Produced by Mary Glenn Krause, Martin Pettit and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
SCENES IN THE LIFE OF HARRIET TUBMAN.
BY
SARAH H. BRADFORD.
AUBURN:
W. J. MOSES, PRINTER.
1869.
[Illustration: HARRIET TUBMAN.]
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869,
BY WILLIAM G. WISE,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Northern District
of New York.
STEREOTYPED BY
DENNIS BRO'S & CO.,
AUBURN, N. Y.
INTRODUCTION.
The following little story was written by Mrs. Sarah H. Bradford, of
Geneva, with the single object of furnishing some help to the subject of
the memoir. Harriet Tubman's services and sufferings during the
rebellion, which are acknowledged in the letters of Gen. Saxton, and
others, it was thought by many, would justify the bestowment of a
pension by the Government. But the difficulties in the way of procuring
such relief, suggested other methods, and finally the present one. The
narrative was prepared on the eve of the author's departure for Europe,
where she still remains. It makes no claim whatever to literary merit.
Her hope was merely that the considerably numerous public already in
part acquainted with Harriet's story, would furnish purchasers enough to
secure a little fund for the relief of this remarkable woman. Outside
that circle she did not suppose the memoir was likely to meet with much
if any sale.
In furtherance of the same benevolent scheme, and in order to secure the
whole avails of the work for Harriet's benefit, a subscription has been
raised more than sufficient to defray the entire cost of publication.
This has been effected by the generous exertions of Wm. G. Wise, Esq.,
of this city. The whole amount was contributed by citizens of Auburn,
with the exception of two liberal subscriptions by Gerrit Smith, Esq.,
and Mr. Wendell Phillips.
Mr. Wise has also consented, at Mrs. Bradford's request, to act as
trustee for Harriet; and will receive, invest, and apply, for her
benefit, whatever may accrue from the sale of this book.
The spirited wood-cut likeness of Harriet, in her costume as scout, was
furnished by the kindness of Mr. J. C. Darby, of this city.
S. M. H.
AUBURN, Dec. 1, 1868.
[Illustration: Decoration]
PREFACE.
It is proposed in this little book to give a plain and unvarnished
account of some scenes and adventures in the life of a woman who, though
one of earth's lowly ones, and of dark-hued skin, has shown an amount of
heroism in her character rarely possessed by those of any station in
life. Her name (we say it advisedly and without exaggeration) deserves
to be handed down to posterity side by side with the names of Joan of
Arc, Grace Darling, and Florence Nightingale; for not one of these women
has shown more courage and power of endurance in facing danger and death
to relieve human suffering, than has this woman in her heroic and
successful endeavors to reach and save all whom she might of her
oppressed and suffering race, and to pilot them from the land of Bondage
to the promised land of Liberty. Well has she been called "_Moses_," for
she has been a leader and deliverer unto hundreds of her people.
Worn down by her sufferings and fatigues, her health permanently
affected by the cruelties to which she has been subjected, she is still
laboring to the utmost limit of her strength for the support of her aged
parents, and still also for her afflicted people--by her own efforts
supporting two schools for Freedmen at the South, and supplying them
with clothes and books; never obtruding herself, never asking for
charity, except for "her people."
It is for the purpose of aiding her in ministering to the wants of her
aged parents, and in the hope of securing to them the little home which
they are in danger of losing from inability to pay the whole amount
due--which amount was partly paid when our heroine left them to throw
herself into the work of aiding our suffering soldiers--that this little
account, drawn from her by persevering endeavor, is given to the friends
of humanity.
The writer of this story has till very lately known less personally of
the subject of it, than many others to whom she has for years been an
object of interest and care. But through relations and friends in
Auburn, and also through Mrs. Commodore Swift of Geneva, and her
sisters, who have for many years known and esteemed this wonderful
woman, she has heard tales of her deeds of heroism which seemed almost
too strange for belief, and were invested with the charm of romance.
During a sojourn of some months in the city of Auburn, while the war was
in progress, the writer used to see occasionally in her Sunday-school
class the aged mother of Harriet, and also some of those girls who had
been brought from the South by this remarkable woman. She also wrote
letters for the old people to commanding officers at the South, making
inquiries about Harriet, and received answers telling of her untiring
devotion to our wounded and sick soldiers, and of her efficient aid in
various ways to the cause of the Union.
By the graphic pen of Mrs. Stowe, the incidents of such a life as that
of the subject of this little memoir might be wrought up into a tale of
thrilling interest, equaling, if not exceeding, anything in her
world-renowned "Uncle Tom's Cabin;" but the story of Harriet Tubman
needs not the drapery of fiction; the bare unadorned facts are enough to
stir the hearts of the friends of humanity, the friends of liberty, the
lovers of their country.
There are those who will sneer, there are those who have already done
so, at this _quixotic attempt_ to make a heroine of a black woman, and a
slave; but it may possibly be that there are some natures, though
concealed under fairer skins, who have not the capacity to comprehend
such general and self-sacrificing devotion to the cause of others as
that here delineated, and therefore they resort to scorn and ridicule,
in order to throw discredit upon the whole story.
Much has been left out which would have been highly interesting, because
of the impossibility of substantiating by the testimony of others the
truth of Harriet's statements. But whenever it has been possible to find
those who were cognizant with the facts stated, they have been
corroborated in every particular.
A few years hence and we seem to see a gathering where the wrongs of
earth will be righted, and Justice, long delayed, will assert itself,
and perform its office. Then not a few of those who had esteemed
themselves the wise and noble of this world, "will begin with shame to
take the lowest place;" while upon Harriet's dark head a kind hand will
be placed, and in her ear a gentle voice will sound, saying: "Friend!
come up higher!"
S. H. B.
The following letters to the writer from those well-known and
distinguished philanthropists, Hon. Gerrit Smith and Wendell Phillips,
and one from Frederick Douglass, addressed to Harriet, will serve as the
best introduction that can be given of the subject of this memoir to its
readers:
_Letter from Hon. Gerrit Smith._
PETERBORO, June 13, 1868.
MY DEAR MADAME: I am happy to learn that you are to speak to the
public of Mrs. Harriet Tubman. Of the remarkable events of her life
I have no _personal_ knowledge, but of the truth of them as she
describes them I have no doubt.
I have often listened to her, in her visits to my family, and I am
confident that she is not only truthful, but that she has a rare
discernment, and a deep and sublime philanthropy.
With great respect your friend,
GERRIT SMITH.
_Letter from Wendell Phillips._
JUNE 16, 1868.
DEAR MADAME: The last time I ever saw John Brown was under my own
roof, as he brought Harriet Tubman to me, saying: "Mr. Phillips, I
bring you one of the best and bravest persons on this
continent--_General_ Tubman, as we call her."
He then went on to recount her labors and sacrifices in behalf of
her race. After that, Harriet spent some time in Boston, earning
the confidence and admiration of all those who were working for
freedom. With their aid she went to the South more than once,
returning always with a squad of self-emancipated men, women, and
children, for whom her marvelous skill had opened the way of
escape. After the war broke out, she was sent with indorsements
from Governor Andrew and his friends to South Carolina, where in
the service of the Nation she rendered most important and efficient
aid to our army.
In my opinion there are few captains, perhaps few colonels, who
have done more for the loyal cause since the war began, and few men
who did before that time more for the colored race, than our
fearless and most sagacious friend, Harriet.
Faithfully yours,
WENDELL PHILLIPS.
_Letter from Frederick Douglass._
ROCHESTER, August 29, 1868.
DEAR HARRIET: I am glad to know that the story of your eventful
life has been written by a kind lady, and that the same is soon to
be published. You ask for what you do not need when you call upon
me for a word of commendation. I need such words from you far more
than you can need them from me, especially where your superior
labors and devotion to the cause of the lately enslaved of our land
are known as I know them. The difference between us is very marked.
Most that I have done and suffered in the service of our cause has
been in public, and I have received much encouragement at every
step of the way. You on the other hand have labored in a private
way. I have wrought in the day--you in the night. I have had the
applause of the crowd and the satisfaction that comes of being
approved by the multitude, while the most that you have done has
been witnessed by a few trembling, scared, and foot-sore bondmen
and women, whom you have led out of the house of bondage, and whose
heartfelt "_God bless you_" has been your only reward. The midnight
sky and the silent stars have been the witnesses of your devotion
to freedom and of your heroism. Excepting John Brown--of sacred
memory--I know of no one who has willingly encountered more perils
and hardships to serve our enslaved people than you have. Much that
you have done would seem improbable to those who do not know you
as I know you. It is to me a great pleasure and a great privilege
to bear testimony to your character and your works, and to say to
those to whom you may come, that I regard you in every way truthful
and trustworthy.
Your friend,
FREDERICK DOUGLASS.
SOME SCENES
IN THE
LIFE OF HARRIET TUBMAN.
Harriet Tubman, known at various times, and in various places, by many
different names, such as "Moses," in allusion to her being the leader
and guide to so many of her people in their exodus from the Land of
Bondage; "the Conductor of the Underground Railroad;" and "Moll
Pitcher," for the energy and daring by which she delivered a fugitive
slave who was about to be dragged back to the South; was for the first
twenty-five years of her life a slave on the eastern shore of Maryland.
Her own master she represents as never unnecessarily cruel; but as was
common among slaveholders, he often hired out his slaves to others, some
of whom proved to be tyrannical and brutal to the utmost limit of their
power.
She had worked only as a field-hand for many years, following the oxen,
loading and unloading wood, and carrying heavy burdens, by which her
naturally remarkable power of muscle was so developed that her feats of
strength often called forth the wonder of strong laboring men. Thus was
she preparing for the life of hardship and endurance which lay before
her, for the deeds of daring she was to do, and of which her ignorant
and darkened mind at that time never dreamed.
The first person by whom she was hired was a woman who, though married
and the mother of a family, was still "Miss Susan" to her slaves, as is
customary at the South. This woman was possessed of the good things of
this life, and provided liberally for her slaves--so far as food and
clothing went. But she had been brought up to believe, and to act upon
the belief, that a slave could be taught to do nothing, and _would_ do
nothing but under the sting of the whip. Harriet, then a young girl, was
taken from her life in the field, and having never seen the inside of a
house better than a cabin in the negro quarters, was put to house-work
without being told how to do anything. The first thing was to put a
parlor in order. "Move these chairs and tables into the middle of the
room, sweep the carpet clean, then dust everything, and put them back in
their places!" These were the directions given, and Harriet was left
alone to do her work. The whip was in sight on the mantel-piece, as a
reminder of what was to be expected if the work was not done well.
Harriet fixed the furniture as she was told to do, and swept with all
her strength, raising a tremendous dust. The moment she had finished
sweeping, she took her dusting cloth, and wiped everything "so you could
see your face in 'em, de shone so," in haste to go and set the table for
breakfast, and do her other work. The dust which she had set flying only
settled down again on chairs, tables, and the piano. "Miss Susan" came
in and looked around. Then came the call for "Minty"--Harriet's name was
Araminta at the South.
She drew her up to the table, saying, "What do you mean by doing my work
this way, you--!" and passing her finger on the table and piano, she
showed her the mark it made through the dust. "Miss Susan, I done sweep
and dust jus' as you tole me." But the whip was already taken down, and
the strokes were falling on head and face and neck. Four times this
scene was repeated before breakfast, when, during the fifth whipping,
the door opened, and "Miss Emily" came in. She was a married sister of
"Miss Susan," and was making her a visit, and though brought up with the
same associations as her sister, seems to have been a person of more
gentle and reasonable nature. Not being able to endure the screams of
the child any longer, she came in, took her sister by the arm, and said,
"If you do not stop whipping that child, I will leave your house, and
never come back!" Miss Susan declared that "she _would_ not mind, and
she slighted her work on purpose." Miss Emily said, "Leave her to me a
few moments;" and Miss Susan left the room, indignant. As soon as they
were alone, Miss Emily said: "Now, Minty, show me how you do your work."
For the sixth time Harriet removed all the furniture into the middle of
the room; then she swept; and the moment she had done sweeping, she took
the dusting cloth to wipe off the furniture. "Now stop there," said Miss
Emily; "go away now, and do some of your other work, and when it is time
to dust, I will call you." When the time came she called her, and
explained to her how the dust had now settled, and that if she wiped it
off now, the furniture would remain bright and clean. These few words an
hour or two before, would have saved Harriet her whippings for that day,
as they probably did for many a day after.
While with this woman, after working from early morning till late at
night, she was obliged to sit up all night to rock a cross, sick child.
Her mistress laid upon her bed with a whip under her pillow, and slept;
but if the tired nurse forgot herself for a moment, if her weary head
dropped, and her hand ceased to rock the cradle, the child would cry
out, and then down would come the whip upon the neck and face of the
poor weary creature. The scars are still plainly visible where the whip
cut into the flesh. Perhaps her mistress was preparing her, though she
did not know it then, by this enforced habit of wakefulness, for the
many long nights of travel, when she was the leader and guide of the
weary and hunted ones who were escaping from bondage.
"Miss Susan" got tired of Harriet, as Harriet was determined she should
do, and so abandoned her intention of buying her, and sent her back to
her master. She was next hired out to the man who inflicted upon her the
life-long injury from which she is suffering now, by breaking her skull
with a weight from the scales. The injury thus inflicted causes her
often to fall into a state of somnolency from which it is almost
impossible to rouse her. Disabled and sick, her flesh all wasted away,
she was returned to her _owner_. He tried to sell her, but no one would
buy her. "Dey said dey wouldn't give a sixpence for me," she said.
"And so," she said, "from Christmas till March I worked as I could, and
I _prayed_ through all the long nights--I groaned and prayed for ole
master: 'Oh Lord, convert master!' 'Oh Lord, change dat man's heart!'
'Pears like I prayed all de time," said Harriet; "'bout my work,
everywhere, I prayed an' I groaned to de Lord. When I went to de
horse-trough to wash my face, I took up de water in my han' an' I said,
'Oh Lord, wash me, make me clean!' Den I take up something to wipe my
face, an' I say, 'Oh Lord, wipe away all my sin!' When I took de broom
and began to sweep, I groaned, 'Oh Lord, wha'soebber sin dere be in my
heart, sweep it out, Lord, clar an' clean!'" No words can describe the
pathos of her tones, as she broke out into these words of prayer, after
the manner of her people. "An' so," said she, "I prayed all night long
for master, till the first of March; an' all the time he was bringing
people to look at me, an' trying to sell me. Den we heard dat some of us
was gwine to be sole to go wid de chain-gang down to de cotton an' rice
fields, and dey said I was gwine, an' my brudders, an' sisters. Den I
changed my prayer. Fust of March I began to pray, 'Oh Lord, if you ant
nebber gwine to change dat man's heart, kill him, Lord, an' take him out
ob de way.'
"Nex' ting I heard old master was dead, an' he died jus' as he libed.
Oh, then, it 'peared like I'd give all de world full ob gold, if I had
it, to bring dat poor soul back. But I couldn't pray for him no longer."
The slaves were told that their master's will provided that none of them
should be sold out of the State. This satisfied most of them, and they
were very happy. But Harriet was not satisfied; she never closed her
eyes that she did not imagine she saw the horsemen coming, and heard the
screams of women and children, as they were being dragged away to a far
worse slavery than that they were enduring there. Harriet was married at
this time to a free negro, who not only did not trouble himself about
her fears, but did his best to betray her, and bring her back after she
escaped. She would start up at night with the cry, "Oh, dey're comin',
dey're comin', I mus' go!"
Her husband called her a fool, and said she was like old Cudjo, who when
a joke went round, never laughed till half an hour after everybody else
got through, and so just as all danger was past she began to be
frightened. But still Harriet in fancy saw the horsemen coming, and
heard the screams of terrified women and children. "And all that time,
in my dreams and visions," she said, "I seemed to see a line, and on the
other side of that line were green fields, and lovely flowers, and
beautiful white ladies, who stretched out their arms to me over the
line, but I couldn't reach them nohow. I always fell before I got to the
line."
One Saturday it was whispered in the quarters that two of Harriet's
sisters had been sent off with the chain-gang. That morning she started,
having persuaded three of her brothers to accompany her, but they had
not gone far when the brothers, appalled by the dangers before and
behind them, determined to go back, and in spite of her remonstrances
dragged her with them. In fear and terror, she remained over Sunday, and
on Monday night a negro from another part of the plantation came
privately to tell Harriet that herself and brothers were to be carried
off that night. The poor old mother, who belonged to the same mistress,
was just going to milk. Harriet wanted to get away without letting her
know, because she knew that she would raise an uproar and prevent her
going, or insist upon going with her, and the time for this was not
yet. But she must give some intimation to those she was going to leave
of her intention, and send such a farewell as she might to the friends
and relations on the plantation. These communications were generally
made by singing. They sang as they walked along the country roads, and
the chorus was taken up by others, and the uninitiated knew not the
hidden meaning of the words--
When dat ar ole chariot comes,
I'm gwine to lebe you;
I'm boun' for de promised land,
I'm gwine to lebe you.
These words meant something more than a journey to the Heavenly Canaan.
Harriet said, "Here, mother, go 'long; I'll do the milkin' to-night and
bring it in." The old woman went to her cabin. Harriet took down her
sun-bonnet, and went on to the "big house," where some of her relatives
lived as house servants. She thought she could trust Mary, but there
were others in the kitchen, and she could say nothing. Mary began to
frolic with her. She threw her across the kitchen, and ran out, knowing
that Mary would follow her. But just as they turned the corner of the
house, the master to whom Harriet was now hired, came riding up on his
horse. Mary darted back, and Harriet thought there was no way now but
to sing. But "the Doctor," as the master was called, was regarded with
special awe by his slaves; if they were singing or talking together in
the field, or on the road, and "the Doctor" appeared, all was hushed
till he passed. But Harriet had no time for ceremony; her friends must
have a warning; and whether the Doctor thought her "_imperent_" or not,
she must sing him farewell. So on she went to meet him, singing:
I'm sorry I'm gwine to lebe you,
Farewell, oh farewell;
But I'll meet you in the mornin',
Farewell, oh farewell.
The Doctor passed, and she bowed as she went on, still singing:
I'll meet you in the mornin',
I'm boun' for de promised land,
On the oder side of Jordan,
Boun' for de promised land.
She reached the gate and looked round; the Doctor had stopped his horse,
and had turned around in the saddle, and was looking at her as if there
might be more in this than "met the ear." Harriet closed the gate, went
on a little way, came back, the Doctor still gazing at her. She lifted
up the gate as if she had not latched it properly, waved her hand to
him, and burst out again:
I'll meet you in the mornin',
Safe in de promised land,
On the oder side of Jordan,
Boun' for de promised land.
And she started on her journey, "not knowing whither she went," except
that she was going to follow the north star, till it led her to liberty.
Cautiously and by night she traveled, cunningly feeling her way, and
finding out who were friends; till after a long and painful journey she
found, in answer to careful inquiries, that she had at last crossed that
magic "line" which then separated the land of bondage from the land of
freedom; for this was before _we_ were commanded by law to take part in
the iniquity of slavery, and aid in taking and sending back those poor
hunted fugitives who had manhood and intelligence enough to enable them
to make their way thus far towards freedom.
"When I found I had crossed dat _line_," she said, "I looked at my hands
to see if I was de same pusson. There was such a glory ober ebery ting;
de sun came like gold through the trees, and ober the fields, and I felt
like I was in Heaben."
But then came the bitter drop in the cup of joy. She said she felt like
a man who was put in State Prison for twenty-five years. All these
twenty-five years he was thinking of his home, and longing for the time
when he would see it again. At last the day comes--he leaves the prison
gates--he makes his way to his old home, but his old home is not there.
The house has been pulled down, and a new one has been put up in its
place; his family and friends are gone nobody knows where; there is no
one to take him by the hand, no one to welcome him.
"So it was with me," she said. "I had crossed the line. I was _free_;
but there was no one to welcome me to the land of freedom. I was a
stranger in a strange land; and my home, after all, was down in
Maryland; because my father, my mother, my brothers, and sisters, and
friends were there. But I was free, and _they_ should be free. I would
make a home in the North and bring them there, God helping me. Oh, how I
prayed then," she said; "I said to de Lord, 'I'm gwine to hole stiddy on
to _you_, an' I _know_ you'll see me through.'"
She came to Philadelphia, and worked in hotels, in club houses, and
afterwards at Cape May. Whenever she had raised money enough to pay
expenses, she would make her way back, hide herself, and in various ways
give notice to those who were ready to strike for freedom. When her
party was made up, they would start always on Saturday night, because
advertisements could not be sent out on Sunday, which gave them one day
in advance.
Then the pursuers would start after them. Advertisements would be posted
everywhere. There was one reward of $12,000 offered for the head of the
woman who was constantly appearing and enticing away parties of slaves
from their master. She had traveled in the cars when these posters were
put up over her head, and she heard them read by those about her--for
she could not read herself. Fearlessly she went on, trusting in the
Lord. She said, "I started with this idea in my head, 'Dere's _two_
things I've got a _right_ to, and dese are, Death or Liberty--one or
tother I mean to have. No one will take me back alive; I shall fight for
my liberty, and when de time has come for me to go, de Lord will let dem
kill me." And acting upon this simple creed, and firm in this trusting
faith, she went back and forth _nineteen times_, according to the
reckoning of her friends. She remembers that she went eleven times from
Canada, but of the other journeys she kept no reckoning.
While Harriet was working as cook in one of the large hotels in
Philadelphia, the play of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" was being performed for
many weeks every night. Some of her fellow-servants wanted her to go and
see it. "No," said Harriet, "I haint got no heart to go and see the
sufferings of my people played on de stage. I've heard 'Uncle Tom's
Cabin' read, and I tell you Mrs. Stowe's pen hasn't begun to paint what
slavery is as I have seen it at the far South. I've seen de _real ting_,
and I don't want to see it on no stage or in no teater."
I will give here an article from a paper published nearly a year ago,
which mentions that the price set upon the head of Harriet was much
higher than I have stated it to be. When asked about this, Harriet said
she did not know whether it was so, but she heard them read from one
paper that the reward offered was $12,000.
"Among American women," says the article referred to, "who has shown a
courage and self-devotion to the welfare of others, equal to Harriet
Tubman? Hear her story of going down again and again into the very jaws
of slavery, to rescue her suffering people, bringing them off through
perils and dangers enough to appall the stoutest heart, till she was
known among them as 'Moses.'
"_Forty thousand dollars_ was not too great a reward for the Maryland
slaveholders to offer for her.
"Think of her brave spirit, as strong as Daniel's of old, in its
fearless purpose to serve God, even though the fiery furnace should be
her portion. I have looked into her dark face, and wondered and admired
as I listened to the thrilling deeds her lion heart had prompted her to
dare. 'I have heard their groans and sighs, and seen their tears, and I
would give every drop of blood in my veins to free them,' she said.
"The other day, at Gerrit Smith's, I saw this heroic woman, whom the pen
of genius will yet make famous, as one of the noblest Christian hearts
ever inspired to lift the burdens of the wronged and oppressed, and what
do you think she said to me? She had been tending and caring for our
Union black (and white) soldiers in hospital during the war, and at the
end of her labors was on her way home, coming in a car through New
Jersey. A white man, the conductor, thrust her out of the car with such
violence that she has not been able to work scarcely any since; and as
she told me of the pain she had and still suffered, she said she did not
know what she should have done for herself, and the old father and
mother she takes care of, if Mr. Wendell Phillips had not sent her $60,
that kept them warm through the winter. She had a letter from W. H.
Seward to Maj.-Gen. Hunter, in which he says, 'I have known her long,
and a nobler, higher spirit, or truer, seldom dwells in the human
form.'"
It will be impossible to give any connected account of the different
journeys taken by Harriet for the rescue of her people, as she herself
has no idea of the dates connected with them, or of the order in which
they were made. She thinks she was about 25 when she made her own
escape, and this was in the last year of James K. Polk's administration.
From that time till the beginning of the war, her years were spent in
these journeyings back and forth, with intervals between, in which she
worked only to spend the avails of her labor in providing for the wants
of her next party of fugitives. By night she traveled, many times on
foot, over mountains, through forests, across rivers, mid perils by
land, perils by water, perils from enemies, "perils among false
brethren." Sometimes members of her party would become exhausted,
foot-sore, and bleeding, and declare they could not go on, they must
stay where they dropped down, and die; others would think a voluntary
return to slavery better than being overtaken and carried back, and
would insist upon returning; then there was no remedy but force; the
revolver carried by this bold and daring pioneer would be pointed at
their heads. "Dead niggers tell no tales," said Harriet; "Go on or die;"
and so she compelled them to drag their weary limbs on their northward
journey.
At one time she collected and sent on a gang of thirty-nine fugitives in
the care of others, as from some cause she was prevented from
accompanying them. Sometimes, when she and her party were concealed in
the woods, they saw their pursuers pass, on their horses, down the high
road, tacking up the advertisements for them on the fences and trees.
"And den how we laughed," said she. "_We_ was de fools, and _dey_ was de
wise men; but we wasn't fools enough to go down de high road in de broad
daylight." At one time she left her party in the woods, and went by a
long and roundabout way to one of the "stations of the Underground
Railway," as she called them. Here she procured food for her famished
party, often paying out of her hardly-gained earnings, five dollars a
day for food for them. But she dared not go back to them till night, for
fear of being watched, and thus revealing their hiding-place. After
nightfall, the sound of a hymn sung at a distance comes upon the ears
of the concealed and famished fugitives in the woods, and they know that
their deliverer is at hand. They listen eagerly for the words she sings,
for by them they are to be warned of danger, or informed of safety.
Nearer and nearer comes the unseen singer, and the words are wafted to
their ears:
Hail, oh hail ye happy spirits,
Death no more shall make you fear,
No grief nor sorrow, pain nor anger (anguish)
Shall no more distress you there.
Around him are ten thousan' angels,
Always ready to 'bey comman'.
Dey are always hobring round you,
Till you reach the hebbenly lan'.
Jesus, Jesus will go wid you;
He will lead you to his throne;
He who died has gone before you,
Trod de wine-press all alone.
He whose thunders shake creation;
He who bids the planets roll;
He who rides upon the temple, (tempest)
An' his scepter sways de whole.
Dark and thorny is de desert,
Through de pilgrim makes his ways,
Yet beyon' dis vale of sorrow,
Lies de fiel's of endless days.
I give these words exactly as Harriet sang them to me to a sweet and
simple Methodist air. "De first time I go by singing dis hymn, dey don't
come out to me," she said, "till I listen if de coast is clar; den when
I go back and sing it again, dey come out. But if I sing:
Moses go down in Egypt,
Till ole Pharo' let me go;
Hadn't been for Adam's fall,
Shouldn't hab to died at all,
den dey don't come out, for dere's danger in de way."
And so by night travel, by hiding, by signals, by threatening, she
brought the people safely to the land of liberty. But after the passage
of the Fugitive Slave law, she said, "I wouldn't trust Uncle Sam wid my
people no longer; I brought 'em all clar off to Canada."
Of the very many interesting stories told me by Harriet, I cannot
refrain from telling to my readers that of _Joe_, who accompanied her
upon her seventh or eighth journey from Maryland to Canada.
Joe was a noble specimen of a negro, and was hired out by his master to
a man for whom he worked faithfully for six years, saving him the
expense of an overseer, and taking all trouble off his hands. At length
this man found him so absolutely necessary to him, that he determined to
buy him at any cost. His master held him proportionably high. However,
by paying a thousand dollars down for him, and promising to pay another
thousand in a certain time, Joe passed into the hands of his new
master.
As may be imagined, Joe was somewhat surprised when the first order
issued from his master's lips, was, "Now, Joe, strip and take a
whipping!" Joe's experience of _whippings_, as he had seen them
inflicted upon others, was not such as to cause him particularly to
desire to go through the same operation on his own account; and he,
naturally enough, demurred, and at first thought of resisting. But he
called to mind a scene which he had witnessed a few days before, in the
field, the particulars of which are too horrible and too harassing to
the feelings to be given to my readers, and he thought it best to
submit; but first he tried remonstrance.
"Mas'r," said he, "habn't I always been faithful to you? Habn't I worked
through sun an' rain, early in de mornin', and late at night; habn't I
saved you an oberseer by doin' his work; hab you anyting to complain of
agin me?"
"No, Joe; I've no complaint to make of you; you're a good nigger, and
you've always worked well; but the first lesson my niggers have to learn
is that I am _master_, and that they are not to resist or refuse to obey
anything I tell 'em to do. So the first thing they've got to do, is to
be whipped; if they resist, they get it all the harder; and so I'll go
on, till I kill 'em, but they've got to give up at last, and learn that
I'm master."
Joe thought it best to submit. He stripped off his upper clothing, and
took his whipping without a word; but as he drew his clothes up over his
torn and bleeding back, he said, "Dis is de last!" That night he took a
boat and went a long distance to the cabin of Harriet's father, and
said, "Next time Moses comes, let me know." It was only a week or two
after that, that the mysterious woman whom no one could lay their finger
on appeared, and men, women, and children began to disappear from the
plantations. One fine morning Joe was missing, and his brother William,
from another plantation; Peter and Eliza, too, were gone; and these made
part of Harriet's next party, who began their pilgrimage from Maryland
to Canada, or as they expressed it, from "Egypt to de land of Canaan."
Their adventures were enough to fill a volume; they were pursued; they
were hidden in "potato holes," while their pursuers passed within a few
feet of them; they were passed along by friends in various disguises;
they scattered and separated, to be led by guides by a roundabout way,
to a meeting-place again. They were taken in by Sam Green, the man who
was afterwards sent to State Prison for ten years for having a copy of
"Uncle Tom's Cabin" in his house; and so, hunted and hiding and
wandering, they came at last to the long bridge at the entrance of the
city of Wilmington, Delaware. The rewards posted up everywhere had been
at first five hundred dollars for Joe, if taken within the limits of the
United States; then a thousand, and then fifteen hundred dollars, "an'
all expenses clar an' clean, for his body in Easton Jail." Eight hundred
for William, and four hundred for Peter, and twelve thousand for the
woman who enticed them away. The long Wilmington Bridge was guarded by
police officers, and the advertisements were everywhere. The party were
scattered, and taken to the houses of different colored friends, and
word was sent secretly to Thomas Garrett, of Wilmington, of their
condition, and the necessity of their being taken across the bridge.
Thomas Garrett is a Quaker, and a man of a wonderfully large and
generous heart, through whose hands, Harriet tells me, two thousand
self-emancipated slaves passed on their way to freedom. He was always
ready, heart and hand and means, in aiding these poor fugitives, and
rendered most efficient help to Harriet on many of her journeys back and
forth. A letter received a few days since by the writer, from this
noble-hearted philanthropist, will be given presently.
As soon as Thomas Garrett heard of the condition of these poor people,
his plan was formed. He engaged two wagons, filled them with
bricklayers, whom of course he paid well for their share in the
enterprise, and sent them across the bridge. They went as if on a
frolic, singing and shouting. The guards saw them pass, and of course
expected them to re-cross the bridge. After nightfall (and fortunately
it was a dark night) the same wagons went back, but with an addition to
their party. The fugitives were on the bottom of the wagons, the
bricklayers on the seats, still singing and shouting; and so they passed
by the guards, who were entirely unsuspicious of the nature of the load
the wagons contained, or of the amount of property thus escaping their
hands. And so they made their way to New York. When they entered the
anti-slavery office there, Joe was recognized at once by the description
in the advertisement. "Well," said Mr. Oliver Johnson, "I am glad to
see the man whose head is worth fifteen hundred dollars." At this Joe's
heart sank. If the advertisement had got to New York, that place which
it had taken them so many days and nights to reach, he thought he was in
danger still. "And how far is it now to Canada?" he asked. When told how
many miles, for they were to come through New York State, and cross the
Suspension Bridge, he was ready to give up. "From dat time Joe was
silent," said Harriet; "he sang no more, he talked no more; he sat wid
his head on his hand, and nobody could 'muse him or make him take any
interest in anyting." They passed along in safety, and at length found
themselves in the cars, approaching Suspension Bridge. The rest were
very joyous and happy, but Joe sat silent and sad. Their
fellow-passengers all seemed interested in and for them, and listened
with tears, as Harriet and all their party lifted up their voices and
sang:
I'm on my way to Canada,
That cold and dreary land;
The sad effects of slavery,
I can't no longer stand.
I've served my master all my days,
Widout a dime's reward;
And now I'm forced to run away,
To flee the lash abroad.
Farewell, ole master, don't think hard of me,
I'll travel on to Canada, where all the slaves are free.
The hounds are baying on my track,
Ole master comes behind,
Resolved that he will bring me back,
Before I cross de line;
I'm now embarked for yonder shore,
There a man's a man by law;
The iron horse will bear me o'er,
To shake de lion's paw.
Oh, righteous Father, wilt thou not pity me,
And aid me on to Canada where all the slaves are free.
Oh, I heard Queen Victoria say,
That if we would forsake
Our native land of slavery,
And come across the lake;
That she was standin' on de shore,
Wid arms extended wide,
To give us all a peaceful home
Beyond de rolling tide.
Farewell, ole master, etc.
The cars began to cross the bridge. Harriet was very anxious to have her
companions see the Falls. William, Peter, and Eliza came eagerly to look
at the wonderful sight; but Joe sat still, with his head upon his hand.
"Joe, come look at de Falls! Joe, you fool you, come see de Falls! its
your last chance." But Joe sat still and never raised his head. At
length Harriet knew by the rise in the center of the bridge, and the
descent on the other side, that they had crossed "the line." She sprang
across to Joe's seat, shook him with all her might, and shouted, "Joe,
you've shook de lion's paw!" Joe did not know what she meant. "Joe,
you're _free_!" shouted Harriet. Then Joe's head went up, he raised his
hands on high, and his face, streaming with tears, to heaven, and broke
out in loud and thrilling tones:
"Glory to God and Jesus too,
One more soul is safe!
Oh, go and carry de news,
One more soul got safe."
"Joe, come and look at de Falls!" called Harriet.
"Glory to God and Jesus too,
One more soul got safe."
was all the answer. The cars stopped on the other side. Joe's feet were
the first to touch British soil, after those of the conductor.
Loud roared the waters of Niagara, but louder still ascended the anthem
of praise from the overflowing heart of the freeman. And can we doubt
that the strain was taken up by angel voices, and that through the
arches of Heaven echoed and re-echoed the strain:
Glory to God in the Highest,
Glory to God and Jesus too,
One more soul is safe.
"The ladies and gentlemen gathered round him," said Harriet, "till I
couldn't see Joe for the crowd, only I heard 'Glory to God and Jesus
too!' louder than ever." William went after him, and pulled him,
saying, "Joe, stop your noise! you act like a fool!' Then Peter ran in
and jerked him mos' off his feet,--"Joe, stop your hollerin'! Folks'll
think you're crazy!" But Joe gave no heed. The ladies were crying, and
the tears like rain ran down Joe's sable cheeks. A lady reached over her
fine cambric handkerchief to him. Joe wiped his face, and then he spoke.
"Oh! if I'd felt like dis down South, it would hab taken _nine_ men to
take me; only one more journey for me now, and dat is to Hebben!" "Well,
you ole fool you," said Harriet, with whom there seems but one step from
the sublime to the ridiculous, "you might a' looked at the Falls fust,
and den gone to Hebben afterwards." She has seen Joe several times
since, a happy and industrious freeman in Canada.
When asked, as she often is, how it was possible that she was not afraid
to go back, with that tremendous price upon her head, Harriet always
answers, "Why, don't I tell you, Missus, t'wan't _me_, 'twas _de Lord_!
I always _tole_ him, 'I trust to you. I don't know where to go or what
to do, but I expect you to lead me,' an' he always did." At one time she
was going down, watched for everywhere, after there had been a meeting
of slaveholders in the court-house of one of the large cities of
Maryland, and an added reward had been put upon her head, with various
threats of the different cruel devices by which she should be tortured
and put to death; friends gathered round her, imploring her not to go on
directly in the face of danger and death, and this was Harriet's answer
to them:
"Now look yer! John saw the city, didn't he? Yes, John saw the city.
Well, what did he see? He saw twelve gates--three of dose gates was on
de north--three of 'em was on the east--and three of 'em was on de
west--but dere was three of 'em on de _South_ too; an' I reckon if dey
kill me down dere, I'll git into one of dem gates, don't you?"
Whether Harriet's ideas of the geographical bearings of the gates of the
Celestial City, as seen in the Apocalyptic vision, were correct or not,
we cannot doubt that she was right in the deduction her faith drew from
them; and that _somewhere_, whether north, south, east, or west, to our
dim vision, there is a gate to be opened for Harriet, where the welcome
will be given, "Come in thou blessed of my Father."
Many of the stories told me by Harriet, in answer to questions, have
been corroborated by letters, some of which will appear in this book.
Of others, I have not been able to procure confirmation, owing to
ignorance of the address of those conversant with the facts. I find
among her papers, many of which are defaced by being carried about with
her for years, portions of letters addressed to myself, by persons at
the South, and speaking of the valuable assistance Harriet was rendering
our soldiers in the hospital, and our armies in the field. At this time
her manner of life, as related by herself, was this:
"Well, Missus, I'd go to de hospital, I would, early eb'ry mornin'. I'd
get a big chunk of ice, I would, and put it in a basin, and fill it with
water; den I'd take a sponge and begin. Fust man I'd come to, I'd thrash
away de flies, an' dey'd rise, dey would, like bees roun' a hive. Den
I'd begin to bathe der wounds, an' by de time I'd bathed off three or
four, de fire and heat would have melted de ice and made de water warm,
an' it would be as red as clar blood. Den I'd go an' git more ice, I
would, an' by de time I got to de nex' ones, de flies would be roun' de
fust ones black an' thick as eber." In this way she worked, day after
day, till late at night; then she went home to her little cabin, and
made about fifty pies, a great quantity of ginger-bread, and two casks
of root beer. These she would hire some contraband to sell for her
through the camps, and thus she would provide her support for another
day; for this woman never received pay or pension, and never drew for
herself but twenty days' rations during the four years of her labors. At
one time she was called away from Hilton Head, by one of our officers,
to come to Fernandina, where the men were "dying off like sheep," from
dysentery. Harriet had acquired quite a reputation for her skill in
curing this disease, by a medicine which she prepared from roots which
grew near the waters which gave the disease. Here she found thousands of
sick soldiers and contrabands, and immediately gave up her time and
attention to them. At another time, we find her nursing those who were
down by hundreds with small-pox and malignant fevers. She had never had
these diseases, but she seems to have no more fear of death in one form
than another. "De Lord would take keer of her till her time came, an'
den she was ready to go."
When our armies and gun-boats first appeared in any part of the South,
many of the poor negroes were as much afraid of "de Yankee Buckra" as
of their own masters. It was almost impossible to win their confidence,
or to get information from them. But to Harriet they would tell
anything; and so it became quite important that she should accompany
expeditions going up the rivers, or into unexplored parts of the
country, to control and get information from those whom they took with
them as guides.
Gen. Hunter asked her at one time if she would go with several gun-boats
up the Combahee River, the object of the expedition being to take up the
torpedoes placed by the rebels in the river, to destroy railroads and
bridges, and to cut off supplies from the rebel troops. She said she
would go if Col. Montgomery was to be appointed commander of the
expedition. Col. Montgomery was one of John Brown's men, and was well
known to Harriet. Accordingly, Col. Montgomery was appointed to the
command, and Harriet, with several men under her, the principal of whom
was J. Plowden, whose pass I have, accompanied the expedition. Harriet
describes in the most graphic manner the appearance of the plantations
as they passed up the river; the frightened negroes leaving their work
and taking to the woods, at sight of the gun-boats; then coming to peer
out like startled deer, and scudding away like the wind at the sound of
the steam-whistle. "Well," said one old negro, "Mas'r said de Yankees
had horns and tails, but I nebber beliebed it till now." But the word
was passed along by the mysterious telegraphic communication existing
among these simple people, that these were "Lincoln's gun-boats come to
set them free." In vain, then, the drivers used their whips, in their
efforts to hurry the poor creatures back to their quarters; they all
turned and ran for the gun-boats. They came down every road, across
every field, just as they had left their work and their cabins; women
with children clinging around their necks, hanging to their dresses,
running behind, all making at full speed for "Lincoln's gun-boats."
Eight hundred poor wretches at one time crowded the banks, with their
hands extended towards their deliverers, and they were all taken off
upon the gun-boats, and carried down to Beaufort.