Blake or The Huts of America

by Martin R. Delany

  “I want none of yer nigger passes!” angrily said he. “They ain’t none uv ’em good ’or nothin’, no how! It’s no use to show it to me, ye’s can’t git over!”

  First looking meaningly and determinedly at Charles and Andybiting his lips–then addressing himself to the man, Henry said:

  “Then I have one that will pass us!” presenting the unmistaking evidence of a shining gold eagle, at the sight of which emblem of his country’s liberty, the skiffman’s patriotism was at once awakened, and their right to pass as American freemen indisputable.

  A few energetic muscular exertions with the oars, and the sturdy boatman promptly landed his passengers on the other side of the river.

  “Now, gentlm’n, I done the clean thing, didn’t I, by jingo! Show me but half a chance an’ I’ll ack the man clean out. I dont go in for this slaveholding o’ people in these Newnited States uv the South, nohow, so I don’t. Dog gone it, let every feller have a fair shake!”

  Dropping into his hand the ten-dollar gold piece, the man bowed earnestly, uttering–

  “I hope ye’s good luck, gent’men! Ye’ll al’as fine me ready when ye’s come ‘long this way!”

  CHAPTER 29

  The Fugitives

  With much apprehension, Henry and comrades passed hastily through the State of Arkansas, he having previously traversed it partly, had learned sufficient to put him on his guard.

  Traveling in the night, to avoid the day, the progress was not equal to the emergency. Though Henry carried a pocket compass, they kept in sight of the Mississippi river, to take their chance of the first steamer passing by.

  The third night out, being Monday, at daybreak in the morning, their rest for the day was made at a convenient point within the verge of a forest. Suddenly Charles gave vent to hearty laughter, at a time when all were supposed to be serious, having the evening past, been beset by a train of three Negro-dogs, which, having first been charmed, they slew at the instant; the dogs probably not having been sent on trail of them, but, after the custom of the state, baying on a general round to intimidate the slaves from clandestinely venturing out, and to attack such runaways as might by chance be found in their track.

  “Wat’s da mauttah, Chauls?” enquired Andy.

  “I was just thinking,” replied he, “of the sight of three High Conjurers, who if Ghamus and Gholar be true, can do anything they please, having to escape by night, and travel in the wild woods, to evade the pursuit of white men, who do not pretend to know anything about such things.”

  “Dat’s a fack,” added Andy, “an’ little, scronny triflin’ weak, white men at dat–any one uv us heah, ought to whip two or three uv ’em at once. Dares Hugh’s a little bit a feller, I could take ’im in one han’ an’ throw ’im oveh my head, an’ ole Pottah, for his pant, he so ole an’ good foh nothin, I could whip wid one hand half a dozen like ’im.”

  “Now you see, boys,” said Henry, “how much conjuration and such foolishness and stupidity is worth to the slaves in the South. All that it does, is to put money into the pockets of the pretended conjurer, give him power over others by making them afraid of him; and even old Gamby Gholar and Maudy Ghamus and the rest of the Seven Heads, with all of the High Conjurors in the Dismal Swamp, are depending more upon me to deliver them from their confinement as prisoners in the Swamp and runaway slaves, than all their combined efforts together. I made it a special part of my mission, wherever I went, to enlighten them on this subject.”

  “I wandah you didn’t fend ’em,” replied Andy.

  “No danger of that, since having so long, to no purpose, depended upon such persons and nonsense, they are sick at heart of them, and waiting willing and ready, for anything which may present for their aid, even to the destruction of their long cherished, silly nonsense of conjuration.”

  “Thang God foh dat!” concluded Andy.

  Charles having fallen asleep, Andy became the sentinel of the party, as it was the arrangement for each one alternately, every two hours during rest, to watch while the other two slept. Henry having next fallen into a doze, Andy heard a cracking among the bushes, when on looking around, two men approached them. Being fatigued, drowsy, and giddy, he became much alarmed, arousing his comrades, all springing to their feet. The men advanced, who, to their gratification proved to be Eli and Ambrose, two Arkansas slaves, who having promised to meet Henry on his return, had effected their escape immediately after first meeting him, lurking in the forest in the direction which he had laid out to take.

  Eli was so fair as to be taken, when first seen, to be a white man. Throwing their arms about Henry, they bestowed upon him their blessing and thanks, for his advent into the state as the means of their escape.

  While thus exchanging congratulations, the approach upstream of a steamer was heard, and at once Henry devised the expedient, and determined boldly to hail her and demand a passage. Putting Eli forward as the master, Ambrose carrying the portmanteaus which belonged to the two, and the others with bundles in their hands, all rushed to the bank of the river on the verge of the thicket; Eli held up a handkerchief as a signal. The bell tolled, and the yawl immediately lowered, made for the shore. It was agreed that Eli should be known as Major Ely, of Arkansas.[19]

  Seeing that blacks were of the company, when the yawl approached, the mate stood upon her forecastle.

  “What’s the faction here?” cried out the sturdy mate.

  “Where are you bound?” enquired Eli.

  “For St. Louis.”

  “Can I get a passage for myself and four Negroes?”

  “What’s the name, sir?”

  “Major Ely, of Arkansas,” was the reply.

  “Aye, aye, sir, come aboard,” said the mate; when, pulling away, the steamer was soon reached, the slaves going to the deck, and the master to the cabin.

  On application for a stateroom, the clerk, on learning the name, desired to know his destination.

  “The State of Missouri, sir,” said Eli, “between the points of the mouth of the Ohio and St. Genevieve.”

  “Ely,” repeated the clerk, “I’ve heard that name before-it’s a Missouri name–any relation to Dr. Ely, Major?”

  “Yes, a brother’s son,” was the prompt reply.

  “Yes, yes, I thought I knew the name,” replied the clerk. “But the old fellow wasn’t quite of your way of thinking concerning Negroes, I believe?”

  “No, he is one man, and I’m another, and he may go his way, and I’ll go mine,” replied Eli.

  “That’s the right feeling, Major,” replied the clerk, “and we would have a much healthier state of politics in the country, if men generally would only agree to act on that principle.”

  “It has ever been my course,” said Eli.

  “Peopling a new farm I reckon, Major?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The master, keeping a close watch upon the slaves, was frequently upon deck among them, and requested that they might be supplied with more than common fare for slaves, he sparing no expense to make them comfortable. The slaves, on their part, appeared to be particularly attached to him, always smiling when he approached, apparently regretting when he left for the cabin.

  Meanwhile, the steamer gracefully plowing up the current, making great headway, reached the point desired, when the master and slaves were safely transferred from the steamer to the shore of Missouri.

  CHAPTER 30

  The Pursuit

  The absence of Mammy Judy, Daddy Joe, Charles, and little Tony, on the return early Monday morning of Colonel Franks and lady from the country, unmistakably proved the escape of their slaves, and the further proof of the exit of ’squire Potter’s Andy and Beckwith’s Clara, with the remembrance of the stampede a few months previously, required no further confirmation of the fact, when the neighborhood again was excited to ferment. The advisory committee was called into immediate council, and ways and means devised for the arrest of the recreant slaves recently left, and to prevent among them the recurrence
of such things; a pursuit was at once commenced, which for the three succeeding days was carried in the wrong direction–towards Jackson, whither, it was supposed in the neighborhood, Henry had been lurking previous to the last sally upon their premises, as he had certainly been seen on Saturday evening, coming from the landing.

  No traces being found in that direction, the course was changed, the swiftest steamer boarded in pursuit for the Ohio river. This point being reached but a few hours subsequent to that of the fugitives, when learning of their course, the pursuers proceeded toward the place of their destination, on the Mississippi river.

  This point being the southern part of Missouri but a short distance above the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi, the last named river had, of necessity, to be passed, being to the fugitives only practicable by means of a ferry. The ferryman in this instance commanded a horse-boat, he residing on the opposite side of the river. Stepping up to him–a tall, raw-boned athletic, rough looking, bearded fellow–Eli saluted:

  “We want to cross the river, sir!”

  “Am yers free?” enquired the ferryman.

  “Am I free! Are you free?” rejoined Eli.

  “Yes, I be’s a white man!” replied the boatman.

  “And so am I!” retorted Eli. “And you dare not tell me I’m not.”

  “I’ll swong, stranger, yer mus’ ’scuse me, as I did n’ take notice on yez! But I like to know if them air black folks ye got wey yer am free, cause if they arn’t, I be ’sponsible for ’em ’cording to the new law, called, I ‘bleve the Nebrasky Complimize Fugintive Slave Act, made down at Californy, last year,” apologized and explained the somewhat confused ferryman.

  “Yes,” replied Henry, “we are free, and if we were not, I do’nt think it any part of your business to know. I thought you were here to carry people across the river.”

  “But frien’,” rejoined the man, “yer don’t understan’ it. This are a law made by the Newnited States of Ameriky, an’ I be ’bliged to fulfill it by ketchin’ every fugintive that goes to cross this way, or I mus’ pay a thousand dollars, and go to jail till the black folks is got, if that be’s never. Yer see yez can’t blame me, as I mus’ ‘bey the laws of Congress I’ll swong it be’s hardly a fair shake nuther, but I be ’bliged to ’bey the laws, yer know.”

  “Well sir,” replied Henry, “we want to cross the river.”

  “Let me see yez papers frien’?” asked the ferryman.

  “My friend,” said Henry, “are you willing to make yourself a watch dog for slaveholders, and do for them that which they would not do for themselves, catch runaway slaves? Don’t you know that this is the work which they boast on having the poor white men at the North do for them? Have you not yet learned to attend to your own interests instead of theirs? Here are our free papers,” holding out his open hand, in which lay five half eagle pieces.

  “Jump aboard!” cried the ferryman. “Quick, quick!” shouted he, as the swift feet of four hourses were heard dashing up the road.

  Scarcely had the boat moved from her fastenings, till they had arrived; the riders dismounted, who presenting revolvers, declared upon the boatman’s life, instantly, if he did not change the direction of his boat and come back to the Missouri shore. Henry seized a well-charged rifle belonging to the boatman, his comrades each with a well-aimed six-barreled weapon.

  “Shoot if you dare!” exclaimd Henry, the slaveholders declining their arms–when, turning to the awestricken ferryman, handing him the twenty-five dollars, said, “your cause is a just one, and your reward is sure; take this money, proceed and you are safe–refuse, and you instantly die!”

  “Then I be to do right,” declared the boatman, “if I die by it,” when applying the whip to the horses, in a few moments landed them on the Illinois shore.

  This being the only ferry in the neighborhood, and fearing a bribe or coercion by the people on the Illinois side, or the temptation of a high reward from the slave-catchers, Henry determined on eluding, if possible, every means of pursuit.

  “What are your horses worth?” enquired he.

  “They can’t be no use to your frien’ case they is both on ’em bline, an’ couldn’t travel twenty miles a day, on a stretch!”

  “Have you any other horses?”

  “They be all the horses I got; I gineraly feed a spell this side. I lives over here–this are my feedin’ trip,” drawled the boatman.

  “What will you take for them?”

  “Well, frien’, they arn’t wuth much to buy, no how, but wuth good lock to me for drawin’ the boat over, yer see.”

  “What did they cost you in buying them?”

  “Well, I o’ny giv six-seven dollars apiece, or sich a maiter for ’em’ when I got ’em, an’ they cos me some two-three dollars, or sich a matter, more to get ’em in pullin’ order, yer see.”

  “Will you sell them to me?”

  “I hadn’t ort to part wey ’em frien’, as I do good lock o’ bisness hereabouts wey them air nags, bline as they be.”

  “Here are thirty dollars for your horses,” said Henry, putting into his hand the money in gold pieces, when, unhitching them from their station, leading them out to the side of the boat, he shot them, pushing them over into the river.

  “Farewell, my friend,” saluted Henry, he and comrades leaving the astonished ferryman gazing after them, whilst the slaveholders on the other shore stood grinding their teeth, grimacing their faces, shaking their fists, with various gesticulations of threat, none of which were either heard, heeded or cared for by the fleeting party, or determined ferryman.

  Taking a northeasterly course of Indiana, Andy being an accustomed singer, commenced, in lively glee and cheerful strains, singing to the expressive words:

  We are like a band of pilgrims,

  In a strange and foreign land,

  With our knapsacks on our shoulders,

  And our cudgels in our hands,

  We have many miles before us.

  But it lessens not our joys,

  We will sing a merry chorus,

  For we are the tramping boys.

  Then joined in chorus the whole party–

  We are all jogging,

  Jog, jog, jogging,

  And we’re all jogging,

  We are going to the North!

  The Wabash river becoming the next point of obstruction, a ferry, as in the last case, had also to be crossed, the boatman residing on the Indiana side.

  “Are you free?” enquired the boatman, as the party of blacks approached.

  “We are,” was the reply of Henry.

  “Where are you from?” continued he.

  “We are from home, sir,” replied Charles, “and the sooner you take us across the river, just so much sooner will we reach it.”

  Still doubting their right to pass he asked for their papers, but having by this time become so conversant with the patriotism and fidelity of these men to their country, Charles handing the Indianan a five dollar piece, who on seeing the outstretched wings of the eagle, desired no further evidence of their right to pass, conveying them into the state, contrary to the statutes of the Commonwealth.

  On went the happy travelers without hinderance, or molestation, until the middle of the week next ensuing.

  CHAPTER 31

  The Attack, Resistance, Arrest

  The travel for the last ten days had been pleasant, save the necessity in the more southern part of the state, of lying-by through the day and traveling at night-the fugitives cheerful and full of hope, nothing transpiring to mar their happiness, until approaching a village in the center of northern Indiana.

  Supposing their proximity to the British Provinces made them safe, with an imprudence not before committed by the discreet runaways, when nearing a blacksmith’s shop a mile and a half from the village, Andy in his usual manner, with stentorian voice, commenced the following song:

  I’m on my way to Canada,

  That cold and dreary land:

  The
dire effects of slavery,

  I can no longer stand.

  My soul is vexed within me so,

  To think that I’m a slave,

  I’ve now resolved to strike the blow,

  For Freedom or the grave.

  All uniting in the chorus,

  O, righteous Father

  Wilt thou not pity me;

  And aid me on to Canada,

  Where fugitives are free?

  I heard old England plainly say,

  If we would all forsake,

  Our native land of Slavery,

  And come across the lake.[20]

  “There, Ad’line! I golly, don’t you hear that?” said Dave Starkweather, the blacksmith, to his wife, both of whom on hearing the unusual noise of singing, thrust their heads out of the door of a little log hut, stood patiently listening to the song, every word of which they distinctly caught. “Them’s fugertive slaves, an’ I’ll have ’em tuck up; they might have passed, but for their singin’ praise to that darned Queen! I can’t stan’ that no how!”

  “No,” replied Adaline, “I’m sure I don’t see what they sing to her for; she’s no ’Merican. We ain’t under her now, as we Dave?”

  “No we ain’t, Ad’line, not sence the battle o’ Waterloo, an’ I golly, we wouldn’t be if we was. The ’Mericans could whip her a darned sight easier now than what they done when they fit her at Waterloo.”

  “Lah me, Dave, you could whip ’er yourself, she ai’nt bigger nor tother wimin is she?” said Mrs. Starkweather.

  “No she ain’t, not a darn’ bit!” replied he.

  “Dave, ask em in the shop to rest,” suggested the wife in a hurried whisper, elbowing her husband as the party advanced, having ceased singing so soon as they saw the faces of white persons.