Authors: Calvin Baker
“I do not care for your opining,” Spector answered, issuing Magnus a summons to appear before the county magistrate, who happened to be his cousin by marriage and whom he had sent for the previous day. He then ordered the sheriff to bring Magnus down to Chase to be held until his hearing.
Magnus, in irons, was quite fearful by now, but held himself in as dignified a posture as possible when they carted him off. Having provoked the law, however, he had no idea what would happen to him next.
They held him in the Chase jailhouse for two days, waiting for the magistrate to arrive from Edenton. During the time of his imprisonment, word of what had happened spread throughout Berkeley, until everyone was debating the fairness of the law or else arguing what they knew about the Merian family. There was no shortage then of invention to the stories people told, as they anticipated what would transpire and tried to fill the void of not knowing.
Some claimed Magnus deserved whatever treatment he got, as there were too many people settling in the area anyway. Others pointed out that the Merians were among the first to arrive. Still others claimed the
Merians weren't Negro at all but that Jasper was a Portuguese who once worked in the Crown's employ.
Adelia was unwilling to leave to her neighbors' imaginations what should become of her husband, and when the sheriff's wagon rolled away she did not despair but began to think what she might best do to help get Magnus released. At last it occurred to her, and she had Caleum hitch a team and drive her over to Rudolph Stanton's place.
Stanton was their neighbor to the north and one of the wealthiest landowners in the colony. Over the years, she knew, both Merian and Magnus had performed small favors for him, such as one neighbor inevitably does for anotherâreturning a lost calf here, mending a broken fence there. He was also their representative in the Assembly and, although he kept slaves himself, was known to be otherwise fair and without general prejudice.
Despite these things she approached the house with trepidation, it being rare for anyone from Stonehouses to go outside of it for help in anything. She also knew Stanton to be greedy for land and feared, as she went up the driveway, he might try in some way to take advantage of their weakened situation. She fretted at last that she simply did not know the man and there was no reason for him to help her.
When she was let into the house it was early afternoon, and Stanton had obviously just woken. He received her nevertheless, and was outright angry when he heard what had happened. When she finished he promised to intervene on Magnus's behalf.
Having given his word in the matter he was true to it. Immediately after lunch he sent a message around to the sheriff stating that, among other things, Magnus Merian should immediately be released from prison and allowed to return to his home. Wormsley was only too happy to oblige with this, and sent word back to Stanton, as had been requested, promising to let him know when the magistrate arrived.
Magnus, as he awaited his trial at Stonehouses, thought how he would defend himself. He knew he was free, and none could prove otherwise without sending to Virginia, but he wondered what difference that would make to a court that let law be written by the whims and wants of the moment. As for his legal status, his only evidence was the paper from Content, and if anyone asked how he
came
to be free he would hardly have an explanation. He worried then those two nightsâas he
did his first out of captivityâabout what would happen to him and his family if things proceeded poorly. If only, he thought, he had paid the tax assessor his toll. Never mind that he felt he had been paying tax since his first day on earth.
When the magistrate arrived in town, Rudolph Stanton sent round for Magnus to come to his house. Relieved that it would soon be over no matter what the outcome, Magnus left Stonehouses with a light heart that morning. The closer he drew to Acre, Stanton's place, the heavier the burden inside him seemed to grow, though, until he stood before the door almost unable to move. Mustering his resolve, he knocked at last at the towering mahogany door and was led to an upstairs room by the housemaid. When he entered, the judge was already seated, along with the sheriff and his nemesis the tax assessor. He looked at each in turn before sitting in a chair Stanton pointed out to him.
“I have called all of you here so that we might conclude this matter as expeditiously as possible,” Stanton said flatly. “Now, it would appear that the tax assessor, Mr. Spector here, attempted to extort my neighbor, Mr. Merian there, and, when he failed to receive this
danegeld,
kidnapped him from his family's lawful lands and possessions.”
The magistrate was taken aback when he heard such strong terms, because Stanton had not let him know his stake in the matter beforehand. Stanton then turned and addressed him directly. “John, you have sent here a man without scruples, who makes up law and spreads terror across the county without cause, other than his own need for profit and mischief. He has taken monies from its citizens and behaved in general like his very own private Parliament.”
“He did not mean to, Rudolph,” the magistrate said on behalf of his cousin, who, sensing the jeopardy he was in, remained silent.
“What is it exactly you are saying he did not mean to do,” Stanton pressed, “spread terror or invent law? Mr. Merian is a sizable landowner here. The Merians have always paid their taxes and performed what was required of them in civic matters. Now you have sent out a highwayman, masquerading as a tax collector, who carts him off to jail for not having proof of his freedom? Why, John, what proof have you of yours, any more than he of his?”
“None,” the other admitted, “but it's not the same thing.”
“It isn't? The only thing I want to know is how the legitimate law intends to stand behind Mr. Merian in protecting his rights.”
“But Rudolph,” the magistrate protested, trying to find suitable terms to make the matter go away, “he's kin to me. You can't mean for me to jail him.”
“Then what do you propose?” asked Stanton, who thought children should always be given the chance to choose their own punishment.
Magnus had not dared to speak all the while this was going on. He knew his father had been held in esteem by his neighbors, but his own contact with them had been so scant he was genuinely surprised to see another man stand up and defend him. Watching Mr. Stanton and the magistrate, it seemed to him they were two great men involved in private discussions of very weighty matters and affairs affecting the whole county, until he remembered he was the reason for the day's proceedings. So when the magistrate said he would fire his cousin from his post, and Rudolph Stanton added that the man should first issue him a written apology, it took a very long time for Magnus to make his own request.
“Begging pardon, Mr. Stanton, but how can I know the next tax collector won't try to do the exact same thing?”
“Indeed. How will he have confidence of that?” Stanton asked the magistrate, raising one of his large bushy eyebrows.
The magistrate looked at the papers before him, including the letter Content had written, which was now in the book of evidence. “I suppose I could notarize this,” he offered tentatively, “but it would be highly unusual.”
“You must do so then, in order that my neighbor here has peace of mind again on his lands,” Stanton said. Then, as if continuing a previous conversation with the magistrate, he added, “John, the law must be strong but blind. That is the true test of it.”
The magistrate took Magnus's old forged papers and embossed them with the great seal of the House of Burgesses. Magnus felt a heavy stone lifted up from him when he saw the official seal of the colony on his freedom. After that, according to all accounts, he was at ease as he had never been before. Not only because he was finally free as other menâhe had been that in fact for a long time already and, no matter the outcome of his trial, knew he was not going to be returned to his previous
conditionâbut because he knew the law now stood solidly behind him. He was altogether different after that in the way he encountered and moved through the world. Immeasurably so.
The roads around Berkeley had grown chaotic with activity from the universe outside its boundaries, though, and things did not turn out so fortunately for everyone that year. On the last Sunday in September, Bastian Johnson went out to Turner's Creek with Caleum and Julius, whose Sabbaths were of his own employ, to fish for walleyes and cat-fish. Of the three, Bastian was most successful that particular day and was overweaning in his pride of the fact.
After they hauled in their catch, which included several speckled rainbow trout as well, the boys built a fire and cleaned some of the fish, then roasted them over the embers. As they ate and relived the adventure of how the fish came to be in their fire, all praising Bastian's skill, he himself ladled out fishing advice. “Walleyes don't like no bait too fast. You need patience if you gone catch em. Now, trout is the opposite.” The anglers all reclined on the bluff above to the pool and debated the merits of various bait and techniques for the different fish, such as is common among trawlers and fisherfolk everywhere, regardless of age, language, or particular liking for fish.
As it grew late, Julius, tiring of Bastian, asked whether either of them had heard the tale of Witch Mary from Canary. When they told him they had not, he gave the others the story of how there lived a well-known witch on the African coast who, many years previous, had lost a son of sixteen. “Once a month, every month, she get on her broom and fly over the whole wide world looking for her boy. If she can't find him, then she snatch another black boy of about his age and take him back with her. They say her son used to brag on hisself and so she always go for a loud talker. Say she keep her victim for about three weeks, but once she start to remember what her son looked like, she kill the one she brought back. They say the last thing he hear before she get him, and right before she kill, is three real loud knocks.”
They were all quiet in the purplish evening light as he told the story, and when he finished all said he had made it up. “That's just another fish tale,” Bastian cried, waving him off. As they stamped out the fire,
though, Julius told them to be quiet and listen. Sure enough, they could hear a sound in the trees like a hammer banging against the bark. When they heard it a second time they began to move closer to each other, uncertain what to do.
“We better go see what it is,” Julius said.
“I don't think we ought to mess with whatever it is,” Bastian warned, not wanting to venture any deeper into the woods. “It's getting late out here.”
Finally Julius and Caleum convinced him he was only being scary, and the three set out into the nearby forest. “Keep quiet, though,” Julius whispered, “Cause, if it is Mary, they say she always go for noisiness.”
As they walked on a small path in the direction from which the sound had emanated, they heard it again, then a third time in rapid succession. After the last there was a loud scream right afterward, as Caleum and Bastian both jumped back, startled. As they stood there afright, Julius began to laugh at them. He then pulled his hand through the air in a wide arc, after which there was a loud knock. He moved his hand again and laughed as Bastian and Caleum drew close enough to him to see he was holding a length of fishing twine. At the other end he had affixed a branch, which he could pull through a contraption he had rigged and knock it against a tree. He pulled it once more and laughed at them.
Finally, they laughed at the joke as well, as the three friends parted for the week, each taking with him some of the leftover fish. “Y'all be careful of Mary from Canary on the way home,” Julius called good-naturedly, as he went off to feed his master and mistress.
On his way back to Stonehouses, Caleum was in good spirits, thinking Julius very clever and Bastian in need of the lesson. Indeed, Bastian himself was in a fine mood and did not hold it against his friends for showing him up after he had bragged so much on himself. Still, he remained on edge from his earlier fright as he moved through the forests, and even the slightest sounds made him flinch. Even though he had walked through the woods around Berkeley his entire life, he was glad to be out of them when he reached the main road and breathed altogether easier. When he saw a coach coming down the lane he relaxed completely, no longer being alone on the evening road.
When the coach was even with him it slowed down, and he moved out of the way to allow it to pass. The wagon proceeded on a few paces,
then came to a stop. Bastian continued walking in the gulch of weeds on the roadside, wondering briefly what had caused the wagon to stop but being otherwise unconcerned.
Once he was spotted, a man he didn't know called down to him to ask what he was doing out at that hour. “I'm just comin' in from Turner's Creek, sir,” he answered.
“Looks like you had some luck,” the man called back.
“Ah, just a little,” Bastian returned.
“Say, can you tell me how to get to the wheelwright's place? I think I bent a spoke back there,” the man said.
“You just keep headed straight around that bend,” Bastian answered. “Ain't but two roads through town.”
“Why don't you hop up?” the man said. “You might as well ride as walk.”
Bastian thought it odd that a strange white man should offer him a ride and declined, not knowing what sort of fellow he might be and not wanting to fall into the wrong hands.
“All the same,” the man replied, flicking lightly at his reins, until his horses started to gallop. The wagon went on until it disappeared around the bend ahead, and Bastian gained the main road again and continued on, already planning the week before him.
When he reached the bend, though, he found the wagon stopped and the man inside waiting for him with his pistol drawn. “Here, put these on,” the man commanded, throwing him a pair of iron bracelets.