Chapter 7: The Map

For Christmas, Sam Warren gave his wife A Tale of Two Cities. He’d had good luck with Dickens before. Deb gave him a warm scarf she had knitted over the picking break. Alabama weather was warmer than Illinois weather, but there were days which called for scarves.

Deborah Warren figured that by her fiftieth wedding anniversary, she would have quite a library. Well, she didn’t want Sam giving her clothes; books, even books she had already read, were something she enjoyed.

Marjorie Purcell found that the beginning classes gathered more new people than she had expected in the new year, and the increase was concentrated in the class of those who lived towards the river—north and west of the school. The problem was more that the level of learning in the new students was all over the map than the crowding, yet. It was partly simple curiosity; it was partly that they had an increase from a direction where Marjorie felt that there wasn’t any room. Right now, they were down to three teacher – three when all of them were healthy. They really should have three levels of instruction for adults, but they didn’t have enough teachers for that.

To clarify the future so that she could plan for it, and – to be honest with herself – also to satisfy her curiosity, Marjorie invited the Freedmen’s Bureau agent, MacGregor, to Sunday dinner late in January.

She also invited General Warren for several reasons. Deborah had eaten dinner with them six days a week, which left Warren to cook his own meals. Deborah had eaten supper with the other teachers five days a week, and sometimes Wednesdays, as well. To give Sam Warren credit where credit was due, he either drove Deborah to the school in the morning and picked her up after classes at night, or he let her take the shay all day and drive herself.

Still, that meant that Deborah got up in the morning, cooked breakfast, got to school before official opening time – which was more than most of her students did, taught a full day of classes to children for six days a week, taught evening classes for adults four of those days, and went home to whatever housekeeping was left to her.

Deb took as much out of her school salary to pay for the food as each of the other three did, and Marjorie thought that this entitled her to frequent meals for her husband. Even the general didn’t eat as much dinner as would compensate for seven breakfasts. Apparently, Warren disagreed. He frequently contributed ingredients. These were not, generally, intended for that meal; one contribution had been an entire bag of salt, which was several month’s supply for the school. So, when Deb left the school, she left with a hefty credit in the food account.

The other reason for inviting the Warrens was that would make it seem a social occasion instead of a grilling. When she got around to the question, Marjorie tried to phrase it as an observation.

“We seem to get some more students who are new to the area,” she said. As was his wont, MacGregor went around Robin Hood’s barn before giving his answer.

“A little less than a half of the freedmen who are entitled to the grants were slaves in the four states where the land is being granted,” McGregor began. “We figure about a million are entitled as freedmen, 200,00 are entitled as colored veterans, and 100,000 are in both categories -- ex-slave veterans who were born before ‘44. Almost none of the veterans came from Alabama, but nearly a third were discharged in Alabama. Many of those went home, of course.

“Now, it turns out that nobody in Congress did any arithmetic when they passed that law. 900,000 40-acre farms and another 200,000 double-size ones total over 80,000 square miles. If you can show a section to the men who get those grants in the morning and another in the afternoon, then a man doing nothing else can show twelve sections a week, 600 sections a year. And you really can only do that when the land is close to the office. That doesn’t allow any time for verifying that the man is really an ex-slave according to the law, verifying that he’s of age – though sometimes you can tell, passing out relief provisions, supervising work contracts and court proceedings, or – most time consuming of all – moving the office and establishing it at another point so you don’t have to take three days reaching the grant. That’s a little more than a year and seven months for a thousand men.

““Well, we didn’t have a thousand men. What we did have was a lot of space that was taken up with sections which we couldn’t grant 16 farms out of. Maybe the government didn’t own the entire square mile; maybe part of it was in the river. The Alabama River actually flows through some sections around here, and it nibbled an edge or a corner off an entire strip of them. What we mostly did was leave the sections alone unless almost all the land was government property and dry.”

“Well, around here, you can’t find much which is dry,” Warren said.

“Still,” MacGregor said, “There’s a difference between the space where you can plow and the space where you can swim.”

“Oh, yes. You really supervise work contracts? I pay a boy to work my farm, and you didn’t supervise that.”

“Technically, I should have. If he has a complaint, the fact that you didn’t clear it would count against you. We don’t do much with individual workers. How often do you pay him?”

“Every week,” the general said. “I wanted to pay once a month, but he wanted once a week. I only pay for days he shows up, though, and I do my own plowing.”

“What does that have to do with his pay?” Jane asked. Deborah was glad she had. She’d been wondering, herself. There was so much that she didn’t know about her husband. Sam seemed willing enough to explain the store, if in too much detail. What he said about the farming was relegated to, “This will be the corn field and the garden; how much garden do you want?” What she knew about the man who worked for him was that she had met Cassius twice.

“He lives with his father, and the man keeps him home at planting time. He’ll sow the seed a little late, but it doesn’t seem to hurt my crop. I deal with planting corn myself. I know corn, and I can tell the boy when he does something wrong or neglects it. I pay him a tenth of what Green pays me, and I get a lot more for my cotton than I pay him total. I figure that Cassius knows cotton, and he’ll work to get the largest yield if that gets him more money.”

“A tenth is a tiny share,” MacGregor said. “Maybe, I should have checked that contract.”

“Well, I pay him for his time. The share is boot.”

“Well, what you’ve told me are some of the reasons that you’re happy with your situation and the smaller planters are complaining about theirs.”

“Unhappy?” Warren asked. “Leaving aside that making war against the United States is a hanging offense, we would have fined them for every slave until they were bankrupt if we’d had time.”

“Oh, yes, but they don’t see it that way. Congress doesn’t pass the laws we all must work under; Congress imposes tyranny on them. It’s strange. Man’s forty, he voted for representatives in the Confederate Congress twice – the US Congress maybe three times as often, and the US Congress never drafted him. Yet, the Confederate Congress was his government – even when it met in Richmond, and Washington is – and always was – a foreign capital.”

“So,” Diane asked, “what does that have to do with General Warren’s satisfaction?” She was a plain Maine girl, and she had little patience for this Massachusetts discursiveness.

“Well, the general sees himself as a storekeeper. What he can get for cotton is, as he said, boot. The planter went through four or five years of wartime scarcity; he sees cotton getting a good price and thinks he deserves to make up for his past sacrifices with sales now. The planter bought slaves once and fed them. He resents paying them more than their support cost then. The general expects to pay for labor; his only argument is how much.”

“Hell!” Warren said. “Even soldiers got paid.”

“Then, too, of the work force, we figure that more than half the males got grants; a little less than half the females married men with grants. Of those born after 1844, a good majority were born after 1854; these are too young to leave their families, and the planter needs them to live on his land”.

“After 1854?” Marjorie said. “I should think that they’re too young. We expect them to come to day classes at that age.”

“Well, the planters don’t see it that way. Most of the freedmen agree with you, and that’s another grievance.”

“Cassius is older than that, and he lives at home,” Warren said. “He’s man-high, if a little weedy. I saw men who looked younger serving in the Fourth Illinois.”

“Well,” Deborah said, “I can understand his not attending days. People walk a lot farther to attend evening school, though. I haven’t seen him there.”

“I don’t think he goes to school,” Warren answered. “Almost all the freedmen thirst for learning, at least as far as being able to read. ‘Almost all’ doesn’t, however, mean all.”

“We have a problem with our beginning classes,” Diane broke in. The Warrens could have that discussion in privacy, and the next day they would be sorry that they had not. “Every time a few new students come in, we feel that we have to begin again with the alphabet. How many new families would you say have moved in by the river?”

“Fewer than two dozen, more than one dozen.” MacGregor answered. “But most of them were really families by the standards of a school. They mostly have children, most of school age. A quarter of the land in ‘66 went to veterans without families. Another bunch of the veterans had women but no children.”

“Easier to send for a woman than for a family of six,” Warren put in. “And some of those letters said, ‘I have 80 acres of prime land, and I want to marry you.’ They’d left a girl they’d liked; they hadn’t left a family.”

Diane thought that was all very interesting, but it didn’t answer her question. Well, she hadn’t really asked it. “How do we get them to all start at once? Every time one starts, either he sits there confused or all the others start over.”

“And that’s a good question,” Macgregor admitted. “In ‘65 and ‘66, we could tell freedmen that there was a school in the big house of the Powell plantation. Some of them had been on this plantation, and many others knew where it was.”

“Even then,” Marjorie said, “we didn’t see them all at once.”

“Well,” Warren said, “They didn’t all know, and they must have seen people walking past with lanterns. I know that I did. It’s natural to ask where they are going.”

“Is that going to happen with these men?” Marjorie asked.

“Not in most cases,” MacGregor said. “We left the land empty because we didn’t control an entire section. When that section was cut by the river, no freedman who was placed earlier lives further away. When it’s because part of the section is held by small planters or farmers, it depends on the road. Most freedmen who have a choice aren’t going to walk past a white farm, especially after dark. Then, too, these come from all over. Even the ones from Louisiana are from all parts of the state. Sometimes a pair of brothers wants to settle next to each other, and we accommodate them, but that only means that they have two pairs of ears to hear things.”

“The store will have the same problem,” Warren said. “Why don’t I pay one of my customers to visit the freedmen along the river. He can tell them about the store and the school at the same time. Boy I have in mind has a riding mule. He can’t have too much to do before plowing time.”

“Is he someone who comes to school?” Marjorie asked.

“I thought that they all do.”

“Cassius,” Deborah said.

The general laughed. “You would have thought that such a clever woman could have found a better husband. The man I have in mind is Ab -- quite light skin. Seems to have learned some reading and writing this year.”

“I know Ab,” Marjorie said. “He would be an excellent choice.”

Sam took the maps and notes he’d copied for the school home with him. The numbering system was clear enough to a man who had grown up in with townships and quarter sections. The grants which hadn’t been assigned when he copied the map hadn’t been numbered, and that would tell him which places Ab should visit. He recopied a map of just those sections and adjacent ones. He put names in the plots on the edges of the occupied sections.

He looked at the finished map with satisfaction. It was clear; now would it be clear to Ab? He remembered how confusing a sketch map had been when he’d first met one as a cavalryman. Deborah was in the warm kitchen while he worked in the dining room. He went through the door to ask her.

“Deb, do you do much with maps in the classroom?”

“We have large maps of the United States in each classroom. We have a world map that we share around. Marjorie has a map of the Holy Land that she uses for her advanced class.”

“But no local maps?”

“These are gifts,” Deborah said. “The people who send us schoolroom supplies don’t have maps of Alabama at home.”

Then, too, even a map of the entire state wouldn’t help with this section unless it was right in front of them.

When Sam got back from taking his wife to the school, he changed Stepper out of the shay and saddled him. He tacked a sign on the door of the store saying it would be closed until noon. He took both the map he’d made and those from which he’d copied with him. Even with the map which had Ab’s grant marked, it wasn’t easy to find his place. When he got there, it was easy to distinguish the picked-over cotton field from the border around it. Sam rode the border until he saw the path that had been traveled inside. It looked as well-traveled as the border. The cabin was clear as he turned down the path.

He’d been afraid that he might have to wake Ab. It was well into morning by then, but the freedman didn’t have much farm work to do. Ab was coming out of the cabin in shirt and pants, though, when he rode up.

“General,” Ab said, “they’re putting a wood floor in it.”

“Well, yes. You own property now.” (Though, really, the freedmen only had a life interest.) “Property owners have floors in their houses.

“Ab,” Sam continued, “I might have a job for you. It’s a couple of days, but it’s only riding and talking. Pays two dollars.” Sam had doubled the wage when he figured how hard Ab would find reading the map. Now, he dismounted. A white man on a horse telling him what to do might bring memories of the plantation to Ab.

““Riding and talking?” Ab asked. It didn’t sound like work to him.

“There’s new people from other states who got grants by the river. We figure that they don’t know about the school and the store. You ride over to their places, and you tell them about both and how to get there.”

“The school? Does Teacher want this?”

“There are four teachers there ... Do you mean Miss Purcell?” Sam had heard enough about the arrangements of the teachers’ schedules to know that Miss Purcell dealt with the adults from this part of the school’s territory.

“Yes sir.”

“We was all talking. Miss Purcell did say that you were a good choice for the job.”

“Then I’ll do it.” Ab said. If Teacher wanted something and he could do it, he would. The general thought he could do this, though he didn’t know how to find these people. He had only been to the river once since he’d got his land, though it was close to Montgomery, and he’d been there several times.

“You’ll have to pack dinner,” the general said. He opened his saddlebag and took out a piece of paper. “We’re going to ride together to this point on the map.” Maps were big and colorful, and they hung on the wall, but if the general said that this was a map, it was a map. “Let’s get down here.” They squatted side by side. “North is up on this map. See the arrow? You have time, you always orient; that means that you turn the map so north on the map is north where you’re looking at it. That’s north.” The general pointed. Ab knew north on his own land, and the sun wasn’t high enough, so you’d have any doubt.

“If the map was big enough, we’d be about here.” The general tapped a spot on the ground, and they were indeed about there. “Now, I’m going to ride with you to this spot on the river. It’s the northernmost place you’ll be talking to. Then, you’ll go downstream talking to people on as many of these grants as you can find. I don’t know where their cabins are; this map just shows the grants.”

Ab was totally lost. Still, the general had told him what he was going to do. In his tent, he put some Pone in a poke and put on his boots. They were much better in stirrups than bare feet. He went to the stable, saddled Martha, and climbed aboard. When he got back, the general was also mounted. The general led the way off his farm and along the track.

“I like what you’ve done with the borders of your farm,” the general said.

“I don’t like people traipsing over my fields. Still, I got to go places, and so do they. Most people follow the path.”

“Very good idea. Reminds me of Illinois. You would have been easier to find if everyone had done this. Now, keep track of how we’re going. You not only have to come back this way, you have to tell the people you visit how to reach the school and the store.”

They rode east until they got to a road. He was behind the general, even on the roads, and could see that he wasn’t urging his horse on. Martha, though, wanted to go slower. Ab pushed to keep close. After some time, they came close to the river. The general stopped, dismounted, and opened his saddle bag again. Ab got down beside him.

The general had the map again. “Now, here’s where we are. You work downriver. You find this man’s cabin. You tell him about the school. You know which nights the newest men and women go to school? These people will go same times people close to you do.”

“Yes sir.” The beginners went to school Mondays and Fridays.

“The children go every day. Probably, the father will want to go himself before he sends his children. Either way, if he starts out early enough after supper or his kids start out early enough after breakfast, they’ll meet others going to the school. You tell him how to get there, but joining the group might be easier.” The general gave him a long look as though he were judging how much of this Ab would remember.

“Telling them how to get to the store is harder, but try to say. Store – school, too, come to think of it -- is fairly well known. They ask nice enough, somebody will tell them how they go. It’s about the same west and south from here. You get there,” The general pointed at the map again. “It’s east and a little north. That’ll be days yet.”

“You get done talking with the man,” the general continued, “you ask him his name. both names if he’s chosen yet, “this box represents his farm, and you write his name in the box. You go south to the next farm, and you do the same thing; you end by writing the name in this box. I got a pencil for you.” The general handed it to him. “I sharpened both ends. You might bring a knife with you the other days.

“Then, you go west to the next farm, see this box? I figure that going back and forth like this,” The general stoked his finger over the map. “Is easiest. But you get the job done, and I’ll be happy. I don’t think many of these are veterans. If any are, they will have two boxes. You draw a line across the line between them. Now, the boxes along the east edge with names in them written in ink. Those have been here for a year, at least. You don’t need to talk to them. Of course, you might know them. If you want to visit, fine. It’s not what you’re being paid for. And speaking of pay,” The general reached into his pocket and pulled out a single note. He handed it to him. “I said two dollars. This is one. When you have finished, return the map, and we’ll talk about it. Then I’ll pay you the other dollar.”

With that, the general mounted and went on his way. Ab, too, mounted. Martha wasn’t that high, but he could see what looked like a shack. As he rode toward it, first a girl and then a man came out.

“Yankee said this was my land,” were the man’s first words.

“And, living here, you get to go to school if you want.” The man looked friendlier. Ab climbed off Martha. Slowly, he explained about the school. “Children go every day but Sunday. Men and women go two days a week. First time in school is Monday and Friday for this area. It’s easier before planting time, and they want you to start now. They take children six years old and older. The little ones might find it too long a walk.”

He told about the store. The man’s name was Luke Johnson, and he came from Tennessee. Some of the oldest slaves on the plantation had come from Tennessee. By the time they were done, Ab saw that the task involved more talking than riding.

As he went on, Ab started to see the relationship between the map and the land he was covering. That was lucky because the time was approaching noon. Ab knew that the sun was due south at noon, due west at sunset, and due east at sunrise. When it was high in the sky, though, was it noon and due south? Was it before noon and southeast? Was it after noon and southwest? Noon was a different height each day, and that made the decision difficult. So did cloudy days like this one. The sun cast no distinct shadow, and the brightness covered half the sky.

Well after his stomach said it was noon, Ab came to a branch. He let Martha drink, drank himself, and took off his boots. He dangled his feet in the branch while eating his pone. He made three more visits, but the bright sky was now mostly in the west. He could stand rain; neither plantation work nor army wagons stopped for rain. He could find his way in the dark, though he’d never done it on mule back. He wasn’t going to trust his sight in a rainy dark.

He turned Martha’s right side to the brightness and rode south over the fields. When he got to a branch, he rode upstream until he got to a road. He followed that heading south as well as the roads would allow until his path crossed a road he knew. It was full dark before he got home.