“Do as you tink best, poor chile,” she replied. “I’se mighty ’fraid dat
’ere nigger vill pop on you some time.”
She reported the incident to her mistress, and received orders to keep
Jenny busy in the kitchen till she could see my uncle Phillip. He told
her he would send a friend for me that very evening. She told him she
hoped I was going to the north, for it was very dangerous for me to
remain any where in the vicinity. Alas, it was not an easy thing, for
one in my situation, to go to the north. In order to leave the coast
quite clear for me, she went into the country to spend the day with her
brother, and took Jenny with her. She was afraid to come and bid me
good by, but she left a kind message with Betty. I heard her carriage
roll from the door, and I never again saw her who had so generously
befriended the poor, trembling fugitive! Though she was a slaveholder,
to this day my heart blesses her!
I had not the slightest idea where I was going. Betty brought me a suit
of sailor’s clothes,—jacket, trowsers, and tarpaulin hat. She gave me
a small bundle, saying I might need it where I was going. In cheery
tones, she exclaimed, “I’se _so_ glad you is gwine to free parts! Don’t
forget ole Betty. P’raps I’ll come ’long by and by.”
I tried to tell her how grateful I felt for all her kindness, but she
interrupted me. “I don’t want no tanks, honey. I’se glad I could help
you, and I hope de good Lord vill open de path for you. I’se gwine
wid you to de lower gate. Put your hands in your pockets, and walk
ricketty, like de sailors.”
I performed to her satisfaction. At the gate I found Peter, a young
colored man, waiting for me. I had known him for years. He had been
an apprentice to my father, and had always borne a good character. I
was not afraid to trust to him. Betty bade me a hurried good by, and
we walked off. “Take courage, Linda,” said my friend Peter. “I’ve got
a dagger, and no man shall take you from me, unless he passes over my
dead body.”
It was a long time since I had taken a walk out of doors, and the fresh
air revived me. It was also pleasant to hear a human voice speaking
to me above a whisper. I passed several people whom I knew, but they
did not recognize me in my disguise. I prayed internally that, for
Peter’s sake, as well as my own, nothing might occur to bring out his
dagger. We walked on till we came to the wharf. My aunt Nancy’s husband
was a seafaring man, and it had been deemed necessary to let him into
our secret. He took me into his boat, rowed out to a vessel not far
distant, and hoisted me on board. We three were the only occupants of
the vessel. I now ventured to ask what they proposed to do with me.
They said I was to remain on board till near dawn, and then they would
hide me in Snaky Swamp, till my uncle Phillip had prepared a place of
concealment for me. If the vessel had been bound north, it would have
been of no avail to me, for it would certainly have been searched.
About four o’clock, we were again seated in the boat, and rowed three
miles to the swamp. My fear of snakes had been increased by the
venomous bite I had received, and I dreaded to enter this hiding-place.
But I was in no situation to choose, and I gratefully accepted the best
that my poor, persecuted friends could do for me.
Peter landed first, and with a large knife cut a path through bamboos
and briers of all descriptions. He came back, took me in his arms,
and carried me to a seat made among the bamboos. Before we reached
it, we were covered with hundreds of mosquitos. In an hour’s time
they had so poisoned my flesh that I was a pitiful sight to behold.
As the light increased, I saw snake after snake crawling round us. I
had been accustomed to the sight of snakes all my life, but these were
larger than any I had ever seen. To this day I shudder when I remember
that morning. As evening approached, the number of snakes increased
so much that we were continually obliged to thrash them with sticks
to keep them from crawling over us. The bamboos were so high and so
thick that it was impossible to see beyond a very short distance.
Just before it became dark we procured a seat nearer to the entrance
of the swamp, being fearful of losing our way back to the boat. It
was not long before we heard the paddle of oars, and the low whistle,
which had been agreed upon as a signal. We made haste to enter the
boat, and were rowed back to the vessel. I passed a wretched night;
for the heat of the swamp, the mosquitos, and the constant terror of
snakes, had brought on a burning fever. I had just dropped asleep, when
they came and told me it was time to go back to that horrid swamp. I
could scarcely summon courage to rise. But even those large, venomous
snakes were less dreadful to my imagination than the white men in
that community called civilized. This time Peter took a quantity of
tobacco to burn, to keep off the mosquitos. It produced the desired
effect on them, but gave me nausea and severe headache. At dark we
returned to the vessel. I had been so sick during the day, that Peter
declared I should go home that night, if the devil himself was on
patrol. They told me a place of concealment had been provided for me
at my grandmother’s. I could not imagine how it was possible to hide
me in her house, every nook and corner of which was known to the Flint
family. They told me to wait and see. We were rowed ashore, and went
boldly through the streets, to my grandmother’s. I wore my sailor’s
clothes, and had blackened my face with charcoal. I passed several
people whom I knew. The father of my children came so near that I
brushed against his arm; but he had no idea who it was.
“You must make the most of this walk,” said my friend Peter, “for you
may not have another very soon.”
I thought his voice sounded sad. It was kind of him to conceal from me
what a dismal hole was to be my home for a long, long time.