The gentleman said my master could obtain the very best advice in Philadelphia. Which turned out to be quite correct, though he did not receive it from physicians, but from kind abolitionists who understood his case much better. The gentleman also said, “I reckon your master’s father hasn’t any more such faithful and smart boys as you.” “O, yes, sir, he has,” I replied, “lots on ’em.” Which was literally true. This seemed all he wished to know. He thanked me, gave me a ten-cent piece, and requested me to be attentive to my good master. I promised that I would do so, and have ever since endeavoured to keep my pledge. During the gentleman’s absence, the ladies and my master had a little cosy chat. But on his return, he said, “You seem to be very much afflicted, sir.” “Yes, sir,” replied the gentleman in the poultices. “What seems to be the matter with you, sir; may I be allowed to ask?” “Inflammatory rheumatism, sir.” “Oh! that is very bad, sir,” said the kind gentleman: “I can sympathise with you; for I know from bitter experience what the rheumatism is.” If he did, he knew a good deal more than Mr. Johnson.
The gentleman thought my master would feel better if he would lie down and rest himself; and as he was anxious to avoid conversation, he at once acted upon this suggestion. The ladies politely rose, took their extra shawls, and made a nice pillow for the invalid’s head. My master wore a fashionable cloth cloak, which they took and covered him comfortably on the couch. After he had been lying a little while the ladies, I suppose, thought he was asleep; so one of them gave a long sigh, and said, in a quiet fascinating tone, “Papa, he seems to be a very nice young gentleman.” But before papa could speak, the other lady quickly said, “Oh! dear me, I never felt so much for a gentleman in my life!” To use an American expression, “they fell in love with the wrong chap.”
After my master had been lying a little while he got up, the gentleman assisted him in getting on his cloak, the ladies took their shawls, and soon all were seated. They then insisted upon Mr. Johnson taking some of their refreshments, which of course he did, out of courtesy to the ladies. All went on enjoying themselves until they reached Richmond, where the ladies and their father left the train. But, before doing so, the good old Virginian gentleman, who appeared to be much pleased with my master, presented him with a recipe, which he said was a perfect cure for the inflammatory rheumatism. But the invalid not being able to read it, and fearing he should hold it upside down in pretending to do so, thanked the donor kindly, and placed it in his waistcoat pocket. My master’s new friend also gave him his card, and requested him the next time he travelled that way to do him the kindness to call; adding, “I shall be pleased to see you, and so will my daughters.” Mr. Johnson expressed his gratitude for the proffered hospitality, and said he should feel glad to call on his return. I have not the slightest doubt that he will fulfil the promise whenever that return takes place. After changing trains we went on a little beyond Fredericksburg, and took a steamer to Washington.
At Richmond, a stout elderly lady, whose whole demeanour indicated that she belonged (as Mrs. Stowe’s Aunt Chloe expresses it) to one of the “firstest families,” stepped into the carriage, and took a seat near my master. Seeing me passing quickly along the platform, she sprang up as if taken by a fit, and exclaimed, “Bless my soul! there goes my nigger, Ned!” My master said, “No; that is my boy.”
The lady paid no attention to this; she poked her head out of the window, and bawled to me, “You Ned, come to me, sir, you runaway rascal!”
On my looking round she drew her head in, and said to my master, “I beg your pardon, sir, I was sure it was my nigger; I never in my life saw two black pigs more alike than your boy and my Ned.”
After the disappointed lady had resumed her seat, and the train had moved off, she closed her eyes, slightly raising her hands, and in a sanctified tone said to my master, “Oh! I hope, sir, your boy will not turn out to be so worthless as my Ned has. Oh! I was as kind to him as if he had been my own son. Oh! sir, it grieves me very much to think that after all I did for him he should go off without having any cause whatever.”
“When did he leave you?” asked Mr. Johnson.
“About eighteen months ago, and I have never seen hair or hide of him since.”
“Did he have a wife?” enquired a very respectable-looking young gentleman, who was sitting near my master and opposite to the lady.
“No, sir; not when he left, though he did have one a little before that. She was very unlike him; she was as good and as faithful a nigger as any one need wish to have. But, poor thing! she became so ill, that she was unable to do much work; so I thought it would be best to sell her, to go to New Orleans, where the climate is nice and warm.”
“I suppose she was very glad to go South for the restoration of her health?” said the gentleman.
“No; she was not,” replied the lady, “for niggers never know what is best for them. She took on a great deal about leaving Ned and the little nigger; but, as she was so weakly, I let her go.”
“Was she good-looking?” asked the young passenger, who was evidently not of the same opinion as the talkative lady, and therefore wished her to tell all she knew.
“Yes; she was very handsome, and much whiter than I am; and therefore will have no trouble in getting another husband. I am sure I wish her well. I asked the speculator who bought her to sell her to a good master. Poor thing! she has my prayers, and I know she prays for me. She was a good Christian, and always used to pray for my soul. It was through her earliest prayers,” continued the lady, “that I was first led to seek forgiveness of my sins, before I was converted at the great camp-meeting.”
This caused the lady to snuffle and to draw from her pocket a richly embroidered handkerchief, and apply it to the corner of her eyes. But my master could not see that it was at all soiled.
The silence which prevailed for a few moments was broken by the gentleman’s saying, “As your ‘July’ was such a very good girl, and had served you so faithfully before she lost her health, don’t you think it would have been better to have emancipated her?”
“No, indeed I do not!” scornfully exclaimed the lady, as she impatiently crammed the fine handkerchief into a little work-bag. “I have no patience with people who set niggers at liberty. It is the very worst thing you can do for them. My dear husband just before he died willed all his niggers free. But I and all our friends knew very well that he was too good a man to have ever thought of doing such an unkind and foolish thing, had he been in his right mind, and, therefore we had the will altered as it should have been in the first place.”
“Did you mean, madam,” asked my master, “that willing the slaves free was unjust to yourself, or unkind to them?”
“I mean that it was decidedly unkind to the servants themselves. It always seems to me such a cruel thing to turn niggers loose to shift for themselves, when there are so many good masters to take care of them. As for myself,” continued the considerate lady, “I thank the Lord my dear husband left me and my son well provided for. Therefore I care nothing for the niggers, on my own account, for they are a great deal more trouble than they are worth, I sometimes wish that there was not one of them in the world; for the ungrateful wretches are always running away. I have lost no less than ten since my poor husband died. It’s ruinous, sir!”
“But as you are well provided for, I suppose you do not feel the loss very much,” said the passenger.
“I don’t feel it at all,” haughtily continued the good soul; “but that is no reason why property should be squandered. If my son and myself had the money for those valuable niggers, just see what a great deal of good we could do for the poor, and in sending missionaries abroad to the poor heathen, who have never heard the name of our blessed Redeemer. My dear son who is a good Christian minister has advised me not to worry and send my soul to hell for the sake of niggers; but to sell every blessed one of them for what they will fetch, and go and live in peace with him in New York. This I have concluded to do. I have just been to Richmon
d and made arrangements with my agent to make clean work of the forty that are left.”
“Your son being a good Christian minister,” said the gentleman, “it’s strange he did not advise you to let the poor negroes have their liberty and go North.”
“It’s not at all strange, sir; it’s not at all strange. My son knows what’s best for the niggers; he has always told me that they were much better off than the free niggers in the North. In fact, I don’t believe there are any white labouring people in the world who are as well off as the slaves.”
“You are quite mistaken, madam,” said the young man. “For instance, my own widowed mother, before she died, emancipated all her slaves, and sent them to Ohio, where they are getting along well. I saw several of them last summer myself.”
“Well,” replied the lady, “freedom may do for your ma’s niggers, but it will never do for mine; and, plague them, they shall never have it; that is the word, with the bark on it.”
“If freedom will not do for your slaves,” replied the passenger, “I have no doubt your Ned and the other nine negroes will find out their mistake, and return to their old home.”
“Blast them!” exclaimed the old lady, with great emphasis, “if I ever get them, I will cook their infernal hash, and tan their accursed black hides well for them! God forgive me,” added the old soul, “the niggers will make me lose all my religion!”
By this time the lady had reached her destination. The gentleman got out at the next station beyond. As soon as she was gone, the young Southerner said to my master, “What a d——d shame it is for that old whining hypocritical humbug to cheat the poor negroes out of their liberty! If she has religion, may the devil prevent me from ever being converted!”
For the purpose of somewhat disguising myself, I bought and wore a very good second-hand white beaver, an article which I had never indulged in before. So just before we arrived at Washington, an uncouth planter, who had been watching me very closely, said to my master, “I reckon, stranger, you are ‘spiling’ that ere nigger of yourn, by letting him wear such a devilish fine hat. Just look at the quality on it; the President couldn’t wear a better. I should just like to go and kick it overboard.” His friend touched him, and said, “Don’t speak so to a gentleman.” “Why not?” exclaimed the fellow. He grated his short teeth, which appeared to be nearly worn away by the incessant chewing of tobacco, and said, “It always makes me itch all over, from head to toe, to get hold of every d——d nigger I see dressed like a white man. Washington is run away with spiled and free niggers. If I had my way I would sell every d——d rascal of ’em way down South, where the devil would be whipped out on ’em.”
This man’s fierce manner made my master feel rather nervous, and therefore he thought the less he said the better; so he walked off without making any reply. In a few minutes we were landed at Washington, where we took a conveyance and hurried off to the train for Baltimore.
We left our cottage on Wednesday morning, the 21st of December, 1848, and arrived at Baltimore, Saturday evening, the 24th (Christmas Eve). Baltimore was the last slave port of any note at which we stopped.
On arriving there we felt more anxious than ever, because we knew not what that last dark night would bring forth. It is true we were near the goal, but our poor hearts were still as if tossed at sea; and, as there was another great and dangerous bar to pass, we were afraid our liberties would be wrecked, and, like the ill-fated Royal Charter, go down for ever just off the place we longed to reach.
They are particularly watchful at Baltimore to prevent slaves from escaping into Pennsylvania, which is a free State. After I had seen my master into one of the best carriages, and was just about to step into mine, an officer, a full-blooded Yankee of the lower order, saw me. He came quickly up, and, tapping me on the shoulder, said in his unmistakable native twang, together with no little display of his authority, “Where are you going, boy?” “To Philadelphia, sir,” I humbly replied. “Well, what are you going there for?” “I am travelling with my master, who is in the next carriage, sir.” “Well, I calculate you had better get him out; and be mighty quick about it, because the train will soon be starting. It is against my rules to let any man take a slave past here, unless he can satisfy them in the office that he has a right to take him along.”
The officer then passed on and left me standing upon the platform, with my anxious heart apparently palpitating in the throat. At first I scarcely knew which way to turn. But it soon occurred to me that the good God, who had been with us thus far, would not forsake us at the eleventh hour. So with renewed hope I stepped into my master’s carriage, to inform him of the difficulty. I found him sitting at the farther end, quite alone. As soon as he looked up and saw me, he smiled. I also tried to wear a cheerful countenance, in order to break the shock of the sad news. I knew what made him smile. He was aware that if we were fortunate we should reach our destination at five o’clock the next morning, and this made it the more painful to communicate what the officer had said; but, as there was no time to lose, I went up to him and asked him how he felt. He said “Much better,” and that he thanked God we were getting on so nicely. I then said we were not getting on quite so well as we had anticipated. He anxiously and quickly asked what was the matter. I told him. He started as if struck by lightning, and exclaimed, “Good Heavens! William, is it possible that we are, after all, doomed to hopeless bondage?” I could say nothing, my heart was too full to speak, for at first I did not know what to do. However we knew it would never do to turn back to the “City of Destruction,” like Bunyan’s Mistrust and Timorous, because they saw lions in the narrow way after ascending the hill Difficulty; but press on, like noble Christian and Hopeful, to the great city in which dwelt a few “shining ones.” So, after a few moments, I did all I could to encourage my companion, and we stepped out and made for the office: but how or where my master obtained sufficient courage to face the tyrants who had power to blast all we held dear, heaven only knows! Queen Elizabeth could not have been more terror-stricken, on being forced to land at the traitors’ gate leading to the Tower, than we were on entering that office. We felt that our very existence was at stake, and that we must either sink or swim. But, as God was our present and mighty helper in this as well as in all former trials, we were able to keep our heads up and press forwards.
On entering the room we found the principal man, to whom my master said, “Do you wish to see me, sir?” “Yes,” said this eagle-eyed officer; and he added, “It is against our rules, sir, to allow any person to take a slave out of Baltimore into Philadelphia, unless he can satisfy us that he has a right to take him along.” “Why is that?” asked my master, with more firmness than could be expected. “Because, sir,” continued he, in a voice and manner that almost chilled our blood, “if we should suffer any gentleman to take a slave past here into Philadelphia; and should the gentleman with whom the slave might be travelling turn out not to be his rightful owner; and should the proper master come and prove that his slave escaped on our road, we shall have him to pay for; and, therefore, we cannot let any slave pass here without receiving security to show, and to satisfy us, that it is all right.”
This conversation attracted the attention of the large number of bustling passengers. After the officer had finished, a few of them said, “Chit, chit, chit;” not because they thought we were slaves endeavouring to escape, but merely because they thought my master was a slaveholder and invalid gentleman, and therefore it was wrong to detain him. The officer, observing that the passengers sympathised with my master, asked him if he was not acquainted with some gentleman in Baltimore that he could get to endorse for him, to show that I was his property, and that he had a right to take me off. He said, “No;” and added, “I bought tickets in Charleston to pass us through to Philadelphia, and therefore you have no right to detain us here.” “Well, sir,” said the man, indignantly, “right or no right, we shan’t let you go.” These sharp words fell upon our anxious hearts like the crack of
doom, and made us feel that hope only smiles to deceive.
For a few moments perfect silence prevailed. My master looked at me, and I at him, but neither of us dared to speak a word, for fear of making some blunder that would tend to our detection. We knew that the officers had power to throw us into prison, and if they had done so we must have been detected and driven back, like the vilest felons, to a life of slavery, which we dreaded far more than sudden death.
We felt as though we had come into deep waters and were about being overwhelmed, and that the slightest mistake would clip asunder the last brittle thread of hope by which we were suspended, and let us down for ever into the dark and horrible pit of misery and degradation from which we were straining every nerve to escape. While our hearts were crying lustily unto Him who is ever ready and able to save, the conductor of the train that we had just left stepped in. The officer asked if we came by the train with him from Washington; he said we did, and left the room. Just then the bell rang for the train to leave; and had it been the sudden shock of an earthquake it could not have given us a greater thrill. The sound of the bell caused every eye to flash with apparent interest, and to be more steadily fixed upon us than before. But, as God would have it, the officer all at once thrust his fingers through his hair, and in a state of great agitation said, “I really don’t know what to do; I calculate it is all right.” He then told the clerk to run and tell the conductor to “let this gentleman and slave pass;” adding, “As he is not well, it is a pity to stop him here. We will let him go.” My master thanked him, and stepped out and hobbled across the platform as quickly as possible. I tumbled him unceremoniously into one of the best carriages, and leaped into mine just as the train was gliding off towards our happy destination.
Slave Narratives Page 79
