The Great Stain

by Noel Rae

  “Another method of marking slaves,” wrote Weld, “is by drawing out or breaking off one or two front teeth—commonly the upper ones, as the mark in that case would be the more obvious.” He then cites twenty-four advertisements for runaways with missing teeth, adding that “were it necessary we might easily add to the preceding list hundreds. The reader will remark that all the slaves whose ages are given are young—not one has arrived at middle age; consequently it can hardly be supposed that they have lost their teeth either from age or decay. The probability that their teeth were taken out by force is increased by the fact of their being front teeth in almost every case, and … it is well known that the front teeth are not generally the first to fail.”

  American Slavery As It Is sold well. So did first-person stories by fugitive slaves. A notable example was the Narrative of William Wells Brown, whose experiences working for a trader taking slaves to the New Orleans market appeared earlier. From an early age “the love of liberty had been burning in my bosom,” but family ties held him back. Then, when he was barely twenty, and living in St. Louis, he learned that his beloved sister was about to be sold to a man in Natchez, who wanted her as his concubine. There was nothing he could do to prevent this, and his parting from her in the jail where she was being held was painful. “She was seated with her face toward the door where I entered, yet she did not look up until I walked up to her. As soon as she observed me, she sprung up, threw her arms around my neck, leaned her head upon my breast and, without uttering a word, burst into tears. As soon as she recovered herself sufficiently to speak, she advised me to take mother and try to get out of slavery. She said there was no hope for herself, that she must live and die a slave. After giving her some advice, and taking from my finger a ring and placing it upon hers, I bade her farewell forever and returned to my mother, and then and there made up my mind to leave for Canada as soon as possible.”

  His mother, who had several other children, all in slavery, wanted to stay in St. Louis, and tried to persuade him to go off by himself, but “I could not bear the idea of leaving her among those pirates, when there was a prospect of being able to get away from them. After much persuasion I succeeded in inducing her to make the attempt.” The first step, crossing the Ohio River, was easy enough. “We left the city just as the clock struck nine. We proceeded to the upper part of the city, where I had been two or three times during the day, and selected a skiff to carry us across the river.

  “We were soon upon the Illinois shore, and leaping from the boat, turned it adrift. We took the main road to Alton, and passed through just at daylight, when we made for the woods, where we remained during the day. As soon as darkness overshadowed the earth we started again on our gloomy way, having no guide but the North Star. We continued to travel by night, and secrete ourselves in the woods by day.

  “On the eighth day of our journey we had a very heavy rain, and in a few hours after it commenced we had not a dry thread upon our bodies. This made our journey still more unpleasant. On the tenth day we found ourselves entirely destitute of provisions, and how to obtain any we could not tell. We finally resolved to stop at some farmhouse, and try to get something to eat. We had no sooner determined to do this than we went to a house, and asked them for some food. We were treated with great kindness, and they not only gave us something to eat, but gave us provisions to carry with us. Finding ourselves about one hundred and fifty miles from St. Louis, we concluded that it would be safe to travel by daylight, and did not leave the house until the next morning.

  “I had just been telling my mother how I should try to get employment as soon as we reached Canada, and how I intended to purchase us a little farm, and how I would earn money enough to buy sister and brothers, and how happy we would be in our own free home—when three men came up on horseback, and ordered us to stop. I turned to the one who appeared to be the principal man, and asked him what he wanted. He said he had a warrant to take us up. The three immediately dismounted, and one took from his pocket a handbill advertising us as runaways, and offering a reward of two hundred dollars for our apprehension and delivery in the city of St. Louis.

  “While they were reading the advertisement, mother looked me in the face and burst into tears. A cold chill ran over me, and such a sensation I never experienced before, and I hope never to again. They took out a rope and tied me, and we were taken back about six miles to the house of the individual who appeared to be the leader. We reached there about seven o’clock in the evening, had supper, and were separated for the night. Before the family retired to rest, they were all called together to attend prayers. The man who but a few hours before had bound my hands together with a strong cord, read a chapter from the Bible, and then offered up a prayer, just as though God had sanctioned the act he had just committed upon a poor, panting, fugitive slave.

  “The next morning a blacksmith came in and put a pair of handcuffs on me, and we started on our journey back to the land of whips, chains and Bibles. Mother was not tied, but was closely watched at night. We were carried back in a wagon, and after four days’ travel we came in sight of St. Louis. I cannot describe my feelings upon approaching the city.”

  After a short spell in jail, Brown was returned to his master, who sent him to work in the fields where he “was closely watched by the overseer during the day, and locked up at night. The overseer gave me a severe whipping on the second day that I was in the field.” Not long after, his owner sold him to a merchant tailor called Samuel Willi, who “soon decided to hire me out; and as I had been accustomed to service in steamboats, he gave me the privilege of finding such employment. I soon secured a situation aboard the steamer, Otto, Capt. J. B. Hill, which sailed from St. Louis to Independence, Missouri. My former master, Dr. Young, did not let Mr. Willi know that I had run away, or he would not have permitted me to go on board a steamboat. The boat was not quite ready to commence running, and therefore I had to remain with Mr. Willi. But during this time I had to undergo a trial for which I was entirely unprepared.” This was to say good-bye to his mother, who had been kept in jail since her arrest and was now about to be shipped down to the New Orleans slave market.

  “At about ten o’clock in the morning I went on board of the boat, and found her there in company with fifty or sixty other slaves. She was chained to another woman. On seeing me, she immediately dropped her head upon her heaving bosom. She moved not, neither did she weep. Her emotions were too deep for tears. I approached, threw my arms around her neck, kissed her, and fell upon my knees, begging her forgiveness, for I thought myself to blame for her sad condition; for if I had not persuaded her to accompany me, she would not then have been in chains.

  “She finally raised her head, looked me in the face, (and such a look none but an angel can give!) and said, ‘My dear son, you are not to blame for my being here. You have done nothing more nor less than your duty. Do not, I pray you, weep for me. I cannot last long upon a cotton plantation. I feel that my heavenly Master will soon call me home, and then I shall be out of the hands of the slave-owners!’

  “I could bear no more—my heart struggled to free itself from the human form. In a moment she saw Mr. Mansfield [her owner] coming toward that part of the boat, and she whispered in my ear, ‘My child, we must soon part to meet no more this side of the grave. You have ever said that you would not die a slave; that you would be a free man. Now try to get your liberty! You will soon have no one to look after but yourself!’ And just as she whispered the last sentence into my ear, Mansfield came up to me, and with an oath said, ‘Leave here this instant! You have been the means of my losing one hundred dollars to get this wench back’—at the same time kicking me with a heavy pair of boots. As I left her, she gave one shriek, saying, ‘God be with you!’ It was the last time that I saw her, and the last word I heard her utter.”

  A few months later Brown got his chance to escape. This came when his steamboat took on a cargo to be delivered to Cincinnati. “The first place in which we landed in a free
state was Cairo, a small village at the mouth of the Ohio River. We remained here but a few hours, when we proceeded to Louisville. After unloading some of the cargo, the boat started on her upward trip. The next day was the first of January. I had looked forward to New Year’s Day as the commencement of a new era in the history of my life.” Soon after, “the boat landed at a point which appeared to me the place of all others to start from. When the boat was discharging her cargo, and the passengers engaged carrying their baggage on and off shore, I improved the opportunity to convey myself with my little effects on land. Taking up a trunk, I went up the wharf, and was soon out of the crowd. I made directly for the woods, where I remained until night, knowing well that I could not travel, even in the state of Ohio, during the day, without danger of being arrested.

  “I had long since made up my mind that I would not trust myself in the hands of any man, white or colored. The slave is brought up to look upon every white man as an enemy to him and his race; and twenty-one years of slavery had taught me that there were traitors, even among the colored people. After dark I emerged from the woods into a narrow path, which led me into the main travelled road. But I knew not which way to go. I did not know north from south, east from west. I looked in vain for the North Star; a heavy cloud hid it from my view. I walked up and down the road until near midnight, when the clouds disappeared, and I welcomed the sight of my friend—truly the slave’s friend—the North Star!

  “As soon as I saw it I knew my course, and before daylight I travelled twenty or twenty-five miles. It being in the winter, I suffered intensely from the cold, being without an overcoat, and my other clothes rather thin for the season. I was provided with a tinder-box, so that I could make up a fire when necessary. And but for this I should certainly have frozen to death.

  The future abolitionist, William Wells Brown, fails in his first attempt to escape as bloodhounds pick up his scent. Keeping hounds was a well-established business, with rates on a sliding scale according to the distance traveled. On being returned to his owner, Brown was first whipped and then “smoked”—exposed to the thick and choking fumes of a fire of tobacco stems.

  “On the fourth day my provisions gave out, and then what to do I could not tell. Have something to eat I must; but how to get it was the question! On the first night after my food was gone, I went to a barn on the road-side and there found some ears of corn. I took ten or twelve of them, and kept on my journey. During the next day, while in the woods, I roasted my corn and feasted upon it, thanking God that I was so well provided for.

  “On the fifth or sixth day it rained very fast, and froze about as fast as it fell, so that my clothes were one glare of ice. I travelled on at night until I became so chilled and benumbed—the wind blowing into my face—that I found it impossible to go any further, and accordingly took shelter in a barn, where I was obliged to walk about to keep from freezing. I have ever looked upon that night as the most eventful part of my escape from slavery. Nothing but the providence of God, and that old barn, saved me from freezing to death.”

  But his luck soon changed for the better. Reversing his decision not to ask for help, he went out on to the road and soon encountered “an old man walking towards me, leading a white horse. He had on a broad-brimmed hat and a very long coat”—evidently a Quaker—and “as soon as I saw him, and observed his dress, I thought to myself, ‘You are the man that I have been looking for!’” And so indeed he was, for Wells Brown, the Quaker, took the frost-bitten fugitive home, where he and his elderly wife fed and housed him. They also looked after him when he succumbed to a fever, “treating me as kindly as if I had been one of their own children. I remained with them twelve or fifteen days, during which time they made me some clothing, and the old gentleman purchased me a pair of boots.”

  As a final act of kindness Wells Brown invited him to share his name. This was a matter of great importance to the narrator who, while still a boy, had been ordered to give up the name William when his owner’s nephew, also called William, came to live at the plantation. “This, at the time, I thought to be one of the most cruel acts that could be committed upon my rights; and I received several very severe whippings for telling people that my name was William, after orders were given to change it.” He also refused to take the last name of any of his owners “for I always detested the idea of being called by the name of either of my masters.”

  Hence this parting scene:

  “Before leaving this good Quaker friend, he inquired what my name was besides William. I told him that I had no other name. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘thee must have another name. Since thee has got out of slavery, thee has become a man, and men always have two names.’

  “I told him that he was the first man to extend the hand of friendship to me, and I would give him the privilege of naming me.

  “‘If I name thee,’ said he, ‘I shall call thee Wells Brown, after myself.’

  “‘But,’ said I, ‘I am not willing to lose my name of William. As it was taken from me once against my will, I am not willing to part with it again upon any terms.’

  “‘Then,’ said he, ‘I will call thee William Wells Brown.’

  “‘So be it,’ said I; and I have been known by that name ever since I left the house of my first white friend.”

  Brown’s story was famous in his time, but nowhere near so famous as this one: its young and attractive heroine, Eliza Harris, with her four-year-old son, Harry, in her arms, has just reached the Kentucky side of the ice-choked Ohio River. On the other side lies Indiana and freedom, behind her the slave-catchers are drawing near—“right on behind her they came; and, nerved with strength such as God gives only to the desperate, with one wild cry and flying leap, she vaulted sheer over the turbid current by the shore, on to the raft of ice beyond. It was a desperate leap—impossible to anything but madness and despair … The huge green fragment of ice on which she alighted pitched and creaked as her weight came on it, but she stayed there not a moment. With wild cries and desperate energy she leaped to another and still another cake—stumbling—leaping—slipping—springing upwards again! Her shoes are gone—her stockings cut from her feet—while blood marked every step; but she saw nothing, felt nothing, till dimly, as in a dream, she saw the Ohio side, and a man helping her up the bank …”

  This of course is one of the many high points in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Harriet Beecher Stowe’s hugely successful novel—three hundred thousand copies sold in just one year (1852). But though a novel, it was not, Mrs. Stowe insisted, primarily a work of fiction: many of the characters and incidents were based on real people and real events, and as proof she wrote and published A Key to Uncle Tom’s Cabin, citing her sources. Among these was Levi Coffin, the original for Simeon Halliday, the Quaker at whose house Eliza was made welcome soon after her arrival in Indiana. Like Josiah Henson, who was not slow to declare himself the real-life model for Uncle Tom, Coffin was more than willing to have lived up to his fictional counterpart. Here he is explaining how his house in Newport, Indiana, came to be known as “The Grand Central Station of the Underground Railroad.”

  “In the winter of 1826–27, fugitives began to come to our house, and as it became more widely known on different routes that the slaves fleeing from bondage would find a welcome and shelter at our house, and be forwarded safely on their journey, the number increased. Friends [i.e. Quakers] in the neighborhood, who had formerly stood aloof from the work, fearful of the penalty of the law, were encouraged to engage in it when they saw the fearless manner in which I acted, and the success that attended my efforts. They would contribute to clothe the fugitives, and would aid in forwarding them on their way, but were timid about sheltering them under their roof; so that part of the work devolved on us.” Many of these Friends “tried to discourage me, and dissuade me from running such risks … telling me that such a course of action would injure my business and perhaps ruin me; that I ought to consider the welfare of my family; and warning me that my life was in danger, as there we
re many threats made against me by the slave-hunters.

  “After listening quietly to these counselors,” Coffin loftily rebuked them. “If by doing my duty and endeavoring to fulfill the injunctions of the Bible, I injured my business, then let my business go. As to my safety, my life was in the hands of my Divine Master, and I felt that I had His approval.” In the meantime “I soon became extensively known to the friends of the slaves, at different points on the Ohio River, where fugitives generally crossed … Seldom a week passed without our receiving passengers by this mysterious road. We knew not what night or what hour of the night we would be roused from slumber by a gentle rap at the door. That was the signal announcing the arrival of a train … I have often been awakened by this signal, and sprang out of bed in the dark and opened the door. Outside, in the cold or rain, there would be a two-horse wagon loaded with fugitives, perhaps the greater part of them women and children. I would invite them, in a low tone, to come in, and they would follow me into the darkened house without a word, for we knew not who might be watching and listening. When they were all safely inside and the door fastened, I would cover the windows, strike a light and build a good fire. By this time my wife would be up and preparing victuals for them, and in a short time the cold and hungry fugitives would be made comfortable. I would accompany the conductor of the train to the stables, and care for the horses, that had, perhaps, been driven twenty-five or thirty miles that night through the cold and rain … This work was kept up during the time we lived at Newport, a period of more than twenty years. The number of fugitives varied considerably in different years, but the annual average was more than one hundred.”