GEORGE GREEN,
OR CONSTANCY REWARDED.
[The circumstances of the following narrative were partially written up
when secured by the author.]
“Do you believe you can succeed, George? It is a great undertaking.”
“If we can not succeed, Mary, we can try. This servitude is worse than
death.”
“But our master is very good.”
“Yes, master is good and kind, and no harm shall come to him. But no
master is as good as freedom.”
“But then the whites have all the power on their side.”
“The whites, Mary! Who are whiter than we—than you and I? You the slave
of your own father; I sold from my mother’s arms that my features might
not bring disgrace upon a man of position. White folks, indeed!”
“True, George, our lot is a wretched one, but then as you love me, and
as master and mistress are so kind, would it not be better to remain
quiet, lest we, too, are separated, and all our hopes for life
blighted?”
“We are taking a great risk, Mary, but Nat says we can not fail. I
sometimes fear that we shall and I know the consequences, and will meet
them like a man, for I know you will love me still, Mary.”
“Yes, George, but the love of a poor helpless slave girl can not
compensate you for what you may have to endure, perhaps for life
itself.”
“Mary, dear as you are to me, liberty for us both or death in attempting
to secure it, will be a far greater boon, coupled with your love, than
to share that love, however fervent, through a life-long servitude.”
“But, George, don’t you remember how often you have heard master and his
guests talk about those strange people, Poles and Greeks they call them,
and how they have struggled for freedom, only mostly to make their
condition worse?”
“Yes, Mary, and I have heard them tell how they would like to go and
help them fight for their liberty. Then I have heard master tell how his
own father fought in the war he calls the Revolution, and didn’t the
Judge say in his speech last Independence that that is the day, above
all others, which proclaims that ‘all men are created free and equal?’
Am I not a man, and should I not be equal to any one who calls himself
master and me slave? No, Mary, the die is cast and six hundred
slaves—no, men—will strike for freedom on these plantations in less than
a week. But there is the horn, and I must go.”
The above conversation took place in the home of a Virginia planter more
than sixty years ago. The parties were young, less than twenty; both
white, both slaves, for the peculiar institution by no means attached
itself to the sable African alone. The fettered were of every hue, from
that of ebon blackness to the purest Caucassian white. Slavery knew no
sacred ties, but only the bonds of lust. Hence this strange gradation of
color, for as the master acknowledged nothing more than a conventional
marriage, so he held out no encouragement to the slave women to be
virtuous and chaste. The girl Mary was, indeed, the daughter of Mr.
Green, her master, and George the son of a high government official, his
mother being a servant in the Washington hotel where the official
boarded. The boy looked so akin to his father that he was early sold to
a slave dealer that the scandal might be hushed. From this dealer he was
purchased by Mr. Green, who was indeed a kind-hearted man and treated
his slaves with great consideration.
Both being house servants, and thrown much together, an earnest
attachment sprang up between them. This was by no means discouraged by
master or mistress. Though they could neither read nor write, their
natural aptness and constant association with family and guests soon
imparted to them a good degree of culture and general information.
The cause of the conversation above referred to was the revelation to
Mary by her lover of a plot on the part of about six hundred slaves of
the county of Southampton to rise in rebellion and obtain their freedom.
From any participation in it she would gladly have dissuaded him, though
in perfect sympathy with his feelings, but the proud Anglo-Saxon blood
and spirit of George were fully enlisted in the undertaking, and when
“Nat Turner’s Insurrection” broke upon the astonished planters there was
no braver man in its ranks than George. But six hundred slaves,
imperfectly armed as they were, could make but little headway. They were
soon defeated. Those who were not captured fled to the Dismal Swamp.
Here ordered to surrender, they challenged their pursuers. A furious
struggle ensued between the owners and their human chattels, men and
women. They were hunted with bloodhounds, and many who were caught were
tortured even unto death. Not until the United States troops were called
in, was their forlorn hope, struggling for freedom, entirely vanquished.
Among the last to surrender was George. He was tried before a civil
court and condemned to be hanged. Ten days only were to elapse before
the carrying out of the sentence.
Being a member of a Christian church, Mary sought and obtained, through
the influence of her mistress, with whom George had been an especial
favorite, permission to visit him in the jail and administer the
consolation of religion. Seated by his side but four days before the day
of execution, she said:
“George, you made an effort for freedom against my wish, now will you
make another, one in which I fully accord?”
“For me there is no hope. Whilst it is hard to part from you, I am not
afraid to die.”
“If you are hanged, we must be separated, if you escape it can be no
more.”
“Escape! how?”
“Well, listen. You shall exchange clothes with me. Then at my accustomed
time of leaving you shall depart, and I will remain in your place. They
will not harm me, and so nearly are we of a size, and so close the
general resemblance, that you will have no difficulty in passing the
guard. Once without the gate, you can easily escape to the woods, the
mountains, to a land of liberty. May be——”
“Never can I consent to this. These miserable men would wreak their
vengeance on you.”
“Never fear for me, and may be when you are safe in Canada you can
provide for my coming to you.”
“If it were possible, but—”
The turnkey gave the signal for departure, and Mary arose and left.
During the next day she carefully prepared a package of provisions and
hid it in a secluded place. The day was dark and gloomy, portending a
storm. Just at evening she presented herself at the prison door and was
readily admitted. Once beside her lover, she again importuned him to
make an effort to escape. At last he consented. It was but the work of a
moment to exchange clothing, to impart the necessary instructions with
regard to the provisions, to pledge one another to eternal constancy,
when the door opened and the harsh voice of the keeper exclaimed, “Come,
Miss, it is time for you to go.”
It was now storming furiously. Weeping and with a handkerchief applied
to his face, as was Mary’s custom when leaving, George passed out and
the door immediately closed upon the innocent inmate of the cell.
It was now dark, so that our hero in his new dress had no fear of
detection. The provisions were sought and found, and poor George was
soon on the road to Canada. But neither he nor Mary had thought of a
change of dress for him when he should have escaped, and he walked but a
short distance before he felt that a change of his apparel would
facilitate his progress. But he dared not go among even his colored
associates, for fear of being betrayed. However, he made the best of his
way on towards Canada, hiding in the woods by day and traveling by the
guidance of the pole star at night.
One morning George arrived on the banks of the Ohio river, and found his
journey had terminated unless he could get some one to take him across
in a secret manner, for he would not be permitted to cross in any of the
ferry boats. He concealed himself in tall grass and weeds near the river
to see if he could not secure an opportunity to cross. He had been in
his hiding place but a short time, when he observed a man in a small
boat, floating near the shore, evidently fishing. His first impulse was
to call out to the man and ask him to take him across the river to the
Ohio shore, but the fear that he was a slaveholder or one who might
possibly arrest him deterred him from it. The man after rowing and
floating about for some time, fastened the boat to the root of a tree,
and started to a farm house not far distant. This was George’s
opportunity, and he seized it. Running down the bank, he unfastened the
boat and jumped in, and with all the expertness of one accustomed to a
boat, rowed across the river and landed safely on free soil.
Being now in a free state, he thought he might with perfect safety
travel on towards Canada. He had, however, gone but a few miles, when he
discovered two men on horseback coming behind him. He felt sure that
they could not be in pursuit of him, yet he did not wish to be seen by
them, so he turned into another road leading to a house near by. The men
followed, and were but a short distance from George, when he ran up to a
farm house, before which was standing a farmer-looking man, in a
broad-brimmed hat and straight-collared coat, whom he implored to save
him from the “slave catchers.” The farmer told him to go into the barn
near by; he entered by the front door, the farmer following and closing
the door behind George, but remaining outside, gave directions to his
hired man as to what should be done with him. The slaveholders had by
this time dismounted, and were in front of the barn demanding
admittance, and charging the farmer with secreting their slave woman,
for George was still in the dress of a woman. The Friend, for the farmer
proved to be a member of the Society of Quakers, told the slave-owners
that if they wished to search his barn, they must first get an officer
and a search warrant. While the parties were disputing, the farmer began
nailing up the front door, and the hired man served the back door the
same way. The slaveholders, finding that they could not prevail on the
Friend to allow them to get the slave, determined to go in search of an
officer. One was left to see that the slave did not escape from the
barn, while the other went off at full speed to Mt. Pleasant, the
nearest town.
George was not the slave of either of these men, nor were they in
pursuit of him, but they had lost a woman who had been seen in that
vicinity, and when they saw poor George in the disguise of a female, and
attempting to elude pursuit, they felt sure they were close upon their
victim. However, if they had caught him, although he was not their slave
they would have taken him back and placed him in jail, and there he
would have remained until his owner arrived.
After an absence of nearly two hours, the slave-owner returned with an
officer, and found the Friend still driving large nails into the door.
In a triumphant tone, and with a corresponding gesture, he handed the
search warrant to the Friend, and said:
“There, sir, now I will see if he can’t get my Nigger.”
“Well,” said the Friend, “thou hast gone to work according to law, and
thou canst now go into my barn.”
“Lend me your hammer that I may get the door open,” said the
slaveholder.
“Let me see the warrant again.” And after reading it over once more, he
said, “I see nothing in this paper which says I must supply thee with
tools to open my door; if thou wishest to go in thou must get a hammer
elsewhere.”
The sheriff said: “I will go to a neighboring farm and borrow something
which will introduce us to Miss Dinah;” and he immediately went off in
search of tools.
In a short time the officer returned, and they commenced an assault and
battery upon the barn door, which soon yielded; and in went the
slaveholder and officer, and began turning up the hay and using all
other means to find the lost property; but, to their astonishment, the
slave was not there. After all hopes of getting Dinah were gone, the
slave-owner, in a rage, said to the Friend:
“My Nigger is not here.”
“I did not tell thee there was anyone here.”
“Yes, but I saw her go in, and you shut the door behind her, and if she
wa’nt in the barn what did you nail the door for?”
“Can not I do what I please with my own barn door? Now I will tell thee.
Thou need trouble thyself no more, for the person thou art after entered
the front door and went out the back door, and is a long way from here
by this time. Thou and thy friend must be somewhat fatigued by this
time; won’t thee go in and take a little dinner with me?”
We need not say that this cool invitation of the good Quaker was not
accepted by the slaveholders.
George in the meantime had been taken to a Friend’s dwelling some miles
away, where, after laying aside his female attire, and being snugly
dressed up in a straight-collared coat, and pantaloons to match, he was
again put on the right road towards Canada.
His passage through Ohio, by the way of Canfield and Warren, was
uneventful, but at Bloomfield he was detained several days on account of
the presence of some slave hunters from his own state, and who had a
description of him among others. In this town is a great marsh or swamp
of several thousand acres, at the time of our story all undrained. In
the center of this swamp, Mr. Brown, the owner, had erected a small hut,
one of the very first special stations built on the Underground
Railroad. To this secluded retreat George was taken, and there remained
until the departure of his enemies, when he was safely conveyed to
Ashtabula Harbor, whence he was given free passage, by the veteran
agent, Hubbard, of the Mystic Line in Canada. Arriving at St.
Catharines, he began to work upon the farm of Colonel Strut, and also
attended a night school, where he showed great proficiency in acquiring
the rudiments of an education.
Once beginning to earn money, George did not forget his promise to use
all means in his power to get Mary out of slavery. He, therefore,
labored with all his might to obtain money with which to employ some one
to go back to Virginia for Mary. After nearly six month’s labor at St.
Catharines, he employed an English missionary to go and see if the girl
could be purchased, and at what price. The missionary went accordingly,
but returned with the sad intelligence that on account of Mary’s aiding
George to escape, the court had compelled Mr. Green to sell her out of
the State, and she had been sold to a Negro-trader and taken to the New
Orleans market. As all hope of getting the girl was now gone, George
resolved to quit the American continent forever. He immediately took
passage in a vessel laden with timber, bound for Liverpool, and in five
weeks from the time he was standing on a quay of the great English
seaport. With little education, he found many difficulties in the way of
getting a respectable living. However, he obtained a situation as porter
in a large house in Manchester, where he worked during the day, and took
private lessons at night. In this way he labored for three years, and
was then raised to the position of clerk. George was so white as easily
to pass for Caucassian, and being somewhat ashamed of his African
descent, he never once mentioned the fact of his having been a slave. He
soon became a partner in the firm that employed him, and was now on the
road to wealth.
In the year 1842, just ten years after, George Green, for so he called
himself, arrived in England, he visited France, and spent some days at
Dunkirk.
It was towards sunset, on a warm day in the month of October, that Mr.
Green, after strolling some distance from the Hotel de Leon, entered a
burial ground and wandered long alone among the silent dead, gazing upon
the many green graves and marble tombstones of those who once moved on
the theatre of busy life, and whose sounds of gayety once fell upon the
ear of man. All nature was hushed in silence, and seemed to partake of
the general melancholy which hung over the quiet resting-place of
departed mortals. After tracing the varied inscriptions which told the
characters or conditions of the departed, and viewing the mounds beneath
which the dust of mortality slumbered, he had reached a secluded spot,
near to where an aged weeping willow bowed its thick foliage to the
ground, as though anxious to hide from the scrutinizing gaze of
curiosity the grave beneath it. Mr. Green seated himself upon a marble
tomb, and began to read Roscoe’s Leo X., a copy of which he had under
his arm. It was then about twilight, and he had scarcely read half a
page, when he observed a lady dressed in black, and leading a boy some
five years old up one of the paths; and as the lady’s black veil was
over her face, he felt somewhat at liberty to eye her more closely.
While looking at her, the lady gave a scream and appeared to be in a
fainting position, when Mr. Green sprang from his seat in time to save
her from falling to the ground. At this moment an elderly gentleman was
seen approaching with a rapid step, who, from his appearance, was
evidently the lady’s father, or one intimately connected with her. He
came up, and in a confused manner asked what was the matter. Mr. Green
explained as well as he could. After taking up the smelling bottle,
which had fallen from her hand, and holding it a short time to her face,
she soon began to revive. During all this time the lady’s veil had so
covered her face that Mr. Green had not seen it. When she had so far
recovered as to be able to raise her head, she again screamed, and fell
back in the arms of the old man. It now appeared quite certain that
either the countenance of George Green, or some other object, was the
cause of these fits of fainting; and the old gentleman, thinking it was
the former, in rather a petulant tone, said, “I will thank you, sir, if
you will leave us alone.” The child whom the lady was leading had now
set up a squall; and amid the death-like appearance of the lady, the
harsh look of the old man, and the cries of the boy, Mr. Green left the
grounds and returned to his hotel.
Whilst seated by the window, and looking out upon the crowded street,
with every now and then the strange scene in the grave-yard vividly
before him, Mr. Green thought of the book he had been reading, and
remembering that he had left it on the tomb, where he had suddenly
dropped it when called to the assistance of the lady, he immediately
determined to return in search of it. After a walk of some twenty
minutes, he was again over the spot where he had been an hour before,
and from where he had been so uncermoniously expelled by the old man. He
looked in vain for the book; it was nowhere to be found; nothing save
the bouquet which the lady had dropped, and which lay half buried in the
grass from having been trodden upon, indicated that any one had been
there that evening. Mr. Green took up the bunch of flowers, and again
returned to the hotel.
After passing a sleepless night, and hearing the clock strike six, he
dropped into a sweet sleep, from which he did not awake until roused by
the rap of a servant, who, entering the room, handed him a note which
ran as follows:—
“Sir: I owe an apology for the inconvenience to which you were
subjected last evening, and if you will honor us with your presence
to dinner to-day at four o’clock, I shall be most happy to give you
due satisfaction. My servant will be in waiting for you at half-past
three.
I am, sir, your obedient servant,
J. DEVENANT.
October 23.”
To George Green, Esq.
The servant who handed this note to Mr. Green informed him that the
bearer was waiting for a reply. He immediately resolved to accept the
invitation, and replied accordingly. Who this person was, and how his
name and hotel where he was stopping had been found out, was indeed a
mystery. However, he waited somewhat impatiently for the hour when he
was to see his new acquaintance, and get the mysterious meeting in the
grave-yard solved.
The clock on the neighboring church had scarcely ceased striking three,
when the servant announced that a carriage had called for Mr. Green. In
less than half an hour he was seated in a most sumptuous barouche, drawn
by two beautiful iron grays, and rolling along over a splendid gravel
road, completely shaded by large trees which appeared to have been the
accumulated growth of centuries. The carriage soon stopped in front of a
low villa, and this too was imbedded in magnificent trees covered with
moss. Mr. Green alighted and was shown into a superb drawing-room, the
walls of which were hung with fine specimens from the hands of the great
Italian painters, and one by a German artist representing a beautiful
monkish legend connected with “The Holy Catharine,” an illustrious lady
of Alexandra. The furniture had an antique and dignified appearance.
High-backed chairs stood around the room; a venerable mirror stood on
the mantle shelf; rich curtains of crimson damask hung in folds at
either side of the large windows; and a rich Turkish carpet covered the
floor. In the center stood a table covered with books, in the midst of
which was an old-fashioned vase filled with fresh flowers, whose
fragrance was exceedingly pleasant. A faint light, together with the
quietness of the hour, gave a beauty, beyond description, to the whole
scene.
Mr. Green had scarcely seated himself upon the sofa, when the elderly
gentleman whom he had met the previous evening made his appearance,
followed by the little boy, and introduced himself as Mr. Devenant. A
moment more, and a lady—a beautiful brunette—dressed in black, with long
curls of a chestnut color hanging down her cheeks, entered the room. Her
eyes were of a dark hazel, and her whole appearance indicated that she
was a native of a southern clime. The door at which she entered was
opposite to where the two gentlemen were seated. They immediately arose;
and Mr. Devenant was in the act of introducing her to Mr. Green, when he
observed that the latter had sunk back upon the sofa, and the last word
that he remembered to have heard was, “It is she.” After this all was
dark and dreary; how long he remained in this condition it was for
another to tell. When he awoke he found himself stretched upon the sofa
with his boots off, his neckerchief removed, shirt-collar unbuttoned,
and his head resting upon a pillow. By his side sat the old man, with
the smelling bottle in one hand, and a glass of water in the other, and
the little boy standing at the foot of the sofa. As soon as Mr. Green
had so far recovered as to be able to speak, he said:
“Where am I, and what does this mean?”
“Wait awhile,” replied the old man, “and I will tell you all.”
After a lapse of some ten minutes he rose from the sofa, adjusted his
apparel, and said:
“I am now ready to hear anything you have to say.”
“You were born in America?” said the old man.
“Yes,” he replied.
“And you were acquainted with a girl named Mary?” continued the old man.
“Yes, and I loved her as I can love none other.”
“That lady whom you met so mysteriously last evening is Mary,” replied
Mr. Devenant.
George Green was silent, but the fountains of mingled grief and joy
stole out from beneath his eyelashes, and glistened like pearls upon his
pale and marble-like cheeks. At this juncture the lady again entered the
room. Mr. Green sprang from the sofa, and they fell into each other’s
arms, to the surprise of the old man and little George, and to the
amusement of the servants, who had crept up one by one, and were hidden
behind the doors or loitering in the hall. When they had given vent to
their feelings, they resumed their seats, and each in turn related the
adventures through which they had passed.
“How did you find out my name and address?” asked Mr. Green.
“After you had left us in the grave-yard, our little George said, ‘O,
mamma, if there ain’t a book!’ and picked it up and brought it to us.
Papa opened it, and said, ‘The gentleman’s name is written in it, and
here is a card of the Hotel de Leon, where I suppose he is stopping.’
Papa wished to leave the book, and said it was all a fancy of mine that
I had ever seen you before, but I was perfectly convinced that you were
my own George Green. Are you married?”
“No, I am not.”
“Then, thank God!” exclaimed Mrs. Devenant, for such her name.
The old man, who had been silent all this time, said:
“Now, sir, I must apologize for the trouble you were put to last
evening.”
“And are you single now?” asked Mr. Green, addressing the lady.
“Yes,” she replied.
“This is indeed the Lord’s doings,” said Mr. Green, at the same time
bursting into a flood of tears.
Although Mr. Devenant was past the age when men should think upon
matrimonial subjects, yet this scene brought vividly before his eyes the
days when he was a young man, and had a wife living, and he thought it
was time to call their attention to dinner, which was then waiting. We
need scarcely add that Mr. Green and Mrs. Devenant did very little
towards diminishing the dinner that day.
After dinner the lovers (for such we have to call them) gave their
experience from the time that George Green left the jail, dressed in
Mary’s clothes. Up to that time Mr. Green’s was substantially as we have
related it. Mrs. Devenant’s was as follows:
“The night after you left the prison,” she said, “I did not shut my eyes
in sleep. The next morning, about eight o’clock, Peter, the gardener,
came to the jail to see if I had been there the night before, and was
informed that I had left a little after dark. About an hour after, Mr.
Green came himself, and I need not say that he was much surprised on
finding me there, dressed in your clothes. This was the first tidings
they had of your escape.”
“What did Mr. Green say when he found that I had fled?”
“O,” continued Mrs. Devenant, “he said to me when no one was near, ‘I
hope George will get off, but I fear you will have to suffer in his
stead.’ I told him that if it must be so I was willing to die if you
could live.”
At this moment George Green burst into tears, threw his arms around her
neck, and exclaimed, “I am glad I have waited so long, with the hope of
meeting you again.”
Mrs. Devenant again resumed her story: “I was kept in jail three days,
during which time I was visited by the magistrates and two of the
judges. On the third day I was taken out, and master told me that I was
liberated upon condition that I be immediately sent out of the State.
There happened to be, just at that time, in the neighborhood, a
Negro-trader, and he purchased me and I was taken to New Orleans. On the
steamboat we were kept in a close room where slaves are usually
confined, so that I saw nothing of the passengers on board, or the towns
we passed. We arrived at New Orleans, and were all put in the slave
market for sale. I was examined by many persons, but none seemed willing
to purchase me; as all thought me too white, and said I would run away
and pass as a white woman. On the second day, while in the slave market,
and while planters and others were examining slaves and making their
purchases, I observed a tall young man with long black hair eyeing me
very closely, and then talking to the trader. I felt sure that my time
had now come, but the day closed without my being sold. I did not regret
this, for I had heard that foreigners made the worst of masters, and I
felt confident that the man who eyed me so closely was not an American.
“The next day was the Sabbath. The bells called the people to the
different places of worship. Methodists sang, and Baptists immersed, and
Presbyterians sprinkled, and Episcopalians read their prayers, while the
ministers of the various sects preached that Christ died for all; yet
there were some twenty-five or thirty of us poor creatures confined in
the ‘Negro-Pen,’ awaiting the close of the holy Sabbath and the dawn of
another day, to be again taken into the market, there to be examined
like so many beasts of burden. I need not tell you with what anxiety we
waited for the advent of another day. On Monday we were again brought
out, and placed in rows to be inspected; and, fortunately for me, I was
sold before we had been on the stand an hour. I was purchased by a
gentleman residing in the city, for a waiting-maid for his wife, who was
just on the eve of starting for Mobile, to pay a visit to a near
relative. I was dressed to suit the situation of a maid-servant; and,
upon the whole, I thought that in my new dress I looked as much the lady
as my mistress.
“On the passage to Mobile, who should I see, among the passengers, but
the tall, long-haired man that had eyed me so closely in the slave
market a few day before. His eyes were again on me, and he appeared
anxious to speak to me, and I as reluctant to be spoken to. The first
evening after leaving New Orleans, soon after twilight had let her
curtain down, while I was seated on the deck of the boat, near the
ladies’ cabin, looking upon the rippled waves, and the reflection of the
moon upon the sea, all at once I saw the tall young man standing by my
side. I immediately arose from my seat, and was in the act of returning
to the cabin, when he in broken accent said:
“‘Stop a moment; I wish to have a word with you. I am your friend.’
“I stopped and looked him full in the face, and he said, ‘I saw you some
days since in the slave market, and I intended to have purchased you to
save you from the condition of a slave. I called on Monday, but you had
been sold and had left the market. I inquired and learned who the
purchaser was, and that you had to go to Mobile, so I resolved to follow
you. If you are willing I will try and buy you from your present owner,
and you shall be free.’
“Although this was said in an honest and offhand manner, I could not
believe the man was sincere in what he said.
“‘Why should you wish to set me free?’ I asked.
“‘I had an only sister,’ he replied, ‘who died three years ago in
France, and you are so much like her that, had I not known of her death,
I would most certainly have taken you for her.’
“‘However much I may resemble your sister, you are aware that I am not
her, and why take so much interest in one whom you have never seen
before?’
“‘The love,’ said he, ‘which I had for my sister is transferred to you.’
“I had all along suspected that the man was a knave, and his profession
of love confirmed me in my former belief, and I turned away and left
him.
“The next day, while standing in the cabin and looking through the
window, the French gentleman (for such he was) came to the window, while
walking on the guards, and again commenced as on the previous evening.
He took from his pocket a bit of paper and put it into my hand, at the
same time saying:
“‘Take this; it may some day be of service to you. Remember it is from a
friend,’ and left me instantly.
“I unfolded the paper and found it to be a $100 bank note, on the United
States Branch Bank, at Philadelphia. My first impulse was to give it to
my mistress, but upon a second thought, I resolved to seek an
opportunity, and to return the hundred dollars to the stranger.
Therefore I looked for him, but in vain; and had almost given up the
idea of seeing him again, when he passed me on the guards of the boat
and walked towards the stern of the vessel. It being nearly dark I
approached him and offered the money to him.
“He declined, saying at the same time, ‘I gave it you—keep it.’
“‘I do not want it,’ I said.
“‘Now,’ said he, ‘you had better give your consent for me to purchase
you, and you shall go with me to France.’
“‘But you cannot buy me now,’ I replied, ‘for my master is in New
Orleans, and he purchased me not to sell, but to retain in his own
family.’
“‘Would you rather remain with your present mistress than to be free?’
“‘No,’ said I.
“‘Then fly with me to-night; we shall be in Mobile in two hours from
this time, and when the passengers are going on shore, you can take my
arm, and you can escape unobserved. The trader who brought you to New
Orleans exhibited to me a certificate of your good character, and one
from the minister of the church to which you were attached in Virginia;
and upon the faith of these assurances, and the love I bear you, I
promise before high heaven that I will marry you as soon as it can be
done.’
“This solemn promise, coupled with what had already transpired, gave me
confidence in the man; and, rash as the act may seem, I determined in an
instant to go with him. My mistress had been put under the charge of the
captain; and as it would be past ten o’clock when the steamer would
land, she accepted an invitation of the captain to remain on board with
several other ladies till morning.
“I dressed myself in my best clothes, and put a veil over my face, and
was ready on the landing of the boat. Surrounded by a number of
passengers, we descended the stage leading to the wharf and were soon
lost in the crowd that thronged the quay. As we went on shore we
encountered several persons announcing the names of hotels, the starting
of boats for the interior, and vessels bound for Europe. Among these was
the ship Utica, Captain Pell, bound for Havre.
“‘Now,’ said Mr. Devenant, ‘this is our chance.’
“The ship was to sail at twelve o’clock that night, at high tide; and
following the men who were seeking passengers, we were immediately on
board. Devenant told the captain of the ship that I was his sister, and
for such we passed during the long voyage. At the hour of twelve the
Utica set sail, and we were soon out at sea.
“The morning after we left Mobile, Devenant met me as I came from my
state-room and embraced me for the first time. I loved him, but it was
only that affection which we have for one who has done us a lasting
favor; it was the love of gratitude rather than that of the heart. We
were five weeks on the sea, and yet the passage did not seem long, for
Devenant was so kind. On our arrival at Havre, we were married and came
to Dunkirk, and I have resided here ever since.”
At the close of this narrative, the clock struck ten, when the old man,
who was accustomed to retire at an early hour, rose to take leave,
saying at the same time:
“I hope you will remain with us to-night.”
Mr. Green would fain have excused himself, on the ground that they would
expect him and wait at the hotel, but a look from the lady told him to
accept the invitation. The old man was the father of Mrs. Devenant’s
deceased husband, as you will no doubt long since have supposed.
A fortnight from the day on which they met in the grave-yard Mr. Green
and Mrs. Devenant were joined in holy wedlock; so that George and Mary,
who had loved each other so ardently in their younger days, were now
husband and wife.
A celebrated writer has justly said of women: “A woman’s whole life is a
history of affections. The heart is her world; it is there her ambition
strives for empire; it is there her avarice seeks for hidden treasures.
She sends forth her sympathies on adventure; she embarks her whole soul
in the traffic of affection; and if shipwrecked, her case is hopeless,
for it is bankruptcy of the heart.”
Mary had every reason to believe that she would never see George again;
and although she confessed that the love she bore him was never
transferred to her first husband, we can scarcely find fault with her
for marrying Mr. Devenant. But the adherence of George Green to the
resolution never to marry, unless to his Mary, is, indeed, a rare
instance of the fidelity of man in the matter of love. We can but blush
for our country’s shame, when we call to mind the fact, that while
George and Mary Green, and numbers of other fugitives from American
slavery, could receive protection from any of the governments of Europe,
they could not in safety return to their own land until countless
treasure, untold suffering and anguish, and the life blood of half a
million men, had been paid as the price of the bondman’s chain.