Twelve Travelers, Twenty Horses

Chapter 1 Pink and yellow maple leaves made light of the September of 1860 in Kentucky, where I lived. I was an American boy of African ancestry; I was also a thirteen-year-old slave.For us slaves, the United States was taking turns blowing cold blasts to drive us to despair and warm gusts to help us hope. When would we be free?The times gave us to understand that the November elections of 1860 would determine which way our lives would go. Voters would decide between Republican Mr. Abraham Lincoln or one of the three Democrats in the presidential race, including Mr. Stephen Douglas.That week in September, Solomon, who was nine years old, Caesar, who was twenty years old, and I walked barefoot in chains on cold roads to be sold at auction. Along the way the salesmen added more slaves to our number, until we were shackled to about fifteen other men and boys.At the auction house they kept us bound, lying on benches in the dark. The chains made me furious, and I felt humiliated. They caged my body in rusty iron, but my soul burned as a flame in the night.Finally on the morning of the sale they removed my chains. They made me stand naked while they washed me with buckets of cold water. With a hand-size slab of pork fat, they greased my body until I shone. I dressed myself. The only reason I endured was because I had earned this sale, and I was proud of it.They fed me well that morning, bacon rinds and corn bread. It wouldn't do for the auctioneer to have a slave faint on the auction block just as the bidding got good.I was blinded as I stumbled out into bright light. The sun was almost at noon as we walked to a grassy commons. Salesmen hawked us and other white people sneered at us. Buyers called us stupid, ugly, black face.Although I looked at the grass as if I be ashamed, I wasn't. I felt sorry for them white folks. My mama had taught me that we were all equal children of the earth and loved by our creator.We stood, some seventy-five "prize Negro slaves," barefoot in cold grass that smelled newly cut. The auctioneer said he never held a sale until he had at least seventy-five slaves. That's how I knew how many we were.I wore a brown suit and a white shirt. We were dressed in showy clothes, which the auctioneers usually took back after we were bought. This was my third time being sold, and I had an understanding about auctions.I searched for Solomon and spied him standing alone. When I walked near, he backed toward me. He was smart in some ways. We were free to move around now, but men with guns patrolled us. Any slave making a fast move to escape would be shot in a second. Big Caesar bumped my shoulder, but we didn't look at each other. No one must know that we were friends, because friends were always sold separately.However, when Solomon started to rock and play with his fingers in front of this face, I held his hands down. Even so, he would never be sold. Who would buy poor Solomon? He was nine and as tall as me, but he had never uttered a word. Allow me to add that I was short for my age.Reunited with Caesar and Solomon, I relaxed and looked around. We were being sold on a green commons in front of a redbrick courthouse of American justice. That fact brought tears to my eyes.Solomon grew restless and pulled his hands free. He mustn't show how he was in the head. I knew how to make him stop. I whispered, "Stay still for the butterfly."Solomon would stand for hours watching butterflies. He stared at the ground waiting. There weren't any flowers nearby, but the last butterfly of summer flitted past. As we watched the orange and brown butterfly sail off, who should I see among the slaves but mama.I trembled in excitement. It had been three years since I last saw Eliza, my mama. I had thought that I would never see her again.She hadn't noticed me, so I held Solomon by his hands and slowly stepped toward her. She caught sight of me, coveredRobinet, Harriette Gillem is the author of 'Twelve Travelers, Twenty Horses', published 2003 under ISBN 9780689845611 and ISBN 0689845618.