CHAPTER 2
THE FLIGHT
It was the Sabbath: the holy day which God in his infinite wisdom gave for
the rest of both man and beast. In the state of Maryland, the slaves generally
have the Sabbath, except in those districts where the evil weed, tobacco, is
cultivated; and then, when it is the season for setting the plant, they are
liable to be robbed of this only rest.
It was in the month of November, somewhat past the middle of the month. It
was a bright day, and all was quiet. Most of the slaves were resting about their
quarters; others had leave to visit their friends on other plantations, and were
absent. The evening previous I had arranged my little bundle of clothing, and
had secreted it at some distance from the house. I had spent most of the
forenoon in my workshop, engaged in deep and solemn thought.
It is impossible for me now to recollect all the perplexing thoughts that
passed through my mind during that forenoon; it was a day of heartaching to me.
But I distinctly remember the two great difficulties that stood in the way of my
flight: I had a father and mother whom I dearly loved,—I had also six sisters
and four brothers on the plantation. The question was, shall I hide my purpose
from them? moreover, how will my flight affect them when I am gone? Will they
not be suspected? Will not the whole family be sold off as a disaffected family,
as is generally the case when one of its members flies? But a still more trying
question was, how can I expect to succeed, I have no knowledge of distance or
direction. I know that Pennsylvania is a free state, but I know not where its
soil begins, or where that of Maryland ends? Indeed, at this time there was no
safety in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, or New York, for a fugitive, except in
lurking-places, or under the care of judicious friends, who could be entrusted
not only with liberty, but also with life itself.
With such difficulties before my mind, the day had rapidly worn away; and it
was just past noon. One of my perplexing questions I had settled—I had resolved
to let no one into my secret; but the other difficulty was now to be met. It was
to be met without the least knowledge of its magnitude, except by imagination.
Yet of one thing there could be no mistake, that the consequences of a failure
would be most serious. Within my recollection no one had attempted to escape
from my master; but I had many cases in my mind's eye, of slaves of other
planters who had failed, and who had been made examples of the most cruel
treatment, by flogging and selling to the far South, where they were never to
see their friends more. I was not without serious apprehension that such would
be my fate. The bare possibility was impressively solemn; but the hour was now
come, and the man must act and be free, or remain a slave for ever. How the
impression came to be upon my mind I cannot tell; but there was a strange and
horrifying belief, that if I did not meet the crisis that day, I should be
self-doomed—that my ear would be nailed to the door-post for ever. The emotions
of that moment I cannot fully depict. Hope, fear, dread, terror, love, sorrow,
and deep melancholy were mingled in my mind together; my mental state was one of
most painful distraction. When I looked at my numerous family—a beloved father
and mother, eleven brothers and sisters, &c.; but when I looked at slavery as
such; when I looked at it in its mildest form, with all its annoyances; and
above all, when I remembered that one of the chief annoyances of slavery, in the
most mild form, is the liability of being at any moment sold into the worst
form; it seemed that no consideration, not even that of life itself, could tempt
me to give up the thought of flight. And then when I considered the difficulties
of the way—the reward that would be offered—the human blood-hounds that would be
set upon my track—the weariness—the hunger—the gloomy thought, of not only
losing all one's friends in one day, but of having to seek and to make new
friends in a strange world. But, as I have said, the hour was come, and the man
must act, or for ever be a slave.
It was now two o'clock. I stepped into the quarter; there was a strange and
melancholy silence mingled with the destitution that was apparent in every part
of the house. The only morsel I could see in the shape of food, was a piece of
Indian flour bread, it might be half-a-pound in weight. This I placed in my
pocket, and giving a last look at the aspect of the house, and at a few small
children who were playing at the door, I sallied forth thoughtfully and
melancholy, and after crossing the barn-yard, a few moments' walk brought me to
a small cave, near the mouth of which lay a pile of stones, and into which I had
deposited my clothes. From this, my course lay through thick and heavy woods and
back lands to —— town, where my brother lived. This town was six miles distance.
It was now near three o'clock, but my object was neither to be seen on the road,
or to approach the town by daylight, as I was well-known there, and as any
intelligence of my having been seen there would at once put the pursuers on my
track. This first six miles of my flight, I not only travelled very slowly,
therefore, so as to avoid carrying any daylight to this town; but during this
walk another very perplexing question was agitating my mind. Shall I call on my
brother as I pass through, and shew him what I am about? My brother was older
than I, we were much attached; I had been in the habit of looking to him for
counsel.
I entered the town about dark, resolved, all things in view, not to shew
myself to my brother. Having passed through the town without being recognised, I
now found myself under cover of night, a solitary wanderer from home and
friends; my only guide was the north star, by this I knew my general course
northward, but at what point I should strike Penn, or when and where I should
find a friend, I knew not. Another feeling now occupied my mind,—I felt like a
mariner who has gotten his ship outside of the harbour and has spread his sails
to the breeze. The cargo is on board—the ship is cleared—and the voyage I must
make; besides, this being my first night, almost every thing will depend upon my
clearing the coast before the day dawns. In order to do this my flight must be
rapid. I therefore set forth in sorrowful earnest, only now and then I was
cheered by the wild hope, that I should somewhere and at sometime be free.
The night was fine for the season, and passed on with little interruption for
want of strength, until, about three o'clock in the morning, I began to feel the
chilling effects of the dew.
At this moment, gloom and melancholy again spread through my whole soul. The
prospect of utter destitution which threatened me was more than I could bear,
and my heart began to melt. What substance is there in a piece of dry Indian
bread; what nourishment is there in it to warm the nerves of one already chilled
to the heart? Will this afford a sufficient sustenance after the toil of the
night? But while these thoughts were agitating my mind, the day dawned upon me,
in the midst of an open extent of country, where the only shelter I could find,
without risking my travel by daylight, was a corn shock, but a few hundred yards
from the road, and here I must pass my first day out. The day was an unhappy
one; my hiding-place was extremely precarious. I had to sit in a squatting
position the whole day, without the least chance to rest. But, besides this, my
scanty pittance did not afford me that nourishment which my hard night's travel
needed. Night came again to my relief, and I sallied forth to pursue my journey.
By this time, not a crumb of my crust remained, and I was hungry and began to
feel the desperation of distress.
As I travelled I felt my strength failing and my spirits wavered; my mind was
in a deep and melancholy dream. It was cloudy; I could not see my star, and had
serious misgivings about my course.
In this way the night passed away, and just at the dawn of day I found a few
sour apples, and took my shelter under the arch of a small bridge that crossed
the road. Here I passed the second day in ambush.
This day would have been more pleasant than the previous, but the sour
apples, and a draught of cold water, had produced anything but a favourable
effect; indeed, I suffered most of the day with severe symptoms of cramp. The
day passed away again without any further incident, and as I set out at
nightfall, I felt quite satisfied that I could not pass another twenty-four
hours without nourishment. I made but little progress during the night, and
often sat down, and slept frequently fifteen or twenty minutes. At the dawn of
the third day I continued my travel. As I had found my way to a public turnpike
road during the night, I came very early in the morning to a toll-gate, where
the only person I saw, was a lad about twelve years of age. I inquired of him
where the road led to. He informed me it led to Baltimore. I asked him the
distance, he said it was eighteen miles.
This intelligence was perfectly astounding to me. My master lived eighty
miles from Baltimore. I was now sixty-two miles from home. That distance in the
right direction, would have placed me several miles across Mason and Dixon's
line, but I was evidently yet in the state of Maryland.
I ventured to ask the lad at the gate another question—Which is the best way
to Philadelphia? Said he, you can take a road which turns off about half-a-mile
below this, and goes to Getsburgh, or you can go on to Baltimore and take the
packet.
I made no reply, but my thought was, that I was as near Baltimore and
Baltimore-packets as would answer my purpose.
In a few moments I came to the road to which the lad had referred, and felt
some relief when I had gotten out of that great public highway, "The National
Turnpike," which I found it to be.
When I had walked a mile on this road, and when it had now gotten to be about
nine o'clock, I met a young man with a load of hay. He drew up his horses, and
addressed me in a very kind tone, when the following dialogue took place between
us.
"Are you travelling any distance, my friend?"
"I am on my way to Philadelphia."
"Are you free?"
"Yes, sir."
"I suppose, then, you are provided with free papers?"
"No, sir. I have no papers."
"Well, my friend, you should not travel on this road: you will be taken up
before you have gone three miles. There are men living on this road who are
constantly on the look-out for your people; and it is seldom that one escapes
them who attempts to pass by day."
He then very kindly gave me advice where to turn off the road at a certain
point, and how to find my way to a certain house, where I would meet with an old
gentleman who would further advise me whether I had better remain till night, or
go on.
I left this interesting young man; and such was my surprise and chagrin at
the thought of having so widely missed my way, and my alarm at being in such a
dangerous position, that in ten minutes I had so far forgotten his directions as
to deem it unwise to attempt to follow them, lest I should miss my way, and get
into evil hands.
I, however, left the road, and went into a small piece of wood, but not
finding a sufficient hiding-place, and it being a busy part of the day, when
persons were at work about the fields, I thought I should excite less suspicion
by keeping in the road, so I returned to the road; but the events of the next
few moments proved that I committed a serious mistake.
I went about a mile, making in all two miles from the spot where I met my
young friend, and about five miles from the toll-gate to which I have referred,
and I found myself at the twenty-four miles' stone from Baltimore. It was now
about ten o'clock in the forenoon; my strength was greatly exhausted by reason
of the want of suitable food; but the excitement that was then going on in my
mind, left me little time to think of my need of food. Under ordinary
circumstances as a traveller, I should have been glad to see the "Tavern," which
was near the mile-stone; but as the case stood with me, I deemed it a dangerous
place to pass, much less to stop at. I was therefore passing it as quietly and
as rapidly as possible, when from the lot just opposite the house, or sign-post,
I heard a coarse stern voice cry, "Halloo!"
I turned my face to the left, the direction from which the voice came, and
observed that it proceeded from a man who was digging potatoes. I answered him
politely; when the following occurred:—
"Who do you belong to?"
"I am free, sir."
"Have you got papers?"
"No, sir."
"Well, you must stop here."
By this time he had got astride the fence, making his way into the road. I
said,
"My business is onward, sir, and I do not wish to stop."
"I will see then if you don't stop, you black rascal."
He was now in the middle of the road, making after me in a brisk walk.
I saw that a crisis was at hand; I had no weapons of any kind, not even a
pocket-knife; but I asked myself, shall I surrender without a struggle. The
instinctive answer was "No." What will you do? continue to walk; if he runs
after you, run; get him as far from the house as you can, then turn suddenly and
smite him on the knee with a stone; that will render him, at least, unable to
pursue you.
This was a desperate scheme, but I could think of no other, and my habits as
a blacksmith had given my eye and hand such mechanical skill, that I felt quite
sure that if I could only get a stone in my hand, and have time to wield it, I
should not miss his knee-pan.
He began to breathe short. He was evidently vexed because I did not halt, and
I felt more and more provoked at the idea of being thus pursued by a man to whom
I had not done the least injury. I had just began to glance my eye about for a
stone to grasp, when he made a tiger-like leap at me. This of course brought us
to running. At this moment he yelled out "Jake Shouster!" and at the next moment
the door of a small house standing to the left was opened, and out jumped a
shoemaker girded up in his leather apron, with his knife in hand. He sprang
forward and seized me by the collar, while the other seized my arms behind. I
was now in the grasp of two men, either of whom were larger bodied than myself,
and one of whom was armed with a dangerous weapon.
Standing in the door of the shoemaker's shop, was a third man; and in the
potatoe lot I had passed, was still a fourth man. Thus surrounded by superior
physical force, the fortune of the day it seemed to me was gone.
My heart melted away, I sunk resistlessly into the hands of my captors, who
dragged me immediately into the tavern which was near. I ask my reader to go in
with me, and see how the case goes.
GREAT MORAL DILEMMA.
A few moments after I was taken into the bar-room, the news having gone as by
electricity, the house and yard were crowded with gossippers, who had left their
business to come and see "the runaway nigger." This hastily assembled
congregation consisted of men, women, and children, each one had a look to give
at, and a word to say about, the "nigger."
But among the whole, there stood one whose name I have never known, but who
evidently wore the garb of a man whose profession bound him to speak for the
dumb, but he, standing head and shoulders above all that were round about, spoke
the first hard sentence against me. Said he, "That fellow is a runaway I know;
put him in jail a few days, and you will soon hear where he came from." And then
fixing a fiend-like gaze upon me, he continued, "if I lived on this road, you
fellows would not find such clear running as you do, I'd trap more of you."
But now comes the pinch of the case, the case of conscience to me even at
this moment. Emboldened by the cruel speech just recited, my captors enclosed
me, and said, "Come now, this matter may easily be settled without you going to
jail; who do you belong to, and where did you come from?"
The facts here demanded were in my breast. I knew according to the law of
slavery, who I belonged to and where I came from, and I must now do one of three
things—I must refuse to speak at all, or I must communicate the fact, or I must
tell an untruth. How would an untutored slave, who had never heard of such a
writer as Archdeacon Paley, be likely to act in such a dilemma? The first point
decided, was, the facts in this case are my private property. These men have no
more right to them than a highway robber has to my purse. What will be the
consequence if I put them in possession of the facts. In forty-eight hours, I
shall have received perhaps one hundred lashes, and be on my way to the
Louisiana cotton fields. Of what service will it be to them. They will get a
paltry sum of two hundred dollars. Is not my liberty worth more to me than two
hundred dollars are to them?
I resolved therefore, to insist that I was free. This not being satisfactory
without other evidence, they tied my hands and set out, and went to a magistrate
who lived about half a mile distant. It so happened, that when we arrived at his
house he was not at home. This was to them a disappointment, but to me it was a
relief; but I soon learned by their conversation, that there was still another
magistrate in the neighbourhood, and that they would go to him. In about twenty
minutes, and after climbing fences and jumping ditches, we, captors and captive,
stood before his door, but it was after the same manner as before—he was not at
home. By this time the day had worn away to one or two o'clock, and my captors
evidently began to feel somewhat impatient of the loss of time. We were about a
mile and a quarter from the tavern. As we set out on our return, they began to
parley. Finding it was difficult for me to get over fences with, my hands tied,
they untied me, and said, "Now John," that being the name they had given me, "if
you have run away from any one, it would be much better for you to tell us!" but
I continued to affirm that I was free. I knew, however, that my situation was
very critical, owing to the shortness of the distance I must be from home: my
advertisement might overtake me at any moment.
On our way back to the tavern, we passed through a small skirt of wood, where
I resolved to make an effort to escape again. One of my captors was walking on
either side of me; I made a sudden turn, with my left arm sweeping the legs of
one of my captors from under him; I left him nearly standing on his head, and
took to my heels. As soon as they could recover they both took after me. We had
to mount a fence. This I did most successfully, and making across an open field
towards another wood; one of my captors being a long-legged man, was in advance
of the other, and consequently nearing me. We had a hill to rise, and during the
ascent he gained on me. Once more I thought of self-defence. I am trying to
escape peaceably, but this man is determined that I shall not.
My case was now desperate; and I took this desperate thought: "I will run him
a little farther from his coadjutor; I will then suddenly catch a stone, and
wound him in the breast." This was my fixed purpose, and I had arrived near the
point on the top of the hill, where I expected to do the act, when to my
surprise and dismay, I saw the other side of the hill was not only all ploughed
up, but we came suddenly upon a man ploughing, who as suddenly left his plough
and cut off my flight, by seizing me by the collar, when at the same moment my
pursuer seized my arms behind. Here I was again in a sad fix. By this time the
other pursuer had come up; I was most savagely thrown down on the ploughed
ground with my face downward, the ploughman placed his knee upon my shoulders,
one of my captors put his upon my legs, while the other tied my arms behind me.
I was then dragged up, and marched off with kicks, punches and imprecations.
We got to the tavern at three o'clock. Here they again cooled down, and made
an appeal to me to make a disclosure. I saw that my attempt to escape
strengthened their belief that I was a fugitive. I said to them, "If you will
not put me in jail, I will now tell you where I am from." They promised. "Well,"
said I, "a few weeks ago, I was sold from the eastern shore to a slave-trader,
who had a large gang, and set out for Georgia, but when he got to a town in
Virginia, he was taken sick, and died with the small-pox. Several of his gang
also died with, it, so that the people in the town became alarmed, and did not
wish the gang to remain among them. No one claimed us, or wished to have
anything to do with us; I left the rest, and thought I would go somewhere and
get work."
When I said this, it was evidently believed by those who were present, and
notwithstanding the unkind feeling that had existed, there was a murmur of
approbation. At the same time I perceived that a panic began to seize some, at
the idea that I was one of a small-pox gang. Several who had clustered near me,
moved off to a respectful distance. One or two left the bar-room, and murmured,
"better let the small-pox nigger go."
I was then asked what was the name of the slave-trader. Without
premeditation, I said, "John Henderson."
"John Henderson!" said one of my captors, "I knew him; I took up a yaller boy
for him about two years ago, and got fifty dollars. He passed out with a gang
about that time, and the boy ran away from him at Frederickstown. What kind of a
man was he?"
At a venture, I gave a description of him. "Yes," said he, "that is the man."
By this time, all the gossippers had cleared the coast; our friend, "Jake
Shouster," had also gone back to his bench to finish his custom work, after
having "lost nearly the whole day, trotting about with a nigger tied," as I
heard his wife say as she called him home to his dinner. I was now left alone
with the man who first called to me in the morning. In a sober manner, he made
this proposal to me: "John, I have a brother living in Risterstown, four miles
off, who keeps a tavern; I think you had better go and live with him, till we
see what will turn up. He wants an ostler." I at once assented to this. "Well,"
said he, "take something to eat, and I will go with you."
Although I had so completely frustrated their designs for the moment, I knew
that it would by no means answer for me to go into that town, where there were
prisons, handbills, newspapers, and travellers. My intention was, to start with
him, but not to enter the town alive.
I sat down to eat; it was Wednesday, four o'clock, and this was the first
regular meal I had since Sunday morning. This over, we set out, and to my
surprise, he proposed to walk. We had gone about a mile and a-half, and were
approaching a wood through which the road passed with a bend. I fixed upon that
as the spot where I would either free myself from this man, or die in his arms.
I had resolved upon a plan of operation—it was this: to stop short, face about,
and commence action; and neither ask or give quarters, until I was free or dead!
We had got within six rods of the spot, when a gentleman turned the corner,
meeting us on horseback. He came up, and entered into conversation with my
captor, both of them speaking in Dutch, so that I knew not what they said. After
a few moments, this gentleman addressed himself to me in English, and I then
learned that he was one of the magistrates on whom we had called in the morning;
I felt that another crisis was at hand. Using his saddle as his bench, he put on
an extremely stern and magisterial-like face, holding up his horse not unlike a
field-marshal in the act of reviewing troops, and carried me through a most
rigid examination in reference to the statement I had made. I repeated carefully
all I had said; at the close, he said, "Well, you had better stay among us a few
months, until we see what is to be done with you." It was then agreed that we
should go back to the tavern, and there settle upon some further plan. When we
arrived at the tavern, the magistrate alighted from his horse, and went into the
bar-room. He took another close glance at me, and went over some points of the
former examination. He seemed quite satisfied of the correctness of my
statement, and made the following proposition: that I should go and live with
him for a short time, stating that he had a few acres of corn and potatoes to
get in, and that he would give me twenty-five cents per day. I most cheerfully
assented to this proposal. It was also agreed that I should remain at the tavern
with my captor that night, and that he would accompany me in the morning. This
part of the arrangement I did not like, but of course I could not say so. Things
being thus arranged, the magistrate mounted his horse, and went on his way home.
It had been cloudy and rainy during the afternoon, but the western sky having
partially cleared at this moment, I perceived that it was near the setting of
the sun.
My captor had left his hired man most of the day to dig potatoes alone; but
the waggon being now loaded, it being time to convey the potatoes into the barn,
and the horses being all ready for that purpose, he was obliged to go into the
potatoe field and give assistance.
I should say here, that his wife had been driven away by the small-pox panic
about three o'clock, and had not yet returned; this left no one in the house,
but a boy, about nine years of age.
As he went out, he spoke to the boy in Dutch, which I supposed, from the
little fellow's conduct, to be instructions to watch me closely, which he
certainly did.
The potatoe lot was across the public road, directly in front of the house;
at the back of the house, and about 300 yards distant, there was a thick wood.
The circumstances of the case would not allow me to think for one moment of
remaining there for the night—the time had come for another effort—but there
were two serious difficulties. One was, that I must either deceive or dispatch
this boy who is watching me with intense vigilance. I am glad to say, that the
latter did not for a moment seriously enter my mind. To deceive him effectually,
I left my coat and went to the back door, from which my course would be direct
to the wood. When I got to the door, I found that the barn, to which the waggon,
must soon come, lay just to the right, and overlooking the path I must take to
the wood. In front of me lay a garden surrounded by a picket fence, to the left
of me was a small gate, and that by passing through that gate would throw me
into an open field, and give me clear running to the wood; but on looking
through the gate, I saw that my captor, being with the team, would see me if I
attempted to start before he moved from the position he then occupied. To add to
my difficulty the horses had baulked; while waiting for the decisive moment, the
boy came to the door and asked me why I did not come in. I told him I felt
unwell, and wished him to be so kind as to hand me a glass of water; expecting
while he was gone to get it, the team would clear, so that I could start. While
he was gone, another attempt was made to start the team but failed; he came with
the water and I quickly used it up by gargling my throat and by drinking a part.
I asked him to serve me by giving me another glass: he gave me a look of close
scrutiny, but went in for the water. I heard him fill the glass, and start to
return with it; when the hind end of the waggon cleared the corner of the house,
which stood in a range with the fence along which I was to pass in getting to
the wood. As I passed out the gate, I "squared my main yard," and laid my course
up the line of fence, I cast a last glance over my right shoulder, and saw the
boy just perch his head above the garden picket to look after me; I heard at the
same time great confusion with the team, the rain having made the ground
slippery, and the horses having to cross the road with a slant and rise to get
into the barn, it required great effort after they started to prevent their
baulking. I felt some assurance that although the boy might give the alarm, my
captor could not leave the team until it was in the barn. I heard the horses'
feet on the barn-floor, just as I leaped the fence, and darted into the wood.
The sun was now quite down behind the western horizon, and just at this time
a heavy dark curtain of clouds was let down, which seemed to usher in haste the
night shade. I have never before or since seen anything which seemed to me to
compare in sublimity with the spreading of the night shades at the close of that
day. My reflections upon the events of that day, and upon the close of it, since
I became acquainted with the Bible, have frequently brought to my mind that
beautiful passage in the Book of Job, "He holdeth back the face of His throne,
and spreadeth a cloud before it."
Before I proceed to the critical events and final deliverance of the next
chapter, I cannot forbear to pause a moment here for reflection. The reader may
well imagine how the events of the past day affected my mind. You have seen what
was done to me; you have heard what was said to me—you have also seen what I
have done, and heard what I have said. If you ask me whether I had expected
before I left home, to gain my liberty by shedding men's blood, or breaking
their limbs? I answer, no! and as evidence of this, I had provided no weapon
whatever; not so much as a penknife—it never once entered my mind. I cannot say
that I expected to have the ill fortune of meeting with any human being who
would attempt to impede my flight.
If you ask me if I expected when I left home to gain my liberty by
fabrications and untruths? I answer, no! my parents, slaves as they were, had
always taught me, when they could, that "truth may be blamed but cannot be
shamed;" so far as their example was concerned, I had no habits of untruth. I
was arrested, and the demand made upon me, "Who do you belong to?" knowing the
fatal use these men would make of my truth, I at once concluded that they had no
more right to it than a highwayman has to a traveller's purse.
If you ask me whether I now really believe that I gained my liberty by those
lies? I answer, no! I now believe that I should be free, had I told the truth;
but, at that moment, I could not see any other way to baffle my enemies, and
escape their clutches.
The history of that day has never ceased to inspire me with a deeper hatred
of slavery; I never recur to it but with the most intense horror at a system
which can put a man not only in peril of liberty, limb, and life itself, but
which may even send him in haste to the bar of God with a lie upon his lips.
Whatever my readers may think, therefore, of the history of events of the
day, do not admire in it the fabrications; but see in it the impediments that
often fall into the pathway of the flying bondman. See how human bloodhounds
gratuitously chase, catch, and tempt him to shed blood and lie; how, when he
would do good, evil is thrust upon him.