Lives at Madam Rylander’s—Quaker Macy—Susan a colored girl lives with Mr. Macy—she is kidnapped and carried away, and sold into slavery—Peter visits at the “Nixon’s, mazin’ respectable” colored people in Philadelphia—falls in love with Solena—gits the consent of old folks—fix wedding day—“ax parson”—Solena dies in his arms—his grief—compared with Rhoderic Dhu—lives in New Haven—sails for New York—drives hack—Susan Macy is redeemed from slavery—she tells Peter her story of blood and horror, and abuse, and the way she made her escape from her chains. Author. “Well, Peter, what did you go about when you quit the seas?”
Peter. “The year I quit the seas, I went to live with Madam Rylander, and stayed with her a year, and she gin me twenty-five dollars a month, and I made her as slick a darkey as ever made a boot shine, and she was as fine a lady as ever scraped a slipper over Broadway. While I lived there, I used to visit at Mr. John Macy’s, a rich quaker who lived in Broadway, across from old St. Paul’s. There was a colored girl lived with his family, by the name of Susan, and they called her Susan Macy; she was handsome and well edicated tu, and brought up like one of his own children; and they thought as much on her as one of their daughters, and she was as lovely a dispositioned gal as ever I seed; and I enjoyed her society mazinly.
“Well, one mornin’ she got up and went to her mistress’ bedroom, and asked her what she’d have for breakfast—’Veal cutlet’ says she; and the old man says, ‘Thee’ll find money in the sideboard to pay for it;’ and she did, and took her basket and goes to the market a singin’ along as usual—she was a great hand to sing; and gits her meat, and on her return, she meets a couple of gentlemen, and one had a bundle, and says he, ‘Girl if you’ll take this bundle down to the wharf, I’ll give you a silver dollar;” and she thought it could do no harm, and so she goes with it down to the ship they described, and as she reached out the bundle, a man catched her and hauled her aboard and put her down in the hole.
“Her master and mistress got up and waited and waited, and she didn’t come; and they went and sarched the street, and finds the basket, but nothin’ could be heard of Susan in the whole city; and they finally gin up that she was murdered.
“Well, I’ll tell you the rest of the story, for I heard on her arter this.
“I stayed my year out with Madam Rylander, and then I quit; and she was despod anxious to keep me, but I had other fish to fry, and took a notion I’d drive round the country and play the gentleman.
“I come across, in New York, a young feller of color, his parents very respectable folks who lived in Philadelphia; and they took an anxious notion for me to go home with ’em; and I started with ’em for Philadelphia; and I had as good clothes as any feller, and a considerable money, and I thought I might as well spend it so as any way. Well come to Philadelphia, I found the Nixon’s very rich and mazin’ respectable; and I got acquain’ted with the family, and they had a darter by the name of Solena, and she was dreadful handsome, and she struck my fancy right off the first sight I had on her. She was handsome in fetur and pretty spoken and handsome behaved every way. Well I made up my mind the first sight I had on her, I’d have her if I could git her. I’d been in Philadelphia ’bout a week, and I axed her for her company, and ’twas granted. I made it my business to wait on her, and ride round with her, and visit her alone, as much as I could. The old folks seemed to like it mazinly, and that pleased me, and I went the length of my rope, and felt my oats tu. I treated her like a gentleman as far as I knew how—I took her to New York three times, in company with her brothers and their sweethearts; and we went in great splendor tu, and I found that every day, I was nearin’ the prize, and finally I popped the question, and arter some hesitation, she said, ‘Yis, Peter.’ But I had another Cape to double, and that was to git the consent of the old folks; and so one Sunday evenin’, as we was a courtin’ all alone in the parlor, I concluded, a fain’t heart never won a fair lady; and so I brushes up my hair, and starts into the old folks’ room, and I right out with the question; and he says.
“‘What do you mean, Mr. Wheeler?’
“‘I mean jist as I say, Sir! May I marry Solena.’
“‘Do you think you can spend your life happy with her?’
“‘Yis, Sir.’
“‘Did you ever see any body in all your travels, you liked better?’
“‘No, Sir! She’s the apple of my eye, and the joy of my heart.’
“‘I have no objection Mr. Wheeler. Now Ma, how do you feel?’
“‘Oh! I think Solena had better say, Yis.’
“And then I tell ye, my heart fluttered about in my bosom with joy.
“‘Oh, love ’tis a killin’ thing;
Did you ever feel the pang?’
“So the old gentleman takes out a bottle of old wine from the sideboard, and I takes a glass with him, and goes back to Solena. When I comes in, she looks up with a smile and says, ‘What luck?’ I says, ‘Good luck.’ I shall win the prize if nothin’ happens! and now Solena you must go in tu, and you had better go in while the broth is hot. So she goes in, pretty soon she comes trippin’ along back, and sets down in my lap, and I says, ‘what luck?’ and she says ‘good.’ So we sot the bridal day, and fixed on the weddin’ dresses, and so we got all fixin’s ready and even the Domine was spoke for. And one Sabba-day arter meetin,’ I goes home and dines with the family, and arter dinner we walked out over Schuylkill bridge, and at evenin’ we went to a gentleman’s where she had been a good deal acquain’ted; and there was quite a company on us, and we carried on pretty brisk. She was naturally a high-lived thing, and full of glee; and she got as wild as a hawk, and she wrestled and scuffled as gals do, and got all tired out, and she come and sets down in my lap and looks at me, and says, ‘Peter help me;’ and I put my hand round her and asked her what was the matter, and she fetched a sigh, and groan, and fell back and died in my arms!!! A physician come in, and says he, ‘she’s dead and without help, for she has burst a blood-vessel in her breast.’ And there she lay cold and lifeless, and I thought I should go crazy.
“She was carried home and laid out, and the second day she was buried, and I didn’t sleep a wink till she was laid in the grave; and oh! when we come to lower her coffin down in the grave, and the cold clods of the valley begun to fall on her breast, I felt that my heart was in the coffin, and I wished I could die and lay down by her side.
“For weeks and months arter her death, I felt that I should go ravin’ distracted. I couldn’t realize that she was dead; oh! Sir, the world looked jist like a great dreadful prison to me. I stayed at her father’s, and for weeks I used to go once or twice a day to her tomb, and weep, and stay, and linger round, and the spot seemed sacred where she rested.
“Well, I stayed in Philadelphia some months arter this, and I tell ye I felt as though my all was gone. I stood alone in the world, as desolate as could be, and I determined I never would agin try to git me a wife. It seemed to me I was jist like some old wreck, I’d seen on the shore.
A. “Peter, you make me think of Walter Scott’s description of Rhoderic Dhu, in his ‘Lady of the Lake.’
“‘As some tall ship, whose lofty prore,
Shall never stem the billows more,
Deserted by her gallant band,
Amid the breakers lies astrand;
So on his couch lay Rhoderic Dhu,
And oft his feverish limbs he threw,
In toss abrupt; as when her sides
Lie rocking in the advancing tides
That shake her frame with ceaseless beat
But cannot heave her from her seat.
Oh! how unlike her course on sea,
Or his free step, on hill and lea.’
P. “Yis, Sir! I was jist like that same Rhoderic; what’de call him? Oh! I was worse, the world was a prison to me, and I wanted to lay my bones down at rest by the dust of Solena. I finally went back to New York, and stayed there for a while, and then up to New Haven, and stayed there two months, in Mr. Johnson’s family; and we used to board ............