The question in her mind, and one not easily solved, now was,
'How can I get away?' So, as was her usual custom, she 'told
God she was afraid to go in the night, and in the day every body
would see her.' At length, the thought came to her that she
could leave just before the day dawned, and get out of the
neighborhood where she was known before the people were
much astir. 'Yes,' said she, fervently, 'that's a good thought!
Thank you, God, for that thought!' So, receiving it as coming
direct from God, she acted upon it, and one fine morning, a little
before day-break, she might have been seen stepping stealthily
away from the rear of Master Dumont's house, her infant on one
arm and her wardrobe on the other; the bulk and weight of
which, probably, she never found so convenient as on the present
occasion, a cotton handkerchief containing both her clothes
and her provisions.
As she gained the summit of a high hill, a considerable distance
from her master's, the sun offended her by coming forth
in all his pristine splendor. She thought it never was so light
before; indeed, she thought it much too light. She stopped to
look about her, and ascertain if her pursuers were yet in sight.
No one appeared, and, for the first time, the question came up
for settlement, 'Where, and to whom, shall I go?' In all her
thoughts of getting away, she had not once asked herself whither
she should direct her steps. She sat down, fed her infant, and
again turning her thoughts to God, her only help, she prayed
him to direct her to some safe asylum. And soon it occurred
to her, that there was a man living somewhere in the direction
she had been pursuing, by the name of Levi Rowe, whom she
had known, and who, she thought, would be likely to befriend
her. She accordingly pursued her way to his house, where she
found him ready to entertain and assist her, though he was then
on his death-bed. He bade her partake of the hospitalities of his
house, said he knew of two good places where she might get in,
and requested his wife to show her where they were to be found.
As soon as she came in sight of the first house, she recollected
having seen it and its inhabitants before, and instantly exclaimed,
'That's the place for me; I shall stop there.' She went there, and
found the good people of the house, Mr. and Mrs. Van Wagener,
absent, but was kindly received and hospitably entertained
by their excellent mother, till the return of her children.
When they arrived, she made her case known to them. They
listened to her story, assuring her they never turned the needy
away, and willingly gave her employment.
She had not been there long before her old master, Dumont,
appeared, as she had anticipated; for when she took French leave
of him, she resolved not to go too far from him, and not put him
to as much trouble in looking her up-for the latter he was sure
to do-as Tom and Jack had done when they ran away from
him, a short time before. This was very considerate in her, to say
the least, and a proof that 'like begets like.' He had often
considered her feelings, though not always, and she was equally
considerate.
When her master saw her, he said, 'Well, Bell, so you've run
away from me.' 'No, I did not run away; I walked away by
day-light, and all because you had promised me a year of my
time.' His reply was, 'You must go back with me.' Her decisive
answer was, 'No, I won't go back with you.' He said, 'Well,
I shall take the child.' This also was as stoutly negatived.
Mr. Isaac S. Van Wagener then interposed, saying, he had
never been in the practice of buying and selling slaves; he did not
believe in slavery; but, rather than have Isabella taken back by
force, he would buy her services for the balance of the year-for
which her master charged twenty dollars, and five in addition for
the child. The sum was paid, and her master Dumont departed;
but not till he had heard Mr. Van Wagener tell her not to call
him master-adding, 'there is but one master; and he who is your
master is my master.' Isabella inquired what she should call him?
He answered, 'call me Isaac Van Wagener, and my wife is Maria
Van Wagener.' Isabella could not understand this, and thought
it a mighty change, as it most truly was from a master whose word
was law, to simple Isaac S. Van Wagener, who was master to no
one. With these noble people, who, though they could not be
the masters of slaves, were undoubtedly a portion of God's
nobility, she resided one year, and from them she derived the
name of Van Wagener; he being her last master in the eye of the
law, and a slave's surname is ever the same as his master; that is,
if he is allowed to have any other name than Tom, Jack, or
Guffin. Slaves have sometimes been severely punished for adding
their master's name to their own. But when they have no
particular title to it, it is no particular offence.