A Deeper Sense of Loyalty by C. James Gilbert

Mr. Turner, who stood leisurely on the boardwalk smoking a cigar.
    As the wagon emptied out and the baskets could not be reached from the ground, one man climbed up and started moving them closer to the back. But when he set one of the baskets down he had the misfortune of setting it too close to the edge of the wagon bed and it fell to the ground, spilling the contents everywhere. Surprisingly agile, the farmer jumped down from the boardwalk in a flash and grabbed the man, tearing his already tattered shirt. The slave was shoved to the ground hard, landing on his back in the street. The farmer stood over the poor wretch, cursing and threatening all sorts of physical punishment. James thought for an instant that he was going to burn the man with his cigar. After a few swift kicks the farmer stepped away, promising a whipping when they got to the farm. Then he ordered his victim to get the mess picked up.
    For a moment, as he lay there in the dirt, the slave looked up and locked eyes with James. The look of despair and humiliation on his face filled James with pity. He turned away and headed back to his house with a resolution forming in his head. “By tomorrow,” he said to himself, “old Mr. Turner is going to be missing a couple of slaves.”
    When he got to the house he put his packages on the table and then went back outside. Star was still tied to the hitching post. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible he kept an eye on the wagon down the street, and when the farmer and his slaves climbed into it, James mounted his horse. He was not an expert at tailing someone without being noticed, but he let the wagon get some distance ahead, then he followed along at a slow, steady pace.
    By and by, he could see a farmhouse along the right side of the road with a barn and a few smaller buildings. When the wagon turned in at the little farm, James turned Star around and rode back to town.
    Before going back to the house he stopped at the livery to do a little business. He made arrangements to board his own horse, and then he rented a wagon and a good stout mare to pull it. After procuring the rig, he drove up the street, turned left between two buildings, and parked it behind the house. It was three o’clock in the afternoon.
    Â James sat at the table and began writing the letter that he would send to his family when he reached South Carolina. It surprised him at how easily the words came as he explained how his plans to join the cavalry had changed. In about an hour, the letter was finished and the only thing left to do was to wait for darkness. James was ready to get some sleep in preparation for a long night.

 
    FIVE
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    Point of No Return
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    When James awakened he was confused by his surroundings. Then, as his mind caught up with his eyesight, he remembered where he was and why he was there. He got out of bed and went over to the table where he’d left his pocket watch. It was just after ten p.m.
    As he sat at the table going over a mental list of everything he would need to take along, he was beginning to feel the tension seeping into his body. The fingers of his right hand quietly drummed the top of the table as he mulled over the problems that could arise.  
    It would be difficult to ascertain the safest hour when he might catch everyone sleeping. However, country people worked hard and usually went to bed early. But some of the larger plantations, like his father’s, patrolled the grounds at night to prevent escapes; not to mention the threat of dogs, which even a small farmer like Mr. Turner was likely to own.
    James got up and began to pace the floor. Once or twice he stopped to look out the window. Irritated by the feeling of restlessness, he sat down again and started cleaning his revolver. His mind was racing.
    He realized, of course, he had no idea how the slaves themselves might react to his presence and his purpose. He could not take it for granted that they would