Midnight Rescue (2 page)

T
he moment the whistle sounded, Libby Norstad felt the excitement. From a deck high on the
Christina
, she stared upstream.
Adventure! That’s what this is. Living on Pa’s steamboat is an adventure! Every boy and girl I know would like to be where I am
.

As if something special were about to happen, Libby wished she could tell the boat to hurry. Then she remembered. Danger had chased them up the Mississippi River to Minnesota Territory. In the darkness of night they had slipped away from St. Paul. Was that same danger following them even now?

While the sun rose above the eastern bluffs, Libby’s excitement changed to uneasiness. “When does adventure become trouble?” she asked her friend Caleb Whitney as he joined her at the railing.

Caleb snapped his fingers. “Just that quick!” he said.

At fourteen, almost fifteen, Caleb was a year older than Libby, but only an inch taller. His blond hair fell down over his forehead, nearly reaching his eyes. “Stillwater is next,” he said. “You’ll like it there.”

Just then the
Christina’s
whistle sounded again. Long and deep, the call broke the quiet of early morning. From shore a
man’s big voice sang out, “Steamboat a-comin’!”

As the village of Stillwater came alive, people of all sizes and ages rushed toward the river. Boys and girls raced for a spot with the best view. Not far behind came mothers and fathers with younger children and babies in their arms. Everyone seemed to have one thought—reaching the riverfront before the steamboat tied up.

Soon only a narrow strip of water lay between the
Christina
and shore. As the crowd grew even larger, those in the back kept moving around, trying to see everything.

When a young boy called out from shore, Libby and Caleb waved to him. Soon the boy shouted a question. “Do you live on the boat?”

Caleb grinned down at him, enjoying the child’s curiosity. “I’m a cabin boy,” he shouted back. “Libby’s father is the captain.”

“Where did you come from?” a girl called.

“All the way from St. Louis. It’s spring there. How come you don’t have spring here?”

The grown-ups in the crowd laughed. Though it was the second week in May, 1857, the air was still cold. Everyone knew that Minnesota Territory had just come through one of the worst winters in its history.

“What’s your cargo?” a man shouted.

“Cookstoves, sewing machines, and cloth for your ladies to make dresses,” Caleb told them. “Axes, saws, and plows for you.”

“And candy?” a small boy asked.

“Yup. Just the kind of candy you’ll like.”

As deckhands threw out the lines, eager people caught and
held them. When the gangplank went down, the deckhands raced to tie the ropes to posts on shore.

Just then Libby heard the clip-clop of horses coming closer and closer. Soon a team and wagon swung around a building near the waterfront. A tall blond boy sat on the high seat of the wagon. As his horses reached an open area, he called out, “Whoa!” Standing up, he leaped to the ground and tied a lead rope to the hitching rail.

When the boy reached the back of the crowd, he raised both arms and waved. “Hey, Caleb!” he shouted. “Over here!”

In the next moment Caleb spotted him. “Hi Nate! Wait for me! I’ll be right down!”

Caleb turned to Libby. “I met Nate the last time I was in Stillwater. Want to come with us? He’ll take us around.”

Without waiting for Libby’s answer, Caleb headed for the stairs. “Help me find Jordan so he can go too.”

“Caleb?” Libby asked as she followed him down a flight of steps to the deck below. “Is it safe for Jordan to be seen in Stillwater?”

Only a short time before, Jordan Parker had run away from his master, a cruel slave trader named Riggs. Like Caleb, Jordan now worked for Libby’s father as a cabin boy. Because of all that had happened on their trip up the Mississippi River, Jordan had become known to everyone on the boat.

Caleb turned back to Libby. “He’s as safe here as anywhere outside of Canada.”

Libby caught Caleb’s hidden meaning. “That’s not very safe,” she said.

“You’re right.” Caleb’s honest gaze met hers. “We can’t ever forget the fugitive slave laws. Wherever we go there might be
someone who doesn’t want Jordan to have his freedom. As long as even one person feels that way, Jordan will be in danger.”

After a quick search for Jordan on the boiler deck, Libby followed Caleb down another stairway. There had been more than one fugitive slave law. As part of the Compromise of 1850, Congress had strengthened the right of a slave owner to hunt down and capture fugitives, even in free northern states. Owners often hired catchers—rough, cruel men—to bring back runaway slaves.

On the main deck Caleb turned into the large open room for storing cargo. As they found their way between boxes and barrels, Libby asked, “What if the wrong person figures out that Jordan is a fugitive?”

“Shhh!” Only crew members were here, but Caleb glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “There will always be people who want the big reward offered for Jordan. But he can’t spend his whole life being scared.”

As Caleb passed the opening to a secret hiding place, he didn’t even glance that way. “We can’t let anything stop Jordan now. He’s figured out a perfect plan to rescue his family.”

“A safe plan?” Libby asked.

“The safest that something so dangerous can be.”

“Can I go along?” Libby asked. With every part of her being she wanted to help Jordan’s family escape to freedom.

“Maybe,” Caleb said.

Libby’s heart leaped.
Caleb said maybe
. Since the age of nine, he had worked with the Underground Railroad—the secret plan that helped slaves escape to freedom. Always before when Libby asked if she could take part in the rescue, Caleb had said no. If he said
maybe
, he might mean
yes
!

But then Caleb told her, “It’s up to Jordan whether or not you go. It’s going to be a hard trip. We can’t give away even one secret.”

Lifting her head, Libby tossed her long hair.
So! I’ll prove that I can help rescue Jordan’s family. For a start, I’ll show Caleb and Jordan that I can keep a secret
.

When Libby and Caleb passed through another door, they found Jordan in the engine room. Tall and strong, the runaway slave was fifteen or sixteen years old.

Libby, Caleb, and Jordan hurried outside and down the gangplank. Along the riverfront, people greeted one another as if they had been separated for years.

Near Libby a little girl leaped into her daddy’s arms. An older man shook hands with someone who seemed to have been gone on business. A young woman gazed up into the eyes of a handsome young man. When he smiled down at her, Libby felt the quick stab of memory.
That’s the way Pa used to look at Ma
.

Libby pushed the thought away, not wanting loneliness for her mother to spoil the sunshine of the day. During the years after her mother died, Libby lived in Chicago with her aunt. Now Libby felt glad she could be with her Pa again.

When Libby and the boys reached Nate, he stood near his wagon, waiting for them. As Caleb introduced Libby and Jordan, Nate caught Libby’s last name.

“Your pa is the captain?” he asked. “Heard your whistle way out at our farm.” He turned to Caleb. “I knew you were back again.”

“By the sound of the whistle?” Libby felt pleased.

“Yup, clear and deep. I like your bell too. It’s one of the best on the river.”

Nate couldn’t possibly have said anything nicer. Always Libby had been proud of the
Christina’
s bell. More than once, her father had told Libby how it was made. When the bell was being cast, its makers threw silver dollars into the bronze to give a silvery tone.

“Pa sent me to pick up the plow we ordered from the general store,” Nate explained. “We’ve got time before it’s unloaded, don’t we?”

Caleb nodded. “The freight we brought from St. Louis is down in the hold.”

“Want a ride to see the town?” Nate grinned. “Of all the people in Stillwater
I’m
the very best one to take you around. I’ll show you the most fun places in the whole St. Croix Valley.”

The
Saint Kroy
River flowed between Minnesota Territory and the state of Wisconsin. The village of Stillwater was built at the head of the widening in the river called
Lake St. Croix
.

As Nate went forward to untie the lead rope, he walked around the horses, talking to both Tom and Bob and checking their harness. Then Nate and Jordan climbed up to the only seat, and Caleb helped Libby into the back of the wagon.

Because of the large wheels, the bed of the wagon was about three feet off the ground. Instead of sitting down, Libby and Caleb stood behind Nate and Jordan to see over the high sides of the wagon.

“Giddyup!” Nate called to Tom and Bob, and the horses moved out into the road.

A short distance from the waterfront, Nate turned onto a street with tall wooden buildings.

Caleb looked up a steep hill on their left. “There’s Nelson’s
Grade!” he exclaimed. “That’s where you took me before. Want to go again?”

Nate shook his head. “Someone just had a bad accident there. I’ll show you the view from a better hill.”

On Main Street the dirt road was filled with mud. As the horses picked their way around large holes, the wagon jerked and bounced in the ruts. Libby grabbed the high board sides and hung on.

“Have you lived here long?” she asked Nate.

“All my life.”

“You must know these hills really well,” Libby said.

“Yup. Lots of caves in ’em. There are caves even in the bluff surrounding Battle Hollow.”

“What’s Battle Hollow?” Libby was curious.

“I’ll show you. It’s a hollowed-out place with steep rock walls. There was a big battle there between the Sioux and Chippewa Indians. That’s where the prison for Minnesota Territory is now.”

Soon Nate turned left onto a street with a gentle rise. A block farther on, the horses turned again, and the bed of the wagon took on a sharp slant. As Tom and Bob leaned into their harness, Libby shifted her feet to keep her balance.

The road ahead was long and steep and followed the edge of a straight-up-and-down bluff. On the right side, the ground dropped sharply away with only a few large rocks between the edge of the road and the drop-off. With most of the trees cut off the hillsides, Libby had a clear view in whatever direction she looked.

The higher they went, the greater the distance between the top and the bottom of the bluff. Seventy-five? One hundred
feet? Libby wasn’t sure. She only knew that she felt scared just looking down.

Again Libby braced her feet and clung to the sides of the wagon. To her relief the boards were chest high, giving more protection than usual. But none of the boys seemed to share Libby’s concern. She could only hope that Caleb didn’t see how frightened she felt.

I never knew that heights would bother me so much
, Libby thought.
I’m glad we’re going up, not down
. Then she remembered.
What goes up must come down
.

Trying to take her mind off the steep drop, Libby asked Nate about the prison.

“Built from a quarry right here in Stillwater,” Nate said proudly. “Trouble is, it doesn’t keep prisoners in. Just last year eight of ’em escaped.”

“Eight?” Jordan asked, as if thinking about his own escape. “How did they git out?”

“It ain’t hard at all,” Nate said. “One prisoner pried up the floor in a hall. Another lifted a cell door from its hinges. Still another used a burglar’s bar.”

“Smuggled in, I bet,” Caleb said.

Nate’s eyes were full of laughter. “Another prisoner sawed through iron window bars. And one guy picked the locks on his chains. Someone else dug a hole through the outside wall.”

“There must be something really wrong,” Caleb said.

Nate grinned. “To my way of thinking the warden just lets ’em go.”

“Are you serious?” Libby asked. “How could someone who is supposed to keep prisoners locked up just let them go?”

Nate shrugged. “Some of the counties don’t pay money to
feed their prisoners. We even had a lady escape.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Libby said, not sure what she should believe.

Nate held up his right hand. “The whole truth, and nothing but the truth. It’s as plain as the hair on your head who those prisoners are. Just last week I saw one of them.”

“On the loose?” Libby didn’t like the idea of an escaped prisoner running around. What if one of them tried to board the
Christina
?

But Nate seemed to have no such dread. “I saw the prisoner down by the river. Half of his hair was the way it should be.”

Libby’s giggle sounded more nervous than she would like. “What do you mean—half of his hair?” She felt sure that Nate was teasing them. “You’re making things up.”

“Nothing funny about it.” Nate looked offended now. “Half of his hair looked just like mine—about the same length. The other half of his head was shaved clean.”

Libby couldn’t even imagine it.

“Not one speck of hair on that side,” Nate said. “That’s how you know who a prisoner is.”