Peter emancipated by his old Master’s Will—but is stolen and sold at auction, and bid off by GIDEON MOREHOUSE ?—Hagar tries to buy her brother back—parting scene—his reception at his new Master’s—sudden change in fortune—Master’s cruelty—the Muskrat skins—prepare to go into “the new countries”—start on the journey—“incidents of travel” on the road—Mr. Sterling, who is a sterling-good man, tries to buy Peter—gives him a pocket full of “Bungtown coppers”—abuse—story of the Blue Mountain—Oswego—Mr. Cooper, an Abolitionist—journey’s end—Cayuga county, New York. Author. “Well, Peter, I’ve come up to your house this morning, to write another chapter in the book; and you can go on with your boots while I write, and so we’ll kill two birds with one stone.”
Peter. “Well, I felt distressedly when mistress died, and I cried, and mourned, and wept, night and day. I was now in my eleventh year. While she lived I worked in the house, but, as soon as she died, I was put into the field; and so, on her death, I entered into what I call the field of trouble; and now my story will show ye what stuff men and women is made of.
“My master didn’t own me, for I was made free by my old master’s will, who died when I was little; and, in his will, he liberated my mother, who had always been a slave and all her posterity; so that as soon as old master died, I was free by law—but pity me if slavery folks regard law that ever I see: ? for slavery is a tramplin’ on all laws. Well, arter mother was free, she got a comfortable livin’ till her death. In that will I was set free, but I lived with master till after mistress’ death, and then I was stole, and in this way. Master got uneasy and thought he could do better than to stay in that country, and so he advertised his plantation for sale. It run somethin’ like this, on the notice he writ:
‘FOR SALE,
‘A plantation well stocked with oxen, horses, sheep, hogs, fowls, &c.—and ? one young, smart nigger, sound every way. ?’
“You see they put me on the stock-list!! Well, when the day came that I was to be sold, oh! how I felt! I knew it warn’t right, but what could I do? I was a black boy. They sold one thing, and then another, and bim’bye they made me mount a table, and then the auctioneer cries out:—
‘Here’s a smart, active, sound, well trained, young nigger—he’s a first rate body servant, good cook, and all that; now give us a bid:’ and one man bid $50, and another $60; and so they went on. Sister Hagar, she was four years older than me, come up and got on to the table with me, (they dassent sell her,) and she began to cry, and sob, and pity me, and says she, ‘oh Peter, you ain’t agoin’ way off, be ye, ‘mong the wild Ingens at the west, be ye?’ You see there was some talk, that a man would buy me, who was a goin’ out into York State, and you know there was a sight of Ingens here then, and folks was as ‘fraid to go to York State then, as they be now to go to Texas—and so Hagar put her arms round my neck, and oh! how she cried; $95 cries out one man; $100 cries another, and so they kept a bidden’ while Hagar and I kept a cryin’ and finally, ? GIDEON MOREHOUSE ? (oh! it fairly makes my blood run cold, to speak that name, to this day,) well, he bid $110, and took me—master made him promise to school me three quarters, or he’d not give him a bill of sale; so he promised to do it, and I was his ? Property. ? And that’s all a slaveholder’s word is good for, for he never sent me to school a day in his life. Now, how could that man get any right to me, when he bought me as stolen property; or how could any body have even a legal right to me? why no more as I see than you would have to my cow, if you should buy her of a man that stole her out of my barn. And yit that’s the way that every slaveholder gits his right to every slave, for a body must know that a feller owns himself. But I gin up long ago all idee of slavery folks thinkin’ any thing ’bout law. ?
“Well, I should think I stood on that table two hours, for I know when I come down, my eyes ached with cryin’ and my legs with standin’ and tears run down my feet, and fairly made a puddle there. Sister Hagar, she was a very lovin’ sister, and she felt distressedly to think her brother was a goin’ to be sold; and so she went round and borrowed and begged all the money she could, and that, with what she had afore, made 110 Mexican dollars, jist what I sold for, and she comes to my new master, and says she, ‘Sir, I’ve got $110 to buy my brother back agin, and I don’t want him to go off to the west, and wont you please Sir, be so kind, as sell me back my brother?’ ‘Away with ye,’ he hollered, ‘I’ll not take short of 150 silver dollars, and bring me that or nothin’;’ and so Hagar tried hard to raise so much, but she couldn’t, and oh! how she cried, and come to me and sobbed, and hung round my neck, and took on dreadfully, and wouldn’t be pacified; and besides, mother stood by, and see it all, and felt distressedly, as you know a mother must; but, what could she do? she was a black woman. ? Now, how would your mother feel to see you sold into bondage? Why, arter mistress died, it did seem to me that master become a very devil—he ‘bused me and other folks most all-killin’ly. He married a fine gal as soon arter mistress’ death as she would have him; and she had 400 silver dollars, and a good many other things, and he took her money and went off to Philadelphia, and sold some of his property, and the rest at this auction I tell on; and then told her she must leave the premises, and another man come on to ’em, and she had to go; and she and Hagar lived together a good many year, and got their livin’ by spinnin’ and weavin’, and she was almost broken-hearted all the time; and when I got way off into the new countries, I hears from Hagar, that she died clear broken-hearted. Well, I was sold a Friday, and master was to take me to Morehouse’s a Sunday; Sunday come, and I was obliged to go. I parted from mother, and never see her agin, till I heard she was dead; but you must know how I felt, so I won’t describe it. She felt distressedly, and gin me a good deal of good advice, but oh! ’twas a sorrowful day for our little family, I tell ye, Mr. L——.
“Well, I got to my new master’s, and all was mighty good, and the children says, “Oh! dis black boy fader bought, and he shall sleep with me;” and the children most worshipped me, and mistress gin me a great hunk of gingerbread, and I thought I had the nicest place in the world. But my joy was soon turned into sorrow. I slept that night on a straw bed, and nothin’ but an old ragged coverlid over me; and next morning I didn’t go down to make a fire, for old master always used to do that himself; and so when I comes down, master scolds at me, and boxes my ears pretty hard, and says, ‘I didn’t buy you to play the gentleman, you black son of a bitch—I got ye to work.’
“Well, I began to grow home-sick; and when he was cross and abusive, I used to think of mistress.
“Master was a cabinet-maker; and so next day, says he, ‘I’m agoin’ to make you larn the trade,’ and he sets me to planin’ rough cherry boards; and when it come night, my arms was so lame I couldn’t lift ’em to my head, pushin’ the jack-plane; and he kept me at this cabinet work till the first day of May, when I got so I could make a pretty decent bedstead. I come to live with him the first of March, and now he begins to fix and git ready for to move out to the new countries. Well, when we was a packin’ up the tools, I happened to hit a chisel agin’ a hammer, and dull it a little, and he gets mad, and cuffs me, and thrashes me ’bout the shop, and swears like a pirate. I says, ‘Master, I sartinly didn’t mean to do it.’ ‘You lie, you black devil, you did,’ he says; ‘and if you say another word, I’ll split your head open with the broad-axe.’ Well, I felt bad ’nough, but said nothin’. He advertised all his property pretty much, and sold it at vendue; and now we was nearly ready for a start. Master had promised to let me go and see sister Hagar, and mother, a few days afore we started; and as he was gone, mistress told me I might go. So I had liberty, and I detarmined to use it. I had catched six large muskrats, and had the skins, and thinks I to myself, what’s mine is my own; and so I went up stairs, and wraps a paper round ’em, and flings ’em out the window, and puts out with them for town, and sold ’em for a quarter of a dollar a piece. I went Friday; but I didn’t see mother, for she was gone away, and Sunday I spent visiting Hagar, and that night I got home. While I was gone they had found out the skins was a missin’; and soon as I’d got home, I see somethin’ was to pay; for master looked dreadful wrothy when I come in, and none of the family said a word, ‘how de,’ nor nothing, only Lecta, one of the gals, asked me how the folks did, and if I had a good visit; and she kept a talkin’, and finally, the old lady kind a scowled at her, (you see the muskrat skins set hard on her stomach,) and finally, master looked at me cross enough to turn milk sour, and says he, ‘Nigger, do you know anything ’bout them skins?’ Says I, ‘No, Sir;’ and I lied, it’s true, but I was scart. And says he, ‘you lie, you black devil.’ So I stuck to it, and kept a stickin’ to it, and he kept a growing madder, and says he, ‘If you don’t own it, I’ll whip your guts out.’ So he goes and gits a long whip and bed-cord, and that scart me worser yit, and I had to own it, and I confessed I had the money I got for ’em, all but a sixpence I had spent for gingerbread; and he searched my pocket, and took it all away, and half a dollar besides, that Mary Brown gin me to remember her by!! ?—and then he gin me five or six cuts over the head, and says he, ‘Now, you dam nigger, if I catch you in another such lie, I’ll cut your dam hide off on ye;’ and then he drives me off to bed, without any supper; and he says, ‘If you ain’t down airly to make a fire, I’ll be up arter ye with a raw hide.’
“Well, next day we went to fixin’ two kivered wagons for the journey; and, arter we’d got all fixed to start, he sends me over to his mother’s to shell some seed corn, upstairs, in a tub. Well, I hadn’t slept ’nough long back, and so, in spite of my teeth, I got to sleep in the tub. He comes over there, and finds me asleep in the tub, and he takes up a flail staff and hits me over the head, and cussed and swore, and telled his mother to see I didn’t git to sleep, nor have anything to eat in all day. Well, arter he’d gone, the old lady called me down, and gin me a good fat meal, and telled me to go up and shell corn as fast as I could. Well, I did, and it come night—I got a good supper, and put out for home; and I’ve always found the women cleverer than the men—they’re kind’a tender-hearted, ye know.
“Well, we got ready, and off we started, and I guess ’twas the 9th of May; and I drove a team of four horses, and it had the chist of tools and family; and he drove another team, full of other things, and his brother-in-law, Mr. Abers, who was agoin’ out to larn the trade; and Abers was mighty good to me.
“Well, we started for York State, and one night we stayed in Newark, and I thought ’twas a dreadful handsome place; for you could see New York and Brooklyn from there, and the waters round New York, that’s the handsomest waters I ever see, and I have seen hundreds of harbors.
“Next day we got to a place called Long Cummin, and put up at a Mr. Starling’s, and he kept a store and tavern, and they was fine folks. In the evenin’ Mr. Starling comes into the kitchen where I was a sittin’ by the fire, holdin’ one of the children in my lap, and he slaps me on the shoulder, and master comes in too, and says he, ‘Morehouse, what will you take for that boy, cash down? I want him for the store and tavern, and run arrants, &c.’ Master says, ‘I don’t want to sell him.’—’Well,’ says Starling, ‘I’ll give you $200 cash in hand.’ Master says, ‘I wouldn’t take 500 silver dollars for that boy, for I mean to have the workin’ of that nigger myself.’ ‘Well,’ says Starling, ‘you’d better take that, or you won’t git anything, for he’ll be running off bi’m’bye.’ And I tell ye, I begun to think ’bout it myself, about that time. Well, I went to bed, and thought about it, and wanted to stay with Starling; and next mornin’ Mrs. Starling comes to master, and says she, ‘I guess you’d better sell that boy to my husband, for he’s jist the boy we want to git:’ and says I, ‘Master, I wants to stay here, and I wish you’d sell me to these ’ere folks;’—and with that he up and kicked me, and says he, ‘If I hear any more of that from you, I’ll tie ye up, and tan your black hide; and now go, and up with the teams.’ Well, when we got all ready to start, I wanted to stay, and I boohooed and boohooed; and Mr. Starling says to master, ‘I want your boy to come in the store a minute;’ and I went in, and he out with a bag of Bungtown coppers, and gin me a hull pocket full, and says he, ‘Peter, I wish you could live with me, but you can’t; and you must be a good boy, and when you git to be a man you’ll see better times, I hope;’ and I cried, and took on dreadfully, and bellowed jist like a bull; for you know, when a body’s grieved, it makes a body feel a good deal worse to have a body pity ’em. I see there was no hope, and I mounted the box, and took the lines, and driv off; but I felt as bad as though I had been goin’ to my funeral. Oh! it seemed to me they was all happy there, and they was so kind to me, and they seemed to be so good, it almost broke my heart: I had every thing to eat—broiled shad, cake, apple pie, (I used to be a great hand for apple pie,) rice pudden’ and raisins in it, beefsteak, and all that; and the children kept a runnin’ round the table, and sayin’, ‘Peter must have this, and Peter must have that;’ and I kept a thinkin’ as I drove on, how they all kept flocking round me when we come away, and I cried ’bout it two or three days, and every time master come up, he’d give me a lick over my ears, ‘cause I was a cryin’. If I should die I couldn’t think of the next place where we stayed all night. We travelled thirty miles, and the tavern keeper’s name was Henry Williams. Well, the day arter, we had a very steep hill to go down, and the leaders run on fast, and I couldn’t hold ’em, and when we got to the bottom, master hollered, ‘Stop!’ and up he come, and whipped me dreadfully, and kicked me with a pair of heavy boots so hard in my back, I was so lame I couldn’t hardly walk for three or four days, and everybody asked me what was the matter. The next place we stopped at, the tavern keeper’s folks was old, and real clever; and master telled ’em not to let me have any supper but buttermilk, and that set me to cryin’, and I boohooed a considerable; and the darter says, ‘Come, mother, let’s give Peter a good supper, and his master will pay for it, tu;’ and so they did; and as I was a settin’ by the fire, she axed me, and I telled her all ’bout how I was treated, and says she, ‘Why don’t you run away, Peter? I wouldn’t stay with sich a man: I’d run, if I had to stay in the woods.’ Next mornin’ the old man was mad ’nough when he see the bill for my buttermilk, and swore a good deal ’bout it. Next day we come to the ‘Beach Woods,’ and ’twas the roughest road you ever see, and the wheels would go down in the mud up to the hubs, then up on a log; and he’d make me lift the wheels as hard as I any way could, and he wouldn’t lift a pound, and stood over me with his whip, and sung out, ‘lift, you black devil, lift.’ And I did lift, till I could fairly see stars, and go back and forth from one wagon to t’other, he to whip, and I to lift; and so we kept a tuggin’ through the day till night. That night we stayed to a black man’s tavern; and when we come up, and see ’twas a black man’s house, master was mad ’nough; but he couldn’t git any furder that night, and so he had to be an abolitionist once in his life, any how!!! Well, he didn’t drive that nigger round, I tell ye, he was on tu good footin’: he owned a farm, and fine house, and we had as good fare there as any where on the road.
“The next day the goin’ was so bad we couldn’t git out of the woods, and we had to stay there all night; and oh! what times we did see; I lifted and strained till I was dead: and that night we slept in the wagons—the women took possession of one, and we of t’other; and the woods was alive with wolves and panthers; and such a howlin’ and screamin’ you never heard; but we builds up a large fire, and that kept ’em off. We lay on our faces in the wagon, with our rifles loaded, cocked and primed; and when them ’ere varmints howled, the horses trembled so the harnesses fairly shook on ’em: but there warn’t any more sleep there that night, than there would be in that fire.
“Next day we worried through, and stopped at a house, and got some breakfast of bears’ meat and hasty pudden’; and it come night, we made the ‘Blue Mountain;’ and on the top of it was some good folks; we stayed there one night, and Mr. Cooper, the landlord, come out to the barn, and axed me if I was hired out to that man, or belonged to him? ‘Well,’ said he, ‘if you did but know it, you are free now, for you are in a free state, and it’s agin’ the law to bring a slave from another state into this; and where be you goin’?’ ‘To Cayuga County,’ says I. ‘Well, when you git there, du you show him your backsides, and tell him to help himself.’
The next night we stayed in Owego; but I’m afore my story, for goin’ down the Blue Mountain next day, the leaders run, and I couldn’t hold ’em if I should be shot, and they broke one arm off of the block tongue. Well, I stopped, and master comes runnin’ up, and he fell on, and struck me, and mauled me most awfully; and jist then a man come up on horseback, and says he to master, ‘If you want to kill that boy, why don’t ye beat his brains out with an axe and done with it—but don’t maul him so; for you know, and I know, for I see it all myself, that that boy ain’t able to hold that team, and I shouldn’t a thought it strange if they had dashed every thing to pieces.’ Well, master was mad ’nough, for that was a dreadful rebuke; and says he, ‘You’d better make off with yourself, and mind your own business.’ The man says, ‘I don’t mean to quarrel with you, and I won’t; but I think ye act more like a devil than a man! ? So off he went; and I love that man yit!
Next night we stayed in Owego; and the tavern keeper, a fine man, had a talk with me arter bed-time; and says he, ‘Peter, your master can’t touch a hair of your head, and if you want to be free you can, for we’ve tried that experiment here lately; and we’ve got a good many slaves free in this way, and they’re doing well. But if you want to run away, why run; but wait awhile, for you are a boy yit, and there are folks in York State, mean ’nough to catch you and send you back to your master!’ ? [3]
3.  Yes, and there are folks, yes judges and dough faced politicians enough in the state now who would blast all the hopes that led a poor slave on from his chains; and when he was just stepping across the threshold of the temple of freedom, dash him to degradation and slavery, and pollute that threshold with his blood. Until a fugitive from tyranny shall be safe in the asylum of the oppressed and the home of liberty, let us not be told to go to the south. And who are the men who would, who have done this? Certainly not philanthropists; for the philanthropist loves to make his brother man happy, and will always strike for his freedom. Certainly not Christians; for it was one of the most explicit enactments of God, when he established his theocracy upon earth, and incorporated into the code of his government, that “Thou shalt not deliver unto his master the servant that is escaped from his master unto thee.” (Deut. xxii. 15.) And can a man, who respects and regards the laws of heaven, turn traitor to God, and prostrate, at one fell swoop, all the claims of benevolence the fugitive slave imposes, when he lifts his fetter-galled arms to his brother, and cries, “Oh! help me to freedom—to liberty—to heaven?”
“Well, I parted from that man, and I resolved that I would run away, but take his advice, and not run till I could clear the coop for good. Well, we finally got to the end of our journey, and put up at Henry Ludlow’s house, in Milton township, and county of Cayuga, and State of New York.”
A. “Well, Peter, I think we can afford to stop writing now, for I’m fairly tired out. Good bye, Peter.”
P. “Good bye, Domine.”
As I came away from the lowly cottage of Peter Wheeler, and thought of the toils and barbarities of a life of slavery, and returned to the sweet and endearing charities of my own quiet home, tenderness subdued my spirit; and I could not but repeat, with emotions of the deepest gratitude, those sweet lines of my childhood:
‘I was not born a little slave,
To labor in the sun;
And wish I were but in my grave,
And all my labor done.’
Oh! I exclaimed as I entered my study, and sat down before a bright, cheerful fireside, and was greeted with the kind look of an affectionate wife, as the storm howled over the mountains, Oh! God made man to be free, and he must be a wretch, and not a man, who can quench all this social light forever. I hate not slavery so much for its fetters, and whips, and starvation, as for the blight and mildew it casts upon the social and moral condition of man. Oh! enslave not a soul—a deathless spirit—trample not upon a mind, ’tis an immortal thing. Man perchance may light anew the torch he quenches, but the soul! Oh! tremble and beware—lay not rude hands upon God’s image there—I thought of the vast territory that stretches from the Atlantic to the foot of the Rocky Mountains, and from our Southern border to the heart of our Capitol, as one mighty altar of Mammon—where so much social light is sacrificed and blotted from the universe; where so many deathless spirits, that God made free as the mountain wild bird, are chained down forever, and I kneeled around my family altar, and I could not help uttering a prayer from the depths of my soul, for the millions of God’s creatures, and my brethren, who pass lives of loneliness and sorrow in a world which has been lighted up with the Redeemer’s salvation. What a scene for man to look at when he prays: A God who loves to make all his creatures happy! A world which groans because man is a sinner! A man who loves to make his brother wretched! Oh! thought I, if prayer can reach a father’s ear to-night, one yoke shall be broken, and one oppressed slave shall go free.