Mrs. Eliza Fowler's Death

As soon as possible she procured a place for Peter, as tender of locks, at a place called Wahkendall, near Greenkills. After he was thus disposed of, she visited her sister Sophia, who resided at Newberg, and spent the winter in several different families where she was acquainted. She remained some time in the family of a Mr. Latin, who was a relative of Solomon Gedney; and the latter, when he found Isabel with his cousin, used all his influence to persuade him she was a great mischief-maker and a very troublesome person,-that she had put him to some hundreds of dollars expense, by fabricating lies about him, and especially his sister and her family, concerning her boy, when the latter was living so like a gentleman with them; and, for his part, he would not advise his friends to harbor or encourage her. However, his cousins, the Latins, could not see with the eyes of his feelings, and consequently his words fell powerless on them, and they retained her in their service as long as they had aught for her to do.

As soon as possible, she found Peter a job tending locks at Wahkendall, near Greenkills. After finding him the job, she visited her sister Sophia, who lived in Newberg. She spent the winter with several families she knew. For some time, she stayed with the family of Mr. Latin, a relative of Solomon Gedney. When Gedney found Isabel with his cousin, he used all his influence to turn Mr. Latin against her. He said she was a great troublemaker and a very difficult person. He claimed she had cost him hundreds of dollars by making up lies about him. She had especially lied about his sister and her family concerning her boy, he said. All the while, the boy was living like a gentleman with them. For his part, Gedney would not advise his friends to shelter or encourage her. But his cousins, the Latins, did not share his feelings. His words had no effect on them, and they kept her in their service as long as they had work for her.

She then went to visit her former master, Dumont. She had scarcely arrived there, when Mr. Fred. Waring entered, and seeing Isabel, pleasantly accosted her, and asked her 'what she was driving at now-a-days.' On her answering 'nothing particular,' he requested her to go over to his place, and assist his folks, as some of them were sick, and they needed an extra hand. She very gladly assented. When Mr. W. retired, her master wanted to know why she wished to help people, that called her the 'worst of devils,' as Mr. Waring had done in the courthouse-for he was the uncle of Solomon Gedney, and attended the trial we have described-and declared 'that she was a fool to; he wouldn't do it.' 'Oh,' she told him, 'she would not mind that, but was very glad to have people forget their anger towards her.' She went over, but too happy to feel that their resentment was passed, and commenced her work with a light heart and a strong will. She had not worked long in this frame of mind, before a young daughter of Mr. Waring rushed into the rooms exclaiming, with uplifted hands-'Heavens and earth, Isabella! Fowler's murdered Cousin Eliza!' 'Ho,' said Isabel, 'that's nothing-he liked to have killed my child; nothing saved him but God.' Meaning, that she was not at all surprised at it, for a man whose heart was sufficiently hardened to treat a mere child as hers had been treated, was, in her opinion, more fiend than human, and prepared for the commission of any crime that his passions might prompt him to. The child further informed her that a letter had arrived by mail bringing the news.

She then went to visit her former master, Dumont. Soon after she arrived, Mr. Fred. Waring came in. He saw Isabel, greeted her pleasantly, and asked her 'what she was doing these days.' She answered 'nothing particular.' He then asked her to come to his place and help his family. Some of them were sick, and they needed an extra hand. She gladly agreed. After Mr. Waring left, her master asked why she wanted to help people who called her the 'worst of devils.' Mr. Waring had called her that in the courthouse. He was Solomon Gedney's uncle and had attended the trial we have described. Dumont declared 'that she was a fool to help them, and he wouldn't do it.' 'Oh,' she told him, 'she would not mind that, and was very glad to have people forget their anger toward her.' She went to the Waring home, delighted that their resentment had passed. She began her work with a light heart and a strong will. She had not worked long before a young daughter of Mr. Waring rushed into the room. With her hands raised, the girl exclaimed, 'Heavens and earth, Isabella! Fowler's murdered Cousin Eliza!' 'Ho,' said Isabel, 'that's nothing. He almost killed my child. Nothing saved him but God.' She meant that she was not at all surprised. In her opinion, a man whose heart was hard enough to treat a mere child as hers had been treated was more fiend than human. He was ready to commit any crime his passions might drive him to. The child also told her that a letter had arrived by mail with the news.

Immediately after this announcement, Solomon Gedney and his mother came in, going direct to Mrs. Waring's room, where she soon heard tones as of some one reading. She thought something said to her inwardly, 'Go up stairs and hear.' At first she hesitated, but it seemed to press her the more-'Go up and hear!' She went up, unusual as it is for slaves to leave their work and enter unbidden their mistress's room, for the sole purpose of seeing or hearing what may be seen or heard there. But on this occasion, Isabella says, she walked in at the door, shut it, placed her back against it, and listened. She saw them and heard them read-'He knocked her down with his fist, jumped on her with his knees, broke her collar-bone, and tore out her wind-pipe! He then attempted his escape, but was pursued and arrested, and put in an iron bank for safe-keeping!' And the friends were requested to go down and take away the poor innocent children who had thus been made in one short day more than orphans.

Immediately after this announcement, Solomon Gedney and his mother came in and went straight to Mrs. Waring's room. Soon Isabella heard what sounded like someone reading there. She thought something inside her said, 'Go upstairs and listen.' At first she hesitated, but the urging seemed to grow stronger: 'Go up and listen!' She went upstairs. It was unusual for slaves to leave their work and enter their mistress's room uninvited just to see or hear what was happening there. But on this occasion, Isabella says, she walked in, shut the door, leaned back against it, and listened. She saw them and heard them read: 'He knocked her down with his fist and jumped on her with his knees. He broke her collarbone and tore out her windpipe! He then tried to escape, but was chased, arrested, and put in an iron bank for safekeeping!' Friends were asked to go down and take away the poor innocent children, who had become more than orphans in a single day.

If this narrative should ever meet the eye of those innocent sufferers for another's guilt, let them not be too deeply affected by the relation; but, placing their confidence in Him who sees the end from the beginning, and controls the results, rest secure in the faith, that, although they may physically suffer for the sins of others, if they remain but true to themselves, their highest and more enduring interests can never suffer from such a cause. This relation should be suppressed for their sakes, were it not even now so often denied, that slavery is fast undermining all true regard for human life. We know this one instance is not a demonstration to the contrary; but, adding this to the lists of tragedies that weekly come up to us through the Southern mails, may we not admit them as proofs irrefragable? The newspapers confirmed this account of the terrible affair.

If this narrative reaches those innocent people who suffer for another's guilt, let them not be too distressed by the account. Instead, let them trust in him who sees the end from the beginning and controls the outcome. They can rest secure in the faith that their highest and most lasting interests can never suffer from this cause. This is true even though they may suffer physically for the sins of others, as long as they remain true to themselves. For their sakes, this account should be withheld, were it not still so often denied that slavery is rapidly undermining all true regard for human life. We know this one instance does not prove otherwise. But when we add it to the tragedies reported to us every week in the Southern mails, may we not accept them as undeniable proof? The newspapers confirmed this account of the terrible affair.

When Isabella had heard the letter, all being too much absorbed in their own feelings to take note of her, she returned to her work, her heart swelling with conflicting emotions. She was awed at the dreadful deed; she mourned the fate of the loved Eliza, who had in such an undeserved and barbarous manner been put away from her labors and watchings as a tender mother; and, 'last though not least,' in the development of her character and spirit, her heart bled for the afflicted relatives; even those of them who 'laughed at her calamity, and mocked when her fear came.' Her thoughts dwelt long and intently on the subject, and the wonderful chain of events that had conspired to bring her that day to that house, to listen to that piece of intelligence-to that house, where she never was before or afterwards in her life, and invited there by people who had so lately been hotly incensed against her. It all seemed very remarkable to her, and she viewed it as flowing from a special providence of God. She thought she saw clearly, that their unnatural bereavement was a blow dealt in retributive justice; but she found it not in her heart to exult or rejoice over them. She felt as if God had more than answered her petition, when she ejaculated, in her anguish of mind, 'Oh, Lord, render unto them double!' She said, 'I dared not find fault with God, exactly; but the language of my heart was, 'Oh, my God! that's too much-I did not mean quite so much, God!' It was a terrible blow to the friends of the deceased; and her selfish mother (who, said Isabella, made such a 'to-do about her boy, not from affection, but to have her own will and way') went deranged, and walking to and fro in her delirium, called aloud for her poor murdered daughter-'Eliza! Eliza! '

After Isabella heard the letter, she returned to her work. Everyone was too absorbed in their own feelings to notice her. Her heart swelled with conflicting emotions. She was awed by the dreadful deed. She mourned the fate of the beloved Eliza. In such an undeserved and barbarous way, Eliza had been taken from her work and watchful care as a tender mother. And, “last though not least,” as a sign of Isabella’s character and spirit, her heart bled for the grieving relatives. She even felt for those who had “laughed at her calamity, and mocked when her fear came.” She thought long and deeply about the matter. She also thought about the remarkable chain of events that had brought her to that house that day to hear the news. She had never been there before and would never go there again. The people who invited her had only recently been fiercely angry with her. It all seemed very remarkable to her, and she saw it as the work of God’s special providence. She thought she could clearly see that their unnatural loss was a blow of divine justice. But she could not find it in her heart to celebrate or rejoice over their suffering. She felt as if God had more than answered her prayer. In her anguish, she had cried, “Oh, Lord, give them double!” She said, “I did not quite dare to find fault with God, but my heart was saying, ‘Oh, my God! That’s too much. I did not mean quite so much, God!’” It was a terrible blow to the friends of the deceased. Her selfish mother lost her mind. Isabella said the mother made such a “fuss about her boy, not out of affection, but to have her own will and way.” In her delirium, the mother walked back and forth, calling aloud for her poor murdered daughter: “Eliza! Eliza!”

The derangement of Mrs. G. was a matter of hearsay, as Isabella saw her not after the trial; but she has no reason to doubt the truth of what she heard. Isabel could never learn the subsequent fate of Fowler, but heard, in the spring of '49, that his children had been seen in Kingston-one of whom was spoken of as a fine, interesting girl, albeit a halo of sadness fell like a veil about her.

Isabella had only heard about Mrs. G.'s mental breakdown, since she did not see her after the trial. But she had no reason to doubt what she heard. Isabel never learned what became of Fowler. But in the spring of 1849, she heard that his children had been seen in Kingston. One was described as a lovely, interesting girl, though sadness hung around her like a veil.