My Bondage and My Freedom
driven to concealment or to destruction.
The prospect was not always a bright one. At times, we were almost
tempted to abandon the enterprise, and to get back to that comparative
peace of mind, which even a man under the gallows might feel, when all
hope of escape had vanished. Quiet bondage was felt to be better than
the doubts, fears and uncertainties, which now so sadly perplexed and
disturbed us.
The infirmities of humanity, generally, were represented in our little
band. We were confident, bold and determined, at times; and, again,
doubting, timid and wavering; whistling, like the boy in the graveyard,
to keep away the spirits.
To look at the map, and observe the proximity of Eastern Shore,
Maryland, to Delaware and Pennsylvania, it may seem to the reader quite
absurd, to regard the proposed escape as a formidable undertaking. But
to _understand_, some one has said a man must _stand under_. The real
distance was great enough, but the imagined distance was, to our
ignorance, even greater. Every slaveholder seeks to impress his slave
with a belief in the boundlessness of slave territory, and of his own
almost illimitable power. We all had vague and indistinct notions of
the geography of the country.
The distance, however, is not the chief trouble. The nearer are the
lines of a slave state and the borders of a free one, the greater the
peril. Hired kidnappers infest these borders. Then, too, we knew that
merely reaching a free state did not free us; that, wherever caught, we
could be returned to slavery. We could see no spot on this side the
ocean, where we could be free. We had heard of Canada, the real Canaan
of the American bondmen, simply as a country to which the wild goose
and the swan repaired at the end of winter, to escape the heat of
summer, but not as the home of man. I knew something of theology, but
nothing of geography. I really did not, at that time, know that there
was a state of New York, or a state of Massachusetts. I had heard of
Pennsylvania, Delaware and New Jersey, and all the southern states, but
was ignorant of the free states, generally. New York city was our
northern limit, and to go there, and be forever harassed with the
liability of being hunted down and returned to slavery—with the
certainty of being treated ten times worse than we had ever been
treated before was a prospect far from delightful, and it might well
cause some hesitation about engaging in the enterprise. The case,
sometimes, to our excited visions, stood thus: At every gate through
which we had to pass, we saw a watchman; at every ferry, a guard; on
every bridge, a sentinel; and in every wood, a patrol or slave-hunter.
We were hemmed in on every side. The good to be sought, and the evil to
be shunned, were flung in the balance, and weighed against each other.
On the one hand, there stood slavery; a stern reality, glaring
frightfully upon us, with the blood of millions in his polluted
skirts—terrible to behold—greedily devouring our hard earnings and
feeding himself upon our flesh. Here was the evil from which to escape.
On the other hand, far away, back in the hazy distance, where all forms
seemed but shadows, under the flickering light of the north star—behind
some craggy hill or snow-covered mountain—stood a doubtful freedom,
half frozen, beckoning us to her icy domain. This was the good to be
sought. The inequality was as great as that between certainty and
uncertainty. This, in itself, was enough to stagger us; but when we
came to survey the untrodden road, and conjecture the many possible
difficulties, we were appalled, and at times, as I have said, were upon
the point of giving over the struggle altogether.
The reader can have little idea of the phantoms of trouble which flit,
in such circumstances, before the uneducated mind of the slave. Upon
either side, we saw grim death assuming a variety of horrid shapes.
Now, it was starvation, causing us, in a strange and friendless land,
to eat our own flesh. Now, we were contending with the waves (for our
journey was in part by water) and were drowned. Now, we were hunted by
dogs, and overtaken and torn to pieces by their merciless fangs. We
were stung by scorpions—chased by wild beasts—bitten by snakes; and,
worst of all, after having succeeded in swimming rivers—encountering
wild beasts—sleeping in the woods—suffering hunger, cold, heat and
nakedness—we supposed ourselves to be overtaken by hired kidnappers,
who, in the name of the law, and for their thrice accursed reward,
would, perchance, fire upon us—kill some, wound others, and capture
all. This dark picture, drawn by ignorance and fear, at times greatly
shook our determination, and not unfrequently caused us to
Rather bear those ills we had
Than fly to others which we knew not of.
I am not disposed to magnify this circumstance in my experience, and
yet I think I shall seem to be so disposed, to the reader. No man can
tell the intense agony which is felt by the slave, when wavering on the
point of making his escape. All that he has is at stake; and even that
which he has not, is at stake, also. The life which he has, may be
lost, and the liberty which he seeks, may not be gained.
Patrick Henry, to a listening senate, thrilled by his magic eloquence,
and ready to stand by him in his boldest flights, could say, GIVE ME
LIBERTY OR GIVE ME DEATH, and this saying was a sublime one, even for a
freeman; but, incomparably more sublime, is the same sentiment, when
_practically_ asserted by men accustomed to the lash and chain—men
whose sensibilities must have become more or less deadened by their
bondage. With us it was a _doubtful_ liberty, at best, that we sought;
and a certain, lingering death in the rice swamps and sugar fields, if
we failed. Life is not lightly regarded by men of sane minds. It is
precious, alike to the pauper and to the prince—to the slave, and to
his master; and yet, I believe there was not one among us, who would
not rather have been shot down, than pass away life in hopeless
bondage.
In the progress of our preparations, Sandy, the root man, became
troubled. He began to have dreams, and some of them were very
distressing. One of these, which happened on a Friday night, was, to
him, of great significance; and I am quite ready to confess, that I
felt somewhat damped by it myself. He said, “I dreamed, last night,
that I was roused from sleep, by strange noises, like the voices of a
swarm of angry birds, that caused a roar as they passed, which fell
upon my ear like a coming gale over the tops of the trees. Looking up
to see what it could mean,” said Sandy, “I saw you, Frederick, in the
claws of a huge bird, surrounded by a large number of birds, of all
colors and sizes. These were all picking at you, while you, with your
arms, seemed to be trying to protect your eyes. Passing over me, the
birds flew in a south-westerly direction, and I watched them until they
were clean out of sight. Now, I saw this as plainly as I now see you;
and furder, honey, watch de Friday night dream; dare is sumpon in it,
shose you born; dare is, indeed, honey.”
I confess I did not like this dream; but I threw off concern about it,
by attributing it to the general excitement and perturbation consequent
upon our contemplated plan of escape. I could not, however, shake off
its effect at once. I felt that it boded me no good. Sandy was
unusually emphatic and oracular, and his manner had much to do with the
impression made upon me.
The plan of escape which I recommended, and to which my comrades
assented, was to take a large canoe, owned by Mr. Hamilton, and, on the
Saturday night previous to the Easter holidays, launch out into the
Chesapeake bay, and paddle for its head—a distance of seventy miles
with all our might. Our course, on reaching this point, was, to turn
the canoe adrift, and bend our steps toward the north star, till we
reached a free state.
There were several objections to this plan. One was, the danger from
gales on the bay. In rough weather, the waters of the Chesapeake are
much agitated, and there is danger, in a canoe, of being swamped by the
waves. Another objection was, that the canoe would soon be missed; the
absent persons would, at once, be suspected of having taken it; and we
should be pursued by some of the fast sailing bay craft out of St.
Michael’s. Then, again, if we reached the head of the bay, and turned
the canoe adrift, she might prove a guide to our track, and bring the
land hunters after us.
These and other objections were set aside, by the stronger ones which
could be urged against every other plan that could then be suggested.
On the water, we had a chance of being regarded as fishermen, in the
service of a master. On the other hand, by taking the land route,
through the counties adjoining Delaware, we should be subjected to all
manner of interruptions, and many very disagreeable questions, which
might give us serious trouble. Any white man is authorized to stop a
man of color, on any road, and examine him, and arrest him, if he so
desires.
By this arrangement, many abuses (considered such even by slaveholders)
occur. Cases have been known, where freemen have been called upon to
show their free papers, by a pack of ruffians—and, on the presentation
of the papers, the ruffians have torn them up, and seized their victim,
and sold him to a life of endless bondage.
The week before our intended start, I wrote a pass for each of our
party, giving them permission to visit Baltimore, during the Easter
holidays. The pass ran after this manner:
This is to certify, that I, the undersigned, have given the bearer, my
servant, John, full liberty to go to Baltimore, to spend the Easter
holidays.
W.H.
Near St. Michael’s, Talbot county, Maryland
Although we were not going to Baltimore, and were intending to land
east of North Point, in the direction where I had seen the Philadelphia
steamers go, these passes might be made useful to us in the lower part
of the bay, while steering toward Baltimore. These were not, however,
to be shown by us, until all other answers failed to satisfy the
inquirer. We were all fully alive to the importance of being calm and
self-possessed, when accosted, if accosted we should be; and we more
times than one rehearsed to each other how we should behave in the hour
of trial.
These were long, tedious days and nights. The suspense was painful, in
the extreme. To balance probabilities, where life and liberty hang on
the result, requires steady nerves. I panted for action, and was glad
when the day, at the close of which we were to start, dawned upon us.
Sleeping, the night before, was out of the question. I probably felt
more deeply than any of my companions, because I was the instigator of
the movement. The responsibility of the whole enterprise rested on my
shoulders. The glory of success, and the shame and confusion of
failure, could not be matters of indifference to me. Our food was
prepared; our clothes were packed up; we were all ready to go, and
impatient for Saturday morning—considering that the last morning of our
bondage.
I cannot describe the tempest and tumult of my brain, that morning. The
reader will please to bear in mind, that, in a slave state, an
unsuccessful runaway is not only subjected to cruel torture, and sold
away to the far south, but he is frequently execrated by the other
slaves. He is charged with making the condition of the other slaves
intolerable, by laying them all under the suspicion of their
masters—subjecting them to greater vigilance, and imposing greater
limitations on their privileges. I dreaded murmurs from this quarter.
It is difficult, too, for a slavemaster to believe that slaves escaping
have not been aided in their flight by some one of their fellow slaves.