Chapter 12 What Is To Be Done? Sheriff John Miller
Birthdays have a way of making a man take stock of his life, especially when they are a round number like 50, which is what today’s is for me. What do I have to show for my time on earth? My wife, Clara; she’s been a good wife and she’s distraught, as am I, over our daughter Sarah, sold into slavery in the salt mines when her husband Charles defaulted on the mortgage on his plantation.
Then there’s my other daughter, Barbara, the one Clara doesn’t know about. She and her mother Pat ended up slaves on Charles and Sarah’s plantation after their small farm defaulted on its loans. They escaped, my deputies brought them back to the plantation, and they ended up sold to the salt mines as well-my only two daughters and my old lover, all toiling together in the salt mines.
And finally, there’s my job as Sheriff, charged with capturing runaway slaves and returning them to their owners to be brutally punished. When we caught Barb, I had my deputies torture her with splints under her toenails to get her to reveal where Pat was. There’s something I can be proud of, having my own daughter tortured. But I guess it’s OK, since I didn’t know she was my daughter then. And the brave girl never talked; Pat walked in on her own, driven by hunger and cold.
That’s the so-called system we live under and I’m a cog in it, up until recently, a willing one. I could spend the next 10 or 20 years propping it up, until I’m too old to work anymore, but for what? All I really want is to see my daughters and try to set them up with some kind of life besides toiling in the mine until they die an early death from exhaustion. Maybe even have a couple of grandkids. That shouldn’t be too much to ask.
But they were locked inside the mine and outsiders, even sheriffs, weren’t allowed contact with the slaves. I needed someone inside. Then, I thought of George. He had been the overseer at Charles and Sarah’s plantation; they were sure that he had aided Barb and Pat’s escape. There wasn’t enough evidence for criminal charges, but they had fired him and I heard he had gotten hired at the mine to run the night shift. I also knew that the mine employees often drank at the Thirsty Miner Tavern, just down the road from the mine, before work.
So, the next afternoon, right after lunch, I told my Deputies that I had some business in town. I rode off in that direction, but stopped after a few minutes and ducked into the woods to change into civilian clothes so as not to attract attention, before doubling back. It was about a two hour horseback ride to the tavern and I arrived early enough to get a table where I could see the entire room. I nursed a beer very slowly; I needed to remain clear-headed.
Around, four o’clock, a tall, well-built man strode into the room and went up to the bar. It was George. I moved quickly to stand beside him as the bartender brought his drink. “I got that,” I said, slapping some coins down on the bar, “And bring another for me.”
George turned to look at me. “Sheriff? Sheriff Miller? Sarah’s father?” he asked looking a bit surprised to see me. “Isn’t this a bit out of your county?” he asked.
“It is,” I replied, escorting him to my table. “I came to see you. I want to see my daughter who has recently been sold as a slave in your mine. I also want to see Barb, the former slave at Sarah’s plantation.”
He smiled at me and didn’t look at all surprised by this request, “Yes, I know about how you are Barb’s real father,” he smiled. “You had a fling with Pat way back when, you rascal. I can’t say that I blame you. She’s might fine looking today and I bet she was even better back then.”
I smiled back at him. “Yes, she was. And I know about you helping them to escape from the plantation.” A nervous look crossed his face for a moment. “Don’t worry, we’re on the same side. We need to help each other.” George looked at me long and hard, but that seemed to satisfy him.
“George,” I said, “I turned 50 yesterday and all I have to show for my life is two daughters enslaved in your mine and I helped put at least one of them there.” I grasped the sleeve of his shirt. “You are my only hope to get them out; you have to help me.”
“Get them out? I’d love to help you, but I can’t just spring them without a real, viable plan not just to get them out of the mine, but to get them to rebel territory. Without that, they’d be recaptured in no time and probably executed in the most brutal way imaginable. The bosses would know I was involved and have me made into a penal slave or even worse. However, I think I can arrange for you to see them for a brief visit.”
“Can you?” I asked. “I would be in your debt if you could. As for the escape, let me see what I can come up with.”
George thought a moment, before replying, “Meet me here in two days at the same time. Dress in civilian clothes like you are now. When you see me come in, don’t approach me. If the visit is on, I’ll touch my nose twice then I’ll have a quick drink and leave. Wait five minutes, then you leave too and walk down to the mine, to gate #2. I’ll meet you there.”
, and this is not California.
