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 college students; and we had oceans of oysters and clams; and new haven is by all odds the handsomest place i ever see in this country or in europe; and finally i sailed back to new york, arter try in’ to bury my feelin’s in one way and another. but in all my wanderin’s, i couldn’t forgit solena. she seemed to cling to me like life, and i’d spend hours and hours in thinkin’ about her, and i never used to think about her without tears.
“well, i thought i would try to bury my feelin’s and forgit solena, and so i hires out a year to mr. bronson, to drive hack, and arter i’d been with him a few months, i called up to mr. macy’s, my quaker friend, and i felt kind’a bad to go there tu and not find susan, for i had the biggest curiosity in the world to find out where she’d departed tu; but i thought i’d go and talk with the old folks, and see if they’d heard any thing about susan.
“well, i slicks up and goes, and pulls the bell, and who should open the door but susan herself. ?
“i says, ‘my soul, susan, how on ‘arth are you here? i thought you was dead.’ and she says as she burst into tears, ‘i have been all but dead. come in and set down, and i’ll tell you all about it.’
“i says, ‘my heavens! susan where have you been and how have ye fared?’
“she says, ‘i’ve been in slavery, ? and fared hard enough;’ and then she had to go to the door, for the bell rung; and agin pretty soon she comes back and begins her story, and as ’tain’t very long, and pretty good, i’ll tell it, and if you’re a mind to put it in the book you may, for i guess many a feller will be glad to read it.
“‘well,’ begins susan, ‘i went down to the vessel, to carry a bundle, and three ruffins seized hold on me, and i hollered and screamed with all my might, and one on ’em clapped his hand on my face, and another held me down, and took out a knife and swore if i didn’t stop my noise he’d stick it through my heart; and they dragged me down into the hold, where there was seven others that had been stole in the same way; and these two fellers chained me up, and i cried and sobbed till i was so fain’t i couldn’t set up. along in the course of the forenoon they fetched me some coarse food, but i had no appetite, and i wished myself dead a good many times, for i couldn’t git news to master. i continued in that state for two or three days, and found no relief but by submitting to my fate, and i was doleful enough off, for i couldn’t see sun, moon, or stars, for i should think two weeks; and then a couple of these ruffins come and took me out into the forecastle, and my companions, and they told me all about how they’d been stole; and we was as miserable a company as ever got together. come on deck, i see five gentlemen, ? and one on ’em axed me if i could cook and wait on gentlemen and ladies, and i says ‘yis, sir,’ with my eyes full of tears, and my heart broke with sorrow; and he axed me how old i was? i says, ‘seventeen,’ and he turns round to the master of the vessel and says, ‘i’ll take this girl.’ and he paid four hundred and fifty dollars for me, and he took me to his house; and i found out his name was woodford, and he told me i was in charleston; but i couldn’t forgit the happy streets of new york. now i gin lip all expectation of ever seem’ my own land agin’, and i submitted to my fate as well as i could, but ’twas a dreadful heart-breakin’ scene. master was dreadful savage, and his wife was a despod cross ugly woman. when he goes into the house he says to his wife, ‘now i’ve got you a good gal, put that wench on the plantation.’ and he pointed to a gal that had been a chambermaid; and then turnin’ to me says, ‘and you look out or you’ll git there, and if you do you’ll know it.’
“i’d been there four or five weeks, and i heard master makin’ a despod cussin’ and swearin’ in the evenin’, and i heard him over-say, ‘i’ll settle with the black cuss to-morrow; i’ll have his hide tanned.’
“so the next day, arter breakfast, mistress orders me down into the back yard, and i found two hundred slaves there; and there was an old man there with a gray head, stripped and drawed over a whipping-block his hands tied down, and the big tears a rollin’ down his face; and he looked exactly like some old gray headed, sun-burnt revolutioner; and a white man stood over him with a cat-o’-nine-tails in his hand, and he was to give him one hundred lashes. ? and he says, ‘now look on all on ye, and if you git into a scrape you’ll have this cat-o’-nine-tails wrapped round you;’ and then he begun to whip, and he hadn’t struck mor’n two or three blows, afore i see the blood run, and he was stark naked, and his back and body was all over covered with scars, and he says in kind’a broken language, ‘oh! massa don’t kill me.’ ‘tan his hide,’ says master, and he kept on whippin’, and the old man groaned like as if he was a dyin’, and he got the hundred lashes, ? and then was untied and told to go about his work; and i looked at the block, and it was kivered with blood, and that same block didn’t git clear from blood as long as i stayed there. ?
“‘well, this spectacle affected me so, i could scarcely git about the house, for i expected next would be my turn; and i was so afraid i shouldn’t do right i didn’t half do my work.
“‘it wore upon me so i grew poor through fear and grief. i would look out and see the two hundred slaves come into the back yard to be fed with rice, and they had the value of about a quart of rice a day, i guess.
“‘every day, more or less would be whipped till the blood run to the ground; and every day fresh blood could be seen on the block,—and what for i never found out, for i darn’t ax any body, and i had no liberty of saying any thing to the field hands.
‘“i used often to look out of the window to see people pass and repass, and see if i couldn’t see somebody that i knew; and i finally got sick, and was kept down some time, and i jist dragged about and darn’t say one word, for i should have been put on the plantation for bein’ sick! and i meant to do the best i could till i dropped down dead; but the almost whole cause on it was grief, and the rest was cruel hardship. well, things got so, i thought i must die soon, and in the height of my sorrow, i looked out and see samuel macy—master macy’s second son, walkin’ along the street, and i could hardly believe my eyes; and i was stand in’ in the door, and i catches the broom, and goes down the steps a sweepin’, and calls him by name as he comes along, and i tells him a short story, and he says ‘i’ll git thee free, only be patient a few weeks.’ i neither sees nor hears a word on him for over four weeks, but i was borne up by hope, and that made my troubles lighter. well, in about four weeks, one day, jist arter dinner, there comes a gentleman and raps at the front door, and i goes and opens the door, and there stood old master macy, and i flies and hugs him, and he says ‘how does thee do, susan?’ i couldn’t speak, and as soon as i could i tells my story; and master macy then speaks to mistress, who heard the talk and had come out of the parlor, and says, ‘this girl is a member of my family, and i shall take her,’ and then master come in and abused master macy dreadfully; but he says, ‘come along with me, susan;’ and, without a bonnet or anything on to go out with i took him by the hand, and went down to the ship; and, afore i had finished my story, an officer comes and takes old master macy, and he leaves me in the care of his son samuel, aboard, and he was up street about three hours, tendin’ a law-suit, and then he come back, and about nine o’clock that evenin’ we hauled off from that cussed shore, and in two weeks we reached new york, and here i am, in master macy’s old kitchen.
“‘well, he watches for this slave ship that stole me, and one day he come in and said he had taken it, and had five men imprisoned; and the next court had them all imprisoned for life, and there they be yit. and now there’s no man, gentle or simple, that gits me to do an arrant out of sight of the house. bought wit is the best, but i bought mine dreadful dear. when i got back the whole family cried, and mistress macy says,
“‘let us rejoice! for the dead is alive, and the lost is found.”’
