The Glory Field: July 1753 and March 1864

The sore on his ankle rubbed against the iron shackle that held him, sending shivers of pain up his thin leg.

Particles of dust floated in the heavy air, as if suspended in the stifling heat that rose from the bowels of the ship, and from the bowels of the dark creatures within its hold.

The ship rocked gently in its mooring for eighteen days, and for eighteen days more and more men and young boys were dragged down into the dark hold.

Muhammad remembered having his arms wrenched behind him and tied and then being put into a line with other boys his age.

He had heard of people who sacrificed their prisoners, using the blood to appease their gods.

He gathered what moisture he could from his parched throat, licked his lips, and whispered a vow to himself that he would live.

Suddenly the still of the warm air was broken by a single, plaintive note.

They walked briskly back, anxious to know what had happened.

The rim of the half moon was amber tinged, then silver white as the night drew on.

The road to the back door of the big house was swept clear twice a day, and some of the men had been thinking about paving it, making it look as grand as the front pathway. All they had to do was to straighten it out so that it didn't go directly back to the quarters, and they could make a regular promenade out of it.

"With all the troubles we've been having we sure don't need people running off like heathens!"

"Over on the Foster place some of the people got uppity and had to be put into the smokehouse with no water for a few days."

Do you think we would make a fine pair walking through the streets of Johnson City with our parasols to keep the sun from our eyes?

"'Bout six years ago," Moses said, "same year that Lizzy's mama died and she come to live with us, two young men—field hands—got into a tussle with a white man. One of them cut the man on his arm with a hoe. Left a big gash in it, I heard tell. Anyway, they got all the hands, house and field, and brought them out to that meadow..."

Some of the women had prepared water and some salve to put on the places where the whip had cut him.

Lem sucked at the water, bringing it into his mouth in short, frantic gasps.

Lizzy looked up and saw Mister Joe Haynes put his rifle down by his side, the muzzle leaning across a bush, and roll his wrist back, making the long whip move almost as if it were alive, moving across the low, sweet grass.

The sounds of the scuffle behind her picked up as Lizzy moved the short distance to the rifle. She picked it up, stood, and turned toward where Joshua and Mister Joe Haynes moved in the darkness.

The light was quickly doused, and the door opened just enough to let Bill look out.

From the distance there was a booming noise, deep and ominous, that echoed from somewhere behind her.

She could feel her face contorting with the fear of the moment, with the panic that she felt.

Lem started to run, and two men with rifles jumped in front of him. One swung his rifle, and Lizzy watched as Lem reeled backwards and fell heavily in the dark field.

As they neared the fires they heard singing. It was black singing, all right, a low praise hymn being crooned sweet and strong in the night.

Snatches of conversation drifted toward them. The voices weren't like the ones they had heard before, and Lizzy was having trouble understanding them.

''They're starting a new colored regiment," he said. "If you're able-bodied, you can join it and help with the fighting. If you're not able-bodied, or if you don't have the stomach for fighting, you can drop out now."