“Tom was a great friend of mine, and he tried to get me to run off for a good while, and Hen, his brother, he was a good feller, and he tried tu; and Miss Sara, their sister, she was a good soul, and every chance she got, she’d tell me to run; and Mrs. Ludlow always told me I was a fool for stayin’ with sich a brute; and every time I went there, I used to git a piece of somethin’ good to eat, that I didn’t get at home; and Mr. Humphrey’s folks was all the time a tryin’ to git me to run off. ‘Why,’ they say, ‘do you stay there to be beat, and whipt, and starved, and banged to death? why don’t you run?’ The reply I used to make was, wait till I git a leetle older, and I’ll clear the coop for arnest.
“Squire Whittlesey, that lived off, ’bout six miles, where I used to go on arrants, says to me one day, ‘Peter, where did you come from?’ So I ups and tells him all ’bout my history. Then says he, ‘Peter, can I put any confidence in you?’ ‘Yis, Sir,’ says I; ‘you needn’t be afeared of me.’ ‘Well,’ says he, ‘you’re free by law, and I advise you to run; but, wait a while, and don’t run till you can make sure work; and now mind you don’t go away and tell any body.’
“And, finally, enemost every body says ‘run Pete, why don’t you run?’ But thinks I to myself, if I run and don’t make out, ‘twould be better for me not to run at all, and so I’ll wait, and when I run I’ll run for sartin.
“There wasn’t many slaves in that region, but a good many colored folks lived there, and some on ’em was pretty decent folks tu. Well, we used to have some ‘musements as well as many sad things; for arter all Mr. L——, a’most any situation will let a body have some good things, for its a pretty hard thing to put out all a body’s joys in God’s world; and then you see a slave enjoys a good many little kinda comforts that free people don’t think on; and if a time come when he can git away from his master, and forgit his troubles, why, he’s a good deal happier than common folks. Well, we used to have some very bright times. We had a Fox Tail Company out there of forty-seven men, and Hen Ludlow was captain, and old boss was lefttenant, and I was private, and when we catched a fox, then ’twas hurrah boys. Sometimes we used to have a good deal of ‘musements over there on Oneida Lake, and we used to have fine sport. We used to start on a kind of a fishin’ scrape, and come out on a kind of a hunt.
“Round that lake used to be a master place for deer. Oh! how thick they was! We used to go over and fish in the arternoon and night; and goin’ cross the lake we’d use these ’ere trolein’ lines; and then we’d fish by pine torches in the night, and they looked fine in the night over the smooth water, all a glissenin’; and arter we’d done, we’d sleep on a big island in the lake, near the outlet—they called it the “Frenchman’s Island” then, and I guess there was nigh upon fifty acres on it. We’d start the dogs airly next mornin’ on the north shore, out back of Rotterdam, and they’d run the deer down into the lake, and then we’d have hands placed along the shore with skiffs, to put arter ’em into the water; and we’d have a sight of fun in catchin’ em, arter we’d got ’em nicely a swimmin’.
“There was a lawless set of fellows round that ’ere Rotterdam, that’s a fact; and when they heard our dogs a comin’ to the shore, they’d put out arter ’em, and if they could git our deer first, they wouldn’t make any bones on it: but they never got but one, for we used to have young fellers in the skiff that understood their business, and they’d lift ’em along some, I reckon.
“But we used to have the finest sport catchin’ fish there you ever see—eels, shiners, white fish, pikes, and cat-fish, whappers I tell ye, and salmon, trout, big fellers, and oceans of pumkin-seed, and pickerel, and bass; and, while I think on it, I must tell ye one leetle scrape there that warn’t slow.
“We put up a creek—I guess ’twas Chitining, but I ain’t sartin’—a spearin’ these ’ere black suckers, and of course we had rifle, powder and ball along. Well, we had mazin’ luck, and I guess we got three peck basketfuls; and at last Tom Ludlow says, ‘I swear, Pete, don’t catch any more.’
“‘Twas now ’bout midnight, and we went back to the fire we’d built under a big shelvin’ rock, and pitched our camp there for the night; and this was Saturday night, and we begins to cook our fish for supper. Arter supper, while we was a settin’ there, some laughin’, some tellin’ stories, some singin’, and some asleep, the gravel begins to fall off of the ledge over us, and rattle on the leaves.
“Well, we out and looked up, and see a couple of lights about three inches apart, like green candles, a rollin’ round; and Hen Ludlow says, ‘That’s a pain’ter, by Judas;’ and I says, ‘If that’s a pain’ter, I’ve got the death weapon here, for if I pinted it at any thing it must come.’