I never could tell how we reached the wharf. My brain was all of a
whirl, and my limbs tottered under me. At an appointed place we met my
uncle Phillip, who had started before us on a different route, that
he might reach the wharf first, and give us timely warning if there
was any danger. A row-boat was in readiness. As I was about to step
in, I felt something pull me gently, and turning round I saw Benny,
looking pale and anxious. He whispered in my ear, “I’ve been peeping
into the doctor’s window, and he’s at home. Good by, mother. Don’t cry;
I’ll come.” He hastened away. I clasped the hand of my good uncle, to
whom I owed so much, and of Peter, the brave, generous friend who had
volunteered to run such terrible risks to secure my safety. To this
day I remember how his bright face beamed with joy, when he told me he
had discovered a safe method for me to escape. Yet that intelligent,
enterprising, noble-hearted man was a chattel! Liable, by the laws of a
country that calls itself civilized, to be sold with horses and pigs!
We parted in silence. Our hearts were all too full for words!
Swiftly the boat glided over the water. After a while, one of the
sailors said, “Don’t be down-hearted, madam. We will take you safely to
your husband, in ——.” At first I could not imagine what he meant; but
I had presence of mind to think that it probably referred to something
the captain had told him; so I thanked him, and said I hoped we should
have pleasant weather.
When I entered the vessel the captain came forward to meet me. He was
an elderly man, with a pleasant countenance. He showed me to a little
box of a cabin, where sat my friend Fanny. She started as if she had
seen a spectre. She gazed on me in utter astonishment, and exclaimed,
“Linda, can this be _you_? or is it your ghost?” When we were locked
in each other’s arms, my overwrought feelings could no longer be
restrained. My sobs reached the ears of the captain, who came and very
kindly reminded us, that for his safety, as well as our own, it would
be prudent for us not to attract any attention. He said that when there
was a sail in sight he wished us to keep below; but at other times, he
had no objection to our being on deck. He assured us that he would keep
a good lookout, and if we acted prudently, he thought we should be in
no danger. He had represented us as women going to meet our husbands
in ——. We thanked him, and promised to observe carefully all the
directions he gave us.
Fanny and I now talked by ourselves, low and quietly, in our little
cabin. She told me of the sufferings she had gone through in making
her escape, and of her terrors while she was concealed in her mother’s
house. Above all, she dwelt on the agony of separation from all her
children on that dreadful auction day. She could scarcely credit me,
when I told her of the place where I had passed nearly seven years.
“We have the same sorrows,” said I. “No,” replied she, “you are going
to see your children soon, and there is no hope that I shall ever even
hear from mine.”
The vessel was soon under way, but we made slow progress. The wind
was against us. I should not have cared for this, if we had been out
of sight of the town; but until there were miles of water between us
and our enemies, we were filled with constant apprehensions that the
constables would come on board. Neither could I feel quite at ease with
the captain and his men. I was an entire stranger to that class of
people, and I had heard that sailors were rough, and sometimes cruel.
We were so completely in their power, that if they were bad men, our
situation would be dreadful. Now that the captain was paid for our
passage, might he not be tempted to make more money by giving us up
to those who claimed us as property? I was naturally of a confiding
disposition, but slavery had made me suspicious of every body. Fanny
did not share my distrust of the captain or his men. She said she was
afraid at first, but she had been on board three days while the vessel
lay in the dock, and nobody had betrayed her, or treated her otherwise
than kindly.
The captain soon came to advise us to go on deck for fresh air. His
friendly and respectful manner, combined with Fanny’s testimony,
reassured me, and we went with him. He placed us in a comfortable
seat, and occasionally entered into conversation. He told us he was a
Southerner by birth, and had spent the greater part of his life in the
Slave States, and that he had recently lost a brother who traded in
slaves. “But,” said he, “it is a pitiable and degrading business, and I
always felt ashamed to acknowledge my brother in connection with it.”
As we passed Snaky Swamp, he pointed to it, and said, “There is a slave
territory that defies all the laws.” I thought of the terrible days I
had spent there, and though it was not called Dismal Swamp, it made me
feel very dismal as I looked at it.
I shall never forget that night. The balmy air of spring was so
refreshing! And how shall I describe my sensations when we were fairly
sailing on Chesapeake Bay? O, the beautiful sunshine! the exhilarating
breeze! And I could enjoy them without fear or restraint. I had never
realized what grand things air and sunlight are till I had been
deprived of them.
Ten days after we left land we were approaching Philadelphia. The
captain said we should arrive there in the night, but he thought we had
better wait till morning, and go on shore in broad daylight, as the
best way to avoid suspicion.