through the streets minding my own business. My mother rarely let me out alone considering I was a black child. But considering that we were up in the North, on good days like that one she would let me go out a few hours so I would not be cooped up in the house.

I had always been in love with the outdoors and my mother hated not letting me live like a normal white child would have been able to. She had made it a point to teach me to read and write and speak just as good as any white child, if not better.

I whistled as I walked through the forest behind our house, just like every other beautiful summer day. But this day was not like any other. My world was about to change, and I did not even know it.

I heard muttering somewhere in the distance and I stopped. I listened for it, my ears perked. But I could not hear anything. I chalked it up to the wind rustling through the branches filled with leaves bursting with bright green color. I shrugged and continued my walk, pausing to glance at anything that seemed remotely interesting.

I had been here dozens of times but every single time there were hundreds of things that were new or that had moved. It was amazing just how short a period of time it took for nature to change.

I kneeled to pick up a ladybug crawling on the grass, still wet from the morning dew. I heard a footstep but dismissed it as the trees once more. But then, something was shoved over my head and I could not see anything. It took a few minutes but the world began to dull. Black spots dancing around the edges of my vision, growing larger until they consumed me.

02-16-1863

I can not believe what happened yesterday after I finished writing about how I was taken from the North by Southerners. I had grabbed the paper and pencil and had felt like taking a walk outside, needing to do something after writing about that afternoon that had changed my whole life. And then! I saw something out of the corner of my eye. And of course, I had to investigate.

I walked towards the forest. The sun was setting and the shadows of the trees were long and foreboding. But something important was in the forest and I could feel it. I saw a blur of dark and nearly yelped when they stopped in front of me. I frowned in confusion. A black woman stood in front of me, probably a year or so older than me. She looked so similar as if I had seen her before.

Her eyes grew large as she saw me. The mysterious woman grabbed me and we started running through the darkness. For some reason, I did not stop her. Maybe it was because there was nothing really there for me at the plantation. Maybe because there was something about it that just felt right. But for whatever reason, I held onto her as she pulled me along.

Once we had gone a considerable distance from the plantation we collapsed onto a log, tired from running such a long distance. She stared at me for a second long and hard and then said something I was not sure I heard correctly.

"What?" I asked, surprised at what I had heard her say. I was sure there had to be a mistake because this could not be happening.

"I said Stephen, Stephen Bayley." she frowned as she repeated the statement, a look of confusion passing over her.

"How did you know my name?" I asked, barely able to choke out the words out of surprise.

"Because you are my brother."

02-17-1863

The sun has set and we dare not set a fire for fear of being found by a Southerner. I am writing this by the light of the pale moon, coming through in patches through the trees and falling like silver onto the emerald green grass. Shay has fallen asleep and I am barely keeping myself awake. But if I am found I want this to be written somewhere for the slim chance that someone may find it years from now.

After she helped me escape, Shay explained to me why she came to find me...

"Once I heard about the Emancipation Proclamation I knew that there was a chance that I could free you and take shelter in a Union camp," her head was angled towards the small fire we had risked starting, "I thought that if I could just find out where they had taken you I would have a chance. Mom has not been the same since you were taken... and once father died, it was like she just unraveled."

"Father is... dead?" I stuttered, my heart stopping. My sister's eyes grew big as she averted her eyes from me, instead, staring into the blazing fire. Her throat bobbed and silent tears dripped down her cheeks. Questions floated around inside my head. "When? How?" I choked out.

"The day after the Emancipation Proclamation, he was caught in the South trying to free a slave. There was some 'accident' and he... he died." She stood up wiping her tears away. Barely over a month, I thought to myself.

"But why?" I asked, barely moving because I knew what she was going to say but I did not want to hear it.

"He thought that he could find you. And after Lincoln's speech, he really thought he could do it. But when he could not I knew I had to, so I searched for months, trying to find you. And now... here we are."

I could tell from Shay's tone that she was done speaking, she did not want to recount what had happened any more than I wanted to hear it. She pulled a raggedy brown blanket along with a blue one of the same design out of a small bag that I had not noticed before. One for me, one for her. She spread them out and left, holding a bucket.

I watched the fire as I thought about what she had told me. Our father had died to try to save me. And that made me feel so much worse, not only that he was dead. But that he was dead because of me.

When Shay returned, she was soaking wet and her bucket was filled with water. She doused the fire and laid down on the blanket, silent the entire time. I was not sure whether she was mad at me, or if she just did not want to speak after recounting our father's death. What if she blamed me?

I should get some shut-eye soon, it seems that tomorrow is going to be a long day of travel and I should get all of the rest that I can before we embark on our journey to get back home.

02-21-1863

After that entry, I set aside my journal and fell asleep. It felt like only a moment before I was awoken by Shay, her tone hushed.

"Stephen, we have to go, wake up."

I rubbed my eyes as I groggily sat up. She nudged me and I scooted over enough for her to pick up the blanket laid beneath me.

"If we make good time we can get home before dusk tomorrow," Shay folded up the blankets and threw them back into the bag that she had taken them out of.

I stood up, dusting myself off and took a step forward, finally heading back home.