As soon as possible she procured a place for Peter, as tender of
locks, at a place called Wahkendall, near Greenkills. After he
was thus disposed of, she visited her sister Sophia, who resided
at Newberg, and spent the winter in several different families
where she was acquainted. She remained some time in the family
of a Mr. Latin, who was a relative of Solomon Gedney; and
the latter, when he found Isabel with his cousin, used all his
influence to persuade him she was a great mischief-maker and a
very troublesome person,-that she had put him to some hundreds
of dollars expense, by fabricating lies about him, and
especially his sister and her family, concerning her boy, when the
latter was living so like a gentleman with them; and, for his part,
he would not advise his friends to harbor or encourage her.
However, his cousins, the Latins, could not see with the eyes of
his feelings, and consequently his words fell powerless on them,
and they retained her in their service as long as they had aught
for her to do.
She then went to visit her former master, Dumont. She had
scarcely arrived there, when Mr. Fred. Waring entered, and
seeing Isabel, pleasantly accosted her, and asked her 'what she
was driving at now-a-days.' On her answering 'nothing particular,'
he requested her to go over to his place, and assist his folks,
as some of them were sick, and they needed an extra hand. She
very gladly assented. When Mr. W. retired, her master wanted
to know why she wished to help people, that called her the
'worst of devils,' as Mr. Waring had done in the courthouse-for he was
the uncle of Solomon Gedney, and attended the trial
we have described-and declared 'that she was a fool to; he
wouldn't do it.' 'Oh,' she told him, 'she would not mind that,
but was very glad to have people forget their anger towards her.'
She went over, but too happy to feel that their resentment was
passed, and commenced her work with a light heart and a strong
will. She had not worked long in this frame of mind, before a
young daughter of Mr. Waring rushed into the rooms exclaiming,
with uplifted hands-'Heavens and earth, Isabella! Fowler's
murdered Cousin Eliza!' 'Ho,' said Isabel, 'that's nothing-he
liked to have killed my child; nothing saved him but God.'
Meaning, that she was not at all surprised at it, for a man whose
heart was sufficiently hardened to treat a mere child as hers had
been treated, was, in her opinion, more fiend than human, and
prepared for the commission of any crime that his passions might
prompt him to. The child further informed her that a letter had
arrived by mail bringing the news.
Immediately after this announcement, Solomon Gedney and
his mother came in, going direct to Mrs. Waring's room, where
she soon heard tones as of some one reading. She thought
something said to her inwardly, 'Go up stairs and hear.' At first
she hesitated, but it seemed to press her the more-'Go up and
hear!' She went up, unusual as it is for slaves to leave their work
and enter unbidden their mistress's room, for the sole purpose of
seeing or hearing what may be seen or heard there. But on this
occasion, Isabella says, she walked in at the door, shut it, placed
her back against it, and listened. She saw them and heard them
read-'He knocked her down with his fist, jumped on her with
his knees, broke her collar-bone, and tore out her wind-pipe!
He then attempted his escape, but was pursued and arrested, and
put in an iron bank for safe-keeping!' And the friends were
requested to go down and take away the poor innocent children
who had thus been made in one short day more than orphans.
If this narrative should ever meet the eye of those innocent
sufferers for another's guilt, let them not be too deeply affected
by the relation; but, placing their confidence in Him who sees
the end from the beginning, and controls the results, rest secure
in the faith, that, although they may physically suffer for the sins
of others, if they remain but true to themselves, their highest and
more enduring interests can never suffer from such a cause. This
relation should be suppressed for their sakes, were it not even
now so often denied, that slavery is fast undermining all true
regard for human life. We know this one instance is not a
demonstration to the contrary; but, adding this to the lists of
tragedies that weekly come up to us through the Southern mails,
may we not admit them as proofs irrefragable? The newspapers
confirmed this account of the terrible affair.
When Isabella had heard the letter, all being too much absorbed
in their own feelings to take note of her, she returned to
her work, her heart swelling with conflicting emotions. She was
awed at the dreadful deed; she mourned the fate of the loved
Eliza, who had in such an undeserved and barbarous manner
been put away from her labors and watchings as a tender mother;
and, 'last though not least,' in the development of her character
and spirit, her heart bled for the afflicted relatives; even those of
them who 'laughed at her calamity, and mocked when her fear
came.' Her thoughts dwelt long and intently on the subject, and
the wonderful chain of events that had conspired to bring her
that day to that house, to listen to that piece of intelligence-to that
house, where she never was before or afterwards in her
life, and invited there by people who had so lately been hotly
incensed against her. It all seemed very remarkable to her, and
she viewed it as flowing from a special providence of God. She
thought she saw clearly, that their unnatural bereavement was a
blow dealt in retributive justice; but she found it not in her heart
to exult or rejoice over them. She felt as if God had more than
answered her petition, when she ejaculated, in her anguish of
mind, 'Oh, Lord, render unto them double!' She said, 'I dared
not find fault with God, exactly; but the language of my heart
was, 'Oh, my God! that's too much-I did not mean quite so
much, God!' It was a terrible blow to the friends of the deceased;
and her selfish mother (who, said Isabella, made such a
'to-do about her boy, not from affection, but to have her own
will and way') went deranged, and walking to and fro in her
delirium, called aloud for her poor murdered daughter-'Eliza!
Eliza! '
The derangement of Mrs. G. was a matter of hearsay, as
Isabella saw her not after the trial; but she has no reason to doubt
the truth of what she heard. Isabel could never learn the subsequent
fate of Fowler, but heard, in the spring of '49, that his
children had been seen in Kingston-one of whom was spoken
of as a fine, interesting girl, albeit a halo of sadness fell like a
veil
about her.