Chapter 4

ELIZA'S SORROWS—PREPARATION TO EMBARK—DRIVEN THROUGH THE STREETS OF WASHINGTON—HAIL, COLUMBIA—THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON—CLEM RAY—THE BREAKFAST ON THE STEAMER—THE HAPPY BIRDS—AQUIA CREEK—FREDERICKSBURGH—ARRIVAL IN RICHMOND—GOODIN AND HIS SLAVE PEN—ROBERT, OF CINCINNATI—DAVID AND HIS WIFE—MARY AND LETHE—CLEM'S RETURN—HIS SUBSEQUENT ESCAPE TO CANADA—THE BRIG ORLEANS—JAMES H. BURCH.

ELIZA'S SORROWS. PREPARING TO EMBARK. DRIVEN THROUGH THE STREETS OF WASHINGTON. HAIL, COLUMBIA. THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON. CLEM RAY. BREAKFAST ON THE STEAMER. THE HAPPY BIRDS. AQUIA CREEK. FREDERICKSBURGH. ARRIVAL IN RICHMOND. GOODIN AND HIS SLAVE PEN. ROBERT, OF CINCINNATI. DAVID AND HIS WIFE. MARY AND LETHE. CLEM'S RETURN. HIS LATER ESCAPE TO CANADA. THE BRIG ORLEANS. JAMES H. BURCH.

At intervals during the first night of Eliza's incarceration in the pen, she complained bitterly of Jacob Brooks, her young mistress' husband. She declared that had she been aware of the deception he intended to practice upon her, he never would have brought her there alive. They had chosen the opportunity of getting her away when Master Berry was absent from the plantation. He had always been kind to her. She wished that she could see him; but she knew that even he was unable now to rescue her. Then would she commence weeping again—kissing the sleeping children—talking first to one, then to the other, as they lay in their unconscious slumbers, with their heads upon her lap. So wore the long night away; and when the morning dawned, and night had come again, still she kept mourning on, and would not be consoled.

At intervals during her first night in the pen, Eliza complained bitterly about Jacob Brooks, her young mistress's husband. She said that if she had known he planned to deceive her, he would never have brought her there alive. They had taken the opportunity to get her away while Master Berry was absent from the plantation. He had always been kind to her. She wished she could see him, but she knew that even he could no longer rescue her. Then she would begin weeping again, kissing the sleeping children and talking first to one, then the other. They lay unaware, their heads in her lap. The long night passed this way. Morning came, and then night came again, but she still mourned and would not be comforted.

About midnight following, the cell door opened, and Burch and Radburn entered, with lanterns in their hands. Burch, with an oath, ordered us to roll up our blankets without delay, and get ready to go on board the boat. He swore we would be left unless we hurried fast. He aroused the children from their slumbers with a rough shake, and said they were d—d sleepy, it appeared. Going out into the yard, he called Clem Ray, ordering him to leave the loft and come into the cell, and bring his blanket with him. When Clem appeared, he placed us side by side, and fastened us together with hand-cuffs—my left hand to his right. John Williams had been taken out a day or two before, his master having redeemed him, greatly to his delight. Clem and I were ordered to march, Eliza and the children following. We were conducted into the yard, from thence into the covered passage, and up a flight of steps through a side door into the upper room, where I had heard the walking to and fro. Its furniture was a stove, a few old chairs, and a long table, covered with papers. It was a white-washed room, without any carpet on the floor, and seemed a sort of office. By one of the windows, I remember, hung a rusty sword, which attracted my attention. Burch's trunk was there. In obedience to his orders, I took hold of one of its handles with my unfettered hand, while he taking hold of the other, we proceeded out of the front door into the street in the same order as we had left the cell.

Around midnight, the cell door opened, and Burch and Radburn came in carrying lanterns. Burch swore and ordered us to roll up our blankets immediately and get ready to board the boat. He swore we would be left behind unless we hurried. He woke the children with a rough shake and said they seemed d—d sleepy. He went into the yard and called Clem Ray, ordering him to leave the loft and come into the cell with his blanket. When Clem appeared, Burch placed us side by side and handcuffed my left hand to Clem's right. John Williams had been taken out a day or two earlier. His master had redeemed him, much to his delight. Clem and I were ordered to march, with Eliza and the children following. We were led into the yard, then through the covered passage and up a flight of steps. A side door led into the upper room where I had heard the pacing. The room contained a stove, a few old chairs, and a long table covered with papers. Its walls were whitewashed, and there was no carpet on the floor. It seemed to be an office. I remember a rusty sword hanging by one of the windows. It caught my attention. Burch's trunk was there. He ordered me to take one handle with my free hand while he took the other. We went out the front door into the street, in the same order as we had left the cell.

It was a dark night. All was quiet. I could see lights, or the reflection of them, over towards Pennsylvania Avenue, but there was no one, not even a straggler, to be seen. I was almost resolved to attempt to break away. Had I not been hand-cuffed the attempt would certainly have been made, whatever consequence might have followed. Radburn was in the rear, carrying a large stick, and hurrying up the children as fast as the little ones could walk. So we passed, hand-cuffed and in silence, through the streets of Washington—through the Capital of a nation, whose theory of government, we are told, rests on the foundation of man's inalienable right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness! Hail! Columbia, happy land, indeed!

It was a dark night. All was quiet. I could see lights, or their reflections, toward Pennsylvania Avenue, but no one was in sight, not even a lone passerby. I had almost decided to try to break away. If I had not been handcuffed, I certainly would have tried, whatever the consequences. Radburn was behind us, carrying a large stick. He hurried the children along as fast as the little ones could walk. So we passed, handcuffed and in silence, through the streets of Washington, the capital of a nation. We are told its government rests on the principle of man's inalienable right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness! Hail! Columbia, happy land, indeed!

Reaching the steamboat, we were quickly hustled into the hold, among barrels and boxes of freight. A colored servant brought a light, the bell rung, and soon the vessel started down the Potomac, carrying us we knew not where. The bell tolled as we passed the tomb of Washington! Burch, no doubt, with uncovered head, bowed reverently before the sacred ashes of the man who devoted his illustrious life to the liberty of his country.

When we reached the steamboat, we were quickly rushed into the hold among barrels and boxes of freight. A colored servant brought a light, the bell rang, and soon the vessel set off down the Potomac. We did not know where it was taking us. The bell tolled as we passed Washington’s tomb! Burch, no doubt, took off his hat and bowed reverently before the sacred ashes of the man who devoted his distinguished life to his country’s liberty.

None of us slept that night but Randall and little Emmy. For the first time Clem Ray was wholly overcome. To him the idea of going south was terrible in the extreme. He was leaving the friends and associations of his youth—every thing that was dear and precious to his heart—in all probability never to return. He and Eliza mingled their tears together, bemoaning their cruel fate. For my own part, difficult as it was, I endeavored to keep up my spirits. I resolved in my mind a hundred plans of escape, and fully determined to make the attempt the first desperate chance that offered. I had by this time become satisfied, however, that my true policy was to say nothing further on the subject of my having been born a freeman. It would but expose me to mal-treatment, and diminish the chances of liberation.

None of us slept that night except Randall and little Emmy. For the first time, Clem Ray was completely overcome. The thought of going south terrified him. He was leaving the friends and companions of his youth, everything he held dear. In all probability, he would never return. He and Eliza wept together, grieving over their cruel fate. For my part, difficult as it was, I tried to keep my spirits up. I thought through a hundred plans for escape. I was determined to try at the first desperate chance that came my way. By this time, however, I had decided it was best to say nothing more about having been born a free man. Speaking of it would only expose me to mistreatment and reduce my chances of being freed.

After sunrise in the morning we were called up on deck to breakfast. Burch took our hand-cuffs off, and we sat down to table. He asked Eliza if she would take a dram. She declined, thanking him politely. During the meal we were all silent—not a word passed between us. A mulatto woman who served at table seemed to take an interest in our behalf—told us to cheer up, and not to be so cast down. Breakfast over, the hand-cuffs were restored, and Burch ordered us out on the stern deck. We sat down together on some boxes, still saying nothing in Burch's presence. Occasionally a passenger would walk out to where we were, look at us for a while, then silently return.

After sunrise, we were called up on deck for breakfast. Burch took off our handcuffs, and we sat down at the table. He asked Eliza if she would like a drink. She politely thanked him and declined. We were all silent during the meal. Not a word passed between us. A mulatto woman serving at the table seemed concerned for us. She told us to cheer up and not be so discouraged. After breakfast, Burch put the handcuffs back on us and ordered us onto the stern deck. We sat together on some boxes, still saying nothing in Burch’s presence. Now and then, a passenger would walk over to us, look at us for a while, then silently return.

It was a very pleasant morning. The fields along the river were covered with verdure, far in advance of what I had been accustomed to see at that season of the year. The sun shone out warmly; the birds were singing in the trees. The happy birds—I envied them. I wished for wings like them, that I might cleave the air to where my birdlings waited vainly for their father's coming, in the cooler region of the North.

It was a very pleasant morning. The fields along the river were green, much more so than I was used to seeing at that time of year. The sun shone warmly, and birds sang in the trees. I envied those happy birds. I wished I had wings like theirs so I could fly to my little ones in the cooler North. They were waiting in vain for their father to come home.

In the forenoon the steamer reached Aquia Creek. There the passengers took stages—Burch and his five slaves occupying one exclusively. He laughed with the children, and at one stopping place went so far as to purchase them a piece of gingerbread. He told me to hold up my head and look smart. That I might, perhaps, get a good master if I behaved myself. I made him no reply. His face was hateful to me, and I could not bear to look upon it. I sat in the corner, cherishing in my heart the hope, not yet extinct, of some day meeting the tyrant on the soil of my native State.

That morning, the steamer reached Aquia Creek. There, the passengers took stagecoaches. Burch and his five slaves had one to themselves. He laughed with the children and, at one stop, even bought them a piece of gingerbread. He told me to hold up my head and look sharp. He said that perhaps I could get a good master if I behaved myself. I said nothing in reply. I hated his face and could not bear to look at it. I sat in the corner, still holding on to the hope of someday meeting the tyrant in my native State.

At Fredericksburgh we were transferred from the stage coach to a car, and before dark arrived in Richmond, the chief city of Virginia. At this city we were taken from the cars, and driven through the street to a slave pen, between the railroad depot and the river, kept by a Mr. Goodin. This pen is similar to Williams' in Washington, except it is somewhat larger; and besides, there were two small houses standing at opposite corners within the yard. These houses are usually found within slave yards, being used as rooms for the examination of human chattels by purchasers before concluding a bargain. Unsoundness in a slave, as well as in a horse, detracts materially from his value. If no warranty is given, a close examination is a matter of particular importance to the negro jockey.

At Fredericksburgh, we transferred from the stagecoach to a train car. Before dark, we arrived in Richmond, the chief city of Virginia. There, we were taken from the train and driven through the street to a slave pen. It was between the railroad depot and the river and was kept by a Mr. Goodin. The pen was similar to Williams' in Washington, except that it was somewhat larger. It also had two small houses at opposite corners of the yard. Such houses are usually found in slave yards. Buyers use them to examine human chattels before making a bargain. A defect in a slave, as in a horse, greatly reduces his value. If no warranty is given, a close examination is especially important to the negro jockey.

We were met at the door of Goodin's yard by that gentleman himself—a short, fat man, with a round, plump face, black hair and whiskers, and a complexion almost as dark as some of his own negroes. He had a hard, stern look, and was perhaps about fifty years of age. Burch and he met with great cordiality. They were evidently old friends. Shaking each other warmly by the hand, Burch remarked he had brought some company, inquired at what time the brig would leave, and was answered that it would probably leave the next day at such an hour. Goodin then turned to me, took hold of my arm, turned me partly round, looked at me sharply with the air of one who considered himself a good judge of property, and as if estimating in his own mind about how much I was worth.

Goodin himself met us at the door of his yard. He was a short, fat man with a round, plump face, black hair and whiskers. His complexion was almost as dark as that of some of his own negroes. He had a hard, stern look and was perhaps about fifty years old. Burch and Goodin greeted each other warmly. They were clearly old friends. As they shook hands warmly, Burch said he had brought some company and asked when the brig would leave. Goodin answered that it would probably leave at a certain hour the next day. He then turned to me, took my arm, and turned me partly around. He looked at me closely, like a man who thought himself a good judge of property. He seemed to be estimating how much I was worth.

"Well, boy, where did you come from?"

"Well, boy, where did you come from?"

Forgetting myself, for a moment, I answered, "From New-York."

For a moment, I forgot myself and answered, "From New York."

"New-York! H—l! what have you been doing up there?" was his astonished interrogatory.

"New York! Hell! What have you been doing up there?" he asked in astonishment.

Observing Burch at this moment looking at me with an angry expression that conveyed a meaning it was not difficult to understand, I immediately said, "O, I have only been up that way a piece," in a manner intended to imply that although I might have been as far as New-York, yet I wished it distinctly understood that I did not belong to that free State, nor to any other.

At that moment, I saw Burch looking at me angrily. His expression was not hard to understand. I immediately said, "Oh, I have only been up that way a short distance." I meant to suggest that, although I might have gone as far as New-York, I did not belong to that free state or any other.

Goodin then turned to Clem, and then to Eliza and the children, examining them severally, and asking various questions. He was pleased with Emily, as was every one who saw the child's sweet countenance. She was not as tidy as when I first beheld her; her hair was now somewhat disheveled; but through its unkempt and soft profusion there still beamed a little face of most surpassing loveliness. "Altogether we were a fair lot—a devilish good lot," he said, enforcing that opinion with more than one emphatic adjective not found in the Christian vocabulary. Thereupon we passed into the yard. Quite a number of slaves, as many as thirty I should say, were moving about, or sitting on benches under the shed. They were all cleanly dressed—the men with hats, the women with handkerchiefs tied about their heads.

Goodin then turned to Clem, and then to Eliza and the children. He examined each of them and asked various questions. He was pleased with Emily, as was everyone who saw the child’s sweet face. She was not as tidy as when I first saw her. Her hair was now somewhat disheveled. But through its soft, unkempt abundance, a remarkably lovely little face still shone. "Altogether we were a fair lot, a devilish good lot," he said. He emphasized that opinion with more than one forceful adjective not found in the Christian vocabulary. Then we went into the yard. Quite a number of slaves, as many as thirty, I would say, were moving about or sitting on benches under the shed. They were all cleanly dressed. The men wore hats, and the women had handkerchiefs tied around their heads.

Burch and Goodin, after separating from us, walked up the steps at the back part of the main building, and sat down upon the door sill. They entered into conversation, but the subject of it I could not hear. Presently Burch came down into the yard, unfettered me, and led me into one of the small houses.

After leaving us, Burch and Goodin walked up the steps at the back of the main building. They sat down on the doorstep and began talking, but I could not hear what they were discussing. Soon Burch came down into the yard, removed my restraints, and led me into one of the small houses.

"You told that man you came from New-York," said he.

"You told that man you came from New York," he said.

I replied, "I told him I had been up as far as New-York, to be sure, but did not tell him I belonged there, nor that I was a freeman. I meant no harm at all, Master Burch. I would not have said it had I thought."

I replied, "I told him I had been as far as New-York, that's true. But I did not tell him I was from there or that I was a free man. I meant no harm at all, Master Burch. I would not have said it if I had thought."

He looked at me a moment as if he was ready to devour me, then turning round went out. In a few minutes he returned. "If ever I hear you say a word about New-York, or about your freedom, I will be the death of you—I will kill you; you may rely on that," he ejaculated fiercely.

He looked at me for a moment as if he were ready to devour me. Then he turned and went out. A few minutes later, he returned. "If I ever hear you say a word about New-York or your freedom, I will be the death of you. I will kill you. You can count on that," he said fiercely.

I doubt not he understood then better than I did, the danger and the penalty of selling a free man into slavery. He felt the necessity of closing my mouth against the crime he knew he was committing. Of course, my life would not have weighed a feather, in any emergency requiring such a sacrifice. Undoubtedly, he meant precisely what he said.

I have no doubt he understood the danger and penalty of selling a free man into slavery better than I did. He knew he was committing a crime and felt he had to keep me from speaking about it. Of course, my life would not have been worth a feather to him if killing me became necessary. Without a doubt, he meant exactly what he said.

Under the shed on one side of the yard, there was constructed a rough table, while overhead were sleeping lofts—the same as in the pen at Washington. After partaking at this table of our supper of pork and bread, I was hand-cuffed to a large yellow man, quite stout and fleshy, with a countenance expressive of the utmost melancholy. He was a man of intelligence and information. Chained together, it was not long before we became acquainted with each other's history. His name was Robert. Like myself, he had been born free, and had a wife and two children in Cincinnati. He said he had come south with two men, who had hired him in the city of his residence. Without free papers, he had been seized at Fredericksburgh, placed in confinement, and beaten until he had learned, as I had, the necessity and the policy of silence. He had been in Goodin's pen about three weeks. To this man I became much attached. We could sympathize with, and understand each other. It was with tears and a heavy heart, not many days subsequently, that I saw him die, and looked for the last time upon his lifeless form!

Under the shed on one side of the yard stood a rough table. Above it were sleeping lofts, just like those in the pen at Washington. After we ate our supper of pork and bread at the table, I was handcuffed to a large yellow man. He was stout and fleshy, and his face showed the deepest sadness. He was intelligent and well informed. Chained together, we soon learned each other’s stories. His name was Robert. Like me, he had been born free and had a wife and two children in Cincinnati. He said he had come south with two men who had hired him in Cincinnati. Because he had no free papers, he was seized at Fredericksburgh and confined. He was beaten until he learned, as I had, that it was necessary and wise to stay silent. He had been in Goodin’s pen for about three weeks. I grew very attached to Robert. We could sympathize with and understand each other. Not many days later, I watched him die. With tears and a heavy heart, I looked for the last time upon his lifeless body!

Robert and myself, with Clem, Eliza and her children, slept that night upon our blankets, in one of the small houses in the yard. There were four others, all from the same plantation, who had been sold, and were now on their way south, who also occupied it with us. David and his wife, Caroline, both mulattoes, were exceedingly affected. They dreaded the thought of being put into the cane and cotton fields; but their greatest source of anxiety was the apprehension of being separated. Mary, a tall, lithe girl, of a most jetty black, was listless and apparently indifferent. Like many of the class, she scarcely knew there was such a word as freedom. Brought up in the ignorance of a brute, she possessed but little more than a brute's intelligence. She was one of those, and there are very many, who fear nothing but their master's lash, and know no further duty than to obey his voice. The other was Lethe. She was of an entirely different character. She had long, straight hair, and bore more the appearance of an Indian than a negro woman. She had sharp and spiteful eyes, and continually gave utterance to the language of hatred and revenge. Her husband had been sold. She knew not where she was. An exchange of masters, she was sure, could not be for the worse. She cared not whither they might carry her. Pointing to the scars upon her face, the desperate creature wished that she might see the day when she could wipe them off in some man's blood!

Robert and I, along with Clem, Eliza, and her children, slept on our blankets that night. We were in one of the small houses in the yard. Four others slept there with us. They were all from the same plantation, had been sold, and were now on their way south. David and his wife, Caroline, both mulattoes, were deeply distressed. They dreaded working in the cane and cotton fields. But what worried them most was the fear that they would be separated. Mary was a tall, slender girl with jet black skin. She was listless and seemed indifferent. Like many of her class, she scarcely knew there was such a word as freedom. Raised in the ignorance of an animal, she had little more intelligence than one. She was one of those, and there are very many, who fear nothing but their master’s whip. They know no duty beyond obeying his voice. The other was Lethe. She was entirely different. She had long, straight hair and looked more like an Indian than a negro woman. Her eyes were sharp and spiteful, and she constantly spoke of hatred and revenge. Her husband had been sold. She did not know where she was. She was sure that a change of masters could not make things worse. She did not care where they took her. Pointing to the scars on her face, the desperate creature wished she could one day wipe them off in a man’s blood!

While we were thus learning the history of each other's wretchedness, Eliza was seated in a corner by herself, singing hymns and praying for her children. Wearied from the loss of so much sleep, I could no longer bear up against the advances of that "sweet restorer," and laying down by the side of Robert, on the floor, soon forgot my troubles, and slept until the dawn of day.

While we were telling each other about our misery, Eliza sat alone in a corner, singing hymns and praying for her children. I was exhausted from losing so much sleep and could no longer resist that "sweet restorer." I lay down on the floor beside Robert, soon forgot my troubles, and slept until dawn.

In the morning, having swept the yard, and washed ourselves, under Goodin's superintendence, we were ordered to roll up our blankets, and make ready for the continuance of our journey. Clem Ray was informed that he would go no further, Burch, for some cause, having concluded to carry him back to Washington. He was much rejoiced. Shaking hands, we parted in the slave pen at Richmond, and I have not seen him since. But, much to my surprise, since my return, I learned that he had escaped from bondage, and on his way to the free soil of Canada, lodged one night at the house of my brother-in-law in Saratoga, informing my family of the place and the condition in which he left me.

In the morning, we swept the yard and washed ourselves under Goodin's supervision. Then we were ordered to roll up our blankets and get ready to continue our journey. Clem Ray was told that he would go no further. For some reason, Burch had decided to take him back to Washington. Clem was overjoyed. We shook hands and parted in the slave pen at Richmond, and I have not seen him since. But, much to my surprise, after my return I learned that he had escaped from bondage. On his way to the free soil of Canada, he had stayed one night at my brother-in-law's house in Saratoga. He told my family where he had left me and what condition I was in.

In the afternoon we were drawn up, two abreast, Robert and myself in advance, and in this order, driven by Burch and Goodin from the yard, through the streets of Richmond to the brig Orleans. She was a vessel of respectable size, full rigged, and freighted principally with tobacco. We were all on board by five o'clock. Burch brought us each a tin cup and a spoon. There were forty of us in the brig, being all, except Clem, that were in the pen.

In the afternoon, we were lined up in pairs, with Robert and me at the front. Burch and Goodin drove us in that order from the yard, through the streets of Richmond, to the brig Orleans. The ship was a good size, fully rigged, and carried mostly tobacco. We were all on board by five o'clock. Burch brought each of us a tin cup and a spoon. There were forty of us on the brig. That included everyone who had been in the pen except Clem.

With a small pocket knife that had not been taken from me, I began cutting the initials of my name upon the tin cup. The others immediately flocked round me, requesting me to mark theirs in a similar manner. In time, I gratified them all, of which they did not appear to be forgetful.

With a small pocket knife that had not been taken from me, I began cutting my initials into the tin cup. The others immediately gathered around me and asked me to mark theirs the same way. In time, I did as they all asked, and they did not seem to forget it.

We were all stowed away in the hold at night, and the hatch barred down. We laid on boxes, or where-ever there was room enough to stretch our blankets on the floor.

At night, we were all packed into the hold, and the hatch was barred shut. We lay on boxes or anywhere on the floor where there was enough room to spread out our blankets.

Burch accompanied us no farther than Richmond, returning from that point to the capital with Clem. Not until the lapse of almost twelve years, to wit, in January last, in the Washington police office, did I set my eyes upon his face again.

Burch went with us only as far as Richmond. From there, he returned to the capital with Clem. I did not see his face again until almost twelve years later, last January, at the Washington police office.

James H. Burch was a slave-trader—buying men, women and children at low prices, and selling them at an advance. He was a speculator in human flesh—a disreputable calling—and so considered at the South. For the present he disappears from the scenes recorded in this narrative, but he will appear again before its close, not in the character of a man-whipping tyrant, but as an arrested, cringing criminal in a court of law, that failed to do him justice.

James H. Burch was a slave trader. He bought men, women, and children at low prices and sold them for more. He traded in human flesh, a dishonorable business, even in the South. For now, he disappears from this story. But he will appear again before it ends, not as a tyrant who whips men. Instead, he will appear as an arrested, cowering criminal in a court that failed to bring him to justice.