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Academic Affairs Library, UNC-CH
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill,
1999.
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Atlantic Monthly, volume XVII,
Feb. 1866, pp. 152-166; Mar. 1866, pp. 276-295.
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Library of Congress Subject Headings, 21st edition, 1998
LC Subject Headings:
VOLUME XVII.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by
TICKNOR AND FIELDS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts.
UNIVERSITY PRESS:
ELECTROTYPED BY WELCH, BIGELO, & CO.,
CAMBRIDGE.
The manuscript of the following pages has been handed to me with the request that I would revise it for publication, or weave its facts into a story which should show the fitness of the Southern black for the exercise of the right of suffrage.
It is written in a fair, legible hand; its words are correctly spelled; its fact are clearly stated, and--in most instances --its sentences are properly constructed. Therefore it needs no revision. On reading it over carefully, I also discover that it is in itself a stronger argument for the manhood of the negro than any which could be adduced by one not himself a freedman; for it is the argument of facts, and facts are the most powerful logic. Therefore, if I were to imbed these facts in the mud of fiction, I should simply oblige the reader to dredge for the oyster, which in this narrative he has without the trouble of dredging, fresh and juicy as it came from the hand of Nature,--or rather, from the hand of one of Nature's noblemen,--and who, until he was thirty years of age, had never put two letters together.
The narrative is a plain and unpretending account of the life of a man whose own right arm--to use his own expression --won his rights as a free man. It is written with the utmost simplicity, and has about it the verisimilitude which belongs to truth, and to truth only when told by one who has been a doer of the deeds and an actor in the scenes which he describes. It has the further rare merit of being written by one of the "despised race"; for none but a negro can fully and correctly depict negro life and character.
General Thomas--a Southern man and a friend of the Southern negro--was once in conversation with a gentleman who has attained some reputation as a delineator of the black man, when a long, lean, "poor white man," then a scout in the Union army, approached the latter, and, giving his shoulder a familiar slap, accosted him with,--
"How are you, ole feller?"
The gentleman turned about, and forgetting, in his joy at meeting an old friend, the presence of this most dignified of our military men, responded to the salutation of the scout in an equally familiar and boisterous manner. General Thomas "smiled wickedly," and quietly remarked,--
"You seem to know each other."
"Know him!" exclaimed the scout. "Why, Gin'ral, I ha'n't seed him fur fourteen year; but I sh'u'd know him, ef his face war as black as it war one night when we went ter a nigger shindy tergether!"
The gentleman colored up to the roots of his hair, and stammered out,--
"That was in my boy days, General, I when I was sowing my wild oats."
"Don't apologize, Sir," answered the General, "don't apologize; for I see that to your youthful habit of going to negro shindies we owe your truthful pictures of negro life."
And the General was right. Every man and woman who has essayed to depict the slave character has miserably failed, unless inoculated with the genuine spirit of the negro; and even those who have succeeded best have done only moderately well, because they have not had the negro nature. It is reserved to some black Shakspeare or Dickens to lay open the wonderful humor, pathos, poetry, and power which slumber in the negro's soul, and which now and then flash out like the fire from a thunder-cloud.
I do not mean to say that this black
prophet has come in this narrative. He has not. This man is a doer, not a writer; though he gives us--particularly in the second part--touches of Nature, and little bits of description, which are perfectly inimitable. The prophet is still to come; and he will come. God never gives great events without great historians; and for all the patience and valor and heroic fortitude and self-sacrifice and long-suffering of the black man in this war, there will come a singer--and a black singer who shall set his deeds to a music that will thrill the nations.
But I am holding the reader at the threshold.
The author of this narrative--of every line in it--is William Parker. He was an escaped slave, and the principal actor in the Christiana riot,--an occurrence which cost the Government of the United States fifty thousand dollars, embittered the relations of two "Sovereign States," aroused the North to the danger of the Fugitive-Slave Law, and, more than any other event, except the raid of John Brown, helped to precipitate the two sections into the mighty conflict which has just been decided on the battle-field.
Surely the man who aided towards such results must be a man, even if his complexion be that of the ace of spades; and what he says in relation to the events in which he was an actor, even if it have no romantic interest,--which, however, it has to an eminent degree,--must be an important contribution to the history of the time.
With these few remarks, I submit the evidence which he gives of the manhood of his race to that impartial grand-jury, the American people.
E. K.
I WAS born opposite to Queen Anne, in Anne Arundel County, in the State of Maryland, on a plantation called Rowdown. My master was Major William Brogdon, one of the wealthy men of that region. He had two sons,--William, a doctor, and David, who held some office at Annapolis, and for some years was a member of the Legislature.
My old master died when I was very young; so I know little about him, except from statements received from my fellow-slaves, or casual remarks made in my hearing from time to time by white persons. From those I conclude that he was in no way peculiar, but should be classed with those slaveholders who are not remarkable either for the severity or the indulgence they extend to their people.
My mother, who was named Louisa Simms, died when I was very young, and to my grandmother I am indebted for the very little kindness I received in my early childhood; and this kindness could only be shown me at long intervals, and in a hurried way, as I shall presently show.
Like every Southern plantation of respectable extent and pretensions, our place had what is called the "Quarter," or place where the slaves of both sexes are lodged and fed. With us the Quarter was composed of a number of low buildings, with an additional building for single people and such of the children as were either orphans or had parents sold away or otherwise disposed of. This building was a hundred feet long by thirty wide, and had a large fireplace at either end, and small rooms arranged along the sides. In these rooms the children were huddled from day to day, the smaller and weaker subject to the whims and caprices of the larger and stronger. The largest children would always seize upon the warmest and best places, and say to us who were smaller, "Stand back, little chap, out of my way"; and we had to stand back or get a thrashing.
When my grandmother, who was cook at the "great house," came to look after me, she always brought me a morsel privately; and at such times I was entirely free from annoyance by the older ones. But as she could visit me only once in twenty-four hours, my juvenile days enjoyed but little rest from my domineering superiors in years and strength.
When my grandmother would inquire of the others how her "little boy" was getting on, they would tell her that I was doing well, and kindly invite me to the fire to warm myself. I was afraid to complain to her of their treatment, as, for so doing, they would have beaten me, after she had gone to the "great house" again. I was thus compelled to submit to their misrepresentation, as well as to their abuse and indifference, until I grew older, when, by fighting first with one and then with another, I became "too many" for them, and could have a seat at the fire as well as the best. This experience of my boyhood has since been repeated in my manhood. My rights at the fireplace were won by my child-fists; my rights as a freeman were, under God, secured by my own right arm.
Old master had seventy slaves, mostly field-hands. My mother was a field-hand. He finally died; but after that everything went on as usual for about six years, at the end of which time the brothers, David and William, divided the land and slaves. Then, with many others, including my brother and uncle, it fell to my lot to go with Master David, who built a house on the southeast part of the farm, and called it Nearo.
Over the hands at Nearo an overseer named Robert Brown was placed; but as he was liked by neither master nor slaves, he was soon discharged. The following circumstance led to his dismissal sooner, perhaps, than it would otherwise have happened.
While master was at Annapolis, my mistress, who was hard to please, fell out with one of the house-servants, and sent for Mr. Brown to come and whip her. When he came, the girl refused to be whipped, which angered Brown, and he beat her so badly that she was nearly killed before she gave up. When Master David came home, and saw the girl's condition, he became very angry, and turned Brown away at once.
Master David owned a colored man named Bob Wallace. He was a trusty man; and as he understood farming thoroughly, he was installed foreman in place of Brown. Everything went on very well for a while under Wallace, and the slaves were as contented as it is possible for slaves to be.
Neither of our young masters would allow his hands to be beaten or abused, as many slaveholders would; but every year they sold one or more of them,--sometimes as many as six or seven at a time. One morning word was brought to the Quarter that we should not work that day, but go up to the "great house." As we were about obeying the summons, a number of strange white men rode up to the mansion. They were negro-traders. Taking alarm, I ran away to the woods with a boy of about my own age, named Levi Storax; and there we remained until the selections for the sale were made, and the traders drove away. It was a serious time while they remained. Men, women, and children, all were crying, and general confusion prevailed. For years they had associated together in their rude way,--the old counselling the young, recounting their experience, and sympathizing in their trials; and now, without a word of warning, and for no fault of their own, parents and children, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, were separated to meet no more on earth. A slave sale of this sort is always as solemn as a funeral, and partakes of its nature in one important particular,--the meeting no more in the flesh.
Levi and I climbed a pine-tree, when we got to the woods, and had this conversation together.
"Le," I said to him, "our turn will come next; let us run away, and not be sold like the rest."
"If we can only get clear this time," replied Le, "may-be they won't sell us. I will go to Master William, and ask him not to do it."
"What will you get by going to Master William?" I asked him. "If we see him, and ask him not to sell us, he will do as he pleases. For my part, I think the best thing is to run away to the Free States."
"But," replied Levi, "see how many
start for the Free States, and are brought back, and sold away down South. We could not be safe this side of Canada, and we should freeze to death before we got there."
So ended our conversation. I must have been about ten or eleven years old then; yet, young as I was, I had heard of Canada as the land far away in the North, where the runaway was safe from pursuit; but, to my imagination, it was a vast and cheerless waste of ice and snow. So the reader can readily conceive of the effect of Levi's remarks. They were a damper upon our flight for the time being.
When night came, Levi wanted to go home and see if they had sold his mother; but I did not care about going back, as I had no mother to sell. How desolate I was! No home, no protector, no mother, no attachments. As we turned our faces toward the Quarter,--where we might at any moment be sold to satisfy a debt or replenish a failing purse,--I felt myself to be what I really was, a poor, friendless slave-boy. Levi was equally sad. His mother was not sold, but she could afford him no protection.
To the question, "Where had we been?" we answered, "Walking around." Then followed inquiries and replies as to who were sold, who remained, and what transpired at the sale.
Said Levi,--
"Mother, were you sold?"
"No, child; but a good many were sold; among them, your Uncles Anthony and Dennis."
I said,--
"Aunt Ruthy, did they sell Uncle Sammy?"
"No, child."
"Where, then, is Uncle Sammy?"
I thought, if I could be with Uncle Sammy, may-be I would be safe. My Aunt Rachel, and her two children, Jacob and Priscilla, were among the sold, who altogether comprised a large number of the servants.
The apologist for slavery at the North, and the owner of his fellow-man at the South, have steadily denied that the separation of families, except for punishment, was perpetrated by Southern masters; but my experience of slavery was, that separation by sale was a part of the system. Not only was it resorted to by severe masters, but, as in my own case, by those generally regarded as mild. No punishment was so much dreaded by the refractory slave as selling. The atrocities known to be committed on plantations in the Far South, tidings of which reached the slave's ears in various ways, his utter helplessness upon the best farms and under the most humane masters and overseers, in Maryland and other Northern Slave States, together with the impression that the journey was of great extent, and comfortless even to a slave, all combined to make a voyage down the river or down South an era in the life of the poor slave to which he looked forward with the most intense and bitter apprehension and anxiety.
This slave sale was the first I had ever seen. The next did not occur until I was thirteen years old; but every year, during the interval, one or more poor souls were disposed of privately.
Levi, my comrade, was one of those sold in this interval. Well may the good John Wesley speak of slavery as the sum of all villanies; for no resort is too despicable, no subterfuge too vile, for its supporters. Is a slave intractable, the most wicked punishment is not too severe; is he timid, obedient, attached to his birthplace and kindred, no lie is so base that it may not be used to entrap him into a change of place or of owners. Levi was made the victim of a stratagem so peculiarly Southern, and so thoroughly the outgrowth of an institution which holds the bodies and souls of men as of no more account, for all moral purposes, than the unreasoning brutes, that I cannot refrain from relating it. He was a likely lad, and, to all appearance, fully in the confidence of his master. Prompt and obedient, he seemed to some of us to enjoy high favor at the "great house." One morning he was told to take a letter to Mr. Henry
Hall, an acquaintance of the family; and it being a part of his usual employment to bring and carry such missives, off he started, in blind confidence, to learn at the end of his journey that he had parted with parents, friends, and all, to find in Mr. Hall a new master. Thus, in a moment, his dearest ties were severed.
I met him about two months afterwards at the Cross-Road Meeting-House, on West River; and, after mutual recognition, I said to him,--
"Levi, why don't you come home?"
"I am at home," said he; "I was sold by Master William to Mr. Henry Hall."
He then told me about the deception practised upon him. I thought that a suitable opportunity to remind him of our conversation when up the pine-tree, years before, and said,--
"You told me, that, if you could escape the big sale, Master William would not sell you. Now you see how it was: the big sale was over, and yet you were sold to a worse master than you had before. I told you this would be so. The next time I hear from you, you will be sold again. Master Mack will be selling me one of these days, no doubt; but if he does, he will have to do it running."
Here ended our conversation and our association, as it was not in our power to meet afterward.
The neighbors generally called Master David, Mack, which was one of his Christian names; and the slaves called him Master Mack; so the reader will understand, that, whenever that name occurs, Master David is meant.
After the sale of Levi, I became greatly attached to Alexander Brown, another slave. Though not permitted to learn to read and write, and kept in profound ignorance of everything, save what belonged strictly to our plantation duties, we were not without crude perceptions of the dignity and independence belonging to freedom; and often, when out of hearing of the white people, or certain ones among our fellow-servants, Alexander and I would talk the subject over in our simple way.
Master Mack had a very likely young house-servant named Ann. She was between sixteen and eighteen years old; every one praised her intelligence and industry; but these commendable characteristics did not save her. She was sold next after Levi. Master told the foreman, Bob Wallace, to go to Annapolis, and take Ann with him. When Wallace told me he was going, I had a presentiment that the purpose was to sell the girl, and I told him so; but, man as he was, he had no fear about it. Wallace and Ann started for the city on horseback, and journeyed along pleasantly until they reached the town and were near the market-place, when a man came up to them, took Ann off the horse without ceremony, and put her into jail. Wallace, not suspecting the manoeuvre, attacked the man, and came well-nigh getting into difficulty. When Wallace returned, he said to Master Mack, "Why did you not tell me that Ann was sold, and not have me fighting for her? They might have put me in jail." But his master did not appear to hear him.
Poor Uncle Henry followed Ann. His wife lived in Annapolis, and belonged to a Mr. George McNear, residing there. Uncle Henry went one Saturday night to see her, when Master William put him into jail for sale; and that was the last we saw or heard of him.
Alex Brown's mother followed next. After the poor woman was gone, I said to Alex,--
"Now that your mother has been sold, it is time that you and I studied out a plan to run away and be free."
But so thoroughly had his humanity been crushed by the foul spirit of Slavery, so apathetic had he--though in the vigor of youth--become from long oppression, that he would not agree to my suggestion.
"No," he said, "'t is no use for you and I to run away. It is too far to the Free States. We could not get there. They would take us up and sell us; so we had better not go. Master Mack can't sell any more of his hands; there are no more than can carry on his farm."
"Very well," said I, "trust to that, and you will see what will come of it."
After that I said no more to him, but determined to be free. My brother Charles was of like mind; but we kept our thoughts to ourselves. How old I was then I do not know; but from what the neighbors told me, I must have been about seventeen. Slaveholders are particular to keep the pedigree and age of favorite horses and dogs, but are quite indifferent about the age of their servants, until they want to purchase. Then they are careful to select young persons, though not one in twenty can tell year, month, or day. Speaking of births,--it is the time of "corn-planting," "corn-husking," "Christmas," "New Year," "Easter," "the Fourth of July," or some similar indefinite date. My own time of birth was no more exact; so that to this day I am uncertain how old I am.
About the time of the conversation last narrated, Jefferson Dorsey, a planter near by, had a butchering. One of Dorsey's men met me, and said that they wanted more help, and that Master Mack said I might go and lend a hand. Thinking that he spoke truth, I did not ask permission, but went, and stayed until noon. I soon learned, however, that the man had deceived me.
Master Mack, when told by some of the people where I was, sent my brother John after me, with the threat of a whipping. On reaching home, the women also told me that master would almost kill me. This excited me greatly, and I replied,--
"Master Mack is 'most done whipping me."
When I went in to see him, I saw plainly enough that his face foretold a storm.
"Boy," said he, "yoke up the oxen, and haul a load of wood."
I went at once, and did the task; but, to my dismay, there he stood at the stable. I had to drive near to him; and as he evidently intended to catch me, I was all vigilance.
"When you unload that wood, come to me, Sir," he said.
I made no reply, but unloaded the wood, left the oxen standing, and stole away to Dorsey's, where I staid until the next day. Then I prevailed upon Samuel Dorsey to go home with me. Master Mack told me to go to my work, and he would forgive me; but the next time he would pay me for "the new and the old." To work I went; but I determined not to be paid for "the new and the old."
This all occurred in the month of May. Everything went on well until June; when the long-sought-for opportunity presented itself. I had been making preparations to leave ever since Master Mack had threatened me; yet I did not like to go without first having a difficulty with him. Much as I disliked my condition, I was ignorant enough to think that something besides the fact that I was a slave was necessary to exonerate me from blame in running away. A cross word, a blow, a good fright, anything, would do, it mattered not whence nor how it came. I told my brother Charles, who shared my confidence, to be ready; for the time was at hand when we should leave Old Maryland forever. I was only waiting for the first crooked word from my master.
A few days afterwards all hands were ordered to the fields to work; but I stayed behind, lurking about the house. I was tired of working without pay. Master Mack saw me, and wanted to know why I did not go out. I answered, that it was raining, that I was tired, and did not want to work. He then picked up a stick used for an ox-gad, and said, if I did not go to work, he would whip me as sure as there was a God in heaven. Then he struck at me; but I caught the stick, and we grappled, and handled each other roughly for a time, when be called for assistance. He was badly hurt. I let go my hold, bade him good-bye, and ran for the woods. As I went by the field, I beckoned to my brother, who left work, and joined me at a rapid pace.
I was now at the beginning of a now and important era in my life. Although
upon the threshold of manhood, I had, until the relation with my master was sundered, only dim perceptions of the responsibilities of a more independent position. I longed to cast off the chains of servitude, because they chafed my free spirit, and because I had a notion that my position was founded in injustice; but it has only been since a struggle of many years, and, indeed, since I settled upon British soil, that I have realized fully the grandeur of my position as a free man.
One fact, when I was a slave, often filled me with indignation. There were many poor white lads of about my own age, belonging to families scattered around, who were as poor in personal effects as we were; and yet, though our companions, (when we chose to tolerate them,) they did not have to be controlled by a master, to go and come at his command, to be sold for his debts, or whenever he wanted extra pocket-money. The preachers of a slave-trading gospel frequently told us, in their sermons, that we should be "good boys," and not break into master's hen-roost, nor steal his bacon; but they never told this to these poor white people, although they knew very well that they encouraged the slaves to steal, trafficked in stolen goods, and stole themselves.
Why this difference? I felt I was the equal of these poor whites, and naturally I concluded that we were greatly wronged, and that all this talk about obedience, duty, humility, and honesty was, in the phrase of my companions, "all gammon."
But I was now on the high-road to liberty. I had broken the bonds that held me so firmly; and now, instead of fears of recapture, that before had haunted my imagination whenever I thought of running away, I felt as light as a feather, and seemed to be helped onward by an irresistible force.
Some time before this, I had been able, through the instrumentality of a friend, to procure a pass, for which I paid five dollars,--all the money I had saved in a long time; but as my brother determined to go with me, and as we could not both use it safely, I destroyed it.
On the day I ceased working for master, after gaining the woods, we lurked about and discussed our plans until after dark. Then we stole back to the Quarter, made up our bundles, bade some of our friends farewell, and at about nine o'clock of the night set out for Baltimore. How shall I describe my first experience of free life? Nothing can be greater than the contrast it affords to a plantation experience, under the suspicious and vigilant eye of a mercenary overseer or a watchful master. Day and night are not more unlike. The mandates of Slavery are like leaden sounds, sinking with dead weight into the very soul, only to deaden and destroy. The impulse of freedom lends wings to the feet, buoys up the spirit within, and the fugitive catches glorious glimpses of light through rifts and seams in the accumulated ignorance of his years of oppression. How briskly we travelled on that eventful night and the next day!
We reached Baltimore on the following evening, between seven and eight o'clock. When we neared the city, the patrols were out, and the difficulty was to pass them unseen or unsuspected. I learned of a brick-yard at the entrance to the city; and thither we went at once, took brick-dust and threw it upon our clothes, hats, and boots, and then walked on. Whenever we met a passer-by, we would brush off some of the dust, and say aloud, "Boss gave us such big tasks, we would leave him. We ought to have been in a long time before." By this ruse we reached quiet quarters without arrest or suspicion.
We remained in Baltimore a week, and then set out for Pennsylvania.
We started with the brightest visions of future independence; but soon they were suddenly dimmed by one of those unpleasant incidents which annoy the fugitive at every step of his onward journey.
The first place at which we stopped to rest was a village on the old York
road, called New Market. There nothing occurred to cause us alarm; so, after taking some refreshments, we proceeded towards York; but when near Logansville, we were interrupted by three white men, one of whom, a very large man, cried,--
"Hallo!"
I answered,--
"Hallo to you!"
"Which way are you travelling?" he asked.
We replied,--
"To Little York."
"Why are you travelling so late?"
"We are not later than you are," I answered.
"Your business must be of consequence," he said.
"It is. We want to go to York to attend to it; and if you have any business, please attend to it, and don't be meddling with ours on the public highway. We have no business with you, and I am sure you have none with us."
"See here!" said he; "you are the fellows that this advertisement calls for," at the same time taking the paper out of his pocket, and reading it to us.
Sure enough, there we were, described exactly. He came closely to us, and said,--
"You must go back."
I replied,--
"If I must, I must, and you must take me."
"Oh, you need not make any big talk about it,' he answered; "for I have taken back many a runaway, and I can take you. What's that you have in your hand?'
"A stick.'
He put his hand into his pocket, as if to draw a pistol, and said,--
"Come! give up your weapons."
I said again,--
"'T is only a stick.'
He then reached for it, when I stepped back and struck him a heavy blow on the arm. It fell as if broken; I think it was. Then he turned and ran, and I after him. As he ran, he would look back over his shoulder, see me coming, and then run faster, and halloo with all his might. I could not catch him, and it seemed, that, the longer he ran, the faster he went. The other two took to their heels at the first alarm,--thus illustrating the valor of the chivalry!
At last I gave up the chase. The whole neighborhood by that time was aroused, and we thought best to retrace our steps to the place whence we started. Then we took a roundabout course until we reached the railroad, along which we travelled. For a long distance there was unusual stir and commotion. Every house was lighted up; and we heard people talking and horses galloping this way and that way, with other evidences of unusual excitement. This was between one and two o'clock in the morning. We walked on a long distance before we lost the sounds; but about four o'clock the same morning, entered York, where we remained during the day.
Once in York, we thought we should be safe, but were mistaken. A similar mistake is often made by fugitives. Not accustomed to travelling, and unacquainted with the facilities for communication, they think that a few hours' walk is a long journey, and foolishly suppose, that, if they have few opportunities of knowledge, their masters can have none at all at such great distances. But our ideas of security were materially lessened when we met with a friend during the day, who advised us to proceed farther, as we were not out of imminent danger.
According to this advice we started that night for Columbia. Going along in the dark, we heard persons following. We went very near to the fence, that they might pass without observing us. There were two, apparently in earnest conversation. The one who spoke so as to be distinctly heard we discovered to be Master Mack's brother-in-law. He remarked to his companion that they must hurry and get to the bridge before we crossed. He knew that we had not gone over yet. We were then near enough to have killed them, concealed as we were by the
darkness; but we permitted them to pass unmolested, and went on to Wrightsville that night.
The next morning we arrived at Columbia before it was light, and fortunately without crossing the bridge, for we were taken over in a boat. At Wrightsville we met a woman with whom we were before acquainted, and our meeting was very gratifying, We there inclined to halt for a time.
I was not used to living in town, and preferred a home in the country; so to the country we decided to go. After resting for four days, we started towards Lancaster to try to procure work. I got a place about five miles from Lancaster, and then set to work in earnest.
While a slave, I was, as it were, groping in the dark, no ray of light penetrating the intense gloom surrounding me. My scanty garments felt too tight for me, my very respiration seemed to be restrained by some supernatural power. Now, free as I supposed, I felt like a bird on a pleasant May morning. Instead of the darkness of slavery, my eyes were almost blinded by the light of freedom.
Those were memorable days, and yet much of this was boyish fancy. After a few years of life in a Free State, the enthusiasm of the lad materially sobered down, and I found, by bitter experience, that to preserve my stolen liberty I must pay, unremittingly, an almost sleepless vigilance; yet to this day I have never looked back regretfully to Old Maryland, nor yearned for her flesh-pots.
I have said I engaged to work; I hired my services for three months for the round sum of three dollars per month. I thought this an immense sum. Fast work was no trouble to me; for when the work was done, the money was mine. That was a great consideration. I could go out on Saturdays and Sundays, and home when I pleased, without being whipped. I thought of my fellow-servants left behind, bound in the chains of slavery,--and I was free! I thought, that, if I had the power, they should soon be as free as I was; and I formed a resolution that I would assist in liberating every one within my reach at the risk of my life, and that I would devise some plan for their entire liberation.
My brother went about fifteen miles farther on, and also got employment. I "put in" three months with my employer, "lifted" my wages, and then went to visit my brother. He lived in Bart Township, near Smyrna; and after my visit was over, I engaged to work for a Dr. Dengy, living near by. I remained with him thirteen months. I never have been better treated than by the Doctor; I liked him and the family, and they seemed to think well of me.
While living with Dr. Dengy, I had, for the first time, the great privilege of seeing that true friend of the slave, William Lloyd Garrison, who came into the neighborhood, accompanied by Frederick Douglass. They were holding anti-slavery meetings. I shall never forget the impression that Garrison's glowing words made upon me. I had formerly known Mr. Douglass as a slave in Maryland; I was therefore not prepared for the progress he then showed, neither for his free-spoken and manly language against slavery. I listened with the intense satisfaction that only a refugee could feel, when hearing, embodied in earnest, well-chosen, and strong speech, his own crude ideas of freedom, and his own hearty censure of the man-stealer. I believed, I knew, every word he said was true. It was the whole truth,--nothing kept back,--no trifling with human rights, no trading in the blood of the slave extenuated, nothing against the slaveholder said in malice. I have never listened to words from the lips of mortal man which were more acceptable to me; and although privileged since then to hear many able and good men speak on slavery, no doctrine has seemed to me so pure, so unworldly, as his. I may here say, and without offence, I trust, that, since that time, I have had a long experience of Garrisonian Abolitionists, and have always
found them men and women with hearts in their bodies. They are, indeed and in truth, the poor slave's friend. To shelter him, to feed and clothe him, to help him on to freedom, I have ever found them ready; and I should be wanting in gratitude, if I neglected this opportunity--the only one I may ever have--to say thus much of them, and to declare for myself and for the many colored men in this free country whom I know they have aided in their journey to freedom, our humble confidence in them. Yes, the good spirit with which he is imbued constrained William Lloyd Garrison to plead for the dumb; and for his earnest pleadings all these years, I say, God bless him! By agitation, by example, by suffering, men and women of like spirit have been led to adopt his views, as the great necessity, and to carry them out into actions. They, too, have my heartfelt gratitude. They, like Gideon's band, though few, will yet rout the enemy Slavery, make him flee his own camp, and eventually fall upon his own sword.*
One day, while living at Dr. Dengy's, I was working in the barn-yard, when a man came to the fence, and, looking at me intently, went away. The Doctor's son, observing him, said,--
"Parker, that man, from his movements, must be a slaveholder or kidnapper. This is the second time he has been looking at you. If not a kidnapper, why does he look so steadily at you and not tell his errand?"
I said,--
"The man must be a fool! If he should come back and not say anything to me, I shall say something to him."
We then looked down the road and saw him coming again. He rode up to the same place and halted. I then went to the fence, and, looking him steadily in the eye, said,--
"Am I your slave?"
He made no reply, but turned his horse and rode off, at full speed, towards the valley. We did not see him again; but that same evening word was brought that kidnappers were in the valley, and if we were not careful, they would "hook" some of us. This caused a great excitement among the colored people of the neighborhood.
A short while prior to this, a number of us had formed an organization for mutual protection against slaveholders and kidnappers, and had resolved to prevent any of our brethren being taken back into slavery, at the risk of our own lives. We collected together that evening, and went down to the valley; but the kidnappers had gone. We watched for them several nights in succession, without result; for so much alarmed were the tavern-keepers by our demonstration, that they refused to let them stop over night with them. Kidnapping was so common, while I lived with the Doctor, that we were kept in constant fear. We would hear of slaveholders or kidnappers every two or three weeks; sometimes a party of white men would break into a house and take a man away, no one knew where; and, again, a whole family would be carried off. There was no power to protect them, nor prevent it. So completely roused were my feelings, that I vowed to let no slaveholder take back a fugitive, if I could but get my eye on him.
One day word was sent to me that slaveholders
had taken William Dorsey, and had put him
into Lancaster jail to await a trial. Dorsey had
a wife and three or four children; but what was
it to the slaveholder, if the wife and children
should starve? We consulted together, as to
what course to take to deliver him; but no plan
that was proposed could be worked. At last
we separated, determining to get him away
some way or other on the day of trial. His
case caused great excitement. We attended
the trial, and eagerly watched all the movements
from an outside position, and had a man to
tell us how proceedings were going on within.
He finally came out and said that the case
would go against Dorsey. We then formed in
a column at the court-house
* This sentence was written before the beginning of our civil war. Viewed in the light of subsequent events, it is somewhat remarkable.-- E.K.
door, and when the slaveholders and Dorsey came out, we walked close to them,--behind and around them,--trying to separate them from him. Before we had gone far towards the jail, a slaveholder drew a pistol on Williams Hopkins, one of our party. Hopkins defied him to shoot; but he did not. Then the slaveholder drew the pistol on me, saying, he would blow my black brains out, if I did not go away. I doubled my fists to knock him down, but some person behind caught my hand; this started a fracas, and we got Dorsey loose; but he was so confused that he stood stock still, until they tied him again. A general fight followed. Bricks, stones, and sticks fell in showers. We fought across the road and back again, and I thought our brains would be knocked out; when the whites, who were too numerous for us, commenced making arrests. They got me fast several times, but I succeeded in getting away. One of our men was arrested, and afterwards stood trial; but they did not convict him. Dorsey was put into jail, but was afterwards bought and liberated by friends.
My friends now said that I had got myself into a bad difficulty, and that my arrest would follow. In this they were mistaken. I never was disturbed because of it, nor was the house at which I lodged ever searched, although the neighbors were repeatedly annoyed in that way. I distinctly remember that this was the second time that resistance had been made to their wicked deeds. Whether the kidnappers were clothed with legal authority or not, I did not care to inquire, as I never had faith in nor respect for the Fugitive-Slave Law.
The whites of that region were generally such negro-haters, that it was a matter of no moment to them where fugitives were carried,--whether to Lancaster, Harrisburg, or elsewhere.
The insolent and overbearing conduct of the Southerners, when on such errands to Pennsylvania, forced me to my course of action. They did not hesitate to break open doors, and to enter, without ceremony, the houses of colored men; and when refused admission, or when a manly and determined spirit was shown, they would present pistols, an strike and knock down men and women indiscriminately.
I was sitting one evening in a friend's house, conversing about these marauding parties, when I remarked to him that a stop should be put to such "didos," and declared, that, the next time a slaveholder came to a house where I was, I would refuse to admit him. His wife replied, "It will make a fuss." I told her, "It is time a fuss was made." She insisted that it would cause trouble and it was best to let them alone and have peace. Then I told her we must have trouble before we could have peace "The first slaveholder that draws a pistol on me I shall knock down."
We were interrupted, just at this stage of the conversation, by some one rapping at the door.
"Who's there?" I asked.
"It's me! Who do you think? Open the door!" was the response, in a gruff tone.
"What do you want?" I asked.
Without replying, the man opened the door and came in, followed by two others.
The first one said,--
"Have you any niggers here?"
"What have we to do with your niggers?" said I.
After bandying a few words, he drew his pistol upon me. Before he could bring the weapon to bear, I seized a pair of heavy tongs, and struck him a violent blow across the face and neck, which knocked him down. He lay for a few minutes senseless, but afterwards rose, and walked out of the house without a word, followed by his comrades, who also said nothing to us, but merely asked their leader, as they went out, if he was hurt.
The part of Lancaster County in which I lived was near Chester County. Not far away, in the latter county, lived Moses Whitson, a well-known Abolitionist, and a member of the Society of Friends. Mr. Whitson had a colored girl living in his family, who
was pounced upon by the slaveholders, awhile after the Dorsey arrest. About daylight three men went to Mr. Whitson's house and told him that the girl he had living with him was their property, and that they intended to have her. Friend Whitson asked the girl if she knew any of the men, and if any of them was her master. She said, "No!" One of the slaveholders said he could prove that she was his property; and then they forcibly tied her, put her into a carriage, and started for Maryland.
While the kidnappers were contending with Moses Whitson for the girl, Benjamin Whipper, a colored man, who now lives in this country, sounded the alarm, that "the kidnappers were at Whitson's, and were taking away his girl." The news soon reached me, and with six or seven others, I followed them. We proceeded with all speed to a place called the Gap-Hill, where we overtook them, and took the girl away. Then we beat the kidnappers, and let them go. We learned afterwards that they were all wounded badly, and that two of them died in Lancaster, and the other did not get home for some time. Only one of our men was hurt, and he had only a slight injury in the hand.
Dr. Duffield and Squire Henderson, two respectable citizens of the town, were looking on during this entire engagement; and after we had stopped firing, they went up to the slaveholders, and the following conversation took place:--
Squire Henderson. What's the matter?
Slaveholder. You may ask, what's the matter! Is this the way you allow your niggers to do?
Squire. Why did you not shoot them?
Slaveholder. We did shoot at them, but it did not take effect.
Squire. There's no use shooting at our niggers, for their heads are like iron pots; the balls will glance off. What were you doing?
Slaveholder. Taking our property, when the niggers jumped on us and nearly killed some of the men.
Squire. Men coming after such property ought to be killed.
Slaveholder. Do you know where we can find a doctor?
Squire. Yes; there are plenty of doctors South.
Being much disabled, and becoming enraged, they abruptly left, and journeyed on until they reached McKenzie's tavern, where their wounds were dressed and their wants attended to. So strongly was McKenzie in sympathy with these demons, that he declared he would never employ another nigger, and actually discharged a faithful colored woman who had lived a long time in his employ. Dr. Lemmon, a physician on the road to Lancaster, refused to attend the slaveholders; so that by the time they got to the city, from being so long without surgical aid, their limbs were past setting, and two of them died, as before stated, while the other survived but a short time after reaching Maryland.
A large reward was offered by the Maryland authorities for the perpetrators of the flogging, but without effect.
McKenzie, the tavern-keeper referred to, boasted after this that he would entertain all slaveholders who came along, and help them recapture their slaves. We were equally determined he should not, if we could prevent it.
The following affliction was eventually the means, under Providence, by which he was led to adopt other views, and become a practical Abolitionist.
A band of five men stood off, one dark night, and saw with evident satisfaction the curling flames ascend above his barn, from girder to roof, and lap and lash their angry tongues in wild license, until every vestige of the building was consumed.
After that mysterious occurrence, the poor fugitive had no better friend than the publican McKenzie.
Shortly after the incidents just related, I was married to Eliza Ann Elizabeth Howard, a fugitive, whose experience of slavery had been much more bitter than my own. We commenced housekeeping, renting a room from Enoch
Johnson for one month. We did not like our landlord, and when the time was up left, and rented a house of Isaac Walker for one year. After the year was out, we left Walker's and went to Smyrna, and there I rented a house from Samuel D. Moore for another year. After the year was out we left Smyrna also, and went to Joseph Moore's to live. We lived on his place about five years. While we were living there, several kidnappers came into the neighborhood. On one occasion, they took a colored man and started for Maryland. Seven of us set out in pursuit, and, soon getting on their track, followed them to a tavern on the Westchester road, in Chester County. Learning that they were to remain for the night, I went to the door and asked for admittance. The landlord demanded to know if we were white or colored. I told him colored. He then told us to be gone, or he would blow out our brains. We walked aside a little distance, and consulted about what we should do. Our men seemed to dread the undertaking; but I told them we could overcome them, and that I would go in. One of them said he would follow at the risk of his life. The other five said we should all get killed,--that we were men with families,--that our wives and children needed our assistance,--and that they did not think we would be doing our families justice by risking our lives for one man. We two then went back to the tavern, and, after rapping, were told again by the landlord to clear out, after he found that we were colored. I pretended that we wanted something to drink. He put his head out of the window, and threatened again to shoot us; when my comrade raised his gun and would have shot him down, had I not caught his arm and persuaded him not to fire. I told the landlord that we wanted to come in and intended to come in. Then I went to the yard, got a piece of scantling, took it to the door, and, by battering with it a short time, opened it. As soon as the door flew open, a kidnapper shot at us, and the ball lodged in my ankle, bringing me to the ground. But I soon rose, and my comrade then firing on them, they took to their heels. As they ran away, I heard one say, "We have killed one of them."
My companion and I then rushed into the house. We unbound the man, took him out, and started for home; but had hardly crossed the door-sill before people from the neighboring houses began to fire on us. At this juncture, our other five came up, and we all returned the compliment. Firing on both sides was kept up for ten or fifteen minutes, when the whites called for quarter, and offered to withdraw, if we would stop firing. On this assurance we started off with the man, and reached home safely.
The next day my ankle was very painful. With a knife I extracted the ball, but kept the wound secret; as long before we had learned that for our own security it was best not to let such things be generally known.
About ten o'clock of a Sabbath night, awhile after the event last narrated, we were aroused by the cry of "Kidnappers! kidnappers!" and immediately some one halloed under my window,--
"William! William!"
I put my head out and demanded his errand. He said,--
"Come here!"
I answered,--
"You must be a fool to think I am going to you at this time of the night, without knowing who you are and what you want."
He would not satisfy me, so I took my gun, and went out to him. I was then informed that kidnappers had been at Allen Williams's; that they had taken Henry Williams, and gone towards Maryland. I called one of our party, who dressed and proceeded to arouse our men. Two of us then started for the Nine Points, in Lancaster County, and left instructions for the other men to meet us in the valley. They did so, and we hurried on to our destination. We had not gone far before we heard some one calling, "Kidnappers! kidnappers!" Going back some distance, we
found the cry came from a man who had fallen into a lime quarry. He was in a bad situation, and unable to get out without assistance, and, hearing us pass, concluded we were kidnappers and raised the cry. We were delayed for a time in helping him out, and it provoked me very much, as it was important we should be in haste.
We started again for the Nine Points, but, arriving there, learned to our dismay, that the kidnappers had passed an hour before. The chase was given up, but with saddened feelings. A fellow-being had been dragged into hopeless bondage, and we, his comrades, held our liberty as insecurely as he had done but a few short hours before! We asked ourselves the question, "Whose turn will come next," I was delegated to find out, if possible, who had betrayed him, which I accordingly did.
Lynch law is a code familiar to the colored people of the Slave States. It is of so diabolical a character as to be without justification, except when enforced by men of pure motives, and then only in extreme cases, as when the unpunished party has it in his power to barter away the lives and liberties of those whose confidence he possesses, and who would, by bringing him before a legal tribunal, expose themselves to the same risks that they are liable to from him. The frequent attacks from slaveholders and their tools, the peculiarity of our position, many being escaped slaves, and the secrecy attending these kidnapping exploits, all combined to make an appeal to the Lynch Code in our case excusable, if not altogether justifiable. Ourselves, our wives, our little ones, were insecure, and all we had was liable to seizure. We felt that something must be done, for some one must be in our midst with whom the slaveholders had communication. I inquired around, quietly, and soon learned that Allen Williams, the very man in whose house the fugitive was, had betrayed him. This information I communicated to our men. They met at my house and talked the matter over; and, after most solemnly weighing all the facts and evidence, we resolved that he should die, and we set about executing our purpose that evening. The difficulty was, how to punish him. Some were for shooting him, but this was not feasible. I proposed another plan, which was agreed to.
Accordingly, we went to his house and asked if a man named Carter, who lived with him, was at home, as rumor said that he had betrayed Henry Williams. He denied it, and said that Carter had fought for Henry with him, but the slaveholders being too strong for them, they had to give him up. He kept beyond reach, and the men apologized for intruding upon him, while I stepped up to the door and asked for a glass of water. He gave it to me, and to the others. When he was giving water to one of the party, I caught him by the throat, to prevent his giving the alarm, and drew him over my head and shoulders. Then the rest beat him until we thought we heard some one coming, which caused us to flee. If we had not been interrupted, death would have been his fate. At that time I was attending a threshing-machine for George Whitson and Joseph Scarlot.
It must have been a month after the Williams affray, that I was sitting at home one evening, talking with Pinckney and Samuel Thompson about how I was getting on with my work, when I thought I heard some one call my name. I went out, but all was quiet. When I went in, Pinckney and Thompson laughed at me, and said that I had become so "scary" that I could not stay in the house. But I was not satisfied. I was sure some one had called me. I said so, and that I would go to Marsh Chamberlain's to see if anything was wrong. They concluded to go also, and we started.
Arriving near the house, I told Pinckney and Thompson to stop outside, and I would go in, and if anything was wrong, would call them. When I reached the house, I saw a chair broken to pieces, and knew that something had happened. I said,--
"Hallo, Marsh!"
"Who is that?" said he.
And his wife said,--
"Parker, is that you?"
"Yes," I said.
"Oh, Parker, come here!" she called.
I called Pinckney and Thompson and we went in. Marsh met us, and said that kidnappers had been there, had taken John Williams, and gone with him towards Buck Hill. They had then been gone about fifteen minutes. Off we started on a rapid run to save him. We ran to a stable, got out two horses, and Pinckney and I rode on. Thompson soon got the rest of our party together and followed. We were going at a pretty good gait, when Pinckney's horse stumbled and fell, fastening his rider's leg; but I did not halt. Pinckney got his horse up and caught up with me.
"You would not care," said he, "if a man were to get killed! You would not help him!"
"Not in such a case as this," I replied.
We rode on to the Maryland line, but could not overtake them. We were obliged to return, as it was near daybreak. The next day a friend of ours went to Maryland to see what had been done with Williams. He went to Dr. Savington's, and the Doctor told him that the fugitive could not live,--the kidnappers had broken his skull, and otherwise beaten him very badly; his ankle, too, was out of place. In consequence of his maimed condition, his mistress refused to pay the men anything for bringing him home. That was the last we ever heard of poor John Williams; but we learned afterwards why we failed to release him on the night he was taken. The kidnappers heard us coming, and went into the woods out of the way, until we had passed them.
Awhile before this occurrence, there lived in a town not far away from Christiana a colored man who was in the habit of decoying fugitives fresh from bondage to his house on various pretexts, and, by assuming to be their friend, got from them the name of their master, his residence, and other needed particulars. He would then communicate with the master about his slave, tell him at what time the man would be at his house, and when he came at the appointed hour, the poor refugee would fall into the merciless clutches of his owner. Many persons, mostly young people, had disappeared mysteriously from the country, from whom nothing could be heard. At last the betrayer's connection with these transactions was clearly traced; and it was decided to force him to quit the nefarious business.
He was too wary to allow himself to be easily taken, and a resort was had to stratagem. I, with others, thought he deserved to be shot openly in his daughter's house, and was willing to take the consequences.
At last this man's outrages became so notorious that six of our most reliable men resolved to shoot him, if they had to burn him out to do it. After I had sworn the men in the usual form, we went to his barn, took two bundles of wheat-straw, and, fastening them under the eaves with wisps, applied a lighted match to each. We then took our stations a few rods off, with rifles ready and in good condition,--mine was a smooth-bore, with a heavy charge.
The house burned beautifully; and half an hour after it ignited the walls fell in, but no betrayer showed himself. Instead of leaving the house by the rear door, as we had expected, just before the roof fell in, he broke out the front way, rushed to his next neighbor's, and left his place without an effort to save it. We had built the fire in the rear, and looked for him there; but he ran in the opposite direction, not only as if his life was in danger, but as if the spirit of his evil deeds was after him.
AS the Freedman relates only events which came under his own observation, it is necessary to preface the remaining portion of his narrative with a brief account of the Christiana riot. This I extract mainly from a statement made at the time by a member of the Philadelphia bar, making only a few alterations to give the account greater clearness and brevity.
On the 9th of September, 1851, Mr. Edward Gorsuch, a citizen of Maryland, residing near Baltimore, appeared before
Edward D. Ingraham, Esquire, United States Commissioner at Philadelphia, and asked for warrants under the act of Congress of September 18, 1850, for the arrest of four of his slaves, whom he had heard were secreted somewhere in Lancaster County. Warrants were issued forthwith, directed to H. H. Kline, a deputy United States Marshal, authorizing him to arrest George Hammond, Joshua Hammond, Nelson Ford, and Noah Buley, persons held to service or labor in the State of Maryland, and to bring them before the said Commissioner.
Mr. Gorsuch then made arrangements with John Agin and Thompson Tully, residents of Philadelphia, and police officers, to assist Kline in making the arrests. They were to meet Mr. Gorsuch and some companions at Penningtonville, a small place on the State Railroad, about fifty miles from Philadelphia. Kline, with the warrants, left Philadelphia on the same day, about 2 P. M., for West Chester. There he hired a conveyance and rode to Gallagherville, where he hired another conveyance to take him to Penningtonville. Before he had driven very far, the carriage breaking down, he returned to Gallagherville, procured another, and started again. Owing to this detention, he was prevented from meeting Mr. Gorsuch and his friends at the appointed time, and when he reached Penningtonville, about 2 A. M. on the 10th of September, they had gone.
On entering the tavern, the place of rendezvous he saw a colored man whom he recognized as Samuel Williams, a resident of Philadelphia. To put Williams off his guard, Kline asked the landlord some questions about horse thieves. Williams remarked that he had seen the "horse thieves," and told Kline he had come too late.
Kline then drove on to a place called the Gap. Seeing a person he believed to be Williams following him, he stopped at several taverns along the road and made inquiries about horse thieves. He reached the Gap about 3 A. M., put up his horses, and went to bed. At half past four he rose, ate breakfast, and rode to Parkesburg, about forty-five miles from Philadelphia, and on the same railroad. Here he found Agin and Tully asleep in the bar-room. He awoke Agin, called him aside, and inquired for Mr. Gorsuch and his party. He was told they had gone to Sadsbury, a small place on the turnpike, four or five miles from Parkesburg.
On going there, he found them, about 9 A. M. on the 10th of September. Kline told them he had seen Agin and Tully, who had determined to return to Philadelphia, and proposed that the whole party should return to Gallagherville. Mr. Gorsuch, however, determined to go to Parkesburg instead, to see Agin and Tully, and attempt to persuade them not to return. The rest of the party were to go to Gallagherville, while Kline returned to Downingtown, to see Agin and Tully, should Mr. Gorsuch fail to meet them at Parkesburg. He left Gallagherville about 11 A. M., and met Agin and Tully at Downingtown. Agin said he had seen Mr. Gorsuch, but refused to go back. He promised, however, to return from Philadelphia in the evening cars. Kline returned to Downingtown, and then met all the party except Mr. Edward Gorsuch, who had remained behind to make the necessary arrangements for procuring a guide to the houses where he had been informed his negroes were to be found.
About 3 P. M., Mr. Edward Gorsuch joined them at Gallagherville, and at 11 P. M. on the night of the 10th of September they all went in the cars to Downingtown, where they waited for the evening train from Philadelphia.
When it arrived, neither Agin nor Tully was to be seen. The rest of the party went on to the Gap, which they reached about half past one on the morning of the 11th of September. They then continued their journey on foot towards Christiana, where Parker was residing, and where the slaves of Mr. Gorsuch were supposed to be living. The party then consisted of Kline, Edward Gorsuch, Dickinson Gorsuch, his son, Joshua M. Gorsuch, his nephew,
Dr. Thomas Pierce, Nicholas T. Hutchings, and Nathan Nelson.
After they had proceeded about a mile they met a man who was represented to be a guide. He is said to have been disguised in such a way that none of the party could recognize him, and his name is not mentioned in any of the proceedings. It is probable that he was employed by Mr. Edward Gorsuch, and one condition of his services may have been that he should be allowed to use every possible means of concealing his face and name from the rest of the party. Under his conduct, the party went on, and soon reached a house in which they were told one of the slaves was to be found. Mr. Gorsuch wished to send part of the company after him, but Kline was unwilling to divide their strength, and they walked on, intending to return that way after making the other arrests.
The guide led them by a circuitous route, until they reached the Valley Road, near the house of William Parker, the writer of the annexed narrative, which was their point of destination. They halted in a lane near by, ate some crackers and cheese, examined the condition of their fire-arms, and consulted upon the plan of attack. A short walk brought them to the orchard in front of Parker's house, which the guide pointed out and then left them. He had no desire to remain and witness the result of his false information. His disguise and desertion of his employer are strong circumstances in proof of the fact that he knew he was misleading the party. On the trial of Hanway, it was proved by the defence that Nelson Ford, one of the fugitives, was not on the ground until after the sun was up. Joshua Hammond had lived in the vicinity up to the time that a man by the name of Williams had been kidnapped, when he and several others departed, and had not since been heard from. Of the other two, one at least, if the evidence for the prosecution is to be relied upon, was in the house at which the party first halted, so that there could not have been more than one of Mr. Gorsuch's slaves in Parker's house, and of this there is no positive testimony.
It was not yet daybreak when the party approached the house. They made demand for the slaves, and threatened to burn the house and shoot the occupants, if they would not surrender. At this time, the number of besiegers seems to have been increased, and as many as fifteen are said to have been near the house. About daybreak, when they were advancing a second or third time, they saw a negro coming out, whom Mr. Gorsuch thought he recognized as one of his slaves. Kline pursued him with a revolver in his hand, and stumbled over the bars near the house. Some of the company came up before Kline, and found the door open. They entered, and Kline, following, called for the owner, ordered all to come down, and said he had two warrants for the arrest of Nelson Ford and Joshua Hammond. He was answered that there were no such men in the house. Kline, followed by Mr. Gorsuch, attempted to go up stairs. They were prevented from ascending by what appears to have been an ordinary fish gig. Some of the witnesses described it as "like a pitchfork with blunt prongs," and others were at a loss what to call this, the first weapon used in the contest. An axe was next thrown down, but hit no one.
Mr. Gorsuch and others then went outside to talk with the negroes at the window. Just at this time Kline fired his pistol up stairs. The warrants were then read outside the house, and demand made upon the landlord. No answer was heard. After a short interval, Kline proposed to withdraw his men, but Mr. Gorsuch refused, and said he would not leave the ground until he had made the arrests. Kline then in a loud voice ordered some one to go to the sheriff and bring a hundred men, thinking, as he afterwards said, this would intimidate them. The threat appears to have had some effect, for the negroes asked time to consider. The party outside agreed to give fifteen minutes.
While these scenes were passing at
the house, occurrences transpired elsewhere that are worthy of attention, but which cannot be understood without a short statement of previous events.
In the month of September, 1850, a colored man, known in the neighborhood around Christiana to be free, was seized and carried away by men known to be professional kidnappers, and had not been seen by his family since. In March, 1851, in the same neighborhood, under the roof of his employer, during the night, another colored man was tied, gagged, and carried away, marking the road along which he was dragged with his blood. No authority for this outrage was ever shown, and the man was never heard from. These and many other acts of a similar kind had so alarmed the neighborhood, that the very name of kidnapper was sufficient to create a panic. The blacks feared for their own safety; and the whites, knowing their feelings, were apprehensive that any attempt to repeat these outrages would be the cause of bloodshed. Many good citizens were determined to do all in their power to prevent these lawless depredations, though they were ready to submit to any measures sanctioned by legal process. They regretted the existence among them of a body of people liable to such violence; but without combination had, each for himself, resolved that they would do everything dictated by humanity to resist barbarous oppression.
On the morning in question, a colored man living in the neighborhood, who passing Parker's house at an early hour, saw the yard full of men. He halted, and was met by a man who presented a pistol at him, and ordered him to leave the place. He went away and hastened to a store kept by Elijah Lewis, which, like all places of that kind, was probably the head-quarters of news in the neighborhood. Mr. Lewis was in the act of opening his store when this man told him that "Parker's house was surrounded by kidnappers, who had broken into the house, and were trying to get him away." Lewis, not questioning the truth of the statement, repaired immediately to the place. On the way he passed the house of Castner Hanway, and, telling him what he had heard, asked him to go over to Parker's. Hanway was in feeble health and unable to undergo the fatigue of walking that distance; but he saddled his horse, and reached Parker's during the armistice.
Having no reason to believe he was acting under legal authority, when Kline approached and demanded assistance in making the arrests, Hanway made no answer. Kline then handed him the warrants, which Hanway examined, saw they appeared genuine, and returned.
At this time, several colored men, who no doubt had heard the report that kidnappers were about, came up, armed with such weapons as they could suddenly lay hands upon. How many were on the ground during the affray it is now impossible to determine. The witnesses on both sides vary materially in their estimate. Some said they saw a dozen or fifteen; some, thirty or forty; and others maintained, as many as two or three hundred. It is known there were not two hundred colored men within eight miles of Parker's house, nor half that number within four miles; and it would have been almost impossible to get together even thirty at an hour's notice. It is probable there were about twenty-five, all told, at or near the house from the beginning of the affray until all was quiet again. These the fears of those who afterwards testified to larger numbers might easily have magnified to fifty or a hundred.
While Kline and Hanway were in conversation, Elijah Lewis came up. Hanway said to him, "Here is the Marshal." Lewis asked to see his authority, and Kline handed him one of the warrants. When he saw the signature of the United States Commissioner, "he took it for granted that Kline had authority." Kline then ordered Hanway and Lewis to assist in arresting the alleged fugitives. Hanway refused
to have anything to do with it, The negroes around these three men seeming disposed to make an attack, Hanway "motioned to them and urged them back." He then "advised Kline that it would be dangerous to attempt making arrests, and that they had better leave." Kline, after saying he would hold them accountable for the fugitives, promised to leave, and beckoned two or three times to his men to retire.
The negroes then rushed up, some armed with guns, some with corn-cutters, staves, or clubs, others with stones or whatever weapon chance offered. Hanway and Lewis in vain endeavored to restrain them.
Kline leaped the fence, passed through the standing grain in the field, and for a few moments was out of sight. Mr. Gorsuch refused to leave the spot, saying his "property was there, and he would have it or perish in the attempt." The rest of his party endeavored to retreat when they heard the Marshal calling to them, but they were too late; the negroes rushed up, and the firing began. How many times each party fired, it is impossible to tell. For a few moments everything was confusion, and each attempted to save himself. Nathan Nelson went down the short lane, thence into the woods and towards Penningtonville. Nicholas Hutchings, by direction of Kline, followed Lewis to see where he went. Thomas Pierce and Joshua Gorsuch went down the long lane, pursued by some of the negroes, caught up with Hanway, and, shielding themselves behind his horse, followed him to a stream of water near by. Dickinson Gorsuch was with his father near the house. They were both wounded; the father mortally. Dickinson escaped down the lane, where he was met by Kline, who had returned from the woods at the end of the field. Kline rendered him assistance, and went towards Penningtonville for a physician. On his way be met Joshua M. Gorsuch, who was also wounded and delirious. Kline led him over to Penningtonville and placed him on the upward train from Philadelphia. Before this time several persons living in the neighborhood had arrived at Parker's house. Lewis Cooper found Dickinson Gorsuch in the place where Kline had left him, attended by Joseph Scarlett. He placed him in his dearborn, and carried him to the house of Levi Pownall, where he remained till he had sufficiently recovered to return home. Mr. Cooper then returned to Parker's, placed the body of Mr. Edward Gorsuch in the same dearborn, and carried it to Christiana. Neither Nelson nor Hutchings rejoined their party, but during the day went by the railroad to Lancaster.
Thus ended an occurrence which was the theme of conversation throughout the land. Not more than two hours elapsed from the time demand was first made at Parker's house until the dead body of Edward Gorsuch was carried to Christiana. In that brief time the blood of strangers had been spilled in a sudden affray, an unfortunate man had been killed, and two others badly wounded.
When rumor spread abroad the result of the affray, the neighborhood was appalled. The inhabitants of the farmhouses and the villages around, unused to such scenes, could not at first believe that it had occurred in their midst. Before midday, exaggerated accounts had reached Philadelphia, and were transmitted by telegraph throughout the country.
Many persons were arrested for participation in the riot; and, after a long imprisonment, were arraigned for trial, on the charge of treason, before Judges Grier and Kane, of the United States Court, sitting at Philadelphia.
Every one knows the result. The prisoners were all acquitted; and the country was aroused to the danger of a law which allowed bad men to incarcerate peaceful citizens for months in prison, and put them in peril of their lives, for refusing to aid in entrapping, and sending back to hopeless slavery, men struggling for the very same freedom we value as the best part of our birthright.
The Freedman's narrative is now resumed.
A short time after the events narrated
in the preceding number, it was
whispered about that the slaveholders
intended to make an attack on my house;
but, as I had often been threatened, I
gave the report little attention. About
the same time, however, two letters
were found thrown carelessly about, as if
to attract notice. These letters stated
that kidnappers would be at my house on
a certain night, and warned me to be on
my guard. Still I did not let the matter
trouble me. But it was no idle rumor.
The bloodhounds were upon my track. I was not at this time aware that in the
city of Philadelphia there was a band of
devoted, determined men,--few in
number, but strong in purpose,--who
were fully resolved to leave no means
untried to thwart the barbarous and
inhuman monsters who crawled in the
gloom of midnight, like the ferocious
tiger, and, stealthily springing on their
unsuspecting victims, seized, bound, and
hurled them into the ever open jaws of
Slavery. Under the pretext of enforcing
the Fugitive Slave Law, the slaveholders
did not hesitate to violate all other laws
made for the good government and
protection of society, and converted the
old State of Pennsylvania, so long the
hope of the fleeing bondman, wearied
and heartbroken, into a common
hunting-ground for their human prey.
But this little band of true patriots in
Philadelphia united for the purpose of
standing between the pursuer and the
pursued, the kidnapper and his victim,
and, regardless of all personal
considerations, were ever on the alert,
ready to sound the alarm to save their
fellows from a fate far more to be
dreaded than death. In this they had
frequently succeeded, and many times
had turned the hunter home bootless of
his prey. They began their operations at
the passage of the Fugitive Slave Law,
and had thoroughly examined all matters
connected with it, and were perfectly
cognizant of the plans adopted to carry
out its provisions in Pennsylvania, and,
through a correspondence with reliable
persons in various sections of the South,
were enabled to know these hunters of men,
their agents, spies, tools, and betrayers.
They knew who performed this work in
Richmond, Alexandria, Washington,
Baltimore, Wilmington, Philadelphia,
Lancaster, and Harrisburg, those principal
depots of villany, where organized bands
prowled about at all times, ready to entrap
the unwary fugitive. They also discovered that this nefarious
business was conducted mainly through
one channel; for, spite of man's
inclination to vice and crime, there are
but few men, thank God, so low in the
scale of humanity as to be willing to
degrade themselves by doing the dirty
work of four-legged bloodhounds. Yet such
men, actuated by the love of gold and
their own base and brutal natures, were
found ready for the work. These fellows
consorted with constables, police-officers,
aldermen, and even with learned members
of the legal profession, who disgraced
their respectable calling by low,
contemptible arts, and were willing to
clasp hands with the lowest ruffian in
order to pocket the reward that was the
price of blood. Every facility was offered
these bad men; and whether it was night or
day, it was only necessary to whisper in a
certain circle that a negro was to be
caught, and horses and wagons, men and
officers, spies and betrayers, were ready,
at the shortest notice, armed and
equipped, and eager for the chase. Thus matters stood in Philadelphia on
the 9th of September, 1851, when Mr.
Gorsuch and his gang of Maryland
kidnappers arrived there. Their presence
was soon known to the little band of true
men who were called "The Special Secret
Committee." They had agents faithful and
true as steel; and through these agents the
whereabouts and business of Gorsuch and
his minions were soon discovered. They
were noticed in close converse with a
certain member of the Philadelphia bar,
who had lost the little reputation he ever
had by continual dabbling in negro-catching,
as well as by association with and support
of the notorious Henry H.
Kline, a professional kidnapper of the
basest stamp. Having determined as to the
character and object of these Marylanders,
there remained to ascertain the spot
selected for their deadly spring; and this
required no small degree of shrewdness,
resolution, and tact. Some one's liberty was imperilled; the
hunters were abroad; the time was short,
and the risk imminent. The little band
bent themselves to the task they were
pledged to perform with zeal and devotion;
and success attended their efforts. They
knew that one false step would jeopardize
their own liberty, and very likely their
lives, and utterly destroy every prospect
of carrying out their objects. They knew,
too, that they were matched against the
most desperate, daring, and brutal men in
the kidnappers' ranks,--men who, to
obtain the proffered reward, would rush
willingly into any enterprise, regardless
alike of its character or its consequences.
That this was the deepest, the most
thoroughly organized and best-planned
project for man-catching that had been
concocted since the infamous Fugitive
Slave Law had gone into operation, they
also knew; and consequently this nest of
hornets was approached with great care.
But by walking directly into their camp,
watching their plans as they were
developed, and secretly testing every inch
of ground on which they trod, they
discovered enough to counterplot these
plotters, and to spring upon them a mine
which shook the whole country, and put
an end to man-stealing in Pennsylvania
forever. The trusty agent of this Special
Committee, Mr. Samuel Williams, of
Philadelphia,--a man true and faithful to
his race, and courageous in the highest
degree,--came to Christiana, travelling
most of the way in company with the
very men whom Gorsuch had employed to
drag into slavery four as good men as ever
trod the earth. These Philadelphia roughs,
with their Maryland associates, little
dreamed that the man who sat by their
side carried with him their inglorious
defeat, and the death-warrant of at least
one of their party. Williams listened to
their conversation, and marked well their
faces, and, being fully satisfied by their
awkward movements that they were heavily
armed, managed to slip out of the cars at
the village of Downington unobserved,
and proceeded to Penningtonville, where
he encountered Kline, who had started
several hours in advance of the others.
Kline was terribly frightened, as he knew
Williams, and felt that his presence was
an omen of ill to his base designs. He
spoke of horse thieves; but Williams
replied,--"I know the kind of horse
thieves you are after. They are all gone;
and you had better not go after them." Kline immediately jumped into his
wagon, and rode away, whilst Williams
crossed the country, and arrived at
Christiana in advance of him. The manner in which information of
Gorsuch's designs was obtained will probably
ever remain a secret; and I doubt if any
one outside of the little band who so
masterly managed the affair knows
anything of it. This was wise; and I would
to God other friends had acted thus. Mr.
Williams's trip to Christiana, and the many
incidents connected therewith, will be
found in the account of his trial; for he
was subsequently arrested and thrown into
the cold cells of a loathsome jail for this
good act of simple Christian duty; but,
resolute to the last, he publicly stated that
he had been to Christiana, and, to use his
own words, "I done it, and will do it
again." Brave man, receive my thanks! Of the Special Committee I can only
say that they proved themselves men;
and through the darkest hours of the trials
that followed, they were found faithful to
their trust, never for one moment
deserting those who were compelled to
suffer. Many, many innocent men
residing in the vicinity of Christiana, the
ground where the first battle was fought
for liberty in Pennsylvania, were seized,
torn from their families, and, like
Williams, thrown into prison for long,
weary months, to be tried for their lives.
By them this Committee
stood, giving them every
consolation and comfort,
furnishing them with clothes, and
attending to their wants, giving
money to themselves and families,
and procuring for them the best
legal counsel. This I know, and
much more of which it is not wise,
even now, to speak: 't is enough to
say they were friends when and
where it cost something to be
friends, and true brothers where
brothers were needed. After this lengthy digression, I
will return, and speak of the riot
and the events immediately
preceding it. The information brought by Mr.
Williams spread through the
vicinity like a fire in the prairies;
and when I went home from my
work in the evening, I found
Pinckney (whom I should have
said before was my brother-in-law),
Abraham Johnson, Samuel
Thompson, and Joshua Kite at my
house, all of them excited about
the rumor. I laughed at them, and
said it was all talk. This was the
10th of September, 1851. They
stopped for the night with us, and
we went to bed as usual. Before
daylight, Joshua Kite rose, and
started for his home. Directly, he
ran back to the house, burst open
the door, crying, "O William!
kidnappers! kidnappers!" He said that, when he was just
beyond the yard, two men crossed
before him, as if to stop him, and
others came up on either side. As
he said this, they had reached the
door. Joshua ran up stairs, (we slept
up stairs,) and they followed him;
but I met them at the landing, and
asked, "Who are you?" The leader, Kline, replied, "I am
the United States Marshal." I then told him to take another
step, and I would break his neck. He again said, "I am the United
States Marshal." I told him I did not care for him
nor the United States. At that he
turned and went down stairs. Pinckney said, as he turned to
go down,--"Where is the use in
fighting? They will take us." Kline heard him, and said, "Yes,
give up, for we can and will take
you anyhow." I told them all not to be afraid, nor
to give up to any slaveholder, but to
fight until death. "Yes," said Kline, "I have heard
many a negro talk as big as you, and
then have taken him; and I'll take
you." "You have not taken me yet," I
replied; "and if you undertake it you
will have your name recorded in
history for this day's work." Mr. Gorsuch then spoke, and said,--
"Come, Mr. Kline, let's go up stairs
and take them. We can take them.
Come, follow me, I'll go up and get
my property. What's in the way? The
law is in my favor, and the people are
in my favor." At that he began to ascend the
stair; but I said to him,--"See here,
old man, you can come up, but you
can't go down again. Once up here,
you are mine." Kline then said,--"Stop, Mr.
Gorsuch. I will read the warrant, and
then, I think, they will give up." He then read the warrant, and said,
"Now, you see, we are commanded
to take you, dead or alive; so you may
as well give up at once." "Go up, Mr. Kline," then said
Gorsuch, "you are the Marshal." Kline started, and when a little
way up said, "I am coming." I said, "Well, come on." But he was too cowardly to show
his face. He went down again and
said,--"You had better give up without
any more fuss, for we are bound to
take you anyhow. I told you before
that I was the United States Marshal,
yet you will not give up. I'll not
trouble the slaves. I will take you and
make you pay for all." "Well," I answered, "take me and
make me pay for all. I'll pay for all." Mr. Gorsuch then said, "You have
my property." To which I replied,--"Go in the room
down there, and see if there is
anything there belonging to you.
There are beds and a bureau, chairs,
and other things. Then go out to the
barn; there you will find a cow and
some hogs. See if any of them are
yours." He said,--"They are not mine; I
want my men. They are here, and I am
bound to have them." Thus we parleyed for a time, all
because of the pusillanimity of the
Marshal, when he, at last, said,--"I am
tired waiting on you; I see you are not
going to give up. Go to the barn and fetch
some straw," said he to one of his men. "I
will set the house on fire, and burn them
up." "Burn us up and welcome," said I.
"None but a coward would say the like.
You can burn us, but you can't take us;
before I give up, you will see my ashes
scattered on the earth." By this time day had begun to dawn; and
then my wife came to me and asked if she
should blow the horn, to bring friends to
our assistance. I assented, and she went to
the garret for the purpose. When the horn
sounded from the garret window, one of
the ruffians asked the others what it
meant; and Kline said to me, "What do
you mean by blowing that horn?" I did not answer. It was a custom with
us, when a horn was blown at an unusual
hour, to proceed to the spot promptly to
see what was the matter. Kline ordered his
men to shoot any one they saw blowing
the horn. There was a peach-tree at that
end of the house. Up it two of the men
climbed; and when my wife went a second
time to the window, they fired as soon as
they heard the blast, but missed their aim.
My wife then went down on her knees,
and, drawing her head and body below the
range of the window, the horn resting on
the sill, blew blast after blast, while the
shots poured thick and fast around her.
They must have fired ten or twelve times.
The house was of stone, and the windows
were deep, which alone preserved her life. They were evidently disconcerted by
the blowing of the horn. Gorsuch said
again, "I want my property, and I will
have it." "Old man," said I, "you look as if you
belonged to some persuasion." "Never mind," he answered, "what
persuasion I belong to; I want my
property." While I was leaning out of the
window, Kline fired a pistol at me, but
the shot went too high; the ball broke
the glass just above my bead. I was
talking to Gorsuch at the time. I seized
a gun and aimed it at Gorsuch's breast
for he evidently had instigated Kline to
fire; but Pinckney caught my arm and
said, "Don't shoot." The gun went
off, just grazing Gorsuch's shoulder.
Another conversation then ensued
between Gorsuch, Kline, and myself,
when another one of the party fired at
me but missed. Dickinson Gorsuch, I
then saw, was preparing to shoot; and
I told him if he missed, I would show
him where shooting first came from. I asked them to consider what they
would have done, had they been in our
position. "I know you want to kill us,"
I said, "for you have shot at us time and
again. We have only fired twice, although
we have guns and ammunition, and could
kill you all if we would, but we do not
want to shed blood." "If you do not shoot any more," then
said Kline, "I will stop my men from
firing." They then ceased for a time. This was
about sunrise. Mr. Gorsuch now said,--"Give up and
let me have my property. Hear what the
Marshal says; the Marshal is your friend.
He advises you to give up without more
fuss, for my property I will have." I denied that I had his property, when
he replied, "You have my men." "Am I your man?" I asked. "No." I then called Pinckney forward. "Is that your man?" "No." Abraham Johnson I called next, but
Gorsuch said he was not his man. The only plan left was to call both
Pinckney and Johnson again; for had I
called the others, he would have
recognized them, for they were his slaves. Abraham Johnson said, "Does such a
shrivelled up old slaveholder as you own
such a nice, genteel young man as I am?"
At this Gorsuch took offence, and
charged me with dictating his language. I
then told him there were but five of us,
which he denied, and still insisted that I
had his property. One of the party then
attacked the Abolitionists, affirming
that, although they declared there could
not be property in man, the Bible was
conclusive authority in favor of property
in human flesh. "Yes," said Gorsuch, "does not the
Bible say, 'Servants, obey your masters'?" I said that it did, but the same Bible
said, "Give unto your servants that
which is just and equal." At this stage of the proceedings, we
went into a mutual Scripture inquiry, and
bandied views in the manner of garrulous
old wives. When I spoke of duty to servants,
Gorsuch said, "Do you know that?" "Where," I asked, "do you see it in
Scripture, that a man should traffic in
his brother's blood?" "Do you call a nigger my brother?"
said Gorsuch. "Yes," said I. "William," said Samuel Thompson,
"he has been a class-leader." When Gorsuch heard that, he hung his
head, but said nothing. We then all joined
in singing,-- Then we all began to shout, singing
meantime, and shouted for a long while.
Gorsuch, who was standing head bowed,
said, "What are you doing now?" Samuel Thompson replied, "Preaching
a sinner's funeral sermon." "You had better give up, and come
down." I then said to Gorsuch,--" 'If a brother
see a sword coming, and he warn not his
brother, then the brother's blood is
required at his hands; but if
the other see the sword coming, and
warn his brother, and his brother flee
then his brother's blood is required
at his own hand.' I see the sword coming,
and, old man, I warn you to flee; if
you flee not, your blood be upon your
own hand." It was now about seven o'clock. "You had better give up," said old Mr.
Gorsuch, after another while, "and come
down, for I have come a long way this
morning, and want my breakfast; for my
property I will have, or I'll breakfast in
hell. I will go up and get it." He then started up stairs, and came far
enough to see us all plainly. We were just
about to fire upon him, when Dickinson
Gorsuch, who was standing on the old
oven, before the door, and could see into
the up-stairs room through the window,
jumped down and caught his father,
saying,--"O father, do come down! do come
down! They have guns, swords, and all
kinds of weapons! They'll kill you!
Do come down!" The old man turned and left. When
down with him, young Gorsuch could
scarce draw breath, and the father looked
more like a dead than a living man, so
frightened were they at their supposed
danger. The old man stood some time
without saying anything; at last he said,
as if soliloquizing, "I want my property,
and I will have it." Kline broke forth, "If you don't give
up by fair means, you will have to by
foul." I told him we would not surrender on
any conditions. Young Gorsuch then said,--"Don't ask
them to give up,--make them do it. We
have money, and can call men to take
them. What is it that money won't buy?" Then said Kline,--"I am getting tired
waiting on you; I see you are not going
to give up." He then wrote a note and handed it to
Joshua Gorsuch, saying at the same
time,--"Take it, and bring a hundred men
from Lancaster." As he started, I said,--"See here!
When you go to Lancaster, don't bring a
hundred men,--bring five hundred. It will
take all the men in Lancaster to change
our purpose or take us alive."
He stopped to confer with Kline, when
Pinckney said, "We had better give up." "You are getting afraid," said I. "Yes," said Kline, "give up like men.
The rest would give up if it were not for
you." "I am not afraid," said Pinckney;
"but where is the sense in fighting
against so many men, and only five
of us?" The whites, at this time, were coming
from all quarters, and Kline was enrolling
them as fast as they came. Their numbers
alarmed Pinckney, and I told him to go
and sit down; but he said, "No, I will go
down stairs." I told him, if he attempted it, I should
be compelled to blow out his brains.
"Don't believe, that any living man can
take you," I said. "Don't give up to any
slaveholder." To Abraham Johnson, who was near
me, I then turned. He declared he was not
afraid. "I will fight till I die," he said. At this time, Hannah, Pinckney's wife,
had become impatient of our persistent
course; and my wife, who brought me her
message urging us to surrender, seized a
corn-cutter, and declared she would cut off
the head of the first one who should
attempt to give up. Another one of Gorsuch's slaves was
coming along the highroad at this time,
and I beckoned to him to go around.
Pinckney saw him, and soon became more
inspirited. Elijah Lewis, a Quaker, also
came along about this time; I beckoned to
him, likewise; but he came straight on,
and was met by Kline, who ordered him to
assist him. Lewis asked for his authority,
and Kline handed him the warrant. While
Lewis was reading, Castner Hanway came
up, and Lewis handed the warrant to him.
Lewis asked Kline what Parker said. Kline replied, "He won't give up." Then Lewis and Hanway both said to
the Marshal,--"If Parker says they will
not give up, you had better let them
alone, for he will kill some of you. We are
not going to risk our lives"; and they
turned to go away. While they were talking, I came down
and stood in the doorway, my men
following behind. Old Mr. Gorsuch said, when I appeared,
"They'll come out, and get away!" and
he came back to the gate. I then said to him,--"You said you could
and would take us. Now you have the
chance." They were a cowardly-looking set of
men. Mr., Gorsuch said, "You can't come out
here." "Why?" said I. "This is my place. I pay
rent for it. I'll let you see if I can't
come out." "I don't care if you do pay rent for it,"
said he. "If you come out, I will give you
the contents of these";--presenting, at
the same time, two revolvers, one in each
hand. I said, "Old man, if you don't go away,
I will break your neck." I then walked up to where he stood, his
arms resting on the gate, trembling as if
afflicted with palsy, and laid my hand on
his shoulder, saying, "I have seen pistols
before to-day." Kline now came running up, and
entreated Gorsuch to come away. "No," said the latter, "I will have my
property, or go to hell." "What do you intend to do?" said
Kline to me. "I intend to fight," said I. "I intend
to try your strength." "If you will withdraw your men," he
replied, "I will withdraw mine." I told him it was too late. "You would
not withdraw when you had the chance,
--you shall not now." Kline then went back to Hanway and
Lewis. Gorsuch made a signal to his men,
and they all fell into line. I followed his
example as well as I could; but as we were
not more than ten paces apart, it was
difficult to do so. At this time we
numbered but ten, while there were
between thirty and forty of the white
men. While I was talking to Gorsuch, his son
said, "Father, will you take all this from a
nigger?" I answered him by saying that I
respected old age; but that, if he would
repeat that, I should knock his teeth
down his throat. At this he fired upon
me, and I ran up to him and knocked
the pistol out of his hand, when he let
the other one fall and ran in the field. My brother-in-law, who was standing
near, then said, "I can stop him";--and
with his double-barrel gun he fired. Young Gorsuch fell, but rose and ran
on again. Pinckney fired a second time,
and again Gorsuch fell, but was soon up
again, and, running into the cornfield,
lay down in the fence corner. I returned to my men, and found
Samuel Thompson talking to old Mr.
Gorsuch, his master. They were both
angry. "Old man, you had better go home to
Maryland," said Samuel. "You had better give up, and come
home with me," said the old man. Thompson took Pinckney's gun from
struck Gorsuch, and brought him to his
knees. Gorsuch rose and signalled to
his men. Thompson then knocked
him down again, and he again rose.
At this time all the white men opened
fire, and we rushed upon them; when
they turned, threw down their guns,
and ran away. We, being closely
engaged clubbed our rifles. We were
too closely pressed to fire, but we found
a good deal could be done with empty
guns. Old Mr. Gorsuch was the bravest of his
party; he held on to his pistols until the
last, while all the others threw away
their weapons. I saw as many as three at
a time fighting with him. Sometimes he
was on his knees, then on his back, and
again his feet would be where his head
should be. He was a fine soldier and a
brave man. Whenever he saw the least
opportunity, he would take aim. While
in close quarters with the whites, we
could load and fire but two or three
times. Our guns got bent and out of
order. So damaged did they become,
that we could shoot with but two or
three of them. Samuel Thompson bent
his gun on old Mr. Gorsuch so badly,
that it was of no use to us. When the white men ran, they
scattered. I ran after Nathan Nelson, but
could not catch him. I never saw a man
run faster. Returning, I saw Joshua
Gorsuch coming, and Pinckney behind
him. I reminded him that he would like
"to take hold of a nigger," told him that
now was his "chance," and struck him a
blow on the side of the head, which
stopped him. Pinckney came up behind,
and gave him a blow which brought him to
the ground; as the others passed, they
gave him a kick or jumped upon him, until
the blood oozed out at his ears. Nicholas Hutchings, and Nathan Nelson
of Baltimore County, Maryland, could
outrun any men I ever saw. They and
Kline were not brave, like the Gorsuches.
Could our men have got them, they would
have been satisfied. One of our men ran after Dr. Pierce, as
he richly deserved attention; but Pierce
caught up with Castner Hanway, who rode
between the fugitive and the Doctor, to
shield him and some others. Hanway was
told to get out of the way, or he would
forfeit his life; he went aside quickly, and
the man fired at the Marylander, but
missed him,--he was too far off. I do not
know whether he was wounded or not; but
I do know, that, if it had not been for
Hanway, he would have been killed. Having driven the slavocrats off in
every direction, our party now turned
towards their several homes. Some of us,
however, went back to my house, where
we found several of the neighbors. The scene at the house beggars
description. Old Mr. Gorsuch was lying in
the yard in a pool of blood, and confusion
reigned both inside and outside of the
house. Levi Pownell said to me, "The weather
is so hot and the flies are so bad, will you
give me a sheet to put over the corpse?" In reply, I gave him permission to get
anything he needed from the house. "Dickinson Gorsuch is lying in the
fence-corner, and I believe he is dying.
Give me something for him to drink,"
said Pownell, who seemed to be acting the
part of the Good Samaritan. When he returned from ministering to
Dickinson, he told me he could not live. The riot, so called, was now entirely
ended. The elder Gorsuch was dead; his
son and nephew were both wounded, and I
have reason to believe others were,--how
many, it would be difficult to say. Of our
party, only two were wounded. One
received a ball in his hand, near the wrist;
but it only entered the skin, and he pushed
it out with his thumb. Another received a
ball in the fleshy part of his thigh, which
had to be extracted; but neither of them
were sick or crippled by the wounds.
When young Gorsuch fired at me in the
early part of the battle, both balls passed
through my hat, cutting off my hair close
to the skin, but they drew no blood. The
marks were not more than an inch apart. A story was afterwards circulated that
Mr. Gorsuch shot his own slave, and in
retaliation his slave shot him; but it was
without foundation. His slave struck him
the first and second blows; then three or
four sprang upon him, and, when he
became helpless, left him to pursue
others. The women put an end to him.
His slaves, so far from meeting death at
his hands, are all still living. After the fight, my wife was obliged to
secrete herself, leaving the children in
care of her mother, and to the charities of
our neighbors. I was questioned by my
friends as to what I should do, as they
were looking for officers to arrest me. I
determined not to be taken alive, and told
them so; but, thinking advice as to our
future course necessary, went to see some
old friends and consult about it. Their
advice was to leave, as, were we captured
and imprisoned, they could not foresee
the result. Acting upon this hint, we set
out for home, when we met some female
friends, who told us that forty or fifty
armed men were at my house, looking for
me, and that we had better stay away
from the place, if we did not want
to be taken. Abraham Johnson and
Pinckney hereupon halted, to agree upon
the best course, while I turned around and
went another way. Before setting out on my long journey
northward, I determined to have an
interview with my family, if possible,
and to that end changed my course. As we
went along the road to where I found
them, we met men in companies of three
and four, who had been drawn together by
the excitement. On one occasion, we met
ten or twelve together. They all left the
road, and climbed over the fences into
fields to let us pass; and then, after we
had passed, turned, and looked after us as
far as they could see. Had we been
carrying destruction to all human kind,
they could not have acted more absurdly.
We went to a friend's house and stayed for
the rest of the day, and until nine o'clock
that night, when we set out for Canada. The great trial now was to leave my
wife and family. Uncertain as to the result
of the journey, I felt I would rather die
than be separated from them. It had to be
done, however; and we went forth with
heavy hearts, outcasts for the sake of
liberty. When we had walked as far as
Christiana, we saw a large crowd, late as it
was, to some of whom, at least, I must
have been known, as we heard distinctly,
"A'n't that Parker?" "Yes," was answered, "that's Parker." Kline was called for, and he, with some
nine or ten more, followed after. We
stopped, and then they stopped. One said
to his comrades, "Go on,--that's him." And
another replied, "You go." So they
contended for a time who should come to
us. At last they went back. I was sorry to
see them go back, for I wanted to meet
Kline and end the day's transactions. We went on unmolested to
Penningtonville; and, in consequence of
the excitement, thought best to continue
on to Parkersburg. Nothing worth
mention occurred for a time. We
proceeded to Downingtown, and thence
six miles beyond, to the house of a friend.
We stopped with him on Saturday
night, and on the evening of the 14th
went fifteen miles farther. Here I
learned from a preacher, directly
from the city, that the excitement in
Philadelphia was too great for us to risk
our safety by going there. Another man
present advised us to go to Norristown. At Norristown we rested a day. The
friends gave us ten dollars, and sent us
in a vehicle to Quakertown. Our driver,
partly intoxicated, set us down at the
wrong place, which obliged us to
stay out all night. At eleven o'clock
the next day we got to Quakertown.
We had gone about six miles out of the
way, and had to go directly across the
country. We rested the 16th, and set
out in the evening for Friendsville. A friend piloted us some distance, and
we travelled until we became very tired,
when we went to bed under a haystack.
On the 17th, we took breakfast at an
inn. We passed a small village, and
asked a man whom we met with a
dearborn, what would be his charge to
Windgap. "One dollar and fifty cents,"
was the ready answer. So in we got, and
rode to that place. As we wanted to make some inquiries
when we struck the north and south
road, I went into the post-office, and
asked for a letter for John Thomas,
which of course I did not get. The
postmaster scrutinized us closely,--more
so, indeed, than any one had done on
the Blue Mountains,--but informed us
that Friendsville was between forty
and fifty miles away. After going about
nine miles, we stopped in the evening
of the 18th at an inn, got supper, were
politely served, and had an excellent
night's rest. On the next day we set out
for Tannersville, hiring a conveyance
for twenty-two miles of the way. We
had no further difficulty on the entire
road to Rochester,--more than five
hundred miles by the route we travelled. Some amusing incidents occurred,
however, which it may be well to relate
in this connection. The next morning,
after stopping at the tavern, we took
the cars and rode to Homerville, where,
after waiting an hour, as our landlord of
the night previous had directed us, we took
stage. Being the first applicants for
tickets, we secured inside seats, and, from
the number of us, we took up all of the
places inside; but, another traveller
coming, I tendered him mine, and rode
with the driver. The passenger thanked me;
but the driver, a churl, and the most
prejudiced person I ever came in contact
with, would never wait after a stop until I
could get on, but would drive away, and
leave me to swing, climb, or cling on to
the stage as best I could. Our traveller, at
last noticing his behavior, told him
promptly not to be so fast, but let all
passengers get on, which had the effect to
restrain him a little. At Big Eddy we took the cars. Directly
opposite me sat a gentleman, who, on
learning that I was for Rochester, said he
was going there too, and afterwards proved
an agreeable travelling-companion. A newsboy came in with papers, some
of which the passengers bought. Upon
opening them, they read of the fight at
Christiana. "O, see here!" said my neighbor;
"great excitement at Christiana; a--a
statesman killed, and his son and nephew
badly wounded." After reading, the passengers began to
exchange opinions on the case. Some said
they would like to catch Parker, and get
the thousand dollars reward offered by the
State; but the man opposite to me said,
"Parker must be a powerful man." I thought to myself, "If you could tell
what I can, you could judge about that." Pinckney and Johnson became alarmed,
and wanted to leave the cars at the next
stopping-place; but I told them there was
no danger. I then asked particularly about
Christiana, where it was, on what railroad,
and other questions, to all of which I
received correct replies. One of the men
became so much attached to me, that,
when we would go to an eating-saloon, he
would
pay for both. At Jefferson we thought of
leaving the cars, and taking the boat;
but they told us to keep on the cars, and
we would get to Rochester by nine o'clock
the next night. We left Jefferson about four o'clock in
the morning, and arrived at Rochester at
nine the same morning. Just before
reaching Rochester, when in conversation
with my travelling friend, I ventured to
ask what would be done with Parker,
should he be taken. "I do not know," he replied; "but the
laws of Pennsylvania would not hang him,--
they might imprison him. But it would be
different, very different, should they get
him into Maryland. The people in all the
Slave States are so prejudiced against
colored people, that they never give them
justice. But I don't believe they will get
Parker. I think he is in Canada by this
time; at least, I hope so,--for I believe he
did right, and, had I been in his place, I
would have done as he did. Any good
citizen will say the same. I believe Parker
to be a brave man; and all you colored
people should look at it as we white
people look at our brave men, and do as
we do. You see Parker was not fighting for
a country, nor for praise. He was fighting
for freedom: he only wanted liberty, as
other men do. You colored people should
protect him, and remember him as long as
you live. We are coming near our parting-place,
and I do not know if we shall ever
meet again. I shall be in Rochester some
two or three days before I return home;
and I would like to have your company
back." I told him it would be some time before
we returned. The cars then stopped, when he bade
me good by. As strange as it may appear,
he did not ask me my name; and I was
afraid to inquire his, from fear he would. On leaving the cars, after walking two
or three squares, we overtook a colored
man, who conducted us to the house of--a
friend of mine. He welcomed me at once,
as we were acquainted before, took me up
stairs to wash and comb, and prepare, as
he said, for company. As I was combing, a lady came up and
said, "Which of you is Mr. Parker?" "I am," said I,--"what there is left of
me." She gave me her hand, and said, "And
this is William Parker!" She appeared to be so excited that she
could not say what she wished to. We
were told we would not get much rest, and
we did not; for visitors were constantly
coming. One gentleman was surprised that
we got away from the cars, as spies were
all about, and there were two thousand
dollars reward for the party. We left at eight o'clock that evening,
in a carriage, for the boat, bound for
Kingston in Canada. As we went on board,
the bell was ringing. After walking about a
little, a friend pointed out to me the
officers on the "hunt" for us; and just as
the boat pushed off from the wharf, some
of our friends on shore called me by
name. Our pursuers looked very much like
fools, as they were. I told one of the
gentlemen on shore to write to Kline that
I was in Canada. Ten dollars were
generously contributed by the Rochester
friends for our expenses; and altogether
their kindness was heartfelt, and was most
gratefully appreciated by us. Once on the boat, and fairly out at sea
towards the land of liberty, my mind
became calm, and my spirits very much
depressed at thought of my wife and
children. Before, I had little time to think
much about them, my mind being on my
journey. Now I became silent and
abstracted. Although fond of company,
no one was company for me now. We landed at Kingston on the 21st of
September, at six o'clock in the morning,
and walked around for a long time,
without meeting any one we had ever
known. At last, however, I saw a colored
man I knew in Maryland. He at first
pretended to have no knowledge of me,
but finally recognized me. I made known
our distressed condition,
when he said he was not going home
then, but, if we would have breakfast, he
would pay for it. How different the
treatment received from this man--himself
an exile for the sake of liberty, and in its
full enjoyment on free soil--and the
self-sacrificing spirit of our Rochester
colored brother, who made haste to
welcome us to his ample home,--the
well-earned reward of his faithful
labors! On Monday evening, the 23d, we
started for Toronto, where we arrived
safely the next day. Directly after
landing, we heard that Governor
Johnston, of Pennsylvania, had made a
demand on the Governor of Canada for
me, under the Extradition Treaty.
Pinckney and Johnson advised me to go
to the country, and remain where I should
not be known; but I refused. I
intended to see what they would do with
me. Going at once to the Government
House, I entered the first office I came
to. The official requested me to be
seated. The following is the substance of
the conversation between us, as near as I
can remember. I told him I had heard
that Governor Johnston, of
Pennsylvania, had requested his
government to send me back. At this he
came forward, held forth his hand, and
said, "Is this William Parker?" I took his hand, and assured him I
was the man. When he started to
come, I thought he was intending to
seize me, and I prepared myself to knock
him down. His genial, sympathetic
manner it was that convinced me he
meant well. He made me sit down, and said, "Yes,
they want you back again. Will you go?" "I will not be taken back alive," said
I. "I ran away from my master to be
free,--I have run from the United States
to be free. I am now going to stop
running." "Are you a fugitive from labor?" he
asked. I told him I was. "Why," he answered, "they say you
are a fugitive from justice." He then
asked me where my master lived. I told him, "In Anne Arundel County,
Maryland." "Is there such a county in Maryland?"
he asked. "There is," I answered. He took down a map, examined it, and
said, "You are right." I then told him the name of the farm,
and my master's name. Further questions
bearing upon the country towns near, the
nearest river, etc., followed, all of which I
answered to his satisfaction. "How does it happen," he then asked,
"that you lived in Pennsylvania so long,
and no person knew you were a fugitive
from labor?" "I do not get other people to keep my
secrets, sir," I replied. "My brother and
family only knew that I had been a
slave." He then assured me that I would not, in
his opinion, have to go back. Many
coming in at this time on business, I was
told to call again at three o'clock, which I
did. The person in the office, a clerk, told
me to take no further trouble about it,
until that day four weeks. "But you are as
free a man as I am," said he. When I told
the news to Pinckney and Johnson, they
were greatly relieved in mind. I ate breakfast with the greatest relish,
got a letter written to a friend in Chester
County for my wife, and set about
arrangements to settle at or near Toronto. We tried hard to get work, but the task
was difficult. I think three weeks elapsed
before we got work that could be called
work. Sometimes we would secure a small
job, worth two or three shillings, and
sometimes a smaller one; worth not more
than one shilling; and these not oftener
than once or twice in a week. We became
greatly discouraged; and, to add to my
misery, I was constantly hearing some
alarming report about my wife and
children. Sometimes they had carried her
back into slavery,--sometimes the
children, and sometimes the entire party.
Then there would come a contradiction. I
was soon so completely worn down by my
fears for them, that I thought, my heart
would break. To add to my disquietude, no
answer came to my letters, although I
went to the office regularly every day. At
last I got a letter with the glad news that
my wife and children were safe, and would
be sent to Canada. I told the person
reading for me to stop, and tell them to
send her "right now,"--I could not wait to
hear the rest of the letter. Two months from the day I landed in
Toronto, my wife arrived, but without the
children. She had had a very bad time.
Twice they had her in custody; and, a
third time, her young master came after
her, which obliged her to flee before day,
so that the children had to remain behind
for the time. I was so glad to see her that
I forgot about the children. The day my wife came, I had nothing
but the clothes on my back, and was in
debt for my board, without any work to
depend upon. My situation was truly
distressing. I took the resolution, and went
to a store where I made known my
circumstances to the proprietor, offering
to work for him to pay for some
necessaries. He readily consented, and I
supplied myself with bedding, meal, and
flour. As I had selected a place before, we
went that evening about two miles into
the country, and settled ourselves for the
winter. When in Kingston, I had heard of the
Buxton settlement, and of the Revds. Dr.
Willis and Mr. King, the agents. My
informant, after stating all the particulars,
induced me to think it was a desirable
place; and having quite a little sum of
money due to me in the States, I wrote for
it, and waited until May. It not being sent,
I called upon Dr. Willis, who treated me
kindly. I proposed to settle in Elgin, if he
would loan means for the first instalment.
He said he would see about it, and I should
call again. On my second visit, he agreed
to assist me, and proposed that I should
get another man to go on a lot with me. Abraham Johnson and I arranged to
settle together, and, with Dr. Willis's
letter to Mr. King on our behalf, I
embarked with my family on a schooner for
the West. After five days' sailing, we
reached Windsor. Not having the means
to take us to Chatham, I called upon
Henry Bibb, and laid my case before him.
He took us in, treated us with great
politeness, and afterwards took me with
him to Detroit, where, after an
introduction to some friends, a purse of
five dollars was made up. I divided the
money among my companions, and
started them for Chatham, but was
obliged to stay at Windsor and Detroit
two days longer. While stopping at Windsor, I went
again to Detroit, with two or three
friends, when, at one of the steamboats
just landed, some officers arrested three
fugitives, on pretence of being horse
thieves. I was satisfied they were slaves,
and said so, when Henry Bibb went to the
telegraph office and learned through a
message that they were. In the crowd and
excitement, the sheriff threatened to
imprison me for my interference. I felt
indignant, and told him to do so,
whereupon he opened the door. About
this time there was more excitement, and
then a man slipped into the jail, unseen
by the officers, opened the gate, and the
three prisoners went out, and made their
escape to Windsor. I stopped through
that night in Detroit, and started the next
day for Chatham, where I found my
family snugly provided for at a boarding-house
kept by Mr. Younge. Chatham was a thriving town at that
time, and the genuine liberty enjoyed by
its numerous colored residents pleased me
greatly; but our destination was Buxton,
and thither we went on the following day.
We arrived there in the evening, and I
called immediately upon Mr. King, and
presented Dr. Willis's letter. He received
me very politely, and said that, after I
should feel rested, I could go out and
select a lot. He also kindly offered to give
me meal and pork for my family, until I
could get work. In due time, Johnson and I each chose
a fifty-acre lot; for although when in
Toronto we agreed with Dr. Willis to
take one lot between us, when
we saw the land we thought we could pay
for two lots. I got the money in a little
time, and paid the Doctor back. I built a
house, and we moved into it that same
fall, and in it I live yet. When I first settled in Buxton, the
white settlers in the vicinity were much
opposed to colored people. Their
prejudices were very strong; but the
spread of intelligence and religion in the
community has wrought a great change
in them. Prejudice is fast being uprooted;
indeed, they do not appear like the same
people that they were. In a short time I
hope the foul spirit will depart entirely. I have now to bring my narrative to a
close; and in so doing I would return
thanks to Almighty God for the many
mercies and favors he has bestowed upon
me, and especially for delivering me out
of the hands of slaveholders, and placing
me in a land of liberty, where I can worship
God under my own vine and fig-tree, with
none to molest or make me afraid. I am also
particularly thankful to my old friends and
neighbors in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania,
to the friends in Norristown, Quakertown,
Rochester, and Detroit, and to Dr. Willis of
Toronto, for their disinterested benevolence
and kindness to me and my family. When
hunted, they sheltered me; when hungry
and naked, they clothed and fed me; and
when a stranger in a strange land, they
aided and encouraged me. May the Lord
in his great mercy remember and bless
them, as they remembered and blessed me. The events following the riot at
Christiana and my escape have become
matters of history, and can only be
spoken of as such. The failure of Gorsuch
in his attempt; his death, and the terrible
wounds of his son; the discomfiture and
final rout of his crestfallen associates in
crime; and their subsequent attempt at
revenge by a merciless raid through
Lancaster County, arresting every one
unfortunate enough to have a dark skin,--is all
to be found in the printed account
of the trial of Castner Hanway
and others for treason. It is true that some
of the things which did occur are spoken
of but slightly, there being good and valid
reasons why they were passed over thus at
that time in these cases, many of which
might be interesting to place here, and
which I certainly should do, did not the
same reasons still exist in full force for
keeping silent. I shall be compelled to let
them pass just as they are recorded. But one event, in which there seems no
reason to observe silence, I will introduce
in this place. I allude to the escape of
George Williams, one of our men, and the
very one who had the letters brought up
from Philadelphia by Mr. Samuel Williams.
George lay in prison with the others who
had been arrested by Kline, but was
rendered more uneasy by the number of
rascals who daily visited that place for the
purpose of identifying, if possible, some of
its many inmates as slaves. One day the
lawyer previously alluded to, whose chief
business seemed to be negro-catching, came
with another man, who had employed him
for that purpose, and, stopping in front of
the cell wherein George and old Ezekiel
Thompson were confined, cried out,
"That's him!" At which the man exclaimed,
"It is, by God! that is him!" These ejaculations, as a matter of
course, brought George and Ezekiel, who
were lying down, to their feet,--the first
frightened and uneasy, the latter stern and
resolute. Some mysterious conversation
then took place between the two, which
resulted in George lying down and covering
himself with Ezekiel's blanket. In the
mean time off sped the man and lawyer to
obtain the key, open the cell, and institute
a more complete inspection. They
returned in high glee, but to their surprise
saw only the old man standing at the door,
his grim visage anything but inviting.
They inserted the key, click went the
lock, back shot the bolt, open flew the
door, but old Ezekiel stood there firm, his
eyes flashing fire, his brawny hands
flourishing a stout oak stool furnished him
to rest on by friends of whom I
have so often spoken, and crying out
in the most unmistakable manner, every
word leaving a deep impression on his
visitors, "The first man that puts his head
inside of this cell I will split to pieces." The men leaped back, but soon recovered
their self-possession; and the lawyer
said,--"Do you know who I am? I
am the lawyer who has charge of this
whole matter, you impudent nigger.
I will come in whenever I choose." The old man, if possible looking more
stern and savage than before, replied, "I
don't care who you are; but if you or any
other nigger-catcher steps inside of my
cell-door I will beat out his brains." It is needless to say more. The old
man's fixed look, clenched teeth, and
bony frame had their effect. The man and
the lawyer left, growling as they went,
that, if there was rope to be had, that old
Indian nigger should certainly hang. This was but the beginning of poor
George's troubles. His friends were at work;
but all went wrong, and his fate seemed
sealed. He stood charged with treason,
murder, and riot, and there appeared no
way to relieve him. When discharged by
the United States Court for the first crime,
he was taken to Lancaster to meet the
second and third. There, too, the man and
the lawyer followed, taking with them that
infamous wretch, Kline. The Devil seemed
to favor all they undertook; and when
Ezekiel was at last discharged, with some
thirty more, from all that had been so
unjustly brought against him, and for
which he had lain in the damp prison for
more than three months, these rascals
lodged a warrant in the Lancaster jail, and
at midnight Kline and the man who
claimed to be George's owner arrested him
as a fugitive from labor, whilst the lawyer
returned to Philadelphia to prepare the
case for trial, and to await the arrival of
his shameless partners in guilt. This
seemed the climax of George's
misfortunes. He was hurried into a wagon,
ready at the door, and, fearing a rescue,
was driven at a killing pace to the town
of Parkesburg, where they were compelled to
stop for the night, their horses being completely
used up. This was in the month of January,
and the coldest night that had been known
for many years. On their route, these wretches,
who had George handcuffed and tied in the
wagon, indulged deeply in bad whiskey, with
which they were plentifully supplied, and by
the time they reached the public-house their
fury was at its height. 'T is said there is honor
among thieves, but villains of the sort I am
now speaking of seem to possess none. Each
fears the other. When in the bar-room, Kline
said to the other,--"Sir, you can go to sleep.
I will watch this nigger." "No," replied the other, "I will do
that business myself. You don't fool
me, sir." To which Kline replied, "Take something,
sir?"--and down went more whiskey. Things went on in this way awhile,
until Kline drew a chair to the stove,
and, overcome by the heat and liquor,
was soon sleeping soundly, and, I
suppose, dreaming of the profits which
were sure to arise from the job. The other
walked about till the barkeeper went to
bed, leaving the hostler to attend in his
place, and he also, somehow or other,
soon fell asleep. Then he walked up
to George, who was lying on a bench,
apparently as soundly asleep as any of
them, and, saying to himself, "The
damn nigger is asleep,--I'll just take a
little rest myself,"--he suited the action
to the word. Spreading himself out on
two chairs, in a few moments he was
snoring at a fearful rate. Rum, the
devil, and fatigue, combined, had
completely prostrated George's foes. It
was now his time for action; and, true to
the hope of being free, the last to leave
the poor, hunted, toil-worn bondsman's
heart, he opened first one eye, then the
other, and carefully examined things
around. Then he rose slowly, and, keeping
step to the deep-drawn snores of the
miserable, debased wretch who claimed
him, he stealthily crawled towards the
door, when, to his consternation, he
found the eye of the hostler on him.
He paused, knowing his fate hung by a
single hair. It was only necessary for the
man to speak, and he would be shot
instantly dead; for both Kline and his
brother ruffian slept pistol in hand. As
I said, George stopped, and, in the softest
manner in which it was possible for
him to speak, whispered, "A drink of
water, if you please, sir." The man
replied not, but, pointing his finger to
the door again, closed his eyes, and
was apparently lost in slumber. I have already said it was cold; and, in
addition, snow and ice covered the
ground. There could not possibly be a
worse night. George shivered as he
stepped forth into the keen night air.
He took one look at the clouds above,
and then at the ice-clad ground below.
He trembled; but freedom beckoned, and
on he sped. He knew where he was,--the
place was familiar. On, on, he pressed,
nor paused till fifteen miles lay between
him and his drunken claimant; then he
stopped at the house of a tried friend to
have his handcuffs removed; but, with
their united efforts, one side only could
be got off, and the poor fellow, not
daring to rest, continued his journey,
forty odd miles, to Philadelphia, with
the other on. Frozen, stiff, and sore, he
arrived there on the following day, and
every care was extended to him by his
old friends. He was nursed and attended
by the late Dr. James, Joshua Gould
Bias, one of the faithful few, whose labors
for the oppressed will never be forgotten,
and whose heart, purse, and hand were
always open to the poor, flying slave.
God has blessed him, and his reward is
obtained. I shall here take leave of George,
only saying, that he recovered and
went to the land of freedom, to be safe
under the protection of British law. Of the
wretches he left in the tavern, much might
be said; but it is enough to know that they
awoke to find him gone, and to pour
their curses and blasphemy on each other.
They swore most frightfully; and the
disappointed Southerner threatened to blow
out the brains of Kline, who turned his
wrath on the hostler, declaring he should be
taken and held responsible for the loss.
This so raised the ire of that worthy, that,
seizing an iron bar that was used to fasten
the door, he drove the whole party from
the house, swearing they were damned
kidnappers, and ought to be all sent after
old Gorsuch, and that he would raise the
whole township on them if they said one
word more. This had the desired effect.
They left, not to pursue poor George, but
to avoid pursuit; for these worthless
man-stealers knew the released men
brought up from Philadelphia and
discharged at Lancaster were all in the
neighborhood, and that nothing would
please these brave fellows--who had patiently
and heroically suffered for long and weary
months in a felon's cell for the cause of human
freedom--more than to get a sight at them; and
Kline, he knew this well,--particularly old
Ezekiel Thompson, who had sworn by his
heart's blood, that, if he could only get hold
of that Marshal Kline, he should kill him
and go to the gallows in peace. In fact, he
said the only thing he had to feel sorry
about was, that he did not do it when he
threatened to, whilst the scoundrel stood
talking to Hanway; and but for Castner
Hanway he would have done it, anyhow.
Much more I could say; but short stories
are read, while long ones are like the
sermons we go to sleep under.
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"Leader, what do you say
About the judgment day?
I will die on the field of battle,
Die on the field of battle,
With glory in my soul."
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