The Leader of the Defenders Tells his Story of what Occurred at “the Riot”—The Author Gives Reasons why He takes the Narrative with Some Allowance—A Valuable Historical Contribution.

I deem it entirely fair and proper at this stage of the narrative to republish entire William Parker’s own account of what took place at his house during “the Riot.” It is reproduced in the assurance that each reader may—as he, and especially she, will—give it such credibility as the circumstances may command for it. It is fit that it be presented with certain qualifications to the general reader and to the increasing number who may peruse this history in the spirit in which it is written, viz., one of purely historic inquiry.

The Atlantic Monthly (Boston), for February, 1866, published the first part of what is entitled “The Freedman’s Story,” introduced by one who signed himself “E. K.,” and said he was asked to revise it for publication “or weave its facts into a story which would show the fitness of the Southern black for the right of suffrage.” The editor evades the natural inquiry whether the text is wholly Parker’s or partially his own; but it is printed as that of a freedman or ex-slave and as evidence “of the manhood of his race to that impartial grand-jury, the American people.”

Of course it cannot be unreservedly accepted for the purpose for which it was offered, that is: to prove the fitness of the Southern freedman for suffrage; for it is not the narrative of a man who was suddenly freed and enfranchised by the circumstances of war, but of one who became a fugitive slave many years earlier and had the advantage of Northern life and Canadian experience in the intervening period.

[Pg 101]But it is of very decided value to this attempted impartial and impersonal history, because it purports to tell the story of the Riot as the man most responsible for it and most conspicuous in it saw and heard its incidents; and, because he never had an opportunity to tell it under the restraints of a judicial examination or the obligations of an oath. It must be taken as his voluntary testimony, when he had no hopes of reward or fear of punishment to incite or restrain him.

The earlier part of his life’s story has been already abstracted, so far as it has any importance to this history. It leaves no room for doubt that he was a heroic and a desperate man; that he was instigated by ideas of personal liberty for himself and others, without regard to law; and that both offensively and defensively he was “enlisted for the war” to the death against all and every attempt to execute the Fugitive Slave Law.

Whether he is accurate in his statement of what occurred on the day of “the Riot,” each reader must determine for himself or herself. For myself, individually, I doubt the literal truth of parts of his narration, while I concede that in the main it is true and it certainly throws more illumination on the actual occurrences than the testimony of any other single witness.

I detect a note of braggadocio through all Parker’s narrative, which slightly discounts its truthfulness. His defiance of “all United States”; his admitted attempts to deceive Gorsuch as to the presence of his slaves on the premises; and his avowed purpose to shoot Gorsuch influence my judgment. Such considerations might not have weight with those who believe a man may be a good citizen who violates and defies a bad law. The literary style of “The Freedman’s Story” leaves little room for doubt that his manuscript was edited by some one with a purpose other than strictly historical.

On the other hand, no other person was in so favorable a[Pg 102] position as Parker to tell the actual story of the Riot, if he saw fit to do so, and when this version was published Parker had nothing to gain or lose from telling the truth, but the zeal of his editor to exalt “the freedman” may have tinctured the story. That he could remember its details so exactly as to verbally reproduce the many conversations in the Atlantic fifteen years later, is more than doubtful—it is impossible; and his pretense to do so discounts the attempt. In many respects the narration accords with the testimony of other eye-witnesses and it is not out of harmony in the main with the evidence produced on the trial. While it ascribes language to Mr. Gorsuch that likely he did not use, and may put into his hands weapons that he did not carry, Parker’s story certainly gives the Gorsuches, father and son, due credit for valor; and it makes some of their allies scarcely more timid than the trial disclosed them to have been.

Howbeit, the story told by Parker is an essential part of the history of the case and it is here reprinted out of fairness to all parties so far as it relates to the Riot and events immediately preceding it.
William Parker’s Story.

The Atlantic Monthly article, Part II, March, 1866, to which attention has been given, presupposes a previous account of Parker’s early life, the escape of the Gorsuch slaves, the warrants for their recapture, the departure of Deputy Marshal Kline to execute them and “Sam Williams’s” mission to Lancaster County to warn them and their friends of the impending raid upon them, substantially as they have been told already. Parker then proceeds:

The information brought by Mr. Williams spread through the vicinity like a fire in the prairies; and when I went home from my work in the evening, I found Pinckney (whom I should have said before was my brother-in-law), Abraham Johnson, Samuel Thompson and Joshua Kite at my[Pg 103] house, all of them excited about the rumor. I laughed at them, and said it was all talk. This was the 10th of September, 1851. They stopped for the night with us, and we went to bed as usual. Before daylight, Joshua Kite rose, and started for his home. Directly, he ran back to the house, burst open the door, crying, “O William! kidnappers! kidnappers!”

He said that, when he was just beyond the yard, two men crossed before him, as if to stop him, and others came up on either side. As he said this, they had reached the door. Joshua ran up stairs (we slept up stairs), and they followed him; but I met them at the landing, and asked, “Who are you?”

The leader, Kline, replied, “I am the United States Marshal.”

I then told him to take another step and I would break his neck.

He again said, “I am the United States Marshal.”

I told him I did not care for him nor the United States. At that he turned and went down stairs.

Pinckney said, as he turned to go down,—“Where is the use in fighting? They will take us.”

Kline heard him, and said, “Yes, give up, for we can and will take you anyhow.”

I told them all not to be afraid, nor to give up to any slaveholder, but to fight until death.

“Yes,” said Kline, “I have heard many a negro talk as big as you, and then have taken him; and I’ll take you.”

“You have not taken me yet,” I replied; “and if you undertake it you will have your name recorded in history for this day’s work.”

Mr. Gorsuch then spoke, and said,—“Come, Mr. Kline, let’s go up stairs and take them. We can take them. Come, follow me. I’ll go up and get my property. What’s in the[Pg 104] way? The law is in my favor, and the people are in my favor.”

At that he began to ascend the stair; but I said to him,—“See here, old man, you can come up, but you can’t go down again. Once up here, you are mine.”

Kline then said—“Stop, Mr. Gorsuch. I will read the warrant, and then, I think, they will give up.”

He then read the warrant, and said,—“Now, you see, we are commanded to take you, dead or alive; so you may as well give up at once.”

“Go up, Mr. Kline,” then said Gorsuch, “you are the Marshal.”

Kline started, and when a little way up said, “I am coming.”

I said, “Well, come on.”

But he was too cowardly to show his face. He went down again and said,—“You had better give up without any more fuss, for we are bound to take you anyhow. I told you before that I was the United States Marshal, yet you will not give up. I’ll not trouble the slaves. I will take you and make you pay for all.”

“Well,” I answered, “take me and make me pay for all. I’ll pay for all.”

Mr. Gorsuch then said, “You have my property.”

To which I replied,—“Go in the room down there, and see if there is anything there belonging to you. There are beds and a bureau, chairs, and other things. Then go out to the barn; there you will find a cow and some hogs. See if any of them are yours.”

He said,—“They are not mine; I want my men. They are here, and I am bound to have them.”

Thus we parleyed for a time, all because of the pusillanimity of the Marshal, when he, at last, said,—“I am tired waiting on you; I see you are not going to give up. Go to the[Pg 105] barn and fetch some straw,” said he to one of his men. “I will set the house on fire, and burn them up.”

“Burn us up and welcome,” said I. “None but a coward would say the like. You can burn us, but you can’t take us; before I give up, you will see my ashes scattered on the earth.”

By this time day had begun to dawn; and then my wife came to me and asked if she should blow the horn, to bring friends to our assistance. I assented, and she went to the garret for the purpose. When the horn sounded from the garret window, one of the ruffians asked the others what it meant; and Kline said to me, “What do you mean by blowing that horn?”

I did not answer. It was a custom with us, when a horn was blown at an unusual hour, to proceed to the spot promptly to see what was the matter. Kline ordered his men to shoot any one they saw blowing the horn. There was a peach-tree at that end of the house. Up it two of the men climbed; and when my wife went a second time to the window, they fired as soon as they heard the blast, but missed their aim. My wife then went down on her knees, and, drawing her head and body below the range of the window, the horn resting on the sill, blew blast after blast, while the shots poured thick and fast around her. They must have fired ten or twelve times. The house was of stone, and the windows were deep, which alone preserved her life.

They were evidently disconcerted by the blowing of the horn. Gorsuch said again, “I want my property, and I will have it.”

“Old man,” said I, “you look as if you belonged to some persuasion.”

“Never mind,” he answered, “what persuasion I belong to; I want my property.”

While I was leaning out of the window, Kline fired a pistol at me, but the shot went too high; the ball broke the glass just above my head. I was talking to Gorsuch at the time.[Pg 106] I seized a gun and aimed it at Gorsuch’s breast, for he evidently had instigated Kline to fire; but Pinckney caught my arm and said, “Don’t shoot.” The gun went off, just grazing Gorsuch’s shoulder. Another conversation then ensued between Gorsuch, Kline, and myself, when another one of the party fired at me but missed. Dickinson Gorsuch, I then saw, was preparing to shoot; and I told him if he missed, I would show him where shooting first came from.

I asked them to consider what they would have done, had they been in our position. “I know you want to kill us,” I said, “for you have shot at us time and again. We have only fired twice, although we have guns and ammunition, and could kill you all if we would, but we do not want to shed blood.”

“If you do not shoot any more,” then said Kline, “I will stop my men from firing.”

They then ceased for a time. This was about sunrise.

Mr. Gorsuch now said,—“Give up and let me have my property. Hear what the Marshal says; the Marshal is your friend. He advises you to give up without more fuss, for my property I will have.”

I denied that I had his property when he replied, “You have my men.”

“Am I your man?” I asked.

“No.”

I then called Pinckney forward.

“Is that your man?”

“No.”

Abraham Johnson I called next, but Gorsuch said he was not his man.

The only plan left was to call both Pinckney and Johnson again; for had I called the others, he would have recognized them, for they were his slaves.

Abraham Johnson said, “Does such a shrivelled up old[Pg 107] slaveholder as you own such a nice, genteel young man as I am?”

At this Gorsuch took offence, and charged me with dictating his language. I then told him there were but five of us, which he denied, and still insisted that I had his property. One of the party then attacked the Abolitionists, affirming that, although they declared there could not be property in man, the Bible was conclusive authority in favor of property in human flesh.

“Yes,” said Gorsuch, “does not the Bible say, ‘Servants, obey your masters’?”

I said that it did, but the same Bible said, “Give unto your servants that which is just and equal.”

At this stage of the proceedings, we went into a mutual Scripture inquiry, and bandied views in the manner of garrulous old wives.

When I spoke of duty to servants, Gorsuch said, “Do you know that?”

“Where,” I asked, “do you see it in Scripture that a man should traffic in his brother’s blood?”

“Do you call a nigger my brother?” said Gorsuch.

“Yes,” said I.

“William,” said Samuel Thompson, “he has been a class-leader.”

When Gorsuch heard that, he hung his head, but said nothing. We then all joined in singing,—
“Leader, what do you say
About the judgment day?
I will die on the field of battle,
Die on the field of battle,
With glory in my soul.”

Then we all began to shout, singing meantime, and shouted for a long while. Gorsuch, who was standing head bowed, said “What are you doing now?”

Samuel Thompson replied, “Preaching a sinner’s funeral sermon.”

[Pg 108]“You had better give up, and come down.”

I then said to Gorsuch,—“‘If a brother see a sword coming, and he warn not his brother, then the brother’s blood is required at his hands; but if the brother see the sword coming, and warn his brother, and his brother flee not, then his brother’s blood is required at his own hand.’ I see the sword coming, and, old man, I warn you to flee; if you flee not, your blood be upon your own hand.”

It was now about seven o’clock.

“You had better give up,” said old Mr. Gorsuch, after another while, “and come down, for I have come a long way this morning, and want my breakfast; for my property I will have, or I’ll breakfast in hell. I will go up and get it.”

He then started up stairs, and came far enough to see us all plainly. We were just about to fire upon him, when Dickinson Gorsuch, who was standing on the old oven, before the door, and could see into the upstairs room through the window, jumped down and caught his father, saying,—“O father, do come down! do come down! They have guns, swords, and all kinds of weapons! They’ll kill you! Do come down!”

The old man turned and left. When down with him, young Gorsuch could scarce draw breath, and the father looked more like a dead than a living man, so frightened were they at their supposed danger. The old man stood some time without saying anything; at last he said, as if soliloquizing, “I want my property, and I will have it.”

Kline broke forth, “If you don’t give up by fair means, you will have to by foul.”

I told him we would not surrender on any conditions.

Young Gorsuch then said,—“Don’t ask them to give up,—make them do it. We have money, and can call men to take them. What is it that money won’t buy?”

Then said Kline,—“I am getting tired waiting on you; I see you are not going to give up.”

[Pg 109]He then wrote a note and handed it to Joshua Gorsuch, saying at the same time,—“Take it, and bring a hundred men from Lancaster.”

As he started, I said,—“See here! When you go to Lancaster, don’t bring a hundred men,—bring five hundred. It will take all the men in Lancaster to change our purpose or take us alive.”

He stopped to confer with Kline, when Pinckney said, “We had better give up.”

“You are getting afraid,” said I.

“Yes,” said Kline, “give up like men. The rest would give up if it were not for you.”

“I am not afraid,” said Pinckney; “but where is the sense in fighting against so many men, and only five of us?”

The whites, at this time, were coming from all quarters, and Kline was enrolling them as fast as they came. Their numbers alarmed Pinckney, and I told him to go and sit down; but he said, “No, I will go down stairs.”

I told him, if he attempted it, I should be compelled to blow out his brains. “Don’t believe that any living man can take you,” I said. “Don’t give up to any slaveholder.”

To Abraham Johnson, who was near me, I then turned. He declared he was not afraid. “I will fight till I die,” he said.

At this time, Hannah, Pinckney’s wife, had become impatient of our persistent course; and my wife, who brought me her message urging us to surrender, seized a corn-cutter, and declared she would cut off the head of the first one who should attempt to give up.

Another one of Gorsuch’s slaves was coming along the high-road at this time, and I beckoned to him to go around. Pinckney saw him, and soon became more inspired. Elijah Lewis, a Quaker, also came along about this time: I beckoned to him, likewise; but he came straight on, and was met by Kline, who ordered him to assist him. Lewis asked for his authority,[Pg 110] and Kline handed him the warrant. While Lewis was reading, Castner Hanway came up, and Lewis handed the warrant to him. Lewis asked Kline what Parker said.

Kline replied, “He won’t give up.”

Then Lewis and Hanway both said to the Marshal,—“If Parker says they will not give up, you had better let them alone, for he will kill some of you. We are not going to risk our lives”—and they turned to go away.

While they were talking, I came down and stood in the doorway, my men following behind.

Old Mr. Gorsuch said, when I appeared, “They’ll come out, and get away!” and he came back to the gate.

I then said to him,—“You said you could and would take us. Now you have the chance.”

They were a cowardly-looking set of men.

Mr. Gorsuch said, “You can’t come out here.”

“Why?” said I. “This is my place. I pay rent for it. I’ll let you see if I can’t come out.”

“I don’t care if you do pay rent for it,” said he. “If you come out, I will give you the contents of these”—presenting, at the same time, two revolvers, one in each hand.

I said, “Old man, if you don’t go away, I will break your neck.”

I then walked up to where he stood his arms resting on the gate, trembling as if afflicted with palsy, and laid my hand on his shoulder, saying, “I have seen pistols before today.” Kline now came running up, and entreated Gorsuch to come away.

“No,” said the latter, “I will have my property, or go to hell.”

“What do you intend to do?” said Kline to me.

“I intend to fight,” said I. “I intend to try your strength.”

“If you will withdraw your men,” he replied, “I will withdraw mine.”

[Pg 111]I told him it was too late. “You would not withdraw when you had the chance,—you shall not now.”

Kline then went back to Hanway and Lewis. Gorsuch made a signal to his men, and they all fell into line. I followed his example as well as I could; but as we were not more than ten paces apart, it was difficult to do so. At this time we numbered but ten, while there were between thirty and forty of the white men.

While I was talking to Gorsuch, his son said, “Father, will you take all this from a nigger?”

I answered him by saying that I respected old age; but that, if he would repeat that, I should knock his teeth down his throat. At this he fired upon me, and I ran up to him and knocked the pistol out of his hand, when he let the other one fall and ran in the field.

My brother-in-law, who was standing near, then said, “I can stop him”—and with his double-barrel gun he fired.

Young Gorsuch fell, but rose and ran on again. Pinckney fired a second time and again Gorsuch fell, but was soon up again and, running into the cornfield, lay down in the fence corner.

I returned to my men, and found Samuel Thompson talking to old Mr. Gorsuch, his master. They were both angry.

“Old man, you had better go home to Maryland,” said Samuel.

“You had better give up, and come home with me,” said the old man.

Thompson took Pinckney’s gun from him, struck Gorsuch, and brought him to his knees. Gorsuch rose and signalled to his men. Thompson then knocked him down again, and he again rose. At this time all the white men opened fire, and we rushed upon them; when they turned, threw down their guns and ran away. We, being closely engaged, clubbed our rifles. We were too closely pressed to fire, but we found a good deal could be done with empty guns.

[Pg 112]Old Mr. Gorsuch was the bravest of his party; he held on to his pistols until the last, while all the others threw away their weapons. I saw as many as three at a time fighting with him. Sometimes he was on his knees, then on his back, and again his feet would be where his head should be. He was a fine soldier and a brave man. Whenever he saw the least opportunity, he would take aim. While in close quarter............