University of Virginia Library

XVIII.
MONTHS OF PERIL.

The search for me was kept up with more perseverence
than I had anticipated. I began to think that
escape was impossible. I was in great anxiety lest I
should implicate the friend who harbored me. I knew
the consequences would be frightful; and much as I
dreaded being caught, even that seemed better than
causing an innocent person to suffer for kindness to me.
A week had passed in terrible suspense, when my pursuers
came into such close vicinity that I concluded
they had tracked me to my hiding-place. I flew out
of the house, and concealed myself in a thicket of
bushes. There I remained in an agony of fear for two
hours. Suddenly, a reptile of some kind seized my
leg. In my fright, I struck a blow which loosened its
hold, but I could not tell whether I had killed it; it
was so dark, I could not see what it was; I only knew
it was something cold and slimy. The pain I felt soon
indicated that the bite was poisonous. I was compelled
to leave my place of concealment, and I groped my way
back into the house. The pain had become intense,
and my friend was startled by my look of anguish. I
asked her to prepare a poultice of warm ashes and
vinegar, and I applied it to my leg, which was already
much swollen. The application gave me some relief,
but the swelling did not abate. The dread of being
disabled was greater than the physical pain I endured.

My friend asked an old woman, who doctored among
the slaves, what was good for the bite of a snake or a
lizard. She told her to steep a dozen coppers in vinegar,
over night, and apply the cankered vinegar to the
inflammed part.[1]

I had succeeded in cautiously conveying some messages
to my relatives. They were harshly threatened,
and despairing of my having a chance to escape, they
advised me to return to my master, ask his forgiveness,
and let him make an example of me. But such counsel
had no influence with me. When I started upon
this hazardous undertaking, I had resolved that, come
what would, there should be no turning back. “Give
me liberty, or give me death,” was my motto. When
my friend contrived to make known to my relatives the
painful situation I had been in for twenty-four hours,
they said no more about my going back to my master.
Something must be done, and that speedily; but where
to turn for help, they knew not. God in his mercy
raised up “a friend in need.”

Among the ladies who were acquainted with my
grandmother, was one who had known her from childhood,
and always been very friendly to her. She had
also known my mother and her children, and felt interested
for them. At this crisis of affairs she called to
see my grandmother, as she not unfrequently did. She
observed the sad and troubled expression of her face,
and asked if she knew where Linda was, and whether

she was safe. My grandmother shook her head, without
answering. “Come, Aunt Martha,” said the kind
lady, “tell me all about it. Perhaps I can do something
to help you.” The husband of this lady held
many slaves, and bought and sold slaves. She also
held a number in her own name; but she treated them
kindly, and would never allow any of them to be sold.
She was unlike the majority of slaveholders' wives. My
grandmother looked earnestly at her. Something in the
expression of her face said “Trust me!” and she did
trust her. She listened attentively to the details of
my story, and sat thinking for a while. At last she
said, “Aunt Martha, I pity you both. If you think
there is any chance of Linda's getting to the Free
States, I will conceal her for a time. But first you
must solemnly promise that my name shall never be
mentioned. If such a thing should become known, it
would ruin me and my family. No one in my house
must know of it, except the cook. She is so faithful
that I would trust my own life with her; and I know
she likes Linda. It is a great risk; but I trust no harm
will come of it. Get word to Linda to be ready as soon as
it is dark, before the patrols are out. I will send the
housemaids on errands, and Betty shall go to meet
Linda.” The place where we were to meet was designated
and agreed upon. My grandmother was unable
to thank the lady for this noble deed; overcome by her
emotions, she sank on her knees and sobbed like a child.

I received a message to leave my friend's house at
such an hour, and go to a certain place where a friend
would be waiting for me. As a matter of prudence no
names were mentioned. I had no means of conjecturing

who I was to meet, or where I was going. I did
not like to move thus blindfolded, but I had no choice.
It would not do for me to remain where I was. I disguised
myself, summoned up courage to meet the worst,
and went to the appointed place. My friend Betty was
there; she was the last person I expected to see. We
hurried along in silence. The pain in my leg was so
intense that it seemed as if I should drop; but fear
gave me strength. We reached the house and entered
unobserved. Her first words were: “Honey, now you
is safe. Dem devils ain't coming to search dis house.
When I get you into missis' safe place, I will bring
some nice hot supper. I specs you need it after all dis
skeering.” Betty's vocation led her to think eating
the most important thing in life. She did not realize
that my heart was too full for me to care much about
supper.

The mistress came to meet us, and led me up stairs
to a small room over her own sleeping apartment.
“You will be safe here, Linda,” said she; “I keep this
room to store away things that are out of use. The
girls are not accustomed to be sent to it, and they will
not suspect any thing unless they hear some noise. I
always keep it locked, and Betty shall take care of the
key. But you must be very careful, for my sake as
well as your own; and you must never tell my secret;
for it would ruin me and my family. I will keep the
girls busy in the morning, that Betty may have a chance
to bring your breakfast; but it will not do for her to
come to you again till night. I will come to see you
sometimes. Keep up your courage. I hope this state
of things will not last long.” Betty came with the

“nice hot supper,” and the mistress hastened down
stairs to keep things straight till she returned. How
my heart overflowed with gratitude! Words choked
in my throat; but I could have kissed the feet of my
benefactress. For that deed of Christian womanhood,
may God forever bless her!

I went to sleep that night with the feeling that I was
for the present the most fortunate slave in town.
Morning came and filled my little cell with light. I
thanked the heavenly Father for this safe retreat.
Opposite my window was a pile of feather beds. On
the top of these I could lie perfectly concealed, and
command a view of the street through which Dr. Flint
passed to his office. Anxious as I was, I felt a gleam
of satisfaction when I saw him. Thus far I had outwitted
him, and I triumphed over it. Who can blame
slaves for being cunning? They are constantly compelled
to resort to it. It is the only weapon of the
weak and oppressed against the strength of their
tyrants.

I was daily hoping to hear that my master had sold
my children; for I knew who was on the watch to buy
them. But Dr. Flint cared even more for revenge
than he did for money. My brother William, and the
good aunt who had served in his family twenty years,
and my little Benny, and Ellen, who was a little over
two years old, were thrust into jail, as a means of compelling
my relatives to give some information about me.
He swore my grandmother should never see one of
them again till I was brought back. They kept these
facts from me for several days. When I heard that my
little ones were in a loathsome jail, my first impulse

was to go to them. I was encountering dangers for
the sake of freeing them, and must I be the cause of
their death? The thought was agonizing. My benefactress
tried to soothe me by telling me that my aunt would
take good care of the children while they remained in
jail. But it added to my pain to think that the good
old aunt, who had always been so kind to her sister's
orphan children, should be shut up in prison for no
other crime than loving them. I suppose my friends
feared a reckless movement on my part, knowing, as
they did, that my life was bound up in my children.
I received a note from my brother William. It was
scarcely legible, and ran thus: “Wherever you are,
dear sister, I beg of you not to come here. We are
all much better off than you are. If you come, you
will ruin us all. They would force you to tell where
you had been, or they would kill you. Take the advice
of your friends; if not for the sake of me and
your children, at least for the sake of those you would
ruin.”

Poor William! He also must suffer for being my
brother. I took his advice and kept quiet. My aunt
was taken out of jail at the end of a month, because
Mrs. Flint could not spare her any longer. She was
tired of being her own housekeeper. It was quite too
fatiguing to order her dinner and eat it too. My
children remained in jail, where brother William did
all he could for their comfort. Betty went to see them
sometimes, and brought me tidings. She was not permitted
to enter the jail; but William would hold them
up to the greated window while she chatted with them.
When she repeated their prattle, and told me how they

wanted to see their ma, my tears would flow. Old
Betty would exclaim, “Lors, chile! what's you crying
'bout? Dem young uns vil kill you dead. Don't be
so chick'n hearted! If you does, you vil nebber git
thro' dis world.”

Good old soul! She had gone through the world
childless. She had never had little ones to clasp their
arms round her neck; she had never seen their soft
eyes looking into hers; no sweet little voices had called
her mother; she had never pressed her own infants to
her heart, with the feeling that even in fetters there
was something to live for. How could she realize my
feelings? Betty's husband loved children dearly, and
wondered why God had denied them to him. He expressed
great sorrow when he came to Betty with the
tidings that Ellen had been taken out of jail and
carried to Dr. Flint's. She had the measles a short
time before they carried her to jail, and the disease
had left her eyes affected. The doctor had taken her
home to attend to them. My children had always been
afraid of the doctor and his wife. They had never
been inside of their house. Poor little Ellen cried all
day to be carried back to prison. The instincts of
childhood are true. She knew she was loved in the
jail. Her screams and sobs annoyed Mrs. Flint. Before
night she called one of the slaves, and said, “Here,
Bill, carry this brat back to the jail. I can't stand
her noise. If she would be quiet I should like to
keep the little minx. She would make a handy waiting-maid
for my daughter by and by. But if she
staid here, with her white face, I suppose I should
either kill her or spoil her. I hope the doctor will

sell them as far as wind and water can carry them.
As for their mother, her ladyship will find out yet
what she gets by running away. She hasn't so much
feeling for her children as a cow has for its calf. If
she had, she would have come back long ago, to get
them out of jail, and save all this expense and trouble.
The good-for-nothing hussy! When she is caught, she
shall stay in jail, in irons, for one six months, and then
be sold to a sugar plantation. I shall see her broke in
yet. What do you stand there for, Bill? Why don't
you go off with the brat? Mind, now, that you don't
let any of the niggers speak to her in the street!”

When these remarks were reported to me, I smiled
at Mrs. Flint's saying that she should either kill my
child or spoil her. I thought to myself there was very
little danger of the latter. I have always considered
it as one of God's special providences that Ellen
screamed till she was carried back to jail.

That same night Dr. Flint was called to a patient,
and did not return till near morning. Passing my
grandmother's, he saw a light in the house, and thought
to himself, “Perhaps this has something to do with
Linda.” He knocked, and the door was opened.
“What calls you up so early?” said he. “I saw your
light, and I thought I would just stop and tell you that
I have found out where Linda is. I know where to
put my hands on her, and I shall have her before
twelve o'clock.” When he had turned away, my
grandmother and my uncle looked anxiously at each
other. They did not know whether or not it was
merely one of the doctor's tricks to frighten them. In
their uncertainty, they thought it was best to have a

message conveyed to my friend Betty. Unwilling to
alarm her mistress, Betty resolved to dispose of me
herself. She came to me, and told me to rise and
dress quickly. We hurried down stairs, and across
the yard, into the kitchen. She locked the door, and
lifted up a plank in the floor. A buffalo skin and a
bit of carpet were spread for me to lie on, and a quilt
thrown over me. “Stay dar,” said she, “till I sees if
dey know 'bout you. Dey say dey vil put thar hans
on you afore twelve o'clock. If dey did know whar
you are, dey won't know now. Dey'll be disapinted
dis time. Dat's all I got to say. If dey comes rummagin
'mong my tings, dey'll get one bressed sarssin
from dis 'ere nigger.” In my shallow bed I had but
just room enough to bring my hands to my face to
keep the dust out of my eyes; for Betty walked over
me twenty times in an hour, passing from the dresser
to the fireplace. When she was alone, I could hear
her pronouncing anathemas over Dr. Flint and all his
tribe, every now and then saying, with a chuckling
laugh, “Dis nigger's too cute for 'em dis time.”
When the housemaids were about, she had sly ways
of drawing them out, that I might hear what they
would say. She would repeat stories she had heard
about my being in this, or that, or the other place. To
which they would answer, that I was not fool enough
to be staying round there; that I was in Philadelphia
or New York before this time. When all were abed
and asleep, Betty raised the plank, and said, “Come
out, chile; come out. Dey don't know nottin 'bout
you. 'Twas only white folks' lies, to skeer de niggers.”

Some days after this adventure I had a much worse

fright. As I sat very still in my retreat above stairs,
cheerful visions floated through my mind. I thought
Dr. Flint would soon get discouraged, and would be
willing to sell my children, when he lost all hopes of
making them the means of my discovery. I knew
who was ready to buy them. Suddenly I heard a voice
that chilled my blood. The sound was too familiar to
me, it had been too dreadful, for me not to recognize
at once my old master. He was in the house, and I
at once concluded he had come to seize me. I looked
round in terror. There was no way of escape. The
voice receded. I supposed the constable was with him,
and they were searching the house. In my alarm I
did not forget the trouble I was bringing on my generous
benefactress. It seemed as if I were born to bring
sorrow on all who befriended me, and that was the
bitterest drop in the bitter cup of my life. After a
while I heard approaching footsteps; the key was
turned in my door. I braced myself against the wall
to keep from falling. I ventured to look up, and there
stood my kind benefactress alone. I was too much
overcome to speak, and sunk down upon the floor.

“I thought you would hear your master's voice,”
she said; “and knowing you would be terrified, I
came to tell you there is nothing to fear. You may
even indulge in a laugh at the old gentleman's expense.
He is so sure you are in New York, that he
came to borrow five hundred dollars to go in pursuit
of you. My sister had some money to loan on interest.
He has obtained it, and proposes to start for New York
to-night. So, for the present, you see you are safe.
The doctor will merely lighten his pocket hunting after
the bird he has left behind.”