I now called to see a Mr. James Burkit, who had formerly been very
rich, but who, by dissipation, had spent all his property, and
become quite poor. He was willing to hire me, and sent word to my
mistress to that effect. I commenced work there on the first day of
January.
There were but few slaves upon this plantation, upon which every
thing seemed in an unprosperous condition; fences broken down and
fields overrun with weeds. I went to work, and soon had things in
better order, which so much pleased my employer, that he made me
foreman on the plantation.
The father of Mr. Burkit, who died when James was very young, was a
very rich man, and had the reputation among the slaves, of having
been a very good master, and of having freed a portion of his slaves
at his decease, one family of whom I knew. The balance of his slaves
was divided among his heirs.
One of these freed slaves, by name George Nichols, was a very
delicate young man, unfit for field labor, and therefore brought up
waiter in the old man’s family. George being an expert hand at his
business, was hired out to a man in Washington city, where he was
when his old old master died, and where he had been for several years
previous.
As soon as the father died, his heirs tried to break the will, and
thus again enslave those who had thereby been set free. Mr. Burkit
was especially recommended to sell George immediately, as he had been
so long out of the state, that, according to the laws of Maryland, he
was free already, independent of the will. To accomplish this, Mr.
Burkit hastened directly to Washington, and went to a hotel kept by
Mr. Brown, where George lived, whom he desired to see. George was at
work in a distant part of the house, but upon receiving the message
that some one wished to see him, he hastened to the bar-room, where
he was both surprised and pleased to see his master James. “How _do_
you do, Master James?” he inquired, smilingly, and reached out his
hand to grasp that of his young master.
“I am well, how do you do, George?” was the reply.
“Very well, I thank you, sir,” said poor George, and began to inquire
for his parents, whom he had not seen for several years. They were
very well, Mr. B. said, and then added, “George, I am about to be
married, and have come for you to go to Halifax to serve as waiter at
my wedding.”
At this George was much pleased, thinking it highly complimentary
that his young master had come so far for him, to serve at the
wedding.
When Mr. Burkit made known to Mr. Brown, the hotel keeper, that he
intended to sell George far south, that gentleman was much surprised,
and said, “Why, Mr. Burkit, you don’t mean to take George from me
at this time; you will ruin me. Congress is in session, my house is
full of boarders, and he is my best waiter; I cannot well get along
without him. If you wish to sell him, I will buy, and give you as
much for him as you can get elsewhere.”
But Mr. Burkit would not sell him to Mr. Brown. George heard and
knew nothing of this conversation. When he was ready, he came to the
bar-room with his small bundle of clothes under his arm, and soon
started off with his master James. Mr. Brown called the latter back
and said, “Mr. Burkit, I will give you one hundred dollars more than
any other man for George; or I will give you eight hundred now. No
other man will give as much, for one unacquainted with him would
not give over six hundred. To look at him, he appears like a very
delicate boy, and indeed, he is fit only for a waiter; consequently
worth more to a person in my business, than to a planter. As I know
what he can do, I will give more than a stranger would.” To all these
offers Mr. Burkit turned a deaf ear, and again started off.
On account of his tender feet, George had to wear soft slippers,
suitable only to be worn within doors. On the way to the vessel,
which was waiting to receive them, George said, “Master James, will
you please to get me another pair of slippers? These I have on will
be unfit to wear at your wedding.” “O yes, George, you shall have a
pair,” was the reply.
After they got on board the vessel, George said, “master James, you
have forgotten my slippers.” “G—d d—n you, if you ask for slippers,
I will break your d—n head!” was his only answer. Then George knew,
for the first time, that he was to be sold. His master continued,
“you have been a gentleman in Washington long enough, now if you ask
me for anything, I will beat out your d—d brains with a handspike!”
George now felt that his case was hopeless.
The vessel soon arrived in port, when George was put in irons, and
confined in a slave pen among a drove of slaves, in New Market.
This dreadful news was soon sent to his mother, who lived at a
considerable distance, but who hastened at once to see and bathe in
tears her child.
When she reached the pen, she was conducted up stairs to a room, in
the middle of which was a long staple driven into the floor, with a
large ring attached to it, having four long chains fastened to that.
To these were attached shorter chains, to which the slaves were made
fast by rings around their ankles. Men, women and children were
huddled in this room together, awaiting the arrival of more victims,
as the drove was not full.
In this miserable condition did Mrs. Nichols, who had served out her
time, find her son; who was as much entitled to his freedom as she
was to hers. And in this condition she left him forever! Would that
the Rev. Dr. Adams and others, who paint slavery in such glowingly
beautiful colors, could have seen this, and have heard the agonizing
cries of that mother and child, at parting! Think of these things, ye
men of God!
The trader told the poor mother, that if she could find any one to
buy her son, he would sell him for just what he gave, five hundred
dollars, as he was not what he wanted, and he only bought him to
gratify Mr. Burkit. He continued, “I want only strong able-bodied
slaves, as the best can only live five or six years at longest, and
your son, being so delicate, I shall get little for him.”
George then said, “Mother, don’t grieve for me, it is for no crime
that I have done; it is only because I was to be free. But if you
will please send to Washington, as soon as possible, and ask Mr.
Brown, the gentleman that I lived with, to buy me, I know he will
gladly do so. Tell him I have one hundred and fifty dollars in my
trunk, in my room at the hotel, which he can use towards paying for
me.”
The old woman hastened from New Market, which lies on the eastern
shore of Maryland, between Cambridge and Vienna, to her own home,
a distance of fifteen miles. Upon reaching home, she hastened to
a friend, as she thought, (though he wore a friendly face, and
possessed an enemy’s heart,) to whom she related her sad story,
requesting him to write for her to Mr. Brown at Washington, which he
promised to do. She supposed he had done so, and waited anxiously for
an answer; but none ever came, and the poor young man was carried
away, where he has never since been seen or heard from by his
heart-broken mother. The name of this supposed friend was Annalds.
He was an old man, and a member of the Methodist church. Of course
the colored people had great confidence in him, on account of his
supposed piety, as he made loud professions, and talked high of
heaven. But it was all hypocrisy, God in the face, and the devil in
the heart; for he cheated the poor free blacks out of their rightful
wages whenever he got a chance.
The plantation adjoining Mr. Burkit’s was owned by a very rich
planter, Robert Dennis, Esq. He was a very kind master, always
treated his slaves well, would neither whip them himself, nor suffer
another person to do so, and would not sell them. Consequently, he
was much beloved by his slaves, who regarded him as a father.
He had a great number of well looking slaves, men, women and
children, over whom he would have no overseer, but trusted all to
them in cultivating his large tracts of land; nor did they ever
betray his trust or give him any trouble. But at length happened
a sad event to these slaves, at the death of their much beloved
master. Sorrow now filled their hearts, and spread a gloom over the
whole plantation; for now, like other slaves, they must be separated
and sold from their friends and families, some, perhaps, to cruel
masters. They knew the estate was somewhat in debt, and expected to
have to be sold to cancel it, at least part of them.
This would have been done but for Miss Betsey, who could not endure
the idea of seeing her grandfather’s devoted slaves sold to pay
debts which they had no hand in contracting. She watched for an
opportunity, when, unseen by the white people, she could go to the
slaves’ quarters; and having found one, she immediately hastened
there, and told them that she had some bad news for them, but dared
not communicate it until they pledged themselves not to betray her,
which they readily did, as they did not wish to bring harm upon her,
which they knew they should do by telling of her.
She then told them that there was some dispute about the settlement
of the estate, which, it was thought, could not be settled without
selling them all; which, she said, she could not bear to see done.
They all exclaimed at once, “What shall we do?” She answered frankly,
“You had better make your escape.” They said they knew not where to
go, nor how to do. She told them that their Christmas holidays were
near at hand, when they would have permission to go to visit their
friends and relatives. She recommended them then to obtain of their
master John, passes for this purpose, each of which was to be for a
different direction from the others. Then leave for the free States.
Most of them did as she directed, obtained their passes, left for the
free States, and have not since been seen at their old home.
Miss Betsey in this performed a good deed, yet she was soon after
betrayed, and that, too, by a slave. An old woman, whose sons escaped
with the rest, made a terrible fuss, crying and lamenting to a great
rate, and saying that Miss Betsey had sent all her children off to
the “Jarsers”; (meaning New Jersey, which was the only free State of
which she seemed to have any idea,) and she should never see them
again. She continued in this way until it came to the ears of the
white people, who inquired of Miss Betsey about it. She denied all
knowledge of the matter, and said, “Cousin John, do you think I would
advise the slaves to run away? I have said nothing to them about
being sold. Old Priss, you know, is always drunk, and knows not what
she says.”
This partially quieted the heirs, but did not remove all suspicion,
and they still thought that Miss Betsey was in some way concerned in
the affair. So when the estate was divided, they did not give her as
much as would wrap around her finger, and she lived a poor girl for
several years.
Subsequently she removed to Baltimore, where she married a poor
man. But God remembered her. Each of the blacks whom she helped to
escape from bondage, upon hearing of her poverty, and her place of
residence, sent her fifty dollars, eight hundred dollars in all, as a
token of their thankfulness and gratitude.
Those who did not leave, according to her direction, were all sold.