Knowing that his chances for getting back home were growing slimmer by the day, Dark Henry set out the next night, another cold snap driving the soldiers into their tents and under their blankets. It worked to Henry’s advantage, because as he ran in the night, knowing those men wouldn’t poke their heads out of their tents. He’d waited for the patrols to stand by the fire, their backs to the sleeping slaves. He was thankful for his heavy boots and his coat, both kept him reasonably warm.
Henry ran for hours, fear of capture spurring him on, despite his weakened state due to starvation. As he went, he drank from streams and rivulets. Some water was brackish, but he drank. He kept to the woods as much as possible, only crossing fields at night. His stomach tormented him as he went, but there wasn’t much in the way of food.
“I’d found a pecan grove and loaded my pockets up. I spent a whole day, layin’ there eaten them things. I kept your face in my mind, Mary. All I’s wanted ta do was get home to you.” He smiled wanly and Mary’s hand came to caress his face. He heard the rasp of his beard beneath her cool hand.
He moved along the countryside at night, keeping away from plantations or large farms. He found small farms or abandoned farms and slept in their outbuildings. One night, he found an abandoned homestead. Going to the barn, he went to a stall and burrowed under piles of dirty hay, Henry was able to stay warm. His body was dangerously thin, but he generated enough heat beneath the straw to sustain a comfortable temperature in his cocoon. When night fell once more, Henry dug himself out and looked around the barn. He found a hen sitting on a clutch of eggs, breaking the hen’s neck quickly, he stuffed the body into his shirt, feeling the warmth of the chicken. Cracking the eggs, he sucked out the yokes and fled the barn.
Gaining his bearings, Henry headed out once again, at a steady pace. He ran in the dense forest, knowing it was his best chance to remain undetected. He listened for any sound of armies, men and horses, anything that would indicate he was near people or activity. He ran through the night and the next day, not stopping to even eat. By the evening of the next day Henry was exhausted, his chest burning from exertion. He walked on wobbling legs, looking for a cave or abandon home, any place he could make a small fire and cook the now stiff chicken.
An hour after sun set, Henry found a burned-out home. The charred ruins stood grim sentinel over the burned-out fields. Going to the separated kitchen, he found the old stone oven. There he made a shielded fire, within the oven, so as not to attract unwanted attention. With a sharp rock, he gutted the chicken and pulled most of the stubborn feathers off of it. Rolling the carcass in mud, Henry placed the chicken in the flames of the oven. For a few moments, he let the heat of the fire seep into his quaking bones. He closed the oven and left the structure.
Henry went into the forest, to wait until his meal was cooked. He didn’t want to be trapped within the house, should someone come by. He walked around the area, looking for any hidden food stores, but found none. At the foot of a walnut tree Henry pushed away the overgrown grass and found a handful of nuts, buried beneath. Gathering them, he put them in his pockets for later. He had already gone through his supply of pecans. Walking about the forest, he found six more walnut trees and gathered what he could.
Sometime later, he went back to the kitchen, he neither heard nor saw anything to alarm him. Taking a board from the floor, he raked the clay encrusted chicken out of the oven. Removing his coat, he gathered up the hot clay bound bird and went back into the forest. The cold was piercing and he made his way deeper into the stand of trees. The heat from the chicken felt good and seemed to penetrate into his frozen chest. Finding a large dead tree, fallen long ago, Henry crawled inside, hoping that he wouldn’t find anything else sharing his temporary quarters. For a while, he simply held the warm bundle in his arms, absorbing the heat from the cooked chicken. When he thought he could crack the clay without getting burned, Henry put the warmed coat back on. He had to do all this by touch, it was dark within the confines of the tree. Placing the blob of warm clay on the floor of the tree, he gently pounded his fist into the terracotta form.
The casing broke open, sending up a tantalizing aroma of roasted chicken. The feathers and skin stuck to the baked clay, leaving the meat and bones free. Carefully Henry devoured the bird, picking at the skin that stuck to the side. Only well chewed bones and dirt was left, his meal warm in his belly. Henry curled up and slept through the night, he was exhausted. Near daybreak Henry was roused by the sound of horses. They were farther away, near the abandoned house. He debated whether
