Capítulo 7 de 8

In a few weeks after I went to Baltimore, Master Hugh hired me to Mr.

William Gardner, an extensive ship-builder, on Fell’s Point. I was put

there to learn how to calk. It, however, proved a very unfavorable

place for the accomplishment of this object. Mr. Gardner was engaged

that spring in building two large man-of-war brigs, professedly for the

Mexican government. The vessels were to be launched in the July of that

year, and in failure thereof, Mr. Gardner was to lose a considerable

sum; so that when I entered, all was hurry. There was no time to learn

any thing. Every man had to do that which he knew how to do. In

entering the shipyard, my orders from Mr. Gardner were, to do whatever

the carpenters commanded me to do. This was placing me at the beck and

call of about seventy-five men. I was to regard all these as masters.

Their word was to be my law. My situation was a most trying one. At

times I needed a dozen pair of hands. I was called a dozen ways in the

space of a single minute. Three or four voices would strike my ear at

the same moment. It was—“Fred., come help me to cant this timber

here.”—“Fred., come carry this timber yonder.”—“Fred., bring that

roller here.”—“Fred., go get a fresh can of water.”—“Fred., come help

saw off the end of this timber.”—“Fred., go quick, and get the

crowbar.”—“Fred., hold on the end of this fall.”—“Fred., go to the

blacksmith’s shop, and get a new punch.”—“Hurra, Fred! run and bring me

a cold chisel.”—“I say, Fred., bear a hand, and get up a fire as quick

as lightning under that steam-box.”—“Halloo, nigger! come, turn this

grindstone.”—“Come, come! move, move! and _bowse_ this timber

forward.”—“I say, darky, blast your eyes, why don’t you heat up some

pitch?”—“Halloo! halloo! halloo!” (Three voices at the same time.)

“Come here!—Go there!—Hold on where you are! Damn you, if you move,

I’ll knock your brains out!”

This was my school for eight months; and I might have remained there

longer, but for a most horrid fight I had with four of the white

apprentices, in which my left eye was nearly knocked out, and I was

horribly mangled in other respects. The facts in the case were these:

Until a very little while after I went there, white and black

ship-carpenters worked side by side, and no one seemed to see any

impropriety in it. All hands seemed to be very well satisfied. Many of

the black carpenters were freemen. Things seemed to be going on very

well. All at once, the white carpenters knocked off, and said they

would not work with free colored workmen. Their reason for this, as

alleged, was, that if free colored carpenters were encouraged, they

would soon take the trade into their own hands, and poor white men

would be thrown out of employment. They therefore felt called upon at

once to put a stop to it. And, taking advantage of Mr. Gardner’s

necessities, they broke off, swearing they would work no longer, unless

he would discharge his black carpenters. Now, though this did not

extend to me in form, it did reach me in fact. My fellow-apprentices

very soon began to feel it degrading to them to work with me. They

began to put on airs, and talk about the “niggers” taking the country,

saying we all ought to be killed; and, being encouraged by the

journeymen, they commenced making my condition as hard as they could,

by hectoring me around, and sometimes striking me. I, of course, kept

the vow I made after the fight with Mr. Covey, and struck back again,

regardless of consequences; and while I kept them from combining, I

succeeded very well; for I could whip the whole of them, taking them

separately. They, however, at length combined, and came upon me, armed

with sticks, stones, and heavy handspikes. One came in front with a

half brick. There was one at each side of me, and one behind me. While

I was attending to those in front, and on either side, the one behind

ran up with the handspike, and struck me a heavy blow upon the head. It

stunned me. I fell, and with this they all ran upon me, and fell to

beating me with their fists. I let them lay on for a while, gathering

strength. In an instant, I gave a sudden surge, and rose to my hands

and knees. Just as I did that, one of their number gave me, with his

heavy boot, a powerful kick in the left eye. My eyeball seemed to have

burst. When they saw my eye closed, and badly swollen, they left me.

With this I seized the handspike, and for a time pursued them. But here

the carpenters interfered, and I thought I might as well give it up. It

was impossible to stand my hand against so many. All this took place in

sight of not less than fifty white ship-carpenters, and not one

interposed a friendly word; but some cried, “Kill the damned nigger!

Kill him! kill him! He struck a white person.” I found my only chance

for life was in flight. I succeeded in getting away without an

additional blow, and barely so; for to strike a white man is death by

Lynch law,—and that was the law in Mr. Gardner’s ship-yard; nor is

there much of any other out of Mr. Gardner’s ship-yard.

I went directly home, and told the story of my wrongs to Master Hugh;

and I am happy to say of him, irreligious as he was, his conduct was

heavenly, compared with that of his brother Thomas under similar

circumstances. He listened attentively to my narration of the

circumstances leading to the savage outrage, and gave many proofs of

his strong indignation at it. The heart of my once overkind mistress

was again melted into pity. My puffed-out eye and blood-covered face

moved her to tears. She took a chair by me, washed the blood from my

face, and, with a mother’s tenderness, bound up my head, covering the

wounded eye with a lean piece of fresh beef. It was almost compensation

for my suffering to witness, once more, a manifestation of kindness

from this, my once affectionate old mistress. Master Hugh was very much

enraged. He gave expression to his feelings by pouring out curses upon

the heads of those who did the deed. As soon as I got a little the

better of my bruises, he took me with him to Esquire Watson’s, on Bond

Street, to see what could be done about the matter. Mr. Watson inquired

who saw the assault committed. Master Hugh told him it was done in Mr.

Gardner’s ship-yard at midday, where there were a large company of men

at work. “As to that,” he said, “the deed was done, and there was no

question as to who did it.” His answer was, he could do nothing in the

case, unless some white man would come forward and testify. He could

issue no warrant on my word. If I had been killed in the presence of a

thousand colored people, their testimony combined would have been

insufficient to have arrested one of the murderers. Master Hugh, for

once, was compelled to say this state of things was too bad. Of course,

it was impossible to get any white man to volunteer his testimony in my

behalf, and against the white young men. Even those who may have

sympathized with me were not prepared to do this. It required a degree

of courage unknown to them to do so; for just at that time, the

slightest manifestation of humanity toward a colored person was

denounced as abolitionism, and that name subjected its bearer to

frightful liabilities. The watchwords of the bloody-minded in that

region, and in those days, were, “Damn the abolitionists!” and “Damn

the niggers!” There was nothing done, and probably nothing would have

been done if I had been killed. Such was, and such remains, the state

of things in the Christian city of Baltimore.

Master Hugh, finding he could get no redress, refused to let me go back

again to Mr. Gardner. He kept me himself, and his wife dressed my wound

till I was again restored to health. He then took me into the ship-yard

of which he was foreman, in the employment of Mr. Walter Price. There I

was immediately set to calking, and very soon learned the art of using

my mallet and irons. In the course of one year from the time I left Mr.

Gardner’s, I was able to command the highest wages given to the most

experienced calkers. I was now of some importance to my master. I was

bringing him from six to seven dollars per week. I sometimes brought

him nine dollars per week: my wages were a dollar and a half a day.

After learning how to calk, I sought my own employment, made my own

contracts, and collected the money which I earned. My pathway became

much more smooth than before; my condition was now much more

comfortable. When I could get no calking to do, I did nothing. During

these leisure times, those old notions about freedom would steal over

me again. When in Mr. Gardner’s employment, I was kept in such a

perpetual whirl of excitement, I could think of nothing, scarcely, but

my life; and in thinking of my life, I almost forgot my liberty. I have

observed this in my experience of slavery,—that whenever my condition

was improved, instead of its increasing my contentment, it only

increased my desire to be free, and set me to thinking of plans to gain

my freedom. I have found that, to make a contented slave, it is

necessary to make a thoughtless one. It is necessary to darken his

moral and mental vision, and, as far as possible, to annihilate the

power of reason. He must be able to detect no inconsistencies in

slavery; he must be made to feel that slavery is right; and he can be

brought to that only when he ceases to be a man.

I was now getting, as I have said, one dollar and fifty cents per day.

I contracted for it; I earned it; it was paid to me; it was rightfully

my own; yet, upon each returning Saturday night, I was compelled to

deliver every cent of that money to Master Hugh. And why? Not because

he earned it,—not because he had any hand in earning it,—not because I

owed it to him,—nor because he possessed the slightest shadow of a

right to it; but solely because he had the power to compel me to give

it up. The right of the grim-visaged pirate upon the high seas is

exactly the same.

CHAPTER XI

I now come to that part of my life during which I planned, and finally

succeeded in making, my escape from slavery. But before narrating any

of the peculiar circumstances, I deem it proper to make known my

intention not to state all the facts connected with the transaction. My

reasons for pursuing this course may be understood from the following:

First, were I to give a minute statement of all the facts, it is not

only possible, but quite probable, that others would thereby be

involved in the most embarrassing difficulties. Secondly, such a

statement would most undoubtedly induce greater vigilance on the part

of slaveholders than has existed heretofore among them; which would, of

course, be the means of guarding a door whereby some dear brother

bondman might escape his galling chains. I deeply regret the necessity

that impels me to suppress any thing of importance connected with my

experience in slavery. It would afford me great pleasure indeed, as

well as materially add to the interest of my narrative, were I at

liberty to gratify a curiosity, which I know exists in the minds of

many, by an accurate statement of all the facts pertaining to my most

fortunate escape. But I must deprive myself of this pleasure, and the

curious of the gratification which such a statement would afford. I

would allow myself to suffer under the greatest imputations which

evil-minded men might suggest, rather than exculpate myself, and

thereby run the hazard of closing the slightest avenue by which a

brother slave might clear himself of the chains and fetters of slavery.

I have never approved of the very public manner in which some of our

western friends have conducted what they call the _underground

railroad,_ but which I think, by their open declarations, has been made

most emphatically the _upperground railroad._ I honor those good men

and women for their noble daring, and applaud them for willingly

subjecting themselves to bloody persecution, by openly avowing their

participation in the escape of slaves. I, however, can see very little

good resulting from such a course, either to themselves or the slaves

escaping; while, upon the other hand, I see and feel assured that those

open declarations are a positive evil to the slaves remaining, who are

seeking to escape. They do nothing towards enlightening the slave,

whilst they do much towards enlightening the master. They stimulate him

to greater watchfulness, and enhance his power to capture his slave. We

owe something to the slave south of the line as well as to those north

of it; and in aiding the latter on their way to freedom, we should be

careful to do nothing which would be likely to hinder the former from

escaping from slavery. I would keep the merciless slaveholder

profoundly ignorant of the means of flight adopted by the slave. I

would leave him to imagine himself surrounded by myriads of invisible

tormentors, ever ready to snatch from his infernal grasp his trembling

prey. Let him be left to feel his way in the dark; let darkness

commensurate with his crime hover over him; and let him feel that at

every step he takes, in pursuit of the flying bondman, he is running

the frightful risk of having his hot brains dashed out by an invisible

agency. Let us render the tyrant no aid; let us not hold the light by

which he can trace the footprints of our flying brother. But enough of

this. I will now proceed to the statement of those facts, connected

with my escape, for which I am alone responsible, and for which no one

can be made to suffer but myself.

In the early part of the year 1838, I became quite restless. I could

see no reason why I should, at the end of each week, pour the reward of

my toil into the purse of my master. When I carried to him my weekly

wages, he would, after counting the money, look me in the face with a

robber-like fierceness, and ask, “Is this all?” He was satisfied with

nothing less than the last cent. He would, however, when I made him six

dollars, sometimes give me six cents, to encourage me. It had the

opposite effect. I regarded it as a sort of admission of my right to

the whole. The fact that he gave me any part of my wages was proof, to

my mind, that he believed me entitled to the whole of them. I always

felt worse for having received any thing; for I feared that the giving

me a few cents would ease his conscience, and make him feel himself to

be a pretty honorable sort of robber. My discontent grew upon me. I was

ever on the look-out for means of escape; and, finding no direct means,

I determined to try to hire my time, with a view of getting money with

which to make my escape. In the spring of 1838, when Master Thomas came

to Baltimore to purchase his spring goods, I got an opportunity, and

applied to him to allow me to hire my time. He unhesitatingly refused

my request, and told me this was another stratagem by which to escape.

He told me I could go nowhere but that he could get me; and that, in

the event of my running away, he should spare no pains in his efforts

to catch me. He exhorted me to content myself, and be obedient. He told

me, if I would be happy, I must lay out no plans for the future. He

said, if I behaved myself properly, he would take care of me. Indeed,

he advised me to complete thoughtlessness of the future, and taught me

to depend solely upon him for happiness. He seemed to see fully the

pressing necessity of setting aside my intellectual nature, in order to

contentment in slavery. But in spite of him, and even in spite of

myself, I continued to think, and to think about the injustice of my

enslavement, and the means of escape.

About two months after this, I applied to Master Hugh for the privilege

of hiring my time. He was not acquainted with the fact that I had

applied to Master Thomas, and had been refused. He too, at first,

seemed disposed to refuse; but, after some reflection, he granted me

the privilege, and proposed the following terms: I was to be allowed

all my time, make all contracts with those for whom I worked, and find

my own employment; and, in return for this liberty, I was to pay him

three dollars at the end of each week; find myself in calking tools,

and in board and clothing. My board was two dollars and a half per

week. This, with the wear and tear of clothing and calking tools, made

my regular expenses about six dollars per week. This amount I was

compelled to make up, or relinquish the privilege of hiring my time.

Rain or shine, work or no work, at the end of each week the money must

be forthcoming, or I must give up my privilege. This arrangement, it

will be perceived, was decidedly in my master’s favor. It relieved him

of all need of looking after me. His money was sure. He received all

the benefits of slaveholding without its evils; while I endured all the

evils of a slave, and suffered all the care and anxiety of a freeman. I

found it a hard bargain. But, hard as it was, I thought it better than

the old mode of getting along. It was a step towards freedom to be

allowed to bear the responsibilities of a freeman, and I was determined

to hold on upon it. I bent myself to the work of making money. I was

ready to work at night as well as day, and by the most untiring

perseverance and industry, I made enough to meet my expenses, and lay

up a little money every week. I went on thus from May till August.

Master Hugh then refused to allow me to hire my time longer. The ground

for his refusal was a failure on my part, one Saturday night, to pay

him for my week’s time. This failure was occasioned by my attending a

camp meeting about ten miles from Baltimore. During the week, I had

entered into an engagement with a number of young friends to start from

Baltimore to the camp ground early Saturday evening; and being detained

by my employer, I was unable to get down to Master Hugh’s without

disappointing the company. I knew that Master Hugh was in no special

need of the money that night. I therefore decided to go to camp

meeting, and upon my return pay him the three dollars. I staid at the

camp meeting one day longer than I intended when I left. But as soon as

I returned, I called upon him to pay him what he considered his due. I

found him very angry; he could scarce restrain his wrath. He said he

had a great mind to give me a severe whipping. He wished to know how I

dared go out of the city without asking his permission. I told him I

hired my time and while I paid him the price which he asked for it, I

did not know that I was bound to ask him when and where I should go.

This reply troubled him; and, after reflecting a few moments, he turned

to me, and said I should hire my time no longer; that the next thing he

should know of, I would be running away. Upon the same plea, he told me

to bring my tools and clothing home forthwith. I did so; but instead of

seeking work, as I had been accustomed to do previously to hiring my

time, I spent the whole week without the performance of a single stroke

of work. I did this in retaliation. Saturday night, he called upon me

as usual for my week’s wages. I told him I had no wages; I had done no

work that week. Here we were upon the point of coming to blows. He

raved, and swore his determination to get hold of me. I did not allow

myself a single word; but was resolved, if he laid the weight of his

hand upon me, it should be blow for blow. He did not strike me, but

told me that he would find me in constant employment in future. I

thought the matter over during the next day, Sunday, and finally

resolved upon the third day of September, as the day upon which I would

make a second attempt to secure my freedom. I now had three weeks

during which to prepare for my journey. Early on Monday morning, before

Master Hugh had time to make any engagement for me, I went out and got

employment of Mr. Butler, at his ship-yard near the drawbridge, upon

what is called the City Block, thus making it unnecessary for him to

seek employment for me. At the end of the week, I brought him between

eight and nine dollars. He seemed very well pleased, and asked why I

did not do the same the week before. He little knew what my plans were.

My object in working steadily was to remove any suspicion he might

entertain of my intent to run away; and in this I succeeded admirably.

I suppose he thought I was never better satisfied with my condition

than at the very time during which I was planning my escape. The second

week passed, and again I carried him my full wages; and so well pleased

was he, that he gave me twenty-five cents, (quite a large sum for a

slaveholder to give a slave,) and bade me to make a good use of it. I

told him I would.

Things went on without very smoothly indeed, but within there was

trouble. It is impossible for me to describe my feelings as the time of

my contemplated start drew near. I had a number of warmhearted friends

in Baltimore,—friends that I loved almost as I did my life,—and the

thought of being separated from them forever was painful beyond

expression. It is my opinion that thousands would escape from slavery,

who now remain, but for the strong cords of affection that bind them to

their friends. The thought of leaving my friends was decidedly the most

painful thought with which I had to contend. The love of them was my

tender point, and shook my decision more than all things else. Besides

the pain of separation, the dread and apprehension of a failure

exceeded what I had experienced at my first attempt. The appalling

defeat I then sustained returned to torment me. I felt assured that, if

I failed in this attempt, my case would be a hopeless one—it would seal

my fate as a slave forever. I could not hope to get off with any thing

less than the severest punishment, and being placed beyond the means of

escape. It required no very vivid imagination to depict the most

frightful scenes through which I should have to pass, in case I failed.

The wretchedness of slavery, and the blessedness of freedom, were

perpetually before me. It was life and death with me. But I remained

firm, and, according to my resolution, on the third day of September,

1838, I left my chains, and succeeded in reaching New York without the

slightest interruption of any kind. How I did so,—what means I

adopted,—what direction I travelled, and by what mode of conveyance,—I

must leave unexplained, for the reasons before mentioned.

I have been frequently asked how I felt when I found myself in a free

State. I have never been able to answer the question with any

satisfaction to myself. It was a moment of the highest excitement I

ever experienced. I suppose I felt as one may imagine the unarmed

mariner to feel when he is rescued by a friendly man-of-war from the

pursuit of a pirate. In writing to a dear friend, immediately after my

arrival at New York, I said I felt like one who had escaped a den of

hungry lions. This state of mind, however, very soon subsided; and I

was again seized with a feeling of great insecurity and loneliness. I

was yet liable to be taken back, and subjected to all the tortures of

slavery. This in itself was enough to damp the ardor of my enthusiasm.

But the loneliness overcame me. There I was in the midst of thousands,

and yet a perfect stranger; without home and without friends, in the

midst of thousands of my own brethren—children of a common Father, and

yet I dared not to unfold to any one of them my sad condition. I was

afraid to speak to any one for fear of speaking to the wrong one, and

thereby falling into the hands of money-loving kidnappers, whose

business it was to lie in wait for the panting fugitive, as the

ferocious beasts of the forest lie in wait for their prey. The motto

which I adopted when I started from slavery was this—“Trust no man!” I

saw in every white man an enemy, and in almost every colored man cause

for distrust. It was a most painful situation; and, to understand it,

one must needs experience it, or imagine himself in similar

circumstances. Let him be a fugitive slave in a strange land—a land

given up to be the hunting-ground for slaveholders—whose inhabitants

are legalized kidnappers—where he is every moment subjected to the

terrible liability of being seized upon by his fellowmen, as the

hideous crocodile seizes upon his prey!—I say, let him place himself in

my situation—without home or friends—without money or credit—wanting

shelter, and no one to give it—wanting bread, and no money to buy

it,—and at the same time let him feel that he is pursued by merciless

men-hunters, and in total darkness as to what to do, where to go, or

where to stay,—perfectly helpless both as to the means of defence and

means of escape,—in the midst of plenty, yet suffering the terrible

gnawings of hunger,—in the midst of houses, yet having no home,—among

fellow-men, yet feeling as if in the midst of wild beasts, whose

greediness to swallow up the trembling and half-famished fugitive is

only equalled by that with which the monsters of the deep swallow up

the helpless fish upon which they subsist,—I say, let him be placed in

this most trying situation,—the situation in which I was placed,—then,

and not till then, will he fully appreciate the hardships of, and know

how to sympathize with, the toil-worn and whip-scarred fugitive slave.

Thank Heaven, I remained but a short time in this distressed situation.

I was relieved from it by the humane hand of _Mr. David Ruggles_, whose

vigilance, kindness, and perseverance, I shall never forget. I am glad

of an opportunity to express, as far as words can, the love and

gratitude I bear him. Mr. Ruggles is now afflicted with blindness, and

is himself in need of the same kind offices which he was once so

forward in the performance of toward others. I had been in New York but

a few days, when Mr. Ruggles sought me out, and very kindly took me to

his boarding-house at the corner of Church and Lespenard Streets. Mr.

Ruggles was then very deeply engaged in the memorable _Darg_ case, as

well as attending to a number of other fugitive slaves, devising ways

and means for their successful escape; and, though watched and hemmed

in on almost every side, he seemed to be more than a match for his

enemies.

Very soon after I went to Mr. Ruggles, he wished to know of me where I

wanted to go; as he deemed it unsafe for me to remain in New York. I

told him I was a calker, and should like to go where I could get work.

I thought of going to Canada; but he decided against it, and in favor

of my going to New Bedford, thinking I should be able to get work there

at my trade. At this time, Anna,[2] my intended wife, came on; for I

wrote to her immediately after my arrival at New York, (notwithstanding

my homeless, houseless, and helpless condition,) informing her of my

successful flight, and wishing her to come on forthwith. In a few days

after her arrival, Mr. Ruggles called in the Rev. J. W. C. Pennington,

who, in the presence of Mr. Ruggles, Mrs. Michaels, and two or three

others, performed the marriage ceremony, and gave us a certificate, of

which the following is an exact copy:—

“This may certify, that I joined together in holy matrimony Frederick

Johnson[3] and Anna Murray, as man and wife, in the presence of Mr.

David Ruggles and Mrs. Michaels.

“JAMES W. C. PENNINGTON

“_New York, Sept_. 15, 1838”

[2] She was free.

[3] I had changed my name from Frederick _Bailey_ to that of

_Johnson_.

Upon receiving this certificate, and a five-dollar bill from Mr.

Ruggles, I shouldered one part of our baggage, and Anna took up the

other, and we set out forthwith to take passage on board of the

steamboat John W. Richmond for Newport, on our way to New Bedford. Mr.

Ruggles gave me a letter to a Mr. Shaw in Newport, and told me, in case

my money did not serve me to New Bedford, to stop in Newport and obtain

further assistance; but upon our arrival at Newport, we were so anxious

to get to a place of safety, that, notwithstanding we lacked the

necessary money to pay our fare, we decided to take seats in the stage,

and promise to pay when we got to New Bedford. We were encouraged to do

this by two excellent gentlemen, residents of New Bedford, whose names

I afterward ascertained to be Joseph Ricketson and William C. Taber.

They seemed at once to understand our circumstances, and gave us such

assurance of their friendliness as put us fully at ease in their

presence.

It was good indeed to meet with such friends, at such a time. Upon

reaching New Bedford, we were directed to the house of Mr. Nathan

Johnson, by whom we were kindly received, and hospitably provided for.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Johnson took a deep and lively interest in our

welfare. They proved themselves quite worthy of the name of

abolitionists. When the stage-driver found us unable to pay our fare,

he held on upon our baggage as security for the debt. I had but to

mention the fact to Mr. Johnson, and he forthwith advanced the money.