University of Virginia Library

8. How Peter bought Himself
By MRS. KATE PICKARD (1848)

GREAT sympathy was felt in Tuscumbia for "poor Uncle Peter."It was so strange that Hogun would sell such a faithful old man. Of course, Friedman wanted to make money out of him; and when he became no longer profitable, he would not scruple to carry him off and sell him.

Thus spake gentlemen and ladies; and soon their

children caught the tone. "Don't you think,"said one bright little girl to another, as they walked to school, "Uncle Peter is sold!"

"Sold? I'm so sorry! Who's bought him? Are they going to carry him off ?"

"No— no, not now. Mr. Friedman's bought him. Pa says he don't doubt that Mr. Friedman will sell him the very first chance he gets to make money out of him; and then, perhaps, he'll be taken off to the rice swamps."

"Oh! that will be too bad! Aunt Milly says that in the rice swamps they don't care no more for killing black folks than they do for pigs and chickens. Oh! I'm so sorry for poor Uncle Peter! But what did they sell him for? He didn't run away—nor his master didn't die."

"I don't know what made them sell him, his master wanted the money, I reckon. Oh! I wish my Pa owned him—he wouldn't sell him, I know. Ma says she thinks it's a pity for black folks to be sold at all, but sometimes it can't be helped."

,, Well, I think it ought to be helped, for they feel so bad to be carried away off from everybody that loves them. just think—if Mr. Friedman should sell Uncle Peter away off where he never could come back— Oh ! wouldn't it be too bad?"

Said a gentleman, "Why didn't you let me know, Peter, that your master wanted to sell you? I'd not have let that Friedman get you. He'll sell you again; or, perhaps, work you to death."

"No, sir, I reckon not,"replied Peter; "Mr. Friedman's always been mighty good to me, and I reckon he'll use me fa'r. Leastways, I belong to him now, and he'll do just as he thinks best."

Meanwhile the despised and suspected merchant was arranging his future relations with the object of all this sympathy. "You may work, as you did before)."said he to Peter, "but you may keep your earnings. When you get two hundred dollars more, I will give you free papers, and you shall go where you like. I do not want your work— get all you can for yourself."

Did the heart of the slave bound at these words? Did the tears of gratitude sparkle in his eye, and the bright beams of hope irradiate his countenance ?

Peter continued his usual labors with a light heart. He had no hire to pay—his earnings were all his own.

The night after paying his three hundred dollars to Mr. Friedman, he went out to make his usual semimonthly visit to his wife. How her heart throbbed when be told her all! Again and again she asked him if he were sure Mr. Isaac would be true. The children, too, had their hundred questions. Their father was very dear to them; and now he possessed new dignity, even in their eyes. "Just think, he would soon be free!"

In September of this year, Joseph Friedman returned from Texas; and soon after, Peter paid him one hundred dollars, which he had earned since January. He seemed delighted at the success of his humble friend, and congratulated him on the prospect of soon becoming free. Only one hundred dollars was now lacking, and that, if be were prospered, he soon could earn; and then he should be free.

Patiently he toiled on. His brow was all unruffled, and no trace of care was visible on his cheerful face. He moved so quietly in his accustomed course, that

men forgot their jealousy, and little maidens ceased to pity "poor Uncle Peter."

Late in the evening of the sixteenth of April, 1850, Peter sought, once more, the counting-room of Mr. Friedman. His hand might well tremble as he raised the latch; for his all was now at stake, and he was helpless. He entered. There sat the little man, looking at him with his keen black eyes. Timidly he drew forth his leather bag, and commenced counting out the money.

A footstep approached. Mr. Friedman quietly laid a pile of papers over the coin, and the auctioneer walked in.

"What, Peter,"said he, "are you paying up ?

"Yes, Sir, Mass'r Joe make me pay him up close."

"How much do you have to pay?"

"Well, sir, he makes me pay him half dollar a day."

That's pretty tight, but it's the best way, after all."

Yes— that is so— I like to keep all close. Peter must pay me promptly."

When the neighbor's chat was ended, and they heard his receding footsteps on the sidewalk, they finished counting the money. How beautiful it looked to Peter! that little beap of coin, as he shoved it round, and felt that now his fate hung entirely on the will of the little man before him.

Mr. Friedman took up his pen, and wrote a receipt in full, together with a Certificate of Freedom, as follows:

       

Received, Tuscumbia, January 26th, 1849, of my boy Peter, three hundred dollars-	$300 00 JOS. FRIEDMAN.
Recd. Sept.1st, 1849, Of my boy Peter,	$88 00
Eighty-eight dollars and twelve dollars, 12 00	100 00
Recd. March 29th, 1850, of Peter, sixty dollars,	60 00
	Jos. FRIEDMAN, $460 0O
Received, April 16th, 1850, forty dollars,	40 00
	$500 00

For, and in consideration of the above five hundred dollars, I have this 16th day of April, 1850, given Peter a Bill of Sale, and given him his freedom.