A Contest of Cunning

Dr. Flint had not given me up. Every now and then he would say to my grandmother that I would yet come back, and voluntarily surrender myself; and that when I did, I could be purchased by my relatives, or any one who wished to buy me. I knew his cunning nature too well not to perceive that this was a trap laid for me; and so all my friends understood it. I resolved to match my cunning against his cunning. In order to make him believe that I was in New York, I resolved to write him a letter dated from that place. I sent for my friend Peter, and asked him if he knew any trustworthy seafaring person, who would carry such a letter to New York, and put it in the post office there. He said he knew one that he would trust with his own life to the ends of the world. I reminded him that it was a hazardous thing for him to undertake. He said he knew it, but he was willing to do any thing to help me. I expressed a wish for a New York paper, to ascertain the names of some of the streets. He run his hand into his pocket, and said, “Here is half a one, that was round a cap I bought of a pedler yesterday.” I told him the letter would be ready the next evening. He bade me good by, adding, “Keep up your spirits, Linda; brighter days will come by and by.”

Dr. Flint had not given up on me. From time to time, he told my grandmother that I would come back and surrender myself willingly. He said that when I did, my relatives or anyone else who wished could buy me. I knew his cunning nature too well not to see that this was a trap for me. All my friends understood it too. I decided to match my cunning against his. To make him believe I was in New York, I decided to write him a letter dated from there. I sent for my friend Peter. I asked if he knew a trustworthy sailor who would carry the letter to New York and mail it there. He said he knew someone he would trust with his own life to the ends of the world. I reminded Peter that taking on this task was dangerous for him. He said he knew, but he was willing to do anything to help me. I said I wanted a New York newspaper so I could find the names of some streets. He reached into his pocket and said, “Here is half of one. It was wrapped around a cap I bought from a peddler yesterday.” I told him the letter would be ready the next evening. He said goodbye, adding, “Keep up your spirits, Linda. Brighter days will come before long.”

My uncle Phillip kept watch over the gate until our brief interview was over. Early the next morning, I seated myself near the little aperture to examine the newspaper. It was a piece of the New York Herald; and, for once, the paper that systematically abuses the colored people, was made to render them a service. Having obtained what information I wanted concerning streets and numbers, I wrote two letters, one to my grandmother, the other to Dr. Flint. I reminded him how he, a gray-headed man, had treated a helpless child, who had been placed in his power, and what years of misery he had brought upon her. To my grandmother, I expressed a wish to have my children sent to me at the north, where I could teach them to respect themselves, and set them a virtuous example; which a slave mother was not allowed to do at the south. I asked her to direct her answer to a certain street in Boston, as I did not live in New York, though I went there sometimes. I dated these letters ahead, to allow for the time it would take to carry them, and sent a memorandum of the date to the messenger. When my friend came for the letters, I said, “God bless and reward you, Peter, for this disinterested kindness. Pray be careful. If you are detected, both you and I will have to suffer dreadfully. I have not a relative who would dare to do it for me.” He replied, “You may trust to me, Linda. I don’t forget that your father was my best friend, and I will be a friend to his children so long as God lets me live.”

My uncle Phillip watched the gate until our brief meeting was over. Early the next morning, I sat near the small opening to examine the newspaper. It was a piece of the New York Herald. For once, the paper that regularly abused Black people was made to do them a service. After finding the street names and numbers I needed, I wrote two letters. One was to my grandmother, and the other was to Dr. Flint. I reminded him how he, a gray-haired man, had treated a helpless child placed in his power. I reminded him, too, of the years of misery he had brought upon her. I told my grandmother that I wished to have my children sent to me in the North. There I could teach them to respect themselves and set them a virtuous example. An enslaved mother was not allowed to do that in the South. I asked her to address her reply to a particular street in Boston. I did not live in New York, although I sometimes went there. I dated the letters ahead to allow time for them to be carried there. I also sent the messenger a note with the date. When my friend came for the letters, I said, “God bless and reward you, Peter, for this selfless kindness. Please be careful. If you are caught, both you and I will suffer terribly. I do not have a relative who would dare to do this for me.” He replied, “You can trust me, Linda. I have not forgotten that your father was my best friend. I will be a friend to his children as long as God lets me live.”

It was necessary to tell my grandmother what I had done, in order that she might be ready for the letter, and prepared to hear what Dr. Flint might say about my being at the north. She was sadly troubled. She felt sure mischief would come of it. I also told my plan to aunt Nancy, in order that she might report to us what was said at Dr. Flint’s house. I whispered it to her through a crack, and she whispered back, “I hope it will succeed. I shan’t mind being a slave all my life, if I can only see you and the children free.”

I had to tell my grandmother what I had done so she would be ready for the letter. She also needed to be prepared for what Dr. Flint might say about my being in the North. She was deeply troubled. She felt sure the plan would lead to trouble. I also told aunt Nancy my plan so she could tell us what was said at Dr. Flint’s house. I whispered the plan to her through a crack, and she whispered back, “I hope it succeeds. I won’t mind being a slave all my life, if I can only see you and the children free.”

I had directed that my letters should be put into the New York post office on the 20th of the month. On the evening of the 24th my aunt came to say that Dr. Flint and his wife had been talking in a low voice about a letter he had received, and that when he went to his office he promised to bring it when he came to tea. So I concluded I should hear my letter read the next morning. I told my grandmother Dr. Flint would be sure to come, and asked her to have him sit near a certain door, and leave it open, that I might hear what he said. The next morning I took my station within sound of that door, and remained motionless as a statue. It was not long before I heard the gate slam, and the well-known footsteps enter the house. He seated himself in the chair that was placed for him, and said, “Well, Martha, I’ve brought you a letter from Linda. She has sent me a letter, also. I know exactly where to find her; but I don’t choose to go to Boston for her. I had rather she would come back of her own accord, in a respectable manner. Her uncle Phillip is the best person to go for her. With him, she would feel perfectly free to act. I am willing to pay his expenses going and returning. She shall be sold to her friends. Her children are free; at least I suppose they are; and when you obtain her freedom, you’ll make a happy family. I suppose, Martha, you have no objection to my reading to you the letter Linda has written to you.”

I had arranged for my letters to be mailed from the New York post office on the 20th of the month. On the evening of the 24th, my aunt came to see me. She said Dr. Flint and his wife had been talking quietly about a letter he had received. When he went to his office, he promised to bring the letter when he came to tea. So I concluded that I would hear my letter read the next morning. I told my grandmother that Dr. Flint would surely come. I asked her to have him sit near a certain door and leave it open so I could hear him. The next morning, I took my place within hearing distance of the door and stayed as still as a statue. Before long, I heard the gate slam and the familiar footsteps enter the house. He sat down in the chair set out for him and said, “Well, Martha, I’ve brought you a letter from Linda. She has sent me a letter too. I know exactly where to find her, but I choose not to go to Boston to get her. I would rather she came back of her own free will, in a respectable way. Her uncle Phillip is the best person to go for her. With him, she would feel completely free to act. I am willing to pay his expenses for the trip there and back. She will be sold to her friends. Her children are free, or at least I suppose they are. And when you obtain her freedom, you’ll be a happy family. I suppose, Martha, you have no objection to my reading you the letter Linda has written to you.”

He broke the seal, and I heard him read it. The old villain! He had suppressed the letter I wrote to grandmother, and prepared a substitute of his own, the purport of which was as follows:—

He broke the seal, and I heard him read the letter. The old villain! He had withheld the letter I wrote to grandmother and written a substitute of his own. It said, in essence:

“Dear Grandmother: I have long wanted to write to you; but the disgraceful manner in which I left you and my children made me ashamed to do it. If you knew how much I have suffered since I ran away, you would pity and forgive me. I have purchased freedom at a dear rate. If any arrangement could be made for me to return to the south without being a slave, I would gladly come. If not, I beg of you to send my children to the north. I cannot live any longer without them. Let me know in time, and I will meet them in New York or Philadelphia, whichever place best suits my uncle’s convenience. Write as soon as possible to your unhappy daughter, Linda.”

“Dear Grandmother: I have wanted to write to you for a long time. But I was ashamed because of the disgraceful way I left you and my children. If you knew how much I have suffered since I ran away, you would pity and forgive me. I have paid dearly for my freedom. If there were a way for me to return to the South without being a slave, I would gladly come. If not, I beg you to send my children to the North. I cannot live without them any longer. Let me know in time, and I will meet them in New York or Philadelphia, whichever is more convenient for my uncle. Please write as soon as possible to your unhappy daughter, Linda.”

“It is very much as I expected it would be,” said the old hypocrite, rising to go. “You see the foolish girl has repented of her rashness, and wants to return. We must help her to do it, Martha. Talk with Phillip about it. If he will go for her, she will trust to him, and come back. I should like an answer to-morrow. Good morning, Martha.”

“This is just what I expected,” said the old hypocrite, getting up to leave. “You see, the foolish girl regrets acting so rashly and wants to come back. We must help her return, Martha. Talk to Phillip about it. If he goes to get her, she will trust him and come back. I would like an answer tomorrow. Good morning, Martha.”

As he stepped out on the piazza, he stumbled over my little girl. “Ah, Ellen, is that you?” he said, in his most gracious manner. “I didn’t see you. How do you do?”

As he stepped onto the porch, he stumbled over my little girl. “Ah, Ellen, is that you?” he said in his most gracious manner. “I didn’t see you. How are you?”

“Pretty well, sir,” she replied. “I heard you tell grandmother that my mother is coming home. I want to see her.”

“Pretty well, sir,” she replied. “I heard you tell Grandma that my mother is coming home. I want to see her.”

“Yes, Ellen, I am going to bring her home very soon,” rejoined he; “and you shall see her as much as you like, you little curly-headed nigger.”

“Yes, Ellen, I’m going to bring her home very soon,” he replied. “And you can see her as much as you like, you little curly-headed nigger.”

This was as good as a comedy to me, who had heard it all; but grandmother was frightened and distressed, because the doctor wanted my uncle to go for me.

Having heard it all, I found it as funny as a comedy. But grandmother was frightened and upset because the doctor wanted my uncle to go get me.

The next evening Dr. Flint called to talk the matter over. My uncle told him that from what he had heard of Massachusetts, he judged he should be mobbed if he went there after a runaway slave. “All stuff and nonsense, Phillip!” replied the doctor. “Do you suppose I want you to kick up a row in Boston? The business can all be done quietly. Linda writes that she wants to come back. You are her relative, and she would trust you. The case would be different if I went. She might object to coming with me; and the damned abolitionists, if they knew I was her master, would not believe me, if I told them she had begged to go back. They would get up a row; and I should not like to see Linda dragged through the streets like a common negro. She has been very ungrateful to me for all my kindness; but I forgive her, and want to act the part of a friend towards her. I have no wish to hold her as my slave. Her friends can buy her as soon as she arrives here.”

The next evening Dr. Flint came to talk the matter over. My uncle told him what he had heard about Massachusetts. He thought he would be mobbed if he went there after a runaway slave. “That is all nonsense, Phillip!” the doctor replied. “Do you think I want you to start a fight in Boston? The whole thing can be done quietly. Linda writes that she wants to come back. You are her relative, and she would trust you. It would be different if I went. She might object to coming with me. And if the damned abolitionists knew I was her master, they would not believe me if I told them she had begged to go back. They would start a fight. And I would not like to see Linda dragged through the streets like a common negro. She has been very ungrateful to me for all my kindness. But I forgive her and want to act as a friend to her. I have no wish to hold her as my slave. Her friends can buy her as soon as she arrives here.”

Finding that his arguments failed to convince my uncle, the doctor “let the cat out of the bag,” by saying that he had written to the mayor of Boston, to ascertain whether there was a person of my description at the street and number from which my letter was dated. He had omitted this date in the letter he had made up to read to my grandmother. If I had dated from New York, the old man would probably have made another journey to that city. But even in that dark region, where knowledge is so carefully excluded from the slave, I had heard enough about Massachusetts to come to the conclusion that slaveholders did not consider it a comfortable place to go to in search of a runaway. That was before the Fugitive Slave Law was passed; before Massachusetts had consented to become a “nigger hunter” for the south.

When the doctor saw that his arguments had failed to convince my uncle, he “let the cat out of the bag.” He said he had written to the mayor of Boston to ask whether someone matching my description was at the address on my letter. He had left out that address in the letter he had made up to read to my grandmother. If I had dated my letter from New York, the old man would probably have made another trip there. But even in that dark region, where enslaved people were so carefully denied knowledge, I had heard enough about Massachusetts to reach a conclusion. Slaveholders did not consider it a comfortable place to go looking for a runaway. That was before the Fugitive Slave Law was passed, before Massachusetts had agreed to become a “nigger hunter” for the South.

My grandmother, who had become skittish by seeing her family always in danger, came to me with a very distressed countenance, and said, “What will you do if the mayor of Boston sends him word that you haven’t been there? Then he will suspect the letter was a trick; and maybe he’ll find out something about it, and we shall all get into trouble. O Linda, I wish you had never sent the letters.”

My grandmother had grown nervous from seeing her family constantly in danger. She came to me looking very distressed and said, “What will you do if the mayor of Boston tells him you haven’t been there? Then he will suspect the letter was a trick. Maybe he’ll find out something about it, and we’ll all get into trouble. Oh, Linda, I wish you had never sent the letters.”

“Don’t worry yourself, Grandmother,” said I. “The mayor of Boston won’t trouble himself to hunt niggers for Dr. Flint. The letters will do good in the end. I shall get out of this dark hole some time or other.”

“Don’t worry, Grandmother,” I said. “The mayor of Boston won’t bother hunting down Black people for Dr. Flint. The letters will do some good in the end. I’ll get out of this dark hole someday.”

“I hope you will, child,” replied the good, patient old friend. “You have been here a long time; almost five years; but whenever you do go, it will break your old grandmother’s heart. I should be expecting every day to hear that you were brought back in irons and put in jail. God help you, poor child! Let us be thankful that some time or other we shall go ‘where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.’” My heart responded, Amen.

“I hope you will, child,” replied the kind, patient old friend. “You have been here a long time, almost five years. But whenever you leave, it will break your old grandmother’s heart. Every day, I would expect to hear that you had been brought back in chains and put in jail. God help you, poor child! Let us be thankful that someday we will go ‘where the wicked stop troubling us, and the weary rest.’” In my heart, I said, Amen.

The fact that Dr. Flint had written to the mayor of Boston convinced me that he believed my letter to be genuine, and of course that he had no suspicion of my being any where in the vicinity. It was a great object to keep up this delusion, for it made me and my friends feel less anxious, and it would be very convenient whenever there was a chance to escape. I resolved, therefore, to continue to write letters from the north from time to time.

The fact that Dr. Flint had written to the mayor of Boston convinced me that he believed my letter was genuine. Of course, he also had no suspicion that I was anywhere nearby. It was very important to keep him believing this. It made my friends and me less anxious, and it would be very useful whenever I had a chance to escape. So I decided to continue writing letters from the north from time to time.

Two or three weeks passed, and as no news came from the mayor of Boston, grandmother began to listen to my entreaty to be allowed to leave my cell, sometimes, and exercise my limbs to prevent my becoming a cripple. I was allowed to slip down into the small storeroom, early in the morning, and remain there a little while. The room was all filled up with barrels, except a small open space under my trap-door. This faced the door, the upper part of which was of glass, and purposely left uncurtained, that the curious might look in. The air of this place was close; but it was so much better than the atmosphere of my cell, that I dreaded to return. I came down as soon as it was light, and remained till eight o’clock, when people began to be about, and there was danger that some one might come on the piazza. I had tried various applications to bring warmth and feeling into my limbs, but without avail. They were so numb and stiff that it was a painful effort to move; and had my enemies come upon me during the first mornings I tried to exercise them a little in the small unoccupied space of the storeroom, it would have been impossible for me to have escaped.

Two or three weeks passed without any news from the mayor of Boston. Grandmother then began to listen to my pleas to let me leave my cell sometimes. I wanted to exercise my limbs so I would not become crippled. I was allowed to slip down into the small storeroom early in the morning and stay there a little while. Barrels filled the room, except for a small open space under my trapdoor. The space faced the door, whose upper half was made of glass. The glass was deliberately left uncovered so curious people could look in. The air in the storeroom was stuffy, but it was so much better than the air in my cell that I dreaded going back. I came down as soon as it was light and stayed until eight o’clock. By then, people were beginning to move about, and someone might come onto the porch. I had tried various treatments to bring warmth and feeling back to my limbs, but nothing helped. My limbs were so numb and stiff that moving was painful. During those first mornings, I tried to exercise them a little in the small open space in the storeroom. If my enemies had come upon me then, I could not have escaped.