CLOSING INCIDENTS OF “MY LIFE AS A SLAVE”—REASONS WHY FULL PARTICULARS
OF THE MANNER OF MY ESCAPE WILL NOT BE GIVEN—CRAFTINESS AND MALICE OF
SLAVEHOLDERS—SUSPICION OF AIDING A SLAVE’S ESCAPE ABOUT AS DANGEROUS AS
POSITIVE EVIDENCE—WANT OF WISDOM SHOWN IN PUBLISHING DETAILS OF THE
ESCAPE OF THE FUGITIVES—PUBLISHED ACCOUNTS REACH THE MASTERS, NOT THE
SLAVES—SLAVEHOLDERS STIMULATED TO GREATER WATCHFULNESS—MY
CONDITION—DISCONTENT—SUSPICIONS IMPLIED BY MASTER HUGH’S MANNER, WHEN
RECEIVING MY WAGES—HIS OCCASIONAL GENEROSITY!—DIFFICULTIES IN THE WAY
OF ESCAPE—EVERY AVENUE GUARDED—PLAN TO OBTAIN MONEY—I AM ALLOWED TO
HIRE MY TIME—A GLEAM OF HOPE—ATTENDS CAMP-MEETING, WITHOUT
PERMISSION—ANGER OF MASTER HUGH THEREAT—THE RESULT—MY PLANS OF ESCAPE
ACCELERATED THERBY—THE DAY FOR MY DEPARTURE FIXED—HARASSED BY DOUBTS
AND FEARS—PAINFUL THOUGHTS OF SEPARATION FROM FRIENDS—THE ATTEMPT
MADE—ITS SUCCESS.
I will now make the kind reader acquainted with the closing incidents
of my “Life as a Slave,” having already trenched upon the limit
allotted to my “Life as a Freeman.” Before, however, proceeding with
this narration, it is, perhaps, proper that I should frankly state, in
advance, my intention to withhold a part of the(sic) connected with my
escape from slavery. There are reasons for this suppression, which I
trust the reader will deem altogether valid. It may be easily
conceived, that a full and complete statement of all facts pertaining
to the flight of a bondman, might implicate and embarrass some who may
have, wittingly or unwittingly, assisted him; and no one can wish me to
involve any man or woman who has befriended me, even in the liability
of embarrassment or trouble.
Keen is the scent of the slaveholder; like the fangs of the
rattlesnake, his malice retains its poison long; and, although it is
now nearly seventeen years since I made my escape, it is well to be
careful, in dealing with the circumstances relating to it. Were I to
give but a shadowy outline of the process adopted, with characteristic
aptitude, the crafty and malicious among the slaveholders might,
possibly, hit upon the track I pursued, and involve some one in
suspicion which, in a slave state, is about as bad as positive
evidence. The colored man, there, must not only shun evil, but shun the
very _appearance_ of evil, or be condemned as a criminal. A
slaveholding community has a peculiar taste for ferreting out offenses
against the slave system, justice there being more sensitive in its
regard for the peculiar rights of this system, than for any other
interest or institution. By stringing together a train of events and
circumstances, even if I were not very explicit, the means of escape
might be ascertained, and, possibly, those means be rendered,
thereafter, no longer available to the liberty-seeking children of
bondage I have left behind me. No antislavery man can wish me to do
anything favoring such results, and no slaveholding reader has any
right to expect the impartment of such information.
While, therefore, it would afford me pleasure, and perhaps would
materially add to the interest of my story, were I at liberty to
gratify a curiosity which I know to exist in the minds of many, as to
the manner of my escape, I must deprive myself of this pleasure, and
the curious of the gratification, which such a statement of facts would
afford. I would allow myself to suffer under the greatest imputations
that evil minded men might suggest, rather than exculpate myself by
explanation, and thereby run the hazards of closing the slightest
avenue by which a brother in suffering might clear himself of the
chains and fetters of slavery.
The practice of publishing every new invention by which a slave is
known to have escaped from slavery, has neither wisdom nor necessity to
sustain it. Had not Henry Box Brown and his friends attracted
slaveholding attention to the manner of his escape, we might have had a
thousand _Box Browns_ per annum. The singularly original plan adopted
by William and Ellen Crafts, perished with the first using, because
every slaveholder in the land was apprised of it. The _salt water
slave_ who hung in the guards of a steamer, being washed three days and
three nights—like another Jonah—by the waves of the sea, has, by the
publicity given to the circumstance, set a spy on the guards of every
steamer departing from southern ports.
I have never approved of the very public manner, in which some of our
western friends have conducted what _they_ call the _“Under-ground
Railroad,”_ but which, I think, by their open declarations, has been
made, most emphatically, the _“Upper_-ground Railroad.” Its stations
are far better known to the slaveholders than to the slaves. I honor
those good men and women for their noble daring, in willingly
subjecting themselves to persecution, by openly avowing their
participation in the escape of slaves; nevertheless, the good resulting
from such avowals, is of a very questionable character. It may kindle
an enthusiasm, very pleasant to inhale; but that is of no practical
benefit to themselves, nor to the slaves escaping. Nothing is more
evident, than that such disclosures are a positive evil to the slaves
remaining, and seeking to escape. In publishing such accounts, the
anti-slavery man addresses the slaveholder, _not the slave;_ he
stimulates the former to greater watchfulness, and adds to his
facilities for capturing his slave. We owe something to the slaves,
south of Mason and Dixon’s line, as well as to those north of it; and,
in discharging the duty of aiding the latter, on their way to freedom,
we should be careful to do nothing which would be likely to hinder the
former, in making their escape from slavery. Such is my detestation of
slavery, that I would keep the merciless slaveholder profoundly
ignorant of the means of flight adopted by the slave. He should be left
to imagine himself surrounded by myriads of invisible tormentors, ever
ready to snatch, from his infernal grasp, his trembling prey. In
pursuing his victim, let him be left to feel his way in the dark; let
shades of darkness, commensurate with his crime, shut every ray of
light from his pathway; and let him be made to feel, that, at every
step he takes, with the hellish purpose of reducing a brother man to
slavery, he is running the frightful risk of having his hot brains
dashed out by an invisible hand.
But, enough of this. I will now proceed to the statement of those
facts, connected with my escape, for which I am alone responsible, and
for which no one can be made to suffer but myself.
My condition in the year (1838) of my escape, was, comparatively, a
free and easy one, so far, at least, as the wants of the physical man
were concerned; but the reader will bear in mind, that my troubles from
the beginning, have been less physical than mental, and he will thus be
prepared to find, after what is narrated in the previous chapters, that
slave life was adding nothing to its charms for me, as I grew older,
and became better acquainted with it. The practice, from week to week,
of openly robbing me of all my earnings, kept the nature and character
of slavery constantly before me. I could be robbed by _indirection_,
but this was _too_ open and barefaced to be endured. I could see no
reason why I should, at the end of each week, pour the reward of my
honest toil into the purse of any man. The thought itself vexed me, and
the manner in which Master Hugh received my wages, vexed me more than
the original wrong. Carefully counting the money and rolling it out,
dollar by dollar, he would look me in the face, as if he would search
my heart as well as my pocket, and reproachfully ask me, “_Is that
all_?”—implying that I had, perhaps, kept back part of my wages; or, if
not so, the demand was made, possibly, to make me feel, that, after
all, I was an “unprofitable servant.” Draining me of the last cent of
my hard earnings, he would, however, occasionally—when I brought home
an extra large sum—dole out to me a sixpence or a shilling, with a
view, perhaps, of kindling up my gratitude; but this practice had the
opposite effect—it was an admission of _my right to the whole sum_. The
fact, that he gave me any part of my wages, was proof that he suspected
that I had a right _to the whole of them_. I always felt uncomfortable,
after having received anything in this way, for I feared that the
giving me a few cents, might, possibly, ease his conscience, and make
him feel himself a pretty honorable robber, after all!
Held to a strict account, and kept under a close watch—the old
suspicion of my running away not having been entirely removed—escape
from slavery, even in Baltimore, was very difficult. The railroad from
Baltimore to Philadelphia was under regulations so stringent, that even
_free_ colored travelers were almost excluded. They must have _free_
papers; they must be measured and carefully examined, before they were
allowed to enter the cars; they only went in the day time, even when so
examined. The steamboats were under regulations equally stringent. All
the great turnpikes, leading northward, were beset with kidnappers, a
class of men who watched the newspapers for advertisements for runaway
slaves, making their living by the accursed reward of slave hunting.
My discontent grew upon me, and I was on the look-out for means of
escape. With money, I could easily have managed the matter, and,
therefore, I hit upon the plan of soliciting the privilege of hiring my
time. It is quite common, in Baltimore, to allow slaves this privilege,
and it is the practice, also, in New Orleans. A slave who is considered
trustworthy, can, by paying his master a definite sum regularly, at the
end of each week, dispose of his time as he likes. It so happened that
I was not in very good odor, and I was far from being a trustworthy
slave. Nevertheless, I watched my opportunity when Master Thomas came
to Baltimore (for I was still his property, Hugh only acted as his
agent) in the spring of 1838, to purchase his spring supply of goods,
and applied to him, directly, for the much-coveted privilege of hiring
my time. This request Master Thomas unhesitatingly refused to grant;
and he charged me, with some sternness, with inventing this stratagem
to make my escape. He told me, “I could go _nowhere_ but he could catch
me; and, in the event of my running away, I might be assured he should
spare no pains in his efforts to recapture me.” He recounted, with a
good deal of eloquence, the many kind offices he had done me, and
exhorted me to be contented and obedient. “Lay out no plans for the
future,” said he. “If you behave yourself properly, I will take care of
you.” Now, kind and considerate as this offer was, it failed to soothe
me into repose. In spite of Master Thomas, and, I may say, in spite of
myself, also, I continued to think, and worse still, to think almost
exclusively about the injustice and wickedness of slavery. No effort of
mine or of his could silence this trouble-giving thought, or change my
purpose to run away.
About two months after applying to Master Thomas for the privilege of
hiring my time, I applied to Master Hugh for the same liberty,
supposing him to be unacquainted with the fact that I had made a
similar application to Master Thomas, and had been refused. My boldness
in making this request, fairly astounded him at the first. He gazed at
me in amazement. But I had many good reasons for pressing the matter;
and, after listening to them awhile, he did not absolutely refuse, but
told me he would think of it. Here, then, was a gleam of hope. Once
master of my own time, I felt sure that I could make, over and above my
obligation to him, a dollar or two every week. Some slaves have made
enough, in this way, to purchase their freedom. It is a sharp spur to
industry; and some of the most enterprising colored men in Baltimore
hire themselves in this way. After mature reflection—as I must suppose
it was Master Hugh granted me the privilege in question, on the
following terms: I was to be allowed all my time; to make all bargains
for work; to find my own employment, and to collect my own wages; and,
in return for this liberty, I was required, or obliged, to pay him
three dollars at the end of each week, and to board and clothe myself,
and buy my own calking tools. A failure in any of these particulars
would put an end to my privilege. This was a hard bargain. The wear and
tear of clothing, the losing and breaking of tools, and the expense of
board, made it necessary for me to earn at least six dollars per week,
to keep even with the world. All who are acquainted with calking, know
how uncertain and irregular that employment is. It can be done to
advantage only in dry weather, for it is useless to put wet oakum into
a seam. Rain or shine, however, work or no work, at the end of each
week the money must be forthcoming.
Master Hugh seemed to be very much pleased, for a time, with this
arrangement; and well he might be, for it was decidedly in his favor.
It relieved him of all anxiety concerning me. His money was sure. He
had armed my love of liberty with a lash and a driver, far more
efficient than any I had before known; and, while he derived all the
benefits of slaveholding by the arrangement, without its evils, I
endured all the evils of being a slave, and yet suffered all the care
and anxiety of a responsible freeman. “Nevertheless,” thought I, “it is
a valuable privilege another step in my career toward freedom.” It was
something even to be permitted to stagger under the disadvantages of
liberty, and I was determined to hold on to the newly gained footing,
by all proper industry. I was ready to work by night as well as by day;
and being in the enjoyment of excellent health, I was able not only to
meet my current expenses, but also to lay by a small sum at the end of
each week. All went on thus, from the month of May till August;
then—for reasons which will become apparent as I proceed—my much valued
liberty was wrested from me.
During the week previous to this (to me) calamitous event, I had made
arrangements with a few young friends, to accompany them, on Saturday
night, to a camp-meeting, held about twelve miles from Baltimore. On
the evening of our intended start for the camp-ground, something
occurred in the ship yard where I was at work, which detained me
unusually late, and compelled me either to disappoint my young friends,
or to neglect carrying my weekly dues to Master Hugh. Knowing that I
had the money, and could hand it to him on another day, I decided to go
to camp-meeting, and to pay him the three dollars, for the past week,
on my return. Once on the camp-ground, I was induced to remain one day
longer than I had intended, when I left home. But, as soon as I
returned, I went straight to his house on Fell street, to hand him his
(my) money. Unhappily, the fatal mistake had been committed. I found
him exceedingly angry. He exhibited all the signs of apprehension and
wrath, which a slaveholder may be surmised to exhibit on the supposed
escape of a favorite slave. “You rascal! I have a great mind to give
you a severe whipping. How dare you go out of the city without first
asking and obtaining my permission?” “Sir,” said I, “I hired my time
and paid you the price you asked for it. I did not know that it was any
part of the bargain that I should ask you when or where I should go.”
“You did not know, you rascal! You are bound to show yourself here
every Saturday night.” After reflecting, a few moments, he became
somewhat cooled down; but, evidently greatly troubled, he said, “Now,
you scoundrel! you have done for yourself; you shall hire your time no
longer. The next thing I shall hear of, will be your running away.
Bring home your tools and your clothes, at once. I’ll teach you how to
go off in this way.”
Thus ended my partial freedom. I could hire my time no longer; and I
obeyed my master’s orders at once. The little taste of liberty which I
had had—although as the reader will have seen, it was far from being
unalloyed—by no means enhanced my contentment with slavery. Punished
thus by Master Hugh, it was now my turn to punish him. “Since,” thought
I, “you _will_ make a slave of me, I will await your orders in all
things;” and, instead of going to look for work on Monday morning, as I
had formerly done, I remained at home during the entire week, without
the performance of a single stroke of work. Saturday night came, and he
called upon me, as usual, for my wages. I, of course, told him I had
done no work, and had no wages. Here we were at the point of coming to
blows. His wrath had been accumulating during the whole week; for he
evidently saw that I was making no effort to get work, but was most
aggravatingly awaiting his orders, in all things. As I look back to
this behavior of mine, I scarcely know what possessed me, thus to
trifle with those who had such unlimited power to bless or to blast me.
Master Hugh raved and swore his determination to _“get hold of me;”_
but, wisely for _him_, and happily for _me_, his wrath only employed
those very harmless, impalpable missiles, which roll from a limber
tongue. In my desperation, I had fully made up my mind to measure
strength with Master Hugh, in case he should undertake to execute his
threats. I am glad there was no necessity for this; for resistance to
him could not have ended so happily for me, as it did in the case of
Covey. He was not a man to be safely resisted by a slave; and I freely
own, that in my conduct toward him, in this instance, there was more
folly than wisdom. Master Hugh closed his reproofs, by telling me that,
hereafter, I need give myself no uneasiness about getting work; that he
“would, himself, see to getting work for me, and enough of it, at
that.” This threat I confess had some terror in it; and, on thinking
the matter over, during the Sunday, I resolved, not only to save him
the trouble of getting me work, but that, upon the third day of
September, I would attempt to make my escape from slavery. The refusal
to allow me to hire my time, therefore, hastened the period of flight.
I had three weeks, now, in which to prepare for my journey.
Once resolved, I felt a certain degree of repose, and on Monday,
instead of waiting for Master Hugh to seek employment for me, I was up
by break of day, and off to the ship yard of Mr. Butler, on the City
Block, near the draw-bridge. I was a favorite with Mr. B., and, young
as I was, I had served as his foreman on the float stage, at calking.
Of course, I easily obtained work, and, at the end of the week—which by
the way was exceedingly fine I brought Master Hugh nearly nine dollars.
The effect of this mark of returning good sense, on my part, was
excellent. He was very much pleased; he took the money, commended me,
and told me I might have done the same thing the week before. It is a
blessed thing that the tyrant may not always know the thoughts and
purposes of his victim. Master Hugh little knew what my plans were. The
going to camp-meeting without asking his permission—the insolent
answers made to his reproaches—the sulky deportment the week after
being deprived of the privilege of hiring my time—had awakened in him
the suspicion that I might be cherishing disloyal purposes. My object,
therefore, in working steadily, was to remove suspicion, and in this I
succeeded admirably. He probably thought I was never better satisfied
with my condition, than at the very time I was planning my escape. The
second week passed, and again I carried him my full week’s wages—_nine
dollars;_ and so well pleased was he, that he gave me TWENTY-FIVE
CENTS! and “bade me make good use of it!” I told him I would, for one
of the uses to which I meant to put it, was to pay my fare on the
underground railroad.
Things without went on as usual; but I was passing through the same
internal excitement and anxiety which I had experienced two years and a
half before. The failure, in that instance, was not calculated to
increase my confidence in the success of this, my second attempt; and I
knew that a second failure could not leave me where my first did—I must
either get to the _far north_, or be sent to the _far south_. Besides
the exercise of mind from this state of facts, I had the painful
sensation of being about to separate from a circle of honest and warm
hearted friends, in Baltimore. The thought of such a separation, where
the hope of ever meeting again is excluded, and where there can be no
correspondence, is very painful. It is my opinion, that thousands would
escape from slavery who now remain there, but for the strong cords of
affection that bind them to their families, relatives and friends. The
daughter is hindered from escaping, by the love she bears her mother,
and the father, by the love he bears his children; and so, to the end
of the chapter. I had no relations in Baltimore, and I saw no
probability of ever living in the neighborhood of sisters and brothers;
but the thought of leaving my friends, was among the strongest
obstacles to my running away. The last two days of the week—Friday and
Saturday—were spent mostly in collecting my things together, for my
journey. Having worked four days that week, for my master, I handed him
six dollars, on Saturday night. I seldom spent my Sundays at home; and,
for fear that something might be discovered in my conduct, I kept up my
custom, and absented myself all day. On Monday, the third day of
September, 1838, in accordance with my resolution, I bade farewell to
the city of Baltimore, and to that slavery which had been my abhorrence
from childhood.
How I got away—in what direction I traveled—whether by land or by
water; whether with or without assistance—must, for reasons already
mentioned, remain unexplained.
LIFE as a FREEMAN