Chapter 5

The Diary of Lucius Williamson, Esq.

February 23, 1862

7:15 - morning

I walked into my small, but most comfortable office. Small by White standards, but with two rooms, plus a small waiting area, it felt as large as King Solomon’s mines. And it was mine. I paid for my section together with four other Negro business men; another lawyer, a doctor, a minister, and a barber. Together, we were one of the first in a series of Negro-owned businesses to own property in this section of the city. For all the strife and toil that the War and Union occupation had brought to Baltimore, for Negros, it also brought about unexpected benefits.

I could not afford an assistant, so the various drudgeries of paperwork were left to me. My first client was not due for another two hours, so I set about the task of filing and sorting. I was a creature of habit and schedule, and liked things to be in order and in their place. Untidy habits, personal or professional, were anathema to me, so I endeavored to be the opposite. Unlike my sister, but I tried not to dwell on that.

8:02 – morning

A strange chill descended on my shoulders. It startled me as I had not left the door open or unlocked. I rose, checked both the front and back doors, then the windows. The building I was in had a low roof, so there was no upstairs. My associates were located in their sections of the building, partitioned off by load bearing walls, on the right and left of my office, although we all shared a large basement area, complete with a boiler, between three of us.

I walked down the rickety stairs to the basement.

The room always made me feel ill at ease. I knew this was superstitious nonsense, but I could not rid myself of these feelings despite my attempts. As I descended, the feeling became stronger and stronger, and the air seemed much damper and colder than I ever remembered. I wondered if the boiler was out, but when I came to the bottom of the stairs, I saw fire blazing inside the metal contraption. I walked closer to the boiler when a sudden draft of cold air stabbed me in the back. I spun around and was confronted by the same fear which held me at the docks several weeks ago.

A tall, black-robed figure stood in front of me with arms that seemed too long for the frame, and endless darkness inside the hood where the head should be. Icy tendrils of fear crawled up my neck. I could not breathe or speak. All I could do was stare in muted terror at the apparition before me. As I stood transfixed, the figure unveiled a long bony hand, ribbed with blue veins, raised it to the hood, and pulled it back.

Horror upon horror! A face too terrifying for words. Glowing orbs of light stared into mine, framed by hair that seemed entangled with roots and grass. I could not tell if the figure was male or female, but I did note the lips. The lips were a woman’s it seemed and as I looked longer, they began to move in a crippling pantomime of speech. A second later, the sound began. A keening cry in the back of my skull which radiated underneath my ears, filling my mind to bursting until I wanted to tear my eyes out.

Through the most Herculean effort, I snapped whatever devious witchcraft held me at bay, and ran up the staircase, slamming the door shut and locking it. I did not know what had just occurred but I was afraid. Just as afraid as I had been that evening on the pier. I sat on the floor and clapped both arms around my legs until I could engage my brain once more.

What had I just experienced? Some kind of psychological phenomena? Was I insane?

The same questions which plagued me then, plagued me now. Was the apparition real?

No. I was not willing to accept this notion.

And, of course, I could speak of this to no one. They would think me mad as a loon, and stop coming to me for legal advice and services. I would remain alone in my insanity. Not even my sister would know what happened here. I was determined to find out how tenuous my hold on reality was, but unless I suffered another temporary delusion, I would go on as if nothing had occurred.

If I could…

Chapter 6

The Diary of Lucius Williamson, Esq.

February 23, 1862

11:00am

I turned my client away, fearing that I would do them more harm than good in my current condition, after which I wandered around the city in a daze. It seemed I walked for hours as my mind turned back on itself, wondering about the apparition from my office. I was so consumed by this, that I failed to realize I crossed The Line. It was an invisible, but very real dividing line between Baltimoreans who supported the Union and President Lincoln’s efforts, and those sympathetic to the Confederate cause. I tried to involve myself in neither since my voice did not matter to the White citizens of Baltimore.

I was in Confederate territory for all intents and purposes, and more in fear of my life than on any normal day in this city. The Union had done quite the job suppressing secession activity, and any pro-Confederate activity. In point of fact, the Union soldiers jailed people for the most minor of infractions if deemed in violation of Martial Law and anti-Union policies. If I was so inclined, I would think this a violation of civil rights, but try as I might, I did not have it in my heart to be so forgiving. I had yet to see the kindness of Whites toward Negros, and until then, I would keep forgiveness locked in my heart. These thoughts chaffed Momma Simms, who despite all the troubles of her life, believed in the goodness of all men, Negro and White.

As if alerting to a siren call, a group of men seemed to emerge from the shadows of an alleyway. I was not certain if they were waiting for an easy target, or passing time. Either way, I endeavored to cross to the opposite side of the street. The group, now I counted four, moved parallel to me, walked faster, then crossed the street to my side and waited. I was not a fighter like my sister. My recourse in situations was always my wits and quick mind. I hoped I could fall back on these now. The first man who appeared to be a stevedore, looked me up and down, appraising my physical attributes, or potential profit.

“What’s this now? Nigger’s all dressed up for the circus! Is that where you’re goin’ Nigger? The circus? I think that’s where he’s goin boys!”

The others laughed. I could smell the stench of alcohol on their breath, and sensed the violence pouring off them. I took a step backward and felt a prod from behind. Another man stood, holding a large section of wood. He did not smile as the others did.

“Take what you will and let’s be gone.” Wood Man said.

Five in all.

A chill of fear raced up my spine, but this was completely different from before. What I faced now was not supernatural, but the harsh reality of my station in life. The banal horror of daily existence of life as a Black Man in this country.

One of them pushed me in the chest and I fell backward into the shaft of wood. Then one of the ruffians punched me in the gut. It took my wind, causing me to fall to one knee. The leader towered over me. All fraudulent mirth gone from his face, replaced by malice.

“Give us your coin, or we’ll beat you here and now!”

“Here. Take what you will. I do not want any trouble.”

I gasped while trying to catch my breath. Pairs of hands fumbled through my jacket and trousers, pulling out what little money I had on me. They threw my pocketbook onto the filthy ground and laughed.

“And that pocket-watch little man. I’ll have that too.” The leader said.

The watch was all I had of whatever family Ruby and I came from. It was stuffed into my pockets when we were left with Momma Simms. It was the only item I cared for. Probably not worth much in monetary terms, but priceless to me, and possessed a connection I could only guess at. Maybe it represented a freedom of sorts. I could not, and would never part with it. Not to death.

“No sir.” I said.

“What did you say Nigger? Did you tell a White man no?”

“Take anything else, but this you may not have.” I said.

Wood Man raised the shaft of wood over his head. I prepared for death. Perhaps, I was always prepared for it. Maybe even longed for it.

This was my life…

Next Chapter: Chapters 7 and 8