Blake or The Huts of America

by Martin R. Delany

  At a time just at the peep of day when making rapid strides the baying of hounds and soundings of horns were heard at a distance.

  Understanding it to be the sport of the chase, Henry made a hasty retreat to the nearest hiding place which presented, in the hollow of a log. On attempting to creep in a snarl startled him, when out leaped the fox, having counterrun his track several times, and sheltered in a fallen sycamore. Using his remedy for distracting dogs, he succeeded the fox in the sycamore, resting in safety during the day without molestation, though the dogs bayed within thirty yards of him, taking a contrary course by the distraction of their scent.

  For every night of sojourn in the state he had a gathering, not one of which was within a hut, so closely were the slaves watched by patrol, and sometimes by mulatto and black overseers. These gatherings were always held in the forest. Many of the confidants of the seclusions were the much-dreaded runaways of the woods, a class of outlawed slaves, who continually seek the lives of their masters.

  One day having again sought retreat in a hollow log where he lay sound asleep, the day being chilly, he was awakened by a cold application to his face and neck, which proved to have been made by a rattlesnake of the largest size, having sought the warmth of his bosom. Henry made a hasty retreat, ever after declining the hollow of a tree. With rapid movements and hasty action, he like a wind cloud flew through the State of South Carolina, who like “a thief in the night” came when least expected.

  Henry now entered Charleston, the metropolis, and head of the “Brown Society,” the bane and dread of the blacks in the state, an organization formed through the instrumentality of the whites to keep the blacks and mulattos at variance. To such an extent is the error carried, that the members of the association, rather than their freedom would prefer to see the blacks remain in bondage. But many most excellent mulattos and quadroons condemn with execration this auxiliary of oppression. The eye of the intelligent world is on this “Brown Society”; and its members when and wherever seen are scanned with suspicion and distrust. May they not be forgiven for their ignorance when proving by repentance their conviction of wrong?

  Lying by till late next morning, he entered the city in daylight, having determined boldly to pass through the street, as he might not be known from any common Negro. Coming to an extensive woodyard he learned by an old black man who sat at the gate that the proprietors were two colored men, one of whom he pointed out, saying:

  “Dat is my mausta.”

  Approaching a respectable-looking mulatto gentleman standing in conversation with a white, his foot resting on a log:

  “Do you wish to hire help, sir?” enquired Henry respectfully touching his cap.

  “Take off your hat, boy!” ordered the mulatto gentleman. Obeying the order, he repeated the question.

  “Who do you belong to?” enquired the gentleman.

  “I am free, sir!” replied he.

  “You are a free, boy? Are you not a stranger here?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then you lie, sir,” replied the mulatto gentleman, “as you know that no free Negro is permitted to enter this state. You are a runaway, and I’ll have you taken up!” at the same time walking through his office looking out at the front door as if for an officer.

  Making a hasty retreat, in less than an hour he had left the city, having but a few minutes tarried in the hut of an old black family on the suburb, one of the remaining confidentials and adherents of the memorable South Carolina insurrection, when and to whom he imparted his fearful scheme.

  “Ah!” said the old man, throwing his head in the lap of his old wife, with his hands around her neck, both of whom sat near the chimney with the tears coursing down their furrowed cheeks. “Dis many a day I been prayin’ dat de Laud sen’ a nudder Denmark ’mong us! De Laud now anseh my prar in dis young man! Go on, my son–go on–an’ may God A’mighty bress yeh!”

  North Carolina was traversed mainly in the night. When approaching the region of the Dismal Swamp, a number of the old confederates of the noted Nat Turner were met with, who hailed the daring young runaway as the harbinger of better days.[15] Many of these are still long-suffering, hard-laboring slaves on the plantations; and some bold, courageous, and fearless adventurers, denizens of the mystical, antiquated, and almost fabulous Dismal Swamp, where for many years they have defied the approach of their pursuers.

  Here Henry found himself surrounded by a different atmosphere, an entirely new element. Finding ample scope for undisturbed action through the entire region of the Swamp, he continued to go scattering to the winds and sowing the seeds of a future crop, only to take root in the thick black waters which cover it, to be grown in devastation and reaped in a whirlwind of ruin.

  “I been lookin’ fah yeh dis many years,” said old Gamby Gholar, a noted high conjurer and compeer of Nat Turner, who for more than thirty years has been secluded in the Swamp, “an’ been tellin’ on ’em dat yeh ’ood come long, but da ’ooden’ heah dat I tole ’em! Now da see! Dis many years I been seein’ on yeh! Yes, ’ndeed, chile, dat I has!” and he took from a gourd of antiquated appearance which hung against the wall in his hut, many articles of a mysterious character, some resembling bits of woollen yarn, onionskins, oystershells, finger and toenails, eggshells, and scales which he declared to be from very dangerous serpents, but which closely resembled, and were believed to be those of innocent and harmless fish, with broken iron nails.

  These he turned over and over again in his hands, closely inspecting them through a fragment of green bottle glass, which he claimed to be a mysterious and precious “blue stone” got at a peculiar and unknown spot in the Swamp, whither by a special faith he was led–and ever after unable to find the same spot-putting them again into the gourd, the end of the neck being cut off so as to form a bottle, he rattled the “goombah,” as he termed it, as if endeavoring to frighten his guest. This process ended, he whispered, then sighted into the neck, first with one eye, then with the other, then shook, and so alternately whispering, sighting and shaking, until apparently getting tired, again pouring them out, fumbling among them until finding a forked breastbone of a small bird, which, muttering to himself, he called the “charm bone of a treefrog.”

  “Ah,” exclaimed Gamby as he selected out the mystic symbol handing it to Henry, “got yeh at las’. Take dis, meh son, an’ so long as yeh keep it, da can’ haum yeh, dat da can’t. Dis woth money, meh son; da ain’t many sich like dat in de Swamp! Yeh never want for nothin’ so long as yeh keep dat!”

  In this fearful abode for years of some of Virginia and North Carolina’s boldest black rebels, the names of Nat Turner, Denmark Veezie, and General Gabriel were held by them in sacred reverence; that of Gabriel as a talisman. With delight they recounted the many exploits of whom they conceived to be the greatest men who ever lived, the pretended deeds of whom were fabulous, some of the narrators claiming to have been patriots in the American Revolution.

  “Yeh offen hearn on Maudy Ghamus,” said an old man stooped with age, having the appearance of a centenarian. “Dat am me–me heah!” continued he, touching himself on the breast. “I’s de frien’ on Gamby Gholar; an’ I an’ Gennel Gabel fit in de Malution wah, an’ da want no sich fightin’ dare as dat in Gabel wah!”

  “You were then a soldier in the Revolutionary War for American independence, father?” enquired Henry.

  “Gau bress yeh, hunny. Yes, ’ndeed, chile, long ’for yeh baun; dat I did many long day go! Yes, chile, yes!”

  “And General Gabriel, too, a soldier of the American Revolution?” replied Henry.

  “Ah, chile, dat ’e did fit in de Molution wah, Gabel so, an’ ’e fit like mad dog! Wen ’e sturt, chile, da can’t stop ’im; da may as well let ’im go long, da can’t do nuffin’ wid ’im.”

  Henry subscribed to his eminent qualifications as a warrior, assuring him that those were the kind of fighting men they then needed among the blacks. Maudy Ghamus to this assented, stating that the Swamp contai
ned them in sufficient number to take the whole United States; the only difficulty in the way being that the slaves in the different states could not be convinced of their strength. He had himself for years been an emissary; also, Gamby Gholar, who had gone out among them with sufficient charms to accomplish all they desired, but could not induce the slaves to a general rising.

  “Take plenty goomba an’ fongosa long wid us, an’ plant mocasa all along, an’ da got nuffin’ fah do but come, an’ da ’ooden come!” despairingly declared Maudy Ghamus.

  Gamby Gholar, Maudy Ghamus, and others were High Conjurors, who as ambassadors from the Swamp, were regularly sent out to create new conjurers, lay charms, take off “spells” that could not be reached by Low Conjurors, and renew the art of all conjurors of seven years existence, at the expiration of which period the virtue was supposed to run out; holding their official position by fourteen years appointments. Through this means the revenue is obtained for keeping up an organized existence in this much-dreaded morass-the Dismal Swamp.

  Before Henry left they insisted upon, and anointed him a priest of the order of High Conjurors, and amusing enough it was to him who consented to satisfy the aged devotees of a time-honored superstition among them. Their supreme executive body called the “Head” consists in number of seven aged men, noted for their superior experience and wisdom. Their place of official meeting must be entirely secluded, either in the forest, a gully, secluded hut, an underground room, or a cave.

  The seven old men who, with heightened spirits, hailed his advent among them, led Henry to the door of an ample cave–their hollow–at the door of which they were met by a large sluggish, lazily-moving serpent, but so entirely tame and petted that it wagged its tail with fondness toward Maudy as he led the party. The old men, suddenly stopping at the approach of the reptile, stepping back a pace, looked at each other mysteriously shaking their heads:

  “Go back!” exclaimed Maudy waving his hand. “Go back, my chile! ’e in terrible rage! ’e got seben long toof, any on ’em kill yeh like flash!” tapping it slightly on the head with a twig of grapevine which he carried in his hand.

  Looking at the ugly beast, Henry had determined did it approach to harm, to slay it; but instead, it quietly coiled up and lay at the door as if asleep, which reminded him of queer and unmeaning sounds as they approached, uttered by Gholar, which explained that the animal had been trained to approach when called as any other pet. The “Head” once in session, they created him conjuror of the highest degree known to their art.* With this qualification he was licensed with unlimited power–a power before given no one–to go forth and do wonders. The “Head” seemed, by the unlimited power given him, to place greater reliance in the efforts of Henry for their deliverance than in their own seven heads together.

  “Go, my son,” said they, “an’ may God A’mighty hole up yo’ han’s an’ grant us speedy ’liverence!”

  Being now well refreshed–having rested without the fear of detection–and in the estimation of Gholar, Ghamus and the rest of the “Heads”, well qualified to prosecute his project amidst the prayers, blessings, wishes, hopes, fears, pow-wows and promises of a never failing conjuration, and tears of the cloudy inhabitants of this great seclusion, among whom were the frosty-headed, bowed-down old men of the Cave, Henry left that region by his usual stealthy process, reaching Richmond, Virginia, in safety.

  *The highest degree known to the art of conjuration in the Dismal Swamp, is Seven-finger High-glister.

  CHAPTER 25

  Like Father, Like Son

  With his usual adroitness, early in the morning, Henry entered Richmond boldly walking through the streets. This place in its municipal regulations, the customs and usages of society, the tastes and assumptious pride of the inhabitants, much resembles Charleston, South Carolina, the latter being a modified model of the former.

  The restrictions here concerning Negroes and mulattos are less rigid, as they may be permitted to continue in social or religious gatherings after nine o’clock at night provided a white person be present to inspect their conduct; and may ride in a carriage, smoke a cigar in daylight, or walk with a staff at night.

  According to an old-existing custom said to have originated by law, a mulatto or quadroon who proved a white mother were themselves regarded as white: and many availing themselves of the fact, took advantage of it by leaving their connections with the blacks and turning entirely over to the whites. Their children take further advantage of this by intermarrying with the whites, by which their identity becomes extinct, and they enter every position in society both social and political. Some of the proudest American statesmen in either House of the Capital, receive their poetic vigor of imagination from the current of Negro blood flowing in their veins.

  Like those of Charleston, some of the light mixed bloods of Richmond hold against the blacks and pure-blooded Negroes the strongest prejudice and hatred, all engendered by the teachings of their Negrofearing master-fathers. All of the terms and epithets of disparagement commonly used by the whites toward the blacks are as readily applied to them by this class of the mixed bloods. Shy of the blacks and fearful of the whites, they go sneaking about with the countenance of a criminal, of one conscious of having done wrong to his fellows. Spurned by the one and despised by the other, they are the least happy of all the classes. Of this class was Mrs. Pierce, whose daughter stood in the hall door, quite early enjoying the cool air this morning.

  “Miss,” enquired Henry of the young quadroon lady, “can you inform me where I’ll find the house of Mr. Norton, a colored family in this city?” politely raising his cap as he approached her.

  With a screech she retreated into the house, exclaiming, that a black Negro at the door had given her impudence. Startled at this alarm so unexpected to him–though somewhat prepared for such from his recent experience in Charleston–Henry made good a most hasty retreat before the father, with a long red “hide” in his hand, could reach the door. The man grimaced, declaring, could he have his way, every black in the country would be sold away to labor.

  Finding the house of his friend, he was safely secluded until evening, when developing his scheme, the old material extinguished and left to mould and rot after the demonstration at Southampton, was immediately rekindled, never again to be suppressed until the slaves stood up the equal of the masters. Southampton–the name of Southampton to them was like an electric shock.

  “Ah, Laud!” replied Uncle Medly, an old man of ninety-four years, when asked whether or not he would help his brethren in a critical time of need. “Dat I would. Ef I do noffin’ else, I pick up dirt an’ tro’ in der eye!” meaning in that of their masters.

  “Glory to God!” exclaimed his wife, an old woman of ninety years.

  “Hallelujah!” responded her daughter, the wife of Norton, the man of the house.

  “Blessed be God’s eternal name!” concluded the man himself. “I’ve long been praying and looking, but God has answered me at last.”

  “None could answer it, but a prayer-hearing God!” replied the wife.

  “None would answer it, but a prayer-hearing God!” responded the husband.

  “None did answer it, but a prayer-hearing God!” exclaimed the woman. “Glory to God! Glory to God! Tis none but He can deliver!”

  They fell on their knees to pray, when fervent was their devotion; after which Henry left, but on account of a strict existing patrol regulation, was obliged for three days to be in the wood, so closely watched was he. The fourth evening he effected most adroitly an escape from his hiding place, passing through a strong guard of patrol all around him, entering the District of Columbia at early dawn, soon entering the City of Washington.

  The slave prison of Williams and Brien conspicuously stood among the edifices; high in the breeze from the flagstaff floated defiantly the National Colors, stars as the pride of the white man, and stripes as the emblem of power over the blacks. At this the fugitive gave a passing glance, but with hurried steps co
ntinued his course, not knowing whither he would tarry. He could only breathe in soliloquy, “How long, O Lord of the oppressed, how long shall this thing continue?”

  Passing quietly along, gazing in at every door, he came to a stop on the corner of Pennsylvania avenue and Sixth Street. On entering, looking into the establishment, his eye unexpectedly caught that of a person who proved to be a mulatto gentleman, slowly advancing toward the door.

  His first impulse was to make a retreat, but fearing the effort would be fatal, bracing his nerves, he stood looking the person full in the face.

  “Do you want anything, young man?” enquired the mulatto gentleman, who proved to be the proprietor.

  “I am hungry, sir!” Henry quickly replied.

  “You’re a stranger, then, in the city?”

  “I am, sir.”

  “Never here before?”

  “Never before, sir.”

  “Have you no acquaintance in the place?”

  “None at all, sir.”

  “Then, sir, if you’ll come in, I’ll see if I can find as much as you can eat.” replied the goodhearted man.

  Setting him down to a comfortable breakfast, the wife and niece of the proprietor kindly attended upon him, filling his pouch afterwards with sufficient for the day’s travel.

  Giving him a parting hand, Henry left with, “God Almighty bless the family!” clearing the city in a short time.

  “I understand it all,” replied the gentleman in response, “and may the same God guide and protect you by the way!” justly regardinghim as a fugitive.

  The kindness received at the hands of this family* brought tears of gratitude to the eyes of the recipient, especially when remembering his treatment from the same class in Charleston and Richmond. About the same time that Henry left the city, the slave of a distinguished Southern statesman also left Washington and the comforts of home and kindness of his master forever.