From the Dust of Death

WEB PREVIEW Follow this intriguing story as it chronicles the heroine’s struggle to survive a time period in history from 1866 to 1877. The story is based on actual events during the evil Convict Lease System in the Southern states following the Civil War. CHAPTER 6 It was April of 1870 when the caravan left Charleston under the cover of darkness. The passengers were herded aboard a railroad car with standing room only. Grace had been told how fortunate she was to get a space on a railroad car since few passengers were allowed tickets. The car was crowded and rocked back and forth for hours in darkness so intense that Grace felt she could almost reach out and feel it if she was not so tightly pressed against those around her. She tried to think pleasant thoughts of Cuba and the joy seeing Uncle Rupert and his family again. She remembered studying about the warm tropical weather and the palm trees. She tried to think about her mother and Martin and how happy it would be to have the whole affair over and return to Lively and happy times again. Grace found herself, as others in the car, clinging to someone cramped beside her to keep from being pushed to her knees. She hoped desperately that the train would soon reach Savannah where she would board a ship to Cuba. She stood until her legs gave way and she fell to her knees. She clasped her hands around her head to shut out some of the sounds of weeping and the clicking of the wheels as they moved noisily over the tracks. The smell of human waste, vomit, and body odor filled her nostrils until she struggled for air. She closed her eyes and prayed for God to help her manage to hold on. When Grace opened her eyes she could see sunlight streaming through the cracks in the car. She kept hoping to smell the familiar ocean air, but instead the stifling foul odors of decaying humanity continued to fill the air. She tried to get up but her legs would not support her. Hours continued to go by until time seemed endless. Day turned into night again. The train had stopped and started several times, but no attention had been given to the human mass packed together in the car. She had tried to hold back the release from her kidneys, but little by little her bladder released urine and filled her shoes. She sobbed softly and was comforted by a young boy. “Mlss, 1 can spare a bite of bread, here,” he whispered. “But, don’t tell nobody, cause somebody will steal it.” Grace held out her hand and the boy slipped a morsel of bread in her hand. She put it in her mouth and dared not chew, but let the juices in her mouth moisten it until she could swallow. “Miz, what's your name.” “Grace,” she replied. “That's a pretty name. Mine's Anthon.” Grace was grateful for the small piece of biscuit. She began to feel uneasy as to the real destination of their journey. She decided they were not going toward Savannah at all. She strained to hear familiar sea sounds. “Anthony,” Grace whispered, “Are we going to Savannah?” “I don’t, I don't think we is.” “Oh! dear Lord!” The train suddenly stopped and to everyone's surprise the doors of the car were opened. They were all permitted to leave the railcar. Some had to be helped from the car. They were lined up and given a bowl of soup and a piece of bread. Grace had not eaten for at least forty-eight hours and ravenously attacked the soup, but when she bit into the bread it was molded. She spit it out and secretly swore she would starve before she would eat molded bread. The soup was a little better even though it was more like weak tea than soup. She drank it and was grateful to have it. “It's Saturday. I wonder what'll be going on tonight?” a voice penetrated the silence. “Lord knows, but I hope I get one that don't stink as bad as I do,” someone answered. “Do you know where we're going?” another asked. “You must be new on the circuit honey,” the reply came followed by a burst of laughter from the two. Grace and the other new additions would soon be in¬troduced to degradation and brutality far more incredible than they could ever have imagined. About a dozen women were lead into a large room and were instructed to clean up and make themselves presentable for possible interviews for boat travel. Grace splashed water on her face and tried to push her hair back into place and straighten her crumpled dress. She had no idea what had happened to her baggage. She tried to keep her thoughts positive. “It won’t matter how you look,” a ruddy-faced woman said, “They don't kear how you look, they jest take anything.”