The Bondwoman's Narrative

by Hannah Crafts

  I bowed.

  “There are no slaves there” she murmured.

  “Neither is there sorrow or sighing there, nor parting of friends.” “Shall I go soon?” “I think so, yes.” “Speak louder, I cannot hear you. It’s growing very dark, and I am cold. Oh: so cold. Is there a fire acoming?”

  “There is a warmth, a rising of the sun.”

  Jacob knelt impressively. I followed his example.

  “My dear sister” he said bending his mouth to her ear.

  “I hear, but I can’t see you. Is the sun arisin?”

  “It is, it is.”

  “It see it now; it is comin, a light, a very bright light.”

  The light came, the sun arose, the sun of righteousness.

  Dead.

  We could weep in silence and privacy. Public opinion came not to dictate the outward expressions of our grief. We were not required to mourn discreetly or in fashion. No ceremonial was dictated by officious friends, but tenderly and delicately we disposed the fragile limbs, crossed the meek hands quietly over the frozen bosom, and closed the blank expressionless eyes, and doing this we discovered, what had hitherto escaped us, the unmistakeable tokens of an infectious disease, at once malignant and dangerous. Jacob said she must have caught it in an old deserted house where they had remained a day or two, and in which they discovered and appropriated a bundle of old garments.

  Towards night Jacob went out to pick some berries for our supper, Hitherto all this day leaving me alone with the dead. I had not eaten since morning, and even now was insensible to hunger. But I felt that was in consequence of the agitation of my mind, and that food was really necessary.

  His stay was prolonged, but I thought little of it, untill night set in; the wild dark night, with the trees shuddering in the wind. The rain, so thick and heavy all day, had ceased falling, and though the sky had partly cleared and a few dim stars might be seen overhead it was exceedingly gloomy. Once or twice I went out to look and listen. The heavens wore a fearful an[d] awful aspect. In the north, and northwest, where the sunset had faded three hours before, there was a rich red arch of beautiful light, whence ascended what fancy might easily have pictured as sheets of waving flame. As I gazed long lines of clouds, came sweeping on before the wind, the glowing arch with its fiery banners gave way before them, and all was darkness. I retreated to my hut in which the sad wreck of mortality lay stark, stiff, and immovable. Was it the presence of death, or that my nerves were weak and agitated, but a great and unaccountable terror seized me. I shuddered in every limb, great drops of sweat started to my forehead, and I cowered down in the corner like a guilty thing. My apprehensions were increased tenfold by the mysterious voices of the night. Mutterings, chatterings, and sounds of fearful import echoed through the gloom. Owls shrieked hediously to which was added the dismal howling of wolves. Then the corpse seemed to leer horridly, to gibe and beckon and point its long skinny fingers towards me, and though I knew that this was all fancy, though I had sense enough left to perceive even then the absurdity of my fears I could not overcome them, I could not pray for the protection of Heaven; Heaven seemed to have turned its face against me.

  I was tortured moreover with the anxieties of suspense. Was it possible that Jacob could have deserted me in such a place? Could he purposely have left me alone with the dead without the intention of returning? Or had he perished by the wolves, which to judge from their noise were out in great numbers, or had some other accident overtaken him? Had he become lost and bewildered and unable to find his way back? These and a thousand other questions of a similar nature rushed into my brain, to be solved only by conjecture. It was the longest night of my existence, and I shall never forget its horrors. I, who had learned to sleep as calmly and composedly on a bed of leaves as in a palace chamber, was thus alarmed and terrified by the immediate presence of the dead I know not what.

  Towards morning I fell into an unquiet slumber, slumber that brought visions more horrible than even those of my waking hours. The corpse seemed to rise and stand over me, and press with its cold leaden hand against my heart. In vain I struggled to free myself, by that perversity common to dreams I was unable to move. I could not shriek, but remained spell-bound under the hedious benumbing influence of a present embodied death. Then it seemed that some one was calling me. I knew the voice voice to be Jacob’s, and strove to answer, but my tongue seemed palsied and my lips immovable. Then concentrating all my energies in one great effort I suddenly awoke. The dream was thus for real; some one was calling. I roused myself it was and listened, it was and listened, it was a human voice, and the shout or hallo was such as a person lost from his companions generally makes to discover their locality. My previous fears were for the moment forgotten. I crept to the door way of the hut and answered. The sound reverberated in a thousand echoes through the woods. It was still very dark, but the day-star was just rising; and the sky was almost clear. The shout was repeated again and again; each time I answered it and each time it came nearer and nearer. Soon I heard hurrying footsteps, a crackling in the bushes and under wood, and shortly discerned the figure of a man. It was Jacob. He had strayed farther than he designed to, while looking for food, night and darkness came on; he was bewildered and could not find his way back.

  That day we busied ourselves in carrying brush and stones to fill up the entrance of the hut in which she lay, and the next morning resumed our tramp.

  CHAPTER 19

  An Old Friend

  I have never seen the righteous forsaken.

  Jacob and myself traveled many days together, but strange to say he had not penetrated my disguise. He learned to love me, however, as a younger brother, and his society and gentle care greatly relieved the difficulties of our toilsome journey. When we encamped for the night he would insist on my setting down to rest, while he went off to look for food, though when compelled by necessity to approach the habitations of men it devolved on me as his color made him obnoxious to suspicion. To avoid observation we sometimes traveled all night, but rested through the day and then concealed ourselves in dens, and hollows, and caverns through the day. We scaled mountains, and crossed rivers. The latter was easily accomplished. We lingered near some small village, or fisherman’s hut till night-fall, and then when all was silent and the “wee small hours” had commenced their march, a boat could readily be found. Ferrying ourselves over we set it adrift and proceeded on our way. An adventure of this kind, however, proved fatal to my companion, and had well nigh to me.

  It was near night when we reached the borders of a narrow stream, that ran among rocks with a very strong current. Jacob, as usual remained concealed in the friendly shelter of a thick pine grove, while I went out to reconnoitre, and select some place for crossing, besides ascertaining where a boat could be procured. As there were no signs of a human habitation, we went traveled much farther down in the hope of finding one, as with that contingency was associated a certainty of obtaining a boat.

  It was near midnight to judge from the aspect of the stars, when we discovered a dark object looming in the distance. As we approached a light was seen gleaming for a moment apparently from one of the a window, and we heard the cries of a child. Fearing to alarm the inmates of the cabin, it was some time before we ventured to look for a boat. There was a dim star-light, and the trees along the bank afforded an admirable shelter. At length we found the boat half-hidden in a little clump of willows, and Jacob proceeded to loosen it. Just then the light flared brightly up, the cries of the child were redoubled, and a fierce dog roused from his slumbers by the noise rushed upon us with a deep yell. As we sprang into the boat we heard the quick opening and shutting of the cabin door, and the voice of a man encouraging the mastiff. Then followed a rapid volley of firearms. Jacob gave one groan, dropped his oar and fell down in the bottom of the boat, which instantly swung around, became unmanageable, and drifted down the stream. The man ran along the bank, shouting and halloing, calling us boat stealers and all manner of villainous epi
thets, till exhausting his passion he struck off into the woods and disappeared.

  To depict my consternation and alarm would be impossible. I called the name of my companion; he answered not. I touched his hand and cheek; they were icy cold. I laid my hand on his bosom; there was no pulsation. The stunning the dreadful truth rushed upon me with all its force. He was dead, and I, whither was I being carried? I strained my eyes in every direction, but could see nothing only the turgid mass of water slowly heaving and swelling, with now and then a foundered tree or granite boulder, jutting far out and breaking its dark bosom into foaming billows. Recommending myself to God I saw with less anxiety than might be suffered my boat approaching one of these dangerous spots with less anxiety than might be supposed. It rolled and rocked terribly whirled around in a foaming eddy, dashed against a rock, and upset. I felt the motion, and knew myself precipitated into the water, but nothing more. My first sensations of returning consciousness were those of intense pain, and more than mortal weakness. It was more like the nightmare of sleep than any thing else to which I can compare it. A noise of rushing waters was in my ears, a dreadful sense of suffocation oppressed me, and I struggled wildly and fiercely struggled to shake it off.

  Gradually and by degrees I became sensible of my condition, and that the water was still dashing over my lower extremities. The instinct of self[-]preservation prompted me to crawl up higher on the bank, where the sun shone brightly, and I remember experiencing a vague impression that the generous warmth of his beams would restore my torpid and benum[b]ed limbs to their natural exercise. I was soon recovered sufficiently to look around, when I ascertained that the branches of a fallen tree, into which I had been washed by the eddying waves had saved me under Providence from a violent death. While breathing out my gratitude to Him, who holds the waters in the hollow of his Hand, and wondering for what wise purpose I had been preserved I heard the sound of approaching footsteps and presently a woman bending with age and infirmity drew near. Her benignant countenance inspired me with hope, and when she was passing without discovering me I called to her.

  “Mother, good mother.”

  She stopped, turned around in great surprise, and with something of alarm, saying “Who calls me?”

  I knew the voice, though I had not recognised the countenance. It was that of my old friend, Aunt Hetty. Of course she failed to recognise me through my singular disguise Tears of joy ran down my cheeks, while I revealed my name and circumstances to the venerable dame, and when she learned that I was really the Hannah whom she had taught to read, and instructed in the truths of Christianity at Lindendale, her happiness fully equaled mine.

  “But where have you come from, dear? and what is the meaning of this disguise?” she inquired. “But stop” she continued when I opened my lips to speak. “Don’t tell me a word till you are properly cared for. How came your garments so wet? and why are you so weak?” and then she laughed at herself for asking me questions when she had forbidden my answering them.

  “I will tell you all, dear Aunt Hetty; everything, but not now” I whispered, for a strange sensation of faintness overpowered me. She observed it.

  “You have suffered, dear” she said tenderly, drawing my head to her bosom, as she sate [sat] beside me.

  But the sickness passed off, and I did not faint.

  “You must go home with me” she continued. “You can rest there and recruit your strength. I have nothing grand or elegant to offer you yet better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox, and hatred therewith.”

  “Dear Aunt Hetty, you have suffered much for my sake already, I fear to be the means of your suffering more.”

  “We will see to that” she answered tenderly “can you walk?”

  I attempted to rise, but fell back, again overpowered by a mortal faintness.

  “I see how it is” she said encouragingly. “You require nourishment. Have you eaten lately.”

  “Not since yesterday morning, and then only a few berries.”

  “Heaven help the child, no wonder you are weak; indeed it would be a wonder if you wasn’t. And now” she continued [“]I will leave you here for awhile, and go to get you some food, and procure a conveyance to take you to my house, but of one thing I must warn you. Be careful not to betray to these people our former acquaintance, or to let them into the secret of your former life.”

  “No Aunt Hetty” I replied. “Your scheme does not appear to me a feasible one. Let me say or do as I will their suspicions will be excited, because doubt and suspicion is natural to man. Procure me the food you think I require, but mention to no one the fact of my existence, rather assist me to remove to some place of concealment, where I can wait to recover my strength, unnoticed and alone. It will probably be but a few hours.”

  “Perhaps that would be best” she answered thoughtfully. [“]My home is but a little way hence. I can soon go there and return.[”] I watched her disappearing figure with the liveliest emotions, and felt that I could never be sufficiently grateful to that over ruling Providence, who by such eventful and devious ways had led me to the bosom of my old friend.

  The old lady soon returned with such food as she thought most proper for my exhausted state. I ate only a little, yet felt strengthened and revived.

  “My dear Aunt Hetty, what do I not owe you?” I said kissing her hand, and bathing it with my tears.

  “Nothing to me; everything to the Lord Jesus” she replied solemnly.

  I soon felt comfortable, and began to be strong more like my former self. Then I sate [sat] up, and we talked about many things. I must give her the history of my life, and she must relate to me all that befell her and Uncle Siah. How Mr Vincent’s overseer caused them to be conveyed to jail for violation of the statute that forbade the instruction of slaves. How they remained there several weeks, and found like Paul and Silas of old that bonds and imprisonment when unjustly suffered might even be the means of spiritual consolation and improvement. How an old friend and distant relative passing through the village heard of their detention, and by long earnest solicitation of the proper authorities combined with the liberal use of money succeeded in liberating them removed them to his estate, where he appropriated a small house and regular monthly stipend of money and provisions to their necessities. Uncle Siah she told me had recently departed to that good land where the just receive their reward and consequently she dwelt alone with the companionship of one little girl. Her habitation was situated near a small village of miners, but she could not tolerate their rude and profane habits, and so had neither connection nor association with them. One woman only, a widow like herself, distinguished for piety and good works ever came to her house or received her visits in return, excepting of course the family of her friend and relative.

  That night after dark when the village had become silent became silent she led me to her home. It was a neat little cottage, tidy and comfortable, with a bright fire glowing on the hearth near which was placed for my especial benefit a large well-cushioned rocking chair. Anna, the little girl was bustling about in all the dignity and importance of incipient womanhood preparing tea. She was much older than she seemed; her petite figure and round rosy face giving her a look of childishness not often seen in one of her years. Like small people generally she was very active, very straight, and very impulsive, and I could scarcely help smiling to see the flush that mounted instantaneously to her face, when Aunt Hetty persisted in addressing her as “little girl.”

  I remained with this good venerable friend several weeks and then the flight of time admonished me that it was necessary to be moving again, as my journey was not yet accomplished, and it was impossible to feel anything like a sense of security while remaining in a slave-state. Greatly as I feared discovery on my own account, I feared it no less on that of my friend. I well knew that the charge of concealing and feeding a fugitive slave would be a serious one, and involve her in great difficulties. Agre[e]ably to her advice, moreover, I determined to somewhat change my p
lan. She insisted that I should resume female attire, and travel by public conveyances, as she conceived so much time had elapsed and I was so far from the scene of my escape that I could do so with perfect safety. She said that she never would consent for me to leave her on any other terms, that she should never enjoy another moment’s peace if she permitted me to go forth again a wanderer, to seek shelter in dens and caves of the earth. She likewise proposed that I should find refuge among the colored inhabitants of New Jersey, as thereby my journey would be proportionately shortened, and I would escape the extreme cold of Canadian winters. In order to facilitate acquaintance, and assist me in getting employment, she prepared letters of introduction to various persons whom she had known in former times as friends of the slave, though she expressed apprehension that they were removed or dead.

  Yeilding my plans to hers what seemed the superior feasibility of hers the good old woman supplied me with female apparel, and also with the means of prosecuting my journey in an expeditious manner. At first I declined taking her silver, but she pressed it upon me saying that she had been saving it little by little for a long time, purposely to bestow it on some one in poorer circumstances than herself, that it would give her great pain if I persisted in refusing her bounty, and as it would comparatively increase her happiness if I accepted it. I could refuse no longer, but with emotions of gratitude I should vainly attempt to express I took the proffered gift.

  CHAPTER 20

  Retribution

  Say to the wicked it shall be ill with him, for he shall eat the fruit of his doings.

  BIBLE

  With many tears I bade adieu to Aunt Hetty—tears of gratitude and sorrow and reverential affection. Farther down the river was a steamboat landing and my preparations being complete she accompanied me thither, and saw me safe on board. Our farewell was a mute impassioned silence deeper and more expressive to the heart than any words could have been. I gazed long and earnestly, my eyes blinded with tears, at her retreating figure, and then at then [sic] at the spot where she disappeared till the ringing of the bell, the puffing of the steam, and the rocking motion of the boat gave warning that we were underweigh we were passing down the river. I felt very lonely and desolate, and there is no desolation so deep as that you feel when surrounded by a crowd with whom you have no sympathies in common. There was conviviality and laughter among the passengers, there was eating, drinking and talking, there was [sic] babies crying, mothers coaxing, and fathers smoking. I endeavored to interest myself in what was passing around me, but could not till a couple of gentlemen who were sitting near me, mentioned a name that thrilled through ever nerve of my body. In an instant I was all attention, and when they spoke of a violent death and assassination I felt how true it is that “evenhanded justice returns the ingredients of the poisoned chalice to our own lips.”