Blake or The Huts of America

by Martin R. Delany

  “Travlin’, I reckon?” interrogated the blacksmith. “Little tired, I spose?”

  “Yes sir, a little so,” replied Henry.

  “Didn’t come far, I ’spect?” continued he.

  “Not very,” carelessly replied Henry.

  “Take seat there, and rest ye little,” pointing to a smoothly-worn log, used by the visitors of the shop.

  “Thank you,” said Henry, “we will,” all seating themselves in a row.

  “Take little somethin?” asked he; stepping back to a corner, taking out a caddy in the wall, a rather corpulent green bottle, turning it up to his mouth, drenching himself almost to strangulation.

  “We don’t drink, sir,” replied the fugitives.

  “Temperance, I reckon?” enquired the smith.

  “Rather so,” replied Henry.

  “Kind o’ think we’ll have a spell o’ weather?”

  “Yes,” said Andy, “dat’s certain; we’ll have a spell a weatheh!”

  On entering the shop, the person at the bellows, a tall, able-bodied young man, was observed to pass out at the back door, a number of persons of both sexes to come frequently look in, and depart, succeeded by others; no import being attached to this, supposing themselves to be an attraction, partly from their singing, and mainly from their color being a novelty in the neighborhood.

  During conversation with the blacksmith, he after eyeing very closely the five strangers, was observed to walk behind the door, stand for some minutes looking as if reading, when resuming his place at the anvil, after which he went out the back door. Curiosity now, with some anxiety induced Henry to look for the cause of it, when with no little alarm, he discovered a handbill fully descriptive of himself and comrades, having been issued in the town of St. Genevieve, offering a heavy reward, particularizing the scene at the Mississippi ferry, the killing of the horses as an aggravated offense; because depriving a poor man of his only means of livelihood, being designed to strengthen inducements to apprehend them, the bill being signed “John Harris.”

  Evening now ensuing, Henry and comrades, the more easily to pass through the village without attraction, had remained until this hour, resting in the blacksmith shop. Enquiring for some black family in the neighborhood, they were cited to one consisting of an old man and woman, Devan by name, residing on the other side, a short distance from the village.

  “Ye’ll fine ole Bill of the right stripe,” said the blacksmith knowingly. “Ye needn’ be feard o’ him. Ye’ll fine him and ole Sally just what they say they is; I’ll go bail for that. The first log hut ye come to after ye leave the village is thern; jist knock at the door, an’ ye’ll fine ole Bill an’ Sally all right blame if ye don’t. Jis name me; tell ’em Dave Starkweather sent ye there, an’ blamed if ye don’t fine things at high water mark; I’m tellin’ ye so, blamed if I ain’t!” was the recommendation of the blacksmith.

  “Thank you for your kindness,” replied Henry, politely bowing as they rose from the log. “Goodbye, sir!”

  “Devilish decent lookin’ black fellers,” said the man of the anvil, complimenting, designedly for them to hear. “Blamed if they ain’t as free as we is–I golly they is!”

  Without, as they thought, attracting attention, passing through the village a half mile or more, they came to a log hut on the right side of the way.

  “How yeh do fren? How yeh come on?” saluted a short, rather corpulent, wheezing old black man. “Come in. Hi! Dahs good many on yeh; ole ’omin come, heah’s some frens!” calling his wife Sally, an old woman, shorter in stature, but not less corpulent than he, sitting by a comfortable dry-stump fire.

  “How is yeh, frens? How yeh do? come to da fiah, mighty cole!” said the old woman.

  “Quite cool,” replied Andy, rubbing his hands, spreading them out, protecting his face from the heat.

  “Yeh is travelin, I reckon, there is good many go’ long heah; we no call t’ask ’em whah da gwine, we knows who da is, case we come from dah. I an, ole man once slave in Faginny; mighty good country fah black folks.”

  Sally set immediately about preparing something to give her guests a good meal. Henry admonished them against extra trouble, but they insisted on giving them a good supper.

  Deeming it more prudent, the hut being on the highway, Henry requested to retire until summoned to supper, being shown to the loft attained by a ladder and simple hatchway, the door of which was shut down, and fastened on the lower side.

  The floor consisting of rough, unjointed board, containing great cracks through which the light and heat from below passed up, all could be both seen and heard, which transpired below.

  Seeing the old man so frequently open and look out at the door, and being suspicious from the movements of the blacksmith and others, Henry affecting to be sleepy, requested Billy and his wife when ready, to awaken them, when after a few minutes, all were snoring as if fast asleep, Henry lying in such a position as through a knothole in the floor, to see every movement in all parts of the room. Directly above him in the rafter within his reach, hung a mowing scythe.

  “Now’s yeh time, ole man; da all fas’ asleep, da snorin’ good!” said old Sally, urging Billy to hasten, who immediately left the hut.

  The hearts of the fugitives were at once “in their mouths,” and with difficulty it was by silently reaching over and heavily pressing upon each of them, Henry succeeded in admonishing each to entire quietness and submission.

  Presently entered a white man, who whispering with Sally left the room. Immediately in came old Bill, at the instant of which, Henry found his right hand above him, involuntarily grasped firmly on the snath of the scythe.

  “Whah’s da?” enquired old Bill, on entering the hut.

  “Sho da whah yeh lef’ em!” replied the old woman.

  “Spose I kin bring ’em in now?” continued old Bill.

  “Bring in who?”

  “Da white folks: who else I gwine fetch in yeh ’spose?”

  “Bettah let em ’tay whah da is, an’ let de po’ men lone, git sumpen t’ eat, an’ go long whah da gwine!” replied Sally, deceptively.

  “Huccum yeh talk dat way? Sho yeh tole me go!” replied Billy.

  “Didn’ reckon yeh gwine bring ’em on da po’ cretahs dis way, fo’ da git moufful t’ eat an’ git way so.”

  “How I gwine let ’em go now de white folks all out dah? Say Sally? Dat jis what make I tell yeh so!”

  “Bettah let white folks lone, Willum! dat jis what I been tellin’ on yeh. Keep foolin’ ’long wid white folks, bym’by da show yeh! I no trus’ white man, no how. Sho! da no fren’ o’ black folks. Bus spose body ’blige keep da right side on ’em long so.”

  “Ole ’omin,” said Bill, “yeh knows we make our livin’ by da white folks, an’ mus’ do what da tell us, so whah’s da use talkin’ long so. ’Spose da come in now?”

  “Sho, I tole yeh de man sleep? gwine bring white folks on ’em so? give po’ cretahs no chance? Go long, do what yeh gwine do; yeh fine out one dese days!” concluded Sally.

  Having stealthily risen to their feet standing in a favorable position, Henry in whispers declared to his comrades that with that scythe he intended mowing his way into Canada.

  Impatient for their entrance, throwing wide open the door of the hut, which being the signal, in rushed eleven white men, headed by Jud Shirly, constable, Dave Starkweather the blacksmith, and Tom Overton as deputies; George Grove, a respectable well-dressed villager, stood giving general orders.

  With light and pistol in hand, Franey, mounting the stairway commanded a surrender. Eli, standing behind the hatchway, struck the candle from his hand, when with a swing of the scythe there was a screech, fall, and groan heard, then with a shout and leap, Henry in the lead, they cleared the stairs to the lower floor, the white men flying in consternation before them, making their way to the village, alarming the inhabitants.

  The fugitives fled in great haste continuing their flight for several miles, when becoming worn down and fati
gued, retired under cover of a thicket a mile from a stage tavern kept by old Isaac Slusher of German descent.

  The villagers following in quick pursuit, every horse which could be readily obtained being put on the chase, the slaves were overtaken, fired upon-a ball lodging in Charles’ thigh–overpowered, and arrested. Deeming it, from the number of idlers about the place, and the condition of the stables, much the safest imprisonment, the captives were taken to the tavern of Slusher, to quarter for the night.

  On arriving at this place, a shout of triumph rent the air, and a general cry “take them into the barroom for inspection! Hang them! Burn them!” and much more.

  Here the captives were derided, scoffed at and ridiculed, turned around, limbs examined, shoved about from side to side, then ordered to sit down on the floor, a noncompliance with which, having arranged themselves for the purpose, at a given signal, a single trip by an equal number of whites, brought the four poor prisoners suddenly to the floor on the broad of their back, their heads striking with great force. At this abuse of helpless men, the shouts of laughter became deafening. It caused them to shun the risk of standing, and keep seated on the floor.

  Charles having been wounded, affected inability to stand, but the injury being a flesh wound, was not serious.

  “We’ll show ye yer places, ye black devils!” said Ned Bradly, a rowdy, drawing back his foot to kick Henry in the face, as he sat upon the floor against the wall, giving him a slight kick in the side as he passed by him.

  “Don’t do that again, sir!” sternly said Henry, with an expression full of meaning, looking him in the face.

  Several feet in an instant were drawn back to kick, when Slusher interfering, said, “Shendlemans! tem black mans ish prishners! You tuz pring tem into mine housh, ant you shandt puse tem dare!” when the rowdies ceased abusing them.

  “Well, gentlemen,” said Tom Overton, a burly, bullying barroom person, “we’d best git these blacks out of the way, if they’s any fun up tonight.”

  “I cot plendy peds, shendlemans, I ondly vants to know who ish to bay me,” replied Slusher.

  “I golly,” retorted Starkweather, “you needn’t give yourself no uneasiness about that Slusher. I think me, and Shirly, and Grove is good for a night’s lodging for five niggers, anyhow!”

  “I’m in that snap, too!” hallooed out Overton.

  “Golly! Yes, Tom, there’s you we like to forgot, blamed if we didn’t!” responded Starkweather.

  “Dat ish all right nough zo far as te plack man’s ish gonzern, put ten dare ish to housh vull o’ peoples, vot vare must I gheep tem?”

  “We four,” replied Grove, “will see you paid, who else? Slusher, we want it understood, that we four stand responsible for all expenses incurred this night, in the taking of these Negroes,” evidently expecting to receive as they claimed, the reward offered in the advertisement.

  “Dat vill too, ten,” replied Slusher. “Vell, I ish ready to lite tese black mans to ped.”

  “No Slusher,” interrupted Grove, “that’s not the understanding, we don’t pay for beds for niggers to sleep in!”

  “No, by Molly!” replied Overton. “Dogged if that ain’t going a leetle too far! Slusher, you can’t choke that down, no how you can fix in. If you do as you please with your own house, these niggers is in our custody, and we’ll do as we please with them. We want you to know that we are white men, as well as you are, and can’t pay for niggers to sleep in the same house with ourselves.”

  “Gents,” said Ned Bradly, “do you hear that?”

  “What?” enquired several voices.

  “Why, old Slusher wants to give the niggers a room upstairs with us!”

  “With who?” shouted they.

  “With us white men.”

  “No, blamed if he does!” replied Starkweather.

  “We won’t stand that!” exclaimed several voices.

  “Where’s Slusher?” enquired Ben West, a discharged stage driver, who hung about the premises, and now figured prominently.

  “Here ish me, shendlemans!” answered Slusher, coming from the back part of the house. “Andt you may do as you please midt tem black mans, pud iv you dempt puse me, I vill pudt you all out mine housh!”

  “The stable, the stable!” they all cried out. “Put the niggers in the stable, and we’ll be satisfied!”

  “Tare ish mine staple–you may pud tem vare you blease,” replied the old man, “budt you shandt puse me!”

  Securely binding them with cords, they were placed in a strongly built log stable closely weather-boarded, having but a door and window below, the latter being closely secured, and the door locked on the outside with a staple and padlock. The upper windows being well secured, the blacks thus locked in, were left to their fate, whilst their captors comfortably housed, were rioting in triumph through the night over the misfortune, and blasted prospects for liberty.

  CHAPTER 32

  The Escape

  This night the inmates of the tavern revelled with intoxication; all within the building, save the exemplary family of the stern old German, Slusher, who peremptorily refused from first to last, to take any part whatever with them, doubtless, being for the evening the victims of excessive indulgence in the beverage of ardent spirits. Now and again one and another of the numerous crowd gathered from the surrounding neighborhood, increasing as the intelligence spread, went alone to the stable to examine the door, reconnoiter the premises, and ascertain that the prisoners were secure. The company getting in such high glee that, fearing a neglect of duty, it became advisable to appoint for the evening a corps of sentinels whose special duty, according to their own arrangements, should be to watch and guard the captives. This special commission being one of pecuniary consideration, Jim Franey, the township constable, the rowdy Ned Bradly, and Ben West the discharged stage driver, who being about the premises, readily accepted the office, entering immediately on the line of duty.

  The guard each alternately every fifteen minutes went out to examine the premises, when one and a half of the clock again brought around the period of Ben West’s duty. Familiar with the premises and the arrangement of the stables, taking a lantern, West designed closely to inspect their pinions, that no lack of duty on his part might forfeit his claim to the promised compensation.

  When placing them in the stable, lights then being in requisition, Henry discovered in a crevice between the wall an the end of the feed-trough a common butcher knife used for the purpose of repairing harness. So soon as the parties left the stable, the captives lying with their heads resting on their bundles, Henry arising, took the knife, cutting loose himself and companions, but leaving the pinions still about their limbs as though fastened, resumed his position upon the bundle of straw. The scythe had been carelessly hung on a section of the worm fence adjoining the barn, near the door of the prison department, their weapons having been taken from them.

  “Well, boys,” enquired West, holding up the lantern, “you’re all here, I see: do you want anything? Take some whiskey!” holding in his hand a quart bottle.

  “The rope’s too tight around my ankle!” complained Charles. “Its took all the feeling out of my leg.”

  Dropping upon his knees to loosen the cord, at this moment, Henry standing erect brandishing the keen glistening blade of the knife before him–his companions having sprung to their feet–“Don’t you breathe,” exclaimed the intrepid unfettered slave, “or I’ll bury the blade deep in your bosom! One hour I’ll give you for silence, a breach of which will cost your life.” Taking a tin cup which West brought into the stable, pouring it full to the brim, “Drink this!” said Henry, compelling the man who was already partially intoxicated, to drink as much as possible, which soon rendered him entirely insensible.

  “Come, boys!” exclaimed he, locking the stable, putting the key into his pocket, leaving the intoxicated sentinel prostrated upon the bed of straw intended for them, and leaving the tavern house of the old German Slusher forever behind them.
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  The next period of watch, West being missed, Ned Bradly, on going to the stable, finding the door locked, reported favorably, supposing it to be still secure. Overton in turn did the same. When drawing near daylight–West still being missed–Franey advised that a search be made for him. The bedrooms, and such places into which he might most probably have retired, were repeatedly searched in vain, as calling at the stable elicited no answer, either from him nor the captives.

  The sun was now more than two hours high, and word was received from the village to hasten the criminals in for examination before the magistrate. Determining to break open the door, which being done, Ben West was found outstretched upon the bed of straw, who, with difficulty, was aroused from his stupor. The surprise of the searchers on discovering his condition, was heightened on finding the escape of the fugitives. Disappointment and chagrin now succeeded high hopes and merriment, when a general reaction ran throughout the neighborhood; for the sensation at the escape even became greater than on the instance of the deed of resistance and success of the capture.

  Of all the disappointments connected with this affair, there was none to be regretted save that of the old German tavern keeper, Isaac Slusher, who, being the only pecuniary sufferer, the entire crowd revelling at his expense.

  “Gonvound dish bishnesh!” exclaimed Slusher with vexation. “Id alwaysh cosht more dan de ding ish wordt. Mine Got! afder dish I’ll mindt mine own bishnesh. Iv tem Soudt Amerigans vill gheep niggersh de musht gedch dem demzelve. Mine ligger ish ghon, I losht mine resht, te niggersh rhun avay, an’ I nod magk von zent!”

  Immediate pursuit was sent out in search of the runaways but without success; for, dashing on, scythe in hand, with daring though peaceable strides through the remainder of the state and that of Michigan, the fugitives reached Detroit without further molestation or question from any source on the right of transit, the inhabitants mistaking them for resident blacks out from their homes in search of employment.