The Resurrection of Nat Turner, Part 2: The Testimonial Read Free

awakened during the night and seen the man’s eyes staring at him in the darkness.
    He did not make the system, William Parker had told himself for years. He did not make himself white. He could just as easily have been born black. He was oneman; he could not change the world. He tried to do good in the spot that was his. He was as much a victim of fate as anyone, he told himself. He had no choice but to live out the life he had inherited.
    William Parker had to live the life that had been given to him. He did not want to be one of them, but he was only one man.
    Since the slave trials, William Parker hardly ever slept through the night. When he did sleep, he dreamed and saw their faces. There were so many innocent men hanged, and he felt powerless to do anything about it. So many women and children killed and so many families tortured.
    Everything was in shambles. The little that still remained was crumbling around him. He dreamed over and over again that there was a decomposing corpse in his cellar and he did not have the courage to bring it out. William Parker had been praying since Nat Turner’s hanging about what he should do. He prayed that God would make it all go away.
    He remembered visiting Nat Turner at the jailhouse. He could still see the man’s battered face. Nat Turner looked up at him from the bench where he sat chained. William had cleared his throat. “I’m sure that they are not going to allow me to put forth the evidence that you are a free man.” It was impossible being the Negro’s defense attorney. “In some ways it would only make matters worse. They are angry that you … They are angry at who you are and they do not want their beliefs challenged. I don’t think there’s much I can do.” William Parker realized after he spoke the words that he had come seeking absolution.
    â€œYou owe me nothing,” Nat Turner said. “What you do in the courtroom tomorrow, do for God.”
    William Parker had expected the next day’s trial to be open-and-shut. Levi Waller would testify, some version of what Waller purported to be the truth. He had already testified six times and each time altered his story. But Waller’s testimony was good enough; Nat Turner would hang.
    Then on November 5, 1831, things in the courtroom had taken a turn. Maybe Waller was overconfident, or maybe he hadtaken a cup too much of the fruits of his still. Perhaps it was the hand of providence.
    Waller stumbled during his testimony, the perjury so great the whole courtroom had gone silent. And against his better judgment, William Parker had pressed Levi Waller further.
    â€œMy question is this. Where were you, Mr. Waller? You testified you were in your home, and then you were hidden in the weeds. Now, today, you tell us you were hidden in the swamp. Is there a swamp close to your house? Where were you, Mr. Waller?” William Parker plunged in the blade. “You mentioned some other place I’ve never heard you mention before. Where was it you said you were?”
    Waller hung his head. “My still.”
    â€œThat just seems peculiar to me. Insurgents are coming, your family is threatened, and you have them loading guns. Your wife and children must be out of their minds with fear. They must have been terrified.” William Parker withdrew the bloody blade and plunged it in again. “Where were you, Mr. Waller? And please say it loud enough that all the people can hear. Where were you after you learned the insurgents were coming?”
    William Parker heard his own heart pounding. “Tell us the truth, Mr. Waller. You didn’t see anyone, did you? You have no idea who was or wasn’t there. The British? Nat Turner? Sam? Daniel? When your family was insane with fear, when your family was killed, where were you, Mr. Waller?”
    Waller whispered his confession. “My still.”
    That was twenty-five years ago. Nat Turner had hanged. But the lies,