Months of Danger

The search for me was kept up with more perseverance than I had anticipated. I began to think that escape was impossible. I was in great anxiety lest I should implicate the friend who harbored me. I knew the consequences would be frightful; and much as I dreaded being caught, even that seemed better than causing an innocent person to suffer for kindness to me. A week had passed in terrible suspense, when my pursuers came into such close vicinity that I concluded they had tracked me to my hiding-place. I flew out of the house, and concealed myself in a thicket of bushes. There I remained in an agony of fear for two hours. Suddenly, a reptile of some kind seized my leg. In my fright, I struck a blow which loosened its hold, but I could not tell whether I had killed it; it was so dark, I could not see what it was; I only knew it was something cold and slimy. The pain I felt soon indicated that the bite was poisonous. I was compelled to leave my place of concealment, and I groped my way back into the house. The pain had become intense, and my friend was startled by my look of anguish. I asked her to prepare a poultice of warm ashes and vinegar, and I applied it to my leg, which was already much swollen. The application gave me some relief, but the swelling did not abate. The dread of being disabled was greater than the physical pain I endured. My friend asked an old woman, who doctored among the slaves, what was good for the bite of a snake or a lizard. She told her to steep a dozen coppers in vinegar, over night, and apply the cankered vinegar to the inflamed part.[^1]

The search for me continued with more determination than I had expected. I began to think escape was impossible. I was very anxious that I might implicate the friend who was sheltering me. I knew the consequences would be horrifying. As much as I feared being caught, even that seemed better than causing an innocent person to suffer for helping me. A week had passed in terrible suspense when my pursuers came so close that I thought they had tracked me to my hiding place. I ran out of the house and hid in a thicket of bushes. I stayed there for two hours in agony, terrified. Suddenly, some kind of reptile seized my leg. Frightened, I struck it and made it let go, but I could not tell whether I had killed it. It was too dark to see what it was. I knew only that it was cold and slimy. The pain soon told me that the bite was poisonous. I had to leave my hiding place, and I felt my way back into the house. The pain had become intense, and my friend was startled by the anguish on my face. I asked her to prepare a poultice of warm ashes and vinegar. I applied it to my leg, which was already badly swollen. The poultice gave me some relief, but the swelling did not go down. My fear of being disabled was greater than the physical pain I endured. My friend asked an old woman who treated enslaved people what was good for the bite of a snake or lizard. The woman told her to soak a dozen copper coins in vinegar overnight. Then she was to apply the vinegar, with the corrosion from the coins, to the inflamed area.[^1]

1 The poison of a snake is a powerful acid, and is counteracted by powerful alkalies, such as potash, ammonia, &c. The Indians are accustomed to apply wet ashes, or plunge the limb into strong lie. White men, employed to lay out railroads in snaky places, often carry ammonia with them as an antidote.—Editor.

1 Snake venom is a powerful acid. Powerful alkalis, such as potash and ammonia, counteract it. Indians often apply wet ashes or plunge the affected limb into strong lye. White men hired to lay out railroads in places with many snakes often carry ammonia as an antidote. Editor.

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

I had managed to send some messages to my relatives without being discovered. They were harshly threatened and had lost hope that I could escape. They advised me to return to my master, ask his forgiveness, and let him make an example of me. But their advice did not sway me. When I began this dangerous undertaking, I had resolved that, whatever happened, I would not turn back. “Give me liberty, or give me death,” was my motto. My friend managed to tell my relatives about the painful situation I had been in for twenty-four hours. After that, they said no more about my returning to my master. Something had to be done quickly, but they did not know where to turn for help. God, in his mercy, brought us “a friend in need.”

Among the ladies who were acquainted with my grandmother, was one who had known her from childhood, and always been very friendly to her. She had also known my mother and her children, and felt interested for them. At this crisis of affairs she called to see my grandmother, as she not unfrequently did. She observed the sad and troubled expression of her face, and asked if she knew where Linda was, and whether she was safe. My grandmother shook her head, without answering. “Come, Aunt Martha,” said the kind lady, “tell me all about it. Perhaps I can do something to help you.” The husband of this lady held many slaves, and bought and sold slaves. She also held a number in her own name; but she treated them kindly, and would never allow any of them to be sold. She was unlike the majority of slaveholders’ wives. My grandmother looked earnestly at her. Something in the expression of her face said “Trust me!” and she did trust her. She listened attentively to the details of my story, and sat thinking for a while. At last she said, “Aunt Martha, I pity you both. If you think there is any chance of Linda’s getting to the Free States, I will conceal her for a time. But first you must solemnly promise that my name shall never be mentioned. If such a thing should become known, it would ruin me and my family. No one in my house must know of it, except the cook. She is so faithful that I would trust my own life with her; and I know she likes Linda. It is a great risk; but I trust no harm will come of it. Get word to Linda to be ready as soon as it is dark, before the patrols are out. I will send the housemaids on errands, and Betty shall go to meet Linda.” The place where we were to meet was designated and agreed upon. My grandmother was unable to thank the lady for this noble deed; overcome by her emotions, she sank on her knees and sobbed like a child.

Among the women who knew my grandmother was one who had known her since childhood. She had always been very friendly to her. She had also known my mother and her children and cared about them. At this difficult time, she came to visit my grandmother, as she often did. She noticed my grandmother’s sad, troubled expression. She asked if my grandmother knew where Linda was and whether she was safe. My grandmother shook her head without answering. “Come, Aunt Martha,” said the kind woman, “tell me all about it. Perhaps I can do something to help you.” The woman’s husband enslaved many people and bought and sold enslaved people. She also held a number of people in slavery in her own name. But she treated them kindly and would never allow any of them to be sold. She was unlike most slaveholders’ wives. My grandmother looked at her closely. Something in the woman’s expression said “Trust me!” and my grandmother did. The woman listened carefully to the details of my story and sat thinking for a while. At last she said, “Aunt Martha, I pity you both. If you think there is any chance of Linda reaching the Free States, I will hide her for a time. But first you must solemnly promise never to mention my name. If what I have done became known, it would ruin me and my family. No one in my house must know about it except the cook. She is so faithful that I would trust her with my own life. And I know she likes Linda. It is a great risk, but I trust no harm will come of it. Get word to Linda to be ready as soon as it is dark, before the patrols are out. I will send the housemaids on errands, and Betty shall go to meet Linda.” They chose and agreed on a place for us to meet. My grandmother could not thank the woman for this noble deed. Overcome by emotion, she sank to her knees and sobbed like a child.

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

I received a message telling me to leave my friend’s house at a certain time. I was to go to a certain place where a friend would be waiting for me. As a precaution, no names were mentioned. I had no way of guessing whom I would meet or where I was going. I did not like moving forward blindfolded like this, but I had no choice. I could not stay where I was. I disguised myself, gathered the courage to face the worst, and went to the appointed place. My friend Betty was there. She was the last person I expected to see. We hurried along in silence. The pain in my leg was so intense that I felt as if I would collapse, but fear gave me strength. We reached the house and entered without being seen. Her first words were: “Honey, you’re safe now. Those devils aren’t coming to search this house. Once I get you into the mistress’s safe place, I’ll bring you a nice hot supper. I expect you need it after all this fright.” Betty’s work led her to think eating was the most important thing in life. She did not realize that my heart was too full for me to care much about supper.

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

The mistress came to meet us and led me upstairs to a small room above her bedroom. “You will be safe here, Linda,” she said. “I use this room to store things that are no longer in use. The girls are not usually sent here. They will not suspect anything unless they hear a noise. I always keep the room locked, and Betty will take care of the key. But you must be very careful, for my sake as well as yours. You must never tell my secret, because it would ruin me and my family. I will keep the girls busy in the morning so Betty can bring your breakfast. But she must not come to you again until night. I will come to see you sometimes. Keep up your courage. I hope things will not stay this way for long.” Betty came with the “nice hot supper,” and the mistress hurried downstairs to keep things in order until Betty returned. How my heart overflowed with gratitude! Words caught in my throat, but I could have kissed the feet of the woman who had helped me. For that act of Christian womanhood, may God bless her forever!

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

I went to sleep that night feeling that, for the moment, I was the luckiest enslaved person in town. Morning came and filled my little hiding place with light. I thanked my heavenly Father for this safe refuge. Across from my window was a pile of feather beds. I could lie on top of them, completely hidden, and see the street Dr. Flint took to his office. Although I was anxious, I felt a glimmer of satisfaction when I saw him. So far, I had outsmarted him, and I felt triumphant. Who can blame enslaved people for being cunning? They are constantly forced to use cunning. It is the only weapon the weak and oppressed have against the power of their tyrants.

I was daily hoping to hear that my master had sold my children; for I knew who was on the watch to buy them. But Dr. Flint cared even more for revenge than he did for money. My brother William, and the good aunt who had served in his family twenty years, and my little Benny, and Ellen, who was a little over two years old, were thrust into jail, as a means of compelling my relatives to give some information about me. He swore my grandmother should never see one of them again till I was brought back. They kept these facts from me for several days. When I heard that my little ones were in a loathsome jail, my first impulse was to go to them. I was encountering dangers for the sake of freeing them, and must I be the cause of their death? The thought was agonizing. My benefactress tried to soothe me by telling me that my aunt would take good care of the children while they remained in jail. But it added to my pain to think that the good old aunt, who had always been so kind to her sister’s orphan children, should be shut up in prison for no other crime than loving them. I suppose my friends feared a reckless movement on my part, knowing, as they did, that my life was bound up in my children. I received a note from my brother William. It was scarcely legible, and ran thus: “Wherever you are, dear sister, I beg of you not to come here. We are all much better off than you are. If you come, you will ruin us all. They would force you to tell where you had been, or they would kill you. Take the advice of your friends; if not for the sake of me and your children, at least for the sake of those you would ruin.”

Every day, I hoped to hear that my master had sold my children. I knew who was waiting to buy them. But Dr. Flint cared even more about revenge than money. He threw my brother William, my little Benny, and Ellen into jail. Ellen was a little over two years old. He also jailed my good aunt, who had served his family for twenty years. He did this to force my relatives to tell him something about me. He swore that my grandmother would never see any of them again until I was brought back. My friends kept these facts from me for several days. When I heard that my little ones were in a filthy jail, my first impulse was to go to them. I was facing dangers to free them. Could I be the cause of their deaths? The thought was agonizing. The woman helping me tried to comfort me. She said my aunt would take good care of the children while they were in jail. But it hurt even more to think of my good old aunt locked in prison. She had always been so kind to her sister’s orphaned children. Now she was imprisoned for no crime other than loving them. I suppose my friends feared I would do something reckless. They knew that my life was bound up with my children. I received a note from my brother William. It was barely legible and said: “Wherever you are, dear sister, I beg you not to come here. We are all much better off than you are. If you come, you will ruin us all. They would force you to tell them where you had been, or they would kill you. Take your friends’ advice. If you will not do it for me and your children, at least do it for those you would ruin.”

Poor William! He also must suffer for being my brother. I took his advice and kept quiet. My aunt was taken out of jail at the end of a month, because Mrs. Flint could not spare her any longer. She was tired of being her own housekeeper. It was quite too fatiguing to order her dinner and eat it too. My children remained in jail, where brother William did all he could for their comfort. Betty went to see them sometimes, and brought me tidings. She was not permitted to enter the jail; but William would hold them up to the grated window while she chatted with them. When she repeated their prattle, and told me how they wanted to see their ma, my tears would flow. Old Betty would exclaim, “Lors, chile! what’s you crying ’bout? Dem young uns vil kill you dead. Don’t be so chick’n hearted! If you does, you vil nebber git thro’ dis world.”

Poor William! He had to suffer too, just because he was my brother. I took his advice and kept quiet. After a month, my aunt was released from jail because Mrs. Flint could not do without her any longer. She was tired of being her own housekeeper. It was far too tiring to order her dinner and eat it too. My children remained in jail, where my brother William did all he could to comfort them. Betty sometimes went to see them and brought me news. She was not allowed inside the jail, but William would hold the children up to the barred window while she chatted with them. When she repeated their childish chatter and told me how they wanted to see their ma, I would cry. Old Betty would exclaim, “Lord, child! What are you crying about? Those children will kill you. Don’t be so fainthearted! If you are, you’ll never get through this world.”

Good old soul! She had gone through the world childless. She had never had little ones to clasp their arms round her neck; she had never seen their soft eyes looking into hers; no sweet little voices had called her mother; she had never pressed her own infants to her heart, with the feeling that even in fetters there was something to live for. How could she realize my feelings? Betty’s husband loved children dearly, and wondered why God had denied them to him. He expressed great sorrow when he came to Betty with the tidings that Ellen had been taken out of jail and carried to Dr. Flint’s. She had the measles a short time before they carried her to jail, and the disease had left her eyes affected. The doctor had taken her home to attend to them. My children had always been afraid of the doctor and his wife. They had never been inside of their house. Poor little Ellen cried all day to be carried back to prison. The instincts of childhood are true. She knew she was loved in the jail. Her screams and sobs annoyed Mrs. Flint. Before night she called one of the slaves, and said, “Here, Bill, carry this brat back to the jail. I can’t stand her noise. If she would be quiet I should like to keep the little minx. She would make a handy waiting-maid for my daughter by and by. But if she staid here, with her white face, I suppose I should either kill her or spoil her. I hope the doctor will sell them as far as wind and water can carry them. As for their mother, her ladyship will find out yet what she gets by running away. She hasn’t so much feeling for her children as a cow has for its calf. If she had, she would have come back long ago, to get them out of jail, and save all this expense and trouble. The good-for-nothing hussy! When she is caught, she shall stay in jail, in irons, for one six months, and then be sold to a sugar plantation. I shall see her broke in yet. What do you stand there for, Bill? Why don’t you go off with the brat? Mind, now, that you don’t let any of the niggers speak to her in the street!”

Good old soul! She had gone through life childless. She had never had little ones wrap their arms around her neck. She had never seen their soft eyes looking into hers, or heard sweet little voices call her mother. She had never held her own babies to her heart, feeling that even in chains she had something to live for. How could she understand my feelings? Betty’s husband loved children dearly and wondered why God had denied him children. He was very sorry when he came to tell Betty that Ellen had been taken from jail to Dr. Flint’s house. Ellen had had measles shortly before she was taken to jail, and the disease had affected her eyes. The doctor had taken her home to treat her eyes. My children had always been afraid of the doctor and his wife. They had never been inside their house. Poor little Ellen cried all day, begging to be taken back to jail. A child’s instincts are true. She knew she was loved in the jail. Her screams and sobs annoyed Mrs. Flint. Before nightfall, she called one of the enslaved men and said, “Here, Bill, take this brat back to jail. I can’t stand her noise. If she would be quiet, I would like to keep the little minx. She would make a handy maid for my daughter someday. But if she stayed here, with her white face, I suppose I would either kill her or spoil her. I hope the doctor sells them as far away as wind and water can carry them. As for their mother, her ladyship will find out yet what she gets for running away. She has less feeling for her children than a cow has for her calf. If she cared, she would have come back long ago to get them out of jail and save all this expense and trouble. The good-for-nothing hussy! When she is caught, she will stay in jail, in chains, for six months. Then she will be sold to a sugar plantation. I’ll see her broken in yet. What are you standing there for, Bill? Why don’t you take the brat away? And make sure you don’t let any of the niggers speak to her in the street!”

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

When I heard these remarks, I smiled at Mrs. Flint’s claim that she would either kill my child or spoil her. I thought there was very little danger of her spoiling my child. I have always considered it a special act of God’s providence that Ellen screamed until she was taken back to jail.

That same night Dr. Flint was called to a patient, and did not return till near morning. Passing my grandmother’s, he saw a light in the house, and thought to himself, “Perhaps this has something to do with Linda.” He knocked, and the door was opened. “What calls you up so early?” said he. “I saw your light, and I thought I would just stop and tell you that I have found out where Linda is. I know where to put my hands on her, and I shall have her before twelve o’clock.” When he had turned away, my grandmother and my uncle looked anxiously at each other. They did not know whether or not it was merely one of the doctor’s tricks to frighten them. In their uncertainty, they thought it was best to have a message conveyed to my friend Betty. Unwilling to alarm her mistress, Betty resolved to dispose of me herself. She came to me, and told me to rise and dress quickly. We hurried down stairs, and across the yard, into the kitchen. She locked the door, and lifted up a plank in the floor. A buffalo skin and a bit of carpet were spread for me to lie on, and a quilt thrown over me. “Stay dar,” said she, “till I sees if dey know ’bout you. Dey say dey vil put thar hans on you afore twelve o’clock. If dey did know whar you are, dey won’t know now. Dey’ll be disapinted dis time. Dat’s all I got to say. If dey comes rummagin ’mong my tings, dey’ll get one bressed sarssin from dis ’ere nigger.” In my shallow bed I had but just room enough to bring my hands to my face to keep the dust out of my eyes; for Betty walked over me twenty times in an hour, passing from the dresser to the fireplace. When she was alone, I could hear her pronouncing anathemas over Dr. Flint and all his tribe, every now and then saying, with a chuckling laugh, “Dis nigger’s too cute for ’em dis time.” When the housemaids were about, she had sly ways of drawing them out, that I might hear what they would say. She would repeat stories she had heard about my being in this, or that, or the other place. To which they would answer, that I was not fool enough to be staying round there; that I was in Philadelphia or New York before this time. When all were abed and asleep, Betty raised the plank, and said, “Come out, chile; come out. Dey don’t know nottin ’bout you. ’Twas only white folks’ lies, to skeer de niggers.”

That same night, Dr. Flint was called to see a patient. He did not return until nearly morning. As he passed my grandmother’s house, he saw a light and thought, “Perhaps this has something to do with Linda.” He knocked, and someone opened the door. “What has you up so early?” he asked. “I saw your light, and I thought I would stop and tell you that I’ve found out where Linda is. I know where to find her, and I’ll have her before twelve o’clock.” After he left, my grandmother and my uncle looked at each other anxiously. They did not know whether this was just one of the doctor’s tricks to frighten them. Since they were unsure, they thought it best to send a message to my friend Betty. Betty did not want to alarm her mistress, so she decided to hide me herself. She came to me and told me to get up and dress quickly. We hurried downstairs, across the yard, and into the kitchen. She locked the door and lifted a plank in the floor. She spread a buffalo skin and a piece of carpet for me to lie on, then threw a quilt over me. “Stay there,” she said, “until I see if they know about you. They say they’ll get their hands on you before twelve o’clock. If they did know where you were, they don’t know now. They’ll be disappointed this time. That’s all I have to say. If they come rummaging among my things, this nigger will give them a blessed scolding.” In my shallow bed, I had just enough room to bring my hands to my face. I needed to keep the dust out of my eyes because Betty walked over me twenty times an hour. She went back and forth between the dresser and the fireplace. When she was alone, I could hear her cursing Dr. Flint and all his tribe. Every now and then she chuckled and said, “This nigger’s too clever for them this time.” When the housemaids were around, she found sly ways to get them talking so I could hear what they said. She repeated stories she had heard about my being in one place or another. They answered that I was not foolish enough to be staying around there. By now, they said, I was in Philadelphia or New York. When everyone was in bed and asleep, Betty lifted the plank and said, “Come out, child, come out. They don’t know anything about you. It was only white folks’ lies to scare the niggers.”

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

Some days after this adventure, I had a much worse fright. I sat very still in my hiding place upstairs, thinking hopeful thoughts. I thought Dr. Flint would soon grow discouraged and agree to sell my children. He would do this once he lost all hope of using them to find me. I knew who was ready to buy them. Suddenly I heard a voice that chilled my blood. It was too familiar, and had been too dreadful, for me not to recognize my old master at once. He was in the house, and I immediately concluded that he had come to seize me. I looked around in terror. There was no way to escape. His voice grew fainter. I assumed the constable was with him and that they were searching the house. Even in my alarm, I did not forget the trouble I was causing the generous woman sheltering me. It seemed as if I were born to bring sorrow to everyone who helped me. That was the bitterest part of my bitter life. After a while, I heard footsteps approaching, and a key turned in my door. I braced myself against the wall to keep from falling. I dared to look up, and there stood the kind woman who had sheltered me, alone. I was too overcome to speak, and I sank to the floor.

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

“I thought you might hear your master’s voice,” she said. “I knew you would be terrified, so I came to tell you there is nothing to fear. You may even have a laugh at the old gentleman’s expense. He is so sure you are in New York that he came to borrow five hundred dollars to search for you. My sister had some money to lend at interest. He borrowed it and plans to leave for New York tonight. So, for now, you are safe. The doctor will only spend his money hunting for the bird he left behind.”