Chapter: ELIZA'S SORROWS--PREPARATION TO EMBARK--DRIVEN THROUGH THE STREETS
  OF WASHINGTON--HAIL, COLUMBIA--THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON--CLEM
  RAY--THE BREAKFAST ON THE STEAMER--THE HAPPY BIRDS--AQUIA
  CREEK--FREDERICKSBURGH--ARRIVAL IN RICHMOND--GOODIN AND HIS
  SLAVE PEN--ROBERT, OF CINCINNATI--DAVID AND HIS WIFE--MARY AND
  LETHE--CLEM'S RETURN--HIS SUBSEQUENT ESCAPE TO CANADA--THE BRIG
  ORLEANS--JAMES H. BURCH.


At intervals during the first night of Eliza's incarceration in the
pen, she complained bitterly of Jacob Brooks, her young mistress'
husband. She declared that had she been aware of the deception he
intended to practice upon her, he never would have brought her there
alive. They had chosen the opportunity of getting her away when
Master Berry was absent from the plantation. He had always been kind
to her. She wished that she could see him; but she knew that even
he was unable now to rescue her. Then would she commence weeping
again--kissing the sleeping children--talking first to one, then to
the other, as they lay in their unconscious slumbers, with their
heads upon her lap. So wore the long night away; and when the morning
dawned, and night had come again, still she kept mourning on, and
would not be consoled.

About midnight following, the cell door opened, and Burch and Radburn
entered, with lanterns in their hands. Burch, with an oath, ordered us
to roll up our blankets without delay, and get ready to go on board
the boat. He swore we would be left unless we hurried fast. He aroused
the children from their slumbers with a rough shake, and said they
were d--d sleepy, it appeared. Going out into the yard, he called Clem
Ray, ordering him to leave the loft and come into the cell, and bring
his blanket with him. When Clem appeared, he placed us side by side,
and fastened us together with hand-cuffs--my left hand to his right.
John Williams had been taken out a day or two before, his master
having redeemed him, greatly to his delight. Clem and I were ordered
to march, Eliza and the children following. We were conducted into
the yard, from thence into the covered passage, and up a flight of
steps through a side door into the upper room, where I had heard the
walking to and fro. Its furniture was a stove, a few old chairs, and a
long table, covered with papers. It was a white-washed room, without
any carpet on the floor, and seemed a sort of office. By one of the
windows, I remember, hung a rusty sword, which attracted my attention.
Burch's trunk was there. In obedience to his orders, I took hold of
one of its handles with my unfettered hand, while he taking hold of
the other, we proceeded out of the front door into the street in the
same order as we had left the cell.

It was a dark night. All was quiet. I could see lights, or the
reflection of them, over towards Pennsylvania Avenue, but there was
no one, not even a straggler, to be seen. I was almost resolved to
attempt to break away. Had I not been hand-cuffed the attempt would
certainly have been made, whatever consequence might have followed.
Radburn was in the rear, carrying a large stick, and hurrying up
the children as fast as the little ones could walk. So we passed,
hand-cuffed and in silence, through the streets of Washington--through
the Capital of a nation, whose theory of government, we are told,
rests on the foundation of man's inalienable right to life, liberty,
and the pursuit of happiness! Hail! Columbia, happy land, indeed!

Reaching the steamboat, we were quickly hustled into the hold, among
barrels and boxes of freight. A colored servant brought a light, the
bell rung, and soon the vessel started down the Potomac, carrying
us we knew not where. The bell tolled as we passed the tomb of
Washington! Burch, no doubt, with uncovered head, bowed reverently
before the sacred ashes of the man who devoted his illustrious life to
the liberty of his country.

None of us slept that night but Randall and little Emmy. For the first
time Clem Ray was wholly overcome. To him the idea of going south was
terrible in the extreme. He was leaving the friends and associations
of his youth--every thing that was dear and precious to his heart--in
all probability never to return. He and Eliza mingled their tears
together, bemoaning their cruel fate. For my own part, difficult as
it was, I endeavored to keep up my spirits. I resolved in my mind a
hundred plans of escape, and fully determined to make the attempt
the first desperate chance that offered. I had by this time become
satisfied, however, that my true policy was to say nothing further on
the subject of my having been born a freeman. It would but expose me
to mal-treatment, and diminish the chances of liberation.

After sunrise in the morning we were called up on deck to breakfast.
Burch took our hand-cuffs off, and we sat down to table. He asked
Eliza if she would take a dram. She declined, thanking him politely.
During the meal we were all silent--not a word passed between us. A
mulatto woman who served at table seemed to take an interest in our
behalf--told us to cheer up, and not to be so cast down. Breakfast
over, the hand-cuffs were restored, and Burch ordered us out on the
stern deck. We sat down together on some boxes, still saying nothing
in Burch's presence. Occasionally a passenger would walk out to where
we were, look at us for a while, then silently return.

It was a very pleasant morning. The fields along the river were
covered with verdure, far in advance of what I had been accustomed to
see at that season of the year. The sun shone out warmly; the birds
were singing in the trees. The happy birds--I envied them. I wished
for wings like them, that I might cleave the air to where my birdlings
waited vainly for their father's coming, in the cooler region of the
North.

In the forenoon the steamer reached Aquia Creek. There the passengers
took stages--Burch and his five slaves occupying one exclusively. He
laughed with the children, and at one stopping place went so far as to
purchase them a piece of gingerbread. He told me to hold up my head
and look smart. That I might, perhaps, get a good master if I behaved
myself. I made him no reply. His face was hateful to me, and I could
not bear to look upon it. I sat in the corner, cherishing in my heart
the hope, not yet extinct, of some day meeting the tyrant on the soil
of my native State.

At Fredericksburgh we were transferred from the stage coach to a car,
and before dark arrived in Richmond, the chief city of Virginia. At
this city we were taken from the cars, and driven through the street
to a slave pen, between the railroad depot and the river, kept by a
Mr. Goodin. This pen is similar to Williams' in Washington, except it
is somewhat larger; and besides, there were two small houses standing
at opposite corners within the yard. These houses are usually found
within slave yards, being used as rooms for the examination of human
chattels by purchasers before concluding a bargain. Unsoundness in a
slave, as well as in a horse, detracts materially from his value. If
no warranty is given, a close examination is a matter of particular
importance to the negro jockey.

We were met at the door of Goodin's yard by that gentleman himself--a
short, fat man, with a round, plump face, black hair and whiskers,
and a complexion almost as dark as some of his own negroes. He had a
hard, stern look, and was perhaps about fifty years of age. Burch and
he met with great cordiality. They were evidently old friends. Shaking
each other warmly by the hand, Burch remarked he had brought some
company, inquired at what time the brig would leave, and was answered
that it would probably leave the next day at such an hour. Goodin then
turned to me, took hold of my arm, turned me partly round, looked at
me sharply with the air of one who considered himself a good judge of
property, and as if estimating in his own mind about how much I was
worth.

"Well, boy, where did you come from?"

Forgetting myself, for a moment, I answered, "From New-York."

"New-York! H--l! what have you been doing up there?" was his
astonished interrogatory.

Observing Burch at this moment looking at me with an angry expression
that conveyed a meaning it was not difficult to understand, I
immediately said, "O, I have only been up that way a piece," in a
manner intended to imply that although I might have been as far as
New-York, yet I wished it distinctly understood that I did not belong
to that free State, nor to any other.

Goodin then turned to Clem, and then to Eliza and the children,
examining them severally, and asking various questions. He was pleased
with Emily, as was every one who saw the child's sweet countenance.
She was not as tidy as when I first beheld her; her hair was now
somewhat disheveled; but through its unkempt and soft profusion
there still beamed a little face of most surpassing loveliness.
"Altogether we were a fair lot--a devilish good lot," he said,
enforcing that opinion with more than one emphatic adjective not
found in the Christian vocabulary. Thereupon we passed into the yard.
Quite a number of slaves, as many as thirty I should say, were moving
about, or sitting on benches under the shed. They were all cleanly
dressed--the men with hats, the women with handkerchiefs tied about
their heads.

Burch and Goodin, after separating from us, walked up the steps at the
back part of the main building, and sat down upon the door sill. They
entered into conversation, but the subject of it I could not hear.
Presently Burch came down into the yard, unfettered me, and led me
into one of the small houses.

"You told that man you came from New-York," said he.

I replied, "I told him I had been up as far as New-York, to be sure,
but did not tell him I belonged there, nor that I was a freeman. I
meant no harm at all, Master Burch. I would not have said it had I
thought."

He looked at me a moment as if he was ready to devour me, then turning
round went out. In a few minutes he returned. "If ever I hear you say
a word about New-York, or about your freedom, I will be the death of
you--I will kill you; you may rely on that," he ejaculated fiercely.

I doubt not he understood then better than I did, the danger and the
penalty of selling a free man into slavery. He felt the necessity
of closing my mouth against the crime he knew he was committing. Of
course, my life would not have weighed a feather, in any emergency
requiring such a sacrifice. Undoubtedly, he meant precisely what he
said.

Under the shed on one side of the yard, there was constructed a rough
table, while overhead were sleeping lofts--the same as in the pen
at Washington. After partaking at this table of our supper of pork
and bread, I was hand-cuffed to a large yellow man, quite stout and
fleshy, with a countenance expressive of the utmost melancholy. He was
a man of intelligence and information. Chained together, it was not
long before we became acquainted with each other's history. His name
was Robert. Like myself, he had been born free, and had a wife and
two children in Cincinnati. He said he had come south with two men,
who had hired him in the city of his residence. Without free papers,
he had been seized at Fredericksburgh, placed in confinement, and
beaten until he had learned, as I had, the necessity and the policy
of silence. He had been in Goodin's pen about three weeks. To this
man I became much attached. We could sympathize with, and understand
each other. It was with tears and a heavy heart, not many days
subsequently, that I saw him die, and looked for the last time upon
his lifeless form!

Robert and myself, with Clem, Eliza and her children, slept that night
upon our blankets, in one of the small houses in the yard. There were
four others, all from the same plantation, who had been sold, and
were now on their way south, who also occupied it with us. David and
his wife, Caroline, both mulattoes, were exceedingly affected. They
dreaded the thought of being put into the cane and cotton fields;
but their greatest source of anxiety was the apprehension of being
separated. Mary, a tall, lithe girl, of a most jetty black, was
listless and apparently indifferent. Like many of the class, she
scarcely knew there was such a word as freedom. Brought up in the
ignorance of a brute, she possessed but little more than a brute's
intelligence. She was one of those, and there are very many, who fear
nothing but their master's lash, and know no further duty than to
obey his voice. The other was Lethe. She was of an entirely different
character. She had long, straight hair, and bore more the appearance
of an Indian than a negro woman. She had sharp and spiteful eyes, and
continually gave utterance to the language of hatred and revenge.
Her husband had been sold. She knew not where she was. An exchange
of masters, she was sure, could not be for the worse. She cared not
whither they might carry her. Pointing to the scars upon her face, the
desperate creature wished that she might see the day when she could
wipe them off in some man's blood!

While we were thus learning the history of each other's wretchedness,
Eliza was seated in a corner by herself, singing hymns and praying
for her children. Wearied from the loss of so much sleep, I could
no longer bear up against the advances of that "sweet restorer,"
and laying down by the side of Robert, on the floor, soon forgot my
troubles, and slept until the dawn of day.

In the morning, having swept the yard, and washed ourselves, under
Goodin's superintendence, we were ordered to roll up our blankets, and
make ready for the continuance of our journey. Clem Ray was informed
that he would go no further, Burch, for some cause, having concluded
to carry him back to Washington. He was much rejoiced. Shaking hands,
we parted in the slave pen at Richmond, and I have not seen him
since. But, much to my surprise, since my return, I learned that he
had escaped from bondage, and on his way to the free soil of Canada,
lodged one night at the house of my brother-in-law in Saratoga,
informing my family of the place and the condition in which he left me.

In the afternoon we were drawn up, two abreast, Robert and myself in
advance, and in this order, driven by Burch and Goodin from the yard,
through the streets of Richmond to the brig Orleans. She was a vessel
of respectable size, full rigged, and freighted principally with
tobacco. We were all on board by five o'clock. Burch brought us each
a tin cup and a spoon. There were forty of us in the brig, being all,
except Clem, that were in the pen.

With a small pocket knife that had not been taken from me, I began
cutting the initials of my name upon the tin cup. The others
immediately flocked round me, requesting me to mark theirs in a
similar manner. In time, I gratified them all, of which they did not
appear to be forgetful.

We were all stowed away in the hold at night, and the hatch barred
down. We laid on boxes, or where-ever there was room enough to stretch
our blankets on the floor.

Burch accompanied us no farther than Richmond, returning from that
point to the capital with Clem. Not until the lapse of almost twelve
years, to wit, in January last, in the Washington police office, did I
set my eyes upon his face again.

James H. Burch was a slave-trader--buying men, women and children
at low prices, and selling them at an advance. He was a speculator
in human flesh--a disreputable calling--and so considered at the
South. For the present he disappears from the scenes recorded in
this narrative, but he will appear again before its close, not in
the character of a man-whipping tyrant, but as an arrested, cringing
criminal in a court of law, that failed to do him justice.

 It is a long night, and Eliza speaks bitterly of Mr. Brooks and how Elisha would never have done that to her. Around midnight, Burch enters and tells the group to get ready to go on the boat without delay. They are marched through the silent streets of Washington. Little lights flicker, but no one is out of bed. Solomon considers breaking away, but he is handcuffed. They pass through the city of Washington, a city ironically dedicated to liberty and equality. The slaves are hustled onto the steamboat and the vessel starts down the Potomac. Clem Ray is wholly overcome with the idea of going south, and he and Eliza bemoan their cruel fate. Solomon will say nothing more of being a free man, but he resolves that he must escape. The next day, the boat continues along. The fields along the river are lovely and birds are singing. They make it first to Fredericksburg, and then to Richmond. In Richmond, the slaves are taken off the ship to a slave pen. When the man, Goodin, looks at Solomon and asks where he came from, Solomon accidentally responds with New York. He tries to cover his tracks, especially as Burch looks at him. Burch approaches him later and threatens him, but Solomon promises he meant no harm. Solomon is handcuffed to a man named Robert who is also free but captured. The two lament their shared situation. There is a couple, David and Caroline, who are mulatto and distressed to be separated; there is a girl named Mary, who never knew anything but brute treatment; and there is Lethe, who looked more like a Native American woman, full of revenge and anger. In the morning Clem Ray learns he will be taken back to Washington, and he is overjoyed. Solomon later learns Ray escaped to Canada. The others are taken to a ship and stowed away in the hatch. Burch and Ray remain in Richmond. Solomon doesn't see Burch's face again until twelve years later. Burch is a slave trader, a speculator in human flesh, but he will eventually be seen as a criminal, cringing and unassisted by the law

