“Well,” replied the lady, “freedom may do for your ma’s niggers, but it will never do for mine; and, plague them, they shall never have it; that is the word, with the bark on it.”
“If freedom will not do for your slaves,” replied the passenger, “I have no doubt your Ned and the other nine negroes will find out their mistake, and return to their old home.
“Blast them!” exclaimed the old lady, with great emphasis, “if I ever get them, I will cook their infernal hash, and tan their accursed black hides well for them! God forgive me,” added the old soul, “the niggers will make me lose all my religion!”
By this time the lady had reached her destination. The gentleman got out at the next station beyond. As soon as she was gone, the young Southerner said to my master, “What a d⸺d shame it is for that old whining hypocritical humbug to cheat the poor negroes out of their liberty! If she has religion, may the devil prevent me from ever being converted!”
For the purpose of somewhat disguising myself, I bought and wore a very good secondhand white beaver, an article which I had never indulged in before. So just before we arrived at Washington, an uncouth planter, who had been watching me very closely, said to my master, “I reckon, stranger, you are ‘spiling’ that ’ere nigger of yourn, by letting him wear such a devilish fine hat. Just look at the quality on it; the President couldn’t wear a better. I should just like to go and kick it overboard.” His friend touched him, and said, “Don’t speak so to a gentleman.” “Why not?” exclaimed the fellow. He grated his short teeth, which appeared to be nearly worn away by the incessant chewing of tobacco, and said, “It always makes me itch all over, from head to toe, to get hold of every d⸺d nigger I see dressed like a white man. Washington is run away with spiled and free niggers. If I had my way I would sell every d⸺d rascal of ’em way down South, where the devil would be whipped out on ’em.”
This man’s fierce manner made my master feel rather nervous, and therefore he thought the less he said the better; so he walked off without making any reply. In a few minutes we were landed at Washington, where we took a conveyance and hurried off to the train for Baltimore.
We left our cottage on Wednesday morning, the 21st of December, 1848, and arrived at Baltimore, Saturday evening, the 24th (Christmas Eve). Baltimore was the last slave port of any note at which we stopped.
On arriving there we felt more anxious than ever, because we knew not what that last dark night would bring forth. It is true we were near the goal, but our poor hearts were still as if tossed at sea; and, as there was another great and dangerous bar to pass, we were afraid our liberties would be wrecked, and, like the ill-fated Royal Charter, go down forever just off the place we longed to reach.
They are particularly watchful at Baltimore to prevent slaves from escaping into Pennsylvania, which is a free State. After I had seen my master into one of the best carriages, and was just about to step into mine, an officer, a full-blooded Yankee of the lower order, saw me. He came quickly up, and, tapping me on the shoulder, said in his unmistakable native twang, together with no little display of his authority, “Where are you going, boy?” “To Philadelphia, sir,” I humbly replied. “Well, what are you going there for?” “I am travelling with my master, who is in the next carriage, sir.” “Well, I calculate you had better get him out; and be mighty quick about it, because the train will soon be starting. It is against my rules to let any man take a slave past here, unless he can satisfy them in the office that he has a right to take him along.”
The officer then passed on and left me standing upon the platform, with my anxious heart apparently palpitating in the throat. At first I scarcely knew which way to turn. But it soon occurred to me that the good God, who had been with us thus far, would not forsake us at the eleventh hour. So with renewed hope I stepped into my master’s carriage, to inform him of the difficulty. I found him sitting at the farther end, quite alone. As soon as he looked up and saw me, he smiled. I also tried to wear a cheerful countenance, in order to break the shock of the sad news. I knew what made him smile. He was aware that if we were fortunate we should reach our destination at five o’clock the next morning, and this made it the more painful to communicate what the officer had said; but, as there was no time to lose, I went up to him and asked him how he felt. He said “Much better,” and that he thanked God we were getting on so nicely. I then said we were not getting on quite so well as we had anticipated. He anxiously and quickly asked what was the matter. I told him. He started as if struck by lightning, and exclaimed, “Good Heavens! William, is it possible that we are, after all, doomed to hopeless bondage?” I could say nothing, my heart was too full to speak, for at first I did not know what to do. However we knew it would never do to turn back to the “City of Destruction,” like Bunyan’s Mistrust and Timorous, because they saw lions in the narrow way after ascending the hill Difficulty; but press on, like noble Christian and Hopeful, to the great city in which dwelt a few “shining ones.”
