Then, to my shock and sharp disappointment, Father’s shoulders sagged. He meekly asked if he could first retrieve his shirt and coat and his Bible from the house.
“You let him back inside that house’ Mr. Chamberlain warned, “he might decide to make a stand. There’s no telling what he’ll do to it. You’ve got him now, so take him in.”
Father looked plaintive and hurt. “But I must have my coat and shirt. I am not properly dressed, sir. And my Bible. I need it.”
The sheriff hesitated a few seconds, but then said, “No, c’mon, Brown. One of your boys here can bring your coat and so on, they can bring it to you later. I got to lock you up.”
“A-hab.” Father said the word slowly and gave it the shading of a curse. But all the force seemed to have gone out of him. He handed me the sack with our breakfast and slowly stepped up into the trap and took a seat behind the driver.
We stood there by our ramshackle wall, John and I, and watched the men ride off with their sad, slumped prisoner. He sat in the wagon in his red undershirt, miserable, humiliated, gazing back at us. I waved goodbye to him, but he made no sign.
Finally, when they had gone from sight, Jason stepped cautiously around the side of the cabin and came and joined us.
“Jason, you’re a bloody coward!” I shouted at him.
“Sure. You bet I am.”
John said, “Let it go, Owen. Jason did right. The Old Man had to lose this one. And he knew it. He was just blustering. He lost it way back. No sense making a fight over it now. They’ll let him out by tomorrow morning, if not before.”
“What’s in the bag? Breakfast, I hope. I’m hungry as a hogl’ Jason said, and reached for the sack in my hand.
I jerked it away and then swung it at him, smacking him on the forehead.
“Hey, hey, hey!” John said. He took the bag from me, and the two of them walked slowly away, up the lane towards the house, dividing the johnnycake and boiled eggs between them, while I hung back, standing alone by the side of the road, fighting off a boy’s angry tears.
But by the same afternoon, Father was back. He walked down the road and up the lane to the house, where, with as much dignity as he could muster in his undershirt, he somberly greeted us all around. Then he marched straight to the tannery, where he had hung his shirt and coat on a peg, and when he had decorously dressed himself in his accustomed clothing, as if preparing to go to church, he told us, in a somber, measured way, what had happened. The sheriff had delivered Father to the Akron jail, had even locked him inside a cell, but then had released him at once on his own recognizance, pledged to appear at trial later in the month. Mr. Chamberlain had agreed not to prosecute, so there would be no trial, as long as by that time we had departed from the farm with no more personal property than we were permitted under the bankruptcy proceedings. “We must obey the law, children. Hard as it is,” he said.
“But we were supposed to take a stand!” I declared. “You said we’d stand and fight. I was willing to shoot the man down, Father. I was! I was all ready and had the man in my sights. Jason, he took off like a coward, but John and I—”
“Enough!” Father said. “I am a fool. That’s all. It’s my fault that we’ve come to this terrible a pass. If you want to shoot someone, Owen, shoot me.” He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder, then removed it and walked ahead of us to the house, to sort and separate and inventory all our farm and household goods for the auction.
Even today, so many years later, more than a whole lifetime later, I can recall every one of the items exempted from public auction. They were the articles that we carefully separated from the house and barn and put out onto the porch and yard and then packed into our wagon one by one, and later unpacked and packed again, over and over, hauling them through the next nine years by cart, canal boat, and on our own backs, from one temporary domicile to another, all the way to Springfield, Massachusetts, and eventually to the cold, hard hills of North Elba, where, at last, we set them down and they stayed put.
There at the Haymaker farm, I followed Father like a scribe from one end of the crowded porch to the other and across the front yard, writing in a tablet, while he strictly enumerated each of the articles and goods that the law permitted us to own and carry off. I made two copies of the list, one to be delivered to Mr. Chamberlain, signed by John Brown and notarized, and one for ourselves, which, for a long time, wherever we lived, Father kept posted on the kitchen wall, as if it were a reminder of his wealth, instead of his poverty.
For years, every morning, afternoon, and evening, we passed by this list, until it was engraved in our memories, like the books of the Bible or the names of the English kings. We older boys, especially Jason, could recite them like an alphabet, and often did, to the amusement of Mary and the younger children and to Father’s slight consternation — although he surely saw the joke, for he could have removed the list from the wall at once, if hed wanted.
10 Dining Plates
1 set of Cups & Saucers
1 set Teaspoons
2 Earthen Crocks
1 Pepper Mill
1 Cider Barrel
4 Wooden Tails
6 Bedsteads
1 Writing Desk
4 Blankets
1 Wash Tub
1 pr. Flat Irons
Also, these provisions:
1 bushel Dried Apples
20 bushels Corn
15 gals. Vinegar
8 bushels Potatoes
1 bushel Beans
20 gals. Soap
150 lbs. Pork
10 lbs. Sugar
These books:
11 Bibles & Testaments
1 vol. Beauties of the Bible
1 vol. Flints Surveying
1 vol. Kush
1 vol. Church Members’ Guide
36 Miscellaneous Works
These “articles and necessaries”:
2 Mares
2 Halters
2 Hogs
19 Hens
1 Mattock
1 Pitchfork
1 Brandinglron
1 Handsaw
4 Old Axes
2 Beaming Knives
2 Roping Knives
2 Ink Stands
4 Slates
4 cords of Bark
2 Saddles
1 ton of Hay
19 Sheep pledged to S. Perkins
1 Shovel
1 Harrow
1 Plane
1 Log Chain
1 Crow Bar
2 Milch Cows
2 Hoes
1 Iron Wedge
1 pr. Sheep Shears
3 Pocket Knives
4 Muskets with Powder, Caps & Balls
And this clothing:
2 Overcoats
5 Coats
10 Vests
12 prs. Pantaloons