The Watchman's Grace

Chapter Two-3

Then, after an hour of steady pace, their wagon slowed down to pass through the main entrance of Springwater Plantation. A stately pillared main house looked down from a small rise on all who entered. These surroundings were familiar enough for Willis. Yet while Fortune eyed the scene about him, he immediately detected a difference in the air.

Surprisingly, he did not feel an undercurrent of repression like when he first arrived at White Rose. Of course there were plenty of servants performing numerous tasks of grueling labor, but not many pale men were exercising brutish authority. Nor were harsh screams from relentless whippings constantly assaulting one’s ears.

Fortune had no chance to make further evaluations once Willis pulled to a halt near the bricked main house. Motioning Fortune to come off the wagon, he spread out his right hand in a flourish.

“We have arrived Fortune. You will now meet your teacher, Herman Ford. He’s the best at putting learning into heads of boys like you. When he’s finished, we’ll put you to real use. And count yourself lucky not to be working in a field. We reckon you can do a little more than that! But you cross us once and off to the fields you go for good! Ah look here, there comes Herman.”

From behind the main house there appeared a middle aged man of wiry build and strong disposition. Fortune could see years of wear in his creased face, though a steely determination burned through probing blue eyes. Here, Fortune surmised, was a pale man not used to easy tasks.

“Greetings Willis, good to see you again at Springwater,” he exclaimed while extending his hand. “So, is this the boy you want to make into a blacksmith?”

“Sure is Herman,” replied a smiling Willis as he shook hands in a firm grip. “We have a lot riding on this buck. His name is Fortune. What do you make of him?”

Unlike the port where he was mauled like a beast of burden, Herman Ford looked him over with a steady gaze before peering directly into his eyes. After scratching his chin, he made his assessment. Not once did he put a hand upon Fortune.

“Well, if his will and discipline match his appearance, you will have your blacksmith,” Ford replied in the affirmative. “I’ve worked with worse and made better, so we have a good chance here indeed.”

“Yes sir, Herman! That’s what I thought when I first laid eyes on him down in Savannah! Now I best be getting back to White Rose. That is, unless you need me for anything else?”

“Only thing I need right now is time to make this Fortune a good blacksmith. Now you get along there Willis. And please give my regards to Harriston and Darlene.”

“With pleasure I will Herman. Should I check back in five weeks or so?”

“Four will be plenty Willis. Have a safe ride back to White Rose.”

Not lingering a moment longer, Willis mounted his wagon and rode down a tree lined laneway towards the main road. As he became a mere speck on the green horizon, Herman Ford turned back to face Fortune.

“Welcome to Springwater Plantation, Fortune. Make sure you listen well to everything I do and say. When White Rose sends a boy anywhere, they want to make sure they get their money’s worth! Everyone in Georgia knows that Harriston Smith does not look kindly on poor results. Do we understand each other Fortune?”

“Yes,” muttered a subdued Fortune.

“Good enough. I’m gonna show you around the barn where we will be working. Along the way I will point out where you’ll be sleeping. I don’t ask much, but what I want I get. You will eat three square meals of decent food and gain a good night’s rest. But you must do what I ask without any guff. If I decide I can’t work with you that will be the end of it. Am I clear enough?”

“Yes,” replied Fortune meekly, knowing he had no choice but to obey.

Ford’s nose wrinkled in slight disapproval after hearing this response. “Before we start, you best address any White man you speak to properly. I want to hear a sir or mister at least. I’m not your master, so I don’t care to hear that. Now let’s get moving along.”

Walking towards Springwater’s large stables, Fortune could not help but notice the spirit of those Colored servants working here. Surely they were not content with their station, though the widespread fear painting every minute at White Rose was hardly noticed on these grounds. As if reading his thoughts, Ford continued speaking.

“Master Smith don’t approve of all our ways at Springwater. For one, he says we’re too easy on our slaves. But no one can argue with results, and he must envy our success deep down. Because everyone knows what’s most important to Harriston Smith; profit with results. And Springwater Plantation does both just fine. Now over here are the stables.”

They approached a massive, well maintained brown barn, its main doors open to reveal many stables with a large work space. When Willis led the way inside, Fortune’s curiosity was won over with various tools made by minds of a different temperament. His memory flashed back to Nathaniel’s comments about the pale man holding weapons the servants had no chance to match. Perhaps there was some truth in the old man’s words?

“It looks a bit too much at first,” gestured Ford at the various implements. “But that’s why you’re here. And I’ll learn you good. But first let me show you the beauty before the pain. These horses are the pride of Springwater. And it is the duty of the blacksmith to make sure that they fit the horses, make the shoes and whatever other tool is needed for the farm. You will be a jack of all trades Fortune.

“Making tools is hot, tough work, but it’s easy compared to fitting these horses out with their shoes! Most of them will let you if you do it nice. But a few of them just don’t care. You’ve gotta watch those ones real careful. I’ll say it again, most of them are good, but there’s a few that can have a temper. Are you ready to get some learning in? I’m going to start by showing you all the tools you will be using in this trade.”

Fortune was suitably impressed by the shape and form of all the implements about him. He was very eager to learn just what the pale man did with such strange objects.

“I am ready Mister Ford,” he replied positively.

Without a moment to waste, Ford began the intense process of teaching his latest pupil about his new trade. In turn, Ford was taken aback by Fortune’s appetite for knowledge. He sensed this was no ordinary slave, perhaps having some standing back from wherever he came on the Dark Continent. From anvils, vises and tongs, his new apprentice eagerly memorized each and where it was placed in the workshop.

Suitably impressed after a lengthy first day of instruction, Ford gently patted Fortune’s back. “Now that’s how I like it. No talkback and not stupid like an ox! Keep it so, Fortune, and I will make a fine blacksmith out of you. Master Smith will not want for another by the time you leave Springwater!”

Fortune bled inside every time he heard the word master. As hard as a hammer hitting hot iron on any anvil, he remained staunch in his determination to forge freedom. It was through gaining knowledge from the pale man at every chance that he would fashion an opportunity.

“Thank you, Mister Ford. I will not disappoint you,” he smiled back.

In the sweet progress of learning, Fortune found Herman Ford a man who prided himself on a deep knowledge of affairs. By remaining attentive, he paid Ford the ultimate compliment, which curried more favor with his instructor. While Ford maintained a firm air of authority, he did extend certain decencies towards Fortune. To be sure, this was not common in the contemporary South.

As their days together carried on, each man learned a great deal from the other. In Fortune’s case, he gained knowledge which allowed him to master those tools which seemed so foreign at first sight. By the end of his second week, he was already molding implements to be used at Springwater Plantation.

Herman Ford could not believe the capacity for learning in his new charge. He would never admit it aloud to anyone, but Fortune’s abilities surpassed any man’s he had ever seen. To observe Fortune in action would put the offensive assumptions concerning the Colored man’s sense of industry to shame.

And it was for that reason Ford determined to let Fortune know his place, less the essential truth of his worth became self-evident. Every White man in the South knew the whole system of their economic survival depended on keeping the Colored man in his place; through an oppression which afforded cheap labor to run the South’s vast, labor intensive plantations.

On starting his third week of training, time came for Fortune to do the farrier’s job of fitting a horse’s hooves. In America, it was not enough for a blacksmith to forge and repair implements. In addition to those tasks, they fitted shoes on horses as well.

“Remember back when you started how I said the harder task lies ahead?” Ford queried. “Now is the real test for any true blacksmith. Sure you may be able to fashion a shoe, but can you put it on a horse and make it comfortable? Today I’m gonna show you how it’s done. Watch me carefully Fortune, because there can’t be any mistakes from here on in. Are you following me?”

“My eyes are always on you Mister Ford.”

“Good to hear,” Herman Ford replied as he led Fortune to one of the stalls. “We are going to fit out Bessie here today. She’s a friendly one so it will make it easier on you.”

Ford walked confidently towards Bessie. He engaged the creature’s focused gaze as he approached. Soon he reached his right hand towards her well-toned body, stroking the beautiful light chocolate horse with a soothing caress. Then, after speaking soothing reassurances to Bessie, he placed his utensils gently on the ground. When Ford felt the temperament of the horse was calm enough, he started in earnest.

First, he deftly used strong pincers to remove Bessie’s first shoe. Once successful, he immediately trimmed and primed the sole of her naked hoof, with cuttings raining on the hay strewn floor. When he judged this part of the process complete, he turned back to an engrossed Fortune. It was essential his charge knew every step in the next procedure.

“So then…”

Unknowingly, Ford had trimmed too close to a sensitive part of the horse’s hoof. Without warning, Bessie suddenly reared up, kicking out towards a blindsided Herman Ford. Yet in one swift action, an alert Fortune sprang up and pushed Herman away from the deadly kick, saving the teacher’s head by inches. Splayed on the ground, Herman Ford looked up in astonishment at the bucking horse, immediately realizing what had transpired.

“Bessie, what the hell is wrong with you?” he screamed out. “You damn near killed me!” Straightening himself out, he glared back at Fortune with strained embarrassment.

“Come along now, we’re gonna train on another horse, since Bessie’s gone wild today,” Ford muttered while still in some shock.

Not one word of gratitude for saving his life was uttered. To Fortune, it was another humiliating moment in the perverse land of this course pale man. In his native Ehra culture, the person whose life was saved would be beholden to his rescuer in lifelong gratitude. But here, not even a simple expression of thanks was offered. It was a world which repulsed him every moment with its willful ignorance.