I.
Fifty years ago there lived in Caldwell County, Kentucky, a well-to-do individual named Wilson. He owned a large estate, to which were attached numerous slaves. Such was the character of the master that bondage sat lightly upon them. Provident and indulgent, Mr. Wilson allowed his people to do largely as they chose. To them the words of the old plantation song,
“Hang up de shubel and de hoe.”
had much of reality.
A SLAVE HUNT.
Strangers came and went among them freely; they heard much of the ways of escape northward, of which many from plantations surrounding them availed themselves, but the bonds of affection were so strong between Mr. Wilson and his people that no effort was ever made on the part of the latter to escape. But things were not always to remain thus. In 1853, Mr. Wilson sickened and died, a circumstance which brought not only grief but consternation to his “people,” for they soon learned they were to be divided among the heirs. Jack and Nannie, a brother and sister who had grown up on the estate tenderly attached to each other and to their old master, fell to the lot of a drunken and licentious man named Watson, who took them to his farm in Davies County, not far from the Ohio River. Here, as common field hands, they were brutally treated, and soon began to plan means of escape. Before these were consummated the old cook died, and Nannie, who was of attractive form and manners, was taken from the field to fill her place. This only added to the degradation of her condition, for she was now continually called upon to repel the lecherous advances of her brutal master. As a punishment for this she was at length placed in close confinement from which her brother succeeded in freeing her. They set out at once for the river, hoping to escape, but were soon overtaken, brought back and so cruelly whipped by Watson, that Nannie soon died from the effects.
The sight of his lacerated, dying sister, the only tie that bound him to earth, continually haunted Jack, and he vowed escape, and vengeance if it were possible. His plans were carefully laid. In perambulating the numerous swamps in the neighborhood whose outlets led to the river, he had discovered a hollow tree broken off some twenty feet above the surrounding water. By climbing an adjacent sapling he discovered that the hollow within the stub would furnish a secure and comfortable retreat, should necessity require. By divers acts of plantation civility he had gained the confidence of “Uncle Jake” and “Aunt Mary,” an old couple who sympathized deeply with him, and promised him any aid in their power, provided it was such as “Massa’ll neber know.” All Jack asked was that in case he disappeared, they should set the third night after his disappearance something to eat on a shelf where he could reach it, and every fourth night thereafter until it should, for two successive times, be untaken. He also gave them in keeping a package of cayenne pepper to be placed with the edibles. In his visits to the river he had noted the fastenings of the skiffs, and had provided himself with both a file and an iron bar which would serve the double purpose as a means of defense and for drawing a staple. These he carefully secreted in his prospective retreat, waiting only an opportunity to occupy it.
Such an opportunity was not long in presenting itself, for one night the master came home late from a drunken revel, and found Jack awaiting him as ordered. Becoming enraged at some supposed act of disobedience, he flew at Jack with an open knife. The hour of vengeance had come. Seizing a hoe, with a single stroke Jack felled him to the ground, a lifeless form. A moment only he waited to view the gaping wound—to compare it with poor Nan—then gathering up a few things that he could, he was off with the fleetness of a deer. Passing two or three miles down the country, he entered the outlet of the swamp, and after passing down it for some distance, keeping so near the shore as to make his tracks observable, he struck in, directly reversing his footsteps, and before the dawn was safely ensconced in his selected tower.
Morning came and with it the knowledge of Watson’s death. The cause was easily divined—there was the bloody hoe, and Jack, who was left to wait his coming, was gone. Blood hounds and fierce men were soon upon his trail. His course was easily traced to the brook, and his descending footsteps discerned, but no trace of him could be discovered beyond that. The greater part thought he had reached the river, and escaped to the Indiana shore by swimming, at which he was an expert, or had been drowned in the attempt. Others believed his footsteps only a decoy and searched all the adjacent swamps, sometimes passing very near him, but all in vain. Flaming posters, advertising him, were sent broadcast, and slave catchers on both sides of the river were on the alert.
On the second day a great concourse assembled at Watson’s funeral. There were many conjectures, and much argument, and loud swearing about the “nigger” who had done the deed, and as a means of intimidating the weeping—none more so than Uncle Jake and Aunt Mary—chattels gathered around, terrible things were promised Jack should he be caught.
The services over, the crowd dispersed, and the next morning all hands were set to work as usual. At night when all was quiet, Aunt Mary, whose cabin was the farthest of any from the “mansion,” placed a liberal ration of hoe cake and bacon, together with the pepper, upon the designated shelf, and betook herself to the side of Uncle Jake who was already resting his weary limbs in the land of forgetfulness. Shortly after midnight a hand was thrust cautiously through the open window, the packages were softly lifted, a little pepper was deftly sifted in retreating footsteps, and in a short time Jack was safe again in his water-shut abode, and when old uncle and auntie were talking of the “wun’ful ang’l” that had visited the house that night, Jack was quietly enjoying a morning nap.
Several weeks passed, the excitement about Watson had measurably died away, two successive depositions of provisions had been left untouched and the good old couple knew “Dat de angel was feedin’ Jack no moa’, like de rabens fed ol’ ’Lijer.” They were sure, “Jack am safe.”
Taking his appliances, Jack had descended the outlet some distance one starlight night, and then striking across the country, had reached the river just below the little village he had been accustomed to visit before the death of his sister. The finding of a skiff and the wrenching away of the fastening occupied but a short time and at daylight he was safely secreted in an Indiana forest. Knowledge previously gained enabled him soon to put himself in charge of an underground official, but instead of making direct for Canada he shipped for the Quaker settlement near Salem, Ohio, of which he had heard much from a fruit tree dealer before the death of Mr. Wilson, and ultimately, in the quaint home of Edward Bonsall found a secure asylum, and in his nurseries desirable employment, so far from his former home that little disturbed his mind except the frequent recurring remembrances of his slain master with the cruelly lacerated form of his sister ever rising in justification of the summary punishment that had been inflicted upon him.