took the train for Richmond, Virginia. I have
stated that the American railway carriages (or cars,
as they are called), are constructed differently to
those in England. At one end of some of them, in
the South, there is a little apartment with a couch
on both sides for the convenience of families and
invalids; and as they thought my master was
very poorly, he was allowed to enter one of these
apartments at Petersburg, Virginia, where an old
gentleman and two handsome young ladies, his
daughters, also got in, and took seats in the same
carriage. But before the train started, the gentle-
man stepped into my car, and questioned me respect-
ing my master. He wished to know what was the
matter with him, where he was from, and where he
was going. I told him where he came from, and
said that he was suffering from a complication of
complaints, and was going to Philadelphia, where
he thought he could get more suitable advice than
in Georgia.
The gentleman said my master could obtain the
very best advice in Philadelphia. Which turned
out to be quite correct, though he did not receive
it from physicians, but from kind abolitionists who
understood his case much better. The gentleman
also said, "I reckon your master's father hasn't any
more such faithful and smart boys as you." "O,
yes, sir, he has," I replied, "lots on 'em." Which
was literally true. This seemed all he wished to
know. He thanked me, gave me a ten-cent piece,
and requested me to be attentive to my good
master. I promised that I would do so, and have
ever since endeavoured to keep my pledge. During
the gentleman's absence, the ladies and my master
had a little cosy chat. But on his return, he said,
"You seem to be very much afflicted, sir." "Yes,
sir," replied the gentleman in the poultices.
"What seems to be the matter with you, sir; may
I be allowed to ask?" "Inflammatory rheumatism,
sir." "Oh! that is very bad, sir," said the kind
gentleman: "I can sympathise with you; for I know
from bitter experience what the rheumatism is."
If he did, he knew a good deal more than Mr.
Johnson.
The gentleman thought my master would feel
better if he would lie down and rest himself; and as
he was anxious to avoid conversation, he at once
acted upon this suggestion. The ladies politely
rose, took their extra shawls, and made a nice
pillow for the invalid's head. My master wore a
fashionable cloth cloak, which they took and covered
him comfortably on the couch. After he had been
lying a little while the ladies, I suppose, thought
he was asleep; so one of them gave a long sigh, and
said, in a quiet fascinating tone, "Papa, he seems to
be a very nice young gentleman." But before papa
could speak, the other lady quickly said, "Oh!
dear me, I never felt so much for a gentleman in
my life!" To use an American expression, "they
fell in love with the wrong chap."
After my master had been lying a little while he
got up, the gentleman assisted him in getting on
his cloak, the ladies took their shawls, and soon
they were all seated. They then insisted upon Mr.
Johnson taking some of their refreshments, which
of course he did, out of courtesy to the ladies.
All went on enjoying themselves until they reached
Richmond, where the ladies and their father left
the train. But, before doing so, the good old
Virginian gentleman, who appeared to be much
pleased with my master, presented him with a
recipe, which he said was a perfect cure for the
inflammatory rheumatism. But the invalid not
being able to read it, and fearing he should hold it
upside down in pretending to do so, thanked the
donor kindly, and placed it in his waistcoat pocket.
My master's new friend also gave him his card, and
requested him the next time he travelled that way
to do him the kindness to call; adding, "I shall be
pleased to see you, and so will my daughters."
Mr. Johnson expressed his gratitude for the prof-
fered hospitality, and said he should feel glad to
call on his return. I have not the slightest doubt
that he will fulfil the promise whenever that return
takes place. After changing trains we went on a
little beyond Fredericksburg, and took a steamer
to Washington.
At Richmond, a stout elderly lady, whose whole
demeanour indicated that she belonged (as Mrs.
Stowe's Aunt Chloe expresses it) to one of the
"firstest families," stepped into the carriage, and
took a seat near my master. Seeing me passing
quickly along the platform, she sprang up as if
taken by a fit, and exclaimed, "Bless my soul!
there goes my nigger, Ned!"
My master said, "No; that is my boy."
The lady paid no attention to this; she poked
her head out of the window, and bawled to me,
"You Ned, come to me, sir, you runaway rascal!"
On my looking round she drew her head in, and
said to my master, "I beg your pardon, sir, I was
sure it was my nigger; I never in my life saw two
black pigs more alike than your boy and my
Ned."
After the disappointed lady had resumed her
seat, and the train had moved off, she closed her
eyes, slightly raising her hands, and in a sanctified
tone said to my master, "Oh! I hope, sir, your
boy will not turn out to be so worthless as my Ned
has. Oh! I was as kind to him as if he had been
my own son. Oh! sir, it grieves me very much to
think that after all I did for him he should go off
without having any cause whatever."
"When did he leave you?" asked Mr. Johnson.
"About eighteen months ago, and I have never
seen hair or hide of him since."
"Did he have a wife?" enquired a very respect-
able-looking young gentleman, who was sitting near
my master and opposite to the lady.
"No, sir; not when he left, though he did have
one a little before that. She was very unlike him;
she was as good and as faithful a nigger as any one
need wish to have. But, poor thing! she became
so ill, that she was unable to do much work; so I
thought it would be best to sell her, to go to New
Orleans, where the climate is nice and warm."
"I suppose she was very glad to go South for the
restoration of her health?" said the gentleman.
"No; she was not," replied the lady, "for
niggers never know what is best for them. She
took on a great deal about leaving Ned and the
little nigger; but, as she was so weakly, I let her
go."
"Was she good-looking?" asked the young pas-
senger, who was evidently not of the same opinion
as the talkative lady, and therefore wished her to
tell all she knew.
"Yes; she was very handsome, and much whiter
than I am; and therefore will have no trouble in
getting another husband. I am sure I wish her
well. I asked the speculator who bought her to
sell her to a good master. Poor thing! she has my
prayers, and I know she prays for me. She was a
good Christian, and always used to pray for my
soul. It was through her earliest prayers," con-
tinued the lady, "that I was first led to seek for-
giveness of my sins, before I was converted at the
great camp-meeting."
This caused the lady to snuffle and to draw from
her pocket a richly embroidered handkerchief, and
apply it to the corner of her eyes. But my master
could not see that it was at all soiled.
The silence which prevailed for a few moments
was broken by the gentleman's saying, "As your
'July' was such a very good girl, and had served
you so faithfully before she lost her health, don't
you think it would have been better to have eman-
cipated her?"
"No, indeed I do not!" scornfully exclaimed
the lady, as she impatiently crammed the fine
handkerchief into a little work-bag. "I have no
patience with people who set niggers at liberty. It
is the very worst thing you can do for them. My
dear husband just before he died willed all his
niggers free. But I and all our friends knew very
well that he was too good a man to have ever
thought of doing such an unkind and foolish thing,
had he been in his right mind, and, therefore we
had the will altered as it should have been in the
first place."
"Did you mean, madam," asked my master,
"that willing the slaves free was unjust to yourself,
or unkind to them?"
"I mean that it was decidedly unkind to the
servants themselves. It always seems to me such
a cruel thing to turn niggers loose to shift for
themselves, when there are so many good masters
to take care of them. As for myself," continued
the considerate lady, "I thank the Lord my dear
husband left me and my son well provided for.
Therefore I care nothing for the niggers, on my
own account, for they are a great deal more trouble
than they are worth, I sometimes wish that there
was not one of them in the world; for the un-
grateful wretches are always running away. I have
lost no less than ten since my poor husband died.
It's ruinous, sir!"
"But as you are well provided for, I suppose you
do not feel the loss very much," said the pas-
senger.
"I don't feel it at all," haughtily continued the
good soul; "but that is no reason why property
should be squandered. If my son and myself had
the money for those valuable niggers, just see what a
great deal of good we could do for the poor, and in
sending missionaries abroad to the poor heathen,
who have never heard the name of our blessed Re-
deemer. My dear son who is a good Christian minis-
ter has advised me not to worry and send my soul
to hell for the sake of niggers; but to sell every
blessed one of them for what they will fetch, and go
and live in peace with him in New York. This I
have concluded to do. I have just been to Rich-
mond and made arrangements with my agent to
make clean work of the forty that are left."
"Your son being a good Christian minister,"
said the gentleman, "It's strange he did not advise
you to let the poor negroes have their liberty and
go North."
"It's not at all strange, sir; it's not at all
strange. My son knows what's best for the nig-
gers; he has always told me that they were much
better off than the free niggers in the North. In
fact, I don't believe there are any white labouring
people in the world who are as well off as the
slaves."
"You are quite mistaken, madam," said the
young man. "For instance, my own widowed
mother, before she died, emancipated all her slaves,
and sent them to Ohio, where they are getting
along well. I saw several of them last summer
myself."
"Well," replied the lady, "freedom may do for
your ma's niggers, but it will never do for mine;
and, plague them, they shall never have it; that is
the word, with the bark on it."
"If freedom will not do for your slaves," replied
the passenger, "I have no doubt your Ned and
the other nine negroes will find out their mistake,
and return to their old home.
"Blast them!" exclaimed the old lady, with
great emphasis, "if I ever get them, I will cook
their infernal hash, and tan their accursed black
hides well for them! God forgive me," added the
old soul, "the niggers will make me lose all my
religion!"
By this time the lady had reached her destination.
The gentleman got out at the next station beyond.
As soon as she was gone, the young Southerner
said to my master, "What a d----d shame it is for
that old whining hypocritical humbug to cheat
the poor negroes out of their liberty! If she has
religion, may the devil prevent me from ever being
converted!"
For the purpose of somewhat disguising myself,
I bought and wore a very good second-hand white
beaver, an article which I had never indulged in
before. So just before we arrived at Washington,
an uncouth planter, who had been watching me
very closely, said to my master, "I reckon, stranger,
you are 'SPILING' that ere nigger of yourn, by letting
him wear such a devilish fine hat. Just look at the
quality on it; the President couldn't wear a better.
I should just like to go and kick it overboard."
His friend touched him, and said, "Don't speak so
to a gentleman." "Why not?" exclaimed the fellow.
He grated his short teeth, which appeared to be
nearly worn away by the incessant chewing of
tobacco, and said, "It always makes me itch all
over, from head to toe, to get hold of every d----d
nigger I see dressed like a white man. Washington
is run away with SPILED and free niggers. If I had
my way I would sell every d----d rascal of 'em way
down South, where the devil would be whipped out
on 'em."
This man's fierce manner made my master feel
rather nervous, and therefore he thought the less
he said the better; so he walked off without
making any reply. In a few minutes we were
landed at Washington, where we took a conveyance
and hurried off to the train for Baltimore.
We left our cottage on Wednesday morning, the
21st of December, 1848, and arrived at Baltimore,
Saturday evening, the 24th (Christmas Eve).
Baltimore was the last slave port of any note at
which we stopped.
On arriving there we felt more anxious than
ever, because we knew not what that last dark
night would bring forth. It is true we were near
the goal, but our poor hearts were still as if tossed
at sea; and, as there was another great and dangerous
bar to pass, we were afraid our liberties would be
wrecked, and, like the ill-fated Royal Charter, go
down for ever just off the place we longed to reach.
They are particularly watchful at Baltimore to
prevent slaves from escaping into Pennsylvania,
which is a free State. After I had seen my master
into one of the best carriages, and was just about
to step into mine, an officer, a full-blooded Yankee
of the lower order, saw me. He came quickly up,
and, tapping me on the shoulder, said in his un-
mistakable native twang, together with no little dis-
play of his authority, "Where are you going, boy?"
"To Philadelphia, sir," I humbly replied. "Well,
what are you going there for?" "I am travelling
with my master, who is in the next carriage, sir."
"Well, I calculate you had better get him out; and
be mighty quick about it, because the train will
soon be starting. It is against my rules to let any
man take a slave past here, unless he can satisfy
them in the office that he has a right to take him
along."
The officer then passed on and left me standing
upon the platform, with my anxious heart apparently
palpitating in the throat. At first I scarcely knew
which way to turn. But it soon occurred to me
that the good God, who had been with us thus far,
would not forsake us at the eleventh hour. So
with renewed hope I stepped into my master's
carriage, to inform him of the difficulty. I found
him sitting at the farther end, quite alone. As soon
as he looked up and saw me, he smiled. I also tried
to wear a cheerful countenance, in order to break
the shock of the sad news. I knew what made him
smile. He was aware that if we were fortunate we
should reach our destination at five o'clock the next
morning, and this made it the more painful to com-
municate what the officer had said; but, as there
was no time to lose, I went up to him and asked
him how he felt. He said "Much better," and that
he thanked God we were getting on so nicely.
I then said we were not getting on quite so well
as we had anticipated. He anxiously and quickly
asked what was the matter. I told him. He
started as if struck by lightning, and exclaimed,
"Good Heavens! William, is it possible that we
are, after all, doomed to hopeless bondage?" I
could say nothing, my heart was too full to speak,
for at first I did not know what to do. However
we knew it would never do to turn back to the
"City of Destruction," like Bunyan's Mistrust and
Timorous, because they saw lions in the narrow
way after ascending the hill Difficulty; but press
on, like noble Christian and Hopeful, to the great
city in which dwelt a few "shining ones." So, after
a few moments, I did all I could to encourage my
companion, and we stepped out and made for the
office; but how or where my master obtained
sufficient courage to face the tyrants who had
power to blast all we held dear, heaven only
knows! Queen Elizabeth could not have been
more terror-stricken, on being forced to land at
the traitors' gate leading to the Tower, than we
were on entering that office. We felt that our
very existence was at stake, and that we must
either sink or swim. But, as God was our present
and mighty helper in this as well as in all former
trials, we were able to keep our heads up and press
forwards.
On entering the room we found the principal
man, to whom my master said, "Do you wish to
see me, sir?" "Yes," said this eagle-eyed officer;
and he added, "It is against our rules, sir, to allow
any person to take a slave out of Baltimore into
Philadelphia, unless he can satisfy us that he has a
right to take him along." "Why is that?" asked
my master, with more firmness than could be
expected. "Because, sir," continued he, in a voice
and manner that almost chilled our blood, "if we
should suffer any gentleman to take a slave past
here into Philadelphia; and should the gentleman
with whom the slave might be travelling turn out
not to be his rightful owner; and should the proper
master come and prove that his slave escaped on
our road, we shall have him to pay for; and,
therefore, we cannot let any slave pass here without
receiving security to show, and to satisfy us, that it
is all right."
This conversation attracted the attention of the
large number of bustling passengers. After the
officer had finished, a few of them said, "Chit, chit,
chit;" not because they thought we were slaves
endeavouring to escape, but merely because they
thought my master was a slaveholder and invalid
gentleman, and therefore it was wrong to detain
him. The officer, observing that the passengers
sympathised with my master, asked him if he was
not acquainted with some gentleman in Baltimore
that he could get to endorse for him, to show that
I was his property, and that he had a right to take
me off. He said, "No;" and added, "I bought
tickets in Charleston to pass us through to Phila-
delphia, and therefore you have no right to detain
us here." "Well, sir," said the man, indignantly,
"right or no right, we shan't let you go." These
sharp words fell upon our anxious hearts like the
crack of doom, and made us feel that hope only
smiles to deceive.
For a few moments perfect silence prevailed. My
master looked at me, and I at him, but neither of
us dared to speak a word, for fear of making some
blunder that would tend to our detection. We
knew that the officers had power to throw us into
prison, and if they had done so we must have been
detected and driven back, like the vilest felons, to
a life of slavery, which we dreaded far more than
sudden death.
We felt as though we had come into deep waters
and were about being overwhelmed, and that the
slightest mistake would clip asunder the last brittle
thread of hope by which we were suspended, and
let us down for ever into the dark and horrible
pit of misery and degradation from which we were
straining every nerve to escape. While our hearts
were crying lustily unto Him who is ever ready and
able to save, the conductor of the train that we had
just left stepped in. The officer asked if we came
by the train with him from Washington; he said
we did, and left the room. Just then the bell rang
for the train to leave; and had it been the sudden
shock of an earthquake it could not have given
us a greater thrill. The sound of the bell caused
every eye to flash with apparent interest, and to
be more steadily fixed upon us than before. But,
as God would have it, the officer all at once thrust
his fingers through his hair, and in a state of great
agitation said, "I really don't know what to do; I
calculate it is all right." He then told the clerk
to run and tell the conductor to "let this gentleman
and slave pass;" adding, "As he is not well, it is
a pity to stop him here. We will let him go."
My master thanked him, and stepped out and
hobbled across the platform as quickly as pos-
sible. I tumbled him unceremoniously into one of
the best carriages, and leaped into mine just as
the train was gliding off towards our happy desti-
nation.
We thought of this plan about four days before
we left Macon; and as we had our daily employ-
ment to attend to, we only saw each other at night.
So we sat up the four long nights talking over the
plan and making preparations.
We had also been four days on the journey;
and as we travelled night and day, we got but
very limited opportunities for sleeping. I believe
nothing in the world could have kept us awake so
long but the intense excitement, produced by the
fear of being retaken on the one hand, and the
bright anticipation of liberty on the other.
We left Baltimore about eight o'clock in the
evening; and not being aware of a stopping-
place of any consequence between there and Phila-
delphia, and also knowing that if we were fortu-
nate we should be in the latter place early the
next morning, I thought I might indulge in a
few minutes' sleep in the car; but I, like Bunyan's
Christian in the arbour, went to sleep at the wrong
time, and took too long a nap. So, when the train
reached Havre de Grace, all the first-class pas-
sengers had to get out of the carriages and into
a ferry-boat, to be ferried across the Susquehanna
river, and take the train on the opposite side.
The road was constructed so as to be raised or
lowered to suit the tide. So they rolled the luggage-
vans on to the boat, and off on the other side; and
as I was in one of the apartments adjoining a bag-
gage-car, they considered it unnecessary to awaken
me, and tumbled me over with the luggage. But
when my master was asked to leave his seat, he found
it very dark, and cold, and raining. He missed me
for the first time on the journey. On all previous
occasions, as soon as the train stopped, I was at
hand to assist him. This caused many slaveholders
to praise me very much: they said they had never
before seen a slave so attentive to his master: and
therefore my absence filled him with terror and
confusion; the children of Israel could not have
felt more troubled on arriving at the Red Sea.
So he asked the conductor if he had seen anything
of his slave. The man being somewhat of an abo-
litionist, and believing that my master was really
a slaveholder, thought he would tease him a little
respecting me. So he said, "No, sir; I haven't
seen anything of him for some time: I have no
doubt he has run away, and is in Philadelphia, free,
long before now." My master knew that there
was nothing in this; so he asked the conductor if
he would please to see if he could find me. The
man indignantly replied, "I am no slave-hunter;
and as far as I am concerned everybody must look
after their own niggers." He went off and left
the confused invalid to fancy whatever he felt in-
clined. My master at first thought I must have
been kidnapped into slavery by some one, or left,
or perhaps killed on the train. He also thought
of stopping to see if he could hear anything of me,
but he soon remembered that he had no money.
That night all the money we had was consigned to
my own pocket, because we thought, in case there
were any pickpockets about, a slave's pocket would
be the last one they would look for. However,
hoping to meet me some day in a land of liberty,
and as he had the tickets, he thought it best
upon the whole to enter the boat and come off to
Philadelphia, and endeavour to make his way alone
in this cold and hollow world as best he could.
The time was now up, so he went on board and
came across with feelings that can be better
imagined than described.
After the train had got fairly on the way to
Philadelphia, the guard came into my car and gave
me a violent shake, and bawled out at the same time,
"Boy, wake up!" I started, almost frightened out
of my wits. He said, "Your master is scared half
to death about you." That frightened me still
more--I thought they had found him out; so I
anxiously inquired what was the matter. The
guard said, "He thinks you have run away from
him." This made me feel quite at ease. I said,
"No, sir; I am satisfied my good master doesn't
think that." So off I started to see him. He had
been fearfully nervous, but on seeing me he at once
felt much better. He merely wished to know what
had become of me.
On returning to my seat, I found the conductor
and two or three other persons amusing themselves
very much respecting my running away. So the
guard said, "Boy, what did your master want?"*
I replied, "He merely wished to know what had
become of me." "No," said the man, "that was
not it; he thought you had taken French leave,
for parts unknown. I never saw a fellow so badly
scared about losing his slave in my life. Now,"
continued the guard, "let me give you a little
friendly advice. When you get to Philadelphia,
run away and leave that cripple, and have your
liberty." "No, sir," I indifferently replied, "I
can't promise to do that." "Why not?" said the
* I may state here that every man slave is called boy till he
is very old, then the more respectable slaveholders call him
uncle. The women are all girls till they are aged, then they
are called aunts. This is the reason why Mrs. Stowe calls her
characters Uncle Tom, Aunt Chloe, Uncle Tiff, &c.
conductor, evidently much surprised; "don't you
want your liberty?" "Yes, sir," I replied; "but
I shall never run away from such a good master as
I have at present."
One of the men said to the guard, "Let him
alone; I guess he will open his eyes when he gets
to Philadelphia, and see things in another light."
After giving me a good deal of information, which
I afterwards found to be very useful, they left me
alone.