I.
“My deah chile, ’tis too bad.”
“Too bad, mother! I tell you I’s agoin’ to run away. Ole Massa can’t whip dis chile no moah. I’d rather be shot or hab the dogs tear me to pieces.”
“Hush, chile, hush! you’ll break your ole mudder’s heart, ’cause it’s a’most done gone smashed afore, an’ now she knows you can neber, neber, get across the big river an’ de great lake. I tell yer, chile, you better stay wid ole mas’r if em do whip.”
“Mother, my mine is made up. Massa Jones hab whipped George Gray for de las time. I hate to leave you, mother, but then I’s agoin’. Some day de Massa’ll sell me as he did father an’ de res’ of us down South, an’ then you shall see George no moah, an’ I’d hab no blessed chance for ’scape, so now I’s goin’ for freedom or I’s goin’ to die. I say ole massa can’t whip me no moah.”
“De will ob de Lor’ be done, chile; but how is you agoin’ to do it?”
“I’ll tell you mother, ole Massa’ll neber s’pec’ you. He’ll neber look for George ’bout dis shanty. So I’s agoin’ down to de river an’ cross down in de skiff, den I goes to de swamp an’ comes carefully back an’ crawls under your bed. When Massa misses me, you can tell him I’s runned away, an’ he’ll start the horses an’ the men for de swamp, an’ for two or three days they’ll hunt for George there jus’ as they did for Uncle Pete; den Massa’ll put me in de papers as a runaway nigger, an’ then when all is ober heah I’s comin’ out an’ goin’ at de river an’ cross de mountins till I gits to Canidy.”
“De bressed Lor’, an’ doan yer s’pec’ ole Massa’ll hunt dis shanty frough an’ frough, chile?”
“Ole Massa’ll never s’pec’ you, mother; you’s been wid him too long. He never whipped you, an’ when he comes in de mornin’, for to inquire, you mus’ be prayin’; prayin’ for me that I may be cotched.”
“Bress de Lor’, he mus’ ’ov put all dis in de head of de chile as he put his son Moses in de bullrushes down dar in de lan’ of Canin. Chile, your black ole mudder’ll cover you wid her bed like as the ole black hen covers her chicks when de hawk comes to steal de little ones from dar mudder’s lub. Now, chile, jus’ you fix it all up an’ de Lor’ ob dat big feller, Sabot, yes dat was de man, be wid you, an’ it doan matter bout dis ole woman no moah.”
The above conversation took place many years ago in a cabin in the negro quarter of the plantation of Samuel Jones on the James river, in Virginia. Mr. Jones was a thriving planter and an extensive dealer in slaves. Though in some respects of the better class of slave-breeders, he inherited many of the legitimate characteristics of the peculiar institution. Towards the men slaves he was tyrannical in the extreme, whilst eyeing the fairer and younger among the women with an eye of lechery.
The plantation had come to him from his father, and with it the family of John Gray consisting of himself and wife, known for miles around as “Prayin’ Hanner,” and several children. The father and older children, all having a slight tinge of the Caucassian about them, Mr. Jones early sold to southern dealers, retaining only the mother and her infant George.
The mother, on account of her acknowledged piety and ability to labor, was assigned a special cabin and for years had done the family laundry work and baking and discharged other duties of a similar character. Resigned to her condition, she labored on year after year, ever singing and praying and with her loyalty all unquestioned. Not so with her growing boy, however. The white blood that was in him, though limited, constantly rebelled against his condition, and as his years advanced, brought on frequent conflicts between him and his master, which invariably ended in the boy’s being severely whipped. Though feeling for him, on such occasions, as only a mother can feel, still Hannah Gray exhorted him to be obedient and submissive. Whenever the master threatened to sell him south, then it was that her prayers that one of her kin might be left to her mightily prevailed. The natural adaptability of the youth secured for him many privileges, and he had been with his master several times to the national capital and other points and had picked up much general intelligence, and his mode of expression had, to some extent, risen above the plantation vernacular.
The conflict on this particular occasion had arisen between master and slave because George had asked the privilege of visiting a young quadroon of the plantation on whom Jones had fastened his lecherous eyes. As usual the controversy ended in the young man’s being bound to a post by some of the hands and then inhumanly flogged by his owner. Stung to madness, when all were settled for the night, he left his quarters and sought the cabin of his mother, and there, as we have seen, divulged his determination to seek a land of freedom. True to his purpose, when he had gained his mother’s consent, he went down to the river and unloosing a skiff floated down with the current some distance and then landing, struck boldly across to a neighboring swamp. Entering this, he passed on a short distance until he came to a small creek which led directly to the river. He now divested himself of his clothing which he safely placed upon his shoulders, and following the cove soon reached the river into which he plunged, and being an expert swimmer, was soon on the home side again, and making his way quietly to his mother’s cabin, where he was safely secreted beneath what he had augured an impregnable citadel, her bed.
HANNAH PRAYING.
Morning came soon, and the hands sallied from their quarters but with them came no George Gray. The word spread rapidly and soon reached both the cabin of Prayin’ Hanner and the mansion that he was missing. As soon as the proprietor could dress himself and make proper inquiries, he hastened to the shanty of the mother whom he found at her morning devotions, having begun them just as she saw his approach. Not wishing to disturb her he stopped before the door and caught these words of invocation:
“Bressed Lor’, dey say my poah, dear chile am gone. Am he drown? may de Lor’ raise de body up dat dis ole black form may follow in its sorrow to de grabe. Hab he killed hisself? may de Lor’ hab mercy on his soul, for Geog’ was a bad boy; he made mas’r heaps o’ trouble. O Lor’, if he hab runned away, may mas’r cotch him agin—not de houn’, but mas’r an’ de men, an’ den when mas’r Jones whip him, may de bressed Lor’ sen’ down ole Lija, an’ ’vert his soul, dat he no moah disrember mas’r but dat he do his will for his ole mudder’s sake, an’ for de sake ob his good mas’r, an’ for de sake ob dat heben whar de Lor’ is. Dis, Lor’, am de prayer of poah ole Hanner, amen.”
The prayer ceased and the master entered, only to find, as he inferred from it, that the intelligence of George’s departure had preceded him, and farther that the boy had been in there the night before and acted very strangely; that the mother had advised him to go to his quarters and be a good boy.
Leaving the woman to her work, he went out and gave orders for a search. Soon it was discovered that the skiff was gone and directly after it was found half a mile down the river with footsteps leading towards the swamp. A pack of hounds belonging on a plantation below was sent for and search begun in earnest, and kept up unceasingly for three days but without success, and then the hands were called in. In the meantime there appeared in the Lynchburg Herald the following:
$500.00 Reward.
“Run Away from the subscriber, George Gray, a negro, nearly pure, about twenty-one years old, and weighing one-hundred and fifty pounds. He talks pretty good English. Five hundred dollars will be given for him alive.” Samuel Jones.
Antwerp, Va., June 25, 1841.
During these days the cabin of Prayin’ Hanner was filled with sacred songs, earnest prayers and sympathizing visitors, not one of whom, white or black, as he listened to, or participated in the devotions, supposed for one moment that he who had called them all forth, that “deah chile,” was quietly drinking them in. When the nights came, and everything was still, then George emerged for a little time to rest and refresh himself.
GEORGE GRAY’S ESCAPE.
Thus matters passed until the fourth night came. The sun set amid gathering clouds. The returned hunters gathered in their quarters, some of them to tell how earnestly they had sought to find nothin’; others to depict their true loyalty to Mar’s Jones, and the whites in their homes around, to swear vengeance on every nigger caught fleeing. As the storm broke and the darkness became more intense, George came forth. A little bundle of clothing, with three days’ rations of food, had been carefully prepared for him. There was an embrace, tender as though the participants had been free, a “God bless you, Mother,” a “May de Lor’ still be wid yer as he hab bin,” uttered as earnestly as though by cultured lips, and mother and son parted, never to see each other again.
George Gray went forth fearlessly into the darkness. The country he knew for miles around, and for weary hours he made his way directly up the south bank of the James. Long after midnight the moon arose, and seeking a fitting place, he crossed the river and just as the first gray streakings of the dawn appeared, quietly secreted himself in a jungle of bushes upon the mountain which here comes down close to the river. The rain had obliterated all traces of his course; he was thought to have gone in an opposite direction four days before. Thus far his plans had worked admirably, and feeling safe, he partook of his rations and lay down to a refreshing sleep.
Night found him again in motion, and by the time morning came he had made considerable progress. Again he rested and refreshed himself, and quietly surveyed the prospect for the future. He knew he was a long way from the Ohio; that much of the way was wild and mountainous, and that wherever there were people the dangers were greatest. His little stock of provisions would soon be gone, and then the berries and fruits of the forest would be his almost sole dependence, only occasionally he might go down to some bondman’s cabin. With these facts before him he faltered not, but pressed resolutely forward, only to find as he approached the river, after weary weeks of vigil, that his master’s advertisement had preceded him, and that base men were watching that they might claim the reward. This news came to him from colored men whom he occasionally contrived to see, for the great humanitarian thoroughfare of the days ante bellum had its ramifications among the mountains of Virginia, as well as its broader lines on freer soil, though unlike those of the latter their officers were of somber hue. Taken in charge by one of these, George was safely put across the river one stormy night, and in care of a genuine “broad-brim conductor” on a main trunk line, but not until his presence had been scented by a pack of white bloodhounds all too anxious for the recompence of reward, and whose unholy avarice was equalled only by the wary alertness of the disciple of George Fox.