Blake or The Huts of America

by Martin R. Delany

  “Yes, sir, dis is da kine.”

  “I would like to see some other of your girls.”

  “Stop, sir, I go call Susan!” when, gathering up and drawing around and before her a surplus of the back section, the only remaining sound remnant of the narrow tattered garment that she wore, off she ran behind the gin, where lay in the sun, a number of girls to rest themselves during their hour of “spell.”

  “Susan!” she exclaimed rather loudly. “I do’n want you gals!” she pleasantly admonished, as the whole twelve or fifteen rose from their resting place, and came hurriedly around the building, Nancy and Susan in the lead. They instinctively as did Nancy, drew their garments around and about them, on coming in sight of the stranger. Standing on the outside of the fence, Henry politely bowed as they approached.

  “Dis is Susan, sir!” said Nancy, introducing her friend with bland simplicity.

  “How de do, sir!” saluted she, a modest and intelligent, very pretty young black girl, of good address.

  “Well, Susan!” replied Henry. “I don’t want anything but to see you girls; but I will ask you this question: how many suits of clothes do they give you a year?”

  “One, sir.”

  “How many pieces make a suit?”

  “Jus’ one frock,” and they simultaneously commenced drawing still closer before, the remnant of coarse garment, which hung in tatters about them.

  “Don’t you have shoes and stockings in winter?”

  “We no call foh shoes, case ’taint cole much; on’y some time little fros’.”

  “How late in the evening do you work?”

  “Da fiel’ han’s dah,” pointing to those returning to the field, “da work till bedtime, but we gals heah, we work in de gin, and spell each other ev’ey twelve ouahs.”

  “You’re at leisure now; who fills your places?”

  “Nutha set a’ han’s go to work, fo’ you come.”

  “How much cotton do they pick for a task?”

  “Each one mus’ pick big basket full, an’ fetch it in f’om da fiel’ to de gin, else da git thirty lashes.”

  “How much must the women pick as a task?”

  “De same as de men.”

  “That can’t be possible!” said Henry, looking over the fence down upon their baskets. “How much do they hold?”

  “I dis membeh sir, but good ’eal.”

  “I see on each basket marked 225 pounds; is that the quantity they hold?”

  “Yes, sir, dat’s it.”

  “All mus’ be in gin certain ouah else da git whipped; sometime de men help ’em.”

  “How can they do this when they have their own to carry?”

  “Da put derse on de head, an’ ketch holt one side de women basket. Sometimes they leave part in de fiel’, an’ go back afteh it.”

  “Do you get plenty to eat?”

  “No, sir, da feeds us po’ly; sometime, we do’n have mo’n half nough!”

  “Did you girls ever work in the field?”

  “O yes, sir! all uv us, on’y we wan’t strong nough to fetch in ouh cotton, den da put us in de gin.”

  “Where would you rather; in the gin or in the field?”

  “If ’twant foh carryin’ cotton, we’a rather work in de fiel’.”

  “Why so, girls?”

  “Case den da would’n be so many ole wite plantehs come an’ look at us, like we was show!”

  “Who sees that the tasks are all done in the field?”

  “Da Driveh.”

  “Is he a white man?”

  “No sir, black.”

  “Is he a free man?”

  “No, sir, slave.”

  “Have you no white overseer?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Dorman.”

  “Where is Dorman when you are at work.”

  “He out at de fiel too.”

  “What is he doing there?”

  “He watch Jesse, da drivah.”

  “Is Jesse a pretty good fellow?”

  “No, sir, he treat black folks like dog, he all de time beat ’em, when da no call to do it.”

  “How did he treat you girls when you worked in the field?”

  “He beat us if we jist git little behind de rest in pickin’! Da wite folks make ’im bad.”

  “Point him out to me and after tonight, he’ll never whip another.”

  “Now, girls, I see that you are smart intelligent young women, and I want you to tell me why it is, that your master keeps you all here at work in the gin, when he could get high prices for you, and supply your places with common cheap hands at half the money?”

  “Case we gals won’ go! Da been mo’n a dozen plantehs heah lookin’ at us, an’ want to buy us foh house keepehs, an’ we wont go; we die fus!” said Susan with a shudder.

  “Yes,” repeated Nancy, with equal emotion, “we die fus!”

  “How can you prevent it, girls; won’t your master sell you against your will?”

  “Yes, sir, he would, but da plantehs da don’t want us widout we willin’ to go.”

  “I see! Well girls, I believe I’m done with you; but before leaving let me ask you, is there among your men, a real clever good trusty man? I don’t care either old or young, though I prefer an old or middle-aged man.”

  “O yes, sir,” replied Nancy, “da is some mong ’em.”

  “Give me the name of one,” said Henry, at which request Nancy and Susan looked hesitatingly at each other.

  “Don’t be backward,” admonished he, “as I shan’t make a bad use of it.” But still they hesitated, when after another admonition Nancy said, “Dare’s uncle Joe——”

  “No, uncle Moses, uncle Moses!” in a suppressed tone interrupted the other girls.

  “Who is uncle Moses?” enquired Henry.

  “He’ my fatha,” replied Susan, “an——”

  “My uncle!” interrupted Nancy.

  “Then you two are cousins?”

  “Yes, sir, huh fatha an my motha is brotha an sisteh,” replied Nancy.

  “Is he a religious man, girls?”

  “Yes, sir, he used to preach but’e do’n preach now,” explained Susan.

  “Why?”

  “Case da ‘ligions people wo’n heah im now.”

  “Who colored people?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “When did they stop hearing him preach?”

  “Good while ago.”

  “Where at?”

  “Down in da bush meetin’, at da Baptism.”

  “He’s a Baptist then–what did he do?”

  Again became Susan and Nancy more perplexed than before, the other girls in this instance failing to come to their relief.

  “What did he do girls? Let me know it quick, as I must be off!”

  “Da say–da say–I do’n want tell you!” replied Susan hesitating, with much feeling.

  “What is it girls, can’t some of you tell me?” earnestly enquired Henry.

  “Da say befo’ ’e come heah way down in Fagina, he kill a man, ole po’ wite ovehseeah!”

  “Is that it, girls?” enquired he.

  “Yes, sir!” they simultaneously replied.

  “Then he’s the very man I want to see!” said Henry. “Now don’t forget what I say to you; tell him that a man will meet him tonight below here on the river side, just where the carcass of an ox lies in the verge of the thicket. Tell him to listen and when I’m ready, I’ll give the signal of a runaway–the screech of the panther*–when he must immediately obey the summons. One word more, and I’ll leave you. Every one of you as you have so praiseworthily concluded, die before surrendering to such base purposes as that for which this man who holds you wishes to dispose of you. Girls, you will see me no more. Fare–”

  “Yo’ name sir, yo’ name!” they all exclaimed.

  “My name is–Farewell, girls, farewell!”–when Henry darted in the thickest of the forest, leaving the squad of young maiden slaves in a state of bewildering inquiry concerning the singular bla
ck man.

  The next day Jesse the driver was missed, and never after heard of. On inquiry being made of the old man Moses concerning the stranger, all that could be elicited was, “Stan’ still child’en, and see da salvation uv da Laud!”

  *At the age of thirteen his daily task was 36 lbs. with his toes. This fact was received from the master by the writer.

  *Some Red River planters do not allow their slaves but one suit a year.

  *This outlandish yell is given by runaway slaves in imitation of what they consider the screech of the panther, so as to frighten people, thus–“Who-wee!” dwelling long on both syllables.

  CHAPTER 19

  Come What Will

  Leaving the plantation of Crane with high hopes and great confidence in the integrity of uncle Moses and the maiden gang of cotton girls, Henry turned his course in a retrograde direction so as again to take the stream of Red River, Little River, where he then was, being but a branch of that water.

  Just below its confluence with the larger stream, at the moment when he reached the junction, a steam cotton trader hove in view. There was no alternative but to stand like a freeman, or suddenly escape into the forest, thus creating suspicions and fears, as but a few days previous a French planter of the neighborhood lost a desperate slave, who became a terror to the country around. The master was compelled to go continually armed, as also other white neighbors, and all were afraid after nightfall to pass out the threshold of their own doors. Permission was given to every white man to shoot him if ever seen within rifle shot, which facts having learned the evening before, Henry was armed with this precaution.

  His dress being that of a racegroom–small leather cap with long front piece, neat fitting roundabout, high boots drawn over the pantaloon legs, with blanket, girth, halter, whip and bridle–Henry stood upon the shore awaiting the vessel.

  “Well boy!” hailed the captain as the line was thrown out, which he caught, making fast at the root of a tree. “Do you wish to come aboard?”

  “Good man!” approvingly cried the mate, at the expert manner which he caught the line and tied the sailor knot.

  “Have you ever steamboated, my man?” continued the captain.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Henry.

  “Where?”

  “On the Upper and Lower Mississippi, sir.”

  “Whom do you know as masters of steamers on the Upper Mississippi?”

  “Captains Thogmorton, Price, Swan, and——”

  “Stop, stop! That’ll do,” interrupted the captain, “you know the master of every steamer in the trade, I believe. Now who in the Lower trade?”

  “Captains Scott, Hart, and——”

  “What’s Captain Hart’s Christian name?” interrupted the captain.

  “Jesse, sir.”

  “That’ll do, by George you know everybody! Do you want to ship?”

  “No, sir.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m hunting master’s stray racehorse.”

  “Your master’s race horse! Are you a slave boy?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How did you come to be on the Mississippi River?”

  “I hired my time, sir.”

  “Yes, yes, boy, I see!”

  “Who is your master?”

  “Colonel Sheldon; I used to belong to Major Gilmore.”

  “Are you the boy Nepp, the great horse trainer the Major used to own?”

  “No, sir, I’m his son.”

  “Are you as good at training horses as the old chap?”

  “They call me better, sir.”

  “Then you’re worth your weight in gold. Will your master sell you?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “How did your horse come to get away?”

  “He was bought from the Major by Colonel Sheldon to run at the great Green Wood Races, Texas, and while training he managed to get away, leaping the fences, and taking to the forest.”

  “Then you’re Major Tom’s race rider Gilbert! You’re a valuable boy; I wonder the Major parted with you.”

  The bell having rung for dinner, the captain left, Henry going to the deck.

  Among those on deck was a bright mulatto young man, who immediately recognized Henry as having seen him on the Upper Mississippi, he being a free man. On going up to him, Henry observed that he was laden with heavy manacles.

  “Have I not seen you somewhere before?” enquired he.

  “Yes; my name is Lewis Grimes, you saw me on the Upper Mississippi,” replied the young man. “Your name is Henry Holland!”

  “What have you been doing?” enquired Henry, on seeing the handcuffs.

  “Nothing at all!” replied he with eyes flashing resentment and suffused with tears.

  “What does this mean?” continued he, pointing at the handcuffs.

  “I am stolen and now being taken to Texas, where I am to be enslaved for life!” replied Lewis sobbing aloud.[7]

  “Who did this vile deed?” continued Henry in a low tone of voice, pressing his lips to suppress his feelings.

  “One Dr. Johns of Texas, now a passenger on this boat!”

  “Was that the person who placed a glass to your lips which you refused, just as I came aboard?”

  “Yes, that’s the man.”

  “Why don’t you leave him instantly?” said Henry, his breast heaving with emotion.

  “Because he always handcuffs me before the boat lands, keeping me so during the time she lies ashore.”

  “Why don’t you jump overboard when the boat is under way?”

  “Because he guards me with a heavy loaded rifle, and I can’t get a chance.”

  “He ‘guards’ you! ‘You can’t get a chance!’ Are there no nights, and does he never sleep?”

  “Yes, but he makes me sleep in the stateroom with him, keeping his rifle at his bedside.”

  “Are you never awake when he’s asleep?”

  “Often, but I’m afraid to stir lest he wakens.”

  “Well don’t you submit, die first if thereby you must take another into eternity with you! Were it my case and he ever went to sleep where I was, he’d never waken in this world!”

  “I never thought of that before, I shall take your advice the first opportunity. Good-bye sir!” hastily said the young man, as the bell tapped a signal to start, and Henry stepped on shore.

  “Let go that line!” sternly commanded the captain, Henry obeying orders on the shore, when the boat glided steadily up the stream, seemingly in unison with the lively though rude and sorrowful song of the black firemen–

  I’m a-goin’ to Texas–O! O-O-O!

  I’m a-goin’ to Texas-O! O-O-O!

  Having in consequence of the scarcity of spring houses and larders along his way in so level and thinly settled country, Henry took in his pouch from the cook of the boat an ample supply of provisions for the suceeding four or five days. Thus provided for, standing upon the bank for a few minutes, with steady gaze listening to the sad song of his oppressed brethren as they left the spot, and reflecting still more on the miserable fate of the young mulatto freeman Lewis Grimes held by the slave-holder Dr. Johns of Texas, he, with renewed energy, determined that nothing short of an interference by Divine Providence should stop his plans and progress. In soliloquy said Henry, “Yes!

  If every foe stood martialed in the van,

  I’d fight them single combat, man to man!”

  and again he started with a manly will, as fixed and determined in his purpose as though no obstructions lay in his pathway.

  From plantation to plantation did he go, sowing the seeds of future devastation and ruin to the master and redemption to the slave, an antecedent more terrible in its anticipation than the warning voice of the destroying Angel in commanding the slaughter of the firstborn of Egypt. Himself careworn, distressed and hungry, who just being supplied with nourishment for the system, Henry went forth a welcome messenger, casting his bread upon the turbid waters of oppression, in hopes
of finding it after many days.

  Holding but one seclusion on each plantation, his progress was consequently very rapid, in whatever direction he went.

  With a bold stride from Louisiana, he went into Texas. Here he soon met with the man of his wishes. This presented in the person of Sampson, on the cotton place of proprietor Richardson. The master here, though represented wealthy, with an accomplished and handsome young daughter, was a silly, stupid old dolt, an inordinate blabber and wine bibber. The number of his slaves was said to be great and he the owner of three plantations, one in Alabama, and the others in Texas.

  Sampson was a black, tall, stoutly built, and manly, possessing much general intelligence, and a good-looking person. His wife a neat, intelligent, handsome little woman, the complexion of himself, was the mother of a most interesting family of five pretty children, three boys and two girls. This family entered at once into the soul of his mission, seeming to have anticipated it.

  With an amply supply of means,* buried in a convenient well-marked spot, he only awaited a favorable opportunity to effect his escape from slavery. With what anxiety did that wife gaze smilingly in his face, and a boy and girl cling tightly each to a knee, as this husband and father in whispers recounted his plans and determination of carrying them out. The scheme of Henry was at once committed to his confidence, and he requested to impart them wherever he went.

  Richardson was a sportsman and Sampson his body servant, they traveled through every part of the country, thus affording the greatest opportunity for propagating the measures of the secret organization. From Portland in Maine to Galveston in Texas, Sampson was as familiar as a civil engineer.

  “Sampson, Sampson, stand by me! Stand by me, my man; stand at your master’s back!” was the language of this sottish old imbecile he kept continually reveling at a gambling table, and who from excessive fatigue would sometimes squat or sit down upon the floor behind him. “Sampson, Sampson! are you there? Stand by your master, Sampson!” again would he exclaim, so soon as the tall commanding form of his black protector was missed from his sight.

  Sampson and his wife were both pious people, believing much in the Providence of God, he, as he said having recently had it “shown to” him–meaning a presentiment–that a messenger would come to him and reveal the plan of deliverance.