THE FLIGHT.
It was the Sabbath: the holy day which God in his infinite wisdom gave for
the rest of both man and beast. In the state of Maryland, the slaves
generally have the Sabbath, except in those districts where the evil weed,
tobacco, is cultivated; and then, when it is the season for setting the
plant, they are liable to be robbed of this only rest.
It was in the month of November, somewhat past the middle of the month. It
was a bright day, and all was quiet. Most of the slaves were resting about
their quarters; others had leave to visit their friends on other
plantations, and were absent. The evening previous I had arranged my
little bundle of clothing, and had secreted it at some distance from the
house. I had spent most of the forenoon in my workshop, engaged in deep
and solemn thought.
It is impossible for me now to recollect all the perplexing thoughts that
passed through my mind during that forenoon; it was a day of heartaching
to me. But I distinctly remember the two great difficulties that stood in
the way of my flight: I had a father and mother whom I dearly loved,--I
had also six sisters and four brothers on the plantation. The question
was, shall I hide my purpose from them? moreover, how will my flight
affect them when I am gone? Will they not be suspected? Will not the whole
family be sold off as a disaffected family, as is generally the case when
one of its members flies? But a still more trying question was, how can I
expect to succeed, I have no knowledge of distance or direction. I know
that Pennsylvania is a free state, but I know not where its soil begins,
or where that of Maryland ends? Indeed, at this time there was no safety
in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, or New York, for a fugitive, except in
lurking-places, or under the care of judicious friends, who could be
entrusted not only with liberty, but also with life itself.
With such difficulties before my mind, the day had rapidly worn away; and
it was just past noon. One of my perplexing questions I had settled--I had
resolved to let no one into my secret; but the other difficulty was now to
be met. It was to be met without the least knowledge of its magnitude,
except by imagination. Yet of one thing there could be no mistake, that
the consequences of a failure would be most serious. Within my
recollection no one had attempted to escape from my master; but I had many
cases in my mind's eye, of slaves of other planters who had failed, and
who had been made examples of the most cruel treatment, by flogging and
selling to the far South, where they were never to see their friends more.
I was not without serious apprehension that such would be my fate. The
bare possibility was impressively solemn; but the hour was now come, and
the man must act and be free, or remain a slave for ever. How the
impression came to be upon my mind I cannot tell; but there was a strange
and horrifying belief, that if I did not meet the crisis that day, I
should be self-doomed--that my ear would be nailed to the door-post for
ever. The emotions of that moment I cannot fully depict. Hope, fear,
dread, terror, love, sorrow, and deep melancholy were mingled in my mind
together; my mental state was one of most painful distraction. When I
looked at my numerous family--a beloved father and mother, eleven brothers
and sisters, &c.; but when I looked at slavery as such; when I looked at
it in its mildest form, with all its annoyances; and above all, when I
remembered that one of the chief annoyances of slavery, in the most mild
form, is the liability of being at any moment sold into the worst form; it
seemed that no consideration, not even that of life itself, could tempt me
to give up the thought of flight. And then when I considered the
difficulties of the way--the reward that would be offered--the human
blood-hounds that would be set upon my track--the weariness--the
hunger--the gloomy thought, of not only losing all one's friends in one
day, but of having to seek and to make new friends in a strange world.
But, as I have said, the hour was come, and the man must act, or for ever
be a slave.
It was now two o'clock. I stepped into the quarter; there was a strange
and melancholy silence mingled with the destitution that was apparent in
every part of the house. The only morsel I could see in the shape of food,
was a piece of Indian flour bread, it might be half-a-pound in weight.
This I placed in my pocket, and giving a last look at the aspect of the
house, and at a few small children who were playing at the door, I sallied
forth thoughtfully and melancholy, and after crossing the barn-yard, a few
moments' walk brought me to a small cave, near the mouth of which lay a
pile of stones, and into which I had deposited my clothes. From this, my
course lay through thick and heavy woods and back lands to ---- town,
where my brother lived. This town was six miles distance. It was now near
three o'clock, but my object was neither to be seen on the road, or to
approach the town by daylight, as I was well-known there, and as any
intelligence of my having been seen there would at once put the pursuers
on my track. This first six miles of my flight, I not only travelled very
slowly, therefore, so as to avoid carrying any daylight to this town; but
during this walk another very perplexing question was agitating my mind.
Shall I call on my brother as I pass through, and shew him what I am
about? My brother was older than I, we were much attached; I had been in
the habit of looking to him for counsel.
I entered the town about dark, resolved, all things in view, _not_ to shew
myself to my brother. Having passed through the town without being
recognised, I now found myself under cover of night, a solitary wanderer
from home and friends; my only guide was the _north star_, by this I knew
my general course northward, but at what point I should strike Penn, or
when and where I should find a friend, I knew not. Another feeling now
occupied my mind,--I felt like a mariner who has gotten his ship outside
of the harbour and has spread his sails to the breeze. The cargo is on
board--the ship is cleared--and the voyage I must make; besides, this
being my first night, almost every thing will depend upon my clearing the
coast before the day dawns. In order to do this my flight must be rapid. I
therefore set forth in sorrowful earnest, only now and then I was cheered
by the _wild_ hope, that I should somewhere and at sometime be free.
The night was fine for the season, and passed on with little interruption
for want of strength, until, about three o'clock in the morning, I began
to feel the chilling effects of the dew.
At this moment, gloom and melancholy again spread through my whole soul.
The prospect of utter destitution which threatened me was more than I
could bear, and my heart began to melt. What substance is there in a piece
of dry Indian bread; what nourishment is there in it to warm the nerves of
one already chilled to the heart? Will this afford a sufficient sustenance
after the toil of the night? But while these thoughts were agitating my
mind, the day dawned upon me, in the midst of an open extent of country,
where the only shelter I could find, without risking my travel by
daylight, was a corn shock, but a few hundred yards from the road, and
here I must pass my first day out. The day was an unhappy one; my
hiding-place was extremely precarious. I had to sit in a squatting
position the whole day, without the least chance to rest. But, besides
this, my scanty pittance did not afford me that nourishment which my hard
night's travel needed. Night came again to my relief, and I sallied forth
to pursue my journey. By this time, not a crumb of my crust remained, and
I was hungry and began to feel the desperation of distress.
As I travelled I felt my strength failing and my spirits wavered; my mind
was in a deep and melancholy dream. It was cloudy; I could not see my
star, and had serious misgivings about my course.
In this way the night passed away, and just at the dawn of day I found a
few sour apples, and took my shelter under the arch of a small bridge that
crossed the road. Here I passed the second day in ambush.
This day would have been more pleasant than the previous, but the sour
apples, and a draught of cold water, had produced anything but a
favourable effect; indeed, I suffered most of the day with severe symptoms
of cramp. The day passed away again without any further incident, and as I
set out at nightfall, I felt quite satisfied that I could not pass another
twenty-four hours without nourishment. I made but little progress during
the night, and often sat down, and slept frequently fifteen or twenty
minutes. At the dawn of the third day I continued my travel. As I had
found my way to a public turnpike road during the night, I came very early
in the morning to a toll-gate, where the only person I saw, was a lad
about twelve years of age. I inquired of him where the road led to. He
informed me it led to Baltimore. I asked him the distance, he said it was
eighteen miles.
This intelligence was perfectly astounding to me. My master lived eighty
miles from Baltimore. I was now sixty-two miles from home. That distance
in the right direction, would have placed me several miles across Mason
and Dixon's line, but I was evidently yet in the state of Maryland.
I ventured to ask the lad at the gate another question--Which is the best
way to Philadelphia? Said he, you can take a road which turns off about
half-a-mile below this, and goes to Getsburgh, or you can go on to
Baltimore and take the packet.
I made no reply, but my thought was, that I was as near Baltimore and
Baltimore-packets as would answer my purpose.
In a few moments I came to the road to which the lad had referred, and
felt some relief when I had gotten out of that great public highway, "The
National Turnpike," which I found it to be.
When I had walked a mile on this road, and when it had now gotten to be
about nine o'clock, I met a young man with a load of hay. He drew up his
horses, and addressed me in a very kind tone, when the following dialogue
took place between us.
"Are you travelling any distance, my friend?"
"I am on my way to Philadelphia."
"Are you free?"
"Yes, sir."
"I suppose, then, you are provided with free papers?"
"No, sir. I have no papers."
"Well, my friend, you should not travel on this road: you will be taken up
before you have gone three miles. There are men living on this road who
are constantly on the look-out for your people; and it is seldom that one
escapes them who attempts to pass by day."
He then very kindly gave me advice where to turn off the road at a certain
point, and how to find my way to a certain house, where I would meet with
an old gentleman who would further advise me whether I had better remain
till night, or go on.
I left this interesting young man; and such was my surprise and chagrin at
the thought of having so widely missed my way, and my alarm at being in
such a dangerous position, that in ten minutes I had so far forgotten his
directions as to deem it unwise to attempt to follow them, lest I should
miss my way, and get into evil hands.
I, however, left the road, and went into a small piece of wood, but not
finding a sufficient hiding-place, and it being a busy part of the day,
when persons were at work about the fields, I thought I should excite less
suspicion by keeping in the road, so I returned to the road; but the
events of the next few moments proved that I committed a serious mistake.
I went about a mile, making in all two miles from the spot where I met my
young friend, and about five miles from the toll-gate to which I have
referred, and I found myself at the twenty-four miles' stone from
Baltimore. It was now about ten o'clock in the forenoon; my strength was
greatly exhausted by reason of the want of suitable food; but the
excitement that was then going on in my mind, left me little time to think
of my _need_ of food. Under ordinary circumstances as a traveller, I
should have been glad to see the "Tavern," which was near the mile-stone;
but as the case stood with me, I deemed it a dangerous place to pass, much
less to stop at. I was therefore passing it as quietly and as rapidly as
possible, when from the lot just opposite the house, or sign-post, I heard
a coarse stern voice cry, "Halloo!"
I turned my face to the left, the direction from which the voice came, and
observed that it proceeded from a man who was digging potatoes. I answered
him politely; when the following occurred:--
"Who do _you_ belong to?"
"I am free, sir."
"Have you got papers?"
"No, sir."
"Well, you must stop here."
By this time he had got astride the fence, making his way into the road. I
said,
"My business is onward, sir, and I do not wish to stop."
"I will see then if you don't stop, you black rascal."
He was now in the middle of the road, making after me in a brisk walk.
I saw that a crisis was at hand; I had no weapons of any kind, not even a
pocket-knife; but I asked myself, shall I surrender without a struggle.
The instinctive answer was "No." What will you do? continue to walk; if he
runs after you, run; get him as far from the house as you can, then turn
suddenly and smite him on the knee with a stone; that will render him, at
least, unable to pursue you.
This was a desperate scheme, but I could think of no other, and my habits
as a blacksmith had given my eye and hand such mechanical skill, that I
felt quite sure that if I could only get a stone in my hand, and have time
to wield it, I should not miss his knee-pan.
He began to breathe short. He was evidently vexed because I did not halt,
and I felt more and more provoked at the idea of being thus pursued by a
man to whom I had not done the least injury. I had just began to glance my
eye about for a stone to grasp, when he made a tiger-like leap at me. This
of course brought us to running. At this moment he yelled out "Jake
Shouster!" and at the next moment the door of a small house standing to
the left was opened, and out jumped a shoemaker girded up in his leather
apron, with his knife in hand. He sprang forward and seized me by the
collar, while the other seized my arms behind. I was now in the grasp of
two men, either of whom were larger bodied than myself, and one of whom
was armed with a dangerous weapon.
Standing in the door of the shoemaker's shop, was a third man; and in the
potatoe lot I had passed, was still a fourth man. Thus surrounded by
superior physical force, the fortune of the day it seemed to me was gone.
My heart melted away, I sunk resistlessly into the hands of my captors,
who dragged me immediately into the tavern which was near. I ask my reader
to go in with me, and see how the case goes.
* * * * *
GREAT MORAL DILEMMA.
A few moments after I was taken into the bar-room, the news having gone as
by electricity, the house and yard were crowded with gossippers, who had
left their business to come and see "the runaway nigger." This hastily
assembled congregation consisted of men, women, and children, each one had
a look to give at, and a word to say about, the "nigger."
But among the whole, there stood one whose name I have never known, but
who evidently wore the garb of a man whose profession bound him to speak
for the dumb, but he, standing head and shoulders above all that were
round about, spoke the first hard sentence against me. Said he, "That
fellow is a runaway I know; put him in jail a few days, and you will soon
hear where he came from." And then fixing a fiend-like gaze upon me, he
continued, "if I lived on this road, _you_ fellows would not find such
clear running as you do, I'd trap more of you."
But now comes the pinch of the case, the case of conscience to me even at
this moment. Emboldened by the cruel speech just recited, my captors
enclosed me, and said, "Come now, this matter may easily be settled
without you going to jail; who do you belong to, and where did you come
from?"
The facts here demanded were in my breast. I knew according to the law of
slavery, who I belonged to and where I came from, and I must now do one of
three things--I must refuse to speak at all, or I must communicate the
fact, or I must tell an untruth. How would an untutored slave, who had
never heard of such a writer as Archdeacon Paley, be likely to act in such
a dilemma? The first point decided, was, the facts in this case are my
private property. These men have no more right to them than a highway
robber has to my purse. What will be the consequence if I put them in
possession of the facts. In forty-eight hours, I shall have received
perhaps one hundred lashes, and be on my way to the Louisiana cotton
fields. Of what service will it be to them. They will get a paltry sum of
two hundred dollars. Is not my liberty worth more to me than two hundred
dollars are to them?
I resolved therefore, to insist that I was free. This not being
satisfactory without other evidence, they tied my hands and set out, and
went to a magistrate who lived about half a mile distant. It so happened,
that when we arrived at his house he was not at home. This was to them a
disappointment, but to me it was a relief; but I soon learned by their
conversation, that there was still another magistrate in the
neighbourhood, and that they would go to him. In about twenty minutes, and
after climbing fences and jumping ditches, we, captors and captive, stood
before his door, but it was after the same manner as before--he was not at
home. By this time the day had worn away to one or two o'clock, and my
captors evidently began to feel somewhat impatient of the loss of time. We
were about a mile and a quarter from the tavern. As we set out on our
return, they began to parley. Finding it was difficult for me to get over
fences with, my hands tied, they untied me, and said, "Now John," that
being the name they had given me, "if you have run away from any one, it
would be much better for you to tell us!" but I continued to affirm that I
was free. I knew, however, that my situation was very critical, owing to
the shortness of the distance I must be from home: my advertisement might
overtake me at any moment.
On our way back to the tavern, we passed through a small skirt of wood,
where I resolved to make an effort to escape again. One of my captors was
walking on either side of me; I made a sudden turn, with my left arm
sweeping the legs of one of my captors from under him; I left him nearly
standing on his head, and took to my heels. As soon as they could recover
they both took after me. We had to mount a fence. This I did most
successfully, and making across an open field towards another wood; one of
my captors being a long-legged man, was in advance of the other, and
consequently nearing me. We had a hill to rise, and during the ascent he
gained on me. Once more I thought of self-defence. I am trying to escape
peaceably, but this man is determined that I shall not.
My case was now desperate; and I took this desperate thought: "I will run
him a little farther from his coadjutor; I will then suddenly catch a
stone, and wound him in the breast." This was my fixed purpose, and I had
arrived near the point on the top of the hill, where I expected to do the
act, when to my surprise and dismay, I saw the other side of the hill was
not only all ploughed up, but we came suddenly upon a man ploughing, who
as suddenly left his plough and cut off my flight, by seizing me by the
collar, when at the same moment my pursuer seized my arms behind. Here I
was again in a sad fix. By this time the other pursuer had come up; I was
most savagely thrown down on the ploughed ground with my face downward,
the ploughman placed his knee upon my shoulders, one of my captors put his
upon my legs, while the other tied my arms behind me. I was then dragged
up, and marched off with kicks, punches and imprecations.
We got to the tavern at three o'clock. Here they again cooled down, and
made an appeal to me to make a disclosure. I saw that my attempt to escape
strengthened their belief that I was a fugitive. I said to them, "If you
will not put me in jail, I will now tell you where I am from." They
promised. "Well," said I, "a few weeks ago, I was sold from the eastern
shore to a slave-trader, who had a large gang, and set out for Georgia,
but when he got to a town in Virginia, he was taken sick, and died with
the small-pox. Several of his gang also died with, it, so that the people
in the town became alarmed, and did not wish the gang to remain among
them. No one claimed us, or wished to have anything to do with us; I left
the rest, and thought I would go somewhere and get work."
When I said this, it was evidently believed by those who were present, and
notwithstanding the unkind feeling that had existed, there was a murmur of
approbation. At the same time I perceived that a panic began to seize
some, at the idea that I was one of a small-pox gang. Several who had
clustered near me, moved off to a respectful distance. One or two left
the bar-room, and murmured, "better let the small-pox nigger go."
I was then asked what was the name of the slave-trader. Without
premeditation, I said, "John Henderson."
"John Henderson!" said one of my captors, "I knew him; I took up a yaller
boy for him about two years ago, and got fifty dollars. He passed out with
a gang about that time, and the boy ran away from him at Frederickstown.
What kind of a man was he?"
At a venture, I gave a description of him. "Yes," said he, "that is the
man." By this time, all the gossippers had cleared the coast; our friend,
"Jake Shouster," had also gone back to his bench to finish his custom
work, after having "lost nearly the whole day, trotting about with a
nigger tied," as I heard his wife say as she called him home to his
dinner. I was now left alone with the man who first called to me in the
morning. In a sober manner, he made this proposal to me: "John, I have a
brother living in Risterstown, four miles off, who keeps a tavern; I think
you had better go and live with him, till we see what will turn up. He
wants an ostler." I at once assented to this. "Well," said he, "take
something to eat, and I will go with you."
Although I had so completely frustrated their designs for the moment, I
knew that it would by no means answer for me to go into that town, where
there were prisons, handbills, newspapers, and travellers. My intention
was, to start with him, but not to enter the town alive.
I sat down to eat; it was Wednesday, four o'clock, and this was the first
regular meal I had since Sunday morning. This over, we set out, and to my
surprise, he proposed to walk. We had gone about a mile and a-half, and
were approaching a wood through which the road passed with a bend. I fixed
upon that as the spot where I would either free myself from this man, or
die in his arms. I had resolved upon a plan of operation--it was this: to
stop short, face about, and commence action; and neither ask or give
quarters, until I was free or dead!
We had got within six rods of the spot, when a gentleman turned the
corner, meeting us on horseback. He came up, and entered into conversation
with my captor, both of them speaking in Dutch, so that I knew not what
they said. After a few moments, this gentleman addressed himself to me in
English, and I then learned that he was one of the magistrates on whom we
had called in the morning; I felt that another crisis was at hand. Using
his saddle as his bench, he put on an extremely stern and magisterial-like
face, holding up his horse not unlike a field-marshal in the act of
reviewing troops, and carried me through a most rigid examination in
reference to the statement I had made. I repeated carefully all I had
said; at the close, he said, "Well, you had better stay among us a few
months, until we see what is to be done with you." It was then agreed that
we should go back to the tavern, and there settle upon some further plan.
When we arrived at the tavern, the magistrate alighted from his horse, and
went into the bar-room. He took another close glance at me, and went over
some points of the former examination. He seemed quite satisfied of the
correctness of my statement, and made the following proposition: that I
should go and live with him for a short time, stating that he had a few
acres of corn and potatoes to get in, and that he would give me
twenty-five cents per day. I most cheerfully assented to this proposal. It
was also agreed that I should remain at the tavern with my captor that
night, and that he would accompany me in the morning. This part of the
arrangement I did not like, but of course I could not say so. Things being
thus arranged, the magistrate mounted his horse, and went on his way home.
It had been cloudy and rainy during the afternoon, but the western sky
having partially cleared at this moment, I perceived that it was near the
setting of the sun.
My captor had left his hired man most of the day to dig potatoes alone;
but the waggon being now loaded, it being time to convey the potatoes into
the barn, and the horses being all ready for that purpose, he was obliged
to go into the potatoe field and give assistance.
I should say here, that his wife had been driven away by the small-pox
panic about three o'clock, and had not yet returned; this left no one in
the house, but a boy, about nine years of age.
As he went out, he spoke to the boy in Dutch, which I supposed, from the
little fellow's conduct, to be instructions to watch me closely, which he
certainly did.
The potatoe lot was across the public road, directly in front of the
house; at the back of the house, and about 300 yards distant, there was a
thick wood. The circumstances of the case would not allow me to think for
one moment of remaining there for the night--the time had come for another
effort--but there were two serious difficulties. One was, that I must
either deceive or dispatch this boy who is watching me with intense
vigilance. I am glad to say, that the latter did not for a moment
seriously enter my mind. To deceive him effectually, I left my coat and
went to the back door, from which my course would be direct to the wood.
When I got to the door, I found that the barn, to which the waggon, must
soon come, lay just to the right, and overlooking the path I must take to
the wood. In front of me lay a garden surrounded by a picket fence, to the
left of me was a small gate, and that by passing through that gate would
throw me into an open field, and give me clear running to the wood; but on
looking through the gate, I saw that my captor, being with the team, would
see me if I attempted to start before he moved from the position he then
occupied. To add to my difficulty the horses had baulked; while waiting
for the decisive moment, the boy came to the door and asked me why I did
not come in. I told him I felt unwell, and wished him to be so kind as to
hand me a glass of water; expecting while he was gone to get it, the team
would clear, so that I could start. While he was gone, another attempt was
made to start the team but failed; he came with the water and I quickly
used it up by gargling my throat and by drinking a part. I asked him to
serve me by giving me another glass: he gave me a look of close scrutiny,
but went in for the water. I heard him fill the glass, and start to return
with it; when the hind end of the waggon cleared the corner of the house,
which stood in a range with the fence along which I was to pass in getting
to the wood. As I passed out the gate, I "squared my main yard," and laid
my course up the line of fence, I cast a last glance over my right
shoulder, and saw the boy just perch his head above the garden picket to
look after me; I heard at the same time great confusion with the team, the
rain having made the ground slippery, and the horses having to cross the
road with a slant and rise to get into the barn, it required great effort
after they started to prevent their baulking. I felt some assurance that
although the boy might give the alarm, my captor could not leave the team
until it was in the barn. I heard the horses' feet on the barn-floor, just
as I leaped the fence, and darted into the wood.
The sun was now quite down behind the western horizon, and just at this
time a heavy dark curtain of clouds was let down, which seemed to usher in
haste the night shade. I have never before or since seen anything which
seemed to me to compare in sublimity with the spreading of the night
shades at the close of that day. My reflections upon the events of that
day, and upon the close of it, since I became acquainted with the Bible,
have frequently brought to my mind that beautiful passage in the Book of
Job, "He holdeth back the face of His throne, and spreadeth a cloud before
it."
Before I proceed to the critical events and final deliverance of the next
chapter, I cannot forbear to pause a moment here for reflection. The
reader may well imagine how the events of the past day affected my mind.
You have seen what was done to me; you have heard what was said to me--you
have also seen what I have done, and heard what I have said. If you ask me
whether I had expected before I left home, to gain my liberty by shedding
men's blood, or breaking their limbs? I answer, no! and as evidence of
this, I had provided no weapon whatever; not so much as a penknife--it
never once entered my mind. I cannot say that I expected to have the ill
fortune of meeting with any human being who would attempt to impede my
flight.
If you ask me if I expected when I left home to gain my liberty by
fabrications and untruths? I answer, no! my parents, slaves as they were,
had always taught me, when they could, that "truth may be blamed but
cannot be shamed;" so far as their example was concerned, I had no habits
of untruth. I was arrested, and the demand made upon me, "Who do you
belong to?" knowing the fatal use these men would make of _my_ truth, I at
once concluded that they had no more right to it than a highwayman has to
a traveller's purse.
If you ask me whether I now really believe that I gained my liberty by
those lies? I answer, no! I now believe that I should be free, had I told
the truth; but, at that moment, I could not see any other way to baffle my
enemies, and escape their clutches.
The history of that day has never ceased to inspire me with a deeper
hatred of slavery; I never recur to it but with the most intense horror at
a system which can put a man not only in peril of liberty, limb, and life
itself, but which may even send him in haste to the bar of God with a lie
upon his lips.
Whatever my readers may think, therefore, of the history of events of the
day, do not admire in it the fabrications; but _see_ in it the impediments
that often fall into the pathway of the flying bondman. _See_ how human
bloodhounds gratuitously chase, catch, and tempt him to shed blood and
lie; how, when he would do good, evil is thrust upon him.