[Illustration: _Isaac Mason._]
L I F E O F
ISAAC MASON
A S A S L A V E.
WORCESTER, MASS.
1893.
Table of Contents
1. Earliest Recollections.
2. In a New Home.
3. Escape from Slavery.
4. In the Land of Freedom.
5. A Flying Visit to Hayti.
WORCESTER, MASS., JULY 19, 1893.
I have known Isaac Mason very well since 1850. He has done a
great deal of work for me and my household. I know him to be an
honest, faithful and intelligent man. I have not had time to
examine his book in manuscript, but I am sure his statements may
be trusted, and that his experience will prove very interesting.
I hope his book will have a good sale, and commend it to the
public.
GEO. F. HOAR.
PREFACE.
* * * * *
Having repeatedly been asked by my many friends to write the history of
my life as a slave, especially by some who have heard me lecture on
certain portions of that ever memorable period of my life, I have, after
some hesitation as to its advisability, reluctantly concluded to accede
to their wishes, and now present to them a truthful sketch of my
eventful life in the dark days of slavery. As these checkered scenes of
my early life reflectively present themselves to my mind at my advanced
state of life, I wonder how I withstood all the abuse and cruelty of
these early years. Our lives are largely composed of sorrow and joy, but
my cup, it seems to me, has been full to overflowing with sorrow, but
God has been my strength and my salvation, and has brought me thus far
in the journey of life, and in him I trust, praying that, in his good
time he will take me to that heavenly home where our earthly trials will
cease and where there will be no more sorrow.
My story is told in a plain matter-of-fact way, and I hope my readers
will overlook and excuse the defects which must necessarily abound
throughout the book, owing to lack of educational advantages.
ISAAC MASON.
_CHAPTER I._
EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS.
In Kent County, in the northern part of the State of Maryland, there was
at the time of my earliest recollections (and I suppose it yet remains),
a small town known as George Town Cross Oats, having a population of
about 500 or 600. It was in this town, on the 14th day of May, 1822, A.
D., that I inhaled my first supply of air, that my eyes, for the first
time, were brought in contact with the beautiful light surrounding the
terrestrial world, the earthly home of mankind, and the first sound of
my infant voice was raised in shrill cries for a mother’s tender care
and parental affection. This was the place of my nativity and the date
of my birth. It was also the time that my mistress became the owner of
one more slave and so much richer by my birth. My mother was,
unfortunately, numbered in the family of slavedom, belonging to one Mrs.
Hannah Woodland, and according to the institution of slave law, I
legally, or illegally, became her property. Though my father was a free
man still he had no claim to me. My mother’s name was Sophia Thompson,
and she served in the capacity of house servant. She was the mother of
five children, four sons and one daughter, of whom I was the first born,
and William Anderson, of the city of Worcester, Mass., the second. My
father, Zekiel Thompson, was, as I said, a free man, and most of his
time served as a farm hand on one of the farms owned by my mistress.
Whether from his activity and knowledge of farm work or as an inducement
to remain near his wife, I do not know, but he was permitted to hold the
position of overseer of the work and farm hands.
My mistress, Mrs. H. Woodland, was a widow—her husband being a sea
captain and lost at sea before I was born or had any knowledge of him.
They were both natives of Scotland. He owned two farms, and at his death
his wife became the owner of both, carrying on business until the time
of her death. She was the mother of five children, one son and four
daughters. The son, Samuel Woodland, who was said to be rich, owning two
farms, several houses, and from one hundred to one hundred and fifty
slaves, was, as near as language can express it, a lifetime tyrant to
his farm hands and house servants. His tyranical passion was so great
that on the day of his death he called in the men from their work, and
with a stick in his dying hand struck each one across their hands. As
each one received the parting gift he had to file out and another take
his place. This ceremony continued to within two hours of his death,
when from exhaustion he had to cease. Those who were on the end of the
line of march on that day fortunately lost their master’s parting
blessing. My mistress was naturally of a good disposition, just the
reverse of her son, or he from her. My grandfather (my mother’s father)
had charge of the farm hands and all that pertained to the farm, as he
was considered faithful and trustworthy. The principal products of the
farms were corn, wheat and oats. Infant years rapidly passed by and the
time drew near when little Will, _alias_ Isaac, had to leave his
mother’s knee and childish play to enter upon the duties of serving his
owners.
Accordingly, when between five and six years of age, I was assigned to
the duties of housework, to wait on my mistress and to run errands. When
she went out driving I had to accompany her in the capacity of a page,
to open the gates and to take down guard fences for her to drive
through. That I might be found at night as well as by day my sleeping
apartment was in her chamber on a truckbed, which was during the day
time snugly concealed under her bedstead and drawn out at night for the
reposing place of Isaac’s weary body while he dreamed of days yet to
come. I remained in this distinguished position until I was about
fifteen years old, when a change in common with all slave life had to be
made either for the better or for the worse.
On the day that proved to be her last to be spent on this earth I was
required to accompany her on a visit to the farm, the second farm, which
was not so frequently visited, where she spent the afternoon in looking
over the stock and products which detained her until towards evening.
Her examinations were completed and she returned home. This visit was
made in the gig drawn by the old black mare. My place was, as customary,
by her side. We arrived home about seven o’clock in the evening. She
told me to “take care of the old mare”; that meant to unharness and put
her in the stable, and when I had completed my task to “come to her, as
she wanted me to go on an errand.” I obeyed her orders and went direct
to her chamber, where I found her lying on the floor in an unconscious
state and unable to speak.
I immediately ran down stairs and informed my mother how I had found
mistress. She sent me at once after Mrs. Island, a daughter of Mrs. H.
Woodland, who lived about half a mile from us. Upon hearing the sad news
she hurried with me back to the house and sent for the doctor. He lost
no time in attending to the call, and did all he could to restore her to
consciousness and life, but his medical skill failed to produce a
favorable result. About 11 o’clock that night she died, as the doctor
said, from a stroke of paralysis. The last words she was known to utter
were the orders she gave me that evening. Thus ended the life of
mistress at the age of ninety years.
My grandfather, Richard Graham Grimes, was sent down that night to a
place called Morgan’s Creek, to a man by the name of Hugh Wallace, to
come up immediately and make arrangements for the funeral. His first
wife was the daughter of my mistress. He lost no time in answering the
summons and attended to all the necessary requirements for the
obsequies, and on the third day after her death my mistress was
consigned to mother earth.
At last the day dawned when this group of slaves had to part, not only
from the old homestead but from each other, and to go to scenes and
climes unknown to them. At last the sunshine was passing and the gloom
fast overspreading. Mother and children, brothers and sisters to
separate, perhaps forever.
The farm with all of its contents were left, for the time being, under
the care and supervision of my grandfather. He continued to hold charge
till July of the same year, about the space of three months, at which
time Mr. H. Wallace appeared on the estate to make arrangements for
settling the affairs. Everything belonging to the estate excepting the
slaves were sold. The farm with its contents was bought by a man by the
name of Isaac Taylor. My grandfather, in consideration of his old age
and the time being past for useful labor, was _handsomely_ rewarded with
his freedom, an old horse called the “old bay horse”—which was also
past the stage of usefulness—and an old cart; but, alas! no home to
live in or a place to shelter his head from the storm.
My father, as I said before, was a free man and had the privilege of
purchasing my mother and my sister, who was then about a year old, for
$600. My mother at this time was in very ill health, and it was thought
by many she could not live very long. My father not being able to pay
the amount asked, had to find a sufficient security before he could
obtain a bill of sale. He was fortunate enough to find that assistance
in the person of Dr. Hyde, with whom I was soon to become personally
acquainted. The remainder of the slaves each received a note from the
hands of Mr. H. Wallace, and were directed by him to carry it to a
certain person named by him, which act showed that each slave had been
previously disposed of. Some were sold and some were hired out for a
certain time to pay debts due by the estate.
I received my little note and was told to carry it to Dr. Hyde, who was
living in the same place where I was born. I was not sold, but only
hired out to pay a small bill of $25 which would not take very long as
regards to time, but by an economical table of work I was destined to
fill the place of more than one servant. The Doctor and his considerate
wife were determined to utilize my whole time in their service. My work
at this place consisted in cooking, washing, sweeping, taking care of
the horses, attending to the garden, which contained about half an acre
of land, and milking two cows. The good training of my former mistress
had very materially fitted me for the varied duties of this house. By
hard work early and late I could accomplish my daily tasks.
Some persons may suppose that by accomplishing all this work in one day
would satisfy an employer, master or mistress, but satisfaction was hard
to find. I was only the property of another, working to pay the debt of
another, who I suppose thought he ought to receive interest on his bill;
and that interest had to be paid by me in addition to the daily labor,
by receiving a whipping every day besides losing a meal—either a
breakfast, a dinner, or a supper—according to their best judgment. Some
may wonder which I regretted most, the whipping or the meal. I sorrowed
the loss of the meal more than anything else. To me this certainly was a
great punishment.
The last day I stayed with the Doctor he told me that he wanted me to
stay at home for he was going away and would not be back till after
nightfall. I had made arrangements with some other boys to go rabbit
hunting. Knowing it was Christmas week, and I was not bound to stay
there, as my time was out, I concluded to have my rabbit hunt as agreed;
so off I went with my associates. I did not get back to the house till
after dark. Wanting to complete my day’s work before the Doctor arrived
I made my way into the kitchen, as I thought unseen by any person, to
get the milk pail which was always kept in there, and milk the cows.
Mrs. Hyde, the Doctor’s wife, saw me, skipped out from somewhere and
locked the kitchen door behind me. This was not a very pleasant
situation, for a slave and the mistress to be locked up in the same
room. She had a purpose in view, but I had none just then; my future
actions had to be governed by what she was about to do. She told me to
take off my coat so that she could give me a whipping for going off.
According to her orders I obeyed; then she commenced work in right good
earnest with her well roasted hickory wottels. Their smarting pains did
not feel pleasant on my head and shoulders, so I laid hold of them and
contested my strength with the fair feminine tyrant. In the struggle for
victory I managed to jerk her down to the floor, and before she could
regain her feet I jumped out of the window; and as the Doctor had not
yet arrived home I made good my safety.
I went to the barn and crept away under the back part of the hay, where
I knew I would be secure for the night. I stayed there lamenting over my
stripes till midnight; then I came out and went to my mother’s, which
was about half a mile off. She told me the Doctor had been there hunting
for me. Thinking he might soon return I did not stay there very long. I
next started off for my grandfather’s, which was about four miles away.
I found him at home and he let me in. I did not learn that my pursuer
had been to this place, so I thought myself safe for a while. He told me
he had received a letter from Mr. H. Wallace directing him to bring me
down to Morgan’s Creek, as the Doctor had nothing more to do with me and
that I was going to another place.
Next morning grandfather arose, shelled a bushel of corn and was going
to Headchester to dispose of it for other necessary comforts, telling me
I might go along with him. Soon the old bay horse and cart, the legacy
from the Woodland estate, were hitched together and started on the
journey. On our way I was surprisingly met by the Doctor on horseback.
As soon as I saw him I crouched down in the bottom of the old cart
thinking to avoid him, but I was much mistaken. His keen eye had caught
sight of me, and no doubt his breast was burning with revenge on account
of his wife having to kiss the kitchen floor. He drew near to my
hiding-place and strove his best to cut me with his horsewhip, but he
missed me. I jumped out of the cart and hid in the fields till I thought
he was gone. When I came out of my hiding-place he could not be seen, so
I joined the old man in the cart once more, pursuing our journey. He
told my grandfather, “If he did not have me back to his house before
four o’clock that day he would have an officer after me and have me
back.” The officer failed to come, consequently I have not seen the
Doctor nor his wife since.
This Doctor Hyde had become security for the payment of the $600
required from my father for the purchase of my mother and sister. He was
so much enraged on account of this trouble with me, that he demanded
immediate payment of the money. This brought a gloom over my father and
mother’s humble but happy home. He had no money nor the means of getting
it. The spiteful bondsman could soon find the way to get it, and that
was by selling mother and sister. This means was well understood by
them, and plans were considered to avoid this sacrifice when mother
resolved to take her young child and flee to Baltimore, Md. Her
conclusions were soon put in practice, and it was not long before she
found herself and child in that famous city. There she found a
philanthropic Quaker, who had saved a great number of families from
being separated under such circumstances. He told her he would furnish
her with the money if her husband would make out a bill of sale for the
child she had with her. She sent father word of what she found in way of
a partial relief. The opportunity was readily embraced by him and he
hastened to Baltimore and gave the bill of sale for my sister, which was
to last till she was eighteen years old. My parents further agreed that
in the event of my sister’s death before the expiration of that time,
they were to finish out the time or give sufficient work to the value of
the amount. All was finally settled and they returned to George Town
Cross Oats, minus their only daughter that they had to sell to save
themselves. My father had paid H. Wallace $200 down, which left $400 to
be raised by the Quaker. To the great astonishment of the Doctor father
called and paid the amount. He was so much perplexed that he wanted to
know where the money came from—supposing it had been stolen. My sister
remained with the Quaker family till she was sixteen years old, when
they gave her two years off her time. This generous friend sent for my
father to come to Baltimore and emancipate both my mother and sister, as
they were sold under debt. He did so, and consequently they were all
three free people according to the laws of the State of Maryland.
To return to my own personal narrative—by jumping from the old cart to
escape from Dr. Hyde and rejoining grandfather. We rode on to
Headchester, which is now known as Millerton, remained there until night
and then returned home. I stayed there all night and next morning after
breakfast we started for Morgan’s Creek, which was to be my new home. We
had to ride a distance of twenty-two miles, arriving there about night.
This was New Year’s eve. I had an uncle living at this place by the name
of Joe Grimes. His wife lived in Chestertown with the same man I was
destined to live with. Mr. H. Wallace gave Uncle Joe a note, with
instructions to deliver it and Isaac into the hands of Mr. James
Mansfield, jr. He arrived there about eight o’clock that night, a
distance of three miles, when I for the first time saw my new master.
His wife was named Mary. They had two children—a girl and a boy; the
former was about five years of age and the latter three years. He was a
cabinet-maker by trade and worked with his father who followed the same
business. He very soon bought his father out, taking the business into
his own hands, and began to thrive very rapidly.
_CHAPTER II._
IN A NEW HOME.
Chestertown was quite a thriving place, having five thousand or more
inhabitants, and was the county seat for Kent County. It bordered on the
Chesapeake Bay, where we had ready transportation to Baltimore, Md.,
three or four times a week. There were a large number of wealthy
families living there at that time who owned large plantations. On being
introduced to my master the next morning I was informed what I was
expected to do. I was told that I was coming sixteen years old the next
spring, and he had bought me for the special purpose to work about the
house and to do whatever was wanted of me; and, also, I was expected to
do what I was set about, and to do it well and quick. He said he would
not overlook one fault. If I did as he said I would be properly treated;
if I did not I would get the hickory wottel. I assured him faithfully I
would do the best I could. I found that my work was precisely the same
as that I had performed at Dr. Hyde’s, my last place, so I got along for
the first two weeks very nicely. I gave them satisfaction, as I thought;
they, that is my master and his wife, appeared pleased. I concluded I
was all right and was going to have a nice time at my new home. At this
time there was not the dread of a daily whipping and the loss of one
meal a day. It was not long before I was to learn that storms followed
calms, and war came after peace.
One Friday morning, after being there about four weeks, I well remember
the day, I was busy at work on my hand-irons. My mistress came out and
wanted to know what I had been doing all the morning. I turned round and
looked at her, and saw that her face was awfully red; there was
something wrong but I could not divine it. She hurriedly went out of the
room where I was, into the back room, and got her cowhide; without the
least ceremony she lit on me—the same as a hungry hawk on an innocent
chicken. Her descent upon me was so sudden that I did not know what to
do. I begged, I entreated her to stop; but she grew worse and worse. The
blows came faster and faster, and every one brought the blood streaming
from my head and back till I was covered from head to foot. Being a
large, fleshy woman, she at last became fatigued and exhausted, and had
to quit her inhuman chastisement. I was so unmercifully beaten that I
was unfit for work that day.
Next morning I could not stand up I was so weak and exhausted from loss
of blood. My eyes and head were completely swollen, and for a few days I
had to remain a poor sufferer—the victim of a woman’s spite and hatred
for a poor despised race. What I had done to deserve all this treatment
I knew not. Here I was, no one to care for me, no one to console me.
After awhile I got so that I could resume work. She never repeated that
kind of treatment again, but consigned me to a worse fate for the
future—I may say for a limited period. Whenever I did anything that was
considered wrong after that I had to go to the cellar, where I was
stripped naked, my hands tied to a beam over head, and my feet to a
post, and then I was whipped by master till the blood ran down to my
heels. This he continued to do every week, for my mistress would always
find something to complain of, and he had to be the servant of her will
and passion for human blood. At last he became disgusted with himself
and ceased the cruel treatment. I heard him tell her one day—after he
had got through inflicting the corporal punishment—that he would not do
it any more to gratify her.
One day, to my great astonishment, I found that my work was to be
changed from a domestic servant to a farm hand. Having been trained to
do a little of both it did not seem hard for me to work at either. Mr.
Mansfield had purchased a little farm a few years before I went to live
with him, containing sixty acres. It cost him three dollars an acre, and
was very poor land. I, together with an older hand, was placed on this
farm to work. It was about a mile out of Chestertown and had no house or
barn on it, so we had to travel the distance four times a day to get
meals and to feed the horses. Having to carry manure to the farm we had
the privilege of riding there and back every time. I continued to work
on this farm a little over five years. When we commenced reaping the
first year it yielded only from five to six bushels of corn and wheat to
the acre; after five years it yielded thirty bushels to the acre. The
last three years I worked on the farm it was under my charge.
Besides attending to the work of the farm I had to drive the hearse
which conveyed the dead to the grave, for my master being a
cabinet-maker, was also an undertaker. I had to attend the funerals of
all the prominent men and women within a radius of twenty miles of that
place. My boss had so much confidence in me that he would send me twenty
miles alone with a coffin to bury some great person, and I would be
gone, sometimes, as long as two days. He was the only man in that town
that attended to such business. On one occasion I went to bury the wife
of a high sheriff, and to my surprise and confusion found that all the
men were drunk. When they arrived at the burying ground they were just
fit for business—not to bury, but to quarrel. As they were removing the
corpse from the hearse they let it fall to the ground, bursting open the
coffin. They were in great confusion over it and I did not know how it
would end. I drove off and left them, as my duties were ended. It was
always customary on these funeral occasions, that after the burial a
dinner was served to all who took part in the exercises—“rejoicing at
the death.” By this accident I lost my funeral dinner, as I fled for
home not knowing what they might do to me if I remained—though the
accident was no fault of mine; I was a slave, subject to anybody’s
insult and bad treatment.
During the five years and over that I worked on the farm I was never
struck a blow. There was no one to find fault with my work. The boss was
but seldom there and I was taken from under the control of my mistress.
In the year 1845 I had done so well for my master, or at least he
thought so—and I knew I had—that just before Christmas he told me to
take the other man that was with me and shell out one hundred bushels of
corn, and the same of wheat, and put them on board the sloop General
Washington, to be taken to Baltimore. On the following Tuesday, after
this was done, he gave me a new suit of clothes, and at ten o’clock we
went on board the sloop and sailed for Baltimore to dispose of the corn
and wheat. We arrived there the next morning, which was Wednesday. Mr.
Mansfield went ashore and proceeded up town to see some friend of his,
and left me at the vessel. Not receiving any orders from him I thought I
would like to see something of the city; so off I started alone. While
passing up Pratt Street I fell in with two men standing on the sidewalk.
They were not standing close together. I could not very well pass around
them, and to proceed I had to go between them, which I attempted to do.
They soon stopped and severely beat me for so doing. When they got
through my clothes were all full of blood that flowed from my own body.
I was ignorant, yes, completely ignorant of their law, forbidding a
negro from passing between two or more white men or women who were
walking or standing on the sidewalk, and that he or she must take the
street to give place to their superiors. By the time they got through
inflicting their punishment I had learned something of the penalty of
the crime. With my painful bruises and blood-stained garments I found my
way back to the sloop to await the return of Mr. Mansfield. When he saw
my unfortunate condition and had heard my pitiful story, he became quite
indignant over it. He tried to obtain redress by offering a reward to
discover the parties that had done the deed. To his astonishment, he was
politely informed that his reward would do no good, as negroes are not
allowed to pass between white men when they are standing talking. This
is one of the methods they took to teach negroes their manners to white
people. This was my first experience of a city walk.
Our freight was unloaded and disposed of, and on the following Friday we
returned home. As usual, I resumed my customary work. Everything went
along quite smoothly at the farm, at the hearse business, and at the
house, until the month of August, 1846, when the golden dreams of my
sunshine of peace began to draw near the horizon of that place I was
doomed to call home; but I saw it not. Dark clouds were swiftly
gathering over my head in uninterrupted succession for many days to
come; but I discerned them not. The life of a slave is a wretched one in
its best condition; if he always knew what awaited him in the future, it
would be most wretched. He who holds the destiny of the world in His
hands wisely hides from our eyes what a day may bring forth.
At this time the family became short of meat. We had two steers that had
been turned loose in what was called the “common”—a tract of land about
twelve miles off, containing two hundred acres of forest land—a
pleasure and pasture ground for unused cattle. Another hand, with
myself, was told to go to the common and capture one of the steers, and
to bring it home to be slaughtered and packed away for the use of the
family. According to orders we started on our journey, which was the
last day of August. We labored hard all that day trying to find them,
among a number of others, in the dense forest. As night began to set in
we discovered our search, by the private mark that had been placed on
them when they were put there. To our disappointment, the fast
overspreading darkness prevented our capturing them that night, so we
had to take the horses and return home, with the intention of renewing
our labors early next day. At an early hour next morning we started on
our journey. On our arrival we soon found our search, the lasso was
thrown with steady, true aim, and the prize was captured. We mounted our
horses and were soon on our way home—one leading and the other driving.
Our captive did some considerable struggling for liberty, detaining us
on the road so long that we did not reach home before four o’clock in
the afternoon, when we were told to take him to Tom Carroll’s slaughter
house. At five o’clock he was slaughtered and hanging on the gallows,
and by seven o’clock that night he was in the cellar, salted down and
packed away for future use. In less than three days our supply of beef
was completely spoiled, having maggots in it nearly as long as a little
finger. A new life had come into it.
At this time my mistress had become the mother of another child; it was
about two weeks old. She had stopping with her a young girl, a niece of
hers, who performed the duty of housekeeper. She was the daughter of
Hugh Wallace. When this miss of a housekeeper discovered the great
calamity that had befallen the store of beef—making it unfit for the
delicate stomachs of her aunt, uncle-in-law, cousins, and her own—she
ordered that some of it be taken to the kitchen and boiled for the
hands. After it had gone through the culinary department, its flavor and
unpalatable taste made it too much for human stomachs of the strongest
kind to endure. A slave’s stomach was considered not to be human, but
this undainty dish proved that it was. None of us could eat it. It had
to be rejected because the stomach refused it. I was so bold as to cast
my portion out to the dog, an act, I thought, unseen by any but those
who were with me. I was mistaken; other eyes were on me but I knew it
not then. This awful crime that I committed had at last sent my peace
below the horizon, and the cloud had burst. The keen eye of the girlish
housekeeper had seen it fall to the dog’s mouth. Master, mistress and
chief servant all agreed that I had been impudent to Miss Wallace, and
of course I must pay the penalty. In Baltimore I was chastized for
passing between two white men; now I am treated worse than that for
casting rotten meat to a dog, because I could not force it down my
throat when given me by my mistress’ representative.
This remarkable event happened on a Saturday, at noon. Mr. Mansfield had
that day gone away from home and was not to return before night. When he
had been home but a short time he came out and met me in the yard, after
I had put the horse up that he had been using, and wanted to know what I
had done. Before I could think of any serious fault he picked up a stick
four feet long and began to fire away at me with all his force, crying
out, “What have you been doing?” I told him I had done nothing, and he
exclaimed. “You are a liar!” He told me to go to the cellar and he would
see. Though a slave, and his property, yet I dared to assert the lion of
my manhood that he had aroused in me, and I replied, “I will not do it!”
then he renewed the attack with the stick. I caught hold of it to
prevent him from using it. He wrung and I twisted; he twisted and I
wrung. At last I lost control of my temper and pushed him over a pile of
wood that was in the yard. As he fell he cried out for Mary, his wife,
to bring him his gun. Before she arrived with the deadly instrument I
was over one fence and across the street. As I ascended the second fence
to find refuge in the field he aimed his gun, firing three shots at me.
The first shot grazed my head, removing a little hair; the second
touched my ear, and the third passed through my hat; but they did not
stop me from running. On reaching the mulberry thicket, where I thought
I was safe, I stopped. I was ignorant of what I had so seriously done to
cause all this. I remained here all that night.
At last Sunday morning dawned and found me hiding from the fierce anger
of a man who would soon be making his way to church; but I could not go.
I had no one to speak to but God. Alone, yet not alone. My thoughts may
be somewhat surmised when I inform my readers of the sacred relationship
of the man who had just attempted to take my life. He was a local
preacher in the Methodist Church, and considered one of its most pious
and consistent members. His religious fervor was so great that he could
not content himself with his own church, but also identified his name
with the colored Methodist Church of which I was a member. He would
frequently attend our meetings, jump, shout and sing, like the rest of
us. He was the leader of my class, my spiritual adviser and counsellor
in the time of trouble. Now, by his merciless treatment, I am driven
from the shelter of his home. What could I think of him? How could I
judge of his religious profession? How could I receive his religious
instructions? The more I thought of him this day the more my confidence
in him grew weaker. He was my master, and by the inhuman law of slavery
I was his property and must obey his mandates. During the day my
hiding-place was discovered by a fellow-slave who brought me food, which
removed a portion of sorrow from my wounded breast. In this affliction I
found, as in former instances, that by turning my heart towards God, He
would take care of me and provide for my wants. The Sabbath day drearily
passed away, and night found me still among the mulberry bushes to spend
a second night without shelter, bed or covering.
On Monday morning my _pious master_ told one of the slave hands if he
saw me to tell me to “come home!” When I received the message I
immediately returned. On my arrival I met the would-be murderer, and he
wanted to know “why I acted so; why I threw the meat to the dog?” In an
instant the cause of Saturday’s conflict and Sunday’s sorrow came to my
mind. Refusing to eat rotten beef and casting it to the dog had brought
down his vengeance on my much-defenceless head. The secret was revealed.
Miss Wallace had witnessed the act, taking it as a great insult to
herself. To use his own expression: “It was an insult to Miss Wallace,
for she had sent it out to the kitchen.” I replied that I did not know
it was an insult, I did not mean to insult her, and she did not know how
bad it smelled. He abruptly told me to go to work and he would see about
it. So we parted; he to counsel other methods of punishment or revenge,
and I to my work on the farm. At this season we were busily engaged
hauling lime to the farm. We completed this job in three weeks, then we
had to gather in the corn and tread out some wheat. The treading was
done by horses in what was called the “treading yard.” It was about the
middle of November when this portion of our annual work was completed.
The first important job that was assigned to Will (for my master always
called me by that name), after finishing the farm work, was to take the
horse and cart, with a note, and go to Mr. H. Wallace’s for a barrel of
turkeys and geese that were to be sent to Baltimore, Md. During all this
time I had not heard anything about the spoiled meat trouble. I
concluded it had all passed by, and to me almost forgotten. My
conception of the trickery of mankind were very small at that time. If I
had known the contents of the note, and what kind of poultry I was sent
after, I would no doubt have been tempted to have resorted to my
mulberry home, or some other more distant, but I did not. I had more
lessons to learn. At two o’clock I started on my errand. The distance by
the public road was ten miles, and it would be some time before I could
return. I was acquainted with a road that would take me directly there,
by crossing lands belonging to other persons, and the distance would not
be more than three miles; so in order to economize time for the boss I
took that route. This way I knew would bring me in contact with a creek
a little below Mr. W’s house. He always kept a boat on this creek, so
that persons coming to or going from his house by that way could be
ferried across by one of the slaves. The horse and cart were secured; I
gave the signal and was soon safely landed on the other side. I inquired
for the master of the mansion, and was directed to the treading yard. I
soon found him, and delivered to him in person my trust and the message
for the featherless and lifeless birds that were never to be seen. He
gave me a pitchfork, telling me to shake up that straw, he would give me
what I wanted pretty soon. I always endeavored to obey orders, so I
complied by going to work with a good will pitching straw. I worked on,
expecting every moment to receive the answer to my errand, but still it
did not come. As it began to grow dark I became apprehensive that
something was wrong. Finally, I told Mr. Wallace that I must be going
home as I had work to do; would he please give me the turkeys and geese?
He, to my great astonishment, struck me with his pitchfork with so much
force that he broke it over my shoulders.
At this sudden change of affairs I suddenly started on the run, with he
and his son after me like hounds in full chase after the fleeing fox. My
safety depended upon my agile movements. My active feet did me good
service and soon left my pursuers far behind. My impulsive thought was
to flee directly home and secure the protection of him whom I was
compelled to call master. Alas! alas! I was placing my trust in one who
was betraying me, who was deceiving me; and soon I was to discover the
blackness of his heart toward me. The vigorous efforts of the maddened
foe pressed on me so great that the road for home had to be abandoned,
and I had to flee to the dense woods for refuge. They were safely
reached, and I could once more breathe easily. Here I remained till
after midnight, when I thought I could venture out and try to find my
way home. The great wonder was, how could I succeed. I knew Mr. W.
always kept his boats in such a manner that I could get one and row
across the creek; but then came the dread that they might be watching
that means of escape and would capture me. That route had to be
abandoned and another found. Blinded with grief and darkness I started
up the creek in search of some shallow place where I might walk across.
On I walked till at last I halted at a spot that I thought would do. The
stream here was narrow; in I ventured. Step after step brought me into
deeper water. Suddenly I found that I was beyond my depth. I could not
swim, I could not go back. The scenes of death were before me. There was
no one near by to call upon to save me. In the midst of my dilemma I
remembered the Lord; upon Him with my whole heart I did call. If ever I
prayed in my life I did this time. Soon my eyes became dim, my mind
bewildered, and consciousness had departed from me. How long I remained
in the water after that I know not. When consciousness returned I found
myself safely resting on the opposite shore, wet and cold. My escape was
miraculous, and I attributed it all to God.
Once more on terra firma I started for home, arriving there about four
o’clock in the morning. I found that the horse and cart had arrived home
during the night, having been brought there by one of Mr. Wallace’s men.
Next morning my boss met me when I was coming from the barn. He informed
me that “Mr. W. was going to whip me for being impudent to his daughter
in throwing that meat to the dog, and I had better have stayed and got
it and had it over.” I told him that I belonged to him, and if he wanted
to do it I would submit—I did not want anybody else to do it. He bade
me take off the wet clothes and put on the hearse clothes. I did so, and
was quickly on my way with the hearse to the shop.
Though I was but a poor, despised slave, having no rights that I could
call my own, even to the refusal of such food that I could not eat, yet
I possessed that principle of true manhood to despise deceit in my
employers. Here I found a man who had told me from time to time how to
serve God, how to live right, and now had proved to be a base deceiver
and a falsifier. Instead of the note asking for turkeys and geese, it
was to whip me for what they deemed impudence. Could I believe him
hereafter? Could I trust him any more? No! he had told me a lie. My
confidence in him was gone, and my feelings towards him were changed.
Was I happy or contented? No! for I did not know how soon another trap
would be set for me to fall into the hands of my enemies. This uncertain
state of mind was my daily, but yet unpleasant, companion. Its duration
was uncertain. I would have felt somewhat at ease if the boss had
inflicted this punishment, but he would not do it.
On December 15 Mr. Mansfield sent me down to the wharf to Jim Frisby, to
get his scow, and proceed up to Mr. Wallace’s and get ten cords of
hickory wood. I was told to take another man with me. As I had to enter
within the bounds of Wallace’s estate again, I concluded to prepare
myself for emergencies and a hasty retreat. I had come to know the
trickery of the man I was dealing with and was determined to disappoint
him. Jim Frisby was an old colored man who owned the scow, and he owned,
besides, a small boat—just what was needed, and served my purpose
admirably. While arranging for the scow I also bargained for the boat,
taking care not to divulge my secret to any one. About ten o’clock we
started on our journey. The distance was but five miles, the tide was
running in our favor, and we were soon at our journey’s end. We found
the wood piled up on the shore ready for us. We began to load up the
scow, but night came on us so fast that we could not finish. We took our
lunch into the small boat and rowed to the other side of the creek, and
sought out an old barn that I had frequently seen in that neighborhood,
where we rested for the night. Being tired after our day’s work we soon
sought sweet sleep for our weary bodies.
Next morning we were both up by daylight and resumed our work, and by
nine o’clock we were ready to return with our load of wood. My readers
must not suppose that my eyes were idle while working here. My hands
were working to serve Mansfield, and my eyes were working or watching to
serve Will, _alias_ Isaac. I knew my man, and I felt he was on the watch
and only waiting for a chance to pounce down upon me. As we were
preparing to start I looked up the road and saw Mr. W. coming towards
the scow. I remarked to my fellow-workman that he was coming and there
would be trouble for me. On he came with his silver-headed stick in
hand. He drew near and jumped on board the scow, and I very deliberately
stepped into Jim Frisby’s little boat and struck out for the opposite
shore. He was so sorely disappointed at his second defeat, that he took
a keen aim at my head with his stick; but oh! he missed me and off I
went. He tried another plan by sending two of his men in another boat
after me, with instructions to bring me back dead or alive. I out-rowed
them and jumped ashore with paddle in hand. I was making for a place of
safety, but before I could secure myself they had overtaken me. Then a
desperate struggle took place. They rushed for me. I dodged, threatening
them to stand back or I would kill them. Still they tried to carry out
the demand of the tyrant. In my struggles I looked on them as men in
slavish bondage like myself, and executors of a master’s will. They
fought to obey him, I fought to save my body from bruises, and for aught
I know, my life from sacrifice. Finding words of persuasion and threat
of no avail, I brought my weapon down with full strength and true aim on
the head of one of the attacking party, when he fell to the ground like
a log. The other fellow ran off and left me to make good my flight from
the avenger—not of blood, but of pretended impudence to his
presumptuous daughter.
To return to the boat was impossible. To render assistance in carrying
home the scow was out of the question. The way to Chestertown by land
was the most convenient. As I drew near the house who did I see ride
into the yard from a different direction but my mortal enemy, Mr. H.
Wallace. He failed to see me, so I at once made a hasty retreat. To have
gone nearer the house would have been as bad, if not worse, than staying
on board the scow and having the unmerciful thrashing that was laid out
for me. Moved by the impulse of the moment I turned around, made my way
into the meadows and secured a position where I could see when he left
the premises. These remarkable escapes from his hands were, to me, great
miracles. I had formed a resolution that he should not beat me, and was
determined to disappoint him at every attempt. He was aided by my
cunning master, but I had no one to help me. Thus far success attended
the resolve, and I make bold to assert that God helped me in
emergencies. Mr. Wallace lingered around the house for some time,
thinking I would come home. A watchful eye was kept on the path he must
take on leaving the house. The moment for his departure came at last,
and my heavy heart was lightened when I saw his retreating footsteps
making their way homeward. I forsook my hiding-place and went home. To
my great astonishment I learned that the scow with her load of wood was
at the wharf, Mr. W. had sent one of his hands to assist in bringing it
home. Shortly after I entered the yard I met Mr. Mansfield. His look and
manner of speech indicated that something was wrong. He ordered me to go
to the wharf immediately and “pitch the wood off the scow,” he was
afraid it would sink, “and get it home pretty quick!” Off I went, as
usual, wondering what could be up now. My utmost endeavor was always to
try and please him.
In the evening his son came to me, looking sad, and appeared anxious to
say something. I was then working in the barn, and it was a convenient
place for a kind of private interview, for no one at the house could see
us. He informed me that his Uncle Wallace had that day urged his father
to sell me to him, promising to give his boy, George, who was twenty-two
years old, and $300 into the bargain. His father, after a little
persuasion, had agreed to do so, though he did not want to part with me
till after the second day of January next. At that time the papers were
to be made out and signed. I gained further information from him
concerning my future destiny—arranged by those ungenerous
slave-holders. His uncle, H. Wallace, had a nephew living in New
Orleans, a slave owner; he had a supply about once a year, and the time
having arrived for a batch to be sent on I found I was to form one of
the number, January being the month allotted for the transportation. By
their unjust treatment they had forced me to form plans to make my
escape from slavery. To New Orleans I did not intend to go if I could
prevent it. These tidings caused me to devise means to put into
execution an immediate flight. Whatever I was to do must be done at
once. Christmas was drawing near, and New Year’s was soon to follow; if
alive, then my fate would be determined, and Wallace and Will had to
decide that. Mr. Mansfield had put me out of his reach by making the
bargain to sell.
_CHAPTER III._
ESCAPE FROM SLAVERY.
On the following Saturday night, after hearing this news, I hired a
horse from an old colored man, Jim Willmer, for a bushel of oats. These
were waste oats that I had saved from time to time from the horse’s
feed. That night I rode to George Town Cross Oats, the place of my
nativity. I went in search of a colored man by the name of Joe Brown,
arriving at his house about eleven o’clock that night. He had not gone
to bed but was smoking his pipe; his wife had retired for the night, so
everything was favorable as the business was highly important and only
required two to discuss it at this time. I had known him ever since I
was a boy, and he appeared kindly disposed toward me, so there was no
feeling of scrupulousness in telling him what I intended and wanted. I
related all my troubles to him, and finally told him that I wanted to
get away and that he must assist me. He listened attentively to my
statement and wishes, then he asked how many there were of us. I told
him I thought I could bring two more with me. He arranged that I was to
come to his house a week from that night, and if there were three to
bring along with us nine dollars, and if we stood by him he would stand
by us, landing us safely in Philadelphia. The coming Thursday from this
night would be Christmas day, consequently the day of meeting would be
in Christmas week during the holidays, when slaves are generally allowed
to visit their friends for one or two days. Our business being over I
left Joe Brown to enjoy his pipe a little longer and then retire to take
his rest, while I joined the company of Jim Willmer’s horse. There was
not much time to linger on the road to meditate on the future. My
faithful horse, moved by instinctiveness, made light of his burden and
soon covered the distance between the two places. About two o’clock
Sunday morning the horse was in the barn and I on my master’s premises.
Nobody knew that I had been from home, much less out of the city.