The Bondwoman's Narrative

by Hannah Crafts

  Frightened, and anxious to escape such a scene I whispered to one of the women that I was going to the house, and left the hut unnoticed by the others. It was sometime after sunset, and I soon encountered the slaves coming in from the fields. I told them all I was going to the house and passed on.

  Before I reached the mansion, however, the lamps were lit for the night, and as I chiefly wished to avoid observation I concealed myself in a thicket of roses. I had now matured my plan, and nothing remained but to put it in operation. To do this I must get into the house, but time was precious very precious. A moment was a step, and every step would lead me further from danger and detection. I could not wait till the family retired, and as the night was fortunately dark, and the front door ajar, having been left so by the carelessness of the servants, I contrived to slip in unperceived, and ascended with a noiseless tread to the garret. Here was a suit of male apparel exactly corresponding to my size and figure. To whom it had belonged or who had worn it was alike a mystery to me. Neither did I care; it would answer my purpose admirably, and that was sufficient. I had previously and in anticipation of this event secreted a candle, some matches, scissors and other necessary utensils in this same chamber. I found them all in their places, and they wonderfully facilitated my transformation of myself. This done, I quenched the light, cautiously descended as I went up, let myself out by a back door, stood a moment to collect my thoughts and then starting ran for my life.

  CHAPTER 18

  The Wandering

  Trials And Difficulties

  Strange Company

  The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests. I stopped not till overcome with fatigue and complete exhaustion. I had traversed fields, leaped fences, and passed for some distance the boundaries of Mr Wheeler’s estate, when I was greatly startled by the baying of a dog. There was nothing singular or portentous in the sound. It was just such a bark as you will hear at all times of the night, and probably with unconcern, but mental anxiety and apprehension was one of the greatest miseries of my fugitive condition. In every shadow I beheld, as in every voice I heard a pursuer. Sometimes I paused to listen, when even the ordinary voices of the night filled me indefinite alarm. And then I rushed on heedless of obstacles and anxious only to place as great a distance as possible between me and my enemies.

  It was near morning when I sate [sat] down to rest, and cogitate my plans. I trusted that my escape would be unnoticed probably for some time, as those in the house would naturally conclude that I was living at the huts, and those at the huts might be deceived in the same manner with the expectation of my being at the house. But even I must be careful of my strength, as on that depended all my hopes of ever seeing a land of freedom. I had neither map, nor chart, nor compass, but I could be guided at night by the North Star, and keep the sun to my back through the day. Then God would be with me, Christ would be with me, good angels I hoped would ever be near me and with these comforting assurances I fell asleep.

  When I awoke the morning was far advanced. The birds were singing sweetly, and everything wore an aspect of life and joy. I felt refreshed, but hungry, and while debating with myself how to obtain a breakfast, a cow approached. Her udder was distended with the precious fluid. I thought of Elijah and ravens, and when she came still nearer, and stopped before me with a gentle low as if inviting me to partake. I hesitated no longer, but on her milk and a few simple berries I made a really luxurious meal. I cannot describe my journey; the details would be dry, tedious, uninteresting. My course was due North but I made slow progress. Occasionally I found friends friends, and this my disguise greatly facilitated. The people had no idea of my being a fugitive slave, and they were generally kind and hospitable.

  I told them I was an orphan who had been left in destitute circumstances, and that I was endeavoring to make my way on foot to join the relatives of my mother who lived at the North. This account, so true and simple, greatly won the sympathies of all especially the women. They would press gifts of food and clothing on me, or condole the cruel fate which deprived me of friends and property at one blow.

  One day I stopped at a house and asked for dinner. It was generously bestowed, and during my repast the mistress of the mansion, a plain well-spoken woman, inquired if I had met a woman in my wanderings answering that description, and she held up a paper on which was delineated my exact size and figure, in female apparel. I commanded my countenance and voice sufficiently to answer in a natural manner that I had not.

  “Some men were here to[-]day in search of such a one” she continued. “They thought she could not be far off.”

  The speaker turned to the closet, as she spoke, to bring thence a pie, or it is probable that she would have discovered my alarm. Were they then so near me? I trembled in every limb, and declining the dessert provided by my hostess hastily thanked her, and taking up my hat departed.

  I always made it a point to call at the houses at such times as I thought the men would probably be absent in the fields or on business; for I was not long in discovering that the females were far less inquisitive and curious about my affairs, besides being more gentle and considerate than the sterner sex. Indeed had no males belonged to the house I should not have hesitated a moment to throw myself on the compassion and generosity of the noble woman whom I had just left.

  On gaining the public road I heard some hounds in full cry a short distance behind me. I doubted not they were on my track, and commending myself to God I took refuge in the shelter of a friendly wood. Presently I heard the murmur of water, and soon beheld at a little distance the sparkling waves of a rivulet. It w[as] broad but shallow. I entered it, waded down the current for probably half a mile, crossed over, and was in safety. That night, fearing to approach the habitations of men I slept in a cave, on a bed of dry leaves, but resumed my journey with the morning light.

  In consequence, however, of incessant walking my feet became excessively sore. My shoes were worn off, and my sufferings most intense. In this state I came one day by a heap of garments, which some boys had lain aside while to bathe. With my blistered, swollen and inflamed feet I could not resist the temptation to appropriate a pair of boots. It was doubtless wrong, and great necessity must be my excuse.

  During all these wanderings I managed to keep the time. I carried a small cord, and tied in it a knot for every day. This amused my loneliness, and seemed a sort of connecting link between me and the other portions of mankind. Perhaps you might have smiled, perhaps you would have wept to hear me running over the names of the days on my cord, as the Catholic devotee calls over the names of his favorite saints while counting his beads.

  According to this record I had been two weeks a wanderer, and must have passed the borders of North Carolina when I became suddenly aware of the proximity of human beings. I was in the midst of a deep thick wood, nocturnal shadows surrounded me, and from appearances there was not a human habitation for many miles. Yet I had become so accustomed to darkness and solitude that it occasioned an agre[e]able feeling rather than otherwise. My only fears were of man. Thus far I had been mercifully preserved from the attacks of wild beasts, and my strength had been supported in an almost miraculous manner. Trusting to him likewise, who hears and feeds the young ravens, nature had supplied to my wants an abundance of wholesome food. And now calmly and confidingly with a grateful heart and undiminished faith, I composed myself to sleep in the friendly shelter of a small thicket, and felt almost happy in the consciousness of perfect security.

  I cannot tell how long I had slumbered, as I had no means of knowing, but it must have been for some time, when I was unaccountably wakened by a noise of an unusual kind. Raising myself on my elbow I looked around and listened. The moon had risen, partially dispelling the darkness, and casting long bright streaks of light amid the thick mass of shadows. Near by was a little opening in the branches, through which streamed a large patch of radience, and to that my eyes instinctively turned. Directly crossing this were the figures of two people.
They were speaking, and the voices were those of a man and a woman.

  “We will rest here” said the man. “I think we can do so in perfect safety, and you are so ill and weary.”

  His companion heaved a deep sigh. “This will be my last resting place. This dreadful fever is consuming me, I feel weaker and weaker every moment, and before morning I shall be unable to rise.”

  “Oh no: dearest, say not so. You must not be discouraged. We have distanced our pursuers, and—”

  “I know, I know” said the invalid sinking heavily to the earth with a bitter groan.

  Her companion said no more, but busied himself as I could see by the moonlight in making her bed of dry leaves as comfortable and soft as possible. Then he sate [sat] down to wait and watch over her. Her sleep was accompanied with delirium. She would moan and call for water, and talk of home, and rest, and heaven in the most plaintive tones.

  Towards morning, however, the paroxysm of her fever subsided, and she sunk into a gentle slumber. Her companion folded her garments closely around her, and then stretching himself by her side seemed to prepare for repose. Presently my thoughts became confused, with that pleasing bewilderment which precedes slumber. I began to lose the consciousness of my identity, and the recollection of where I was. Now it seemed that Lindendale rose before me, then it was the jail, and anon the white towers of Washington, and—but the scene all faded; for I slept.

  The scarcely awakened morn was feebly peering through a curtaining of clouds, when I opened my eyes to encounter those of a black man fixed on me with the most intense expression of wonder, apprehension, and curiosity. A few words, however, sufficed to inform him that my circumstances were quite as deplorable as his, when he gave me his hand, and expressed a wish that I would see his companion.

  Cheerfully, and without the least apprehension I complied with his request. She was in a fever, delirious, her face flushed, her hands burning to the touch. She called for water incessantly, and I proposed that as we had no means of conveying it to her he should take her in his arms and bear her to the margin of the stream. He did so, and thus we had the satisfaction of being able to slake her thirst.

  It soon commenced raining and Seated beneath the shelter of a huge tree we made a breakfast on some wild fruits, which my newly discovered friend had gathered the day before. His name was Jacob. The female was his sister, and together they had traveled from the frontiers of South Carolina. He told me the history of their many wrongs, their master’s cruelty and oppression, and the hardships which had occa occasioned their flight. Then he described their sufferings, and long wanderings in the woods, with the constant exposure and want they had undergone. How his sister’s strength had gradually failed, and how often and often when she had given out, he had borne her on his back for miles. And then with the strongest manifestation of fraternal affection he took her burning hand, pressed it to his lips, and declared that he should only be to[o] happy to do the same again. I could only admire his fraternal piety and hope that it would meet with its proper reward.

  He dashed a tear from his eye. “She was my only relative” he said. “We played together before our mother’s door. I could not bear to leave her to be sold into Texas, but much I fear that she will never see a free land.” This he said in broken incoherent expressions to which I have given suitable language.

  “Yes” he continued “I fear that she will never see a free land.”

  “Have you, then” I inquired “no faith in God, no hope in heaven? Are you not a believer in that free land where the spirits of just men made perfect eternally abide?”

  He shook his head unmeaningly.

  I could only regard him with compassion that in his trials, and difficulties he was unaware of the greatest source of abiding comfort.

  Meanwhile it began raining. The morning had been unusually dull and cloudy, and then a sort of misty drizzle commenced falling, that soon changed to incessant rain. The woods became one great shower bath. Dripping with excessive humidity the long branches of the still trees were like water spouts. The mosses and leaves were a mass of wet. The rain dripped in the face and on the bosom of the poor sufferer; it ran and stood in little pools beneath her, and we could not hinder it.

  At my suggestion Jacob started out to look [for] a better shelter for her. Fortunately he succeeded in finding one, and thither dripping with the humidity we removed her. It was a rude little hut formed by strips of bark and branches of trees resting over and against the projecting buttress of a huge rock that jutted out from the side of the hill and overlooked the stream. It had been used as a dwelling place before, perhaps by hunters or woodmen; possibly by fugitives like ourselves. With grateful hearts we took possession, and were far more comfortable than we anticipated.

  But our patient was unconscious of the change. Night and morning, rain and sunshine were henceforth to be alike to her. She is in a stupor, and bending over her I looked down on her wasted form. Her brother sate [sat] beside her on the ground, holding her hand in his, while tears that were no shame to his manhood streamed down his face. We saw that her time had come, that her struggle with the last great enemy had commenced. I touched her chest and heart. The pitcher was near broken at the fountain.

  ’Twas a moment of deep interest, and death at all times so solemn became doubly so under such circumstances. It often happens that the ceremonial attendant on the dying hour burdens it with unmeaning pomp, and that the hush and sanctity of the sancticty occasion give way before the elaborate and commonplace manifestations of condolence and sympathy. The heartless throng who press around the bed, through curiosity or even a worse motive, the glare of lights, the attendance of the physician, watching with strange professional interest the peculiar circumstances of the case, and more than all the minister, not of religion but sectarianism, striving to elicit something of which to make capital for his next sermon, all intrude themselves in the chamber and on the hour which should be sacred to grief, and the highest and holiest emotions of the human nature.

  Where is the tender and susceptible heart that has bled at finding the places around a dying bed which should be occupied only be [by] the nearest and dearest relatives, rudely filled by gossiping neighbors ready to count the tears of the wife or daughter, to des-cant on her words if she speaks, on her silence if she says nothing, and really anxious to discover something that will bear comment and afford discussion for a week or two.

  The world even exacts something of death. It says in effect to the grim monarch, “You will have us, that is certain, but it shall only be on our own terms. A certain formality must be observed before we bow to you. We must have a due course of physic and religious attendance. There must be the throng of visitors, and the ceaseless inquiry [‘]How do you find yourself to[-]day[’] ” And when the last conflict is passed another ceremonial as dull, as cold, and even more heartless must be conformed to, before the wasting clay can be peacefully consigned to its last resting place. Public opinion says to the grave “Here is one of our species, an individual of Adam’s race, whom death has overcome, but what of that? You shall not take him to your embrace till he has lain in state a day or two, attired in just so many yards of satin or flannel. And then a coffin just so rich, and with just such adornments must be provided, and this and that must be managed in exactly such a manner. Don’t think to get him on any other terms, or if you do there will be gossip, and scandal, and small talk, and who can imagine what?[”]

  Of course we had none of this. The dull light looked in at our doorway; the rain dripped and pattered monotonously. Occasionally some little bird or insect would glance by momentarily and disappear.

  “What is it, dear?”

  She had started up with wild eyes and a frightened look.

  “I thought I was back in South Car’lina. I a[i]n’t there am I?[”]

  “No” says the brother.

  “Who is that?” she inquired for the first time noticing me.

  “A friend, who is assisting me to watch over
and take care of you” he answered.

  Falling back she closed her eyes, bowed her head, and murmured “I’m very glad.”

  I watched her closely a little while. I could not bear that she should die that she sho thus like a brute with no mention of his name, who had died that we might live. Putting my mouth closely to her ear, I asked “did you ever pray?”

  She was sensible, and murmured

  “When I was a child.”

  [“]Do you know it now?[”]

  She shook her head.

  “But you have heard people pray?”

  She nodded her head affirmatively, and said though with a very great effort

  [“]I have heard them, when they called it praying, and when it seemed to me they were talking to themselves, or master, or some one else. Ministers used to come among us and pray, but I never minded them. They mostly prayed that we the slaves might be good and obedient, and feel grateful for all our blessings, which I know was fudge. It hardened my heart, I could not bear it.”

  She says this slowly and studiously, and occupies a long time in doing it. How I pitied the poor benighted soul to whom the sweetest influences of religion had become gall and wormwood. Again she relapsed into a sort of stupor, and then suddenly made a strong effort to rise.

  “What now? What now?[”] I said soothingly.

  “I hear them calling me. They say, come: come” she answered. “I think one of them is my mother. It’s time for me to go to her. Oh, I want to go to her. She looks happy and blessed.”

  “Presently you shall go.”

  “Her mind wanders” whispered Jacob.