Author’s first interview with Peter—Peter calls on the Author, and begins his story—his birth and residence—is adopted by Mrs. Mather and lives in Mr. Mather’s house—his “red scarlet coat“—fishing expedition on Sunday with Hagar when he sees the Devil—a feat of horsemanship—saves the life of master’s oldest son, and is bit in the operation by a wild hog—an encounter with an “old-fashioned cat owl” in the Cedar Swamp—a man killed by wild cats—a short “sarmint” at a Quaker Meeting—“I and John makes a pincushion of a calf’s nose, and got tuned for it, I tell ye”—holyday’s amusements—the marble egg—“I and John great cronies”—Mistress sick—Peter hears something in the night which he thinks a forerunner of her death—she dies a Christian—her dying words—Peter’s feelings on her death. Author. “Peter, your history is so remarkable, that I have thought it would make quite an interesting book; and I have a proposal to make you.”
Peter. “Well, Sir, I’m always glad to hear the Domine talk; what’s your proposal? I guess you’re contrivin’ to put a spoke in the Abolition wheel, ain’t ye?”
A. “Peter you know I’m a friend to the black man, and try to do him good.”
P. “Yis, I know that, I tell ye.”
A. “Well, I was going to say that this question of Slavery is all the talk every where, and as facts are so necessary to help men in coming to correct conclusions in regard to it, I have thought it would be a good thing to write a story of your life and adventures—for you know that every body likes to read such books, and they do a great deal of good in the cause of Freedom.”
P. “I s’pose then you’ve got an idee of makin’ out some sich a book as Charles Ball, and that has done a sight of good. But it seems to me I’ve suffered as much as Charles Ball, and I’ve sartinly travelled ten times as fur as he ever did. But I should look funny enough in print, shouldn’t I? The Life and Adventers of Peter Wheeler—!! ha! ha!! ha!!! And then you see every feller here in town, would be a stickin’ up his nose at the very idee, jist because I’m a “nigger” as they say—or “snow-ball,” or somethin’ else; but never mind, if it’s a goin’ to du any good, why I say let split, and we’ll go it nose or no nose—snow-ball or no snow-ball.”
A. “Well, I’m engaged this morning Peter, but if you will call down to my study this afternoon at two o’clock, I’ll be at home, and ready to begin. I want you to put on your “thinking cap,” and be prepared to begin your story, and I’ll write while you talk, and in this way we’ll do a good business—good bye Peter, give my love to your family, and be down in season.”
P. “Good bye Domine, and jist give my love to your folks; and I’ll be down afore two, if nothin’ happens more’n I know on.”
A. “Walk in—Ah! Peter you’re come have you? you are punctual too, for the clock is just striking. I’m glad to see you; take a seat on the settee.”
P. “I thought I couldn’t be fur out of the way: and I’m right glad to see you tu, and you pretty well? and how does your lady du?”
A. “All well, Peter.”
P. “You seem to be all ready to weigh anchor.”
A. “Yes, and we’ll be soon under way.—And now, Peter, I have perfect confidence in your veracity, but I want you to watch every word you utter, for ’twill all be read by ten thousand folks, and I wouldn’t send out any exaggerated statement, or coloured story, for all the books in Christendom. You know it’s hard to tell ‘the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth;’ and now you will have plenty of time to think, for I can’t write as fast as you will talk, and I want you to think carefully, and speak accurately, and we’ll have a true story, and I think a good one.”
P. “I’ll take good care of that, Mr. L—— and we’ll have a true story if we don’t have a big one; but I’m a thinkin’ that afore we git through we’ll have a pretty good yarn spun, as the sailors say. I always thought ’twas bad enough to tell one lie, but a man must be pretty bad to tell one in a book, for if he has ten thousand books printed, he will print ten thousand lies, and that’s lying on tu big a scale.”
A. “Well, Peter, in what age, and quarter of the world were you born?”
P. “As near as I can find out, I was born the 1st of January 1789, at Little Egg Harbour, a parish of Tuckertown, New Jersey. I was born a slave ?—and many a time, like old Job, I’ve cussed the day I was born. My mother has often told me, that my great grandfather was born in Africa, and one day he and his little sister was by the seaside pickin’ up shells, and there come a small boat along shore with white sailors, and ketches ’em both, and they cried to go back and see mother, but they didn’t let ’em go, and they took ’em off to a big black ship that was crowded with negroes they’d stole; and there they kept ’em in a dark hole, and almost starved and choked for some weeks, they should guess, and finally landed ’em in Baltimore, and there they was sold. Grandfather used to set and tell these ’ere stories all over to mother, and set and cry and cry jist like a child, arter he’d got to be an old man, and tell how he wanted to see mother on board that ship, and how happy he and his sister was, a playing in the sand afore the ship come; and jist so mother used to set and trot me on her knee, and tell me these ’ere stories as soon as I could understand ’em—”
“Well, as I was sayin’, I was born in Tuckertown, and my master’s name was Job Mather. He was a man of family and property, and had a wife and two sons, and a large plantation. He was a Quaker by profession, and used to go to the Quaker meetin’s; but afore I git through with him, I’ll show you he warn’t overstocked with Religion. He was the first and last Quaker I ever heard on, that owned a slave,[1] and he warn’t a full-blooded Quaker, for if he had been, he wouldn’t owned me; for a full-blooded Quaker won’t own a slave. I was the only slave he owned, and he didn’t own me ? but this, is the way he come by me.[2] Mistress happened to have a child the same time I was born, and the little feller died. So she sent to Dinah my mother, and got me to nuss her, when I was only eight days old.”
1.  Would to God, it could be said of any other denomination of Christians in Christendom!!
2.  A grand distinction for some big Doctors to learn!
“Well, arter I’d got weaned, and was about a year old, mother comes to mistress, and says she, ‘Mistress, have you got through with my baby?’ ‘No,’ says Mistress, ‘no Dinah, I mean to bring him up myself.’ And so she kept me, and called me Peter Wheeler, for that was my father’s name, and so I lived in master’s family almost jist like his own children.”
“The first thing I recollect was this:——Master and Mistress, went off up country on a journey, and left I and John, (John was her little boy almost my age,) with me at home, and says she as she goes away, ‘now boys if you’ll be good, when I come back, I’ll bring you some handsome presents.’”
“Well, we was good, and when she comes back, she gives us both a suit of clothes, and mine was red scarlet, and it had a little coat buttoned on to a pair of trousers, and a good many buttons on ’em, all up and down be-for’ard and behind, and I had a little cap, with a good long tostle on it; and oh! when I first got ’em on, if I didn’t feel big, I won’t guess.”
“I used to do ’bout as I was a mind tu, until I was eight or nine year old, though Master and Mistress used to make I and John keep Sunday ’mazin strict; yet, I remember one Sunday, when they was gone to Quaker meetin’, I and Hagar, (she was my sister, and lived with my mother, and mother was free,) well, I and Hagar went down to the creek jist by the house, a fishin’. She stood on the bridge, and I waded out up to my middle, and had big luck, and in an hour I had a fine basket full. But jist then I see a flouncin’ in the water, and a great monstrous big thing got hold of my hook, and yauked it arter him, pole, line, nigger and all, I’d enemost said, and if he didn’t make a squashin’ then I’m a white man. Well, Hagar see it, and she was scart almost to pieces, and off she put for the house, and left me there alone. Well, I thought sure ’nough ’twas the Devil, I’d hearn tell so much ’bout the old feller; and I took my basket and put out for the house like a white-head, and I thought I should die, I was so scart. We got to the house and hid under the bed, all a tremblin’ jist like a leaf, afeard to stir one inch. Pretty soon the old folks comes home, and so out we crawled, and they axed us the matter, and so we up and telled ’em all about it, and Master, says he ‘why sure ’nough ’twas the Devil, and all cause you went a fishin’ on a Sunday, and if you go down there a fishin’ agin Sunday he’ll catch you both, and that’ll be the end of you two snow-balls.”
A. “Didn’t he whip you, Peter, to pay for it?”
P. “Whip us? No, Sir; I tell ye what ’tis, what he telled us ’bout the Devil, paid us more’n all the whippens in creation.”
A. “What was the big thing in the creek?”
P. “Why, I s’pose ’twas a shark; they used to come up the creek from the ocean.”
A. “Did you have much Religious Instruction?”
P. “Why, the old folks used to tell us we musn’t lie and steal and play sabba’day, for if we did, the old boy would come and carry us off; and that was ’bout all the Religion I got from them, and all I knowed ’bout it, as long as I lived there.”
A. “What did you used to do when you got old enough to work?”
P. “Why, I lived in the house, and almost jist like a gal I knew when washin’-day come, and I’d out with the poundin’-barrel, and on with the big kittle, and besides I used to do all the heavy cookin’ in the kitchen, and carry the dinner out to the field hands, and scrub, and scour knives, and all sich work.”
A. “Did you always used to have plenty to eat?”
P. “Oh? yis, Sir, I had the handlin’ of the victuals, and I had my fill, I tell ye.”
A. “Did you ever go to school, Peter?”
P. “Yis, Sir, I went one day when John was sick in his place, and that was the only day I ever went, in all my life, and I larned my A, B, C’s through, both ways, and never forgot ’em arter that.”
A. “Well, did you ever meet with any accidents?”
P. “Why, it’s a wonder I’m alive, I’ve had so many wonderful escapes. When I was ’bout ten year old, Master had a beautiful horse, only he was as wild as a pain’ter, and so one day when he was gone away, I and John gits him out, and he puts me on, and ties my legs under his belly, so I shouldn’t git flung off, and he run, and snorted, and broke the string, and pitched me off, and enemost broke my head, and if my skull hadn’t a been pretty thick, I guess he would; and I didn’t get well in almost six weeks.” Another thing I think on, Master had some of these ’ere old-fashioned long-eared and long-legged hogs, and he used to turn ’em out, like other folks, in a big wood nearby, and when they was growed up, fetch ’em and pen ’em up, and fat ’em; and so Master fetched home two that was dreadful wild, and they had tushes so long, and put ’em in a pen to fat. Well, his oldest son gits over in the pen one day to clean out the trough, and one on ’em put arter him, and oh! how he bawled, and run to git out; I heard him, and run and reached over the pen, and catched hold on him, and tried to lift him out; but the old feller had got hold of his leg, and took out a whole mouthful, and then let go; and I pulled like a good feller, and got him most over, but the old sarpent got hold of my hand, and bit it through and through, and there’s the scar yit.”
A. “Did you let go, Peter?”
P. “Let go? No! I tell ye I didn’t; the hog got hold of his heel, and bit the ball right off; but when he let go that time, I fetched a dreadful lift, and I got him over the pen, safe and sound, only he was badly bit.
“And while I think of it, one day Mistress took me to go with her through the Cedar Swamp to see some Satan, only she took me as she said to keep the snakes off. It was two miles through the woods, and we went on a road of cedar-rails, and when we got into the swamp, I see a big old-fashioned cat owl a settin’ on a limb up ’bout fifteen foot from the ground I guess; and as I’d heard an owl couldn’t see in the day time, I thought I’d creep up slily, and catch him, and I says ‘Mistress,’ says I, ‘will you wait?’ and she says, ‘yis, if you’ll be quick.’ And so up I got, and jist as I was agoin to grab him, he jumped down, and lit on my head, and planted his big claws in my wool and begun to peck, and I hollered like a loon, and swung off, and down I come, and he stuck tight and pecked worse than ever. I hollows for Mistress, and by this time she comes up with a club, and she pounded the old feller, but he wouldn’t git off, and she pounded him till he was dead; and his claws stuck so tight in my wool, Mistress had to cut ’em out with my jack-knife, and up I got, glad ’nough to git off as I did; and I crawled out of the mud, and the blood come a runnin’ down my head, and I was clawed and pecked like a good feller, but I didn’t go owlin’ agin very soon, I tell ye.”
“Well, we got there, and this was Saturday, and we stayed till the next arternoon. Sunday mornin’ I see a man go by, towards our house, with an axe on his shoulder; and we started in the arternoon, and when we’d got into the middle of the swamp there lay that man dead, with two big wild cats by him that he’d killed: he’d split one on ’em open in the head, and the axe lay buried in the neck of t’other; and there they all lay dead together, all covered with blood, and sich a pitiful sight I hain’t seen. But oh! how thick the wild cats was in that swamp, and you could hear ’em squall in the night, as thick as frogs in the spring; but ginerally they kept pretty still in the day time, and so we didn’t think there was any danger till now; and we had to leave the dead man there alone, only the dead wild cats was with him, and make tracks as fast as we cleverly could, for home.”
A. “Did you ever go to meetings?”
P. “Sometimes I used to go to Quaker meetin’s with mistress, and there we’d set and look first at one and then at t’other; and bi’m’by somebody would up and say a word or two, and down he’d set, and then another, and down he’d set. Sometimes they was the stillest, and sometimes the noisiest meetin’s I ever see. One time, I remember, we went to hear a new Quaker preacher, and there was a mighty sight of folks there; and I guess we set still an hour, without hearin’ a word from anybody: and that ’ere feller was a waitin’ for his spirit, I s’pose; and, finally at last, an old woman gits up and squarks through her nose, and says she, “Oh! all you young gentlemen beware of them ’ere young ladies—Ahem!—Oh! all you young ladies beware of them ’ere young gentlemen—Ahem—Peneroyal tea is good for a cold!” ? and down she sat, and I roared right out, and I never was so tickled in all my life; and the rest on ’em looked as sober as setten’ hens:—but I couldn’t hold in, and I snorted out straight; and so mistress wouldn’t let me go agin. And now you are a Domine, and I wants to ask you if the Lord inspired her to git up, whether or no He didn’t forsake her soon arter she got up?”
A. “Why, Peter, you’ve made the same remark about her, that a famous historian makes about Charles Second, a wicked king of England. Some of the king’s friends said, the Grace of God brought him to the throne—this historian said, “if it brought him to the throne it forsook him very soon after he got there.”
A. “Did you have any fun holydays, Peter.”
P. “Oh! yis, I and John used to be ‘mazing thick, and always together, and always in mischief——One time, I recollect, when master was gone away, we cut up a curious dido; master had a calf that was dreadful gentle, and I and John takes him, and puts a rope round his neck, and pulls his nose through the fence, and drove it full of pins, and he blatted and blatted like murder, and finally mistress see us, and out she come, and makes us pull all the pins out, one by one, and let him go; she didn’t say much, but goes and cuts a parcel of sprouts, and I concluded she was a goin’ to tune us. But it come night, we went into the house, and she was mighty good, and says she, ‘come boys, I guess it’s about bed time;’ and so she hands us a couple of basins of samp and milk, and we eat it, and off to bed, a chucklin’, to think we’d got off as well as we had. But we’d no sooner got well to bed, and nicely kivered up, when I see a light comin’ up stairs, and mistress was a holdin’ the candle in one hand, and a bunch of sprouts in t’other; and she comes up to the bed, and says she, ‘boys do you sleep warm? I guess I’ll tuck you up a little warmer, and, at that, she off with every rag of bed clothes, and if she didn’t tune us, I miss my guess: and ‘now,’ says she, ‘John see that you be in better business next time, when your dad’s gone; and you nigger, you good for nothin little rascal, you make a pincushion of a calf’s nose agin, will ye?’ And I tell ye they set close, them ’ere sprouts.”
A. “Well, Peter, you were going to talk about holydays, and I shouldn’t think it much of a holyday to be ‘tuned with them sprouts.’”
P. “Oh! yis, Sir, we had great times every Christmas and New-Years; but we thought the most of Sain’t Valentine’s Day. The boys and gals of the whole neighborhood, used to git together, and carry on, and make fun, and sich like. We used to play pin a good deal, and I and John used to go snacks, and cheat like Sancho Panza; and there’s where we got the pins to stick in the calf’s nose, I was tellin’ you on. We used to have a good deal of fun sometimes in bilein eggs. Mistress would send us out to hunt eggs, and we’d find a nest of a dozen, likely, and only carry in three or four, and lay the rest by for holydays. Well, we used to bile eggs, as I was sayin’, and the boys would strike biled eggs together, and the one that didn’t get his egg broke should have t’other’s, for his’n was the best egg. Well, we got a contrivance, I and John did, that brought us a fine bunch of eggs. John’s uncle was down the country once, and he gin John a smooth marble egg: oh! ’twas a dreadful funny thing, and I guess he’s got it yit, if he’s a livin’—well, we kept this egg, year in, and year out, and we’d take it to the holydays, and break all the eggs there, and carry home a nice parcel, and have a good bunch to give away, and I guess as how the boys never found it out.”
A. “Why, you had as good times as you could ask for, it seems to me.”
P. “Oh! yis, Sir, I see many bright days, and, when I was a boy, I guess no feller had more fun than I did. And I mean, Domine, all through the book, to tell things jist as they was, and when I was frolicsome and happy I’ll say so, and when I was in distress, I’ll say so; for it seems to me, a book ought to tell things jist as they be. Well, I had got about to the end of my happy fun, for mistress, who was the best friend I had, was took sick, and I expected her to die—and sure ’nough she did die; and as I was kind ‘a superstitious, one night afore she died, I heard some strange noises, that scart me, and made me think ’em forerunners of mistress’ death; and for years and years them noises used to trouble me distressedly. Well, mistress had been a good woman, and died like a christian. When she thought she was a dyin’, she called up her husband to her bed-side, and took him by the hand, and says, ‘I am now goin’ to my God, and your God, and I want you to prepare to follow me to heaven,’ and says ‘farewell;’ she puts her arms round his neck and kisses him. Then she calls up her children, and says pretty much the same thing to them; and then me, and she puts her arms round all our necks, and kisses us all, and says ‘good bye dear children,’ and she fell back into the bed and died, without a struggle or a groan.
“Oh! how I cried when mistress died. She had been kind to me, and loved me, and it seemed I hadn’t any thing left in the world worth livin’ for; put it all together, I guess I cried more’n a week ’bout it, and nothin’ would pacify me. I loved mistress, and when I see her laid in the grave it broke my heart. I have never in all my life with all my sufferin’s had any affliction that broke me down as that did. I thought I should die: the world looked gloomy ‘round me, and I knew I had nothin’ to expect from master after she was gone, and I was left in the world friendless and alone. I had seen some, yis many, good days, and I don’t believe on arth there was a happier boy than Peter Wheeler; but when mistress closed her eyes in death, my sorrows begun; and oh! the tale of ’em will make your heart ache, afore I finish, for all my hopes, and all my fun, and all my happiness, was buried in mistress’ grave.”
A. “Well, Peter, I’m tired of writing, and suppose we adjourn till to-morrow.”
P. “Well, Sir, that’ll do I guess—oh! afore I go, have you got any more Friend of Man?”
A. “Oh! yes, and something better yet—here’s Thomson and Breckenridge’s Debate.”
P. “Is that the same Thomson that the slavery folks drove out of the country, and the gentleman of property and standing in Boston tried to tar and feather?”
A. ?“YES.” ?
P. “Well, I reckon he must have rowed Breckenridge up Salt River.” ?
A. “You’re right, Peter, and he left him on Dry Dock!!!”
P. “Good bye, Domine.”
A. “Good bye, Peter.”