"Conductors, Smugglers, Curses and Tales." : A Lazarus Graim Tale

They all nodded in agreement. This aging group of gnarled, weather-beaten faces, their woolen jumpers smelling of salt, fish-oil and pipe smoke, all responded in unison. The old master's mansion up on the coast road was as haunted as any structure in the whole of Christendom. Jacob the most senior amongst them, growled at Jebediah.

"You'd best to cross yourself if ever within its shadow." 

They all approved again taking generous drinks from their tankards, full of bitter tasting, badly brewed ale. They then sighed in communal congruity as they chewed their cheap tobacco and unanimously spit into the fire. 

Overseer Jebediah, did not buy into their superstition. He considered himself an excellent judge of character, an expert on the difference between honesty and dishonesty. Something he knew the former to be inherent in god fearing Christians and lacking in all heathens, Indians and Negroes.

He never shirked his Sunday duties. Even the parish priest was a little intimidated by Jeb's commitment to the tenements of the old testament. Oh, yes Jeb recognized liars and thieves when he saw them. These men did not suspect him, of suspecting them, but he did. His gut told him not to count on these supposed devout believers. A derisive snort snuck out of his temperament. It riled them. 

The group shuffled their feet in annoyance. He tested the water to see if he could rattle them some more. All the while playing to their sense that they had the home advantage. 

"Surely, all old wives' tales? Foolishness told as to terrify young-uns and the such like." 

He could tell from his years of dealing with cheats, all of them fore-mostly wanted to give him the runaround. His words were barbs used to shame them. He noticed them drawing closer like a school of fish attempting to exclude and confuse him. 

Ol'´ Jeb didn't worry, he fished for truth and punished the wicked all his life. They would soon discover, his faith gave him enough fortitude to tread water all night long, if that was the fishermen's intended ploy. 

He looked on their guarded expressions and felt his ire rising. These were no law-abiding white men. He took a breath while maintaining his inscrutability and thought to himself, 

Fine! Ol'Jeb doesn't mind dancing. 

He stared at each man directly. He did not waiver nor did he blink, continuing to patiently wait on them.

One cracked. 

The fisherman Otis carefully cleared his throat and paused while he contemplated the circle of men. Then feeling courageous he quipped. 

"Old wives, Jeb? That's all we have waiting for us." 

Jeb allowed himself a grin at the jibe. 

Finally, a crack in these old turtles' shell. And it being Otis... Well, it would appear his daughter taking a shine to me, helped my cause.

In fact, it was for this reason, he decided to throw Jeb a lifeline. He currently deemed him an unfortunate drowning man. The rest of them for their part maintained smirking into their ales and pretending to think about their better halves. Jacob understood Otis' attempt to help, but he didn't join in. On principle, he didn't trust any patrol men. He growled: 

"That mansion is cursed! Everyone knows it!" A burst of furious nods and ayes went up. he proceeded. "They say the devil himself is housed there. He and that villainous master. No Jeb! No man of faith here will help. My father told me he seen Ol´ Beelzebub himself visit that place, shouting and cursing all night long. Some nights at sea, if we're fishing nearby,we can all hear the devilry"

A second round of spitting, fired into the pub's hearth. A couple of the older sea-dogs made the sign of the cross and kissed their fists. 

Jeb reveled in their hostile bearing. Riled and rattled men always made mistakes. 

Time to change tack a little, he thought.

"Gentlemen I understand. As church-going, righteous Christians, it is our duty to not put ourselves in temptations way."

A few rugged faces nodded collectively. Jeb celebrated a little on the inside and continued.

"But let us not forget, there are criminals leading infidels away from their god-given Masters. Property disregarding the natural order as laid down by the church, when civilized man made this country his rightful home. An indelible truth that upholds an undeniable fact. The white European man holds dominance over all other races on our Earth."

Jacob appeared unimpressed. A small number however nodded begrudgingly, and some mumbled concession.

"We are the chosen ones. In our veins flows the blood of Adam. We are the original race, and we have brought civilization wherever we have touched down." 

Some of these old men, withered from his ice-cold smile. 

*******

Samson the conductor, contemplated his new passengers. They were a sad spectacle. A scared, tired and run-ragged bunch of his brethren. . His breast swelled with anger towards the masters who forced them into servitude. 

He handed out the meager rations. Simple words and sounds of gratitude echoed quietly in the hallways. He raised an urgent finger to his lips and the noise immediately stopped. Afterwards while they silently rested or slept, he padded off, to make his rounds and inspect the upkeep of their hiding place. 

He was a child of slavery. Born in chains and put to work in the resident smithy. One drunken night the smithy's heart gave up. He took the man's hammer, shattered the chain on his collar and fled. He didn't get far. The overseer's captured him and sold him to the next white owner. 

After this attempted escape, the voice of freedom spoke continuously to him. Thus, he worked hard to increase his bodily stamina. His spirit preached courage to him on many a long and lonely night. Over time his belief manifested his most ardent wish. A few days later a railroad operative made contact. He did not hesitate. He boarded and 3 months later he breathed an unfamiliar air, north of his slave home. 

Fortune blessed him, enabling him to earn coin working as an iron smith. For the first time he bought food and paid for shelter. He attended church and thus maintained acquaintance with his conductor. Still, thoughts plagued him of all those bent backs, beaten brows, whipped and chained bodies. 

A seed of anger sprouted and blossomed into a crimson flower of revenge. Nights he dreamed of his hands around white throats, and realized he needed to take action or go mad. He joined the revolution, and set to freeing his enslaved brethren. 

The early days had been perilous. Numerous times he'd come close to being killed. Only the strength of his namesake and the punishing blows of his hammer, saved him and his precious cargo. Samson was no fool. He began to understand,violence alone would not lead the railroad to a lasting victory. One day, while bloodied and tired he got to thinking. 

He remembered hearing stories about a certain kind of white folks. A wild unruly bunch. They lived up and down the seaboard, following their own rules, and valuing freedom almost more than their own lives. Yes, they were mercenary, but they empathized with the yearning in the hearts of his brothers and sisters. 

He mentioned his idea in their closest circles. Venturing that they might find allies along the seacoast. Some of the more influential members in the underground got wise to the notion. They staked it, and sent negotiators to parley with these pirate folks. 

By some miracle they reached an accord. It was agreed the smugglers would share their clandestine knowledge of the smuggling routes, in exchange for gunpowder, ships, and immunity from the law for their enterprises up the coastline. All in all it seemed fair. 

These new-found accomplices had an edge over their pious white neighbors. They brazenly took advantage in the inherent superstitions that reside in the faithful's heart. They'd tell a tall story about a place. The yarn would be so convincing that gossipers and attention seekers would spin it further. 

The plausibility of the tale increased the more it was spun. A fine web of deceit then hung over a chosen site, and it would be avoided by pious souls. 

The second phase was just as cunning. They added a theatrical element by using props like wind chimes or funnels. The inexplicable noises helped with the explanations, that ghosts, devils , or Ol'Beelzebub himself resided in those blasted walls. 

Through this process they secured their drops and stash houses and could go about their business without fear of discovery. This made them valuable allies and it was in just such a house, Samson now rested with his passengers. 

***** 

"Sirs! Why are we fighting and fussing over these varmints?" 

Jebediah's pale eyes took in the grizzled visages of the fishermen crowded around the inn's hearth. 

"Beasts of the field! Dumb Oxen! Cattle to graze, or pick if you will, our cotton fields. They have no moral backbone. Let alone, righteous fiber. And the women! If you can call them that! Worse than sows in heat, and to be treated as such." 

He caught his breath. He had spittle flecks in his goatee from his impassioned speech. His hand brushed through his beard, he felt certain his vitriolic manner cowed these hardened, yet faithless men.

"Oh they are here! Make no mistake! Hidden by rebels, stolen from us. Our property thieved away in the night. I will not stand for it! I do not wish to see any, upstanding white Christian Carolina, loosing business due to some new fangdanglery, coming from those nigger-lovin´ northern heretics! Get it?" 

Jeb was convinced the fishermen were now to him like castigated children. Gone was their substance, replaced by a vacuous need to conform. All, except Jacob, shied away from the fiery gaze. 

"Jesus teaches us to be lovin' and gracious. But that love is reserved for our kind... NOT THEIRS! Understand? My Daddy was a constable, and his Daddy before him. We understand how wily, bloodthirsty, and downright evil these animals are. I grew up huntin' them. I'm intimately acquainted with their beastly ways, and their cowardly instincts," 

He grimaced and continued, "I know their smell. They stink of trotters, chicken batter and collard greens. My nose can detect them a mile away." 

He paused, "These hairs here," Jebediah brushed along his forearms. "Get to tingling when one of them black bastards has an ill intention towards me. It's my connection to the angels above that kept me alive. I will not allow one slave to roam free in our lands, making his laaawdy-daaawdy way to the North." 

He spat that last word out with every hate filled fiber of his being. He waited to see if any of these poor souls would crack, revealing to him what he had begun to suspect. These shoreline smuggling scum were feigning to be fishermen. They're in collusion with the enemy, and aiding slaves to get free. 

You couldn't trust these types. It didn't matter that they're white and claim to be faithful servants. They do not recognize the Lord of the bible. Their master is coin. 

His icy gaze held them. Not once blinking. He imagined himself a mighty bald eagle, swooping down on his prey. Time to faze them a little more, he thought. 

"Now, I know a common cowed negro can seem human. Possibly deserving of our goodwill and charity. Honestly fellas, what benign man would look upon suffering beast and not want to help?

There was a wave of agreeable nods to go with this statement. Jacob however had his arms crossed firmly. He looked sternly at Jeb, and he reiterated.

"It is an accursed place! For the love of the holy spirit do not go up there."

"Rest assured, I am going up there. Old Beelzebub himself couldn't stop me." 

He paused to give effect and to have each man focused on his next sentence. 

"The question is... what are you going to do?"

Jeb carried on challenging these men.

"Otis? Or you Johnathan? Huh? What are worthy God-fearing men such as yourselves willing to do? Will you all be the Devil's idle hands?

Jacob looked concerned.

"I'm the leader of these homesteads, I won't allow..."

Jeb raised a finger, touching his lips. Jacob stopped talking and an eerie silence blanketed the inn. Jeb composed as always decide to shake the tree a little more. Mockingly and arrogant he asked.

"You won't, what? 

The two men locked eyes. 

The gunshot going of inside the tavern deafened them all. Jacob went limp and fell over. The front of his shirt was suddenly decorated with a strange red blossom. Jeb held the pistol up and blew away the acrid smoke. He glared triumphantly at all those men. 

From out of nowhere every fisherman's fist gripped a blade, a hatchet or a billy club. Jeb smirked at them. 

"You nigger lovin´ apostates! Don't you know I'm here to do God's work? STAND ASIDE!"

***** 

"Its true Mary. All of it. Its just like everyone says. That place is evil."

The listener crossed herself, and nodded to the story-teller to continue.

"I overheard your father narrating the tragedy of the fate of that handsome overseer... You know... The one you took a fancy too. He fell to the curse of the house. One man told how they could not look on the poor man's tortured features. One that had, no doubt, witnessed the devil! Awful! Just ghastly." 

She studied Mary's sincere face and imagined a tear welling in her eye. 

"Well, I best be getting on. Got a lot to do down at the fish-market."

She watched the gossip head off, and she smiled to herself. Turns out it was a god send Jeb showing his true colors. All the tales surrounding his demise were spreading like wild fire. Even now, that unwitting girl would play her part, in contributing to the Legend of the Master's house. Locals who already avoided the place like the plague, would now certainly not risk looking in the house's general direction. 

Mary turned happily on her heal and headed home. On the walk she allowed her imagination to drift. In her mind's eye, she saw the handsome conductor. She had a powerful inclination, to witness her father's face when she confided in him, her new heart's desire.