Class t .."• >» A Book SMITHSONIAN DEPOSIT ' : f Mr. Clay's Overseer outwitted. See 1'age 62. V, • f THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. BEING THE PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF PETER STILL AND HIS WIFE "VIM," AFTER FORTY" YEARS OF SLAVERY. BY MRS. KATE E. B, PICKARD (Ldlitlj mx Introduction:, '>>/ BY REV. SAMUEL J. MAY; Qixii ait g^peitfri*, BY WILLIAM H. FURNESS, D.D SYRACUSE: WILLIAM T . HA M I L T O N NEW YORK AND AUBURN : MILLER, ORTON AND MULLIGAN. 1856. 85 Entered according to Act of CoDgress, in the year One Thousand Eight Hundred and Fifty-six, by WILLIAM T. HAMILTON, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Northern District of New York. E. O. JENKINS, printer nub ^tcreot.np^r, No. 26 Frankfort Street. OF LUVIN STILL; AND OF ALL THE BRAVE-HEARTED MEN AND WOMEN, WHO LIKE HIM HAVE FALLEN, EVEN WHILE LONGLNG TO BE FREE, AXD WHO NOW LIE IN NAMELESS, UNKNOWN GRAVES, %\t Victims of gwicrirau JSlafarg, THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. 'TEE KIDNAPPER. First Recollections— The Kidnapper— The Journey to Kentucky— Levin and Peter Sold to John Fisher, of Lexington - • - • - - -25 CHAPTER II. EARLY EXPERIENCE IN SLAVERY. Characteristics of the Master and Mistress— Treatment of the Young Slaves- Peter's Visits at Ashland— Friendship of the Sons of Henry Clay— A bright Hope— The Disappointment— Peter Sent to the Brickyard— Standing in the Wheelbarrow - - - • - • - - • -31 CHAPTER III. MASTER NATTIE Peter and Levin again Sold— Characteristics of Master Nattie Gist— His Discip- line—The Sunday-School - - 37 CHAPTER IY. TnE TOBACCO FACTORY. Mr. George Norton — Mr. Kisich— Longings for Freedom- Spencer Williams- Peter's Combat with Mr. Norton -....-- 43 [vii] V1U CONTENTS. CHAPTER V. THE SEPARATION. Excitement at Master Nattie's— Preparations for Removal— Master Nattie's Good Bye— Levin's Departure— Peter enters the Service of Mr. John D. Young— Evenings at Mr. Clay's— Aaron, the Coachman - - • f>G CHAPTER VI. MASTER NATTIE ? S DEATH. Peter is sent to the Plantation— Master Andrew returns Jrom Alabama— Master Nattie's Illness— His Death— The Will— Aunt Mary's Contumacy - - C6 CHAPTER VII. THE JOURNEY TO ALABAMA. Peter leaves Lexington— Scenes by the Way— Holidays at Hopkinsville— Arriva 1 at Bainbridge— The Brothers re-united ...... 70 CHAPTER VIII. FIRST FOUR YEARS IN THE SOUTH. New Scenes and new Employments— The Post Office — Sunday Employment of the Slaves— Master Levi Buys a Plantation— He Marries — Peter a House-Ser- vant—Kindness of his young Mistress— The Visit to Nashville— Peter's Re- flections and Resolutions at Twenty-one— Master Levi removes to the Plan- tation—The " Great House" .------- 77 CHAPTER IX. LEVIN S MARRIAGE The Master's Opposition— Old Jimmy Hogun's Plantation — Levin and Fanny are married— Displeasure of the Master and Mistress— Consequent Persecu- cutions ........... 80 CONTENTS. xi CHAPTER X. vina's early history. The Foxall Family— Invitation to Alabama— Aunt Sally— Silas separated from his Family— Mr. Foxall's Removal to Alabama— The Failure— Vina is sold— She leaves Courtland— A sad Ride ------- gg CHAPTER XI. VIXA'S FIRST YEAR AT McKIERNAN'S. Vina's Introduction to the Kitchen— First Interview with her new Master and Mistress— House Service— Sad Hours— Vina's first Whipping— She goes to the Field— Visit of Mr. Stout— Rosetta goes to Nashville— Vina visits her Mother - - - - - ... . . .97 CHAPTER XII. THE MARRIAGE. Peter and Vina become acquainted— Their growing Attachment— Peter hesitates to Marry— He declines going to Lexington— The Departure of his Master and Mistress— Peter and Vina are married— Vina's Clothing— Her second Visit to her Mother -..-..... jgg CHAPTER XIII. THE NEW CABIN. The Return from Lexington— Master Levi proposes in vain to buy Vina— Mr. McKiernan removes to Bainbridge— Peter builds his Cabin— The Furni- ture—He learns Shoemaking— The Flour-Barrel - - - . - 115 CHAPTER XIV. THE YOUNG MOTHER. Advent of Little Peter— Rest of the Slave— Mother at night— Her Sundays— The Patch— Brutality of Simms, the Overseer— Vina's Illness - - 121 CHAPTER XV. DEATH OF A KIND MASTER. Master Levi again visits Lexington— Preparations for the Return— A Death Scene— The Widowed Mistress comes Home— Grief of the Slaves— Arrange- ments of tte Estate— The Mistress nobly protects her servants - - 129 Xll CONTENTS. CHAPTER XVI. levin's death. Levin's Health Fails— His religious Feeling— The Death bed— The Burial— Peter's Hope crushed .... ----- 135 CHAPTER XVII. THE JAUNT TO FLORIDA. Aunt Sally's Troubles-Threatened Separation of Families— Mr. Peoples removes his working Hands to Florida— Their Return— Aunt Sally's Visit to her Daughter— Aspect of Vina's Cabin - 138 CHAPTER XVIII. a slave-mother's good bye. Gathering in the Crops— Grief in the Quarter— Preparations for Removal to the Coast— Aunt Sally parts with Quail— The Flat-boats stop at Bainbridge— Vina is summoned by Master Andrew to see her Mother— Night Scene on the River Bank— The final Separation— Journey down the River— The Sugar Farm— Mr. Peoples returns to Mississippi— Aunt Sally's Death - - 113 CHAPTER XIX. THE MISTRESS' SECOND MARRIAGE. Mrs. Gist married to Mr. J. Hogun— Division of the Slaves— Mrs. Hogun goes to her new Home— A Peep at Mr- Hogun's Plantation— Peter as Head Man- Gist Plantation Sold ,--...... jgj CHAPTER XX. THE PLANTATION " BROKEN UP." Peter hired to Mr. Threat— An Instance of Female Chivalry— The Political Ex- citement of 1840— Its Effects upon the Slaves-Peter is hired to Mr. Kier- n an - 157 CHAPTER XXI. BABY-LIFE IN THE CABINS. Vina's care of her Children— Mortality among the Infants— Burning of Ann's Child— Consequences of being »' Pushed in the Morning" - - 163 CONTEXTS. XI 11 CHAPTER XXII. FACTS. Character of Mrs. and Mr. McKiernan— Tina's Contest with her Master— The Lost Shirt— Maria's Confinement in the Srnoke-House— Released by Master Charles 167 CHAPTER XXIII. peter's year at Mckiebnan's. General Aspect of McKiernan's Plantation— Sketch of Vina's Family in 1841 — Tina's Industry and Economy — Punishment of Ann Eliza — Religious Ex- citement - .-..--.-. 175 CHAPTER XXIY. burton's reign. Personal Appearance of McKiernan's Slaves— Burton's opening Speech — Rebel- lion of Lewis— His Punishment— He flees to the Woods, where he is Joined by two Companions — Young Peter's Toothache — Hunting the Runaways with Dogs — Frank and Old Man John brought in — Frank's Punishment— Re- turn of Lewis— The Master hands him over to Burton — Peculiar Luxury of an Overseer — Scene in Lewis' Cabin— The Runaway's Irons— Burton shoots Abram— Ruined Crops — McKieruan becomes Dissatisfied — Burton De- posed - • - - • 1S2 CHAPTER XXV. FIRST FOUR YEARS IN TUSCUMBIA. A Northern man as Master— Peter physically comfortable— Visits to the Cabin — Marriage of Miss Sarah Gist— Division of the Slaves among the Heirs of the Estate — Peter hired to Rev. Mr. Stedman — Varied Duties — The Pastor's Family— Peter hired to Mr. John Pollock— Goes to Nashville to the Whig Convention of 1814 — Camping Out— Scenes in the City— Fruitless Efforts to Escape from Slavery— Peter hired to Mr. Brady— A new Drop of Bitterness in the Slave-Cup - 193 CHAPTER XXYI. PETER HIRES HIS TIME. Peter hired to Mr. Allan Pollock— Private Business Arrangements— Success In earning Money— Consequent Hopes of Freedom— Peter hired to Mr. Joseph Friedman— Increasing Confidence in the Integrity of the Jew Brothers- Employment at the Seminary— Hired for another Year by Mr. Friedman 209 XIV CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXVII. PETER BUYS HIMSELF. Peter Communicates his Wish for Freedom to the Jew— Mr. Friedman proposes to purchase him — Peter strives to Persuade his Young Master to sell him to the Jew— Circumstances Change — The sale Effected— Scene in the Coun- ting-Room — Sympathy of the Tuscumbians — Generosity of Mr. Friedman — Death of Peter's youngest Son— Peter makes his last payment, and re- ceives a Bill of Sale of Himself— Cautious Concealment of the Fact that He was Free— Preparations forgoing North — Tuscumbians excited — Farewell Visit to the Cabin at Bainbridge • - - 219 CHAPTER XXVIII. JOURNEY TO PHILADELPHIA. Peter leaves Tuscumbia — Emotions on touching the Free Soil of Ohio — Communi- cates to his late Master his early History— Leaves for Philadelphia— At- tempts of Slave-Catchers to entrap Him— Journey over the Mountains- Arrival at Philadelphia --------- 237 CHAPTER XXIX. THE KIDNAPPED BOY RESTORED TO HIS MOTHER. Peter's Search for his Kindred— The Anti-Slavery Office— A Brother Found- Doubts and Fears — Recognized by a Sister — An anxious Night — Sail up the Delaware — Sees Levin's Likeness in a Brother— Meets his Mother - - 245 CHAPTER XXX. peter's farewell visit to Alabama. Peter goes to Cincinnati— Receives Free Papers— Returns to Tuscumbia— Reports of the Abolitionists— Visit to Bainbridge— Peter resumes his Labors— Pre- parations for a final Departure from Slave-Land— Parting with his Family —Difficulties at Padusah — Visit to a l'ouug Master in Louisville — Journeys safely to Philadelphia ----..-.. CHAPTER XXXI. THE ESCAPE. Peter consults with his Friends concerning the Ransom of his Family— Seth Concklin Volunteers to Rescue them— Sketch of Concklin's Character— His Journey to South Florence— Interview with Vina— Meets Young Peter and CONTEXTS. XV Levin — Returns to Louisville to complete his Arrangements— Vina and her Family obtain Passes — They meet Concklin at the Skiff— Rowing down the River— They Land at New Harmony, Indiana— Incidents of Travel in a Free State - 279 CHAPTER XXXII. THE CAPTURE. The Cottage Besieged— Slave-Catching made Easy— The Jail— Concklin's rash Fidelity— The Telegraph— Concklin Imprisoned— Arrival of McKiernan at the Jail — Return to Slave-Land — Concklin missed from the Boat — The Mistress of the Hotel at Paducah, proposes to buy the Fugitives - - 296 CHAPTER XXXIII. PETER PLANS TO REDEEM HIS FAMILY. Evil Tidings— Reminiscences of Slavery— Peter Resolves upon Purchasing his Family— Visit3 Cincinnati — Kindness of Mrs. Chase — Peter returns to New Jersey— Goes into Service— Letter from Mr. McKiernan— Efforts to find an Old Acquaintance— Mr. Thornton's Letter— Peter Resolves on Start- ing out to Raise Money ---------307 CHAPTER XXXIY. "HOW DID HE GET THE MONEY?' Peter starts on his Travels— Testimonials from his Employers in Burlington- He visits his Brother in Brooklyn— Goes to Syracuse— Succeeds in finding an Old Friend, who testifies to his good Character while a Slave— Goes thence to Auburn, "Waterloo, and Rochester, N. Y.— To Boston and various Towns in that vicinity— Visits all the principal Towns in Maine and New Hampshire— Returns to Burlington, and visits Philadelphia— Again to Sy- racuse, Peterboro', Boston, Worcester, Fall River, Providence, New York City— Returns to Burlington— Vists Albany, N. Y., Pittsfield, Mass., New Haven, Ct., Hartford, Middletown, New London, Northampton, Mass., Sy- racuse, Buffalo, Toronto, C. W., Camillus, N. Y.— Returns to Burlington- Money placed in the the Hands of Mr. Hallowell, of Philadelphia— Agent sent to Alabama to purchase the Family • - - - - - 3l3 CHAPTER XXXV. EXPERIENCE OF THE RETURNED FUGITIVES. The Return of the Fugitives to the Pillaged Cabin— Punishment— -Vina and Catharine Separated— The Barbacue— Young Peter's Marriage— Susanna's First Baby— Advent of little Peter— Susanna's failing Health— Her Death 339 xvi CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXXVI. " THEY TAKE GOOD CARE OF TIIEIR PROPERTY." The Runaways Questioned Concerning the Route to the North— Tina's Lecture to her Master— Sale of the Produce of the Patches— Christmas Ride to Town— "Craps" at a Discount— Vina Invited Home from the Island— Ddphia— Leah - - - - 8H CHAPTER XXXVII. THE RE-TJNION. Vina Returns to the Island— Glad Tidings— Killing Hogs— McKiernan comes to the Island— The Ransomed Family leave the Plantation— Business Arrange- ments with the Master— Young Peter inquires the Price of his Baby— Diffi- culties in transporting Property in a Northerly Direction— The Family Re- united>-Hospitality of the Citizens of Cincinnati— Yisit at Pittsburg— Arri- val of the Family at Burlington, their future Home— Yisit to Peter's aged Mother— Marriage Certificate - • - 303 INTRODUCTION. Within the last four years, many hundreds, proba- bly thousands, of persons in our nominally free States, have seen Peter Still, a neat, staid black man, going from city to city, town to town, house to house, asking assistance to enable him to purchase the freedom of his wife and children. He has always been grateful for the smallest favors, and never morose when utterly denied. He has not obtruded himself or his story ; but those who have shown curiosity enough to make any in- quiries, have been soon led to suspect that he was no common man ; that the events of his life had been thrillingly interesting — some of them even more won- derful than Ave often meet with in works of fiction. Kidnapped, in his early childhood, from the door-step [xvii] XV111 INTRODUCTION. of his home in New Jersey ; more than forty years a slave in Kentueky and Alabama ; his unsuccessful ap- peal»to the great Henry Clay ; his liberation through the generosity of a Jew ; his restoration to his mother by the guidance of the slightest threads of memory ; the yearning of his heart for his loved ones; the heroic but disastrous attempt of Concklin to bring his wife and children to him — wherever these incidents of his life were detailed, they seldom failed to draw from the hand of the listener some contribution to- wards the exorbitant sum demanded for the liberation of his family. Words of discouragement, even from his warmest friends, fell without weight on the heart of Peter Still. Arguments, sometimes urged against the propriety of paying, especially an exorbitant price, for liberty, were parried by him with a skill not to be acquired in "The Schools." His soul was intent upon a great purpose. He could not be withheld ; he could not be turned aside. His perseverance, his patience, his ex- actness, his tact, everywhere attracted attention, and often commanded respect. In less than three years, his wife and children were restored to him ; and, after a few weeks spent in seeing and being seen by friends and relatives, they all settled themselves in employ- INTRODUCTION. XIX ments, by which they are earning comfortable liveli- hoods, and laying the foundation of future indepen- dence. It was thought, by most of those who had heard the histories of Peter Still and Seth Concklin, that such histories ought not to remain unwritten or unpublished. It was believed that good narratives of both of these remarkable men, would give to the people of the Northern States some new illustrations of the horrors of that "peculiar institution," which has well-nigh subjugated to itself our entire Republic. It so happened that a lady was at hand, singularly qualified for the former and larger part of the task, not only by her ability as a Writer, but by her per- sonal acquaintance with Peter Still, while he was in bondage. Mrs. Pickard had lived several years in the very town, or neighborhood, where most of the events transpired that would come into the narrative. She knew personally many of the individuals, who had acted conspicuous parts in the tragedy she was called upon to write. Moreover, she had conceived a very just appreciation of the character of this man and woman, who, under the laws of our country, had been subjected to all that domestic servitude can do to imbrute human beings, and yet retained so much that XX INTRODUCTION. is distinctive of the best specimens of our race. She was therefore persuaded to undertake the work, which is now given to the public. The writer of this narrative was a highly esteemed teacher in the Female Seminary of Tuscumbia, Ala- bama. There Peter Still was employed in several menial o Sices, and was subject to her observation every day for many months. She often admired his untiring diligence, his cheerful patience, his eagerness to get work rather than to avoid it, and his earnest gratefulness for the perquisites that were frequently bestowed upon him by the many, whom he served in various ways, and served so well. Little did she suspect what was the mainspring of the intense life that she wit- nessed in the poor slave-man, who seemed to her to have so little to live for. She did not know that (as he has since told her) he was" hungering and thirsting after lib- erty," which had been promised him by a compassion- ate Jew, w r ho then owned him, for a sum that it seemed possible for him to accumulate. It was that hunger and thirst which filled " Uncle Peter" with all the graces, and brought him all the gifts, that he needed to attain the object of his heart's desire. He had long been known, and universally respected and loved, in the town where he lived. Everybody believed that what INTRODUCTION. X xi Uncle Peter said was true ; and that every duty im- posed upon him would be faithfully discharged. But the amount of labor that he was then accustomed to perform had come to be a matter of frequent remark and admiration. Some attributed his severe toil to the requirements of his Jew master. They had yet to learn, that there is a harder driver than any Jewish or Christian slaveholder, even the man's own spirit, when the priceless boon of liberty is set before him, as an incitement to exertion. We can promise the lovers of exciting adventure very much in the ensuing volume to gratify their taste ; and all those who really desire to fathom the heights and depths of that Iniquity which is threaten- ing the destruction of our Kepublic, may turn to these pages, in the assurance that they will find in them a great amount and variety of information, derived from the most authentic sources, and given with the strictest regard to truth. In this narrative will also be found, incidentally, but very clearly given, intimations of many excel- lences that are latent, as well as lively sketches of some that are patent, in the negro variety of our race — in- deed, all the qualities of our common, and of our uncommon humanity — persistence in the pursuit of a Xxii INTRODUCTION, desired object; ingenuity in the device of plans for its attainment ; self-possession and self-command that can long keep a cherished purpose unrevealed; a deep, instinctive faith in God; a patience under hardship and hope deferred, which never dies ; and, withal, a joyousness which, like a life-preserver, bears one above the dark waves of unparalleled trouble The latter and smaller portion of this volume — the Sketch of the Life of Seth Concklin — was written by a gentleman who has long held so high a place among American authors, that we shall not presume to give him our commendation. That Dr. Wm. IT. Fnrness, of Philadelphia, deemed the merits of Seth Concklin to be such as to deserve a tribute from his pen, must be a sufficient assurance that the subject of this sketch had evinced traits of character, and done deeds, or en- dured trials, worthy of commemoration. Those who know that Dr. Furness never touches anything that he does not adorn, will go to the perusal of his portion of this book, in the confident expectation of being de- lighted with the unaffected beauty of the sketch, and of having their sympathies and better feelings made to flow in unison with those of the true-hearted author. They will close the volume with gratitude to Dr. F., for having rescued from oblivion, and placed before INTRODUCTION. XX111 his countrymen, another well-authenticated example of successful conflict with appalling difficulties in early life ; of unwavering fidelity to right principles, in the midst of great temptations ; and of heroic, disinterested self-sacrifice in the cause of suffering humanity. SAMUEL J. MAY. Syracuse, Feb. 14,1856. THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. CHAPTER I. THE KIDNAPPER. Late in the afternoon of a pleasant summer day, two little bo}^s were playing before the door of their mother's cottage. They were apparently about six or eight years old, and though their faces wore a dusky hue, their hearts were gay, and their laugh rang out clear and free. Their dress was coarse, and in no wise restrained the motions of their agile limbs, for it consisted merely of a cotton shirt, reaching no lower than the knee. How they ran races down the road, and turned sum- mersets on the green grass ! How their eyes danced with merriment, and their white teeth glistened in the pleasant light ! But as the day wore on they grew weary, and with, childhood's first impulse, sought their mother. She was not in the house. All there was still and lonely. In one corner stood her bed, covered with a clean blanket, and the baby's cradle was empty by its side. Grandmother's bed, in another corner of the room, was made up nicely, and every article of the simple furniture was in its accustomed place. "Where' could they all have gone ? "I reckon," said Levin, "mammy's gone to church. 2 (25) 26 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. The preachin' must be mighty long ! ! I's so hongry ! I's gwine to meetin' to see if she's thar." The " church" stood in the woods, about a mile oft. It was an old white building that had formerly been occupied by the family of S. G., who now lived in a large brick house close by. The boys had often been at the church with their father, who kept the key of the building, and opened it for worship on Sundays, and prayer-meeting nights. "You better not go thar, I reckon," replied Peter, the younger of the two boys, " Mammy '11 whip you well if you goes to foller her to meetin', and all about." '-Mammy! O Mammy!" Thus they called their mother, and cried because she did not answer, till their eyes were swollen, and their pleasant play forgotten. Soon the sound of wheels diverted them for a mo- ment from their childish grief, and looking up the road, they saw a handsome gig approaching. Its only occupant was a tall dark man, with black and glossy hair, which fell heavily below his white hat. He looked earnestly at the little boys as he ap- proached, and marking their evident distress, he checked his horse, and kindly asked the cause of their sorrow. " Oh ! Mammy's done gone off, and there's nobody to give us our supper, and we're so hongry." "Where is vour mother?"* "Don't know, sir," replied Levin, "but I reckon she's gone to church," "Well, don't you want to ride? Jump up here with me, and I'll take you to your mother. I'm just going to church. Come! quick! What! no clothes THE ODXAPPEK. 27 but a shirt? Go in and get a blanket. It will be nidht soon, and you will be cold." Away they both ran for a blanket. Levin seized one from his mother's bed, and in his haste pushed the door against his brother, who was robbing his grand- mother's couch of its covering. The blanket was large, and little Peter, crying all the while, was repeatedly tripped by its falling under his feet while he was running to the gig. The stranger lifted them up, and placing them be- tween his feet, covered them carefully with the blankets, that they might not be cold. He spoke kindly to them, meanwhile, still assuring them that he would soon take them to their mother. Away they went very swiftly, rejoicing in their childish hearts to think how their mother would won- der when she should see them coming. After riding for some time. — how long they could not guess — they suddenly upset in the water with a great splash. The strange man had, in his haste, driven too near the bank of the river, and the slight vehicle had thus been overturned. He soon rescued the chil- dren from the water. They were much frightened, but nothing was injured by the accident, and in a few minutes they were once more covered with the blankets, and frving along the river bank faster even than before. TVhen the gig stopped again, the sun was just - - ting. They were at the water side, and before them lav many boats, and vessels of different kinds. They had never seen anything like these before, but they had short time to gratify their childish curiosity ; for they were hurried on board a boat, which left the shore immediately. 28 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. With tlie assurance that they should now find their mother, they trusted implicitly in their new-made friend ; who strengthened their confidence in himself by gentle words and timely gifts. Cakes of marvellous sweetness were ever ready for them, if they grew im- patient of the length of the journey ; and their child- ish hearts could know no distrust of one whose words and acts were kind. How long they were on the boat they did not know ; nor by what other means they travelled could they afterwards remember, until they reached Versailles, Kentucky. Here their self-constituted guardian, whom they now heard addressed as Kincaid, placed them in a wagon with a colored woman and her child, and con- veyed them to Lexington. This was the first town they had ever seen, and as they were conducted up Main street, they were filled with wonder and admiration. Kincaid took them to a plain brick house where dwelt one John Fisher, a mason by trade, and proprie- tor of a large brick yard. After some conversation between the gentlemen, which of course the children did not understand, they were taken out to the kitchen, and presented to Aunt Betty, the cook. "There, my boys," said Kincaid, "there is your mother — we've found her at last." "No! no!" they shrieked, "that's not our mother! O, please, sir ! take us back !" With tears and cries they clung to him who had abused their guileless trust, and begged him not to leave them there. This scene was soon ended by John Fisher himself, who, with a hearty blow on each cheek, bade them THE KIDNAPPER. 29 "hush !" " You belong to me now, you little rascals, and I'll have no more of this. There's Aunt Betty, she's your mammy now; and if you behave your- selves, she'll be good to you." Kineaid soon departed, and they never saw him again. They learned, however, from a white appren- tice, who lived in the house, that he received from Mr. Fisher one hundred and fifty-five dollars for Levin, and one hundred and fifty for Peter. Poor children ! what a heavy cloud now shadowed their young lives ! For the first few weeks they talked constantly of going back to their mother — except when their master was near. They soon learned that they must not mention the subject in his presence. He was, in the main, a kind, indulgent man — but were they not his money ? Why should he allow them to prate about being stolen, when he had bought them, and paid a right good price ? "Father," said John Fisher, junior, "isn't Phila- delphia in a free State ?" " Certainly — it is in Pennsjdvania." "Well, then, I reckon those two boys you bought were stolen, for they lived with their mother near the Delaware river ; and Aunt Betty says that is at Phila- delphia, It was too bad, father, for that man to steal them and sell them here, where they can never hear from their mother!" "Pooh, boy! don't talk like a fool! Most likely they were sold to Kineaid, and he told them he would take them to their mother, in order to get them away without any fuss. And even if he did steal them — so were all the negroes stolen at first. I bought these 30 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. boys, and paid for them, and I'll stop tlieir talk about being free, or I'll break tlieir black necks. A pretty- tale that, to go about the country — -just to spoil the sale if I should happen to wish to get shut of them ! Free, indeed ! And what is a free nigger ? They're better off here than if they were free, growing up in idleness, and with nobody to take care of them." Before night the young offenders were thoroughly kicked and beaten, and received the assurance that they should be killed outright if they dared to tell such a tale again. So they grew cautious ; and spoke those sweet memories of home and mother only in whispers to each other, or to some fellow-slave that knew how to sympathize with their sorrows. CHAPTER II. KARLY EXPERIENCE IN SLAVERY. The long, hard lesson of slavery was now fairly open before our young students. In vain they shrank from its dreadful details. In vain they appealed for pity to their hard-handed master. Page after page of dark experiences shadowed their boyish eyes, and their young hearts, so merry hitherto, grew sad and anxious. The necessity of concealing the true feelings is among the rudiments of slavery's lore. A servant should be merry. A gloomy face is a perpetual com- plaint, and why should it be tolerated ? To this necessity the temperament of the African is most happily suited. Cheerful and warm-hearted, with an innate love of light and harmony, the slightest sym- pathy awakens his affection, and the faintest dawn of happiness provokes a smile. Levin and Peter were not long in divining, with the tact of childhood, their exact position, domestic and social. Their master was a large, fine looking man, with a free, hearty manner, and much real kindliness of dis- position. He never allowed this latter quality, how- ever, to interfere in business matters ; and as, in addi- tion to the business of brickmaking, he rented a large plantation about a mile out of town, he had no time to waste in unprofitable sentimentalities. How to get (31) 32 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. the most work done with the least expense he regarded as a problem worthy of his attention, and his success in business proved that he considered it well. Mrs. Fisher was a stout, freckle-faced lady, plain and unpretending in her dress and manner, and per- fectly devoted to her husband and children. She had, at the time of which we speak, two boys, John and Sydney; and for the first three years that he lived with them, Peter was their constant playmate. Levin was sent to the brick-yard the second year after Fisher purchased them, he being at that time only nine years old. At night the little slave boys rolled themselves up in their blankets, and slept on the floor in their mis- tress' room. They often waked in the morning under the bed, or the bureau, where Mrs. Fisher had shoved them with her foot, the night previous — that they might be out of the way. They were comfortably clothed, well fed, and — if they said nothing of their mother's house on the Delaware river — kindly treated. But if a word on that forbidden subject reached their master's ear, he became a monster. By stripes and kicks he taught them that they had no right to that blessed memory, that they were his property, and that he possessed the power to quiet their restless tongues. The plantation which was rented by Mr. Fisher be- longed to Mrs. Russell, a widow lady, and lay about a mile from the city, across the road from the residence of Henry Clay. Here, while Peter was too young to work in the brick-yard, he was sent daily for the cows, and for vegetables from the garden ; and as he had plenty of leisure, he spent many happy hours in play- ing with the little colored children at Mr. Clay's. EARLY EXPERIENCE IN SLAVERY. 33 Frequently the merry group was joined by young Masters Theodore and Thomas Clay, and then the sport was liveliest. The heart of the little new-made slave glowed with love for these noble boys, and he soon confided to them his sad history ; and one day, when Mrs. Clay, as was her custom, spoke kindly to the dusk}?- playmate of her sons, he simply recited to her the story of his sorrows, and asked her if she did not think some one would send him back to his mother. She quieted him with cakes and other delicacies, to the palate of the child exceeding grateful, and then gently dismissed the children to their play. But the brave-hearted boys were young enough to long to do something for their little favorite, and bade him tell his story to their father, who, they assured him, would send him back. There was true Kentucky generosity in their breasts, and they felt sure their honored father could not fail to do his utmost to redress such a cruel wrong. " O Levin !" whispered Peter, the first time he was alone with his brother. "I reckon we'll go back to- reckly !" "Go back! whar?" "Why home, to see mother! Mass' Theodore Clay say, his father so good to evei^body, he know he'll send us back if we tell him how we got stole — says his father allers hope folks whar gits in trouble." " Mass' Theodore say so ? Reckon then we will, kase Mr. Clay mighty good to all his people. Hi! Mars John Fisher ! } t ou's gwine lose these chillerns !" And with comical grimaces, Levin cut a series of 2* 34 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE EANSOMED. shuffles, indicating the confusion that awaited " Mars John." Not long after this conversation, Peter saw Mr. Clay standing near the court-house with a letter in his hand. His little heart bounded with hope as he ran towards him. " Mr. Clay !" he exclaimed, "I'm stole!" " Stole ? Who stole you, and where were you stolen from?" " I's stolen from my father and mother on Delaware river — folks say that's Philadelphia — but I don' know. Please, sir, won't you send me back to my mother?" " To whom do you belong?" " I 'long to Mars John Fisher, on Main street, and I wants to go back to my mother." " "Well, my boy, I have no time to talk to you now ; you carry this letter to Major Pope — you know where he lives — and then come back and I'll attend to you." Away ran the child dancing with delight, and cry- ing, "I's free! I's free! I's gwine to my mother!" "What is that you say?" asked a gentleman who met him. " I's gwine to be free ! Mr. Clay gwine to send me back to my mother, kase I was stole away from her !" " Now look here, you little negro," said the man, who knew the child, and understood the temper of his master, " you'd better not talk about that to Mr. Clay, for he will tell your master, and then old John Fisher will be sure to skin you." The bright vision that Hope had held before the trusting boy faded away. With drooping head and tearful eye he returned to tell his brother of their dis- EARLY EXPERIENCE IN SLAVERY. 35 appointment, and after that they both avoided Mr. Clay. Yet Hope did not desert them ; but whispered often in their eager ears — " You shall return ; your friends will come to seek you. You were born free, and slaves you shall not die I" When Peter was about nine years old, he too was employed in the brick-yard, as "off-bearer" Three thousand brick a day was the task for two boys ; and if one of them chanced to be by any means disabled, his companion must " off-bear" the whole. The moulder must not be hindered. These moulders — slaves themselves — were cruel tj^rants. The boys, though seldom abused by the master himself, were subject to all their caprices and passions. If one of inferior station failed to perform his task, they knew no mercy ; and their master per- mitted any punishment they chose to inflict. Their favorite mode of chastisement was called "standing in the wheelbarrow" The offender was placed with a foot on each side of the wheel, and com- pelled to reach over and grasp a handle in each hand ; and then the youngest boys — the " off-bearers"— were compelled to whip him with cowhides. If he woidd lie still, and take twenty-four lashes without attempt- ing to rise, that was deemed sufficient proof of his humility. But if he made an effort to change his position before that number was inflicted, the moulder who presided over the ceremony, and who counted off the strokes, commenced again at "one" and caused the twenty-four to be repeated. One day a large man, named Charles, was put into the wheelbarrow, and received over three hundred 36 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. blows before he was sufficiently subdued to lie still, and take twenty-four without moving. The boys that were selected to inflict this horrible punishment (of whom Peter was one) were all trembling with terror ; but if one of them, through pit}^, failed to strike with his utmost strength, the moulder, who stood aside with a cowhide, punished his merciful folly by a vio- lent blow upon his own back. Amid such scenes passed the childhood of these hapless boys. Their natural cheerfulness and mild- ness of temper made them universal favorites. In their own person, therefore, they endured few such sufferings as they were forced to witness. A "Boston clergyman," carefully observing their every-day life, would have pronounced them happy, careless boj^s ; so ardently attached to their young masters and their fellow servants, that it would be really unkind to set them free. They were well fed — their clothes were comfortable — all they needed was supplied without their thought or care. CHAPTER III. MASTER NATTIE. When Peter was about thirteen years old, Mr. Fisher planned a removal to Cincinnati, where his brother had recently gone. He disposed of his brick- yard, and intended to sell all his servants, except Annt Betty, the cook, with her daughter and grand- child. These he could not spare, as they were indis- pensable to the comfort of the family. Levin and Peter were overwhelmed with grief at the news of the intended sale. There was degrada- tion in the thought of being trafficked for like horses ; for, with all their apparent humility, and their submis- sive, gentle manners, there was a principle deep in their hearts that claimed the birthright of humanity. Besides, they had, through all these years, cherished the hope that they should yet be sought by their parents ; and they knew that if they changed owners, the chances of their being discovered would be les- sened. But their destiny was fixed. Mr. Fisher found some difficulty in disposing of them, for their old story of being stolen was remembered, and men hesitated to buy where there was a shadow of uncertainty in the title. Their master, however, so confidently asserted that he had conquered them, and it was so many years [37] 38 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. since they had been heard to say anything on the sub- ject, that a sale was at last effected. The purchaser was Mr. Nat. Gist, of Lexington, and he paid four hundred and fifty dollars for each of the brothers. Mr. Fisher did not, as he had anticipated, go to Cin- cinnati, but remained in Lexington for several years, and then he removed with his family to Louisville, Ky. The change of owners was far from being an agree- able one to Levin and Peter. Nat. Gist, their new master, lived in a small brick house on Dutch street, or, as it was sometimes called, Hill street. lie was a short, stout, gray-headed man, about fifty-six years of age, a Virginian by birth, and had been a revolu- tionary soldier. He swore hard, and drank to intoxica- tion every day ; therefore, as he was a bachelor, his home was seldom visited by any humanizing influ- ence. He owned a brick-yard of about five acres, and had, in all, twenty slaves. These he fed sparingly, clothed scantily, and worked hard. In the winter, when they could not make brick, he was accustomed to hire them out wherever he could get the highest price for their services. Mr. Gist had now among his people four boys — Levin and Peter, with Alfred and Allison, who were also brothers. They had been brought from Virginia, where their parents still remained.' -::- * The mother of these two boys, who belonged to one George Lewis, in Virginia, has recently, with several of her other children, escaped from slavery, and travelled, by the " underground rail- road," to Canada. MASTER NATTIE. 39 Peter was not long in becoming a special favorite with his new master. Yet the strange old man never evinced his preference by any peculiar kindness of word or act. That would contradict his theory. He believed there was nothing so good for a nigger as fre- quent floggings ; and while he kept Peter near him as much as possible, and always chose him to wait upon him, he never abated towards him a jot of his accustomed severity. An incident that occurred soon after he purchased the two boys of Mr. Fisher, will illustrate his method of governing them. He had come home from town, as usual, much in- toxicated, and ordered Peter to scatter a couple of bundles of oats on the ground, for his horse. The boy obeyed, but strewed them over rather more space than was necessary. In a few minutes, his master ap- peared. " Did you feed Ned his oats?" " Yes sir." " I'll see if you have done it right." And, mutter- ing curses as he went, he proceeded to the yard, where the horse was eating. "What the d— 1 did you throw them all about for? " Why, mass'r, you told me to scatter 'em." Quick the old man's cane descended on the offend- er's head. "I did'nt tell you to scatter them all over the yard. Follow me to the house. I'll give you a lesson." Peter walked slowly behind him to the door. "ISTow take off your shirt, you rascal, and cross your hands." The boy obeyed; and his master, after tying his hands together, drew them down over his knees, where 40 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. lie confined them by means of a stick thrust under his knees. He then beat him with a cowhide, first on one side, and then on the other, till his drunken rage was appeased. "There, you black cuss" cried he, when he had finished, " I mean to make a good nigger of you, and there's no way to do it, only by showing you who's master." This method of confining a negro for punishment is called "bucking" him, and it is much practised in slave-land. The culprit is frequently left in the " buck" several hours — sometimes, indeed, all night — and, in such cases, the protracted straining of the muscles causes intense pain. A few benevolent individuals, about this time, estab- lished a Sabbath School in Lexington, for the instruc- tion of such slaves as might be permitted by their masters to learn. At this proceeding Master Nattie was indignant. He would not have his niggers spoiled by getting learning — no, indeed! Niggers were bad enough, without being set up by such rascals as these Sunday School teachers. They'd better not meddle with his property; and if he heard of one of his boys going near the school, he'd give him such a flogging that he'd never need any more education. Bat in the breast of one of these slave boys burned a thirst for knowledge so intense, that even this terri- ble threat could not deter him from making one effort to learn. Peter went to the school. The teacher received him kindly, and inquired for his " pass" " Ain't got none, massa." "I am sorry," said the teacher, "for we are not per- MASTER NATTIE. 41 mitted to instruct any servants without the consent of their masters." Peter knew this very well ; and he also knew that to ask his master for a pass would be only to apply for a whipping ; but he did so long to learn to read, he could not go away. He looked around on the pupils. Their masters allowed them to come, and surely not one of them could learn so quick as he. He determined to make a desperate effort to stay that one day, at least. So he told the teacher that his master didn't care nothin 1 'bout his comiii 1 — he'd get a pass next Sunday ; and he was permitted to remain. The next Sabbath, when the school was opened, Peter stood among the pupils. The other boys pre- sented their passes — his did not appear. He had for- gotten to ash his master, but would be sure to remem- ber it the next Sunday. But on the third Sabbath he was no better off. His master had gone from home early in the morning, and of course it was impossible for him to get a pass in his absence. The teacher once more allowed him to re- main, but assured him that no such excuses would be taken in future. The fourth Sabbath came, and Peter walked boldly into the school. "Pass, boy I" as usual, was the first salutation. " Ain't got none," replied he. " Mass' Nattie say, don't need none ; no use, no how." The teacher began to suspect the true state of the case, and though he would gladly have aided to illu- mine that eager intellect, that was " stretching forward to the light," yet he was forced to thrust it back into the darkness, lest a prejudice should be aroused which 42 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. would palsy all his efforts. So he positively forbade Peter's future entrance to the school without a pass, and he was thereafter obliged to seek for amusement on Sundays in some other direction. He had, in these four Sundays, learned the alphabet, and could spell a few words, and hard and bitter was the fate that con- signed him thenceforward to ignorance. "Oli," thought he, "if I could only learn to read ! I could find out the way to Avrite myself. Then I might write letters to Philadelphia , and let our mother know what's 'come of her chilluns. There's white boys in town that goes to school every day, that would a heap ruther play in the street. I's seen 'em runnin' off to keep clar of the mas'r in the mornin'. Eeckon, if I could go to school, nobody wouldn't cotch me run- nin' off that way." CHAPTER IV. THE TOBACCO FACTORY. After Levin and Peter had worked for four sum- mers in the brickyard, their master hired them, with Alfred and Allison, to Mr. George Norton, a tobacco- nist, who at that time carried on an extensive business in Lexington. They had been hired out before to different persons during the winter. Peter had, one winter, served as waiter, a cousin of his master, Mr. Sandford Keene. This was his first introduction to house service, as well as his first experience, since he became a slave, of gen- uine kindness. Mrs. Keene was a noble-hearted lady, who delighted to promote the happiness of all around her, and Peter loved to serve her acceptably. But to this Mr. Norton they were hired for the whole year ; and violent as was Master Nattie in his phrensied hours, and carefully as he avoided every indulgence towards them which might seem to recog- nize their humanity, they dreaded to exchange him for this new master, for of him report spake never kindly. Mr. George Norton — ah ! how grand he looked as he stood near the shop door conversing with his over- seer ! His broad-brimmed hat seemed conscious of its [43] 44 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. elevated position, and his hair descending in a cue behind was stiff and stately. The very smoke from his cigar ascended with a consequential puff, and his cane thumped on the sidewalk in exact accordance with the great man's varying moods. It had a gentle tap to answer words of compliment, or salutations from the rich or beautiful. But when a breath of contra- diction came, or any sable menial hesitated to obey his slightest wish, the expressive staff beat furiously upon the pavement, in token of the vengeance that should fall upon the offender's head. A fit foil to his pompous superior was the overseer, Mr. Kisich. Small and pale, awkward in his man- ners, and "slightly lame," he seemed totally indiffer- ent to his personal appearance, and gloried only in the force and accuracy with which he could execute his employer's j^lans. He was a native of the Emerald Isle, as his "rich brogue" plainly indicated ; and, like some of his more distinguished countrymen in these later days, claimed liberty for Irishmen, and equality with the noblest in every land. But Avhen " He found his fellow guilty of a skin Not colored like his own." he could see him bought and sold, and tasked, and beaten, without a single impulse of pity. About thirty men and boys were employed in Mr. Norton's establishment. Of these, three were white men, who were hired to do that part of the work which required more experience and skill than the negroes were supposed to possess. These acted as spies and THE TOBACCO FACTORY. 45 informers ; making the privilege of tyrannizing over their dark-skinned fellows, a sort of compensation for the degradation which is inseparable, in slave-land, from the necessity of labor. Peter and Allison succeeded admirably in pleasing Mr. Norton. He liked their ready obedience, and their sprightly, nimble movements. When he gave an order, he could not wait with patience its dilatory execution, and they loved to surprise him by return- ing from an errand, or by finishing a task earlier than he expected. Yet by this they won no praise. It was but their duty, and they had reason to rejoice if, by performing it, they escaped the cow-hide. For several months they thus succeeded in avoiding any outbreak of his wrath. They had been accus- tomed to no mild exercise of authority, and the angry strife they often witnessed, seemed to them, if not quite necessary, unavoidable at times. Force was their law, and force their motive to obedience; and but for their brother-love, and the warm memory of their mother, their hearts must have grown callous and incapable of affectionate response. For Levin and Peter there was ever a bright morn- ing in remembrance, and they were young — could they live without the hope of returning once more to that mother-home? Humble was the cabin which they delighted to remember, but the sunshine came freely in at the open door, and no harsh word was ever heard within the lowly walls. How sweet, how soothing, was the influence of these cherished retrospects! How often, when their tasks were finished, the two brothers strolled away from the noisy mirth which their companions were beguiling 46 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. the twilight hour, and in low tones discussed the pos- sibilities of an escape from slavery — a return to the dear home where they had known no care nor fear. A hundred plans they at different times suggested to each other, but the execution of any one of them required more knowledge than they possessed, or could acquire. And then there were so many that failed in such attempts. The jail was always tenanted by captured fugitives. No — they could not run away. But perhaps, some day, they might buy their free- dom. They could work nights and Sundays, and earn the money, and then they would be safe. This was their favorite aerial abode, and here they enjoyed many bright anticipations. But alas ! they soon learned by the sad experience of others, that such a plan was all uncertain. The history of one man of their acquaint- ance in Lexington, taught them a lesson of caution on that point, that chilled their ardent hopes, and deep- ened their distrust of seeming friends. Spencer, a fine-looking intelligent mulatto, belonged to a Mr. Williams, who kept a lottery office in Lex- ington. His master, having no need of his services, hired him out ; usually to the keepers of hotels or livery stables, and sometimes to Spencer himself. He was a great favorite with the white people, and had excellent opportunities of making money; not only by extra services about the hotels or stables, but also by doctor- ing horses, in which he had much skill. He sometimes speculated in lottery tickets, but here his success availed him little. He drew at one time a house and lot in Lexington, valued at $30,000, and although many white people declared that it would be a shame to deprive him of the benefit of his good for- THE TOBACCO FACTORY. 47 tune, yet it was on the whole deemed an unsafe pre- cedent to allow a negro to acquire so much property. So the prize was finally awarded to a getleman in Philadelphia, who stood second in the list of successful competitors. Soon after this, Spencer conceived the idea of buying his freedom, and proposed the subject to his master. Mr. Williams received it favorably, and fixed the price at one thousand dollars. Spencer, habitually industrious, had now a new ani- mation in his labors; and so untiring was his diligence, that in a few years he had paid his master within twenty-five dollars of the whole sum. The goal of all his hopes was just in sight, when lo! the perfidious tyrant denied ever having promised him his liberty, and bade him never mention the subject more. Spencer was sorely disappointed, but not discouraged, and when not long after a gentleman who had heard the history of this deception offered to purchase him, and to give him his freedom as soon as he could earn the price which he must pay to Williams, the hopeful slave eagerly accepted the offer. The bargain was soon concluded, and with new zeal, the bondman commenced his labors. He took the pre- caution this time, to ask for a receipt whenever he made a payment. This was readily given, and Spencer deemed himself safe. But behold ! when he had paid all but seventy dollars, his new master suddenly left town ; and before the poor slave was aware of any ap- proaching change, an agent to whose care he had been consigned, had sold him to another master. He was indignant at this outrageous fraud, and produced his receipts, which he had carefully preserved. But these 48 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. availed nothing. They did not show to whom the money had been paid. And even if they had been properly written they would have profited nothing — for does not a slave's money as well as his person and his labor, belong to his master? Still hope died not in Spencer's breast. Again he tried a man who had been lavish of his sympathy, and loud in his denunciations of the baseness by which he had suffered. Into his hands — for the third time — he paid the hard-earned price of his redemption ; and when he should have received his free papers, and a pass out of the State, he was chained in a gang, and sent to the cotton and sugar fields of the south. To the ears of Peter and his brother came many tales like this, and in their inmost hearts were treasured the lessons of caution which they imparted. Surely there was none they could trust. It were far better, hj ap- parent contentment, and by cheerful maimers, to win the confidence of those in whose power they were placed? than to become objects of suspicion and dislike, by ill- timed efforts to be free. So they toiled on, their genial sunny natures, and the warm heart-love ever fresh within their breasts, preserving them from despair. Half the year at Mr. Norton's had passed away, and neither of the boys belonging to old Nattie Gist had fallen into any serious difficulty. They had witnessed many exhibitions of their employer's cruelty, and one which occurred about this time, filled their hearts with horror. Mr. Norton's body-servant, a large black man, chanced one day to offend his haughty master. He was immediately put in a buck, and in the presence of all the men and boys, Norton inflicted on his naked THE TOBACCO FACTORY. 49 back three hundred lashes with a cowhide. The blood gushed out, and ran in streams upon the brick floor of the shop. When the stick was removed from under his knees, the poor victim was unable to rise. At this his tor- mentor was enraged. He seized a board that lay near, full of shingle nails, and with it struck him several violent blows ; every one of which brought the blood in streams, as though he had been pierced with lancets. The slaves who witnessed this horrid deed were paralyzed with fear, but the white men swore it was just right. The cursed niggers — they must be con- quered, or they would not be worth a d — n. Here young Peter's caution for a moment failed. His eyes, usually so mild, flashed fiercely, and he de- clared in a low voice to his brother that George Norton should never strip him and put him in a buck to whip him — he would die first. Poor boy ! his rash speech was overheard, and re- ported to the tyrant, who from that day w r aited only an excuse to punish his presumption. The next Saturday evening, as the boys were sweep- ing the shop, an old woman came in and asked for some tobacco. Peter, being nearest the door, gathered up a handful of the sweepings, and gave them to her. On the following morning, it was Peter's turn to make a fire in the sweat-room ; and when he had per- formed this duty, he locked the door of the shop and went to his old master's, where he usually spent his Sundays. Here he played marbles, and enjoyed such other sports as are proper for the Sabbath-rest of slave- boys, while their young masters are at the Sunday- 50 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. school or in the billiard-room — according to their tastes. Peter had been absent from the shop but a short time when Mr. Norton himself took a fancy to go in and look at the "tobacco. He tried the door, but it was locked, and the key was nowhere to be found. His anger rose. Ah ! Peter, a heavy cloud is gather- ing, and there is no shelter for thy defenceless head ! Early Monday morning, Mr. Norton came into the shop. His eyes looked darker and brighter than usual, and the smoke from his cigar came in quick passion- ate puffs. His cane, too, beat an ominous march upon the floor. Something was wrong. The great man spoke. "Whose business was it to make a fire in the sweat-room yesterday ?" " Mine, sir," said Peter. " Did you attend to it?" "Yes, sir." " You did! where were you when I came here?" "Don't know, sir, — recken I was up home." " Where is your home, your rascal ?" " Up to Mars Nattie's, sir." "I'll let you know, nigger, that this is your home, and that I am your master !" and with a furious thump- ing of his cane, the mighty man strode out of the shop. He was in a rage. It always made him angry for one of his hired servants to call his owner, "Master;" — it was his law that in his shop no one should receive that ennobling title except himself. Before sunrise the next morning, just as the work of the day was commenced, Mr. Norton appeared at the door. He stood a few minutes perfectly still, and THE TOBACCO FACTORY. 51 then taking out his knife, he commenced trimming a switch — whistling meantime a beautiful march. The sweet notes woke no answering melody in the hearts of those within, for well they knew the spirit of their master. Only when about to inflict some cruel punishment did George Norton utter sounds like these. His march ended, he spoke — "Peter!" " Sir." "Where were you, yesterday?" " Here, sir, strippin' tobacco. "Well, Sunday, where were you?" " Home, to Mars Nattie's, sir." " The hot blood mounted to Mr. Norton's face. " 2" am your master, rascal, and I'll let you know you are to go to no other home than this ! Who swept the shop on Saturday?" " We boj's, sir, all of us." "Who gave tobacco to an old woman?" " I gave her a handful of sweepings, sir, — no 'count, no how, sir." "Well, you'll find Jam your master, and you are to obey me. Come here, and lie down across this box." ' Peter obeyed, wondering at the same time that he had not been ordered to strip. It was not Mr. Nor- ton's custom to whip his servants over their clothes, and the boy had on a new suit of blue linsey. But he had heard of the expression he had made a few days before, and perhaps thought best to avoid an unnecessary contest. No sooner was the boy extended across the desig- nated box, than Norton struck him a violent blow. 52 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. Peter raised up. "Lie down you nigger !" and he re- newed the blows with greater force. Peter raised up again. " Lie down I" cried the fury, with a curse. Peter obeyed the third tie, and them blows fell hard and fast. Once more he raised up. "Lie down! I say, you cursed nigger — if you move again till I bid you, I will beat you till you cannot rise." The boy stood upright, and looked his tormentor steadily in the face. "I have laid down three times for you to beat me, when I have done nothing wrong ; I will not lie down again 1" Instantly Norton seized him, and attempted to force him across the box — but was unable. "Here, Mr. Kisich ! Tadlock ! all of you I help me conquer this nigger!" Quick to his aid came the overseer, and the three other white men that worked in the shop, and all fell upon him at once, while Peter screamed "Murder!" and fought with his utmost strens-th. People in the street heard the tumult, and gathered about the doors of the shop ; when Norton ordered them closed and fastened. Among those thus excluded was Sandford Keene, the nephew of old Nattie Gist. He listened to the uproar with anxious ears, but could not determine from which of the boys the cries pro- ceeded. Had he known that it was Peter, his special favorite, to whom also his wife was much attached, he could hardly have refrained from rushing in to his rescue. The ruffians tried to bind his hands, but he struggled so fiercely that they were in danger of breaking his bones. That would have been too costly an amuse- THE TOBACCO FACTORY. 53 merit. But they succeeded in throwing him upon the floor, and there he struggled, and screamed, and bit their legs and ankles, till they despaired of holding him in any position, unless they could succeed in tying him. One of them, accordingly, prepared a slip noose, and threw it over his head when he rose up— with intent to choke him. He perceived their purpose, and quickly raising both hands, thrust them through the noose and slipped it down below his arms. Thus baffled in one scheme, they resorted to another. Dragging him along by the rope now fastened around his waist, they proceeded to the back part of the shop where stood five or six presses, each about eight feet high. If they could hang him up on one of these he would be entirely at their mercy. But he foiled them here. As they raised the rope to fasten it to the top of the press, he sprang one side, and crept into the narrow space between it and the wall. Here he remained for some time. Bleeding and panting — his bloodshot eyes glared at his persecutors, who, on both sides, were engaged in beating him over the head with cowhides and hoop-poles, and thrusting sticks and pieces of iron against his bruised flesh. At last they dragged him from his partial hiding place ; and now he made no resistance — he had not strength to struggle. Norton threw him across a keg, and with fiendish curses, whipped his bleeding back with a cowhide ; swearing he was the first nigger that ever tried to fight him, and that he should be humbled if it took his life. When this correction was finished it was nearly ten 54 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE EANSOMED. o'clock ; and, commanding the other slaves, who stood agape with horror, to go to work, Mr. Norton, followed by his aids, went to the house for breakfast. They had exercised sufficiently to eat with good appetites ; and while they were enjoying a plentiful repast, and discussing in their own peculiar style, the " obstinacy of the nigger," their poor victim, bruised and torn, with only a few shreds left of his new suit of linsey, crept out of the shop, and with his little remaining strength, succeeded in gaining the residence of his master, on the hill. Old Nattie Gist had, according to his morning cus- tom, gone down town. Aunt Mary, the cook, how- ever, received him kindly, pitied him, and dressed his wounds. She had a human mother's heart, and her two boys were slaves. Peter guessed rightly, that his old master, cruel as he was himself, would not like to see his property thus damaged by others. Yet he spoke no gentle word to the sufferer. He would not intimate to a " nigger 1 '' that a white man could do him wrong. But he sought Norton, and cursed him roundly for inflicting such abuse upon a boy of his. For a week he allowed Peter to stay at home, and then he sent him back to the shop. Here he remained till the end of the year. Norton was evidently either ashamed of his previous violence, or afraid to repeat its exercise, for never after that did Peter receive an unkind word from him or either of his satellites. Just before Christmas, Mr. Norton went to old Mas- ter Nattie, and, assuring him that the boys were all perfectly satisfied with the past, and anxious to remain THE TOBACCO FACTORY. 55 with him, hired them for another year. But when their time expired, they all ran off together to their master, and he did not force them to go back. This was a merry Christmas-time to these four boys. They had been accustomed to severity before, and had lived on poor and scanty fare. Yet even their old master, heartless as he seemed, was not systematic in his cruelty. When he went down town in the morn- ing, there was none to watch them till he returned. They could talk, and laugh, and sing ; if they but fin- ished their tasks, they had little to fear. But, at Norton's shop, there was scarcely a minute of the day that evil eyes were not upon them. Not a laugh, a gesture, or grimace, but was remembered, and and quoted as a token of disrespect to the lofty mas- ter, who could ill brook a jest reflecting on his dig- nity. CHAPTER V. THE SEPARATION. In the fall of this year (1817), the community of which old Nattie Gist was the centre and the head, became greatly agitated. The old man had two nephews, Levi and Andrew Gist, of whom he was very fond. They were both sons of his brother William, who resided on a farm a few miles out of town. These young men, after much discussion, and not- withstanding some opposition from their friends, de- termined to seek their fortunes in Alabama. They had heard tempting reports of the fertility of the valley of the Tennessee, and of the ease with which a fortune could be made by raising cotton; and besides, they were Kentuckians, and loved adventure. Their uncle liked the spirit of enterprize that im- pelled them ; he liked money too, and he foresaw that they would have fine opportunities in that new country of amassing wealth. Levi Gist, the elder of the two brothers, had always been a special favorite with his uncle, and to him he intrusted six of his negroes. These he was to take with him to Alabama, to assist him in putting in his first crop. The old man promised to go himself the [56] THE SEPARATION. 57 next year, if they should like the country, and decide to settle there. The command to prepare to go with Master Levi, fell with crushing weight upon the hearts of the doomed slaves. Old Frank and his wife Peggy, were the first to learn their sentence. They were indignant at the word. Long and wearily had they toiled in their master's service. Patiently had they endured hunger. Stripes and cursings had been their frequent portion, and these they had learned to receive without com- plaint. Now they were growing aged, and to be torn from the old place, and from all the friends in whose society the Sundays passed so pleasantly, seemed too hard a trial. Their two children were to go with them. That was some comfort, but a deeper sorrow, for they would be forced to work in those great cotton fields, where venemous snakes would hiss at them, and cruel over- seers watch their toil. Yet old Frank and Peggy had not the deepest cause for grief. Levin and Alfred were destined to accom- pany them, and they must each leave behind his brother, dearer to him than life itself. The young men intended to take with them every thing that would be needed to stock a new plantation. To collect and arrange in travelling order all their goods, required much time and labor, and every hand, at home, and at their uncle's, was enlisted in their service. At Master Nattie's, particularly, all was now excite- ment and confusion. The old man hurried to and fro, administering curses and stripes to all who failed to execute his plans. The boys who had been hired out, 3* 58 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. were brought home to aid in these unusual labors, and thus the brothers, that must so soon be separated, were allowed to spend the last few days in each others society. The thought that his brother must go to the South was agony to Peter. In all their sorrows, thus far, they had been together. They had shared the same little pleasures — their hearts had been as one. And now, to be sundered so wide— could they live apart? " O Levin, Levin ! if they take you 'way off there, I sha'n't never see you no more, sure!" " yes," sobbed Levin, his heart almost broken, while yet he strove to speak cheeringly to his weeping brother — " yes, Mars Nattie say he gwine bring ye all next year when he come." "Mars Nattie! He never gwine 'way off there! He'll stay here long as he can get breath enough to curse. He's too old to go to a Lew country, any how." " Well, he have to die some day — he can't live a mons's long time, sure." " Yes, and if he dies, we'll all be sold — they allers has an auction when folks dies — and then their people's scattered all about. O 'pears like 'taint no use livin' in this yer world. I sha'n't never see you no more !" The preparations for the journey were at last com- pleted, and one pleasant afternoon in October, the little company of slaves had orders to repair to Master William's, in order to be ready to start with their young masters the next morning. " Mars Nattie," said Levin, as they were all assem- bled in the yard to say good-bye, " please, sir, give me something 'fore I go, to 'member you by." 11 Well," said the old man, " go in and bring me the THE SEPARATION. 59 cowhide, and I'll give you something you'll never forget. If I should give you a coat or a shirt, you would wear it right out, but if I cut your skin to pieces, you will remember this parting as long as you live. And mind, you rascal, when I come out next fall, I'll bring the cowhide, and if you don't behave yourself, I'll give you enough then — d'ye hear?" Such, interspersed with numerous curses, was the kind farewell of old Nattie Gist. The servants all shook hands, and strove to speak in cheering tones to their departing friends ; but great tears stood in their eyes as they watched the little company slowly march- ing down the hill. Sadly they returned to their work, but their thoughts crept on toward the dim future. Which of them should go next ? Master Nattie had sold, during the past year, more than half his servants ; and none could tell what caprice might seize liim before another year should pass. They might all be chained in a gang, and driven away by some barbarous trader. Heavily throbbed their hearts as these gloomy fancies floated before them ; and while they tried to repress the tears that would scald their aching eye-balls, they pursued their task in silence. Peter returned no more to his work at Mr. Hudson Martin's, where he had spent the former part of the year, but was sent by his master to take Levin's place as waiter at Mr. John D. Young's. Mr. Young was not a rich man — indeed he had failed in business, and now inhabited a small brick house on the plantation of his father-in-law. He was an intelligent gentleman, of pleasant manners, and great kindliness of heart. Had his wife resembled him 60 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. in amiability and gentleness, their home would have been happy ; but she was unfortunately destitute of that true independence and dignity of character, that can meet worldly reverses with composure. She felt humiliated by their comparative poverty, and the com- forts with which she was surrounded looked hateful in her eyes, because the splendors wealth might purchase, were beyond her reach. Her servants endured most in consequence of this unfortunate peculiarity. From morning till night they were scolded, till they came to heed the shrill voice of their mistress, no more than they would heed the rain-drops an the roof. During the few months which Peter spent in the service of Mr. Young, he passed many pleasant hours at Mr.. Clay's. His childish fear of the great statesman had changed to deepest reverence ; and, though young masters Theodore and Thomas Clay, no longer played, as had been their childish custom, with their colored favorite, they treated him ever with perfect kindness. But with the servants, every one of whom was privi- leged beyond the common lot of slaves, he was always at home ; and many a pleasant winter evening did he spend at Ashland. Among the slaves that gathered there at night, one of the merriest was Aaron the coachman. He was the father of Mr. Clay's body servant, Charles, who, during the last years of his master's life, was ever at his side. Aaron was an excellent servant — quick and ener- getic, and his mirthfulness and genuine good feeling rendered him a favorite with all ; while his stories, songs and merry jests, made the warm kitchen ring again. But he had one fault. He loved a dram, and when THE SEPARATION. 61 tempted by the sight or smell of his favorite liquor, he could seldom resist the entreaties of his appetite. This weakness was peculiarly annoying to Mrs. Clay, as it frequently unfitted him for business at a time when she had most need of his services. He one day drove her carriage into town, and while she was making a visit, he improved the opportunity to indulge in a glass of his loved beyerage ; and by the time his mistress was ready to go home, he was wholly incapable of driving her carriage. She was, therefore, obliged to hire a man to take his place, and she then resolved that Aaron should be punished. But it could not be done without Mr. Clay's consent, as the over- seer was forbidden to strike one of the house servants, without consulting him. So to her husband she recited the story of her mor- tification, and, as he had tried various mild means to cure the slave of this unlucky propensity, he decided that it was best to use more severe measures. The next morning he sent for the overseer, and directed him to take Aaron into the carriage-house, and give him a slight whipping. " Now do it quietly," said he, " and be sure not to cut his skin. I don't want to hear any disturbance. Do it as gently as possible." The overseer respectfully assented and went out. Instantly one of the maids, who had chanced to over- hear this conversation, stole out of the house, and sought Aaron. " Look yer," said she, " you know what massa say ?" " Know what massa say ? No ! How I know what he say, when he never spoke to me this mornin' ?" 62 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. "Well, lie say to the overseer — 'Aaron must be punish — for he take a dram when Mrs. Clay want him to drive for her — you may take him to the carriage- house and whip him, but don't cut him up.' ' " Don't cut him up ! Massa say so ? Well, well> reckon this chile be ready. Overseer mighty good — he talk so clever — 'pears like he thinks I 's white some- times, but the devil in his eye He done wanted, this long time, get a cut at me. I knows what overseers means when they gets too good. Yah ! yah ! he thinks now his gwine give this chile all he owes him." The girl's astonished eyes followed Aaron as he leaped over the fence, and ran toward a small grocery that stood at a short distance on the road to town- Here he had no difficulty in procuring a dram ; and, having thus fitted himself for the anticipated contest, he walked home, and resumed his work. Soon the overseer called from the carriage-house door — Aaron!" "Sir?" " Come here." In a moment the slave stood before him. "Aaron, Mr. Clay says you must come into the carriage-house and be whipped." "Did Massa say so?" "Yes — he says your habit of drinking annoys your mistress so often, that you must be punished for it. He says he has tried to persuade you to leave it oft* but it does no good. I don't like to whip you, Aaron, but it is Mr. Clay's orders." " Well, if Massa says so, then it must be so," and he walked quietly into the carriage-house, followed by his THE SEPARATION. 63 kind friend, the overseer, who fastened the door on the inside. "Now, Mr. ," said Aaron, "you may whip me, if Massa says so, but you needn't tie me — I wont be tied." " Very well," replied the overseer, throwing down the rope which he had in his hand, "you needn't be tied, if you will stand still ; but you must take off your coat." " Yes sir; but if I take off my coat to be whipped, you ought to take yourn off first to whip me." The man perceived that he had been drinking, and knew he must indulge his whim, if he would obey Mr. Clay's orders to keep quiet — so he pulled off his coat, and Aaron quickly laid his beside it on the floor. Then followed the vest — the slave insisting that Mr. should first remove his own. " Now your shirt, Aaron," said he. "Yes sir, but you must take off yourn first." This was going further, for quiet's sake, than the overseer had intended; but he hesitated only a mo- ment. It would be best, he thought, to humor him. He had, in truth, long wished for a chance to humble Aaron, and now the time had come. But, behold! no sooner had he lifted his arms to pull his shirt over his head, than Aaron seized the garment, and twisting it around his neck, held him fast. Then catching the whip, he applied it vigorously to the overseer's naked back, raising the skin at every stroke. His victim screamed, and threatened him with vengeance, but all in vain; the blows fell hard and fast. Mr. Clay heard the outcry, and grew very angry. 61 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. "I told him," said lie, "to make no noise, and to be sure not to whip the poor fellow severely. He must be cutting him to pieces." He hastened to the carriage-house. The door was fastened within, but he could hear the whizzing of the whip, as it descended on the sufferer's back. " Open the door!" he cried. "Didn't I tell you not to whip him hard? Open the door, I say ! "0, Mr. Clay! it's Aaron whipping me! I haven't given him a blow." "Aaron," cried the master, "open the door." Instantly the slave obeyed. With his right hand, in which he still held the whip that he had used to such good purpose, he opened the door, while with his left he retained his vice-like grasp of the twisted shirt. His face was all complacency, yet his eyes twinkled with mirth, and a roguish, smile lurked at the corner of his mouth. Mr. Clay stood for a few moments mute with astonish- ment. But when he fully comprehended the strange scene, he burst into a hearty laugh, and although the overseer, as soon as he was released, proceeded to ex- plain to him the manner in which he had been caught, and insisted that he should now be allowed to whip Aaron, his arguments were lost. The master quietly expressed his opinion that there had been whipping enough — -it was not necessary to go any further. CHAPTER VI. MASTER NATTIE'S DEATH. 1^ April, 1818, Mr. Young having no further need of Peter's services, Master Nattie sent him to his brother, William Gist, to be employed on his plantation. Here Allison was his companion once more, and the pleasure of being together was, in part, a compensation to each for the absence of his brother. But this joy was transient. Early in the ensuing summer, young Master Andrew came from Alabama for a short visit. He brought news of the health and prosperity of those who had gone with him the year before, and gave glowing descriptions of the beauty of the country. The rich bottom lands, with their grand old trees, the clustering vines and graceful flowering shrubs, and, above all, the abundance of game in the forests, afforded exhaustless topics of discourse. When he returned, he took Allison with him. Peter was left all alone, and his heart was very heavy. There was no one now to whom he could communicate all his little trials; none that would sym- pathize with his griefs. He had nothing but work to divert his thoughts during the day ; and at night his dreams, sleeping or waking, were all of that dear [65] 66 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. brother, that had for so many years trod by his side the rugged path to which they two were doomed. Soon after the departure of his nephew, Master Nattie's health was observed to fail ; and though for a long time he struggled against disease, and would not own that he was ill, yet he was at last obliged to yield. His constitution was worn out by intemperance and the indulgence of evil passions; and now, no med- icine could retard the steady approach of the Death Angel. Twice a week, during the summer, Peter was accus- tomed to go to market. Then he never failed to visit his old master; and as he saw his sunken eye and hollow cheek, and noted his vacant wandering stare, his heart sank within him. He did not regard his master with affection. "Who could love old Nattie Gist ? But the sale, ah ! if he should die, there would, of course, be an auction, and the traders would be there, and then, adieu to the last hope he had cherished, of one day joining his beloved brother. The unhappy old man continued to fail. Death stays not at the behest of kings or generals ; how then should the faint prayer of a poor slave-boy impede his progress ? In loneliness and gloom passed the last days of the wretched man. His housekeeper and cook, Aunt Mary, was his constant nurse. She understood all his wants, and she had learned patiently to bear all his caprices. Her will — her very womanhood — had been crushed into submission to his authority ; for though a slave called her his wife, she had for years been forced to disregard her marriage ties, as well as her own MASTER NATTIE'S DEATH. 67 honor, in order to indulge the base passions of the tyrant. Now, in the death-hour, the down-trodden woman moistened his parched lips, all heedless of the curses which they uttered. Her hand smoothed his pillow, administered his medicine, and surrounded him with all possible comforts. Death advanced. On Saturday morning, the thir- teenth of September, when, according to his custom, Peter went in to see him, the final struggle had com- menced. His brother William and the doctor were standing by the bed. Silently they witnessed his agony as he strove with the King of Terrors. There was no light of Christian hope in his glazing eye, no love in his obdurate heart. He would resist — he would live I "Why should he die ? This world had been gloomy. ISTo love-light had shone upon his path — no gentle hand had led him through the labyrinths of evil to the Author of all good. And as his lips had loved cursing, Avhy should he look for blessings now ? Could he hope for a better life than he had chosen here ? Fearful was the frown upon his face as he was forced to yield to the great Conqueror. He strug- gled — groaned — gasped — he was gone. Silently they closed his eyes, and horror sat upon every countenance. They buried him, and raised a stone to his memory. Ah ! he chose his own remembrancers ! Poor Levin and his fellows need no stone to tell them that a mon- ster lived. After the funeral Mr. Win. Gist conveyed the greater part of his brother's property to his place for safe keeping. A will was found conveying to his favorite 68 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. nephew, Levi Gist, the house and lot in Lexington, as well as all the servants. Whatever money he pos- sessed he left in legacies to his other relatives. At the time of his death, Master Nattie owned but eleven slaves — the six that went first to Alabama. Aunt Mary, with her two sons, and Allison and Peter. The others he had sold some time before. Aunt Mary was left in town to take care of the house, till young master Levi should come to take possession of his property. As she went through the familiar rooms, and arranged and re-arranged the fur- niture, she had time to think. The past rose before her — the dark repulsive past. She had been young, but it was so long ago — it was hardly worth her while to think of all the hopes that cheered her youth. She was married — and her husband's love shone for a brief time on her pathway; too soon, alas! to be shadowed by the dark passions of her absolute master. Two babes had nestled on her bosom, and they, too, were branded with her humiliation. Now, he was dead — he would curse her life no longer. Ha ! what a pang came with that half- uttered gratulation ! Dead — and she who had served him so faithfully — who had meekly borne his wrathful curses, and patiently endured the degradation to which he had reduced her — she to whom he was indebted for all the comfort his home had known for years — who had attended him by day and night till the grave closed above his head — she was coolly given to his nephew, to be transported hundreds of miles away. How her great eyes flashed at the thought, as, with her hand upraised, in the solitary room where her master died, she swore she would not go ! MASTER NATTIE'S DEATH. 69 Her husband, a native African, named Sam, who still spoke but broken English, was soon to be free, according to contract with his importer. Sam had the spirit of a prince. To live always as a slave he would not consent ; and, lest he should kill himself or his master, his liberty was promised him at a stipulated time. Mary was fully determined that she would never leave him nor Lexington ; and when in the December following his uncle's death, the young heir came from the South to remove his goods, and desired Aunt Mary to prepare for the journey, she revolted. They might kill her, she said, but she would not go — she indeed, would hang herself, and that would end it. The young man coaxed, and threatened, but in vain. She liked Mars Levi — everybody liked him — a heap better than old Massa ; but as to leaving " Kaintucky," and going away to the South, she could not. At last, finding that it was useless to attempt to remove her, Master Levi sold her, with her two boys, to his father, — and she was left to spend the evening of her days in her beloved Lexington. CHAPTER VII. THE JOURNEY TO ALABAMA. Ok a cold Sabbath morning, December 20, 1818, Peter started with Master John Gist, a younger brother of " Mars Levi," for his new home in Alabama. He wore his old master's broad-brimmed hat, and had his shot-gun lashed upon his back. Miss 'Maltha, the youngest daughter of Master William, came out just as they started, and with a kind smile gave him a handful of biscuits. Heaven bless her for the kindly thought! The memory of that simple gift is still warm in the heart of him who was then but a poor slave-boy, going forth to meet his uncertain fortunes amid scenes strange and new. The farewells were all said, and the young men rode away — silently at first, for there were last words and affectionate charges from his parents, still ringing in the ears of Master John ; and Peter's heart was full. He left Lexington with few regrets. It had never seemed to him like home: though among the many families in which he had served, there were some who had treated him with great kindness. Yet the memory of his mother haunted him, and a sense of injustice and wrong, a consciousness that he had been stolen from home, and that the power to which he had been forced [70] THE JOURNEY TO ALABAMA. 71 to submit was all usurped, prevented his forming a strong attachment to the place itself. Now he had little hope of ever seeing any of his kindred except the dear brother that had gone before ; and his heart grew lighter, as hour by hour the dis- tance diminished between them. Alfred and Allison, too, he soon should meet, and they were very dear to him— for had they not suffered together? Then came a heavy sinking of the heart at the thought, that he must thenceforth be exposed to all the reputed hardships of the South. The constant toil in the great cotton fields, the oppressive heat, the danger of fearful sickness, and the deeper dread of cruel over- seers—all these fell upon his hopes like snow upon the violets that have peeped out too soon. And oh ! if after all these years his parents should come in search of their children, and they both be gone! No, no ! he would not think of that— and giv- ing old master's riding-horse a smart cut with his whip, he galloped on to overtake Master John. Hour after hour the youths rode side by side; now conversing pleasantly about the country through which they were passing, or reviewing little incidents con- nected with their departure from home ; and again, their thoughts grew busy, and forgot to shape them- selves in words. Day after day they still rode on ; one anticipating a pleasant visit with his brothers, and a speedy return to all the endearments of a happy home— the other, hopeful, and yet half afraid to meet his destiny. They spent the nights at houses of entertainment, which they found scattered here and there along the roadside. At these, they were received more like 72 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. family visitors than guests at a hotel. Master John sat in the parlor by the blazing fire, and told the news from Lexington to his kind host, or listened to the history of the last year's crop. Peter, meanwhile, in the kitchen made himself no less agreeable. He had come from town, and could tell wonders to his less privileged auditors, who had seldom been out of sight of home. The travellers arrived at Hopkinsville on Christmas morning. Here dwelt Dr. William Teagarden, whose wife was a maternal aunt of Master John, and at his house they spent the holidays. This was a merry time. All the usual Christmas festivities were enjoyed, and Mrs. Teagarden, in addition to these, gave a large evening party in compliment to her nephew. Here Peter had a fine opportunity to display his skill and grace as a waiter, and so highly pleased was Mrs. Teagarden with his expertness in this vocation, that she made several efforts during the next three years, to purchase him of his young master. "Look yer, Peter," said a gossiping old woman, who stood among the other servants just outside the parlor- door, and who had been watching the dancers with in- tense interest, "your Mars John gwine fall in love wid dat young lady, I reckon. How you like her for missus?" "What young lady you mean? I reckon Mars John ain't in no hurry to fall in love, no how." "Why, Miss Agnes Keats. Dear! he's leadin' her to a cheer by her sister, Miss Francess. He's danced a'most all night wid her, and 'pears like he thinks she's mighty porty." THE JOURNEY TO ALABAMA. 73 " She is that," said Peter, " does her father live about yer ?" "Yes, he's a livin' now; but he come wons's nigh gwine to de bad man where he 'longs. Didn't you hear 'bout it in Lex'n'ton ? He's got a heap o' people on dem dar two big plantations, and he does 'em mighty mean. But it wasn't none o' de field hands 'at killed him." " Killed him ? You said he was a livin' now." " So I did ; but I'se gwine tell you how he kep' clar. You see, he allers keeps three or four to de home place to wait on de family — well, he was dat mean dey couldn't live in no sort o' fashion ; so two big men what staid round de house and garden, dey 'trive a plan to get enough to eat, for one day, least- ways. Dey got hold de gun, and when de ole massa done got settle nice in his bed, dey ris de gun up on de winder bottom, and pint it to his heart. But de ole cook 'voman — she hope urn, kase she fotch out de gun, an' lef de winder open; she got mighty skeered 'bout her missus, and kep' tellin' 'em all de time dey's flxin' de gun, 'Now min' you don't hit missus — keep it clar o' missus. " When dey got all fix, dey pull dat dar trigger — Hi ! didn't it pop ? but it didn't kill de ole massa — struck his ribs, I reckon. Well, de minute de ole cook 'voman year de gun, she lif ' up her hands and fotch a big scream. ' O Lor' ! I'll lay you's done kill missus, now!' " Every person on de place y ear dat yell, and all come a runnin' to see who's kill." " What 'come of the men?" asked Peter, his blood chilled at the thought of the horrid deed. A. 74 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. " De men — dey 's hung. Dey had a little court ; did n't take long to prove dey's guilty, kase you see dey got cotch, so dey hung 'em mons's quick." " Did they hang the 'voman, too ?" " No, dey sol' her way off to de Coas'. Eeckon she won't never hope no more sich work as dat. 'Pears like, it's mighty hard to have sich a mean massa as ole Keats, but it's a heap wuss to try dis yer killin' busi- ness. De Lor' don't 'low dat dar ; no how. " Dar ! dat set's up. Mars John gwine lead Miss Agnes up for de nex'. How nice dat pa'r does look?" On the morning of the third of January, Master John and Peter resumed their journey southward. They spenWme night at Nashville, and one at Colum- bia, Tenn., and on the morning of the sixth, at eleven o'clock, they reached Bainbridge. Peter's heart beat fast as he approached the spot that was thenceforth to be his home. Everything he saw looked strange and uncouth. The town, if such indeed it might be called, consisted of about thirty small log cabins, scattered here and there among the tall old forest trees. Groups of white-haired, sallow-skinned children were playing about the doors, or peeping slyly at the strange gentleman as he passed. Now and then, between the trees, were seen the bright waters of the Tennessee sparkling in the sunlight ; but even they pursued their pleasant way in silence, as if re- luctant to disturb the quiet of the place. "Well, Peter," said Master John, "this is Bain- bridge— how do you like the looks of the place?" "Looks like 'taint a town, Mars John; I never knowed folks have a town in the woods." Oh ! the woods will be gone -in a few years. Don't THE JOURNEY TO ALABAMA. YD you see, many of these trees are dead now ? They girdle them that way, and the next year they die." " Whar's the store ? Mars Levi say he got a store yer." "Yonder it is — where that gentleman is sitting on the porch?" " That the store ! Don't look no bigger'n a kitchen ! What Mars Levi live?" " Here we are at his honse, now." Master John sprang to the ground, and gave his horse to Peter, who with wondering eyes, was looking toward the house. He could hardly believe that those two log cabins, with an open passage between them, constituted Mas- ter Levi's residence in Alabama. " Ha !" thought he, " ole Mars Nattie say, they all gwine get rich out yer. What he say now, if he see his young gentlemen alivin' in a cabin in the woods 'among pore white folks." He followed Master John into the house. No one was there. They went on to the kitchen, and with an exclamation of joy, old Aunt Pegg}^ ran forth to meet them. "Mars Levi gone out hunt-in'," said she, "but I reckon Mars Andrew in de store — he's dar mostly. O, I's so glad to see somebody from de ole place !" " Dar Peter !" cried she, as the sound of wheels was heard, "dar's my ole man with his wagon; he's gwine to de mill whar de boys is all to work." A moment more, and Peter was in the wagon be- side old Frank, hastening to the embrace of his brother Levin. He could hardly wait to answer all the old man's questions about home, and the dear friends he had left behind. 76 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. Very joyful was the meeting between the brothers. Few were the words they uttered — their hearts were too full for speech. Alfred and Allison, too, v>rere there ; the little group of true friends was once more complete. After two weeks spent about the house, in assisting Aunt Peggy to cook, and in forming a general ac- quaintance with the premises, Peter was sent to the cotton field. CHAPTER VIII. FIRST FOUR YEARS IN THE SOUTH. Here a new world opened before the young slave. The brick-yards in which his boyhood was spent, the fields of corn, tobacco, and hemp, around Lexington, presented no picture that could equal this. Far away stretched the brown plain, covered with the frosted cotton shrubs. Here and there stood a girdled forest tree, leafless and grim, yet mighty in its very desolate- ness. Gloomily its wasted shadow fell across the path- way trod by its destroyers, like the mysterious dread of ill that ever haunts the footsteps of the guilty. The crop was now about half picked out. The busi- ness was all new to Peter, and though it did not look difficult, yet he worked diligently all day, and at night had only twelve pounds and a half. The other boys were greatly amused at his awkwardness, and played many jokes upon him, telling him he must first break off the boll, and then pick out the cotton. At night, when Master Andrew weighed the cotton, he told them he would give a new pair of shoes to the one who would pick fifty pounds the next day. Alli- son was nearly barefoot, and he worked hard for the prize, but in vain. Peter, however, had learned wis- dom from one day's failure, and, to the surprise of all, [77] 78 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. lie had at night, seventy-five pounds. After this, he was seldom excelled in the cotton field. His fingers were long and nimble, and he conld pluck the fleecy treasure from the frost-browed boll almost without effort. Bainbridge, though mainly settled by poor people, who gained a scanty subsistence by hunting and fishing, was at that time surrounded by the estates of wealthy planters. Some of these were of good Virginia or Carolina families, but more were ignorant and vulgar men ; overseers, or even negro traders, formerly, who had gained wealth in these refined pursuits, and were thereby entitled to stand in the ranks of the aristocracy of North Alabama. The store of the Messrs. Gist was a favorite resort of these neighboring planters. It contained not only the usual assortment of dry goods, groceries, &c, with which country stores are usually supplied, but what was more essential to the social enjoyment of the gen- tlemen there congregated, excellent liquors of every kind. There too, was the Post Office; and to the patriots of Bainbridge there was never lack of interest in the great subjects of politics, and the cotton market. Upon these they conversed day after day, as they sat on the porch at the store door, and night after night the discussions warmed, as the brandied flush crept over cheek and brow of the staunch vindicators of their different party chiefs. Sometimes, indeed the arguments ran so high that the disputants went home with visages slightly disfigured by contact with oppos- ing fists ; but these wounds soon healed, and over a bottle of good old wine, such trifling episodes were quite forgotten. FIRST FOUR YEARS IN THE SOUTH. 79 For two years, this little family quietly pursued tlie regular avocations of the farm. They made excellent crops in proportion to the number of hands employed ; and the business of the store was at the same time very lucrative. The brothers bought and shipped cotton, corn, and bacon, and kept for sale, at a good profit, all kinds of goods that were required by their various customers. During the winter the slaves had many opportunities of earning pocket money. Flat-boats loaded with cotton, while coming down the river, were frequently stove on the rocks in the Muscle Shoals, at the foot of which Bain- bridge is situated. The cotton, becoming wet, was thus rendered unfit for market, unless the bales were opened and thoroughly dried. This furnished employment for the negroes on Sundays. Carefully they spread the damp cotton on boards or rocks in the sunshine, turning and shaking it frequently till it was perfectly dry, and fit to be repacked in bales for market. For this labor, they sometimes received a dollar a day — thus supplying themselves with the means of procuring many little comforts. In the year 1821, Mr. Levi Gist bought a plantation of four hundred and eighty acres, about seven miles south of his home. He also built a large brick house in Bainbridge, the lower story of which he intended to occupy as a store. In the fall of this year, he re- moved all his servants, except Peter, to the new plant- ation. Him he retained to wait on himself, and on the beautiful young bride whom he brought home in December. This lady, whose generous and uniform kindness to himself Peter still delights to remember, was Miss 80 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. Thirrmithis Waters, formerly of Nashville. She had come out to Alabama the previous spring with her sister, Mrs. McKiernan, who, with her husband, had settled on a plantation near that recently purchased by Mr. Gist. Peter had now to perform the duties of cook, house- maid, and waiter, there being no other servant in the house, except a little boy about twelve years old, that assisted him in performing some of the lighter labors. These were the brightest days that had ever fallen to the lot of the young slave. His time was all occu- pied, but he succeeded in performing his various duties to the satisfaction of his mistress, and he felt not the want of leisure. Her approving smile shed sunshine on his lowly path and her gentle kindness filled his heart with gratitude. Now, but for the one cloud that shadowed his spirit, he would have enjoyed comparative content. But the thought of his mother far away, who could never hear from him, and whom now he might not hojDe to see, isolated him, in some sense, from his companions in bonds. It is true, that no intelligent slave can feel that his thraldom is just, because his mother was, perforce, a chattel ; and yet, the knowledge that he was born a slave, like those he sees around him, and the total ignorance of a different structure of society, go far to reconcile the unfortunate bondman to his lot. A few weeks after the wedding, Mr. Gist accom- panied his bride and her sister, Mrs. McKiernan, on a visit to their friends in Nashville. The journey — one hundred and twenty miles — was performed on horseback ; and as the party rode away through the woods on a fine January morning, they FIRST FGUE YEARS IN THE SOUTH. 81 formed a beautiful group. Mr. Gist — a well-formed Keutuokian — his fine brown features enlivened by splendid black eyes, and glowing with health and vigor, rode proudly at his lady's side. She was yqtj beautiful. Her large, dark eyes sparkled with anima- tion, and her tall, erect figure, and graceful dignity of carriage, rendered her, in her husband's eyes, an em- bodiment of womanly perfection. Near the fair bride rode her sister — a graceful, ma- tronly lady, several years her senior, whose slight, delicate figure presented a marked contrast to her own queenly proportions. At the distance of a few paces followed Peter, and while he gazed admiringly at the dear forms of his young master and mistress, he was far from being for- getful of his own fine points. He was now nearly twenty-one, and his pleasant, lively face, and obliging manners, won him friends wherever he went. Then, his new suit was very becoming, and he rode as fine a horse as he could wish. Not one of the party was better mounted. He was proud, too, of his young master, and deter- mined, in his own mind, that the Nashville folks should be impressed with the dignity and consequence of the family into which Miss Thirmuthis had married. Swiftly flew the two weeks of their stay in Nash- ville. Several parties were given to the young couple by the family and friends of the bride, and before the plans which their friends had formed for their pleasure were half accomplished, the time that they had allotted to the visit was spent, and they were obliged to set out upon their return. At the age of twenty-one, Peter began to think 4* 82 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. more seriously than lie had ever thought before, of establishing a character for life. He saw the moral degradation that prevailed among those of his own color, and he could not but discover that many of their masters failed to keep themselves pure. The vulgar and blasphemous oath, the obscene jest, and the harsh tone of angry passion, he often heard proceeding from the lips of gentlemen; — yes, even the low jargon of drunkenness was not seldom uttered by the lordly master of scores of crouching slaves. All this the young > man saw, and heard — and loathed; and now that he had reached the age of manhood, he resolved to shun the insidious advances of every vice. He abandoned the use of tobacco, which he had commenced when but a boy ; and though he had sometimes taken a dram with his companions, he determined that he would thenceforth touch no in- toxicating drink. Thereafter, profanity dwelt not upon his lips, and falsehood was a stranger to his tongue. His character for integrity and honesty became firmly established, and though but a slave, he won the entire confidence of all with whom he was connected* With these noble resolves of his opening manhood, came ardent desires for freedom. He reviewed his past life — there was nothing there — in feeling, thought, or act — that proved him unfit for liberty. The curse of slavery had embittered his heart, and with every power of his soul aroused, he resolved that he would struggle to escape it. By flight or purchase — some * Of Peter's integrity and honesty, the writer speaks from per- sonal knowledge ; having been acquainted with him for several years of his slave-life in Alabama. FIEST FOUK YEARS IN THE SOUTH. 83 means must offer — lie would yet win back his human birthright. With this goal of all his hopes, somewhere in the hidden future, he pursued his daily round of humble duties — patiently waiting till he should perceive some opening in the dense, dark cloud that enveloped his fate. Id October, 1822, Mr. Gist relinquished his share in the store to his brother, who had been his partner; and removing to the plantation, devoted his whole attention to agricultural pursuits. Here they lived in true Southern country style. The " great house" on the plantation consisted of two cabins, built of hewn logs, and whitewashed within and without with lime. A covered passage connected the rooms, over each of which was a small, low chamber. A log kitchen and smoke-house in the rear, with the usual potato-house, saddle-house, and other small, shed- like buildings, each appropriated to the shelter of a single article or class, completed the establishment. At dawn of day, the master was up and away with his hounds to the woods, and woe to the unlucky fox or rabbit whose trail they chanced to discover. The overseer, meantime, marshalled his forces ; and as there were so few hands on the plantation, he was, by his contract with the master, obliged to take his hoe and work with them. The domestic arrangement of the household was perfect. The young mistress was fond of order and regularity ; and, through her kind and constant disci- pline, those desirable qualities soon became manifest in the habits of her servants. 84 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. Thus, on the plantation of young master Levi, peace and happiness established their dominion. One ac- quainted with the neighborhood in which he lived, would have pronounced his place an oasis in the de- sert — a solitary star in a midnight sky. CHAPTER IX. LEVIN'S MARRIAGE. It is a pleasant Sabbath evening in early spring. The air is filled with perfume from hosts of new made flowers, and vocal with the merry notes of birds. Master Levi rises from his seat on the porch, and walks slowly to and fro in the yard. He is stouter and handsomer than he was two years ago, when he came out on the farm to live. Aye, and happier too ; for the lovely little Mary, that stretches out her tiny hands towards her papa, and sweetly lisps his name, has unsealed a new fountain of joy in his bosom. Yes, he is happy and prosperous. His crops all look well, and his negroes are healthy and obedient. " mass'r !" says a voice at his side. He turns. It is Levin. He has grown tall and manly since we re- marked him last — of course, for he is now about twenty -five years old, and a fine stout fellow. "Well, Levin, what do you want?" responds the master. " What is the matter ?" " 0, nuthin's the matter, sir ; only I wanted to ax you if you's willin' I should get married, sir." "Get married? Why, yes — you're old enough, I suppose — over twenty, aren't you? "Yes, sir, I's twenty -five." [85] 8Q THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. " Well, where's the girl you want to marry ? You can have a wife as soon as you wish, if you will get one of the right sort." " I wants Fanny Hogun, sir ; and ole Mars Jimmy, he say I may have her if you's willin', sir." " Fanny Hogun ! Old Jimmy Hogun's Fanny ! The very worst place in the neighborhood for a fellow to be running ! Fanny — let me see — her mother's Linsey, old Jimmy's housekeeper — a regular she-devil. What put into 3-our stupid head to go there to hunt for a wife ? No, you can't have Fanny. You may have a wife, and welcome ; but no boy of mine shall be spending his nights and Sundays at old Jimmy Hogun's — d'ye hear ?" " But, mass'r, Fanny's a good girl, and 'pears like 'twont do no hurt to go and see her, sir. I don't want nary nother wife, sir." " But I tell you, Levin, I can't let one of my boys have a wife at such a place as that- So don't talk any more about it. You can hunt up another girl that will suit you better." Poor Levin walked away. He was sadly disap- pointed. He knew his master had good cause for disliking to have his people associate with old Jimmy Hogun's negroes ; but he and Fanny loved each other so dearly that he could not give her up. Mr. James Hogun was a bachelor — an eccentric man — silent and unsociable. He was seldom seen from home, even within the circle of his own family connections. But though as an individual, he was little known, his place was famed in all the country around as the scene of most disgraceful proceedings. No white levin's marriage. 87 woman inhabited the premises, but many beautiful slave girls embellished his demesne. Here " patrol- lers" and other wild and reckless characters were wont to resort at night, and, free from all restraint, to give the rein to every evil passion. All this was well known to Levin— but Fanny, he was sure, was not like her companions. She was good and true, and she loved him. He disliked exceedingly to offend his master who had always been so kind to him, and yet he could not decide to sacrifice his deepest, truest affection. For some time he hesitated, but at last love conquered; and without the approbation of his master, he took the lively Fanny for his wife. Mr. and Mrs. Gist were both displeased. They had reasoned with Levin, and sought by every kind method to dissuade him from this measure, and his disobedi- ence gave them real pain. Levin had hoped that, once married, all his troubles would be past, but he soon ascertained that they had but just commenced. He could seldom go to see his wife, for the overseer, aware that his master was opposed to his going, placed every possible impediment in his way. Once, indeed, he went so far, the day after one of these stolen visits, as to strip him and tie him up, intending to whip him well. The master, however, forbade the execution of this design, and the disappointed ruffian could only avenge his wounded pride by crushing his intended victim with heaps of curses. But when Fanny dared to come to see her husband, she was under no such friendly protection. In vain Levin begged that she might be spared, and threatened 88 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. to tell his master. The overseer knew that Mr. Gist did not favor her visits, and as he seldom had an op- portunity to exercise his disciplinary talents, now — " Gist was so devilish careful of his niggers" — he could ill afford to lose such opportunities for sport. Soon after his marriage, Levin's health failed, and he became unable to continue his labors in the field. He could, however, do light work, and his mistress took him into the house. His master now renewed his efforts to persuade him to refrain from visiting his wife, but all in vain. His love for Fanny was warm and true, and no argument could move him. Mr. Gist's patience at length gave way. His anger rose. He would not thus be baffled by a servant — he would force him to obey his wishes ! He accordingly bound the astonished slave, and whipped him severely. Three hundred and seventeen lashes fell upon his naked back. A little later, and the master's passion had subsided. He was astonished at himself. Remorse and bitter sorrow filled his heart ; and with his own brave frank- ness he confessed — even to the victim of his wrath — that he had done a grievous wrong. " I have acted hastily," said he, "while in a passion, and I am very sorry." After this no force was used to prevent the inter- course of the true-hearted pair, but they were per- mitted peaceably to enjoy their transient visits to each other. CHAPTER X. VINA'S EARLY HISTORY. In Edgecombe county, 1ST. C, about seven miles from Tarboro', lived a respectable planter, named William Foxall. He was handsome in person, and in manners most agreeable; a kind master, and a true-hearted friend. At the time of which we speak — 1817 — he was a widower with two children. The eldest, a lovely and accomplished young lady, named Mary Ann, the fruit of his first marriage, resided with her father ; but the little boy, a final parting gift from his last wife, was adopted by her grandmother immediately after her daughter's death. Mr. Foxall was not a wealthy man ; indeed he had never been ambitious to accumulate great riches. He had chosen rather to live in the enjoyment of the competency bequeathed him by his ancestors, and to leave it, together with an untarnished name, as an inheritance to his children. But the quiet he had chosen was destined to be interrupted by the entreaties of an old schoolmate, who had resided for a few years in Lawrence county, Alabama. This gentleman, whose name was Allen, wrote fre- quently to Mr. Foxall, and always begged him to sell DBP] 90 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. what lie termed his meagre old plantation, and to come to the Tennessee Valley. "Here," said he, "you will find a country beautiful by nature, and rich as beauti- ful. The soil seems eager to yield its increase, and wealth waits but the planter's bidding. Come to this charming valley, where, with the forces now at your command, a few years' crops will make you indepen- dent, and insure wealth to your children after you are gone." The alluring prospect tempted even the unambitious Foxall ; and he sold his. old plantation, endeared as it was to him by a thousand tender associations. His servants, old and young, he resolved to take with him. Among these, there was one woman named Sally, who, with her three children, properly belonged to his daughter; she having been given to the first Mrs. Foxall on her marriage. Sally was an excellent servant, and devotedly at- tached to her young mistress. She had waited on her departed mother when she too was a blooming maiden, and had arrayed her in her bridal robes. All her cares and sorrows she had shared ; and when their beloved mistress was passing away, she it was that smoothed the dying pillow, and folded the meek hands to their long repose. Then the deep love of her nature was transferred to the sweet infant left wholly to her care ; and though when her own children were born, a new fount of tenderness was opened in her heart, it was scarce deeper than that which had welled forth for the motherless babe she had cherished. Her own poor children, alas ! were now fatherless — - though death had spared the husband of her love. vina's early history. 91 His name was Silas ; and his owner, a Mr. Sisson, lived a few miles from Mr. Foxall's plantation. Silas was a carpenter, a line energetic fellow, and was highly esteemed by his owner. He was also full of affection for his wife and babes ; and was unhappy only when by some arrangement beyond his control, he was pre- vented from enjoying their society at the stated season. When the youngest of his three children was but an infant, a branch of the Sisson family removed to Ala- bama, and as they would be obliged on arriving there to build themselves a house, they took Silas with them. Sad was his heart when he came to say "Good bye" to Sally and her little ones, but he was hopeful. He was not sold; and when the new house should be built in that strange wild place where they were going, he could return. They would not keep him there, away from all he loved — ah, no! But a year passed, and no permission came for Silas to return to the old place. He had been patient, but his endurance could not last forever; and one night, when all was still about the new house he had built, he rose up quietly, and bade a silent farewell to the kind friends that seemed so unwilling to let him go. He was not long in returning to his old home, and there he spent one more happy year. His little chil- dren learned to watch for his coming, and Sally's eyes regained their wonted brilliancy. Ah! when he had ceased to fear, then was his danger nearest. The man from whom he had fled came again, and carried him away in heavy chains. Where he was conveyed, his wife knew not. Only once more she saw his face. After she had for months deplored his sad fate, he came to see her. Three days 92 TIIE KIDNAPPED AND THE KANSOMED. Ills "pass" allowed him to remain with her. How swiftly did they pass ? He had been working at his trade, he said, but they were about to send him to the Potomac river, to be employed upon a boat; and when he could come again, he did not know. Never more did Sally's eye rest upon the form of her husband; never more did his pleasant voice delight her ear. Year after year she watched for his coming, till her heart grew sick with waiting, and she knew that she must give him up. At last, the news that the Foxall family was about to remove to Alabama, reached his ears, and though he could not visit his dear ones, he found an opportu- nity to send them some little presents, as farewell tokens of his love. The grandparents of Miss Foxall insisted that if her father went to Alabama, she should remain with them. That rude new country would be no place for her, des- titute as she was of a mother's care ; and though Mr. Foxall longed for her cheering presence, he felt that they were right ; and with a father's blessing, he left his daughter to their guardianship. Sally, too, and her children, should have remained, but he needed all his forces to make his first crop ; and as he promised to send them back when he should be able to dispense with their services, his daughter and her friends consented to his taking them. Sally's oldest child was named Jerry. He was a fine healthy boy, nine years old. Lavinia, or Yina, as she was usually called, was seven, and Quail, the youngest, a bright merry boy, was nearly five. These were the light of her eyes ; and though she grieved at vina's early history. 93 the thought of parting with her young mistress, and wondered who would now perform for her all the little services that had never yet been entrusted to less care- ful hands than hers, yet she felt that, so long as she could keep all her own children with her, she should not repine. Dr. Allen, the friend who had urged Mr. Foxall's emigration, was settled near Courtland, Lawrence county. Here he had a fine plantation, and his friend bought one adjoining. Then with the idea that they could thus work their hands to better advantage, they entered into partnership, working all the land together, and sharing equally the profits. Year after year passed in his new home; yet the bright visions of wealth that had enticed Mr. Foxall thitherward, vanished into thin air. Not that his friend had exaggerated the fertility of the soil, or any other of the peculiar natural advantages of the beautiful valley in which he had settled. No ; the rich bottom lands near the river teemed with vege- tation, and the broad plains for miles back brought forth abundant crops. Nature's work was all perfect ; and the laborers performed their duty well. Cotton was "made" and sold; and corn, in quanti- ties that astonished the Carolinians, who had all their lives been accustomed to tilling a less prolific soil. Yet, notwithstanding all this apparent prosperity, the coffers of the planters were not full ; and as years passed on, though crops were regularly gathered in and sold, great debts accumulated, and ruin stared them in the face. Ah, William Foxall ! could you hope to grow rich, 94 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE HANSOMED. when }^our fortune was linked with that of a drunkard and a gambler ? With the cowardice characteristic of the votaries of dissipation, Dr. Allen, when he saw that a crash was inevitable, privately quitted the country, leaving his partner to endure alone the consequences of his own criminal self-indulgence, and to arrange the business as he could. Poor Mr. Foxall was overcome with grief and humi- liation. The debts had been contracted by his partner, but as his share, of their wasted property was insuf- ficient to pay one-third of them, he was obliged to turn out all his own. Even the trusting servants, more his friends than slaves, that he had brought with him from the dear old home, must go to satisfy the gambler's creditors. Oh ! what a wave of sorrow rushed over the spirits of those doomed slaves, when they learned their des- tiny ! Even Sally and her children, who should have been sent back to their young mistress, to whom of right they still belonged, they, too, were given up. As many as could be sold at private sale were thus disposed of. That was better than to be put up at auction, where they might Ml into the hands of traders, and thus become so widely scattered that they could never more hear from each other. Vina was the first of all the number to be sold. She had been hired out as a nurse for two or three years, and was now in the service of Mrs. Smith, at the hotel in Courtland. It was Sunday morning, and Aunt Sally was com- ing in that day from the plantation, to see her children. vina's early history. 95 Yina had dressed the baby, and was just finishing the arranging of her mistress' room, when Dr. P , of Cortland, entered. "Your name is Yina," said he, "and you belong to Mr. Foxall?" " Yes, sir." " Well, I have bought you, and you must be ready to go with me in an hour." He left the room, and Yina gazed after him like one bewildered. It was so sudden, only one hour, and her mother had not yet come. She looked up the street. There was no one in sight that cared for her. A thought struck her. She would go and see her master, and learn from his own lips her fate. She would beg him to let her stay till her mother shold come ; she could not go away with- out bidding her " Good-bye." Mr. Foxall lived in the village, in a large brick house, near the hotel. Thither the excited girl ran. 11 Is Mass'r in the house ?" asked she of the first servant that she met. " I reckon so ; I aint seen him gwine out." But the master, well-nigh broken hearted at the ne- cessity of parting with his servants, could not be found, Yina ran through the house, searching every room that was unlocked. He had expected this, and he could not bear to meet her, after he had sold her to a stranger. The poor girl returned to the hotel. She had learned from some of the servants that Dr. P. had not bought her for himself; but that, being indebted to Mr. McKiernan, of Franklin county, and his former partner, Mr. Stout, of Nashville, he had, at their re- 96 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. quest, bought her and a young girl named Eosetta, for them. With an aching heart, she stood watching for her mother. There was no tear in her eye, and her fea- tures were fixed and rigid. Ah Sally ! came there no spirit- voice to thee, bidding thee hasten to thy child, whose heart was breaking ? " Keady, girl?" shouted a coarse voice. "Come! can't wait. Bring along your traps, if you've got any, but you can't take a big bundle, seem' there's two on you to ride." Vina gazed a moment at the speaker, an ill-looking young man on horseback, and then, seeing that Eosetta stood by his side, holding another horse by the bridle, she silently picked up the little bundle she had pre- pared, and went out. One long look she cast up the street, with a faint hope that she might yet see her mother's form approaching. That hope was vain. She saw many happy mothers with their children, walking to the house of God ; and maidens of her own age tripped by, unconscious alike of grief and care. No tearful pitying eye rested upon Iter face, no heart sighed at the utter desolation of her hopes. She mounted the horse mechanically, as one in a dream ; and Eosetta sprang up behind her. Silently, hour after hour, they followed their rough guide. Now, blooming fields, on either side, smiled on them as they passed ; and then, their road crept through thick gloomy woods, that hid the darkness in their shadowy depths through all the bright Spring days. CHAPTER XI. VINA'S FIRST YEAR AT McKIERNAN'S. Late in the evening, the two young maidens reached their destination, and were conducted to the kitchen. Bashfully they crept into the darkest corner, while cu- rious eyes stared at them from every side, and wonder- ing whispers passed from lip to lip. The cook alone seemed not surprised at the arrival of the strangers, but with a wise look that well became her elevated station, bade them come closer to the fire ; for " 'Pears like," said she, " de evenin's sort o' cold. Missus '11 be home to-reckly ; she went to Tuscumby to church, to-day, wid her sister, Miss 'Muthis. Dar, warm yerself, honey, you looks sort o' chilly like," continued the old woman, as she drew Eosetta towards the blazing fire, at which she was preparing supper. Eosetta had left neither father nor mother behind, and though she was sad at leaving her young compan- ions, and above all, her master, whom she almost adored, yet these slight regrets soon subsided, and she readily glided into conversation, with the new associ- ates to whom she had been so unceremoniously pre- sented. The iron had not entered her soul. But Vina crept further back into her shadowed corner, where, heedless of the numerous visitors that 5 C97] 98 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. love to assemble on Sunday evening in a planter's kitchen, she yielded to the influence of her desponding thoughts. Yet no tear moistened her eye-lid, no sob gave vent to the choking anguish of her heart. " Missis come : say, bring in supper ;" said a young girl, appearing for a moment at the kitchen door. Supper was carried in, and, one by one, the dark visitors to the kitchen went out ; some to prepare their own scant evening meals, and others to collect again in little groups for confidential chat. u Hi! dem's nice gals in yon!" said the tallest in one of these groups — a kind hearted fellow, that had pitied the confusion of the young strangers. " Not over an' above nice, I reckon ; dat little un's sort o' fa'r, but t'other looks like she don't know nuthin'. She aint much 'count, no how." "You don't know 'bout dat dar," rejoined the first speaker, " she mought 'a' lef ' — her sweetheart— 'way yon' — pears like she feels mighty bad." "Misstis say, come in de house; she want to see what ye all looks like;" cried the same young girl at the kitchen door. " Dar, go 'long honey," said the old cook, as she drew Vina from the shaded corner, and placed her beside Eosetta. "Hoi' up yer heads now, children, and look peart like when ye goes in to see Missus; go 'long." "De'Lor' help 'em, poor little critters," sighed the kind old woman, as she watched them from the kitchen door, "dey's got a she wolf to deal wid now. 'Pears like dey aint used to hard times, no how, but nobody cant say dat dar 'bout em, arter dey's done staid on dis yer place one year." VIXA'S FIRST YEAR AT McKIERNAN's. 99 Timidly tlie two girls advanced into the presence of their future mistress. She fixed her keen cold eyes on them for a moment, and then addressed herself to Vina. " What can you do, girl?" " I's been used to nursin', ma'am, and waitin' in the house." "Did you never work in the field?" "No, ma'am." " Ah ! you've been raised quite a lady ! Can you round cornV* "I don't know what that is, ma'am." " Can you chop through cotton ?"f "No, ma'am." " You're such a lady, I suppose you never saw any cotton grow." "Yes ma'am, I's seen a plenty of cotton a growin', but I never worked it." Mr. McKiernan then approached, and unfastening her frock behind, examined her back. "Have you ever been whipped?" asked he. "No, Sir." " So I thought, your back is as smooth as mine." He then proceeded to make a more minute examin- ation of her person, inspecting her limbs, to see whether she were well-formed and sound. Eosetta then underwent a similar examination, and the master and mistress both seeming satisfied, they were dismissed. " See that you behave yourselves," said the master, * Weeding around the hills. f Thinning the cotton by removing all superfluous stalks, so as to leave only enough for a stand. 100 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. as they went out,—" if you do well, you'll find that Ave shall be good to you." Martha, the young girl before mentioned, accom- panied them back to the kitchen. "Your coat is un- fastened," said Kosetta, as they went out, "stop a minute till I button it." " O.no," whispered Martha, "I can't have it fastened, my back's so sore." " AVhat's the matter with your back?" " Why, whar missus cuts me up. She's allers a beatin' me. O I wish I's dead !" The strangers exchanged mournful looks, but not another word was spoken. After they went out, a consultation was held in " Missus' " room, concerning the most profitable dispo- sition that could be made of the two girls. " Mr. Stout will not be on for his till some time in the summer/' said the mistress ; " there will be time enough before that to ascertain which will make the most valuable servant ; but it isn't best to let them know that either of them is to go to Nashville. We will try them, and keep the one that we like best." They were both unaccustomed to field labor, and after due consultation it was decided best to send Martha out, and to keep both of the new ones for the present in the house. Accordingly, the next morning, Martha was sent to the field. She was glad of the ex- change, for she was not strong, and her mistress had taxed her powers of endurance to the utmost. To Yina was assigned the post of housemaid and waiter; and Rosetta was installed as nurse of Bernard McKiernan, Junior, then but a few months old. Mrs. McKiernan was much pleased with her two VINA'S FIRST YEAR AT McKIERNAN'S. 101 new maids, and with good reason, for they were quick and careful, and attentive to all her instructions. Poor Martha's bruised back had filled their hearts with terror ; and from the conversations of their fellow-ser- vants in the kitchen, they gained no impressions of their new mistress that tended to dispel their fears. For three months the young girls quietly pursued their monotonous round of daily duties ; and thus far, they had scarcely given occasion to their mistress for a reproof. Eosetta had become quite happy and contented ; but poor Vina's heart pined for her mother. All night she lay very still, wrapt in a blanket, on the floor of her mistress' room, and wondered if her mother and brothers had been sold, and wished she knew where they had been carried. When she fell asleep, her heart was wandering still through strange, lonely places, in search of those whose forms, alas ! she mio'ht never more behold. But after all, they might be very near her — Oh! if she could only hear who had bought them ! This perpetual anxiety could not fail to impair her health. She lost all appetite for food ; and though she uttered no complaint, one could plainly see, by her wasted figure, and by the look of melancholy that never left her face, that she was wretched. One morning in June, as Mrs. McKiernan, accord- ing to her custom, was making a tour of discovery through the house, to be sure that everything was in order, she chanced to spy a silver ladle in the kitchen, that must have remained there since dinner-time of the preceding day. It was the first instance of care- lessness or neglect that had occurred in Yina's depart- 102 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE KANSOMED. ment since she had been in the house ; and with quick anger, the mistress seized the cowhide. Vina had never in her life been whipped, except when, for some childish fault, her mother had correct- ed her ; and now, when her mistress called her in an angry tone, saying she could make her remember to take care of the silver, the thought of Martha's lacerated back sent a shudder through her frame. But she did not weep, nor beg for mercy. With her own fair hands the delicate lady chastised her trembling slave. She did it very gently, for she was not half as angry as she oftentimes became at smaller provocations. Yet the blood oozed through the bruised skin that was swelled in ridges across poor Yina's back ; and she imagined — ignorant creature that she was — that she had been severely punished. Ah ! the day was coming, when she would designate such a whipping as " only a slight bresh" From that morning, she determined, if possible, to escape from the immediate jurisdiction of her mistress; and soon after, seeing her master alone, she went to him, and asked him if she might go to the field. ""Why?" said he, "what the devil put that into your head? You don't know anything about field work, do you?" " No, Sir, but I reckon I could learn ; and I mought as well take my chance in the field as to stay in the house. But, please Sir, don't let missus know I axed you." " Yes, yes ; well, I won't tell her. I'd like to have you in the field, any how, for Martha's sickly, and not much account. Go along now ; I'll talk to your mis- tress about it." VINA'S FIRST YEAR AT McKIERNANS. 103 "Look here," said lie to his wife, soon after this con- versation; "Martha don't do much in the field ; she 's sickly, you know, and she can't keep up with the others. I reckon we 'd better bring her back into the house, and take Vina in her place. She seems to be well, and willing to work." " Well," replied the lady, in her characteristic asper- ity of tone, "I'd rather have Vina in the house ; but if you can't manage Martha, send her in. I can make her work ; she will never conquer me with her sickly complaining." The next morning Yina went to the field, where, though at first all was strange, she soon learned to " round corn," that being then the work in season. About midsummer, Mr. Stout came on from Nash- ville, to see the girl that had been bought for him, and to take her home. Both the girls were shown him. He seemed to prefer Yina, but Mr. and Mrs. McKiernan both assured him that as he wanted a house servant, it would be much better for him to take Kosetta ; for she was a very bright girl, and was becoming every day more useful. They could make Yina do very well in the field, but she was exceedingly ignorant, and withal quite deaf, so that it would be utterly impossible for her to learn the duties of a waiter or a nurse. , Mr. Stout, having been for many years a partner of Mr. McKiernan in a carriage factory in Nashville, un- derstood his habits and principles of action. He had also some idea of the prevailing characteristics of his wife ; and, suspecting that their advice was not entirely disinterested, he improved an opportunity to go alone to the field where the hands were all at work. He 104 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. talked awhile with the head-man, Nelson, about the weather and the crops ; and then, noticing Vina at her work, he carelessly asked the man what sort of a girl she was. " Oh ! she is a good hand, Sir, fus rate, Sir." " Can she hear well ?" " Yes, Sir," replied Nelson, with a puzzled look. " Your mistress told me she was right deaf." "Well, call her, Sir, see if she can't hear. Yah! yah ! Dat little gal deaf." " 0, Yina !" said Mr. Stout. She looked up from her work. "How do you get along, Yina? Would you like to go and live with me ?" " Whar you live, sir?" " I live in Nashville. Would you like to go there ?" " Oh ! I don't know, sir. I's fur enough from my mother now. I reckon I don't never want to go no furder." Mr. Stout returned to the house. He saw the true state of the case, but it would be of no use to seem to understand it ; so when a few days after, he left for home, he took Rosetta with him. She had no ties to bind her here, and was well pleased with the idea of living in Nashville ; of which city she had heard glow- ing descriptions from the old servants. They were " raised" there, and still remembered the place with true home-love. Towards the last of August, when the crop was laid by, Yina, who still pined for her mother, received from her master a "pass" to Court-land. She had some clothes there, which she wished to get ; and even if her mother were sold, she hoped at least to learn where she had gone. VISA'S FIRST YEAR AT McKIERNAN'S. 105 She started on Thursday morning j and, as she rode alone on horseback over the road that a few months before had seemed so dark and lonely, the shadow that ever since that day had rested on her heart, was lifted. She was young ; and Hope, though crushed and silent long, revived again ; and whispered in her fainting spirit's ear, sweet promises of brighter days to come. It was noon when she reached Courtland. How her heart beat as she rode up the familiar street ! Soon her eager eyes rested on an old acquaintance, and 'she inquired in trembling accents for her mother. "La! honey," replied the old woman she had ac- costed, " whar you been all dis time, and never know- ed yer mammy sol' ? Mr. Peoples done bought her ; dat Peoples whar live orf yon' east o' town 'bout four mile. He got ole Moses and Jerry too ; yer mammy's mighty lucky — got sol' 'long o' her ole man, and one o' her boys. Mr. Peoples mighty good massa too ; leastways so all de folks say whar lives out dar. But yer mammy to Mr. Mosely's now. Mr. Peoples done hire 'em all out for de balance o' dis year." Yina could listen no longer. Her heart was throb- bing wildly ; and tears, that despair had long forbid to flow, were standing in her eyes. She turned her horse in the direction of Mr. Mosely's ; — he must not stop to rest till she should arrive at that goal of all her hopes — her mother's side. Aunt Sally was at work in the field, at a short dis- tance from the house, and little dreamed that she should that day behold the daughter for a sight of whose features she had so earnestly prayed. Yina left her horse at the house, and walked to the field. She came very near the group of slaves at work 5* 106 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE EANSOMED. before she was perceived. Suddenly her mother raised her head : — " My chile ! my chile I" she cried, as with uplifted hands and streaming eyes she ran to meet her daughter, and pressed her closely to her breast. Mrs. Mosely had bidden Yina to tell her mother that she might " have holiday" while she remained ; and when the first gush of emotion had subsided, they walked together to the house. " Vina !" said her mother, "how I did mourn when I come to town dat Sunday, and you was gone. I reckon I skeered 'em all a screamin' and takin' on. I didn't know what to do, so I went riorht to mass'r. He felt mighty bad too ; but he say he can't hope it ; he's 'bliged, he say, sell every thing — and de Lord knowed he wouldn't part wid his servants if dar was any way for him to keep 'em. He cried a heap while I was dar. O 'pears like, gentlemen mought keep out o' debt when dey knows what trouble it '11 all come to at las'. He couldn't tell me nuthin' 'bout de place whar you done gone ; all he said, he done sol' you and Eosetta to Dr. T. ; and he's gwine send one to a gentleman in Franklin, and t'other to Nashville. O Lord ! how my heart did ache ! and 'pears like it never stop achin' 'till I see your blessed face. Is you got a good mas'r and missus, chile ?" " Not over and 'bove ; but they 'aint troubled me much yit. They's mighty tight on the rest. how some o' the people thar does git cut up ! 'Pears like they will kill 'em sometime." " Poor chile ! poor chile ! May de good Lord keep de wolves off o' your flesh ! Der aint no way to live wid dem kind, only to pray to de Lord to keep de lions' mouths shut up." vina's fikst YEAR AT MoKIERNAN's. 107 Aunt Sally had married a man named Moses, since she came to Alabama , and having been sold with him and her oldest son, she felt that her lot was far better than that of many of her companions. She possessed a kind and grateful disposition, and her trust was in the arm of her Kedeemer. " We's poor critters in dis yer world," she would remark, " but dars a crown for us yon', if we minds de word of de Lord, and keeps patient to de end." "Now," said Aunt Sally, as they all sat round the door, enjoying the cool air of evening, " if Quail only knowed you was yer, Vina, and if mass'r could spare him, we'd be altogether once more. Poor Quail! mass'r say he gwine keep him ; but I don't know — I 'spect I shall hear he's sol', too." Swiftly passed the hours till Sunday ; when, as her " pass" specified, Vina must return. She lingered as long as she dared, and when she must go, and Jerry had saddled her horse, and brought him to the door, she tore herself from her mother's arms, sprang into the saddle — and was gone. Yina returned safely to her master's house. The old light came back to her eye, and the accustomed elasticity to her step ; and the old cook remarked that little Vina had " gone mighty peart like since she tuck dat dar jaunt to de ole place." CHAPTER XII. THE MARRIAGE. Dueing the first months of Yina's residence at Mr. McKiernan's, she formed no intimacies with her com- panions. Her heart was too heavy to sympathize in their transient griefs, or to join in the merry sports with which they sought to enliven their brief intervals of rest. Mr. Gist's plantation lay very near, indeed, the dwell- ings were not more than a mile apart, and from the near relationship of the two families, a greater intimacy existed between the servants than is usual between the slaves even of near neighbors. Peter was at this time a fine, cheerful fellow, in the first fresh vigor of manhood; and, being a special favorite with his mistress, he was always a welcome visitor at the plantation of her brother-in-law. Mr. and Mrs. McKiernan liked him, for he was always re- spectful and obliging ; and to their servants, his bright, good-humored face brought ever a gleam of the heart's sunshine. Even the lovely little Vina felt the genial influence of his presence,, and her shyness and reserve gradually melted away in the warmth of his smiles. At the first sight of the desolate stranger his heart was moved to no8j THE MAURI AGE. 109 pity ; and, as he never failed to speak kindly to her, she soon began to look for his coming, as a weary watcher waits for the morning. Thus, week after week, and month after month, grew and strengthened the sympathy between the brave-hearted youth, and the timid, shrinking maiden ; and when Vina had been a year in her new home, they had confessed their mutual love, and only waited for a favorable opportunity to be united in marriage. True, Vina was but fifteen years old, but she was very destitute and helpless, and there was none but Peter to care for her. Her master and mistress were pleased to observe this growing attachment. Mr. McKiernan had always fancied Peter, and longed to own him ; and, as he knew it would be inconvenient for him to havea wife away from home, he determined to encourage tim to marry Yina, that then he might perhaps be able to induce his brother-in-law to sell him. To his master and mistress, Peter dreaded to com- municate his wishes. He had seen poor Levin's suffer- ings in consequence of having formed a connection which they did not approve ; and he was conscious of the difficulties that would attend his caring for a wife on any neighboring plantation. His mistress always wanted him at home. She depended on him ; and he knew that she would object to having his attention diverted from her business by family cares of his own. Yet, while he understood all this, he felt that he was, himself, a man. Was he not twenty-five years old, and had he not a right to marry ? Surely, when he had waited for so many years upon his master's family, without ever indulging a wish that could inter- 110 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. rupt their pleasure, they might be content to spare him now and then on a Sunday for the cultivation and en- joyment of his own affections. Still he knew they would oppose him, and he could not bear to vex them ; so he postponed speaking to them of his wishes till something should occur that would naturally open the way for the communication. Thus the matter was suspended, when, early in May, Mr. and Mrs. Gist announced their intention of visit- ing Lexington. They had for several years been talk- ing of going there, and had promised Peter that when they went, he might drive the carriage. He had anti- cipated much pleasure in the visit; and when, year after year, circumstances had rendered its postpone- ment necessary, he had keenly felt the disappointment. But now, to the surprise of all, he did not wish to go. " Not go !" cried his master, " I thought there was nothing you would like so well !" " Well, so I would," replied Peter, " but it's so long now, that I 'm 'feared everybody there done forgot me. There would 'nt be nobody glad to see me, no how." " Well, well, then old man Frank can go — he'll not want to be asked twice." Uncle Frank was wild with delight at the intelli- gence, that Peter was to stay at home. There were so many old friends there that he would be glad to see — "yah! yah! Eeckon all de folks in Lexington ain't forgot ole Frank." Mrs. Gist had a brother living near ; and to him, while he should be away, Mr. Gist entrusted the care of his servants. The overseer was to be under his authority ; and no slave was to be whipped, or in any way abused, during the master's absence. He knew THE MARRIAGE. Ill that some of them might do wrong, and might even deserve whipping ; but he chose to be there himself when they were punished, in order to be sure that justice was administered; and so, whatever might be the offence, the execution of the penalty should be postponed till his return. On a fine May morning, the carriage drove up to the door. The trunks were strapped on behind, and a dozen little baskets and bundles were stowed away in- side. The mistress, with her sister-in-law, Miss Mary Gist, was handed in by Master Levi, and the nurse followed with her little charge, the precious baby, Mary. Uncle Frank mounted the box ; he was dress- ed in a new suit, and as he bowed good-bye to all his colored friends that stood about the door, his white teeth gleamed in the sunshine, and his black face shone with delight. With a grand flourish of the whip he gave the signal to the spirited horses, and away they went ; while loving eyes looked a fond adieu from the carriage windows, and many a dark hand from the crowded porch waved an affectionate response. Master Levi's horse was ready ; and, after shaking hands all around, and charging the servants again and again to take good care of everything in his absence, he sprang into the saddle, and galloped on to overtake the carriage. Many were the warm wishes for a pleasant journey to " young Mass'r and Missus" that followed the travel- lers from that sable band; and many a fear was breathed that " Miss 'Muthis" or the sweet baby would " git mighty tired a ridin' off so far." Soon they dispersed to their necessary labors — all 112 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. but Peter. He remained upon the porch alone. His eyes were fixed on the spot where the carriage had disappeared, and lo! they were dim with unshed tears. Ah ! it was a great pleasure he had sacrificed. Now he should never see Lexington again. There he had suffered much; but, after all, he loved the old place. His boy-friends were, doubtless, scattered; yet he would like to learn their history — he hoped they were all happier than he. 11 Ha! what a fool I am!" thought he, as some sound of busy life within the house roused him from his re- gretful reverie; "here I stand, and they're gone. I'll be married to Yina 'fore they come back, and then it'll be too late to make a fuss about it." He walked quietly away to his work, and all day long, his thoughts were busier than his hands. When his task was done, his plan was laid ; and with a light step he trod the path to Aunt Lucy's cabin, which, since Vina went into the field, had been her home. It was easy to win her consent to immediate mar- riage ; for she was but a lonely girl ; and her young heart, so long unused to sympathy, bounded at the approach of the footsteps of love. Her master readily assented to the plan proposed by Peter ; and, on the evening of the twenty-fifth of June, all preliminary arrangements having been completed, they were married. Old Cato Hodge, a Baptist preacher belonging to one of the neighbors, performed the ceremony. That over, a merry company, consisting of all Vina's fellow- servants, and a few of Peter's best friends from his master's plantation, enjoyed a substantial supper in the kitchen. THE MARRIAGE. 113 The bride was very pretty, notwithstanding her gro- tesque attire, which consisted of an old white dress and a few quaint old-fashioned ornaments, that she had gathered from the discarded finery of her mistress. Vina was very poor. The clothes she had brought with her from Courtland were worn out, or had been stolen by the negroes ; and a white linsey frock, which her mistress had given her the preceding fall, was minus the front breadth. This was the only article of clothing she had received since she had been on the place ; and, as there was no immediate prospect of her getting another, Peter gave her a black surtout coat of his own with which she patched it ; and though it was now half black and half white, it was quite comfortable. She had driven four forked sticks into the ground in Aunt Lucy's cabin, and laid poles across from one to the other. On these she placed four clapboards, four and a half feet long. This was her bed ; and* her only covering consisted of a piece of an old blanket, which the kind Aunt Lucy had been able to spare to her. Other property she had none. Peter, however, had good clothes; and when he found that Mr. McKiernan would supply them with, no comforts, he sold many articles from his own ward- robe, that he might provide decent clothing for his wife. Not long after her marriage, Yina again obtained permission to visit her mother. She found her now at Mr. Peoples' place, and though there was, perhaps, less rapture in their meeting than at her former visit, there was more unmingled joy. Long and earnest were the conversations they held together, and many times the " Good Lord" was thanked for all the kindness he had shown them. 114 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. Aunt Sally had now a kind, considerate master, and her husband and her oldest child were with her there. Her former master had gone back to North Carolina ; but he had sold Quail in Courtland to a Mr. Bynum. The poor boy had lost in the exchange of masters ; but he was still near his mother, and for that she rendered thanks to Him who reigns above. It were needless to detail the thousand items of advice and instruction which the young wife at this time received from her mother. The few days allotted to the visit passed all too soon, and the beloved daughter was forced to say " Good-bye." This time, however, there was less of anguish in the parting — all she loved was not left behind. • V I The Mistress 1 welcome lmnu Bee page 11"> CHAPTER XIII. THE NEW CABIN. There was an anxious gathering of dark faces just after sunset. Earnest eyes were peering through, the trees in the direction of the great road, and long lingers shook threatfully at each little sable urchin, that could not stand still, and listen for the carriage wheels. The cook "bustled about — now in the kitchen, watching her biscuits lest they should bake too brown ; now in the house, to be sure that nothing was wanting on the neat supper table, and then her steaming figure came puffing through the crowd before the door, that she might be the first to welcome " Missus." There I the faint rumble of wheels is heard approach- ing. A joyous shout rises from the excited throng, and a score of tiny feet fly in the direction of the sound. There is a merry strife between the proprietors of all these little feet for the high privilege of opening the gate for " Missus," but it lasts not long. The carriage comes in sight, and all the little eager hands are laid at once upon the gate, which flies wide open at their touch. Here they come! Old Frank's smile is brighter, even in the twilight, than when last it beamed upon D15] 116 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. us in the full morning sunshine, and as he wheels proudly up before the door, his old heart warms at the kindly smiles that beam upon him. How quickly is the carriage door flung open, and the steps let down ! and how lightly the beautiful mis- tress is set down in the midst of her delighted servants, every one of whom pushes forward to offer a warm welcome home. The fair hand she presents is rever- ently shaken or tenderly kissed, and "How d'y' Missus ?" " Oh ! you's pertier 'an ever !" " How glad I is you's come home once mo' I" greet her on every side, as she passes into the house. Nurse tenderly lifts the little Mary from the carriage. She is fast asleep, and as she lays her in her late deserted cradle, the dark faces steal along, one by one, to get a peep at her sweet baby-face. " Bless my life ! if dar aint Mass'r ! Hi ! we all's so glad see* Missus, we done forget Mass'r gwine come too!" The hearty welcomes are repeated, the extended hand is duly shaken, and by the time Missus, with the aid of a dozen eager hands can be prepared to sit down at the table, supper is brought in. " Well Peter, so you've stolen a march on us since we've been gone — been getting married, hey ?" "Yes, Sir, I's been gettin' married." " Ha ! ha ! you thought the folks at Lexington had all forgotten you. Well, since you have been so smart, I must try and buy your wife for you. You'll not be worth much if you have to be running off every week to see your family. Besides, Mr. McKiernan intends to move to Bainbridge about Christmas, and then you'll have a long road to travel. But Yina's master bad no intention of selling her. THE NEW CABIN. 117 She was one of the best servants he had. He would, however, be glad to buy her husband — very glad. That was out of the question. Neither Mr. Gist nor his wife would consent to sell him, and if they had been willing to part with him, Peter himself would have remonstrated. He knew too well the difference between the two masters to wish for an exchange. Thus matters stood till Christmas. Peter went fre- quently to see his wife, as it was so near, and neither his master nor his mistress endeavored to dissuade him from doing so. They had tested their influence with Levin, and they had no desire to repeat the strife. The brick house that had been built at Bainbridge was now occupied by Mr. McKiernan. He had bought a large plantation there, — much of it new land, and to clear it, and fit it for corn and cotton, required the ut- most diligence. There was no time to build cabins, though there were not half enough for the numerous families of slaves that he carried with him. Every family, therefore, that wished a house to themselves, were obliged to spend their Sundays in building it. Peter immediately commenced preparations for build- ing a cabin for his wife. Every Saturday he walked to Bainbridge — a distance of seven miles ; and early on Sunday morning, he was at his work. All the holy day he toiled, and often when the moon shone, his work ceased not till late at night. Then by the first peep of Monday's dawn, he was up and away, to com- mence his weekly labors for his master. Peter was obliged to cut the timber for his house, himself, and then to haul it across the creek. When that was all prepared, he hired men to help him 118 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. raise it ; and though he did. his best, it was April when he had the little building finished. The roof was made of boards, and the chimney of sticks and clay. Puncheons (slabs) formed the floor, and the ground itself made an excellent hearth. Peter was more extravagant than many architects of kindred edifices, in that he had a floor at all. The bare earth is generally deemed sufficient, and it becomes at length, by constant treading, almost as hard as brick. The house completed, it was empty. Peter had worked nights and holidays, and had earned all he could, but, alas ! that was very little ; and now he was forced to sell more of his clothes to buy the most neces- sary articles of furniture. Two or three cooking utensils, two chairs, and a trunk, he procured at first. Then he cut a walnut tree, and "hauled" it to the mill for a bedstead, and when that was done, a straw bed was prepared and laid upon it. Every Sunday morning, at Mr. McKiernan's, the weekly allowance was weighed out. This was gener- ally practised by the Kentucky planters. Their serv- ants all ate together, and usually a plentiful supply was cooked for them. But here, a peck of unsifted meal, and three and a half pounds of bacon, was the weekly allowance. The piece might be more than half bone, yet no additional weight was allowed on that account. No vegetables were provided for them, if they wished any they might raise them for themselves ; and then, if they had any desire for decent or comfort- able clothes, or any little articles of furniture, they could sell the few vegetables which their patches produced, in order to procure them. Mr. Gist had bought a shoemaker, not long before, THE NEW CABIN". 119 t and he had cheerfully imparted instruction in his art to his friend Peter. The slight skill he acquired in this branch of industry was now of great use to him, as he was able to make his own shoes, and those of his wife ; thus saving many a dollar that must otherwise have been expended. He also earned many comforts for his cabin by making shoes at night for his fellow slaves. After a while, as the wealth of the young couple in- creased, they bought a cupboard, and afterwards a chest. This latter article was very necessary, that Yina might lock up her week's provisions, and any little comforts which Peter brought her; as, if they were exposed, some of the half-clad hungry slaves were sure to steal them. A flour barrel, too, the provident young husband bought, thinking it would be useful in their humble housekeeping ; but before he had a chance to take it home, Mr. Gist's overseer took the liberty to appro- priate it to his own use. " That's my bar'l, sir," said Peter, as he saw him re- moving it, " and I want to use it myself." "D — n you! hush your mouth, you nigger! I'll let you know you're not to forbid me to use a barl when I want it." " But it's mine," persisted Peter; "I bought it, and I's gwine carry it to my wife." The overseer was enraged; but he dared take no vengeance except the weak one of showering upon the offender his most terrible curses. When he had ex- hausted his stock of these, he was forced to wait till the master returned from town. He then complained to Mr. Gist that one of his 120 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. • niggers had been impudent to him, and swore he would have revenge. "And if," added he, "Iaon't whip him now, I'll give him something that w%ll hurt him a heap worse." The master hesitated, but finally, judging from the fellow's temper, that such a course would be safest for his slave, he gave him permission to whip him very slightly. Accordingly, Peter was taken to the stable, where twenty-live lashes were inflicted on his naked back. CHAPTER XIV. THE Y O IJ N O MOTHER. On the twelfth of September, 1826, the wailing of a tiny voice was heard in Yina's. cabiD. A new fount of love gushed up in her mother-heart, to bless the little trembler; and her frame thrilled with a delicious joy, as she proudly placed in her husband's arms his first-born boy. Oh ! how happily to his mother passed the first four weeks of the existence of this little one. Quietly Yina sat in her cabin ; and, as she gazed upon the innocent face of her child, and saw his little eyes learning to seek hers in loving trustfulness, her cup was not all bitter. She knew her babe was born to slavery — and sorrow ; but oh I so dearly did she love it! And, perhaps, after all, it might fall into kind hands, and be far hap- pier than its parents. Now, with her joy, her care was doubled. As soon as she was able to sit up, she toiled to the extent of her strength to put everything in order in her cabin, before her month was up. Peter had managed to provide materials for a com. fortable wardrobe for the little stranger ; and she now took great pleasure in making up the tiny garments. They were certainly not very fine, nor traced with ele- Q [121] 122 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. gant embroidery; but when she had them all finished, and laid, neatly folded, in the trunk, she could not help lifting the lid, now and then, to see how nice they looked. Then she washed and mended all her own and Peter's clothes; for she knew she should have but little time after she went to the field again. When she did go out, poor little Peter (for the baby bore his father's name), was left all alone upon her bed. Four times in the day, while yet he was very young, she was permitted to go in and minister to his little wants. But she had then only a few minutes to stay ; and, though in her heart she longed to lull him to sleep upon her breast, and though he cried so hard when she laid him down, yet she must go. How tenderly, when she was employed as nurse in Courtland, had she cared for the little ones entrusted to her care ! How anxiously had she watched every indication of uneasiness, lest they should be sick! And when the moan of pain fell on her ear, how well she knew the simple remedies for all their little ail- ments ! Now that her own babe needed her constant care, she could not be spared. The cotton must be picked. How her heart ached when she heard him crying, as she often did, when she was at work in the field near the quarter. And if the overseer chanced to be at a distance, so that she thought he would not observe her how suddenly she darted between the trees that shel- tered the cabins, and entered the house! How she pressed her baby to her breast, while her tears fell on his little face! And when she dared not stay a minute longer, how gently she laid him down again, and im- printed one fond kiss upon his cheek. THE YOUNG MOTHER. 123 When she came in at night, she built a bright fire on the clay hearth, and cooked her supper. Then she brought water from the spring, and having undressed her boy, she washed him thoroughly. How he enjoyed the nice cool bath ! and how he kicked and laughed in token of his gratitude ! But his mother had no time to play with him, for it grew late. So when she had ar- rayed him in clean clothes, she tied him in a chair, and hastened to her work. There he sat and watched her till his eyelids drooped, and he sank quietly to sleep, while she washed all the garments he had worn that day, and hung them up to dry. Then, after making her cabin as neat as possible, and preparing her food for the next day, she threw off her clothes, and with her baby on her bosom, laid her down to rest. Many times when she had some extra work to do, her own and her husband's washing, for instance, or an old coat to mend, the morning of another day dawned in the east before her task was done. But the overseer's horn blew not a minute the later, because she had not slept. With aching eyes, and weary limbs, she went forth to the field; and through all the long day, her feet lagged not, though sometimes " 'pears like," to use her own expression, she could not keep awake. " But I wouldn't see my child go dirty and raggety," added she, "if I didn't never git a wink o' sleep." '. How welcome to poor Yina was the approach of the Sabbath day! How her eyes brightened, and her heart grew light, as its morning beams filled her little cabin, and revealed her husband playing with his boy. Sometimes they dressed in their best clothes, and, taking little Peter in their arms, walked to meeting on 124 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. that day ; but oftener they were busy through all its precious hours, working in the patch, or performing some necessary labor about the house. A large field was divided into as many little patches as there were field hands on the plantation ; and every slave could here work nights and Sundays to cultivate his crop. Some raised cotton, others corn ; and many planted their patches entirely to water-melons. If the overseer chanced to be "far'ard" with his work, and there was not much grass among the corn and cotton, they could sometimes have a half holiday on Saturday to work for themselves. But chiefly they depended on their Sundays. Early in the morning they were out with mules and ploughs, and till late at night they toiled to raise their little crops. When the moon shone brightly, if they were getting "in the grass," they often remained at work all night. The corn and cotton that they "made" they were obliged to sell to their master — at his price, which was seldom more than half the market value. But the water-melons they were allowed to carry to town. This was the most profitable crop they raised, if they could get the fruit into market at the right time ; but, as Saturday was the only day on which they could go, and as all that had fruit to sell could not have wagons at the same time, they frequently lost portions of their crops. They also raised chickens ; and for these there was always a ready market in the neighborhood. Mis. McKiernan, herself, frequently bought them of her servants, and she never failed to pay them a fair price. When little Peter was about a year old, his mother had a severe illness. The disease was inflammation of THE YOUNG MOTHER. 125 the brain, and the canse thereof we give in her own words. 11 1 never got a heap o' whippin' no how, but when Bill Simms was oversee' he give me one nions's hard beatin', bekase I would n't s'mit to him 'bout every- thing he wanted. " He pestered me a heap, but I told him I would n't never do no such a thing; I told him Id got a husban' o' my own ; and I was n't gwine have nothin' to do with nobody else. He tried to starve me to it- many a Sunday, when he weighed out the 'lowance, he never give me half my sheer, and I could n't git no more for a week ; but I did n't mind that. " At last he told me if I did n't 'bey him, he'd whip me nio-h 'bout to death. I told him he might kill me, but I would n't never do it, no how. So when I's in the field one day, he tuck and whipped me— I did n't call it whippin'— I called it beatin'. He tied my hands with his hand'chief, and pulled my coat off o' the waist ; and then he beat me till I could n't hardly stand. He struck me over the head mos'ly, and tried to knock me down with the butt end o' his bull-whip. My head was cut in a heap o' places, whar the scars is on it yit. " I reckon he wouldn't 'a' give me so much, but I tried to fight him at first, and he had to call two o' the men to help him tie me. By that time he got so mad that he jist went 'cordin' to his own mercy. I knowed I's in his power, but I's determined to die in the cause. " The other people was all in sight, and he made out like he's beatin' me 'bout my work : but he told me it's all bekase I would 'nt 'bey him. "When he done beatin' he curse me powerful, and 126 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. say, if I ever tole this yer to mass'r, or to any person else so it would get to him, he'd give me a heap more ; and if that did n't do, he'd shoot me. " I was determined he should n't never conquer me, no how ; but he was that mean, I was feared he mought kill me sly ; so I never said not-kin' 'bout it, to nobody but Peter. He came kome a Sunday, and wken ke's sittin' by me, ke sort o' put kis arm 'round me. 'Ok !' says I, ' don't put yer arm tkar, you hurt my back !' " ' What's the matter o' yer back?' says he. " ' Oh, it's mighty sore whar ole Bill Simms done beat me,' says I, ' but don't you tell nobody, for if he finds out I done tol' the tale, he'll kill me, sure.' " Peter felt mighty bad when I told him what I got the beatin' for — 'peared like, he could 'a' gone right out and killed ole Bill Simms on the spot. He never liked him, no how — they had a fallin' out, afore, when he was overseein' for Mars Levi Gist. " But 'twas n't no use gittin' mad 'bout it, nor tellin' mass'r nuther ; bekase he allers say if any person come to him with complaints 'bout the oversee's, he'd give 'em worse, hisself. <( The next Sunday, Simms come up afore my house, and spoke to Peter, whar was a standin' in the door. 11 Peter answered him mighty low, and that made him mad, bekase he 'lowed I done told him how I been 'bused. ' Seems to me,' says he, ' you're gettin' mighty grand. You're too great a gentleman to speak to a white person with respect. Never mind, I'll do you a kindness some o' these days. I owe you something this long time.' " ' Well,' says Peter, ' that debt never will be paid till the judgment day.' THE YOUNG MOTHER. 127 " I tremble every minute, for I 'lowed I should have to take more next day ; but I reckon he thought how 't was n't no use, for he never said nuthin' to me 'bout it no more. " I had a heap o' misery in my head all the time for two weeks arter I tuck that beatin', and then I got right sick, and they said I's out o' my senses for a week. They sent for the doctor, but I did n't know nuthin' 'bout it, and he said I'd tuck some mighty hard blows on the head. He left medicine, and missus, she stay by me all the time. She sent for Peter to come — she reckoned I'd know him — but 'twas n't no use. They all 'lowed I's gwine to die ; and then Peter, he told 'em all 'bout what done make me sick. " Mass'r was mighty mad. ' Why the devil didn't she tell me this afore ?' says he. " ' Bekase,' says Peter, ' she knowed your rule, that you don't keer how hard an oversee' beats your serv- ants, if they comes to you, they shall git worse.' " Mass'r felt mighty bad then, but he 'lowed I might knowed he'd protect me in that. " I reckon I should n't never got well, if they all had n't tuck such good care o' me. When I got so I could talk, mass'r ax me why I never told him what a beatin' old Simms done give me. " ' What I come to you for,' says I, l you allers told us never to do that, without we wanted more. If I'd 'lowed 'twould done any good I'd 'a' come to you, sir, mons's quick.' " Soon as I's able to walk from the bed to the fire, mass'r come in to see me, and brought old Simms with him. Then he axed me 'bout that beatin' right afore him, and I told it to his face. 'Twas so true, he 128 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. couldn't deny it. Mass'r cursed him mightily, and told him he should pay my doctor's bill, and pay for every day whar I was sick. I never knowed 'bout the payin' whether he done it or not, but mass'r drove him off the place, and he never come on it agin. " I see him twice after that. The first time we's all gwine to meetin'. I see him comin', and says I, ' Thar comes the devil ; I ain't gwine to look at him.' So I pulled my bonnet down over my face ; and when he come 'long, and say how d'y' to the rest ; I never look up. " The next time I met old Simms, look like he's the picter o' Death. He been mighty sick, and jist got able to ride out. " That thar was the last o' his ridin'. He took a 'lapse arter that, and then he died in a mighty short time. " When I heard he's dead, I's so glad ! My heart couldn't help from shoutin', though it oughten't." CHAPTER XV. DEATH OF A KIND MASTER. The sunshine of prosperity beamed steadily upon the peaceful home of Mr. and Mrs. Gist. Gradually their worldly substance increased; and the dearer treasures of their hearts were multiplied. The Spring of 1830, when she had waked the deli- cate flowers of the forest, came noiselessly on, and with careful hand, unfolded the rosebuds that climbed on the porch. Near the half-open door sat the young husband and his still beautiful wife. Not a line of care or sorrow had stolen across their foreheads ; not a shade of cold- ness or distrust had fallen on their hearts. Their children sported before them — two lovely girls and a brave boy, the youngest, and the pet of all. Ah ! came no whispering voice to bid them prize these golden moments ? Entered no dread of change into all the plans they formed together ? None ! The sweet Spring smiled on them from without— the parching Summer drought she never heralds. They were planning a visit to Kentucky. It was five years since they had enjoyed the hospitalities of that endeared home of other days ; and the beloved parent, from whom they had been so long severed, 6* [129] 130 THE KIDNAPPED AXD THE RANSOMED. were growing old. Yes; they would go to Lex- ington. On a bright May morning, a few weeks after, the family carriage rolled away from the door, with its precious burden of gentle trusting hearts. Tears gathered in dark eyes that gazed fondly after the trav- vellers ; and fond adieus to loving favorites were tossed back by tiny hands. " 'Pears like," sobbed Aunt Ceely, " somethin's gwine happen. Ts had mighty bad dreams dese las' nights." " Oh ! you's allers a dreamin' ; reckon yer dreams aint much 'count," replied a cheerful girl at her side. " I reckon nuthin' aint gwine hurt dern, no how ; dey's been to Kaintucky 'fore dis," said another, who, though sad herself, would fain dispel Aunt Ceely's gloom. The old woman turned towards the kitchen, and her croaking was soon forgotten. But when at night she smoked her pipe before her kitchen door, the shadow of impending ill darkened her heart. Summer came with its heat, and wearying toil, and September passed away, and still the house was closed. Now and then, for a few hours the windows were thrown open, that the fresh air of morning might wan- der through the deserted rooms. But it would not tarry long ; for it missed the merry children, to whose radiant eyes and blooming cheeks it had been wont to lend a deeper glow. So, after kissing lovingly each little couch, and chair, and scattered toy, the soft air flew away, to dally with the summer leaves that danced at its approach. Early in October, new life seemed to have awakened DEATH OF A KIND MASTER. 131 on the plantation. The laborers stepped more briskly out at morning, and the house servants went bustling through the lonely rooms, "clarin' up, and putting things to rights for Missus." There were no gloomy faces now — no dark forebod- ing of approaching woe ; Aunt Ceely herself forgot her dreams, she was so busy planning a nice supper, such as she knew suited '•' Mars Levi when he come home hongry." The last day of September was the time appointed for the family to leave Lexington, and though the summer had passed most pleasantly in the society of valued friends, yet not one of the little group wished to remain longer. On the day previous to their intended departure, a few friends sat down with them to a farewell dinner, at the house of an uncle of Mr. Gist. The party were in fine spirits, albeit a shadow of regret that they were so soon to part, did now and then steal over them. Plans of future re-unions, however, were proposed, and promises of more frequent visits interchanged. "What is it?'' whispers with bloodless lips, the beautiful young wife, as her husband sways towards her, and she sees that his face is ashy pale. Quickly his friends spring to his assistance. They bear him from the table, and support him in their arms upon the sofa. Ah ! they saw not the Death Angel, as with white wings he approached, and gently sealed those loving eyes and stilled that throbbing heart. Xo ! they saw him not. They did not know how vain were all their agonized endeavors to restore the warm breath to 132 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. that manly form. " He has only fainted — give him air!" Yain hope! The warm hands grow rigid — cold. The features become fixed. Can it be he is dead ? God pity thee ! fond wife — and grant thee tears — that thy young heart break not. In the parlor, at his childhood's home, was laid all that was mortal of Levi Gist. His father and mother, with great tears on their aged cheeks, gazed tenderly upon the face of their first-born son ; and his little children stole up on tiptoe to look at dear papa ; and wondered that he lay so still, when only yesterday, he told them they should start for home to-day. Dear little ones ! too soon shall ye learn the full meaning of that cold word — fatherless ! The funeral was over. Fond eyes had gazed for the last time on those dear features, and to the earth had been consigned the sacred dust. Words of condolence had been duly uttered — Oh ! how they rent her heart ! — and curious eyes had scrutinized the widow's face and manner, to ascertain how keenly she felt the stroke. All these were satisfied. They saw her glazed eye, and pallid cheek ; and even their morbid jealousy for grief could exact no more. The desolate woman returned, with her children to her thenceforth darkened home. No smiles greeted her coming now ; but great hot tears glistened on the dark cheeks of the faithful band that came forth to meet her. Well might they weep that their only protector had fallen! Where, in all the country round, could be found another such master ? His servants had been, in some sense, his children; subject, it is true to his DEATH OF A KIND MASTER. 133 passions and caprices — and who is free from these ? Still he had ever protected them from the violence of overseers and other ruffians, and their supply of whole- some food and comfortable clothes had not been scant. Equally kind, and even more indulgent, had been their mistress, and she was spared to them. But now the government would, partially, at least, fall into other hands ; there was no will, and the estate must be settled according to law. Deeply, notwithstanding her own grief, did the kind mistress sympathize with her people in their peculiar sorrow ; and earnestly did she resolve to do her ut- most to alleviate the hardships of their lot. Mr. John Gist, a brother of the deceased, proceeded to administer upon the estate, while Mrs. Gist remained on the place, and preserved, as far as possible, the ac- customed order of affairs. She was now a stately woman, of somewhat haughty presence, and with an eye whose lightning few would dare to brave. Usually, her voice was gentle, and her manners mild ; but when the helpless were outraged, she summoned all her powers to awe and to command — for their relief. One instance will suffice to show her spirit. It was Sunday evening, and Peter and Allison, who had been to visit some of their friends on a neighbor- ing plantation, were returning home, when, to make their road shorter, they crossed a field belonging to Col. John D . JSTow, the gallant Colonel had made a law that no negro belonging to his neighbor, should cross his field on Sunday ; and his overseer, named S , by chance 134 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. spying these trespassers, ran after them cowhide in hand. They heard him on their track, and made all speed for home. Bounding over the door-yard fence, they imagined themselves safe ; but in an instant, their pursuer leaped over after them, and even followed them to the kitchen, where they hastened to take refuge. Here the slaves determined to do battle, and one of them had seized the rolling-pin, and the other a large knife, when their mistress, hearing the tumult, came to the door. The overseer quailed beneath her haughty eye. " What is your business here, sir," said she, in a voice steady and brave. He explained his errand ; with much trepidation however, for her great eyes were fixed upon him, and her majestic form seemed to grow taller every instant. "Well, sir," said she, when he ceased speaking, "leave these premises immediately, and let this be the last time your foot approaches my house on such an errand. My boys are not subject to your authority ; if they do wrong, it is not your business to punish them." The overseer departed in silence, seeming much smaller in his own eyes than he had appeared an hour before. CHAPTER XVI. LEVIN'S DEATH. . Just a year after the death of his master, Levin's health, which had been poor for several years, began rapidly to decline ; and it was soon plain to all who saw him that his work was done. His sufferings soon became intense, but he endured them with great patience. Levin was a Christian. His intellect, it is true, had possessed few means of de- velopment, but he had heard of the Lamb that was slain. Upon that bleeding sacrifice his hopes had long been fixed ; and though in much ignorance and weak- ness, yet earnestly had he sought to follow his Re- deemer. Now as the death-hour approached, he heard a voice, saying, " My peace I give unto you, not as the world giveth, give I unto you ;" and, calmly re- signing himself into His arms who is a Saviour of the weakest and the lowliest, he waited quietly the coming of the last Messenger. Poor Fanny was permitted to spend the last days by his side. This was a great comfort to both, for they had suffered much for each other, and it was very hard to part so soon. But Levin talked so sweetly of the green fields and still waters of that better land, that D36] 136 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 'she could not wish to prolong his painful sojourn here. It was the twenty-eighth of December. Peter had gone to Bambridge, to make his usual Christmas visit to his wife and little ones, and by the bed-side of her dying husband sat the devoted Fanny. Yet, though her eye watched every sign of change, she knew not that he was departing. Sadly she gazed upon his placid face. Ah I did he not look happy ? Why should she weep ? — and yet the tears ivould flow. " Call Peter, Fanny," said he, suddenly waking from a gentle sleep. " Peter's gone to Bambridge." A shade of disappointment passed over his face — for a few moments he remained silent. Then sud- denly, with all his strength he cried, "Peter! Peter! 0, Peter !" But the loved brother answered not. Ah! little thought he, as he sat fondling his children, and hold- ing pleasant converse with their mother, that poor Levin's heart, even at that hour, was breaking. There was but a slight struggle, — a faint gasp, — and the freed spirit of the lowly slave was carried by the angels into Abraham's bosom. They placed the lifeless form in a rude coffin, and bore it to its lowly grave. No stone marks his resting place ; no fragrant flowers adorn the sod that covers his silent house. Yet he sleeps sweetly there. The loud horn of the overseer reaches not his ear at dawn ; the harsh tone of command and the bitter blasphemous curse break not his peaceful slumbers. The death of this dear brother cast a heavy gloom levin's death. 137 upon Peter's spirits. He felt that lie was now alone. The memories of their early childhood, of their mother's love, and of the sad, sad day when they were stolen from their home, there was now none to share. And the fond hope, which through all their years of bondage had lived far down in some hidden recess of his heart — even that one hope went out — and all was dark. CHAPTER XVII. THE JAUNT TO FLORIDA. Patiently, month after month, Aunt Sally pur- sued her labors on the plantation of Mr. Peoples. She had a kind master, and her boys were near her, as was also Uncle Moses, the husband of her latter years. Of poor Silas, to whom her heart's young affections had been given, she never heard. He might be dead, and — oh ! what torture in the thought ! — he might be enduring sufferings compared with which, even death itself were naught. She could only pray for his weal ; and trust, as she ever found it sweet to do, to that com- passionate father, who loves the prayers of the humble, while " the proud he knoweth afar off." But it was concerning her daughter that Aunt Sally's spirit was most deeply troubled. She was so young to be taken away — and alone among strangers too — how often would she need her mother's sympathy and counsel ! 11 Well," said she to Uncle Moses, at the close of one of their frequent conversations on the subject. "I's mighty glad de pore chile done got married. 'Pears like she wont be so lonesome now. I'd like to see her ole man. But her missus — she's a screamer. Laws ! Vine say de little gal whar waits in de house gits her back cut up powerful, and she's a sickly little thing. Hi I wont dem kind o' ladies cotch it mightily when [138] THE JAUST TO FLORIDA. 139 de bad man gits 'em ? Beckon lie wont think dey's so mons's nice, kase dey's white. De Lord years all de screams o' his chilluns, and he aint gwine put harps o' gold in dem dare hands, whar allers a playin wid de cowhide yer." There were at this time two sets of slaves on Mr. Peoples' place; his own, and those belonging to the estate of a deceased brother, with whom he had been in partnership. Many of these were united by family ties, and all were strongly attached to each other, as they had lived together for many years. Suddenly, late in the autumn of 1827, the gloomy tidings came among them that they were to be sepa- rated. Their master, having heard tempting accounts of the beauty and fertility of Florida's fair plains, had determined to remove there with his working hands : while those belonging to his brother's estate, as well as the children and any that were unfit for labor, should remain on the home place, in the guardianship of an overseer. Aunt Sally was overwhelmed with sorrow. She was more fortunate than many of her companions, for her husband and her oldest son were to go with her ; but poor Quail must stay behind, and Vina — she had not seen her for two years. She longed to make her a farewell visit, but such was now the haste to secure the crop, and to complete the needful preparations for the journey, that she could not go even to "tell" her darling child " good-bye." The master strove to comfort them by the promise that they should some day return ; or, if he liked the country so well as to wish to remain in Florida, then their friends should come to them. But the dim hope 140 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. in the distant future could not dispel the present gloom : and with bitter lamentations fond mothers pressed their weeping children to their aching breasts, and loving husbands turned back for one more look on those clear faces which they never more might see. They have gone ! Their friends stand mournfully watching the sad procession till it passes out of sight, and their stricken hearts breathe earnest prayers for the safe keeping of their dearest treasures. Yina did not hear of Mr. Peoples' intended removal till his family had already arrived in Florida ; and her grief was then extreme. To lose her mother thus, without receiving so much as a parting message, was harder far than all her previous trials. Not even the laughing prattle of her little Peter could dispel this heavy sorrow; not even her husband's love could soothe her aching heart. But a kind Providence was better to them than their fears. Mr. Peoples did not like Florida ; and when he had " made one crop," he returned with all his slaves in glad procession, to his former home. Ah ! earth is not all gloomy, for there be sometimes glad reunions, when the partings have been dismal — hopeless. There be transient gleams of joy, though misery hath hung her heavy clouds over all the sky. There is an Infinite Father who looketh down in love on the weakest of his children ; and though he surfer them to drink a bitter cup, he often mingles therewith rare drops of sweetness. The summer following her return from Florida, Aunt Sally paid a visit to her daughter. What changes have been wrought during the four years that had passed since she had seen her child- THE JAUNT TO FLORIDA. lil Yina had grown quite tall, and her face, instead of the timidity and sadness that then marked its expression, now wore a careful mother-look. Poor child ! she was not strong, and the fatiguing labor of the hot summer days, together with the care which her two children claimed at night, taxed her exertions to the utmost. Aunt Sally had not been long on the plantation, be- fore she learned the policy pursued by Mr. McKiernan towards his slaves. Their lot was truly hard. Not an article of furniture or clothing did they receive from their master, except, that once a year he gave a coarse plantation suit to such as were old enough to work. Even this, however, was sometimes withheld, and then those who had no means of procuring garments for themselves, went to their daily tasks in such a ragged filthy state, that the more respectable of the overseers could not endure their presence. Several of these, at different times, left the plantation, for no other reason than that they could not stay in the field with such a miserable gang of negroes. Little cared the master for their departure. Others were always ready to be hired, who heeded not such trifles, so that they could have full power over the half-naked wretches that instinctively recoiled at their approach. But Vina and her children, thanks to Peter's indus- try and self-denial, had always decent clothing, and their cabin boasted many convenient articles of furni- ture, such as slaves seldom possess. They had also better food than most of their companions, for to the scant allowance of bacon and corn meal which was doled out to Yina on Sunday mornings, Peter often 142 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. found means to add a little coffee and sugar, or a few pounds of flour. All this Aunt Sally learned during her short stay, and for each kindness thus bestowed upon her child, she rendered thanks to Him, whose hand she recog- nized in every good. Too soon the time allotted to this precious visit passed away ; yet much of hope lingered in the sad farewell. " Dat dar jaunt to Florida," Aunt Sally thought, had cured her master of his thirst for novelty ; and now, she trusted, she should never more be widely separated from her daughter. Yina's eyes were dim, as from her cabin door, she watched her mother's departing form. A heavy sad- ness oppressed her spirits ; and the kind voice of her husband, who stood beside her, could scarce dispel her gloom. But many little motherly duties claimed her thoughts. Young Peter wanted his supper, while little Levin raised his pleading voice to beg for her attend- ance ; and soon the pleasure of contributing to the comfort of those she loved restored her accustomed cheerfulness. CHAPTER XVIII. A SLAVE MOTHER'S "GOOD-BYE." Aunt Sally rode briskly homeward. She had not felt so happy in many years as now. Her children were all comfortably situated; even Vina, about whom she had been so anxious, had now so kind a husband, and such fine "peart" children, that she could no longer repine at her lot. A few weeks glided calmly on. Summer stole noiselessly away, and Autumn came with quiet steps, to cool the parched earth. The cotton fields grew brown with age, and snowy tufts burst from the ripened bolls. Tremulous they hung — those fleecy tassels — and the cool breeze, as with mock sympathy it sighed among the withering leaves, lingered to whisper softly to these fair strangers, and toss in amorous sport their dainty tresses. The crops were all gathered in. Beside the gin- house lay great heaps of hoary cotton-seed, and the mighty press had uttered the last creak of the season. Under a shed hard-by, the old-fashioned, tight-laced bales were huddled close together, and yet it was not winter. The hands upon the place were very proud. There was not another plantation in all the country round, (U3) 144 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. but had great fields, where still in fleecy clusters the precious cotton gleamed. It is night — and the people are all in their cabins. The smiles of triumph which but a few hours since brightened their faces have departed, and a wail of anguish resounds through all the quarter. Mr. Peoples has bought a sugar farm away down on tho dreadfnl Gulf Coast, and thither his slaves are all to be conveyed, as soon as they can make the necessary pre- parations for the journey. Look ! Aunt Sally comes forth alone from her cabin door. Tears are upon her cheeks, and her breast is convulsed with sorrow. She walks slowly and with drooping head along a narrow footpath leading to the woods. She kneels upon the rustling leaves. Oh ! with what humble trustfulness she offers her agonized petitions ! Has she heard that it is written, "Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear Him ?" The preparations for emigration were conducted with the bustle and confusion usual on large planta- tions. There were full three hundred slaves ; and their master intended to carry along provisions suffi- cient for one year's consumption, as well as corn for the horses, mules and cattle. Then all the utensils of the farm were collected and repaired ; and each family had to arrange its own little store of clothes and furniture. During the day, the constant occupation of the slaves prevented the contemplation of their gloomy prospects. At night, however, they had time to think ; and then the torrent of their grief broke forth afresh. In every cabin might be heard the voice of weeping ; A SLAVE MOTHER'S " GOOD-BYE." 145 and the rude pallets, on which reposed their weary limbs, were wet with bitter tears. When all was ready, and the cattle and stores had been conveyed to the rivers bank, then came the final leave-taking. Husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, parents and children, who belonged on neigh- boring plantations, came with sobs and tears to say " farewell" to those whose hearts were breaking. Aunt Sally came hurriedly, with a small bundle in her hand, from her empty cabin. Hastily she walked along the road to Courtland, and paused not until she reached the residence of Mr. B , where dwelt her youngest child. Poor Quail ! henceforth he would be motherless ! He saw her form approaching, and ran to meet her. Oh ! the tender agony of that last long embrace. He was her darling boy, how could she leave him ? He clung around her neck. She felt his warm breath on her cheek. Saviour ! pity them ! It is their last fond meeting — their last heart-crushed "good bye." With desperate strength she tore herself from his arms ; and with one prayer to Heaven to bless and keep her boy, she thrust the little bundle into his powerless hand, and hastened on to join her gloomy comrades. The rendezvous was Bainbridge. To this point some came on foot, and others on the boats over the shoals. Here they were obliged to wait till all the boats ar- rived ; and now a faint hope sprang up in Aunt Sally's heart that she might yet see her daughter. She deter- mined at least to make one effort. A gentleman on horseback was slowly riding by. It was Andrew Gist. Hastily she approached him. 146 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. He pitied her evident distress, and listened kindly to the reeital of her sorrows. " So your daughter is at McKiernan's. "What is her name ?" " Her name Vina, Sir." " Yina ? why that is Peter's wife." " Yes, Sir, her man name Peter. He belongs to Mars Levi Gist," "Well, I'll find her myself, and send her down to see you. Come, cheer up, Auntie, you'll have good times yet." The field where Mr. McKiernan's people were at work was three miles from the landing, but the Ken- tuckian's fine horse soon bore him there. " Which of you all has a mother at Peoples' ?" said he, as he rode up to a group of women. " It's Yina's mother whar lives dar, Sir : — yon's Yina," replied a young girl, pointing as she spoke, to the object of his search. She was working alone, at a short distance from her companions, and did not look up till she was addressed. "Howd'y' Yina, does your mother belong to Peo- ples?" "Yes, Sir." " Well, if you go down to the landing, you'll see the last of her, I reckon, for she's going down the river. Peoples is moving down to the coast." He rode away, and Yina gazed after him in speech- less terror. Her mother — the coast — could it be ? One moment she started towards the overseer to ask permis- sion to go to the river — the next her courage failed her, and she felt sure he would not let her go. She A SLAVE MOTHER'S " GOOD-BYE." 147 tried to work, but her limbs seemed palsied, and her eyes were full of blinding tears. After nearly an hour had passed, she summoned all her strength, and left the field. With fearful steps she walked to the house, and fortunately her master and mistress were both at home. She told them what Mr. Gist had said, and touched with pity, they bade her go immediately to the landing, and stay with her mother as long as the boats remained. A strange picture met her eye as she approached the river. Along the bank in the dim twilight, gleamed the blaze of numerous fires, and around these were gathered groups of unhappy slaves. Some were cook- ing their simple suppers, and others close huddled together, warmed their benumbed limbs, while they bewailed, in low sad tones, their gloomy destiny. Mo- thers hovered tenderly over the dear little ones that never more might hear their fathers' voices, and here and there, like a majestic tree by lightning blasted, stood a lone father, who had left all — wife, children, hope, behind. Yina paused, and listened, but in the sad murmur that met her ear she heard not her mother's voice. She passed on. Four large flat boats were tied to the bank, and one of these she timidly entered. A great fire was glowing at the further end of the boat, and dark figures were moving slowly about in the uncertain light. She heard no mirthful voices, no gay laugh ; but heavy sighs and mournful wailings filled her ears. On a low stool near the fire sat a female figure. Her bowed head rested on both her hands, and her body swayed to and fro, in unison with the melancholy 148 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. measure of her thoughts. Vina came very near. She paused. Aunt Sally raised her head, and with a cry, half joy — half anguish, she clasped her daughter to her breast. " my chile ! I's study in' 'bout you, whether I's ever gwine see you agin or not," and she sobbed aloud. " Oh ! how can I go and leave you, honey? I shan't never come back no more ! 'Way down on de sugar farm I shall die, and der wont be no daughter dar to see 'em lay me in de grave !" Long sat Vina and her mother close together, con- versing in low tones, and weeping over their sad doom. The slaves who had been gathered around the fires upon the bank came in, and wrapping themselves in their blankets, lay down to sleep. As midnight approached, it was announced that the boats would probably not leave Bainbridge until Mon- day morning ; and Aunt Sally obtained permission of the overseer who had charge, to go home with her daughter, and spend the next day which was Saturday, at her cabin. Immediately they left the boat, and hastened home. The hours of that short Saturday passed swiftly by, and at night Vina accompanied her mother back to the boat. There she left her, promising to come again in the morning, that they might spend one more day together. The dawn of the Sabbath-day saw the affectionate daughter on her way to the river. She walked rapidly, for every minute of that day was precious. She comes in sight of the landing. Why does she pause ? and Oh ! what means that heavy groan ? The boats have gone ! The fires are smouldering A SLAVE MOTHER'S " GOOD-BYE." 149 on the bank. Here and there lies a fragment of hoe- cake or a bit of an old blanket that has been forgotten. All is silent. Slowly the freighted boats pursued their way be- tween the lonely banks of the Tennessee. The trees that overhung the stream shivered as they saw their leafless branches in the still clear water, but the bright mistletoe clung closely to the desolate trunks, and strove, with its rich green, to hide their rigid outlines. Slowly they floated on. The broad Ohio bore them on her breast to the Father of Waters, and still they stayed not. The tall cotton-woods that guard the Mississippi's banks listened to the murmur of the slaves' sad voices ; and every breeze they met went sighing past as though it sorrowed with them. Their fears were all too true. The sugar farm upon the coast was to them as the "Valley of the Shadow of Death." So many of his slaves died during the first year, that Mr. Peoples, when he had made one crop of cane, sold his plantation and left the coast. He could not endure to see his faithful servants dying there, even though he knew the profits of the business would enable him to buy others in their stead. So he purchased a plan- tation in the north part of Mississippi, and returned, with the remnant of his people, to the culture of corn and cotton. Here, after several years, Aunt Sally sank peace- fully to her last, long slumber. She had no dread of Death. Long had she waited for his coming; and now that she knew he hovered near, her heart was filled with holy joy, and all who saw the light of love and hope that beamed from her faded eye, knew well 150 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. that she had been with Jesus. And when her pulse was still, and her cold hands lay meekly folded across her breast, a heavenly smile still lingered on her face; blest token that her weary spirit had reached at length that happy home where she had so longed to rest. Her master, who, during her sickness, had done all in his power for her comfort, wrote to inform her ab- sent children of her decease. He told them of her faith and patience, and of her final triumph over the terrors of the grave; and added that he provided a neat shroud and coffin for her sleeping dust, and buried her with every token of respect. Happy Aunt Sally. She had never known other than the " sunny side" of slavery. Neither of her masters had been capable of wanton cruelty, and her excellent character had made her a favorite with both. Yet the system of slavery cursed her life. It bereaved her of the husband of her youth, and robbed her of her beloved children. It tore her from scenes endeared by association with all her pleasures, and dragged her away into strange lands, of which, from her childhood, she had heard nought but tales of horror. And for all these, what compensation reaped she from the institution. Verily, none — save such as is bestowed upon the faithful ox. Even the unusual kindness of her master could grant no other boon than a shroud, a coffin, and a promised letter to tell her children that they were motherless. Such is a " South Side View." CHAPTER XIX. THE MISTRESS' SECOND MARRIAGE. On the twelfth of November, 1S33, Mrs. Gist was married to Mr. John Hogun, a man more than twenty years her senior. He possessed few personal attrac- tions, and still fewer intellectual or social accomplish- ments. But he owned two large plantations, one in the neighborhood of Mrs. Gist's residence, and another in Mississippi. Both of these were well stocked, the slaves numbering more than one hundred. The marriage of their beloved mistress caused great grief among the slaves on the plantation, for it fore- shadowed the partings that must come. The servants, thirty-four in number, were to be divided equally between the mother and her four children (one daughter was born after her father's death). In order to this, they were placed in five lots, and these were so arranged as to keep the families too-ether. These lots were not of equal value; but the discrepancy was to be made up by a corresponding difference in the distribution of the other property, so that the revolting scenes of an auction might be avoided. The mistress drew first. Old Frank, and Aunt [1511 152 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE KANSOMED. Peggy, with their three daughters, together with a yellow boy named Nelson, fell to her share. She felt disappointed, for she had always hoped to retain Peter in her service; but notwithstanding he loved and honored his mistress, he was grateful that he had not fallen under the dominion of her husband. The re- maining lots were not drawn at that time, as the chil- dren were still very young. About a month after the marriage — a sad and gloomy month to all upon the place — Mrs. Hogun, with her children and servants, left the quiet home where she had spent so many happy hours, and went to the residence of her husband. This was a large framed house, situated on a rich plantation, about four miles from her late abode, and four and a half miles from Tuscumbia. The former Mrs. Hogun had been dead four or five years, and her eldest daughter, Miss Louisa, had since her decease, presided at her father's table. This young lady was married soon after her father, and there were then three children left at home, John, Eobert, and Thir- muthis. Mr. Hogun was emphatically a hard man. His heart knew no mercy to those upon whom the laws of his State, as well as the customs of surrounding society allowed him to trample. To his own children he was ever indulgent; to his neighbors and acquaintances, smooth-tongued and polite; but he had a will that could not brook resistance, and a temper which, when roused, was capable of inflicting any cruelty. He con- sidered his servants as his, body and soul, and strove to compel them to make his wishes their law in all things. He allowed none of them to marry off the THE MISTRESS' SECOND MARRIAGE. 153 the place, and by watching them carefully, and pursu- ing prompt measures, he usually managed to bring them together according to his mind. When he saw a young man and woman engaged in any little sport together, or noticing each other in any way, if he thought they would make a good match, he ordered the overseer to build them a house. Accord- ingly, on the first convenient day thereafter, a sufficient number of the hands were called to the work, and the cabin was erected. It was but a small task to complete the structure — one little log-room, having a door on one side, a small unglazed window with a wooden shutter on the other, and at one end a chimney, built of sticks and smeared with mud. Nothing further was considered necessary. The ground sufficed for all the purposes of floor, bed, table, and chairs ; unless the inmates, by working on holidays, or by selling eggs or chickens, managed to procure some little comforts for themselves. When the house was finished, the master ordered Bob, the head man to bring Joe and Phillis, and put them into their house. Then, putting a small padlock on the door, he gave the key to Bob, saying, " Here, Bob, I have put my seal on this door ; now here is the key ; you keep this nigger and this wench together, or, by jings, you'll pay for it. Do you make Joe build a fire for Phillis, and see that Phillis cooks for Joe, and washes his clothes ; and, mind, Bob, I shall look to you." No expostulations from either party could alter his decree. He had been to the trouble of building a house for them, and now they should live in it, or take the consequences of braving his authority. 154 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. When such were the marriage rites, what must have been the morals of the place ? The slaves on this plantation were worked very hard. Before the dawn of day the horn was sounded to call them to the field, and in hurrying times, they were not allowed to go to rest till late at night. "Cot- ton," — "cotton" — was ever the watchword and reply; and the great crops which they " made" brought wealth into the master's coffers, while they drained the life- founts of the toiling slaves. One year, however, they had, providentially, a little rest. The crop was nearly destroyed by the early frost, very few bolls ripening at all. Late in this " unlucky'' 1 year, a gang of slaves were one day repairing the fence around a large field, and a few were picking the cotton from the scattering bolls. "Well, boys," said the overseer of a neighboring plantation, who chanced to pass, " aint you sorry you've got no cotton to pick this year ?" "Ah! no, mass'r," replied one of the oldest men, " we's mighty glad in place o' bein' sorry. De Lord has done a mon's good work for us, mass'r ; if he'd on'y sent de fross a little sooner, we wouldn't had none to pick at all." The overseer, angered by the old man's "impu- dence," cursed him bitterly. " Yah, yah, mass'r, 'taint no use bein' mad, I reckon, kase nobody aint to blame but de Lord, and it wont do no good to be mad wid him ; can't skeer him a cussing, no how." For six years after the marriage of their mistress, the slaves belonging to the Gist estate were kept upon the plantation. The overseer with his family took THE MISTRESS' SECOND MARRIAGE. 155 possession of the house that had so long been the abode of peace and happiness ; and everywhere on the place a new order of things was established. Peter was made foreman of the hands, which posi- tion he retained as long as the family of slaves was kept together. The overseer gave him his orders at night, with particular directions concerning the next day's work. In the morning he was obliged to rise first, to call his fellow-servants from their slumbers, and to see that each was in his place, and that his his work was properly commenced. All day he took the fore-row and led his gang. At night it was his busi- ness to see that the tools they had used were safe and in order, and the people were all in their cabins, before he could go to bed. In picking time, he also was obliged each night to weigh the cotton, and to report to the overseer the number of pounds which each of the hands had picked. His extraordinary memory was now a great advantage to him, for though he could not write, he was never known to report erroneously the contents of the baskets. The loss of their kind master was keenly felt by the slaves during all these years. The overseers, always men of the lowest stamp in intellect and morals, had full sway. If they succeeded in making a good crop, they satisfied their employers, the administrators of the estate ; and why should they hesitate to use any means that might advance this end ? The slaves, men and women, were therefore required to labor at their utmost strength ; and when over- wearied, they found no sym- pathy. The kind word of encouragement was want- ing, the voice of commendation became strange unto their ears. 156 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. In the year 1839, it was thought best, by the guar- dians of the estate, to sell the plantation and to hire out the negroes. The tidings of this approaching change in their condition spread a panic throughout the little community. They had suffered much since their master died, but they had suffered together. Now to be scattered — they could not bear the thought ! Many were the consultations which they held together over their gloomy prospects ; but none could suggest a plan of escape from the ills that threatened them. They could only submit to their fate, and meet what- ever awaited them with patience — since hope had fled. " Oh !" thought Peter, " what's the use in livin' ? Mass'r Levi's gone, and Levin; and then missus, she must go too, and leave us all without nobody to care whether we lives or dies. Here I've served the family so many years ; and now I must go to wait on some strangers, that wont care for nuthin' only to git all the work they can for their money. Oh ! if they send me off where I can't go to see Vina, it '11 kill her, sure." CHAPTER XX. THE PLANTATION "BROKEN UP." The last Christmas came which these doomed people were to spend together at the old place, and instead of the mirth which usually reigned at that season, mourn- ing and weeping filled its hours. The slaves had all been hired out here and there, and, after the holidays, they were to go to their new homes. Fourteen of the number, including Peter, were destined to spend the ensuing year on the plantation of a Mr. Threat, about four miles from Bainbridge. The one great dread, that of being conveyed still further from his wife, was now removed, but other- wise his situation was not bettered. Mr. Threat had immigrated from Virginia, about four years before, and had bought a small plantation. He owned no slaves, and was therefore obliged to hire them year by year. Peter, having led the hands on the old place, was still retained as head-man, and his labors were in no degree diminished. His fare too, was scanty, for the young master was just beginning in the world, and could ill afford an abundance of wholesome food to other people's negroes. The Threat family, as we have said, came from Vir- ginia, and though the young man to whom Peter and his companions were hired, was not rich, yet his [1573 158 THE KIDNAPPED AND TUE RANSOMED. parents, who resided in the neighborhood, possessed a competency. His mother, we should have said, for the elder Mr. Threat had failed in business in Virginia, and his property was all sold under the hammer. Two brothers of his wife, men of great wealth, bid it in, and settled it upon their sister and her children ; giv- ing to her the entire control during her lifetime. The family then removed to Alabama, where Mrs. Threat assumed the reins of government. Her husband lived with her, and she permitted her servants to wait upon him, but in business matters, he was not consulted. Mrs. Threat kept no overseer, and hesitated not to show her subjects that the sole authority over them was vested in herself, and that her arm was strong to punish their transgressions. She frequently rode over her fields with cowhide and rope at hand, and in- spected the labor of her slaves. If she found one of them dilatory or otherwise remiss, she quickly dis- mounted, and ordered him to strip. Then after com- manding one of his fellow slaves to tie him, she vigor- ously applied the cowhide to his naked back, until she deemed that he had expiated his offence. One spring morning, while Peter was hired to her son, she mounted one of her carriage horses, a large bay, and rode to the field. She had, the day before, whipped a large, powerful negro, and on this morning she started with her rope and cowhide, intending to in- flict the same punishment upon another who had incurred her wrath. But when she had nearly reached the spot where her people were at work, her horse took fright, and springing aside, threw her to the ground. The slaves hastened to her assistance. They bore her home, and a doctor was soon summoned. Her hip THE PLANTATION "BROKEN UP." " 159 was badly injured, and it was a long time before she recovered. Ever after, she used a crutch, and dragged one foot after her when she walked. Her good right arm, however, was not weakened, as the scarred backs of many of her slaves could testify. This may be regarded as an extraordinary instance of female "chivalry," but in truth, similar cases are not rare. Frail, delicate ladies, whom one would in- stinctively shield from a rude breath of the free air, can strip and tie their slaves, both men and women, and beat them with the zest of a base-born overseer.* During the summer which Peter spent at Mr. Threat's — 1840 — the well remembered political excite- ment of " Tippecanoe and Tyler too," spread through that vicinity. A Convention was held at Tuscumbia, and party men on both sides were loud in the defence of the liberties of their country. Speeches were made, songs were sung; and each busy patriot seemed to imagine himself destined to save the nation from mis- rule and consequent destruction. The excitement was contagious. Ladies' fair hands embroidered banners, and their soft voices joined in the exciting songs of the times. The slaves could not remain uninterested listeners to the conversations concerning liberty that were held everywhere — at the dinner-table, and on the street. They interpreted literally the language of their masters, and in their simple hearts imagined that the dawn of libertv had come. What else could it mean ? The white people were already free; and if liberty was to * In making this assertion, the writer relies not wholly upon in- formation derived from Peter, but speaks also from personal knowledge. 160 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. become universal — and people on each side declared it would become so, if their party should succeed in the election — then the " black folks " would enjoy its blessings, "sure." On Sundays the slaves from "town" met their plantation friends at their fish-traps on the river, and there the joyful news was communicated — in whispers at first — but as they became more certain that their hopes were well-grounded, they gradually grew bolder, till at length they dared to discuss the subject in their religious meetings. The preachers were inspired by this bright hope of freedom, and as it grew nearer its imagined fulfilment they preached it to their people with thrilling eloquence. " 'Taint no dream, nor no joke," cried one of these ; "de time's a'most yer. Der won't be no mo' whippin', no mo' oversee's, no mo' patrollers, no mo' huntin' wid dogs ; everybody's a gwine to be free, and de white mass'r's a gwine to pay 'em for der work. 0, my brudders ! de bressed time's a knockin' at de door ! De good Lord '11 ramshackle de devil, and all de people in dis yer world, bof white and black, is a gwine to live togedder in peace." Alas ! their bright visions were speedily shadowed. Their masters learned the subject of their earnest dis- cussions, and then a system of espionage was estab- lished, which pursued its objects with a vindictive energy worthy of the best days of the Inquisition. The black preachers were silenced ; all assembling of the slaves forbidden ; and patrols established through all the country. Every negro encountered by the patrols was whipped, if he had no pass ; and even that important slip of paper often lost its magic, if the THE PLANTATION BROKEN UP. 161 bearer chanced to have the reputation of being a man of spirit. A panic pervaded the whole community. "The negroes intend to rise," was whispered with white lips by timid ladies in their morning visits ; and every sigh of the night- wind through the lofty trees was inter- preted by the fearful into the rush of black assassins. Old stories of negro insurrections were revived, and the most faithful and attached servants became objects of suspicion. This excitement, however, like that to which it owed its origin, at length passed away. The few old privi- leges were restored to the slaves, and the services of the patrols were no longer in constant requisition. Yet the confidence of the slaveholder is always imperfect, and easily shaken. When injustice constitutes the base of the system, how can faith adorn the super- structure ? Some of the better class of servants about Tuscum- bia have not to this clay recovered from the effects of the suspicions which they then incurred. Many, in their joyful excitement, had run after the wagons that bore in procession the log cabin with its admirers, and cried, " The year of jubilee is come ! We all's a gwine to be free I" These were almost crushed by the dis- appointment, and by the sufferings consequent on too frank an expression of their hopes. They were scourged and persecuted in a manner befitting the nature of their offence. Toward the close of 1840, Peter was hired for the ensuing year to Mr. McKiernan. To this he was greatly opposed, even though he would by such an arrangement be able daily to enjoy the society of his 162 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. family. He loved his wife and children most fondly, but their master had long sought to buy him, and Peter feared that if he went there, he might succeed in accomplishing his wish. The idea of becoming the property of such a man was dreadful to him, and this fear shadowed the otherwise bright prospect of living constantly with his beloved Vina. Yet he carefully concealed his feelings on the subject from any that would report them to Mr. McKiernan. His wife was in the tyrant's power, and he dared not offend him. CHAPTER XXI. BABY LIFE IN THE CABINS. We left Vina at the landing straining her weeping eyes to retain the images of the flat-boats that were bearing the goods of Mr. Peoples down the river. Long she stood gazing there ; even till the last faint ontline of a boat was lost, and then with swollen eyes and aching heart she returned to her cabin. She had then two children. Peter, the eldest was a little more than three years old, and Levin, who was born on the twenty -fourth of June previous, had seen about six months. They were L peart,' healthy little fellows, and they received much better care than is usually bestowed upon the children of a field woman. At that time there was no old woman on the place to take care of the children ; and every mother, when she went to the field in the morning, locked her little ones in her cabin, leaving some bread where they could get it when they became hungry. Or, if there was one too small to hplp itself to bread, the thought- ful mother tied a little mush in a rag upon its finger, so that when, as babies will, it thrust its finger in its mouth, it could suck the mush through the rag, and that would keep it quiet. Sometimes, when the day was very hot, the mothers [16?] 164 THE KIDNAPPED AND TIIE RANSOMED. left their cabin doors open, that the little ones might have air. Then those that were able would creep out over the low threshold, and perhaps fall asleep on the hot ground. " Many's the time," says Vina, " I come home and find my baby sleepin' with the sun a beatin' on its head, enough, 'peared like, to addle its brains." Yery few infants lived on this plantation. The mothers were obliged to work so hard before their birth, and so often suffered cruel beatings while in a situation that required the utmost kindness, that most of the children, if born alive, died in spasms when a few days old. When Yina's children were small, not an article of clothing was provided for them by the master, till they were old enough to be employed in some light work about the house. Their mother might manage to clothe them, or let them go naked. But for the last few years, they have lost so many in consequence of the total lack of necessaries, that now they give each mother clothing for her child. But if the baby dies, every little garment must be carried back to the mis- tress, not even excepting a covering for the tiny corpse. If the mother cannot provide something to shroud her baby, she may have it buried without. Those clothes must be laid by for some future necessity. In 1831, October twenty-fifth, another little voice was heard in Yina's cabin, pleading for care. She called the baby William, and he was a fine brave boy. His little brothers gave him a joyous welcome, and so did his fond parents ; though, in truth, they scarcely knew how they were to supply his baby wants. " But 'pears like," says the mother, "every baby I had I BABY-LIFE IN THE CABINS. 165 growed smarter, so 't wlien I had three, I tuck just as good care of 'em all as I did of the first one." When little William was a few months old, a child belonging to a woman named Ann, was burned to death while its mother was away in the field at work. It was winter, and the mother, as was necessary at that season, had built sufficient fire to keep her half-naked children comfortable ; and then, locking her door, had left them to amuse themselves during her absence. When she came in, her child was lying lifeless upon the clay hearth.. It had crept too near the pretty blaze, and had probably fallen on the burning coals. The burning of Ann's child brought about a new order of things on the plantation. Thereafter, every mother was required to leave her little children at the kitchen when she went to the field, and then the cook could mind them. One morning, not long after this law was made, Vina was "pushed" to get out in time. She had slept but little during the night, and she did not wake as early as usual. So she thought she would leave the children in the cabin till she came in to nurse her baby, and then she would carry them to the kitchen. The other little ones were crowing and crying about when the mistress's eye missed Vina's. She counted them all over. " Where are Yina's children ?" " She never brought 'em dis mornin', ma'am." "Well, I'll settle with her when she comes. I've told them all not to leave their children at home — they don't care whether they're burnt up or not." When Vina came at breakfast time to her cabin, (all but the mothers of young children ate their breakfast 166 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. before they went out) she took her three little ones to the kitchen, and sat down there to nurse the baby Soon the mistress came in, holding the cowhide partly behind her. " How's this, Vina?" said she, "I thought I told you that you was n't to leave your children in your house of a morning." " Well, Missus, I's pushed this mornin'. I had n't time " " I don't care how much you was pushed. I told you to bring them here ; and if the sun was an hour high you should obey me. Lay down your child; I'm going to whip you now, for I said I would do it. If your children had got burnt up, you would have blamed me about it." " No, ma'am, I would n't " w Lay your child down. I'll let you know you are to obey me." Yina obeyed; and when her weary shoulders had received twenty hard lashes, she went out to her work. Verily, as a lady in that neighborhood remarked, not long since, to a Northern friend: " The negroes ought to be very thankful to us for talcing care of them : they make us a great deal of trouble" CHAPTER XXII. FACTS. Among the slaves on Mr. McKiernan's plantation were a number of handsome women. Of these the master was extremely fond, and many of them he be- guiled with vile flatteries, and cheated by false prom- ises of future kindness, till they became victims to his unbridled passions. Upon these unfortunate women fell the heavy hatred of their mistress ; and year after year, as new instances of her husband's perfidy came to her knowledge, her jealousy ran higher, till at length reason seemed ban- ished from her mind, and kindliness became a stranger to her heart. Then she sought a solace in the wine- cup ; and the demon of intoxication fanned the fires of hatred that burned within her, till they consumed all that was womanly in her nature, and rendered her an object of contempt and ridicule, even among her own dependents. The master was, at the time of which we are writing, not far from fifty years of age. He was short and burly in person, with a large head, and a very red face. His hair was quite grey, and as he walked towards the quarter in the morning with his hat on one side, cursing and spitting with equal zeal, he [167] 16S THE KIDNAPPED AND THE KANSOMED. looked, as some of his slaves remarked, "like a big buz- zard just ready to fly." Yina thoroughly understood her master's character ; she knew also the temper of her mistress; and she strove by her prudence and correctness of demeanor, to avoid exciting the evil passions of either. But one day, when William was a baby, her trial came. The following is her own account of her contest with her master, and it shows that she possessed a brave, true spirit : "I was in my house a spinnin' one rainy day, and firs' I knowed, Mass'r he come to the door, and ax me what was I doin'. I told him I's a spinnin' fine yarn. 1 Who's thar with you ?' says he, ' Thar aint no per- son yer but my chillerns,' says I; and so he come in and sent Peter and Levin out. I knowed what was a comin' then, for his eyes looked mighty mean. " He sot down and talked till I got tired a hearin', and I told him I wished he'd go 'way and leave me alone. I told him he got a wife o' his own, and I didn't never want no fuss with her. Well, he 'lowed she wouldn't never know nothin' about it, no how, so it wouldn't do her no hurt. "I told him that thar wasn't my principle, to wrong any person behind their back, thinkin' they wouldn't know it. I wouldn't like any body should do me so. At las' I told him I got a task to do, and if he wouldn't go off, and let me do it, I'd go myself; so I started for the door. "He sprung after me, and cotch me by the neck of my coat, and tore it half way down the skirt behind. That made me mad, and I fell at him, and tore hia FACTS. 169 shirt mighty nigh off his back. I pulled his hair too, right smart, and scratched his face, and then tripped and flung him on the floor. " He was powerful mad when he got up, and he say he gwine whip me well for that. I told him just so sure as he give me a lick, I'd tell Missus what it's for ; and he knowed he never'd git no chance to whip me 'bout my work, so he neeedn't make no such pretence. ' You tell her one word,' says he, 'bout this yer, and I'll cut your two ears off close to your head I' 'Wo, sir, you wont,' says I, 'you know you dares not crap one o' your servants.' " Then he went up to the house, and slipped in sly, and put on a clean shirt. But that thar raggety one never was seen. His wife missed it, though, for she knowed he put on a clean shirt that day. She axed all the house servants had they seen it, but none of 'em didn't know nuthin' 'bout it. Then she 'lowed some of 'em done stole it, and she laid it to Jinny, — she was cook then. She 'lowed she done give it to Jacob her husband. They both 'clared they's inno- cent ; but the missus and the overseer give 'em more'n three hundred lashes to make 'em own they got it. 11 ' One of your best shirts is gone,' says she to the Mass'r, ' and I'm determined to whip the servants till I make them tell where it is. I've had Jinny and Jacob whipped well, but they wont own any thing about it. I shall have to try the others.' "'Jinny,' says Mass'r, 'what about that shirt of mine ? " ' Missus has whipped me 'bout that shirt, sir,' says Jinny, ' an' I don't know no more 'bout whar it is an' you does yourself.' 8 110 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. " ' Well, go 'long,' says lie, 'but mind, Jinny, you've got that to find.' " All the house servants got whipped 'bout it, but none of 'em didn't take so much as Jinny ; and they had every house in the quarter searched. There was more'n five hundred blows struck 'bout that shirt, and they never found no sign of it. " Two or three weeks after, old Mass'r come into the field to whar we's plowin' ! He tried some o' the other women's ploughs, and then he come to me. ' Well, girl,' says he, 'how does your plough run ?" " ' Oh ! it runs well enough,' says I. " ' Let me try it,' says he. '"I don't want nobody a holdin' my plough', says I. " ' The devil you don't V I see he's gittin' mad ; so I stepped back and drapped the line. He cotch it, and ploughed a few rods. ' What you think now,' says he 'of a servant fightin' her master?' " ' What you think, sir, 'bout a Mass'r doin' his servants that way ?' says I. ' You see 'em misbehave with any body else, and you'd whip 'em sure I" " ' Yes, but Fm your master.' 1 " ' That don't make no difference to me, sir,' says I. ' How could you see your poor house servants cut up so 'bout that shirt, and you knowin' whar it was all the time? I b'iieve I'll go up this very night, and tell 'em all about it.' « This letter was soon circulated among those friends who had become interested in accomplishing the re-union of the fanuly, and so enormous was the price demanded for the slaves that few persons deemed it possible for •feter to procure the means to ransom them. But his 316 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. courage did not falter.. He could not live in freedom, surrounded by his friends, and supplied with every comfort, and yet make no effort to redeem those he loved far better than life, or even liberty, from the cruel bondage which they endured. But for a time he hesi- tated as to the means that would be safest and most speedy in effecting his purpose. Give it up, he would not — that was settled. He thought of going from place to place to solicit aid, but then he was unknown, and even the benevo- lent in heart would hesitate to contribute towards so large a sum, while they were unacquainted with his previous character. It would be useless to write to any of his old friends in Tuscumbia for testimonials concerning the uprightness of his former life — for there he was believed to have originated the plan of running off his family, and he knew that notwithstanding all his years of honest, patient, persevering toil he was now branded as a riegro thief. After pondering the subject for some weeks, he bethought him that after all, he misrht have a friend in "the North" who had known his character. He re- membered that one of the young ladies, who had taught in the Seminary at Tuscumbia, returned home about the time he finished paying for himself; and he resolved, if possible, to ascertain her residence. He had heard the teachers, in conversation with each other, mention New York and Syracuse, and he believed the latter place had been their home. Yet he had no cer- tain knowledge, for he had cautiously refrained from asking any questions about the North, lest he should be suspected of undue curiosity respecting the dwelling of the Free. He soon communicated to his friends PETER PLANS TO REDEEM HIS FAMILY. 317 his hope of obtaining some testimonials of good charac- ter from these ladies, if they could be found, and a letter of inquiry concerning them was immediately written by Mr. McKim, of Philadelphia, to Eev. S. J. May, of Syracuse. This letter was promptly answered, but from some unknown cause the reply was not received by Peter. So he quietly continued at his service, performing his regular duties to the satisfaction of his mistress, though all the while his mind was racked by alternate hopes and fears. Thus passed the winter of 1851—2 ; but in the spring his anxiety to do something for his family became so intense that he resolved to go out and try his success in collecting funds for their ransom. He acquainted Mrs. Buckman with this design, but, just after she had engaged another servant to take his place, an incident occurred which revived his hope of finding yet a friend. He heard a gentleman who was visiting at the house speak of his home in Syracuse, and he took an opportunity to inquire of him if he had ever known the ladies of whom he was so anxious to hear. To his great joy Mr. knew them both, and informed him that although one of them still remained in the South, the other had returned, was married, and resided a few miles from Syracuse. This cheering news Peter communicated to his mis- tress, who, at his request, wrote for him to his friend. He now determined to remain in Burlington until he should receive an answer to this letter, and accordingly, he entered the service of Judge Boudinot, one of the principal citizens of that place. About this time the idea occurred to him, that, per- 318 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. haps, it would be best to buy bis wife and daugbter first, and afterwards to try to raise a sum sufficient to purcbase tbe two boys. He determined at least to learn wbat chance of success be would bave in case be sbould obtain tbe means to do tbis ; and for assistance in making tbis inquiry, be applied to Dr. Ely, of Med- ford, K. J., wbo wrote for bim a second letter to Mr. Tbornton of Tuscumbia. To tbis came in due time tbe following answer : " Tuscumbia, Ala., August 19th, 1852. "E N. Ely — Dear Sir — Your letter bas remained unanswered for so long because I bave not been able to bave an interview witb Mr. McKiernan on tbe sub- ject about wbicb you wrote. I bave just seen bim. He says be will not separate tbe family of negroes, and tbe lowest price be will take under any circumstances is $5,000 ; and if tbat is placed in my bands, or witb any responsible persons for bim, be will let tbe ne- groes go. " I would like Peter to get bis wife and family, and think tbis amount a bigb price : but it is tbe lowest, I know. Yery respectfully, Lewis B. Thornton." Tbe letter written by Mrs. Buckman failed to reacb its destination ; and after remaining in Judge Boudi- not's service for five montbs, Peter resolved to go him- self to Syracuse, and find bis friend, if indeed be bad one in tbat vicinity. If be accomplished tbis, be would then try bis success in collecting money. He bad already saved from bis wages since be bad been in Burlington, one hundred dollars, wbicb he determined should be the first contribution towards the $5,000. CHAPTER XXXIV. "HOW DID HE GET THE MONEY?" Peter received from his friends at parting but small encouragement to hope. The sum required was so enormous, and the idea o^ paying gold to him who had already robbed them of the earnings of long years was so repugnant to the feelings of the best men, that it seemed almost useless to attempt to raise the money. A few days before he started, his brother William said to him, " You ought not to feel so uneasy — so perfectly restless because your family are slaves. There are thousands of people as good as they who are in the same condition. * Do you see that woman across the street? She is just as good as you are, and she has a mother and sisters in slavery. You cannot expect people to give you five thousand dollars to buy your family, when so many others, equally deserving, are just as badly off." " Look here," replied Peter, " I know a heap of men, as good, and as smart as I am, that are slaves now; but — Tve bought my liberty, and my family shall be free.''' 1 On the eighth of November, 1852, he left Burling- ton on his travels, carrying with him the kindest wishes of all who knew him, and also the following [319] 320 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. certificates from those whom lie had served in that city. " Burlington, November 6, 1852. " Peter Still (a colored man), has lived in my employ for some months past, but I have known him for two years. " It affords me much pleasure in being able to re- commend him, as an honest, sober, industrious and capable man, perfectly trustworthy and ever willing to make himself generally useful, either about the house or stable. I part with him reluctantly ; he leaves me, to make an effort to redeem his wife and children from slavery. "E. E. Boudinot." " The above named Peter Still, was in my employ ten months, during which time he fully sustained the character given him by Mr. Boudinot. It gives me pleasure to add my name to this recommendation. "Mary A. Buckman." " Judge Boudinot is one of our principal citizens, and I have entire confidence in his recommendation of Peter Still. " CORTLANDT VAN EENSSELAER. " Burlington, N. J., Nov. 6, 1852." Peter went first to Brooklyn, where he visited his brother John, who by his advice and sympathy did much to cheer him on his way. "Now, Peter," said he, " you can call on me at any time for fifty or a hundred dollars, and whenever you need clothes, or anything else that I can furnish you, just let me know. "HOW DID HE GET THE MONEY?" 321 And be careful whom you trust. You will find plenty of friends, if it is known you have a little money. Be careful, and watch well for rogues. On the sixteenth of November, he reached Syra- cuse, and delivered a letter of introduction and recom- mendation from Mr. McKim, of Philadelphia, to Rev. Mr. May. This lover of humanity listened with great interest to his thrilling story, examined his papers, which gave ample testimony to the integrity of his character, as well as to the truthfulness of his tale ; and the next day sent him to the residence of the friend whom he had come to seek — the writer of this narrative. Here he remained until the nine- teenth, when, with a letter to Mr. May, corroborating such facts in his statement as had come to her know- ledge, and certifying to his character for truthfulness and industry while a slave, he returned to Syracuse. He was now thoroughly furnished for his arduous undertaking ; and with letters of introduction from Mr. May to various co-laborers in the work of benevo- lence, he left Syracuse, and journeyed westward. His first stop was at Auburn, where a letter from Mr. May, together with his other papers, and above all, his modest earnestness of manner, won him a favorable reception. He visited first the clergymen of the differ- ent churches, to some of whom he brought letters; and they commended him to the charity of their people. Here, in Eev. Mr. Millard's church, on Sun- day evening, he appeared for the first time before the public. "I was mighty skeered," said he, "when Mr. Millard took me with him into the pulpit, and told me I must stand up, myself, and tell my story to the people. 'Peared like I could n't stand, no how ; but I 14* 322 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. said a few words, and Mr. Millard, lie helped me out ; so I got along mighty well." He remained a week in Auburn, and received while there fifty dollars. This success encouraged him, and he went on to Rochester, stopping by the way at Waterloo, where also he received some assistance. At Rochester he staid two or three weeks, and was kindly entertained at the houses of worthy citizens, and about the middle of December he returned to Syracuse with two hundred dollars. This, Mr. May deposited for him in the bank, and giving him letters to Messrs. William Lloyd Garrison, Theodore Parker, T. Starr King, and others, in Boston, bade him hasten thither, in order to be there before the Holidays. As soon as he had delivered his letters of introduc- tion from Mr. May, in Boston, he sought Andover, for the purpose of visiting the Author of " Uncle Tom's .Cabin," to whom also he had a letter of recommenda- tion. Mrs. Stowe received him cordially, and after heading his subscription list in Andover, gave him the following brief letter, which, he says " helped him mightily" " Having examined the claims of this unfortunate man, I am satisfied that his is a case that calls for com- passion and aid. " Though the sum demanded is so large as to look hopeless, yet if every man who is so happy as to be free, and have his own wife and children for his own, would give even a small amount, the sum might soon be raised. " As ye would that men should do for you — do ye even so for them. H. B. Stowe." "how did he get the money?" 323 A contribution was also taken for him at the Free Church in Andover, and during his stay in that town he received about forty dollars. On his return to Boston, he presented the following letter, which he had brought from Burlington, to Kev. John P. Eobinson. " Burlington, N". J., Oct. 5, 1852. " Dear Cousin John :— Peter Still, who carries this note, is one of the most estimable of men. He wishes to have access to the great hearts of some of the good people of your city, who have great purses. " Please get from him his history, and his object, and direct him what to do. His integrity may be re- lied on. " Affectionately, " Joseph Parrish." " The above letter is from Dr. Joseph Parrish, a dis- tinguished physician of New Jersey, and well known by his profession in Boston. " John P. Eobinson. " Boston, January 3, 1853." A day or two later, the following notice appeared in one of the morning papers, which has been copied in the papers of almost every New England town which Peter afterwards visited : " Boston, January 3, 1853. " The bearer, Peter Still, was kidnapped in early childhood, on the borders of Delaware river, in New Jersey, and carried thence to Kentucky, and subse- quently to Alabama. After being held in slavery 324 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. more than forty years, he succeeded in purchasing his freedom ; and being obliged, consequently, by the laws of Alabama, to leave that State, he came North to Philadelphia, where, by a strange coincidence, he be- came acquainted with his brother and family, from which he had been so long severed. He has left a wife and three children in Alabama, whom he naturally and ardently desires to bring into freedom, and have with him at the North. For this purpose he now ap- peals to the sympathy of the benevolent for such pecu- niary aid as they may be disposed to give him. " We, the undersigned, have carefully examined his letters and papers, and have obtained knowledge of him. From this examination, we are satisfied that his story is true in all its particulars ; that he is himself a worthy and virtuous man, whose extraordinary history gives him a strong and peculiar claim upon the public sympathy and aid. " Any contributions for the object above named may be forwarded to any of us. " S. K. Lothrop, " Ellis Geay Loping, " Ephraim Peabody, " wm. j. bowditch, u j. i. bowditch, " John P. Eobinson, "Thos. Starr Kino." In Boston and neighboring towns he remained till the last of March, when, having deposited four hundred and sixty dollars in the hands of Ellis Gray Loring, Esq., who kindly acted as his treasurer, he received numerous letters of recommendation from gentlemen "how did he get the money?" 325 of distinction here, and went to Portland, Me. The following will serve to illustrate the spirit cherished by these noble sons of New England towards the dark- hued victim of oppression. Among his papers are many others which breathe the same tender sympathy the same warm human love. " Boston, March 28th, 1853. " I desire to certify that I am acquainted with Mr. Peter Still, have examined all his papers, and am entirely satisfied with the truthfulness of his story and the worthiness of his claims upon the sympathy and beneficence of the community. It does not seem possi- ble that any further commendation of a Christian brother's appeal to the charity of men should be needed than the fact that he desires to be the owner of his own wife and family. So far as any words of mine can help him, I most cordially recommend him to the favorable consideration of the humane. " T. S. King." At Portland Peter's subscription list was headed by Hon. Neal Dow ; and during the eight days he spent in that city, he received one hundred dollars. Thence he proceeded to Brunswick, Bath, Saco, Biddeford ; Portsmouth, K H.; Hampton, Newburyport and Gar- retson Station ; and on his return to Boston, about the last of May, he deposited four hundred and ninety dollars in the hands of Mr. Loring; making in all nine hundred and fifty dollars which he had received during the five months he had spent in New England. He now decided to return to New Jersey and to visit Philadelphia for the purpose of further conference 326 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. with his friends. As he passed through New York, on his way thither, he presented a letter to Thomas Foulcke of that city, from Dr. Parrish of Burlington, and though he staid but a short time, a few friends there presented him seventy -five dollars. At Burlington he allowed himself a few days rest. He had been absent seven months, and had visited more than twenty different towns. His mind had been constantly excited — the theme of his discourse wherever he went, was the liberation of his family. He had no doubts concerning the result. When asked what he would do with the money he had gained, if after all, he failed to accomplish his object, his reply was, " Tears like the Lord wont let me fail." Such was his simple, earnest faith, and to this his actions corresponded. His dress was neat, but strictly eco- nomical, and though he was not mean, yet every dol- lar he received was precious. Notwithstanding his success thus far, his friends in New Jersey and Philadelphia had no confidence in his being able to raise the whole sum demanded by the tyrant ; and Mr. Dillwyn Smith, of Burlington, who from the first, had taken much interest in his case, wrote for him to his former mistress, Mrs. Hogun, of Alabama, to solicit her influence with Mr. McKiernan, in the hope of procuring some abatement of the price. For two weeks Peter waited there for an answer to this letter, but none arriving, he grew impatient to proceed with his great work ; and once more bidding adieu to his kind friends, who had, during his stay, presented him forty-five dollars, he left them and went again to Brooklyn. There he spent the fourth of July with his brother "how did he get the moxey?" 327 John, and then he went to Syracuse, where, in a few days, he received one hundred and twenty -five dollars. Thence he went to Peterboro', and spent a night at the home of Gerritt Smith. He had frequently heard, since he had been free, of the great wealth of this dis- tinguished friend of Man, and he had expected to find him inhabiting a princely dwelling, abounding in all the luxuries that gold can buy. But to his astonish- ment, his residence was a plain and quiet home, and his manners and style of living entirely free from pcmp and ostentation. Mr. Smith gave him the following letter, together with a generous sum for the furtherance of his all-engrossing object. " I am, and have long been deeply interested in the case of the bearer, Peter Still. I hope he may meet with generous friends wherever he shall go. "Gerkitt Smith. " Peterboro, July 27, 1853." Peter now returned to Boston, arriving there the last of July, and on the third of August, he was in New Bedford. Here he remained till the twelfth, when he returned to Boston with one hundred and fifteen dollars, which he deposited in the hands of Mr. Lor- ing. Next he visited Lowell, whence he returned on the second of September, with one hundred and eighty- five dollars. This also he placed in the care of his kind treasurer. Somerville gave him thirty-six dollars, Cambridge nineteen, and next he found himself at Worcester, where soon after his arrival the following notice appeared in the " Spy." 328 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. " "Worcester, September 8, 1853. " We would take this method of commending to the attention of all Christians and friends of humanity, the bearer, Peter Still. We heard his story, and examined his letters of introduction when he first came to Boston, in December last, and are satisfied of his worthiness to be encouraged and helped as he needs. He has been welcomed to many hearts in New England, and he will be to many more. All ye who can, give him aid and comfort. "J. G-. Adams. " A. Hill. " Edward E. Hale." In Worcester he remained about two weeks, and then once more returned to Boston with one hundred and seventy-five dollars. Next he journeyed southward ; visited Plymouth, Kingston, and Fall Kiver, and in every town found friends ready and willing to aid him in his work. From Fall Kiver, Rev. Asa Bronson commended him in the following letter to Providence, to which place he immediately repaired : " To the disciples of Christ and the friends of humanity in Providence. R. I. " I have carefully examined the various letters and documents of Peter Still, and I fully believe that he is entitled to the entire confidence, cordial sympathy, and generous aid of the Christian public. We have as- sisted him in Fall River and vicinity to the amount of about $200. ti HOW DID HE GET THE MONEY?" 329 " Help him if you can. < He that hath pity on the poor, lendeth to the Lord.' " With due respect, " Yours, "Asa Bkonsost. " FaJl Eiver, October 26th, 1853." In Providence, Peter remained during the month of November, and on looking at his book, in which were registered the gifts he there received, we find that one hundred and forty separate individuals contributed to his aid. Besides what he then personally received, collections were taken up for him in four churches in the city on the seventh of November. In Worcester, one hundred and fifty-four individuals contributed' and when we consider that to most of these persons, he of course repeated a sketch of his history, we cannot but wonder that his energies flagged not. We must, at least, admire his industry. He received in Providence two hundred and fifty dollars ; and then after making a short visit at Woburn, he returned to Boston, having gathered during the ten weeks he had been absent, six hundred and thirty dollars. Here he remained, visiting occasionally at Eoxbury, Charlestown, Cambridge, and other neigh- boring towns, until about the middle of January, when, placing in the hands of his treasurer two hundred dollars more, which he had gathered since his return from Providence, he started homeward. On the twentieth of January, we again find him in New York. He brought from a kind friend in Salem the following letter, which he immediately presented : 330 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. " Salem, First Month 12th, 1854. " My dear friend: I take the liberty of giving the bearer, Peter Still, a letter to thee. He is the colored man, whose story I partly related to thee in Boston. "I think there is that in his story that verifies the proverb, that 'truth is stranger than fiction.' "I do not doubt the truthfulness of Peter, and he can tell thee his own story, which unfolds a phase in the history of slavery strongly illustrative of its evils, its oppressions, its injustice, and its opposition to all that is good, and kind, and Christian. "I have ventured to tell Peter that I think he will find sympathizing friends in New York, and among them the kind friend I now address. " Thy sincere friend, " Stephen A. Chase. " Robert J. Murray." This kind friend was right. Peter found sympathiz- ing friends in New York, and before the middle of February he had received in that cit}^ and Brooklyn $1,146 45. He then went on to Burlington, and in that city and its neighborhood, he remained until May. His heart now beat high with the hope of a speedy reunion with his loved ones ; and even those among his friends who, at first had been furthest from uttering words of vain encouragement, now cheered him on. They looked upon him with wonder. All unlettered as he was — but four years out of slavery — they could hardly credit his strange success, while hearing from his own lips the story of his travels. "how did he get the money?" 331 Peter was not spoiled by his good fortune, and never presumed upon the indulgence of his benefactors. Everywhere his manners were the same— modest and respectful, yet full of earnest dignity— the result of virtuous self-respect. " In every place I go," said he, "I aim to associate with the' best people. I never knowed nothing gained by going into low company." And he was right. The best men in every place he visited opened wide their doors at his coming ; and at their tables, notwithstanding the prejudice — once well- nigh universal — against color, he was a welcome guest. Early in May, he again departed on his travels ; and earnestly did he hope that this tour would be the last, before he should be ready to start in another direction — to meet those for whose ransom he had become a wanderer. He went directly to New York, where he received the following letter from the senior editor of the Tribune, which he hastened to deliver in Albany. " New York, May 10, 1854. 11 My Old Friend : Peter Still, who will hand you this, was born free in New Jersey ; kidnapped thence when six years old, with his brother, two years older, and sold into slavery ; served forty years in Alabama ; finally bought himself free, leaving his wife and three children in the hands of the scoundrels who had robbed him of forty years' work; and he is now begging money to buy them out of bondage. His chivalrous robber only asks him $5000 for his own wife and children. It is robbery to pay it, but inhu- manity to refuse ; and, as the time has not yet arrived for paying such villains with lead and steel, rather 332 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. than gold, I wish you could help him raise a part of the money among those you know. " Yours, "Horace Greeley. 11 George Dawson, Esq., " Albany Evening Journal Office." Here, too, Peter found friends. Thurlow Weed, after contributing generously to his aid, gave him a letter expressive of his confidence in the integrity of his character, and, during the few days which he spent in the Dutch Capital, he received seventy-five dollars. Thence he went to Pittsfield, Mass., where he re- ceived one hundred and five dollars, and then, without loss of time, he journeyed on to Springfield. Here one hundred dollars was added to his fund, and on the twenty-second day of June, we find him at New Haven. Soon after his arrival here, he waited on Rev. Leon- ard Bacon, to whom he brought a letter of introduc- tion. Mr. Bacon examined all his papers, and imme- diately entered with great zeal into the work of aiding his endeavors. He gave him the following letter of recommendation to his townsmen ; and in divers ways, proved himself one of that noble band who delight in works of mercy for the mercy's sake. " The case of this poor man, Peter Still, is a hard one. Kidnapped in his youth, and by unlegalized fraud and violence reduced to slavery, he has borne the yoke for many years with exemplary patience. He became a husband, in the sense in which a slave can be a hus- band ; and children — his by the law of nature and of "how did he get the money?" 833 God, "but another man's property by the atrocious laws of Alabama — were born to him in the house of bond- age. At last he became free by the consent of his owner. He purchased his freedom by the slow accumulation of what he could earn when all the ser- vice exacted by an absolute master, from day to da} r , had been performed. His wife and three children at- tempted to escape from slavery, and were re-captured. Meanwhile, he himself, returning to the region in which he was born, has found his yet surviving mother and his numerous brothers and sisters, who are living in and near Philadelphia. He has also found friends and benefactors, as he has travelled from place to place, in the enterprise of collecting the exorbitant sum which is demanded for the liberty of his wife and children. " I have examined his papers and am convinced of their authenticity, and of his entire honesty and re- liableness. The letter from the legal owner of his wife and children is especially worth studying. "Leonard Bacon. " New Haven, 23d June, 1854." In New Haven, Peter remained until about the middle of July ; and we find, by referring to his re- gistry, that he received donations in that city from more than two hundred and fifty persons. In the list of his benefactors — Heaven bless them all— we find "Carpenter's Millinery Help''' "Ladies in Shirt Fac- tory" " Workmen in Clock Factory" " Young Ladies of Miss Dutton's School" " Lancastrian School" "Ladies of the Rubber Factory" and " Pupils of Webster High School" We also find one contribution set down as — "Money Lent." Yea, verily, "He that hath pity mi the 33-i THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 'poor lendeth to the Lord ; that which he hath given ivill he pay him again." In the same long list we see "Anti-Abolition" and then, "i Slaveholder" and again, " A Slaveholder patterning after Abolitionists" After receiving three hnndred dollars in ISTew Haven, onr traveller went up to Hartford, and there, also, he received three hundred dollars. Thence, with a grateful heart, he went to Wethersfield, where he re- mained three days, and collected twenty-one dollars. August seventh, we find him at Midclletown, Ct., where in one week, he received one hundred and twenty-six dollars. While in Middletown he encountered a lady who in consequence of marrying a Northern man, had been transplanted there from South Carolina. She assured Peter that the slaves were far better off than free ne- groes. "Indeed, I know all about it," said she, "for my mother owns plenty of them, and not one of them is obliged to work so hard as I do myself. Here the free negroes are begging around, many of them half- starved, and some of them stealing and going to prison." "Yes, ma'am," answered Peter, "they do that, both white and colored. It is not the colored people alone that beg and steal ; and I have been told that there are more white people in the prisons than black ones, any how." " Well, that may be, but they are better off in the South, where they are all taken good care of." " So I came away and left her," said Peter, as he related this incident, " but I couldn't help wishin' I knowed whether she'd like to be a happy, well-fed slave herself." The next week he spent in Meriden, where he col- "how did he get the money?" 335 lected eighty dollars ; and August 22d we find him at Bridgeport. Here, also, he found many friends ; though at one house where he called, he met a violent rebuff. The master met him at the door ; and Peter, as was his custom, modestly proffered his request — pre- senting at the same time his papers. The gentleman did not wait to examine these, but proceeded in a loud voice to curse him "mightily." '' I know," cried he, "it's all a d — d lie. There's a parcel always coming round telling their lies. I don't believe one word you say. You ought to be arrested. There's a lazy pack of you that make it a business to go around whining about having families in slavery. It's time it was stopped." So saying, he turned his back upon the the suppliant; and Peter quietly walked down the steps and into the street. On mentioning this incident in town, he learned that this gentleman himself had 'property in slaves. Another slaveholder in the same town he called upon, who received him kindly, and assured him that, though slavery was not so bad after all as he imagined, yet he ivas not to blame for wishing to get his ivife and children. Notwithstanding these slight ripples on the surface of the waters, Peter received in Bridgeport one hun- dred and thirty-six dollars ; and on the fifteenth of September, he had found his way to New London. Here the friends of humanity contributed one hundred and fifteen dollars for his aid ; and the good j^eople of Norwich, whose charity he next besought, gave him one hundred dollars. The first of October found him at Northampton, and though he staid not long, yet those in that town who " had pity on the poor" gave him forty -five dollars. 836 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. Once more Peter directed his steps toward Syra- cuse. How different were the emotions that now swelled his heart from those which dwelt there when he first approached that city, may be inferred from the following extract from a letter written at this time by a friend, who from the first had watched his progress with the deepest interest : "It seemed almost a hopeless undertaking. The idea of raising five thousand dollars, by the simple recital, in his own uncultured words, of his strangely interesting story was certainly not probable ; and, but for the wonderful Providences that had restored him to his mother, and for his earnest faith in the success of his project, it would have seemed like mockery to encourage him to go on. But that simple faith was mighty, and he went out. Wherever he met noble generous natures, there he presented his plea for aid — and not in vain. Many of America's proudest names are enrolled among those who delighted to encourage his true heart by kindly words and generous gifts. The blessing of the All-Merciful rest upon them ! He who has said, ' Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me,' will not forget their labor of love. The $5,000 is ready. It is a great price to pay the mean man, who has appropriated to himself all their past years of hard labor. But they are his property — constitutionally ; and he must be well paid for all the care and watchfulness which he has exercised in their behalf. How long ! Oh ! how long shall such mockery exist ! But little more, we trust, remains for our patient friend to do before he shall have all things arranged "HOW DID HE GET THE MONEY?" 337 for the exit of those loved ones from the house of bondage. There are no doubt kind hearts that will still find pleasure in assisting to raise the sum neces- sary to defray their travelling expenses. " Oh ! that the journey were commenced ! That journey which will end in such a joyful embrace of husband and wife, father and children ; so hopelessly separated — so rapturously met. Beyond the power of the master — far from the sound of the overseer's whip ; free! feee ! and all together ! Heaven speed the hour that shall bring them release ! • In Syracuse he received letters from Eev. Mr. May to Kev. Gk W. Hosmer, Buffalo, also to Eev. Dr. Willis, T. Henning, Esq., and Eev. J. B. Smith, of Toronto, O.W. The eleventh of October saw him in Buffalo, where, through the kind offices of Eev. Dr. Hosmer, and Peter's friend, Mrs. Legrand Marvin, who had known him well during a previous residence of several years in Alabama, he received eighty dollars. On the thir- teenth, he crossed to Toronto — not for the purpose of soliciting funds but merely " to see how his brethren (the fugitives from slavery) prospered," and " to enjoy the pleasures of treading for once upon/ree soil." Here he spent the Sabbath, visited two colored churches, and gratefully received a present of fifteen dollars. The next Sabbath found him at the little village of Camillus, 1ST. Y. Here he had many friends, who had long been watching his career, and praying for his ul- timate success. He had not previously called on them for contributions, but at this time collections were taken up for him in both the churches. " He can suc- 15 338 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. ceed without our aid," said Eev. Mr. Bush, of the Methodist Church, " but we cannot afford to lose this op- portunity" To this sentiment each heart responded. During the day he received sixty-three dollars; and heartfelt prayers were offered for his speedy re-union to those for whose ransom he had so faithfully labored. He now resolved to return to Burlington, and thence to Philadelphia, for the purpose of completing the ar- rangements for the purchase of his family before the coming of winter. Negotiations had been opened, some months before, by Mr. Hallo well, a wealthy mer- chant of Philadelphia, with Mr. John Simpson, of Florence, Ala., who had agreed, as soon as the requi- site funds should be forwarded to him, to buy the family for Peter. Accordingly, soon after Peter's re- turn to Philadelphia, his friends in that cit}^ having contributed the balance of the sum necessary to defray the expenses of their journey, a clerk of the house of Hallowell & Co. was sent to Florence with the money ; and with instructions to receive the family, and to con- duct them to their future home among the free. CHAPTER XXXV. EXPERIENCE OF THE RETURNED FUGITIVES. Before noon on Saturday, the fifth of April, 1851, Vina and her children returned to their deserted cabin. Through what an age of anxiety and suffering had they passed during the three weeks which had elapsed since they forsook the shelter of its lowly roof. Then the hope of liberty had caused their hearts to throb, and their dark eyes to gleam with an unwonted light ; now their hearts were hard, and still in their deep anguish, and a heavy shadow dwelt beneath their downcast e^yelids. The best of the furniture and clothing which they had left, had all been stolen and conveyed away dur- ing their absence, but this they heeded not in their despair. True, many hours of tedious toil, by night, had been required to purchase these few comforts, but now tli at liberty had been rudely snatched from their eager grasp, they had no tears to shed for minor losses. At noon, the people came in from the field. Most of them looked wistfully upon the captured fugitives, and when they said "HowcCij" their voices had a mournful tone. Others, however, were glad they had been brought back, " bekase," they said, " dey's nuthin' [339] 340 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. but niggers, no how, .and dey's allers so mighty good, and never gits de cowhide; now dey'll des find out how good it feels to git a cuttin' up." After dinner, the family were sent out with the other hands to plant cotton. Ah ! their labor just then was greatly needed, and for that reason, probably, the day of vengeance was postponed. They knew it was not forgotten; for dark hints were often uttered in their hearing, and threatening looks were cast upon the runaways. In gloomy silence they pursued their regular labors, till Wednesday morning, when Mr. McKiernan, at- tended by Smith, the overseer, entered the field. Yina knew their errand, and her indignation rose — but she was helpless. She saw them approaching the spot where young Peter was at work, and heard them order him to strip. Poor fellow ! he was wholly in their power, and he obeyed. There stood the mother and counted the two hun- dred heavy lashes that fell upon the naked back of her first-born son. He bore his torture bravely. Not one cry for mercy did he utter ; not one imploring look did he vouchsafe the fiends, who sought to bend his spirit; and not till they had finished, did he speak. " This is the last time," said he then to the overseer, " that you shall ever strike me. I never will be whip- ped again by any man." "Hush your mouth, you d — d rascal," cried his master, "or I'll have as much more put on you." They left the young man, and came to his mother. Smith attempted to tie her. "No, sir," said she, "I don't belong to you, and you aint gwine to whip me. Yer's my mass'r — I belong to him, and he may kill EXPERIENCE OF THE FUGITIVES. 341 me if he want to; but I'm not'gwine let you tie me nor whip me. You don't like me, and I never did like you no how. If my mass'r wants me beat, he must do it hisself." Mr. McKiernan was sitting on his horse, but at this he dismounted, and bade the overseer give him his whip. Smith complied, and the chivalrous master ordered her to take off her coat He then tied her hands, and gave her less than a hundred blows, a slight punishment for a runaway. He did it very gently too, for the skin, though sorely bruised, was not cut by the cowhide. This done, the two worthies repaired to the black- smith's shop, where Levin was at work ; and then his manly form was bared, while the fierce lash of the overseer whizzed through the air as though it loved the sport.* ^ Catharine escaped the cowhide. Her master ques- tioned her minutely concerning her knowledge of the plan of the escape, but she appeared so ignorant that he told the overseer it was not worth while to whip her. " It's that devilish Peter that's been at the bottom of all this," said he, " and I believe the Jew has done the work. There's Catherine, she didn't understand any of their plans; but her mother— d—n her, she's * Neither the stocks nor the runaway's heavy irons were called into requisition, why, we know not, unless their very success in once reaching the Free States warned their master against provok- ing another attempt at flight. The influence of this overseer was also opposed to such exhibitions of barbarity. " Smith," Vina says, « was mons's hard to chillun, and them women whar was afeard of him, but to the rest o' the hands, he was as good as any 0' the overseers." 342 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. got sense enough. It would be just like her to try it again, but she'll never go and leave her daughter. She's always doted on her girl, and I'll be d — d if I blame her, for Catharine is a devilish likely wench. So it's best to keep one of them on the island, I reckon the old woman. She wouldn't be long starting off again d — n her, if she took it into her head. She was always bound to have her own way, though to tell the truth, she r s as clever a woman as ever I owned." The next Sunday, Vina received the order to pre- pare to go to the island. It did not seem to move her. "I don't keer whar they sends me," said she, "any place is better 'n this yer." So with desperate prompt- ness she packed up the few articles necessary to furnish the cabin which she was to inhabit there, and that very day she departed. " I liked stayin' on the island a heap the best," she says, " out o' sight mostly of both mass'r and Missus. Me and them had fell out, and I didn't never want to make friends with 'em no more. I didn't keer about bein' called in every time any person was took sick, and I just determined that if they ever sent for me agin, I wouldn't go without they clriv me like a dog." Of all the beating hearts on the plantation, none thrilled with such a commingling of delight and grief at the return of Vina and her family, as did that of a maiden named Susanna. She was a bright mulatto, the daughter of "Aunt Patsey," who for the last few years, had taken charge of the young children. Susanna was a quiet well- behaved girl, that had been raised on the place, and ever since they were children, young Peter and herself had loved each other. But when his father went away, EXPERIENCE OF THE FUGITIVES. 343 and left to his family the assurance that if he lived they should be free. Peter determined to obey his counsel; and so the union of the devoted pair was postponed for an indefinite period. Now that their great effort to achieve their liberty had failed, the young man's heart would whisper that perhaps his father would consider his request no longer binding. Yet he kept these thoughts hid deep in his own breast, for he saw that in his mother's heart, all hope of freedom was not yet extinct. But the master's watchful eye had long noticed their attachment, and, imagining that if Peter had a wife he would be less likely to run off again, he determined that now they should be married. No favorable oppor- tunity however occurred for him to urge the matter, until the crop was laid by in August ; when, according to his annual custom, he gave his slaves a barbacue. Then he determined that the marriage should take place. The long trench was duly prepared with its bed of glowing coals, over which were roasting numerous pigs and chickens, with the flesh of sheep and oxen in abundance. Peter was aiding in the preparation of the feast, when he was summoned into the presence of his master. " How would you like to marry Susanna, boy ?" " I don't care about marryin' any body now, Sir." " But Susanna says she loves you, and you ought to have her." " No, Sir, I don't care about marryin' without my people's willin'." " It's no matter about your mother, boy, I give you 344 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. leave, and you needn't ask her anything about it. Go and dress yourself." "I've got nothin' to dress in." "Well, go and put on clean clothes, any how, and then come back to me." Peter went to his mother's cabin. For a time he hesitated, but his master's command was absolute, and he had bid him hasten. His long-years' love for Susanna was not silent, but that voice he knew how to quell at duty's bidding. His mother, he could not bear to vex her. Half undecided what course would be the wisest, he dressed mechanically in clean working-clothes. (He had a suit of Sunday clothes which he had bought himself, but these he would not wear to please his master) His toilette completed, he sat down again to think. He could not long defer his decision, for his master would be as angry at his delay, as if he should refuse obedience to his orders; so at last, scarcely know- ing whether he was doing right or wrong, he left the cabin, and approached the spot where he had left McKiernan. Susanna, having previously received an order from her master to dress and come to him, was already there. One of their fellow-slaves, a preacher, named "William Handy was now called to marry them ; and in a few minutes they were marching around the field at the head of a troop of their young companions, who with gay songs and merry laughter were celebrating the marriage of their friends. Vina soon heard what had occurred ; but she was one of the cooks, and she continued quietly to baste EXPERIENCE OF THE FUGITIVES. 345 the meat, though every moment her wrath was rising higher. Levin stood by her side, and he, too, was indignant. Soon the master approached. " Why don't you march with the others?" said he to Vina. "I aint a soldier," replied she, "and I don't know nuthin' about marchin'." " Why, what is the matter with you ?" " Nuthin' more'n common ; and things that's com- mon yer is shockin' to strangers." " What's that ? Say that again." She repeated her words. " There's not a plantation in a million o' miles whar thar's such works as thar is yar." " Better mind how you talk, girl, or I'll give you a slap." " I don't keer what you do. I would n't keer if you killed him and me too. You've done made a heap o' matches, and none of 'em never prospered, no how." " Oh, I was so mad !" she says, " every time I looked down, 'peared like I could see sparks o' fire a comin' out o' my eyes. Then he went to the house and told the missus I was powerful mad. She 'lowed he ought to be ashamed o' himself, kase she said he'd done 'me mean, and she did n't blame me if I was mad. Well, he said, when they wanted to marry, nobody should n't hinder 'em. He'd marry 'em hisself when he liked." The young people lived in the cabin with Aunt Patsey, and for some time the current of their lives flowed calmly on. After about a year, a little boy was folded to Susanna's breast — a fine, " peart," healthy child. She named him Edmund ; and he soon became very dear "to the hearts of all his kindred. But Yina, 15* 346 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. now that the tide which had whelmed her in des- pair had fallen, lived in hourly expectation of a sum- mons to her husband ; and she was sad at the advent of this little one. She, too, loved the baby dearly \ but she knew it formed another tie to bind the young father fast to slave-land. When little Edmund was a few months old, he was seized with whooping-cough, and then he needed his mother's care. But she was forced to go each morn- ing to the field ; and though Aunt Patsey was not heed- less of her little grandchild, yet she had so many chil- dren to look after that she could not always watch him. So he took cold, and then his cough became worse; and week after week, he continued to grow weaker, till it was plain that he could live but little longer. Oh ! how his mother longed to stay in and nurse him for the last few days ! But in vain she begged this privilege of the overseer — and when, in her sor- row, she sought her mistress, who had seen four of her own little ones laid in the grave, the lady sharply bade her " Go out to work." " It's no use," said she, " for you to stay in — you don't know how to take care of children — if you did, your baby never would have been so bad." A week later, a messenger was sent to the field to bid Peter and his wife come and see the last of their child; and, first obtaining permission of the overseer, they hastened to the cabin. The baby did not know them now — and though the young mother fondly kissed his lips, and breathed his name in tenderest accents, she could awake no answering smile. A fierce convulsion shook his little frame — it passed — the child was dead. EXPERIENCE OF THE FUGITIVES. 347 Fond mother, who hast watched thy little one by day and night, until the angels bore him from thy arms, rememberest thou the anguish of that hour? What torture would have rent thy heart if thou hadst seen him wasting — dying, and all for lack of care — while thou wast forced to toil for the gain of a remorse- less tyrant ! God pity the mother who is doomed to live — a slave ! 11 Ah, well," said the mistress, when they told her that Susanna's child was dead — " it will be better off. My life is nearly worried out of me by sick children, and I am sure I wouldn't care if they were all dead. It is just as well for Susanna, for it never would have done her any good if it had lived." Early in the spring of 1854, another son was born unto them, and this they called Peter. Vina had now come down from the Island, and had resumed the office of general nurse, which she had rilled for many years ; and when little Peter was five weeks old, the master asked her if she thought Susanna was well enough to go out. " No, Sir," replied she, " she aint over and above strong, no how, and she oughtent to go out when the weather's so bad." " Well, if you think so, I will give her another week." But the overseer was " pushed," and before three days, Susanna was sent out to the field. A heavy rain came on soon after, which was followed by a chilling wind. " Please, Sir," said the young mother, " may I go to the house? I'm mighty cold, and my side aches powerful." 348 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. 11 No, no ; you used to be smart enough, but now you're always complaining, and getting to be no ac- count. Go 'long to your work." A week longer she labored, but by that time she became so very ill that they could force her to go out no more. The doctor was called, but he could do but little to relieve her. Month after month she lay in the cabin a patient sufferer, and watched with a mother's interest the growth of her little Peter. Poor baby, he was weak and sickly, and she often wished that she might take him with her to that better land, where there is neither toil, nor pain, nor sorrow. " Don't stay long," said Susanna, as she saw Peter going out of the cabin one Sunday morning in August, u it's lonesome when you're gone." He returned and sat down by her side. All day she talked sweetly to him of that blest home to which she was hastening; for " Susanna was a religious girl," and her long, lonely days of sickness she had spent in thinking of the happy land above. " I'm gwine away from you now, Peter," said she, "but I shall leave our little baby with you. You'll take good care of him for my sake — won't you? Peter, you'll be lone- some when I'm gone, but you must think I'm happy ; and it wont be long before you'll come too." Her eyes grew very bright as she thus strove to comfort her sorrowing young husband ; but when the sun went down her eyelids closed — she had gone home. CHAPTER XXXVI. "THEY TAKE GOOD CARE OF THEIR PROPERTY." For more than two years after her return from " dat dar jaunt to de Nbrf," Vina remained upon the island. Sometimes both of her sons were with her there ; but Catharine was kept constantly upon the home place. "Well, girl," said her master, some months after her return, " do you remember the road you travelled when that rascal carried you all off?" " Yes, Sir," replied Vina, " I remember every inch I went ;' and I could go over it again with my eyes shot." ' The boys also were questioned concerning their knowledge of the route, and they gave similar answers ; " though to tell the truth," says Vina, " I should n't know no more about it when I got off o' the river, than if I was blind." Their prompt assertions that they knew " every inch of the road," did not diminish their master's fear that they might repeat the attempt to escape, and he deter- mined to take every possible means to prevent another trial. But he could not control his own base passions ; and though Vina never smiled, and seldom spoke cheerfully in his presence, his evil nature impelled him [849] 350 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. to make one more effort to accomplish the base pur- pose in which, years before, she had so signally foiled him. Her gloom, the consequence of disappointed hope and stern resolve to make another effort to escape his hated rule, he construed into the effect of shame at her disgrace ; and now, if ever, he deemed he might succeed in depriving her of her honor. It was winter. She was upon the island engaged in picking up trash and burning it to prepare the land for plowing. The master came, and sat clown by the fire. She took no notice of his approach, but continued picking up the rubbish, and adding it to the heap. "Vina! 0, Vina!" She did not answer — there was something in his tone that made her angry. " Girl ! 0, Girl ! Come here !" She turned her head towards him, but continued her work. 11 Here — this fire don't burn much." "No, sir— its just kindled— it '11 burn to-reck'ly." "Well, you bring some more trash to crowd in here." She brought him a handful of sticks. " Look here, Vina," said he in his most insinuating tone, "I intend to stay here on the island to-night — won't you come to my house, and stay with me ?" 11 What you mean, sir, by askin' me such a thing as that? You mought as well sing a psalm to a dead covj as to name such a thing as that to me. I hav n't forgot how you've used me and my chillern just bekase I done what any person else would do. I did n't do no wrong, and I ain't ashamed o' goin' off; but you ought CAREFUL OF THEIR PROPERTY. 351 to be ashamed, sir, to talk to me this way — after my knowin' all about you that I do." "Well, now look here," urged the gracious master, " I've forgiven all that — it's all dead and buried." " No, sir, it ain't buried so but what I can scratch it up, and it never will be forgot — not by me." " Well, won't you come to my house? If you will, I'll do all I can for you ; and you never shall want for anything." " No, sir, I never will come to your house. Thar's a little old hut yon', that you built for me, whar don't keep the rain out nights ; I cun stay thar like I has done. You think I done forgot seein' poor Lydia, only a few months ago, bucked down afore that very door o' yourn, and all the five hundred blows the poor thing tuck just for you ?" "Well, I didn't do that." " No, sir, but your son did ; and your wife sent him the note tellin' him to whip her till he just left the breath o' life in her, and Aunt Lucy heard him a readin' the note. Thar in the mornin', when thar's a white fross on the ground, she was stripped by your son — a right young man, not of age yet, and beat with whips and an oak paddle as thick as my hand till the breath was a'most gone out of her body. That too, after you'd whipped her yourself for killin' her child. She would n't a killed it only 'twas yourn, and she knowed what she'd suffer about it if it was seen.*" You mighty good — it's all honey till you gits girls into trouble, and then you walks off — and leaves 'em to * The whole history of the afiair here referred to is in the posses- sion of the writer, but it is too horrid for publication. 352 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. b'ar all the 'buse they gits. And it 's good enough for 'em if they'll be fooled by you when they knows you so well. Now, wouldn't it be mighty strange if I did n't hate you, knowin' so much about your ways as I does. I tell you, sir, I never did like you, and I never shall." "The devil! Don't you stand there, and tell me you don't like me." "Well, sir, it ain't no hurt to tell the truth ; and that is so — I don't like you, and I don't want to hear no more such talk as you talked to me to-day." " Well, you think of it," said he, returning to his softest tone — " and you'd better do as I want you to." " It 's no use talkin' — I '11 never put myself in your power while I live." " What's that girl's name of yours ?" "What girl?" " Why, your daughter, there." " You knows her name, sir, just as well as I does. You done knowed her from the day she's born. Her name Catharine — why, what you gwine say 'bout her?" " I say she's a devilish likely girl, and I " " Now, mass'r I wants to tell you — if you ever comes a foolin' round her, you'll be sorry. You know I never said I'd do a thing, but I done it, or least ways, tried ; and if my girl ever consents to your mean ways, I'll kill her or you — one. I ruther die a peaceable death 'an to be hung, but just as sure as you meddles with my daughter, I'll do what I say. I ain't gwine to see her like the other girls yer, whar you been the means o' gettin' all cut to pieces." The master walked away. He had listened to such CAREFUL OF THEIR PROPERTY. 353 a lecture as he seldom received ; and from that time he ceased to torment the resolute woman that dared to speak the truth even to his face. Vina was very im- pudent. He might have killed her on the spot ; but she knew he would not strike her. Her just and fear- less words, slave though she was, shielded herself and the daughter that she loved from further insults. Notwithstanding that during their absence their cabin had been robbed of nearly all its comforts, yet on their return from their unfortunate journey North- ward, Vina and her family resumed their former in- dustrious habits. The boys cultivated their patches as had been their custom, and saved every penny which they gained, in order to fulfil their father's in- junction — to provide every thing needful for their mother's comfort. Meantime, Yina and Catharine labored faithfully both nights and Sundays, and the well-mended garments and warm stockings that the brothers wore testified to the skill with which their fingers wrought. During the summer of 1853 the patches yielded well, and the people had all their little crops secured before Christmas. They were obliged to sell them to their master, as had ever been his rule; and when they were all ready, the overseer weighed the corn and cotton they had raised, and promised them to see that all was right. The master affected to rejoice in their success ; and told them to come -to him the first day of Christmas, and he would pay them. Accordingly, when Christmas came they all, accom- panied by the overseer, went to the house to receive their money. " Well, well," said the master, " I havn't got the 354 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. money now ; but I'll tell you what I'll do. Every one of you, big and "little, that wants to go to town, may go to-morrow,— and I'll go too, and pay you all in town. I've got the promise of some money that is due me there to-morrow." "Aha!" said Yina, as they came away, "I know how it will be — you all won't git no money to-morrow. He aint gwine pay no money, and I wont go." But her companions could not believe that their master would thus deceive them ; and the next morn- ing the whole plantation force climbed into the huge wagons and took the road to Tuscumbia. To one unused to Christmas sights in slave-land a more grotesque spectacle than was presented by these loaded wagons could scarcely be imagined. There were old women with red and yellow turbans — stiff- starched and tall — and a score of boys and girls — some with bare heads, and others glorying in comical old rimless hats and bonnets, in styles unknown to Paris milliners. Then there were sage uncles and prim young girls who were anxious to show off their best behavior "gwine to town" — and these sat up stately and stiff; while those less dignified, with laugh, and song, and frolic, and grimace, reminded them that " Christmas time" would not last all the year. The master met them as he had promised at the store of Mr. N — , and there, instead of paying them the money, he selected a lot of poor damaged calico, and called the women to choose each of them a dress. They looked at each other in consternation. Here was the fruit of all their toil ! Nights and holidays they had spent for this — a few yards of mean thin CAREFUL OF THEIR PROPERTY. 355 calico, that would not pay for making up. Their eyes rolled angrily and their lips pouted the displeasure which they dared not speak ; and so the calico was measured off, though in their hearts they scorned the mean-spirited wretch who could thus stoop to cheat them. One or two, however, rebelled. Catharine went quietly and selected something for herself. " Ugh I" said her master, "that's too dear." " Well," said she, "if I can't have that, I don't want none at all." He finally yielded and allowed her to take what she had chosen. But when Amanda, a middle-aged woman, followed her example, and sought such goods as would make comfortable clothes for her children, he swore she should take such as the others had, or none at all. "No, sir," said she, "I wouldn't walk out de store with such stuff as dat dar. I done worked hard all clis year to make a crap, and I don't want to be cheated now. I got a house full of chillern, and dey's all mighty nigh naked, and I want something decent to make clothes for 'em.'' " Hush your mouth ! you huzzy !" cried her master, " 3^011 shall take what I give you." " Well, sir, if you dont git me what I want, I'll git it 'fore de year's out. If I can't git full pay for my crap one way, I will another." He raised his hand to strike her. " I don't keer if you does whip me. I'm gwine to have my rights if I cun git 'em." This peculiar shopping ended, the whole company returned home in ill humor. "I told you so," said 356 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. Vina, " I knowed he wasn't gwine to pay you all for yer craps. He didn't have no money promised him in town, no how. That's the reason -I wouldn't go. I wasn't gwine to foller him off to town for money, when I knowed he wasn't gwine to give it." . Yina had not been many months on the island before her mistress began to wish for her presence on the home place. She was an excellent nurse in sickness, and for many years she had been called in to wait upon any of the white family that chanced to be ill ; and so faithful and competent was she, that when Yina was in the sick-room the mother felt no uneasi- ness. Among the slaves her field was wider, for there, unless in extraordinary cases, she was both doctor and nurse. At last Mrs. McKiernan told her husband that they must get Yina back, or they never should raise any more children. " The trouble with them commenced," said she, "when Yina and her family first ran off, and since that time there has been nothing but bad luck with both the women and children. There's Delphia might have been alive now if it hadn't been for those fools of doctors." " Well, Vina," said the master, when she had been more than two years on the island, "how would you like to go back to the low place?" "I don't keer 'bout gwine back, sir." " But your mistress says she would like to have you back. Several of the women will be sick soon, and she wants you there." " I don't want nuthin' to do with 'em, sir ; you done sent me off yer out o' spite, and now the sick ones may CAREFUL OF THEIR PROPERTY. 357 take care o their selves. I ain't gwine to be mnnin' after 'em." "Well, if you don't go now, you may not get a chance when you do want to go." " I don't keer nuthin' 'bout it, sir; I don't want to go thar, never." After a few weeks, however, she packed up the few cooking utensils which she had there with two or three other articles of furniture, and went home to the cabin which Peter had built for her so many years before. Still she was dark and gloomy — her heart had lost its light ; and though she did not quite despair, yet her chance of meeting her beloved husband seemed to lessen day by day. But now there was much sickness on the place ; and in sympathy with the suffering of her sisters, she found transient forgetfulness of her own griefs. Delphia, to whom reference was made by Mrs. Mc- Kiernan, died a few days after Vina ran off ; and her story, though it reveals a course of cruelty too base even for savages, shows but another phase of slavery. Smith, the overseer, at that time, was severe, as has before been stated, only towards children, or those women who were afraid of him. " He knowed," says Yina, " the people mostly would fight him if he tried to beat 'em, and so he managed to do without much beatin'. But them whar's feared of him fared mons's hard — 'pears like he never knows when to stop, if he gits mad at one o' them kind." Smith had a great deal of company on Sundays ; and as the overseers are furnished by their employers with corn and bacon for their families, as well as flour, 358 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. coffee, and sugar, so many guests were quite expensive to Mr. McKiernan. One Sunday afternoon, he walked down to the quar- ter, and saw two horses hitched at the overseer's gate. " AY hose horses are these ?" asked he of a group of women that stood near. Delphia chanced to reply. " Smith has a heap of company, don't he?" said the master. " Yes, sir," said Delphia, " last Sunday thar was six horses hitched to his fence, and every one of 'em was carried off, and fed." Some evil-minded tale-bearer took the first oppor- tunity to report this conversation to the overseer ; and he was enraged. A few days after, the master plainly expressed his opinion to Mr. Smith respecting the number of his guests, adding that he knew it was so, for he saw them there himself. " You did not see them," said Smith, " you were not in sight when they were here. Some nigger has told you ; and it is no other than that lying, tattling wench, Delphia." From that hour he vowed vengeance on the poor woman ; swearing at the same time there were other ways to kill a cow besides shooting her or knocking her in the head. Thereafter, he never gave Delphia a moment's rest. She was one of the plow women ; and though she was not in a condition to bear extreme fatigue, he com- pelled her day after day to plow with her mule in a trot. She dared not stop, for his eye was ever on her ; CAREFUL OF THEIR PROPERTY. 359 and when the other women told her she was killing herself, she only replied, " You know how Smith hates me, and he will beat me to death if I don't mind him." Thus week after week, she ran all day in the plow, till at last she was forced to stop, and she went, with her mule, to the quarter. Smith was at his house, and he saw her coming. " What are you there for ;" cried he. "I'm sick, sir, I can't work." " No, you're not sick. You need n't put out your mule — tie him there ; and in just two hours you shall go out again. I'll give you that long to rest." She went into her cabin, and in less than two hours the doctor was sent for. Before night, poor Delphia lay still and cold in death, with her dead baby by her side. As two of her fellow-slaves were digging her grave the overseer came up. He jumped down into the nar- row house they were hollowing for his victim — " There," said he with an oath, " this is the place where all liars and tattlers ought to go." But that not the overseers alone were spiteful and even murderous in their barbarity, may be inferred from the following incident, which occurred soon after Yina went home from the island. A woman, named Leah, was taken sick in the field, and her master being near, she went to him for permis- sion to go to the house. " What the devil do you want to go to the house for?" " I 'm sick, sir." "Sick, d — n you! go to work; and if I hear any more of your complaining, I'll give you something to 360 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. complain about." So saying, lie gave her a few cuts with his cowhide, in token of what she might expect if she repeated her request, and she went back. But she grew worse ; and not daring to leave the field without permission, she went again to her master. "It's a devilish lie. You are not sick; if you are, I can cure you." With these words he flew at her, and beat her cruelly; after wMch, with kicks and curses, he sent her back to her work. It was impossible for her to remain much longer. She started to leave the field, and Vina, who had been a witness of the scene, followed her to her cabin. We give what followed in her own words. " In about a half hour, her child was born, and such a sight as that child was would make any person cry that has any heart at all. * * * * * The overseer's wife was thar, and she was shocked mightily. She called her husband, and he come and looked at it; and two gentlemen, whar was thar a visitin' him, they see it too ; and they all 'lowed they never see nuthin' like it in all their lives. "Well, I staid, and done all I could for Leah, and dressed the baby — for it was livin' after all, and when I got all done, I went up to the house to tell Missus. Mass'r was a sittin' by, but I never stopped for him — I told her the whole story, and all about the beatin' too. She hated it mightily, partic'lar when I told her 'bout the overseer and them other two white men seein' it. 'That's just like you,' says she to Mass'r, 'you're always bringing some disgrace on this plantation. The report of this will go all over the country.' " * Why, I did'nt know she was sick/ says he. CAREFUL OF THEIR PROPERTY. 361 " ' Yes, you did know it, she told you she was sick, and if she had not, you might have known better than to beat her so, and she in such a state. You did it on purpose to disgrace yourself, and the plantation, it is just like you. I'll order my carriage, and go away till the talk about this is wer. It is just the way you always do — just like you.' " That's all the comfort Leah srot from Missus. She was mighty sorry to have folks know such works was a gwine on, but she didn't never do much for them whar was a sufferin'. If she could keep cl'ar o' the disgrace, that thar was all she cared for. "Leah's baby lived a week, and I reckon it was a good thing it died, for 'peared like it suffered a heap all the time. Oh ! it aint no wonder so many o' their chillun dies, its more wonder that any of 'em lives when the women has to b'ar so much." CHAPTER XXXVII. THE RE-UNION. Towakds the close of the year 1854, their being no immediate need of Vina's presence on the " low place," she went back to the island. Susanna had died during the summer, and now the boys were both with their mother, leaving Catharine sole- tenant of the old home cabin. " The island," although it was five miles above the home plantation, was not a lonely place. There were good neighbors on the river bank opposite, and with some of these, the slaves who were kept here, formed lasting friendships ; even Yina, though she had been so morose and sad during these last years, had not been unmindful of the sympathy of her own people. On Sunday morning, December seventeenth, as she was sitting alone in her cabin, a woman belonging to Mr. Hawkins, who owned a plantation on the North bank of the river, came over to pay her a visit. "What do you think, Yina?" said she, as soon as she was sure there were no listeners, "I heard a great secret in town last night." " Oh, I don't know what I thinks till I yers what it's about," replied Yina. " Well, Peter's sent for you all ! and dar's a man in [362] THE RE- UNION. 363 town what's come from some place \vay off to de Norf dar, to tote you all off." "How does you know?" asked Vina, ker eyes dilated, and ker wkole frame trembling witk excitement. " Wky, I's to town last nigkt to Mr. Simpson's store, and I }^er Mr. Simpson say so kisself. Dej all's a makin' out de papers, and dey'll send for you 'fore * many days." Tke visitor soon departed, and Vina sat down to tkink, but ker brain wkirled, and ske was glad wken ker sons came in, tkat ske migkt skare witk tkem tke great joy tkat was swelling in ker keart. Ske did not for one moment doubt tke trutk of tke report, for it was wkat ske kad expected. poor faitkful loving keart ! tkou kast borne grief witk patience, wait but a little longer, and tky joy skall overflow. Tke motker and ker sons now keld a consultation on tke most judicious course for tkem to take; and they determined to say notking on tke subject until tkey skould kear more. Catkarine tkey could not see before tke next Sunday. Ok, kow tkey wisked tkat ske could skare tkis joy. On Monday morning, tkey went to work, as usual. Tke brigkt glad kope witk wkick tkeir kearts were warm skone not in tkeir dark faces, tkey kad schooled tkeir features to wear ever tke same calm look. Full well tkey knew tkat any ckange of countenance migkt be construed into a token of some bidden kope. Slaves must not seem to kope for augkt save Ckristmas Holi- days, tkougk tkey may laugk, and dance, and sing, so tkey evince no thought beyond tke present. Soon after midnigkt tke next Wednesday, tke island people were all called up. Tkey were to kill kogs tkat 364 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. day, and every one upon the place was obliged to be in motion. Great fires were built here and there for scalding the fated animals, and sharp knives, gleaming in their strange light, seemed impatient to begin the sport. Soon all was noise and bustle. The merry butchers talked and laughed, their victims squealed, and grave old women scolded at the trifling of the youngsters ; for though the day's work was no trifle, it was a change in their monotonous life, and fun and frolic reigned. About ten o'clock in the morning, Yina, who amid all the confusion, was watching for a messenger, saw her master coming up the hill from the river. He walked towards the cabins, and soon called — "Vina! Yina!" She strove to quell the tumultuous throbbings of her heart, and she succeeded in subduing all appearance of emotion — so that when she reached the spot where the master stood, her face was calm, and her voice was clear as usual. "Well, Yina," said he, "how would you like to see Peter ?" " Mons's well, Sir," replied she. " Do you know where he is ?" " I reckon, sir, he's in Cincinnati." " No — he lives in Philadelphia, and he's bought you all." " Bought us I" " Yes, he's bought you ; — how would you like to go to him ?" " Why, if it's true, sir, I'd like to go mighty well." " If its true ? — don't you believe it ?" " I don't know, sir, whether I believes it or not." THE RE-UNION. 365 "Well, don't you suppose I can sell you if I choose? — Don't you belong to me ?" 11 Yes, sir, I know you can." " Well, if you want to go, make haste and get your- selves ready ; for I've got to carry you all over to Florence to-night. There's a man there, who has come for you — he can tell you all about Peter. You ought to have been there before now, but you are all so devilish hard to hear that I had to hallo there for a boat, 'till I'm right hoarse." " We didn't hear you, Sir — the hogs kept such a fuss." " I know — I know — but you all must hurry your- selves now." He then went to the boys, and told the news to them ; but they, too, made strange of it, and seemed to doubt his words. " Well," said he, " you all act like you don't believe me — now, I'm no ways anxious to sell you, and if you don't want to go, you can stay. But if you do want to go, you must get. ready devilish quick, for I must have you in Florence- to-night ; and we must cross the river before dark." The mother and her sons entered their cabin, and hastily gathering up such of their things as they could carry easiest, they hastened to the river. Among their fellow- slaves were many whom they counted friends, but even to these they had no time to say " Good bye." Crossing to the main land in a canoe, they sprang into the wagon which waited for them there, and drove toward home, the master riding by their side. As soon as they arrived at the quarter, he called the 366 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. overseer. " See here, Smith, get on your horse, and go quick and tell Catharine to come here. Jlide fast ; for I'm in a devil of a hurry." Away went the overseer to the clearing, where he found Catharine busy chopping down a tree. " Here, Girl," cried he, "give me your axe — go quick to the house — you're sold, and your master sent me for you in a hurry." Half bewildered, yet guessing the truth, Catharine walked as fast as possible towards the quarter. Her mother's figure was the first that met her eye. Then her pulse beat quicker — she bounded towards her. "Mother, what is it?" "Why, yer father's sent for us, chile — least w ays Mass'r says so." " Has he clone bought us ?" " Yes ; so your Mass'r says." " I don't want no more !" cried the girl, as with eager hands she assisted her mother in their hasty preparations. The master remained in sight, and every minute shouted to them to hurry, or they could not cross the river ; thus confusing them so that they could think of nothing. Vina wished to see her mistress, who owed her about three dollars for chickens, and had promised her the money on Christmas. Vina knew that she would not refuse to pay her now, but Mr. McKiernan would not let her go. " Never mind," said he, " I'll pay you when we get to town." " Wouldn't you like to take your little grandchild with you ?" asked the master. " Yes, sir," said Yina, " if I could — how much you ask for him ?" THE RE-UNION. 367 "Oh, a trifle!" replied he, "I'd sell him to you for a trifle — perhaps a hundred dollars." "Well, Sir, here's all my things; they cost a heap o' money, and, if I had time, I could sell 'em all." "I'll pay you for them when we get to town: but come — hurry yourself." Vina understood the value of his promise to pay her for the goods she left behind; but she was help- less. She threw a change of clothes for each of them into her trunk— she had no time to select the bes^— and tying up her feather bed which Peter had bought for her nine years before, she said " Good bye" to a few mothers, who chanced just then to come in from the field to nurse their babies, and left her cabin — to return no more. Notwithstanding all their haste, they were not in time to cross the river before dark; and so they staid at Mr. Wm. Jackson's till morning, when they went into town. They stopped at Mr. Simpson's store, where the papers were to be signed; and here they saw the young gentleman who had been sent for them. It was a cold raw, day, and the slaves were shivering in their plantation clothes. " I wish, Sir," said Vina to her master, as they stood in the chilling wind, "you'd give me money enough to buy me a thick shawl." "Why, Girl," said he, "I could n't do it. I came from home in such a hurry, that I did n't have time to get any small change— I have nothing with me less than a ten-dollar bill." " Seems to me," said his son-in-law, who stood by, " these niggers are poorly dressed to be for sale ; you ' 368 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. might get her the shawl now, and pay for it some other time," "Oh!" said Mr. McKiernan, "they've got better clothes, but they won't put them on." Yina thought of his j)romise to pay her for the chickens, and also for the goods she left behind ; but she determined not to ask him again, herself. So when she saw a crowd of gentlemen standing around, she sent Peter to tell him that she wanted the money for the chickens. " Why, Boy," said he, feeling in his pocket, " I have no money smaller than ten dollars." Yina was listening. "Yes," cried she, when she heard his answer, " so I thought when you would n't let me stop to see Missus. I knowed you was n't gwine pay me in town." " McKiernan, d — n it," said one that stood by "why don't you give your servants something? You ought to give them a present for the good they've done you." He muttered something to himself, but made no answer. After awhile Peter went to him again, and asked him how much he would take for his baby. Poor Susan- na's dying words rang in his ears, and it seemed as if he could not go and leave her child, that she had so solemnly committed to his charge. "The baby, eh? Oh, you may have it for two hundred dollars." The young father's hopes were dashed. He could not raise so large a sum as he had learned that the funds sent by his father were barely sufficient to defray the travelling expenses of the family. THE EE- UNION. 369 "I say, McKiernan," said a gentleman in the crowd, who pitied the distress of the slave-father, "I think you ought to give that old woman her grandchild — I heard you say she has always been a good serv- ant—that you never struck her a lick, and that she never deserved one— and that her family have always behaved themselves well. Give them the little one for good measure." " Oh, I'll sell the child cheap to them." "Ha! sell it! They've no money to buy it. Give it to them — that would be no more than fair." Said another, "Where in the world did Peter get the money to buy his family?" " Oh," replied McKiernan, "he's got rich relations; his friends are all wealthy. I saw one of his brothers last year in Philadelphia — "William Still is his name. He is rich, and a devilish likely fellow too. He keeps the Anti-Slavery Office. I was in there twice, myself, arid I saw him write a hand that I could n't beat, nor you either." " What office, did you say ?" " The Anti-Slavery Office. Ha ! ha ! I was as good an Abolitionist as any of them while I was there. I tell you— that William Still is a fine fellow. Another of the brothers has a store, and Peter I believe owns half of it." The business was at last concluded, and soon after the stage drove up that was to convey them to East- port. There they were to take the boat which could come up no higher on account of the low state of the water in the river. " When we got in the stage," says Vina, " I felt free. 'Peared like I didn't weigh no more'n a feather." 16* 370 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. " Aha 1" said Catharine, looking down with ineffable contempt upon her soiled and tattered garb, " reckon when I git whar father is, I'll drap off these old duds." "Why?" said her mother, I don't reckon he's got any new clothes for you." " But didn't Mass'r say he got a store ?" " Pshaw ! child, don't believe all he says." " I believe that, for he never would have said such a thing, if it wasn't so." The young gentleman who had them in charge was closely questioned by the Captain of the boat, and by sundry other officious persons at Waterloo — a little village on the north side of the river, nearly opposite Eastport. He was, however, allowed to go on board with them, and they were glad, for soon they had their supper— the first food they had tasted since daylight in the morning. All went smoothly till they reached Paducah. Here they were obliged to change boats, and again was their young guardian subjected to a series of impertinent questioning, as to what he was going to do with the negroes, &c. He at length succeeded in transferring his charge to a Louisville boat ; but the captain of this was exceedingly uneasy about the slaves — he having seen them when Mr. McKiernan was conveying them back to slavery — nearly four years before. This young man was evidently from the North ; indeed he did not scruple to confess it; and if he should be running these niggers off, and if his boat should bear him on in the commission of such treason against the Constitution and the Union, alas ! what ruin would ensue. Yet he had straight papers, and did not act in the least like an Abolitionist so after much deliberation, he concluded THE RE- UNION. 371 to let tliem come on board ; but at the same time be resolved to watch tliem well, lest tbe fellow should play some Yankee trick They arrived at Louisville iu safety, and lost no time in seeking a boat for Cincinnati. But lo! the valorous captain of the packet they had just left was there before them, and his sage warning procured from the commander of the Cincinnati boat a stout refusal to take them on. Their young guardian was now sorely perplexed; but fortunately he recollected that he had an acquaintance in Louisville, who was a mer- chant of some note. To this gentleman he hastened in his extremity, and by his influence with the cau- tious captain, he at length secured a passage for him- self and the four ransomed slaves to Cincinnati. The nearer they approached the end of their long journey, the more restless and impatient grew the mother. She had learned to bear suspense and sor- row. She had waited and been patient ; but this rapid and sure approach towards the fulfilment of her hopes was strange and new. She could not eat nor sleep for vei 7 joy- The attention of her children, however, was more easily diverted by surrounding objects, and as the boys found occasional employment on the boat, the hours to them were far from wearisome. They all suffered exceedingly from cold. Their clothes were thin and old ; but what cared he who clutched in his hard grasp the avails of all their years of toil, beside the five thousand dollars for their ran- som?— what cared he if they should perish by the way ? He held the gold. It was the morning of the Sabbath — the last day of 372 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE EANSOMED. the year 1854. Peter rose very early, and walked down to the wharf. He had been in Cincinnati for a week, waiting to greet his loved ones — how long the honrs had seemed while his heart trembled between hope and fear. One hour he felt sure that he should soon clasp in his fond arms the precious forms of wife and children — the next, a hundred fears arose that all his hopes, even now, were doomed to disappointment. He had not heard from them since from the papers he had learned of their return to slavery, perhaps — Oh ! how the thought now shook the fabric of his hopes — perhaps to torture and to death. Four summers had passed since then — four seasons where fearful sickness is wont to make its annual visits to the dark, unhealthy quarters of the slave. But on this holy Sabbath morning, these fears no longer vexed him; for but a few hours had passed since the telegraph had brought him tidings of the safe approach of those for whom he waited. He stepped on board the "Northerner," and the first man he met was the agent of Mr. Hallowell. A moment more, and wife and daughter — both were clasped to his true heart, while on each side his manly sons, with grateful reverence, gazed upon their father's face. In that embrace no toil or sorrow was remembered ; their swelling hearts had only room for love and grati- tude, and praise to Him who had not betrayed their trust. At the home of Levi Coffin the ransomed family were welcome ; and as that good man himself received them there, his kind heart thrilled with a delicious joy, in which the angels sympathized. THE RE-UNION. 373 Eest ye, poor hunted ones. No more shall " Chris- tian wolves" prowl along your pathway, for the golden hand of charity hath taken from their cruel fangs the power to do you harm. Aye, ye are free ! How changed from the poor trembling fugitives that so lately feared the echo of yonr own unequal footsteps. Eejoice! for gold hath power when justice fails. Be glad ! for mercy lives, though on the fairest portion of our country's wide domain her hands are chained — her tongue is silent. The news of this glad re-union spread rapidly among the citizens of Cincinnati, and on two successive even- ing, public meetings were held for the benefit of the shivering strangers. Gifts of warm clothing, and of money to defray the expenses of their journey onward, were gladly offered by those who love to " clothe the naked," and who rejoice in the "setting at liberty of those who were bound." Many worthy persons also proposed to entertain the family at their houses, but being already settled at Mr. Coffin's, they deemed it wisest to remain there during their stay in town. On the third of January they left for Pittsburg. There, also, they were received with joy ; for Peter's story had found interested listeners in that city, as he had passed to and fro between Cincinnati and Phila- delphia. While they remained at Pittsburg, a meeting was held for them in the Bethel Church, at which the whole family appeared in the clothes they wore from the plantation. The grateful joy of the father, which beamed so brightly from his smiling face, and the shrinking modesty of those who had been redeemed from bondage through his patient efforts, will be long 874 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE KANSOMED. remembered by those kind friends who there offered them the greetings of the free. On the tenth, the travellers reached Philadelphia, but here they made no stop. Poor Vina was, by this time, quite worn out by excitement and fatigue, and all the family were suffering from colds contracted on the river. So they hastened on to Burlington, where Peter had previously made provision for their recep- tion in the family of a colored friend. Often, during Peter's weary wanderings here and there, while collecting money for the ransom of his family, was the momentous question asked, " What will they do when they are free ?" To answer this import- ant inquiry is all that now remains. The first few days were spent by the re-united family in resting from the tedious journey, and in ren- dering themselves presentable to the new relatives and friends that longed to greet them. Then came the delightful visit to Peter's aged mother. She had heard of their arrival in Cincinnati, and had been, for some days, expecting them at her home. We need not picture the glad meeting of the vene- rable woman with the wife and children of her long- lost son. The sight of their happy faces filled her heart with holy gratitude ; for in each form so lately released from slavery's hated chains, she saw a living witness of her Great Father's love. Year after year her heart had sorrowed for her sons ; and now, like Israel to Joseph, she could say, "I had not thought to see thy face, and lo, God hath showed me also thy seed." But even in that glad circle beat one sorrowing THE RE- UNION. 875 heart. Young Peter turned sadly from the joyful greetings of his new-found kindred, for the sound of a little voice rang in his ears. u Iam not there, my father !" was the wailing cry — and the last parting gift of his dying wife seemed stretching forth its little hands to claim a place among the free. Poor baby ! God for- bid that thou shouldest live — a slave ! Let us trust that in His good Providence this little one may yet be brought to share the blessings of that liberty which, without his presence his young father can never half enjoy. Early in February, Catharine went to reside with her uncle, "William Still, in Philadelphia, for the pur- pose of attending school, and also of receiving instruc- tion from her aunt in the practical duties of a free woman. Young Peter has obtained an advantageous situation in the service of Mr. Kichard Ely, at New Hope, Bucks county, Pa. ; and Levin is perfecting his knowledge of the blacksmith's trade in Beverly, 1ST. J. The father and mother, during the summer (1855), have been at service in a large boarding-house in Bur- lington ; and though they are not yet entirely settled, the arrangements are nearly completed by which, for the first time in their lives, they may enjoy the com- forts of their own home. "We must not omit to mention a novel marriage that has occurred in the family since their emancipation. The previous relation of the parties, as well as the motives which impelled them, may be gathered from the subjoined Certificate. " This is to certify that Mr. Peter Still and Lavinia, 376 THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED. his wife, having solemnly testified to tlieir lawful union in wedlock, which took place twenty-nine years ago, the twenty-fifth of last June, while in the bonds of Southern Slavery, in the State of Alabama, having now obtained their freedom, and having no certificate of said union, being desirous of again solemnizing their union in the sacred nuptial ties, were solemnly re- united in the bonds of marriage, on the eleventh day of March, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and fifty -five, by me, a duly authorized Min- ister of the Gospel. "Washington Barnhurst. " Burlington, Burlington Co., N. J." Our task is done. We have sought truthfully to portray the various phases of slave-life which are illus- trated in the history of the subjects of these "Recollec- tions." The facts are from the lips of Peter and his wife ; and are in all cases given substantially as nar- rated by them to the writer. If their record shall in any wise subserve the cause of Justice and Humanity ; if the perusal of these pages shall increase the reader's hatred of slavery, or win one manly voice or vote for Freedom, our labor is not lost. APPENDIX. SETH CONCKUN Was born February 3, 1802, at Sandy Hill, N. Y. Previously to her marriage his mother had been a teacher in the schools of Vermont. His father was a mechanic, who was accustomed to go South in search of employment. He died in Georgia, leaving his widow with five children, of whom Seth, then about fifteen years of age, was the oldest. He was not wholly without property, but what little he had, he left in charge of a man, who defrauded the family of every cent of it and fled to Canada. They became de- pendent upon the boy Seth, who took up the business of a pedlar, and so procured a livelihood for his mother and sisters. It is remembered how careful he was to save every penny for them, how he went upon long journeys, being absent for weeks at a time, how anx- iously his return was watched for, how highly he was thought of, not only by the little ones of his own household, but also by the children of the neighbors; how the children, when they descried the weary young pedlar returning after a long tramp, ran to meet him and quarrelled for his hand and lmng upon his coat. After a while, Mrs. Concklin was induced by some [377] 378 APPENDIX. relatives to go to Canada. There was a more promis- ing prospect for her in that country. Seth procured a situation in a lumber yard, where his employer esteem- ed him so highly, that in order to keep the lad con- tented, he took into his family a little sister of Seth's, Eveline. The lumber man, Mr. W , treated him with uniform confidence. This man was subject to violent fits of intemperance, when he would fasten up his house and keep his wife and children in the utmost terror by his wild and frenzied proceedings. At such times Seth was the only person who had any influence over him. Again and again he seized his gun and threatened to shoot Seth, whom he charged with col- luding with the family against him. But the lad, as his sister well remembers, stood calm and unmoved by the threats of the madman. So fearful was Mr. "W in his sane moments, of being forsaken by Seth, who, he knew, wished to join his mother, who had sent for him, in Canada, that he caused the little Eveline, Seth's sister, to be locked up in a chamber up stairs, so that her brother could communicate with her only by climbing a tree which stood near her window. He seized an opportunity when his master was unable to rise from his bed, to take his little sister away. He did not go without bidding farewell to Mr. W— , . who paid him his wages and shed tears at parting with the youth. "I shall go to utter ruin now that Seth has left me !" the master exclaimed. The boy and girl set out on foot for Canada. They met with much kindness. Sometimes a kind woman, a mother, would take them in, give them food and shel- ter, wash the little girl and comb her hair. From others they received harsh words, and thus they SETH CONCKLIN. 379 trudged on. They were observed and spoken of as "the children." For though Seth was some seventeen years of age, his appearance was very boyish. The country was then new and wild, and log houses were the principal habitations to be seen. In one place in the neighborhood of Watertown, a good woman liv-. ing in a neat frame house, surrounded by a large farm, a Mrs. Coles, treated the young travellers with especial kindness, took a fancy to the little Eveline, wished to retain and adopt her, as her own children were all grown up and married ; and made Seth promise that if he returned to the States, he would bring Eveline to her, and let her have the child. At this stage of the journey, the little girl fell sick and was worn down by fatigue, and grew fretful and cried a good deal, but Seth was anxious to reach Sackett's Harbor ; and he coaxed and threatened her. She remembers how they used to sit down by the road-side to rest, and how her brother used to cry, and she thought it was because his pack was so heavy, and she wanted him to let her take it, although it was beyond her strength. At last they reached Sackett's Harbor one afternoon. Seth found that the steamboat fare was higher than he could pay. He took his sister to a public house, bade her go to bed and sleep till he called her the next morning. The weary child slept till ten o'clock the next morning, and upon waking and not finding Seth, grew frightened and thought he had left her ; but he soon came. He had engaged a man with a small sail- boat (a smuggler), to take them across the Lake to Gravel Point, which they hoped to reach that same evening. It was September. The weather was cold, 380 APPENDIX. with flurries of snow. They had been out on the Lake hardly an hour when a rain-storm arose, and the waves grew angry and dashed into the boat, so that it required constant bailing, and there was nothing to bail with but a leaky old coffee pot, and that was soon lost overboard. The little girl was very much fright- ened. She screamed and took off one of her shoes to bail out the water. The boat made little or no head- way till dark. They were all drenched to the skin, the water going over them all the time. Seth's sister remembers their getting round a dangerous point called Pillar Point. The opposite shore, which they were ap- proaching was apparently uninhabited. But, although the others could not see it, the little girl descried a small log hut in the distance. They gained the land at last, and the man and boy set themselves immedi- ately to gather sticks and wood to make a fire to warm and dry themselves, and keep off any wild beasts. Eveline, however, entreated them so earnestly to go in the direction in which she insisted she had seen the log hut, that at last they yielded. After walking some distance, it appeared in sight, and they found that she had not been mistaken. At the hut they found a young married couple, squatters, who had been settled there only a few months, and who received them with a hospitable welcome. The woman said she had seen their boat while it was daylight, and had watched it for some time. This couple had their chief dependence for food upon game. The only eatable they had in the house was some wheat flour. The woman made bread for them and for their supply on the morrow. She divided her bedclothes with them. The hut was so SETH CONCKLIN. 381 low that a man could hardly stand erect in it. There was no chimney ; a fire was made at one end, and the smoke found its way out through the roof. The next day they started by the lake for Gravel Point, and arrived at sunset. The weather had cleared. As they were approaching land, they saw a two-horsed wagon just starting for Kingston, some four or five miles distant. Seth was so anxious to secure a seat in the wagon for his sister, that when they got into shal- low water, he bade her take off her shoes and stock- ings. They both jumped into the water and ran to overtake the wagon. There were a number of men with it, but they refused to let her ride, as, they said, the road was new and very bad, scarcely a road — they were carrying rails to prop and lift the wagon — they doubted whether they should be able to go through. They took no notice of Seth and his sister. The mud was so cleejD — Seth sinking into it over his boots — that he took the little girl in his arms ; who with his bag- gage made a heavy burthen. She begged to be put down. At last she was allowed to walk, and tried to jump from log to log, but she fell again and again into the mud and was completely covered with it. It be- gan to grow dark. They got to Kingston, however, before the wagon. At the ferry a fat, good-natured old woman insisted upon taking off the child's clothes, giving her a good washing, and wrapping her up in a buffalo skin. The young travellers reached Kingston at two o'clock in the morning ; and with the assistance of a watchman, found the dwelling of a Mr. Koleau, with whom their mother lodged. She received her two children with great emotion, laughing and weeping 382 APPENDIX. hysterically. She had been sick, but was on the re- covery. During her illness her business, keeping a small shop, had gone to ruin, and she was earning bread for her children with her needle. Eveline was ill for three months, from the cold and fatigue of the journey. Seth took to peddling again, through the approaching winter and the following sum- mer. But the winter after that, the second in Canada, he became discouraged. One day he brought back such a pittance that he threw down his pack, and said he would never take it up again. He knew not what to do. Occasionally he found some transient employ- ment. He searched the newspapers diligently to seize upon what might offer. One day, in looking over a newspaper, he found something about a haunted house. "Here's a ghost story!" he said to his mother and brothers and sisters, "come, let me read it to you." It turned out to be an advertisement of a house in Sackett's Harbor, which had the reputation of being haunted, and in which the owner was willing that any one should live, rent free, until the place should get a better name. Seth exclaimed: "I'll go take that house, and we shall have nothing to pay." He started instantly for Sackett's Harbor, with the consent of his mother (they had no fear of ghosts), and returned in three days, having found and engaged the house in the suburbs of the place ; large and commodious, originally built for an hotel. While the family were preparing to leave Kingston, a robbery was committed on the money-drawer of the shop, adjoining the house where the Concklins lived. Seth was arrested and put in jail on suspicion of being the thief. The sole ground of the charge, thus brought SETH CONCKLIN. 383 against him by the shopkeeper, was that Seth being well acquainted with his two sons, had often been in the shop and knew where the money was kept. The family felt keenly the shame of such a charge ; and some of their best friends grew cool. Seth, however, fearless in the consciousness of his integrity, was con- vinced that he would be acquitted, and begged his mother not to be detained by his trial, which was not to take place for some weeks ; but to go immediately to their new residence in Sackett's Harbor. Accord- ingly she started ; it was the spring of the year ; the snow was all gone. But just as she had got on board the vessel with all her baggage, and with her five chil- dren, a man came running to inform her that Seth was to have a hearing, and she must return. There was nothing to be done but to let the children (the oldest of whom was a girl of about twelve years of age), go alone with the baggage. The mother gave this child some money and every possible direction, and the strictest charges to make no fire and light no candle in the house till she came. They were to live on bread and milk. One of the children, a little boy, was sick, and had to be carried in the arms of his little sisters all the way. The party of little ones reached Sackett's Harbor in safety, attracting much curiosity and kind- ness on board the boat. The haunted house belonged to a Mr. Comstock, but a person by the name of Parker had care of it. Lydia left the other children in the boat and went to look after the house. In about a couple of hours she returned with the key, and a man and cart to take their baggage. As they were on the way to their new tenement, an old man met them who proved to be a quack doctor, who, struck by the 3S4 APPENDIX. youth and -unprotected condition of the little group, carrying with them a sick child, stopped and questioned them, took the sick one in his arms, and went with them to the house. It soon became dark. The chil- dren had no supper. The old doctor said they must have a light. But the children would not listen to it. It would be against the express commands of their mother, who feared probably that they might catch the house or themselves on fire. The doctor expostulated, but to no purpose. Mother had forbidden it. He was, it seems, an oddity. His speeches set the children a laughing. He suspected, he said, that the house really was haunted, and that these little things were the ghosts — they were so afraid of light. He guessed they had an invisible mother. Three times a day for ten days, till the mother joined her children (Seth having been fully acquitted), the good man visited them, bringing them soup, etc., and nursing the sick child. As soon as their mother ar- rived, she unpacked her trunks and furniture, and made the place a good deal more comfortable. As she was seated at her first meal with the children, in came the doctor, and stood staring at the party without say- ing a word. " I was wondering," he said at last to Mrs. Concklin, "whether you were a ghost or a real woman." The mother brought to her children the cheering in- telligence that Seth would be with them in three weeks. Eveline, then about eleven years of age, with her little brother George, kept watch on the shore of the Lake, as the time drew nigh for the coming of Seth. At last they recognized his figure, before they could see his features, on board of a vessel that was SETH COlv'CKLIX. 385 approaching, and on which lie worked his passage. At this period the family was tolerably comfortable and happy. Seth got work. They lived in "the haunted house ? ' one year. Then, as the owner con- sidered the good character of the place established, he required them to pay rent. It was too high for their means, and they removed. Seth, recollecting his promise to Mrs. Coles, the good woman who had been so kind to him and taken such a liking for the little Eveline when they stopt at her house on their way to Canada, advised his mother to send Eveline to that lady. She acceded, and the child was sent by the stage, and received b} r Mrs. Coles with the most cordial of welcomes, and adopted as her own, and taught many things. The child was happy here and the next winter, Mr. Coles, a worthy and elderly man, took her in a sleigh to see her mother. Upon her visit home, Eveline found Seth a soldier. Her mother was declining, and Seth, having the offer of a place as a substitute, enlisted for one year, nine months, nineteen days in Company B. By cooking for the com- pany, Seth greatly increased his income, and was better able to assist his mother. As he was not allowed to leave the garrison, Mr. Coles took Eveline to see Seth and she recollects how the old man who was a methodist gave Seth his blessing for being such a good son and brother. The next fall, of the eight hundred men in garrison at Sackett's Harbor, four hundred were drafted to go to St. Mary's (understood to be a thousand miles off,) and Seth being young and unmarried, among the num- ber. He endeavored to be excused but without success. 17 386 APPENDIX. The hope was cherished that he might be induced to re-enlist when his time was out. His mother parted with him with a heavy heart. She told the children she should never see him again. With the help of her eldest daughter, the mother was enabled to do something for the support of her children, making sun-bonnets. Seth sent them nearly all his wages, and kept them so well supplied with money that when his mother shortly after fell sick, and after an illness of eight weeks, died, there was money enough in the house for all the frugal wants of its in- mates, and for the expenses incurred by her sickness and burial. In this her last illness, she talked only of her absent son, and her dying injunction to her little ones was to obey Seth in all things. Upon the decease of Mrs. Concklin, the unprotected state of the orphans was published in the newspapers, so that their kindred might come and take charge of them. Seth saw the papers. They gave him the first news of the death of his mother. He succeeded in ob- taining a discharge. His mother died in April, but he was not able to reach home till August. He found the children in the care of an aunt. His interest had been awakened in the Shakers, and he conceived the idea of putting his brothers and sisters in the charge of a Shaker community. With this intention he visited the Watervliet Shaker settlement not far from Albany, and was so much pleased with it, that he took the little ones, now every where known as " Scth's family," and enrolled them and himself as members of that community. The Coles, having had a daughter with five children come home SETH COXCKLIN. 387 to live with them, gave up Eveline who joined the Shakers also. Seth remained with the Shakers three years, the children for a longer period. Upon leaving the Shakers, Seth went from place to place, finding employment now here, now there. He followed the business of a miller for some time in Syracuse and in Rochester and other places, never, in all his wanderings, losing sight of "his family," keep- ing always in correspondence with them. Everywhere he was accounted a singular man, eccentric, silent, "in the way of bargain, cavilling for the nintWpart of a hair," and yet generous as the day. Whenever any attempt was made to cheat him, he instantly appealed to the law, and, it is said, he never lost his suit. At the same time he would turn his pockets inside out to relieve the destitute. On one occasion his attention was arrested by a poor Irishwoman with a number of children, who told him how they had been turned into the street for rent, her husband being in jail on the same account. He asked the amount, and, upon learn- ing it, gave her what she wanted, but it was nearly all that he had. The woman immediately fell at his feet in the street and clasped his knees, and poured out, with Irish volubility, such a torrent of bles-ings and thanks that quite a crowd collected. Seth, much an- noyed, turned to get rid of her, and at last finding he could not silence her, he shook her off, exclaiming in a way that was characteristic of him : " Get away, you d— d fool I" From time to time, he visited his old friends the Shakers. (His youngest sister remains with them to this day.) Although, according to their rules, mem- bers who quit them, lose their membership, yet execp. 338 APPENDIX. tions occur. And Seth, in consideration of his worth and eccentricity, was allowed again and again to return into full communion with the Society of Watervliet. It impressed him very strongly in favor of the Shakers that they did not recognize the distinction of color. It was after "his family" was settled among that people, at the very beginning of the abolition move- ment, that Seth Concklin began to take an interest in that odious cause. And it may be doubted whether it has ever yet had a more devoted adherent. He re- cognized it as the only hope of the Slave. He saw clearly, and from an early period through the Colon- ization scheme, how it concedes to the inhuman pre- judices of the country. He abhorred it as heartily as Mr. Garrison himself does. In a letter, dated July 20, 1830, written from Syracuse to his sister Eveline, he says, "Lest you might be deceived by that wicked spirit of the American Colon- ization Society, I take the liberty to inform you that the American Abolition Society is the only thorough good spirit which maintains the rights and privileges of colored people. Be not deceived by the Coloniza- tion Society, " They are as cunning as the devil can invent. " They rivet the chains of Slavery. " They put beneath them all mercy. " They deceive many honest white people by saying that they are friendly to the black population, and raise funds to send from this land of freedom and reli- gious liberty all free persons of color whom they can influence. Be not deceived by that dreadful demon spirit." All that he earned, beyond the means of his own SETH CONCKLIN. 389 frugal subsistence, was given to the abolition cause. I find receipts of sums of five dollars and ten dollars from Seth Concklin, acknowledged in "the Emanci- pator." Sometimes be gave fifty dollars at a time, and once one hundred dollars. Once in Syracuse, and again in Rochester he was mobbed for taking the part of black men against white rowdies, and had to run for his life, and absent himself for days till their infuriated passions had cooled. At Rochester he dashed like lightning through the crowd and levelled the ring- leader who had got a rope round a poor colored man and was otherwise maltreating him, thus diverting the wrath of the mob to himself. That more than one mch case of the persecution of the colored people should have occurred years ago in Western New York, will seem improbable to no one who recollects, as many not very old persons may remember, what a time- honored custom it was, not very long since, in the enlightened city of Boston to drive all "the niggers" off the common on a certain State-Election holiday that occurred in the spring of the year. On one occasion, early in the history of the Abolition movement, the people of Syracuse were outraged by the sudden and mysterious appearance among them of some Anti-Slavery tracts : no one knew whence they came. The place was thrown into as great an alarm as if combustibles and lighted lucifers had been found under every door. A public meeting w^as held to de- vise " summary proceedings." It was suspected that some emissary of Satan had alighted in the town. With the leaders of the meeting Seth Concklin was on terms of familiar acquaintance. He attended on the occasion ; but retired before the meeting was brought 390 APPENDIX. to a close. Upon returning to their homes, the officers of the meeting, and all who had taken any conspicuous part in it, found the accursed tracts had been thrown into their doors, while they had been so patriotically engaged in seeing to the safety of the community. Wrath mounted to the highest pitch against the incen- diary, who, it was rumored, was a stranger putting up at the Syracuse House. Judge Lynch was invoked. Tar and feathers were got in readiness. No suspicious stranger was to be found ; but it was ascertained that the offender was an acquaintance of theirs, Seth him- self, who very wisely took care to retire from the scene. In a few days the excitement died away. Considering that the offence had been committed by no impudent stranger, but by one of their own neigh- bors, and by no other than so odd and honest a fellow as Seth Concklin, the people recovered their compo- sure so completely, that when he shortly returned among them, they shook hands with him over his escape. The subject of this brief memoir appears to have been a man who had " swallowed formulas." He was a law to himself. He took and kept his own counsel. On one occasion, a colored man, professing to be an agent for the Wilberforce Colony in Canada West, visited Western New York, collecting moneys from the charitable. He every where showed a book, impos- ingly bound in red morocco, in which the names of those who contributed to his object were recorded ; among them were the names of men well known and eminent. This book served as his passport and recom- mendation, and secured his success in the towns which he visited. Our friend Seth, having some suspicion of SETH CONCKLIN. 391 this man's honesty when he came to Syracuse, watched him closely, and became convinced that he was an impostor. Eesolved that the community should be duped no longer, Seth disguised himself and followed the fellow, and overtook him in the neighborhood of Seneca Falls, and there, without being recognized, of- fered him a subscription, and when the red book was handed to Seth to put down his name, he took posses- sion of it, and refused to return it to the owner. The man complained of him before a magistrate; Concklin was held to bail for his appearance at the next General Sessions to answer to the charge of abducting this book, the property of another. His friends in Syra- cuse came promptly to his aid, and abundant testimony was furnished to his character for integrity and general correctness, The prosecutor, however, never appeared against him; and Concklin was considered as being right in his estimation of the man, and as having done the community a service, although he adopted a perilous and illegal way of arresting the depredations of an impostor. Not loner after this transaction, Concklin spent some time in the West, visiting St. Louis, and residing awhile at Springfield, (111.). His chief business then and there, a business which took precedence in his re- gard of all other matters, was aiding the transit of passengers on the Under-Ground Railroad. He acted, however, very little in concert with others. In a time of uniformity and conformity, when the tendency and fashion everywhere is to ride in troops, Seth Concklin was a man by himself. He went on his own hook. His fearless speech brought him into frequent peril On one occasion, he was condemning the "Patriarchal 392 APPENDIX. Institution," in such strong terms, that one of his hearers struck him a heavy blow with his fist ; for which outrage Seth caused him to be arraigned before the Church to which the offender belonged, and com- pelled him to make confession of his fault. Although thus fearless, our friend was very cautious in com- municating with the slaves. He gave them no hope of his assistance, until he found that they were re- solved upon obtaining their freedom: then he gave them all possible information as to time of starting, and the places to which they should go, adding a small pecuniary gift, and bidding them never to be taken alive. While he thus felt for others, it was equally charac- teristic of him that he was resolved to see for himself. He has been known to go miles to ascertain the actual state of the case in any important matter. In 1838-39, the western part of New York was in a state of great excitement, caused by what was dignified at the time by the name of the " Patriot War," a border out- break. Concklin, true to his character, determined to go and see what it all amounted to. He knew that Canada was the refuge of the fugitive slave, and he was anxious that that refuge should be preserved for the oppressed. Leaving his business, he went straight to the frontier, crossed over to Navy Island, where the head-quarters of the Patriots then were, and enlisted with them, under the command of the so-called Gen. Van Eanssalaer. His purpose was to discover the de- signs and strength of the Patriots, and make them known to the Canadian authorities. After looking about him and satisfying himself as to the character and objects of the Patriot army, he desired to be dis- SETH CONCKLIN. 393 missed from the service. But this was not permitted. His taciturn manners, his evident disinclination to associate familiarly with the people among whom he found himself, caused him to be suspected as a spy, and closely watched. Finding his situation more and more uncomfortable, he determined to escape from the island at all hazards. He waited one day till nearly dark, and, when the sentinel's back was turned towards him, he unfastened a skiff at the landing, and with no other oar than a piece of board, watched his chance and pushed off. He knew that if he should lose his paddle, he must be carried down the Niagara river and over the Falls, an appalling contingency. Scarcely had he started when he was seen and fired upon. The ball struck his paddle, nearly knocking it from his grasp. He succeeded, however, in reaching the American shore, at Schlosser, in safety. At this point a guard had been stationed by the Patriots, and he was forbidden to land. Compelled to acknowledge himself a deserter from Navy Island, he was seized and very roughly handled, and sent back to the island.* There, by order of Van Eanssalaer, he was confined and closely guarded in a log-house, which was so situated as to be exposed to the guns on the Canada side. He could save himself from being hit only by lying prostrate on the ground, as the sentinel * Another account says, that Concklin was taken by the American troops under Col. Worth, stationed, professedly to guard the neutrality of the United States, on Grand Island, which lies so near to Navy Island, that the " Patriots" called to the American forces and informed them that Concklin was a deserter ; and he was sent back, the United States' officer stipulating only that he should not be hurt. 17* 394 APPENDIX. who stood guard over him threatened to shoot him when he sought the protection of the breastwork, to which the sentinel himself had recourse. Several shots passed over him, within two or three feet of him, through the upper part of his prison. The Patriots said they intended the British should kill their own spy- On the evacuation of the Island by the Patriots, which took place about a week after Concklin was put in confinement, he was left behind — the only man in the place. It was the month of January. His suf- ferings from cold and hunger were severe. He was the last twenty-four hours without food. He tied his handkerchief to a pole, and took his station opposite the Canadian side. The signal was observed; and very soon a boat came off and took him in, and con- veyed him to Canada. There he was subjected to a very close examination by a board of officers. In answer to their inquiries, he gave them a minute ac- count of all that had occurred from his leaving Syra- cuse up to the hour of his examination. His state- ment was committed to writing by several different persons. The examination was repeated two or three times. He was well treated, and kindly provided for during the few days he remained on the Canada side. When the investigation was ended, and he was about to return to the States, it was proposed to him that he should swear to the truth of what he had stated. To this proposal he readily acceded. His affidavit was published in the papers at the time. When he arrived in Buffalo, he published a statement of his treatment by the United States officers on Grand Island in one of the leading journals of that city. And he also SETII CONCKLIN. 395 made complaint at the War Department in Washing- ton, forwarding to the Secretary a copy of his publica- tion in the Buffalo paper. The Secretary of War di- rected the District Attorney of the Northern District of New York to look into the case. That officer, living at a distance, caused some inquiries to be made in Syracuse in regard to the veracity of the complain- ant; and honorable testimonials to his uprightness were presented. The case, however, was never fol- lowed up. Concklin was, for a time, quite a lion at Buffalo, on account of his prominence in those border difficulties. Not many months after the affair at Navy Island, Concklin's interest was awakened in the events which were transpiring on our Southern border. He wanted to know what the United States Government was doing in Florida among the Indians there. The news- papers had much to say of our arms in that quarter Without consulting with any one, he resolved to visit that part of the country. As the best way of getting there, and learning what he wanted to know, he en- listed in the United States service. The first intima- tion of his whereabouts, which his friends in Syracuse received, was in the shape of abetter directed to one of them, which we here transcribe : " Talahasse, Middle Florida, May 9, 1840. "Joseph Savage: My object in writing to you is that it may be known in Syracuse where I am ; and I request that you write to me, I have heard nothing from Syracuse in a year. Direct your letter to Tala- hasse, Middle Florida. Should you receive this, and 396 APPENDIX. the postage not be paid, let me know it. I am now fifty miles from the post-office. "Last fall I came from Pittsburgh, by way of New Orleans and the Gulf, to St. Marks, and eighty miles east of St. Marks, on the 6th of January, and entered on the campaign with the 1st and 6th Regiments, United States Infantry, a few dragoons and several companies of volunteers, on their way through all the hammocks in Middle Florida to the Suwannie river, hunting Indians. Near the end of January our forces met on the Suwannie river, below Old Town (for- merly an Indian Village destroyed by Jackson), oppo- site Fort Fanning, East Florida, having driven before us a few Indians, discovered in the Old Town ham- mocks. All the companies (now the 1st February) were directed back on their trails, scouting through to keep down the Indians. There does not seem to be any very formidable force of Indians in Florida ; and I believe that a part of the murders charged on the Indians are committed by the white settlers, and many of the public (official?) reports of the whites and the Indians being killed or taken are untrue. " Nearty all the white male settlers in Middle Flo- rida, over twelve years of age, receive from Govern- ment twenty -two dollars per month and rations. There is now a report that a man found in a hammock five Indians in the act of torturing, by fire, his son. He killed four of them, and the fifth ran away. Should this be published, you must believe it without proof. I believe these reports are only pretences to keep up this shameful war. " March 21st, I left a post near Old Town Hammock alone, unarmed, and travelled one hundred miles SETH COXCKLIN. 397 through the plains and hammocks without seeing a human being in five days. This circumstance alone would convince uninterested people that there are not many Indians. "But I have further proof that no great danger is apprehended from the Indians, from the fact that a company of United States Infantry near Old Town Hammock, one of the most interior towns in Middle Florida, frequently send out scouting parties through the hammocks without loaded guns and without am- munition, though they carry their guns with them, but as a mere matter of form. I do not know that the blood-hounds find any Indians ; though it appears that in East Florida the dogs, the Spaniards, and our sol- diers have captured one old Indian. "Seth Concklin." In another letter of the same date, addressed to a brother-in-law in Philadelphia, he repeats the same particulars, and gives, in addition, some brief and striking instances of his observation. " I have seen," he writes, " some of the slaves on the north border of Middle Florida, They are much more intelligent than their owners, probably from their being from farther north." The following winter, Concklin appeared again un- expectedly in Syracuse. From that time till he went upon the chivalrous enterprise which cost him his life, he is believed to have resided principally in Troy, occasionally visiting "his family" and his sister Eve- line married, and resident in Philadelphia. More than once he made the journey from Syracuse to Phila- delphia, all the way on foot. He appears to have 398 APPENDIX. commanded the confidence of all who knew him. He was a man of an " incorrigible and losing honesty," abhorring deceptions and injustice, and making every injured man's cause his own. Altogether he was a man of heroic character. His life was a romance — an heroic poem. A gentleman of Syracuse, with whom Concklin lived two years, states, that on one occasion he sent Seth fifty miles from home for a horse. He was pro- vided with money to defray his expenses to and fro by boat or stage. His employer was greatly surprised to see him returning leading the horse, instead of riding him. The saddle and a bag of oats were on the horse's back. He returned nearly all the money which had been given him for the expenses of the journey. It appeared that he had walked to the place where the horse was to be obtained in one day, on returning he took two days, as being encumbered with a horse, he could not walk so fast as without one. It is unnecessary to repeat here the story of the hu- mane and daring enterprise in which he lost his life. Various accounts of it went the rounds of the news- papers at the time. We give the following from a Pittsburgh (Pa.) journal, bearing date, Thursday morn- ing, May 29, 1851 : " A Singular Enterprise. — During the last trip of the steamer Paul Anderson, Captain Gray, she took on board, at Evansville, Indiana, a United States Marshal, having in custody an intelligent white man, named J. H. Miller, and a family of four slaves — mother, daughter, and two sons. Captain Gray sub- sequently learned from Mrs. Miller that he had been SETII CONCKLIN. 399 employed by some persons in Cincinnati to go to Florence, Alabama, and bring away this family of slaves— the woman's husband being in a free State. For this purpose, with a six-oared barge, procured at Cincinnati, Miller had gone down the Ohio and up the Tennessee River, to Florence, there laid in wait till an opportunity occurred, and privily taken away the family of slaves. The barge was rowed down the Tennessee, and up the Ohio, to the Wabash, and up that river till within thirty miles of Yincennes, where the party was overtaken and captured by the Marshal. The unfortunate Miller was then chained, to be taken back to Florence for trial and sure condemnation, by Alabama slave laws. The Paul Anderson having landed at Smithland, mouth of Cumberland Kiver, Mr. Miller made an attempt to escape from her to the steamer Mohican, lying alongside, but, encumbered by his manacles and clothing, was drowned. The body was recovered and buried about a week afterwards. The slaves went back to bondage. The barge was rowed down the Tennessee 273 miles, up the Ohio 100 miles, and up the Wabash 50 miles, before the party were overtaken. Mr. Miller, we learn, had a sister and other relatives in or near Philadelphia. He was a mill-wright by occupation, and owned property in the neighborhood of Yincennes." So far the public press. As these accounts are very imperfect, a person was found who offered to go to Indiana and make such inquiries as might relieve, in some measure, the painful anxiety of Mr. Concklm's relatives and friends, and to obtain his remains, or, at least, if practicable, cause them to be disinterred and 400 APPENDIX. examined. "We subjoin a copy of the written state- ment made by this agent of Mr. Concklin's friends. Statement. Mr. Chandler (I think), at Evansville, in answer to a question as to his knowledge of Miller and the ab- ducted negroes, said, I could obtain information of John S. Gavitt, the former Marshal of Evansville. lie (?) himself believed and told the parties at the time, that the proceedings by which Miller was taken out of the State were illegal, and if such things were to be tolerated, no white man was safe. I next called upon John S. Gavitt, who treated me very respectfully, and seemed not only willing but anxious to impart every information. He told me that he had Miller and the negroes in custody, and that he delivered them on board the steamboat, in care of Mr. John Emison, of Evansville, to be delivered to the authorities in Florence, Alabama. I asked him by what authority they were taken. He said he had the writs in his possession, made out by Martin Kobinson, Esq., of Vincennes. I asked to see them. He showed them to me. I asked for the privilege of copying them. This he would not permit, for the reason, he said, that he believed, "We've all been guilty of illegal proceedings, and if it's brought out, I don't want to give our enemies any advantage." He said, it was no more he than others. " I believe," said he, " we've all done wrong." The writ for the apprehension of Miller was based upon an affidavit by the aforesaid John S. Gavitt, before Squire Eobinson, in which he swears that Miller abducted from B. McKiernan, of Florence, Ala., the four negroes. And the writ or- SETH CONCKLIX. 101 dered the said Gravitt to take the said Miller and safely deliver him to the Sheriff in said Florence, to be dealt with according to law. The authority quoted, I think, was, Sec. 1, No. 62 of the 'Statutes of Indiana. (I wrote from memory, not being permitted to copy.) The other writ for returning the negroes was made, I think, upon the affidavit of James M. Emison, the man who first took them up on suspicion. The said James M. Emison is not an officer. I asked Gravitt how he could know the circum- stances stated in the writ well enough to make such an oath ? He then stated substantially as follows : That on or about the 28th of March last, he received a dispatch from Yincennes, stating that four negroes had been taken up on suspicion, with the man Miller. He in turn telegraphed South, and soon got returns describing the negroes and Miller. He started at once for Vincennes, and drove the whole distance (55 miles) in six hours. He says he made the oath because he was convinced from the description by telegraph, and from conversations with the boy Levin, that they were the same. There seemed to be an indistinctness and confusion in Gavitt's statements, and though I con- versed with him two hours, and he freely answered all questions, I did not fully rely on him. For in- stance, he would state at one time that he believed Miller perfectly honest and conscientious in his course ; yet, at another time said, that Miller owned to him that he was to get $1,000 for the job. He says, his main effort, while Miller was in his charge, was to get him to turn State's evidence, and upon that condition agreed to let him go. This Miller positively refused to do, thongh he confessed that there were four others con- 402 APPENDIX. concerned with him. He said Miller offered him $1,000 if lie would let him go. The reward off- ered for Miller, he said ; was $600, and $400 for the negroes. The story that Miller told him was, that the negroes were his — his brother in Hender- son (Kentucky) having emancipated them after they should have worked upon his farm near Spring- field (Illinois) a certain length of time. He says Miller had shaved his whiskers, and cut off his hair after he was first discovered by James M. Emison. When he was about putting him on the boat, Miller calleel him aside and told him he v^ould give the names of his accomplices if he would let him go. He told him it was too late then, upon which Miller became a perfect picture of despair, and walking suddenly to the side of the boat, he thought, with a determination to throw himself overboard, but was caught by John Emison. Understanding that while Miller was in custody of Gavitt, he was kept at the house of Mr. Sherwood (a relative), the present Marshal of Evans- ville, and that he had conversation with Gavitt's mother, I requested to have her called in. She said she felt very sorry for him, and tried very hard to get him to turn State's evidence ; but he said, nobody was to be blamed in the affair but himself, and that he was not at all sorry for what he had done ; he had done his duty — a Christian duty — and felt a clear conscience. Gavitt said that McKiernan told him that Miller should be hung if it cost him $1,500. Further evidence was procured from the office of the Evansville Journal. From Evansville to Princeton, and thence to Yin- SETII CONCKLIN. 403 eennes, I went in company with Col. Clark and son, of the latter place. He (the Col.) gave a statement of the affair, which made it take quite another direction from Gavitt's story. He placed Gavitt in no very en- viable light. He said that there was a jar between him (Gavitt) and the Emisons about the spoils. Of course the sending back of the "d— d Abolitionist" to Alabama, was all right with him (the Colonel). Having been directed by Gavitt to call on Mr. John Emison, in Vincennes, I did so. He was pointed out to me in the street as the stage agent, or, perhaps, proprietor. I called him aside, and told him that, having some business in Vincennes, I had been re- quested by a friend of Miller's friends to make inquiry^ concerning him ; upon which the said John Emison broke forth in a strain like the following : " Now, my friend, you'd better be pretty d— d careful how you come into this place and make inquiry about such men as Miller." " You've waked up the wrong pas- sengers." "And you might get yourself into the "Wabash river." "If you'll take my advice as a friend, you'd better leave town on pretty d — d short notice." "We don't allow any G— d d— d Aboli- tionist going about this town," &c, &C., with many other extras too numerous to mention. I told him my object in making inquiry of him was a specific one —solely to gratify, or rather to satisfy, Miller's friends, and if such a course was likely to produce a disturb- ance in the place, I was very sorry. But out of respect to those who entrusted the inquiries to me, I felt bound to learn what I could. Emison partially apologised for his haste, and said he was mad at the d — d Abolitionists on the Paul Anderson, who threat- 404 APPENDIX. ened to throw him overboard. (See Evamville Journal, p. 2*1.) He said he felt for Miller, as deeply as any- body could — that he was courageous, and that anybody that was bold enough to jump overboard deserved to get away. " But," said he, " he's dead and buried — he's gone to with his manacles on, so you'll know him when he comes up in the resurrection." He said he would let me have a letter, which he had received from the young Mr. McKiernan, containing further evidence of Miller's death, in addition to the letter from Hodge. Mr. Chandler, of whom I first spoke, told me that he was informed by Gavitt that the lawyer, who. had taken a fee from Miller of some $50, or $80 (as some said) — when Miller was brought into court, said law- yer refused to undertake his case — having received a fee of $25, from the other party. I asked Gavitt about this : he said it was true, for he had paid him the $25 himself, though he could not tell me what the man's name was. William T. Scott, sheriff and jailor of Knox Co., told me the slaves were brought to the jail in the morning (Friday, I think), and the request made by James Emison, that they should be put in: he admit- ted them, though he told me he knew he had no busi- ness to do so. Said Emison & Co. told him they had taken the negroes the previous morning about day- light, as they were crossing a bridge. Miller soon came up, and claimed them as his — they had been liberated by his brother, in Henderson, Ky., and were to serve for him a certain time near Springfield. They took the negroes and bound them, and upon Miller's threatening them with law, they took him SETH COXCELIX. 405 also, and bound him and put him in the -wagon with the rest. After riding five or six miles, and listening to the logical reasoning of Miller, they began to be alarmed, lest they might be doing something wrong in thus binding a white man, without due pro- cess of law T , so they untied him and let him go. He, however, still continued to follow the wagon, and, it being still dark, before they were aware, Miller was in the wagon untying the negroes. When they dis- covered this, they threatened to shoot him if he should again attempt it. Miller still followed the wagon to Vincennes, where the slaves were committed to jail as above. A telegraphic dispatch was sent to Gavitt aforesaid, at Evansville, and by him sent South, from whence he obtained an answer "as before stated. Gavitt went to Yincennes, with evidence sufficient to warrant their being sent back ; but would not give the evidence, or make any move in the premises, till Emison & Co. had agreed to give him one half of the reward. This agreed, the oath w r as made, and Miller arrested, under a law of the State, for detaining fugi- tives from their lawful owners. Previous to this, and I think on the same day, Miller had taken out a habeas corpus, under which the slaves were said to be de- livered ; but Judge Bishop, associate judge for the circuit, remanded them to jail till the next day at 12 o'clock — of course without any claim to law, but (with) merely a suspicion that by that time evidence might be obtained that they did not belong to themselves. "When Gavitt arrived, and Miller was taken as afore- said, his lawyer, Allen, appeared in his behalf, and the proceedings against him were quashed. After this, Miller was remanded bach to jail, though Allen says 406 APPENDIX. it was done by his (Miller's) own request, that he feared the mob, &c. While Miller was thus in jail, the owner arrived, and found his work all made ready to his hand. True, a little more swearing was needed to prove Miller the abductor of the negroes, but it was readily furnished by Marshal Gavitt. Scott says that a young man now in jail, and with whom Miller talked freely, says, he (Miller) had a quantity of gold coin quilted into the collar of his coat. Scott thinks it was not so, as he himself searched him. Scott says, Miller told him that he had only one thing to regret in the transaction, and that was that he had not pursued his own course, and refused to listen to the advice of others. He says the negroes were well trained, and all told the same • story with Miller until the master came, when they owned him — at least all of them but Peter. Upon Miller's second sham trial, he owned all the facts in the case, and pleaded justification. He was asked why he undertook the work without being armed : he said, if he had carried weapons he should have probably felt a strong inclination to use them, and in that case would certainly have been overcome ; con- sequently, he had not allowed himself even a penknife. I went to see C. M. Allen, Esq., to inquire about the two fees, and other matters. I told him that in justice to himself, some explanation should be given. He stated in substance as follows : " That on the morning of the day on which the negroes were brought into town, Miller came to his house very early — before he was up — he told the same story that he did to the cap- tors about the slaves of his brother, at Henderson, &c. ; and wished Allen to take out a habeas corpus to liber- ate the slaves. He told Miller that it was a trouble- SETH CONCKLIN. 407 some case, and if he undertook it he should charge him a heavy fee. Miller asked, how much ? The re- ply was, one hundred dollars. Miller promptly said, ' 1 won't give it,' As Mr. Miller was about to leave him, he called him back and told him it was a hard case to be placed in such a situation, and with but little means. lie showed his purse and counted his money before him. There was forty dollars, or perhaps a little over, in gold, silver and bills. Miller told him if he would undertake his case he would give him fifteen dollars. There followed a parley about the fee, and Mr. Allen did not tell me how much he received ; but he said he told Miller, if he hud not told him the truth, that he should abandon' his case at any time, whenever that should appear. So when Miller was brought into court, after the arrival of McKiernan, he refused to act for him, because the evidence seemed so strong that Miller had misrepresented the thing to him. Allen, it appears, acted for Miller, in taking out the habeas corpus for the negroes, and also in Miller's trial on the indictment for breaking the law of Indiana ; both of which resulted in Miller's favor. Upon quasi i • ing the proceedings in the last named case, Allen made (i request of the judge that Miller should be remanded back to jail, upon his own request ; that he probably had his own reasons for such request. The judge told him that he did not know that he had any right to do so — if he would show him law for it, he would do so. Allen replied that he did not know that lie could — it was only Miller's request. The judge complied. Al- len gave it as a reason that he feared the violence of the mob, as the whole place was in a high state of ex- citement, While thus in jail, Ga'vitt came with his 408 APPENDIX. telegraphic evidence and made the necessary oath to have Miller apprehended, and remanded to Alabama, as a fugitive from justice. Gavitt (who, it seems, had been into the jail, and tried to extort a confession from the negroes), told me that he stated to the court ('Squire Kobinson), that he was. aware that the testimony of colored persons was not admitted by law on such occasions, but wished to know if the court would do him the favor to listen to the statement of the boy Levin ? He ('Squire R.) said he would. The boy then owned in answer to questions put to him, that he was the slave of 'Master Kiernan,' and that he had come with Miller from South Florence, Ala. I asked Gavitt which he thought had the most weight with the court, his affidavit or the negro's state- ment ? His reply was : ' The nigger's story teas what done it. 1 I went to see 'Squire Robinson, and asked him to let me see the law by which Miller was remand- ed. He said there was a law shown him at the time, but he could not now tell what or where it was, as he kept no minute of the proceedings. A great many other little incidents were narrated during the four days that I was in Evansville, Prince- ton, and Vincennes, that might be elicited by ques- tions ; but I have given the most important, or at least that which I considered so. From the feeling mani- fested, I saw it would not be safe for me to go to Smithland to disinter the body, so I wrote to Mr. Hodge for the verdict of the Coroner's jury, and any other particulars as to identity which he might be able to give. Have not yet received an answer. (Signed), E. Jacobs. Cincinnati, June 11, 1851. SETH CONCKLIN. 409 From these statements there can be no doubt that the body taken from the Ohio river, near Smithland. in irons, and buried in irons, was the body of Seth Concklin. But of the manner of his death, there is no direct evidence. Of all the conjectures that may be formed, the least probable is, that he was drowned in an attempt to escape. Daring as he was, he was never- theless a man of too much sagacity to have dreamed of escaping by the water, cumbered as he was with manacles. The most probable state of the case was that, seeing how utterly hopeless the prospect was for him, if he once entered the Southern country, he tore himself from the savage clutch of cruel men, and threw himself upon the mercy of God. The suspicion of foul play which is involuntarily awakened, is put at rest by the consideration that his captors had no temptation to murder him. They knew perfectly well their own Slave laws, and must have been only too eager to carry him back alive and make an example of him, to the terror of their slaves and of all who should think of helping them to escape. Although he was buried as he was found, in chains, and was branded with the name of " negro thief," and his captors exulted in their blood-stained rewards, yet in the sight of Truth and of Heaven, he is joined to the noble and heroic company of the martyrs, the martyrs of Freedom and Humanity.