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XXIX. PREPARATIONS FOR ESCAPE. Countless were
the nights that I sat late at the little loophole scarcely large enough to give
me a glimpse of one twinkling star. There, I heard the patrols and
slave-hunters conferring together about the capture of runaways, well knowing
how rejoiced they would be to catch me. Season after
season, year after year, I peeped at my children's faces, and heard their sweet
voices, with a heart yearning all the while to say, "Your mother is
here." Sometimes it appeared to me as if ages had rolled away since I
entered upon that gloomy, monotonous existence. At times, I was stupefied and
listless; at other times I became very impatient to know when these dark years
would end, and I should again be allowed to feel the sunshine, and breathe the
pure air. After Ellen left
us, this feeling increased. Mr. Sands had agreed that Benny might go to the
north whenever his uncle Phillip could go with him; and I was anxious to be
there also, to watch over my children, and protect them so far as I was able.
Moreover, I was likely to be drowned out of my den, if I remained much longer;
for the slight roof was getting badly out of repair, and uncle Phillip was
afraid to remove the shingles, lest some one should get a glimpse of me. When
storms occurred in the night, they spread mats and bits of carpet, which in the
morning appeared have been laid out to dry; but to cover the roof in the
daytime might have attracted attention. Consequently, my clothes and bedding
were often drenched; a process by which the pains and aches in my cramped and
stiffened limbs were greatly increased. I revolved various plans of escape in
my mind, which I sometimes imparted to my grandmother, when she came to whisper
with me at the trap-door. The kind-hearted old woman had an intense sympathy for
runaways. She had known too much of the cruelties inflicted on those who were
captured. Her memory always flew back at once to the sufferings of her bright
and handsome son, Benjamin, the youngest and dearest of her flock. So, whenever
I alluded to the subject, she would groan out, "O, don't think of it,
child. You'll break my heart." I had no good old aunt Nancy now to
encourage me; but my brother William and my children were continually beckoning
me to the north. And now I must
go back a few months in my story. I have stated that the first of January was
the time for selling slaves, or leasing them out to new masters. If time were
counted by heart-throbs, the poor slaves might reckon years of suffering during
that festival so joyous to the free. On the New Year's day preceding my aunt's
death, one of my friends, named Fanny, was to be sold at auction to pay her
master's debts. My thoughts were with her during all the day, and at night I
anxiously inquired what had been her fate. I was told that she had been sold to
one master, and her four little girls to another master, far distant; that she
had escaped from her purchaser, and was not to be found. Her mother was the old
Aggie I have spoken of. She lived in a small tenement belonging to my
grandmother, and built on the same lot with her own house. Her dwelling was
searched and watched, and that brought the patrols so near me that I was
obliged to keep very close in my den. The hunters were somehow eluded; and not long
afterwards Benny accidentally caught sight of Fanny in her mother's hut. He
told his grandmother, who charged him never to speak of it, explaining to him
the frightful consequences; and he never betrayed the trust. Aggie little
dreamed that my grandmother knew where her daughter was concealed, and that the
stooping form of her old neighbor was bending under a similar burden of anxiety
and fear; but these dangerous secrets deepened the sympathy between the two old
persecuted mothers. My friend Fanny
and I remained many weeks hidden within call of each other; but she was
unconscious of the fact. I longed to have her share my den, which seemed a more
secure retreat than her own; but I had brought so much trouble on my
grandmother, that it seemed wrong to ask her to incur greater risks. My
restlessness increased. I had lived too long in bodily pain and anguish of
spirit. Always I was in dread that by some accident, or some contrivance,
slavery would succeed in snatching my children from me. This thought drove me
nearly frantic, and I determined to steer for the North Star at all hazards. At
this crisis, Providence opened an unexpected way for me to escape. My friend
Peter came one evening, and asked to speak with me. "Your day has come,
Linda," said he. "I have found a chance for you to go to the Free
States. You have a fortnight to decide." The news seemed too good to be
true; but Peter explained his arrangements, and told me all that was necessary
was for me to say I would go. I was going to answer him with a joyful yes, when
the thought of Benny came to my mind. I told him the temptation was exceedingly
strong, but I was terribly afraid of Dr. Flint's alleged power over my child,
and that I could not go and leave him behind. Peter remonstrated earnestly. He
said such a good chance might never occur again; that Benny was free, and could
be sent to me; and that for the sake of my children's welfare I ought not to
hesitate a moment. I told him I would consult with uncle Phillip. My uncle rejoiced
in the plan, and bade me to go by all means. He promised, if his life was
spared, that he would either bring or send my son to me as soon as I reached a
place of safety. I resolved to go, but thought nothing had better be said to my
grandmother till very near the time of departure. But my uncle thought she
would feel it more keenly if I left her so suddenly. "I will reason with
her," said he, "and convince her how necessary it is, not only for
your sake, but for hers also. You cannot be blind to the fact that she is
sinking under her burdens." I was not blind to it. I knew that my
concealment was an ever-present source of anxiety, and that the older she grew
the more nervously fearful she was of discovery. My uncle talked with her, and
finally succeeded in persuading her that it was absolutely necessary for me to
seize the chance so unexpectedly offered. The anticipation
of being a free woman proved almost too much for my weak frame. The excitement
stimulated me, and at the same time bewildered me. I made busy preparations for
my journey, and for my son to follow me. I resolved to have an interview with him
before I went, that I might give him cautions and advice, and tell him how
anxiously I should be waiting for him at the north. Grandmother stole up to me
as often as possible to whisper words of counsel. She insisted upon my writing
to Dr. Flint, as soon as I arrived in the Free States, and asking him to sell
me to her. She said she would sacrifice her house, and all she had in the
world, for the sake of having me safe with my children in any part of the
world. If she could only live to know that she could die in peace. I
promised the dear old faithful friend that I would write to her as soon as I
arrived, and put the letter in a safe way to reach her; but in my own mind I
resolved that not another cent of her hard earnings should be spent to pay
rapacious slaveholders for what they called their property. And even if I had
not been unwilling to buy what I had already a right to possess, common
humanity would have prevented me from accepting the generous offer, at the
expense of turning my aged relative out of house and home, when she was
trembling on the brink of the grave. I was to escape
in a vessel; but I forbear to mention any further particulars. I was in
readiness, but the vessel was unexpectedly detained several days. Meantime,
news came to town of a most horrible murder committed on a fugitive slave,
named James. Charity, the mother of this unfortunate young man, had been an old
acquaintance of ours. I have told the shocking particulars of his death, in my
description of some of the neighboring slaveholders. My grandmother, always
nervously sensitive about runaways, was terribly frightened. She felt sure that
a similar fate awaited me, if I did not desist from my enterprise. She sobbed,
and groaned, and entreated me not to go. Her excessive fear was somewhat
contagious, and my heart was not proof against her extreme agony. I was
grievously disappointed, but I promised to relinquish my project. When my friend
Peter was apprised of this, he was disappointed and vexed. He said, that
judging from our past experience, it would be a long time before I has such
another chance to throw away. I told him it need not be thrown away; that I had
a friend concealed near by, who would be glad enough to take to the place that
had been provided for me. I told him about poor Fanny, and the kind-hearted,
noble fellow, who never turned his back upon any body in distress, white or
black, expressed his readiness to help her. Aggie was much surprised when she
found that we knew her secret. She was rejoiced to hear of such a chance for
Fanny, and arrangements were made for her to go on board the vessel the next
night. They both supposed that I had long been at the north, therefore my name
was not mentioned in the transaction. Fanny was carried on board at the
appointed time, and stowed away in a very small cabin. This accommodation had
been purchased at a price that would pay for a voyage to England. But when one
proposes to go to fine old England, they stop to calculate whether they can
afford the cost of the pleasure; while in making a bargain to escape from
slavery, the trembling victim is ready to say, "Take all I have, only
don't betray me!" The next morning
I peeped through my loophole, and saw that it was dark and cloudy. At night I
received news that the wind was ahead, and the vessel had not sailed. I was
exceedingly anxious about Fanny, and Peter too, who was running a tremendous
risk at my instigation. Next day the wind and weather remained the same. Poor
Fanny had been half dead with fright when they carried her on board, and I
could readily imagine how she must be suffering now. Grandmother came often to
my den, to say how thankful she was I did not go. On the third morning she
rapped for me to come down to the storeroom. The poor old sufferer was breaking
down under her weight of trouble. She was easily flurried now. I found her in a
nervous, excited state, but I was not aware that she had forgotten to lock the
door behind her, as usual. She was exceedingly worried about the detention of
the vessel. She was afraid all would be discovered, and then Fanny, and Peter,
and I, would all be tortured to death, and Phillip should be utterly ruined,
and her house would be torn down. Poor Peter! If he should die such a horrible
death as the poor slave James had lately done, and all for his kindness in
trying to help me, how dreadful it would be for us all! Alas, the thought was
familiar to me, and had sent many a sharp pang through my heart. I tried to
suppress my own anxiety, and speak soothingly to her. She brought in some
allusion to aunt Nancy, the dear daughter she had recently buried, and then she
lost all control of herself. As she stood there, trembling and sobbing, a voice
from the piazza called out, "Whar is you, aunt Marthy?" Grandmother
was startled, and in her agitation opened the door, without thinking of me. In
stepped Jenny, the mischievous housemaid, who had tried to enter my room, when
I was concealed in the house of my white benefactress. "I's bin huntin
ebery whar for you, aunt Marthy," said she. "My missis wants you to
send her some crackers." I had slunk down behind a barrel, which entirely
screened me, but I imagined that Jenny was looking directly at the spot, and my
heart beat violently. My grandmother immediately thought what she had done, and
went out quickly with Jenny to count the crackers locking the door behind her.
She returned to me, in a few minutes, the perfect picture of despair.
"Poor child!" she exclaimed, "my carelessness has ruined you.
The boat ain't gone yet. Get ready immediately, and go with Fanny. I ain't got
another word to say against it now; for there's no telling what may happen this
day." Uncle Phillip
was sent for, and he agreed with his mother in thinking that Jenny would inform
Dr. Flint in less than twenty-four hours. He advised getting me on board the
boat, if possible; if not, I had better keep very still in my den, where they
could not find me without tearing the house down. He said it would not do for
him to move in the matter, because suspicion would be immediately excited; but
he promised to communicate with Peter. I felt reluctant to apply to him again,
having implicated him too much already; but there seemed to be no alternative.
Vexed as Peter had been by my indecision, he was true to his generous nature,
and said at once that he would do his best to help me, trusting I should show
myself a stronger woman this time. He immediately
proceeded to the wharf, and found that the wind had shifted, and the vessel was
slowly beating down stream. On some pretext of urgent necessity, he offered two
boatmen a dollar apiece to catch up with her. He was of lighter complexion than
the boatmen he hired, and when the captain saw them coming so rapidly, he
thought officers were pursuing his vessel in search of the runaway slave he had
on board. They hoisted sails, but the boat gained upon them, and the
indefatigable Peter sprang on board. The captain at
once recognized him. Peter asked him to go below, to speak about a bad bill he
had given him. When he told his errand, the captain replied, "Why, the
woman's here already; and I've put her where you or the devil would have a
tough job to find her." "But it is
another woman I want to bring," said Peter. "She is in great
distress, too, and you shall be paid any thing within reason, if you'll stop
and take her." "What's her
name?" inquired the captain. "Linda,"
he replied. "That's the
name of the woman already here," rejoined the captain. "By George! I
believe you mean to betray me." "O!"
exclaimed Peter, "God knows I wouldn't harm a hair of your head. I am too
grateful to you. But there really is another woman in great danger. Do
have the humanity to stop and take her!" After a while
they came to an understanding. Fanny, not dreaming I was any where about in
that region, had assumed my name, though she called herself Johnson.
"Linda is a common name," said Peter, "and the woman I want to
bring is Linda Brent." The captain
agreed to wait at a certain place till evening, being handsomely paid for his
detention. Of course, the
day was an anxious one for us all. But we concluded that if Jenny had seen me,
she would be too wise to let her mistress know of it; and that she probably
would not get a chance to see Dr. Flint's family till evening, for I knew very
well what were the rules in that household. I afterwards believed that she did
not see me; for nothing ever came of it, and she was one of those base
characters that would have jumped to betray a suffering fellow being for the
sake of thirty pieces of silver. I made all my
arrangements to go on board as soon as it was dusk. The intervening time I
resolved to spend with my son. I had not spoken to him for seven years, though
I had been under the same roof, and seen him every day, when I was well enough
to sit at the loophole. I did not dare to venture beyond the storeroom; so they
brought him there, and locked us up together, in a place concealed from the
piazza door. It was an agitating interview for both of us. After we had talked
and wept together for a little while, he said, "Mother, I'm glad you're
going away. I wish I could go with you. I knew you was here; and I have been so
afraid they would come and catch you!" I was greatly
surprised, and asked him how he had found it out. He replied,
"I was standing under the eaves, one day, before Ellen went away, and I
heard somebody cough up over the wood shed. I don't know what made me think it
was you, but I did think so. I missed Ellen, the night before she went away;
and grandmother brought her back into the room in the night; and I thought
maybe she'd been to see you, before she went, for I heard grandmother
whisper to her, 'Now go to sleep; and remember never to tell.'" I asked him if
he ever mentioned his suspicions to his sister. He said he never did; but after
he heard the cough, if he saw her playing with other children on that side of
the house, he always tried to coax her round to the other side, for fear they
would hear me cough, too. He said he had kept a close lookout for Dr. Flint,
and if he saw him speak to a constable, or a patrol, he always told
grandmother. I now recollected that I had seen him manifest uneasiness, when
people were on that side of the house, and I had at the time been puzzled to
conjecture a motive for his actions. Such prudence may seem extraordinary in a
boy of twelve years, but slaves, being surrounded by mysteries, deceptions, and
dangers, early learn to be suspicious and watchful, and prematurely cautious
and cunning. He had never asked a question of grandmother, or uncle Phillip,
and I had often heard him chime in with other children, when they spoke of my
being at the north. I told him I was
now really going to the Free States, and if he was a good, honest boy, and a
loving child to his dear old grandmother, the Lord would bless him, and bring
him to me, and we and Ellen would live together. He began to tell me that
grandmother had not eaten any thing all day. While he was speaking, the door
was unlocked, and she came in with a small bag of money, which she wanted me to
take. I begged her to keep a part of it, at least, to pay for Benny's being
sent to the north; but she insisted, while her tears were falling fast, that I
should take the whole. "You may be sick among strangers," she said,
"and they would send you to the poorhouse to die." Ah, that good
grandmother! For the last
time I went up to my nook. Its desolate appearance no longer chilled me, for
the light of hope had risen in my soul. Yet, even with the blessed prospect of
freedom before me, I felt very sad at leaving forever that old homestead, where
I had been sheltered so long by the dear old grandmother; where I had dreamed
my first young dream of love; and where, after that had faded away, my children
came to twine themselves so closely round my desolate heart. As the hour
approached for me to leave, I again descended to the storeroom. My grandmother
and Benny were there. She took me by the hand, and said, "Linda, let us
pray." We knelt down together, with my child pressed to my heart, and my
other arm round the faithful, loving old friend I was about to leave forever.
On no other occasion has it ever been my lot to listen to so fervent a
supplication for mercy and protection. It thrilled through my heart, and
inspired me with trust in God. Peter was waiting for me in the street. I was soon by his side, faint in body, but strong of purpose. I did not look back upon the old place, though I felt that I should never see it again. |