The Underground Railroad Read Online Free PDF Page B

Many remembered its bite on their flesh. “Then I recollected James telling me about a nigger he had down here,” Terrancesaid, “could recite the Declaration of Independence. I can’t bring myself to believe him. I thought perhaps tonight he can show me, since everyone is out and about, from the sound of it.”
    “We’ll settle it,” James said. “Where is that boy? Michael.”
    No one said anything. Godfrey waved the lantern around pathetically. Moses was the boss unfortunate enough to stand closest to the Randall brothers.He cleared his throat. “Michael dead, Master James.”
    Moses instructed one of the pickaninnies to fetch Connelly, even if it meant interrupting the overseer from his Sunday-evening concubinage. The expression on James’s face told Moses to start explaining.
    Michael, the slave in question, had indeed possessed the ability to recite long passages. According to Connelly, who heard the story fromthe nigger trader, Michael’s former master was fascinated by the abilities of South American parrots and reasoned that if a bird could be taught limericks, a slave might be taught to remember as well. Merely glancing at the size of the skulls told you that a nigger possessed a bigger brain than a bird.
    Michael had been the son of his master’s coachman. Had a brand of animal cleverness, the kindyou see in pigs sometimes. The master and his unlikely pupil started with simple rhymes and short passages from popular British versifiers. They went slow over the words the nigger didn’t understand and, if truth be told, the master only half understood, as his tutor had been a reprobate who had been chased from every decent position he had ever held and who decided to make his final posting thecanvas for his secret revenge. They made miracles, the tobacco farmer and the coachman’s son. The Declaration of Independence was their masterpiece. “A history of repeated injuries and usurpations.”
    Michael’s ability never amounted to more than a parlor trick, delighting visitors before the discussion turned as it always did to the diminished faculties of niggers. His owner grew bored and soldthe boy south. By the time Michael got to Randall, some torture or punishment had addled his senses. He was a mediocre worker. He complained of noises and black spells that blotted his memory. In exasperation Connelly beat out what little brains he had left. It was a scourging that Michael was not intended to survive, and it achieved its purpose.
    “I should have been told,” James said, his displeasureplain. Michael’s recitation had been a novel diversion the two times he trotted the nigger out for guests.
    Terrance liked to tease his brother. “James,” he said, “you need to keep better account of your property.”
    “Don’t meddle.”
    “I knew you let your slaves have revels, but I had no idea they were so extravagant. Are you trying to make me look bad?”
    “Don’t pretend you care what a nigger thinksof you, Terrance.” James’s glass was empty. He turned to go.
    “One more song, James. These sounds have grown on me.”
    George and Wesley were forlorn. Noble and his tambourine were nowhere to be seen. James pressed his lips into a slit. He gestured and the men started playing.
    Terrance tapped his cane. His face sank as he took in the crowd. “You’re not going to dance? I have to insist. You andyou.”
    They didn’t wait for their master’s signal. The slaves of the northern half converged on the alley, haltingly, trying to insinuate themselves into their previous rhythm and put on a show. Crooked Ava had not lost her power to dissemble since her days of harassing Cora—she hooted and stomped as if it were the height of the Christmas celebrations. Putting on a show for the master was a familiarskill, the small angles and advantages of the mask, and they shook off their fear as they settled into the performance. Oh, how they capered and hollered, shouted and hopped! Certainly this was the most