Just before the Civil War started there was a southerner named Ham. He was an ugly man who lived on an ugly, little, hard-scrabble farm. His ugliness ran deep because it came from the way he lived. You see, Ham hunted down runaway slaves for a living. If he had to live off his farm, his family would have starved, but the runaway business was very lucrative. And Ham was good at it, maybe because he liked it so much. And what he liked best was when the owners ordered their slaves brought back “dead or alive.” Ham liked this best, because he liked slaves best dead. Like I said, he was an ugly man.
One night Ham’s life took a turn. He and his son had been chasing after one of those “dead or alive” runaways for eleven days, and Ham was getting mighty aggravated with this one. You see, Ham’s fourteen-year old son was along for the first time. Ham wanted to teach him the family business, and things were not going well.
This was one tricky runaway. Twice he had made Ham look like a fool in front of his son. Ham had been thrown off the trail both times. And both times it took a lot of hard work, and a lot of precious time, to find his quarry’s tracks again. Ham was getting worked up into quite a state, and was mighty eager to demonstrate to his son the benefits of the “dead or alive” policy.
Then it happened. Their horses broke out of the woods onto a big cleared field. And on the far side of the field Ham could see the runaway racing full-bore for the cover of the woods on the other side of that field. Ham yanked on the reins, pulling his horse up to a dead stop. He pulled out his rifle, and had just gotten the slave’s back in his sights when a bobcat yowled out in the woods behind them.
Ham’s horse reared up in the air, and then took off in a full gallop across the field toward the runaway. Ham fell backward off the saddle, but one foot was caught in the stirrup. The effect was a galloping horse dragging Ham across a field full of rocks and the stubble of corn stalks. Both tore away chunks of Ham’s clothing and flesh.
Ham would have been drug to his death, if it had not been for the runaway slave on the other side of the field. Just as the runaway had achieved the safety of the woods, he looked back and saw the horse dragging his pursuer. Now this runaway slave could have taken advantage of his good fortune, and kept running safely to the north and freedom, but he did not. Instead, he turned and stepped back onto the field to face down the charging horse dragging Ham.
You probably have never had to stand your ground with a full-grown horse charging straight at you at full-gallop on a dark night, but let me tell you it is a very scary sight. But this man who had been running for his life for eleven days and nights now did just such a thing. He stood there unmoving. And, as the horse veered just a little to the side to race past this man standing stock-still, the man reached out and grabbed the horse’s reins.
The force of the charging horse lifted the man right off his feet, and pulled him and Ham both into the woods. But the man never let go of those reins, and the horse quickly came to a stop.
Soon a fourteen-year old boy and a runaway slave were doing their best to patch up the unconscious Ham. When they had done all they could, the boy turned away to the south and hurried to get his pa home. And the man, who had been running away, turned north again toward safety and freedom.
You probably think my story is done, but you would be wrong, for there is more to tell.
You see the boy made it home, and Ham started healing up from being drug across a field. But one night the family was lying asleep in bed, when a terrible ruckus could be heard coming from the henhouse. Ham jumped up, grabbed his gun, and tore outside to the henhouse.
As Ham got to the henhouse, a black man was coming out in a hurry with two squawking chickens in his arms. Ham did not even have time to raise his gun and shoot. He just lifted the butt of his rifle, and aimed it right at the man’s head.
The rifle butt caught that man right on the chin, and he dropped like a rock onto the ground. The two chickens fell from his arms, and tore away squawking and complaining about their rude treatment.
“Can you believe it!” Ham shouted to his wife, who was still standing in the doorway of the house. “One of those thievin’ runaways is right here in my own backyard, trying to steal my own chickens!” He raised his rifle, sighted down the barrel, right into the runaway’s face.
“Pa! You can’t!” his son shouted. Ham turned and looked questioningly at the boy who stood at his side.
“That other runaway showed you mercy, Pa. Now you have to show this runaway mercy, in gratitude for what you received.”
“I don’t have to show this runaway any gratitude!” Ham shouted back at his son. “He was stealing my chickens! Am I supposed to thank him for that?”
“No, Pa. Don’t you see? That other runaway showed you mercy. So, now you have to show mercy to this runaway. A life for a life. Don’t you see?”
“No, son. All I see is a thief who is never going to steal again,” Ham answered. Then he sighted down his gun barrel, right between two pleading eyes. He cocked the rifle. Predator and prey both unmoving. Death waited to explode from the muzzle – and waited, and waited.
Then an amazing thing happened. Ham lowered the gun to point harmlessly at the ground. The man didn’t wait for second thoughts. He shot off into the woods like a bolt of lightning.
“I hope you’re happy,” Ham said to his son.
“Pa, that man will think twice before he ever risks stealin’ again.”
“Yeah, but he’s still a runaway,” Ham answered.
Then his son said, “An I bet he’s runnin’ ten times as fast now as he was before.”
Ham chuckled at the thought of the black man running in fear through the woods. And then the thought was no longer funny.
Ham tried to go out after runaways several times after that, but they always seemed to get away. And when he went hunting to put meat on his family’s table, it seemed like he could no longer shoot straight. Ham could no longer even kill one of his skinny chickens. His wife now had to do the killing, the plucking and the cooking too. It seems that a runaway slave had given Ham the gift of mercy, and now Ham could not get rid of it. His family went through some mighty hungry times, but slowly the farm started producing more and the family had enough to get by. In fact, Ham was even heard once in a while saying that he thought he had been blessed. And when questioned about it, Ham would always contribute the blessing to a runaway slave who had given him the gift of mercy.
Folks noticed the change too. People were heard saying that Ham was not ugly any more. But who knows for sure – only God. But anyway, Ham’s wife and son sure did find him good to look at.
Questions for Meditation, Discussion or Preaching
Copyright 2020. Robert D. Ingram, 32746 Jourden Rd., Albany, Ohio 45710 (dr.bobingram@gmail.com). Used by permission.
