Martha and the Slave Catchers

by Harriet Hyman Alonso

  Martha looked down in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Mr. Murdoch.”

  She wondered how many more rules there were. Certainly more than she expected. And why did she, who always followed the rules, have trouble remembering them? Let’s see, she counted on her fingers under the table, this made number four. Or was it numbers four, five, and six? She was beginning to lose count, and with each one she learned, she was starting to forget the others. In truth, she was beginning to hate all these rules and wanted them to stop.

  Frustrated and a bit angry with these grown-ups who interrupted her every effort to obtain essential information that she needed to understand her place in the rescue, Martha excused herself to go to bed. As she left the parlor, she heard Mr. Abbott comment, “What were those Connecticut people thinking, sending a young, inexperienced girl on a rescue such as this?”

  “I know,” Charles Murdoch answered. “I worry, too. She’s extremely green. And although she was raised in an abolitionist home and understands the seriousness of our cause, she’s not well versed in the rules and not very good at following them. She could potentially put a lot of people in danger.”

  “So why send her?”

  “The boy to be rescued is her adopted brother. He’s said to be an innocent. At age seven, he still doesn’t know his letters. He gets confused easily and doesn’t understand much of the world. The feeling is that she can help him to go along with the rescuers. In fact, there’s some doubt we can be successful without her. Moses has so many people to protect that she’d be unable to devote all her time and energy to one small, simple boy.”

  “This sounds so very risky to me.”

  “I agree, but if anyone can handle the situation, it’ll be Moses.”

  Once in bed, Martha tossed and turned, unable to sleep even a little bit. She stared at the ceiling, then turned onto her stomach, then tossed and turned some more. When she finally dropped off, there was Jake again. He was covered with bruises. Large and small black and blue marks covered his face, his arms, his legs. He sat alone in a dark room, huddled in a corner. She awoke with new resolve. She would conquer those “never” rules and follow them. She had to if she was going to save her brother.

  Just before sunup, Martha bid farewell to Brooklyn and continued her final daylong journey with Charles Murdoch in silence. Reginald Abbott’s smaller sloop carried them around the tip of Manhattan and west to the New Jersey shore. There they hired a carriage that took them through forests and farmland until, late in the evening, they arrived in Philadelphia. Never had Martha seen such a place.

  “My goodness,” she screeched, “what a foul-smelling city.”

  “Industry, my dear,” said Mr. Murdoch. “You’re smelling the smoke from the factories.”

  “But it smells worse than just smoke, Mr. Murdoch.”

  “Yes, it does. These factories hire many workers, but they don’t pay them very much. Other people don’t even have jobs. So people are poor and they live all crowded together. And there’s lots of garbage and waste.”

  Martha took note of the shacks too small to fit the people who lived in them. White, black, brown, no matter. She could not imagine staying even one night in such a place.

  “Where will we be staying, Mr. Murdoch?”

  “In a residential part of the town with folks of a higher class.”

  And this was so. Within fifteen minutes, the carriage pulled up before a stately three-story brick home where they were greeted by a beautifully clothed black woman. Martha struggled to hide her surprise. Except for Jake and the runaways coming through her home, she had never actually met any Afric Americans. And now that she knew the truth about herself, she was anxious to learn more about them. So she stared in a most impolite way at this woman’s gingerbread-toned skin and sleek black hair tied in a bun at the nape of her neck.

  In turn, the woman patted the back of her bun as if to fix it. “Is something wrong?”

  “Of course not, Bertha. You look as lovely as usual,” Mr. Murdoch said. “May I introduce Martha Bartlett?”

  With that, Charles Murdoch pushed Martha into the home of Matthew and Bertha Smith, who immediately introduced her to Samuel and Caroline Smith, who would accompany her to Maryland. She had expected to be traveling with a white couple, and her surprise and bewilderment showed. As they all moved to the parlor for a late evening repast of lemonade and sandwiches of meat and cheese, Charles Murdoch intuited Martha’s concerns.

  “Martha, we’ve chosen to send you into Maryland with the Smiths because it’s very likely that people in the South will believe you are colored. Traveling with them will help you to blend in.”

  “I understand,” she replied although she really did not, “and the same with Mrs. Perry?”

  “Yes, she’s to be your aunt while you’re there.”

  Trying to remain calm, she said, “But Mr. Murdoch, I don’t know how to be a Southern colored girl.”

  “You aren’t being someone new, Martha. You’re a Northern girl visiting her aunt. That’s all.”

  “But what if someone asks me about my skin color?”

  “I don’t think anyone will ask,” Caroline Smith put in, “especially since you’re traveling with Samuel and myself and will be staying with Lorraine Perry. But, Martha, please, whatever you do, never, and I mean never, try to imitate the accent and manners of the local people. They’ll see your error immediately. Simply be yourself.”

  Oh, no, thought Martha, yet another rule and still more “nevers.” Did these people always have to repeat their “nevers” as if she was a child who could not understand them? Besides, by this point, it was impossible to keep track of the rules anyway. Nor was she even sure who she was anymore. White in one place, black in another?

  Martha wanted nothing more than to seek out her papa’s loving arms and his sage advice. A tear fell down her cheek, and her hands started to tremble. Folding them in her lap, she tried to gain enough control over herself so that she could ask to be excused to go to her room.

  But that was not to be, for all of a sudden Caroline Smith asked her if she liked to read.

  Swallowing hard, Martha said, “Oh, yes, ma’am. I read a great deal.”

  “What’s your favorite book, may I ask?”

  Martha did not hesitate. “Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Mrs. Stowe told such a heartbreaking story about the slaves. I cried throughout.” Therefore she was shocked to see all five pairs of adult eyes giving her a stern look.

  “This was a very important test, Martha,” said Caroline Smith. “Never, and I mean never, speak against slavery or let it be known that you’ve read about, spoken about, dreamed about, or in any other way given the issue any thought. Within a day, you’ll be in Maryland. It’ll be dangerous for you to let your abolitionist rearing show.”

  Enraged, Martha barked, “But I’m here with you, and you’re abolitionists. So that was an unfair test.”

  “Yes, well, that may be true. But, still . . .”

  “And in any case,” she cut in, “what shall I say if someone asks me about slavery?”

  “Simply that you’re new to the area and are just learning about life there. That might open you up to a lecture about the glories of the peculiar institution, but no matter.”

  This was the final straw. Martha was so anxious that she needed to get away and be on her own. “I’m very perplexed,” she said, “as to why you would try to trick me. It’s really not right. And it’s worn me out. Is it all right if I go to bed now?”

  “Yes, of course,” they all agreed.

  Their stares of concern gave her pause, so before she left, she said, “Don’t fret. I’ll be fine.”

  Alone in her room, Martha caught a glimpse of her face in the looking glass. Walking closer to it, she sought out features that would make people think she was not white. Could it be her long black hair? Her deep brown eyes? Her cheekbones that seemed higher than her mama’s or Becky’s? Or was it just that her skin was not very pale? Whatever it was, Martha could
finally see why some people living in a place where there were Afric people or Indians or Italians might wonder about her parentage. “Will seeing myself in a looking glass change the way I behave?” she wondered.

  With these thoughts, Martha fell into a restless sleep. She dreamed of being lost in a sea of different people, but at least she had no visits from Jake. With great relief to be on her way early the next morning, she bid farewell to Mr. Murdoch and joined the Smiths for the next leg of her journey.

  “Be most careful, Martha,” he said as he waved goodbye.

  Meanwhile, the Smiths with Martha in tow climbed into a luxurious carriage for the journey to Baltimore. As they politely explained, Afric American people were either not welcome or were treated badly on public conveyances, so they preferred to hire a private carriage if they could afford to do so. This made Martha even more curious about them, and although she was nervous about asking any more questions, she could not help herself.

  “Do you live in Baltimore, Mrs. Smith?”

  “Yes, dear. My husband and I own a lovely shop there. We’ve done quite well.”

  “But aren’t you frightened to live there? I mean with slavery and everything.”

  “There are many free blacks in Baltimore, Martha. It’s a big city. We’re part of a warm community who support each other and those not free as well.”

  “How?”

  “I really can’t tell you any details except that we have clubs and dinners and several of us attend the same church.”

  Martha wanted to ask if the Smiths knew Frederick Douglass and had helped him to escape slavery, but she kept her mouth shut tight lest she be reprimanded once again. That evening, Martha and the Smiths stayed at a local farmhouse with a couple the Smiths knew. Martha suspected they were a station on the Underground Railroad, but she held her tongue, ate her meal, and then retired for the night. She dreamed once again about Jake. This time he had an iron collar around his neck attached with a chain to an iron loop in a yard. He was on his hands and knees, like a dog. Frantic that all her fears might be true, very early the next morning Martha hurried to get dressed and be on her way.

  Once in Baltimore, Samuel and Caroline Smith immediately took Martha to a small sloop, giving her no time to view the city or its extremely busy port. She figured that they were as eager to see her gone as she was to reach LaGrange, get Jake, and go home. Even with a brisk westerly wind, the trip from the city to the Eastern Shore took several hours, but Martha was enchanted with the sail. Trailing her fingers in the water, she wondered if women could become sailors. After leaving the sloop, there was yet another carriage ride. Martha noted the changes as the land turned flatter and greener than up North and the air much more humid.

  Finally, the long journey ended at the smallest town Martha had ever seen. Mr. Smith leaned over and whispered in her ear, “This is LaGrange. About a mile out of the town is Robert Dawes’s plantation.”

  Martha’s stomach lurched, and for the first time, she felt real fear grip her. In the early evening’s dimming light, she could see that LaGrange was not at all what she had expected. It was a hodgepodge of shacks and small wood-framed shops. The streets were of dirt, as at home, but with many more ruts and loose sand blowing around in the hot breeze coming off the water. Numbers of black people were carrying bundles, the men on their backs, the women often on their turbaned heads. Most people were wearing poorly made pants, skirts, and shirts, and children were barefoot. They darted here and there, seemingly with no one watching them. Yet, if one cried or fell or got into a fight, an adult quickly came over to help them. Martha wondered how a person could tell which of these people were slaves and which free.

  Martha quickly followed the Smiths to a small rundown shop with a handmade sign, “Perry’s General Store.” As they entered, a very thin dark woman with a scarf wrapped around her head looked up, rushed forward, put a “closed” sign on the door, and shut it firmly.

  She squinted her eyes and asked in a soft voice, “Is this her?”

  “This is her.”

  “Come, girl. I’ll take you to the back to the room you’ll be staying in. I need to keep the shop open for an hour or two and then we’ll talk. Don’t leave the room until I come for you.”

  “Goodbye, Martha,” called Caroline Smith, all too eagerly for Martha’s taste. “Enjoy your visit with your auntie Lorraine.”

  Martha waited in the dark musty room for Lorraine Perry to return. Although truly alone and a tad homesick, she also sensed Jake close by. He was here, just a mile away. Tomorrow, after she was rested, she would evade the adults, sneak out to LaGrange Plantation, find him, and bring him back to hide in this room. What could be so difficult if she was careful? She was 100 percent sure she could accomplish this without being seen. Then they would leave for home with Harriet Tubman.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE NEXT morning, Martha sat silently, her right hand twirling one of her plaits and her foot silently tapping against the floor, while Lorraine Perry ranted. “I don’t know what tomfoolery made your parents send a child your age all alone to take part in a rescue. I mean, it’s not as if you’ve ever traveled far from home. From what I’ve been told, you are fresh from New England with no experience in the field.”

  “My parents are stationmasters on the railroad,” Martha stated in her own defense. “Well, that is, until Jake came into our lives.”

  “I don’t want to hear nothing about no railroads or anything like that. That’s dangerous talk down here. Up there, too, I gather.”

  Martha looked down at her tightly entwined hands. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m here to get Jake, and once I have him, we’ll be on our way. I thought that perhaps I might go get him this morning.”

  Silence followed. When she looked up, she saw Mrs. Perry’s mouth hanging open in shock. After a moment, it snapped shut.

  “Are you loco?” she said. “You don’t just come south, walk onto a plantation, say how-de-do, and walk away with a slave. Do you know anything about how things work around here?”

  “No. But Jake isn’t a slave, so there shouldn’t be any problem.”

  Even to herself, Martha sounded naive and overly optimistic, but she thought it imperative to keep up a brave and assertive front.

  “Listen to me, young lady,” Mrs. Perry scolded. “You are not about to go out there and put all our lives and years of hard work in jeopardy. Moses arrived in LaGrange last night. She’s working on a way to retrieve Jake and then you’ll go with her. The sooner, the better as far as I’m concerned. Meanwhile, you go nowhere. No. Where. Do you understand? We can’t take the chance that someone will recognize you.”

  Martha protested, “No one knows me here.”

  “Well, let’s see. There’s Robert Dawes, of course. Oh! And there’s his two side partners, Will and Tom. All three use this little town like it’s their backyard. And I guess it is, come to think of it.”

  Mrs. Perry chuckled at her own joke, but Martha was fuming. She was perfectly aware that the further south she had traveled, the less enthusiastic her companions had become about her presence. She could not understand their hostility. After all, wasn’t she here to help? Didn’t Adam Burke and her own father believe that she could complete her task with the utmost success?

  “Jake won’t go away with just anyone. That’s why I’m here.”

  Mrs. Perry did not agree with Martha’s rationale. “We have our ways, child. We can get him away. And in any case, he’s been put in the charge of his own granma, Lucy, and she’s very good with the little ones. I really don’t think we need you.”

  “Well, I’m here no matter how you might feel,” she said. “Jake’ll be happy to see me and he’ll come with me and behave himself.”

  “I surely hope so. In the meantime, as I said before, stay put. I need to open my shop. Every minute it’s closed means a day closer to starvation for a widow woman like myself. I’ll bring you something to eat around noon.”

  As soon as Mrs. Perry left the li
ving area for her shop, Martha started pacing. For an hour, she walked back and forth between the two small rooms trying to hatch a plan. It was time to act on her own instead of listening to a bunch of rules. She simply had to get out of this shop, find the plantation, and take Jake away.

  In her pacing, Martha saw a small door that led to the backyard. She opened it a crack and peered out onto a storage area with an exit to the street. Putting her sunbonnet on so that it covered part of her face and checking that Jake’s small carved horse and her special handkerchief were still in her pocket, she silently crept out the door and edged her way around the crates, only once bumping into a pile that threatened to tumble with a crash. She quickly pushed them back in line with her shoulder and looked around to check that Mrs. Perry had not heard anything and come to investigate. Assured that all was well, she quickly scooted out of the yard into a narrow alleyway.

  There, she stopped. To her right was the way to the busy main street she had seen the day before. To her left was the way to a quiet country road. If she went that way, perhaps she would meet someone who could tell her how to get to the plantation. Almost as if planned, she ran into a young white man, nicely attired in a white suit, a white ruffled shirt, and a white top hat, which he doffed as Martha came near.

  “Can I help you, sugah?” he said.

  “Which way is the Dawes plantation?”

  The gentleman looked puzzled. “You must be new in town. Everyone knows where that is. You sound like a Yank, in fact.”

  “Ah, no, suh,” Martha said in what she imagined to be a Southern accent. “Ah ahhm frim dees heah pahhhhts.”

  The man laughed. “No, sugah, you are not from ‘dees heah pahhhhts.’ I can spot a Yank a mile away. What’re you doin’ here, anyway?”

  Flustered, Martha dropped her pretense. “I’m visiting my aunt and just thought I would try to fit in. I heard the plantation here is very pretty.”