Martha and the Slave Catchers

by Harriet Hyman Alonso

  Martha heard the men leave. For several minutes, nothing happened. Then the woman’s head appeared in the doghouse entrance.

  “We need to wait a good hour before I can move you. ’Til I know it’s safe. Meanwhile, keep real quiet. Rosie here’ll watch over you.”

  As if on cue, Rosie turned around so her big golden-orange head faced them, and then gave Martha and Jake each a big lick on the face. Jake giggled, but Martha merely wiped the slobber off with her arm. Rosie turned around again, exited the doghouse, and lay down in front of it keeping watch. Martha was so relieved that she endured the discomfort and nauseating smell without any complaints.

  About an hour later, Miss Holden returned and peered at Martha, who squirmed at her displeased look. “Didn’t you see the yellow quilt on the line?”

  “Yes, ma’am, but I only heard about blue and got confused when I saw the yellow.”

  “Well, you didn’t see blue, did you? Yellow means extreme caution. This is an important rule if you’re gonna run away. Remember everything you’re told, and if you’re not sure about a thing, then you don’t take no chances.”

  Martha was in no mood to hear another rule of the Underground Railroad and was impatient to be released from this dog cave.

  “Can we come out of this smelly doghouse?” she asked.

  “Smelly it might be, but it’s saved many a runaway’s life. And, yes, you can come out now, but quickly.”

  Martha pushed Jake out first. Miss Holden hurried him into the house and returned for Martha, who could barely stand. The older woman wrapped her arm around her and helped her along.

  “What happened to you, child? This is bad, bad news for your escape.”

  “I sprained my ankle on some rocks crossing the river. I’m sure it’ll be all right if I can just get my shoe off.”

  Once inside, Miss Holden introduced Martha and Jake to Samantha, a dark brown woman about half Miss Holden’s age.

  “How can you aid slaves, ma’am,” Martha could not help asking, “if you own one?”

  “I’m no slave,” Samantha said.

  “Indeed,” Miss Holden added. “Samantha was once a slave, but I bought her and set her free, but that isn’t any of your concern, is it now.”

  “No, ma’am. But I’m curious. Why doesn’t Samantha go north where there isn’t any slavery?”

  “Because I like it here,” Samantha harrumphed as she gently led Jake away for a bath and a change into clean clothes. “I think I have some shoes for you as well, boy,” she told him.

  Martha’s own shoe presented a painful problem. To get it off, Miss Holden had to cut it away, and Martha winced with each cut and tug until her red and swollen foot emerged.

  Miss Holden clucked her tongue. “Let’s get you bathed and in clean clothes. Then I’ll wrap your foot. I think I have a large-size shoe you can put over it. It’ll have to do for now. And I’ll replait your hair for you, too. Would you like that?”

  Martha nodded consent as she thought of the many times her mama had done the same. She loved the gentle touch of her hands as she worked the long strands into two neat plaits. Meanwhile, Miss Holden continued, “We need to get the two of you away quickly, at least by this evening. It’s too dangerous here. Look.”

  She handed Martha a sheet of paper with the following notice printed on it:

  FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD.

  RAN AWAY.

  TWO NEGROES

  NAMED AS FOLLOWS:

  MARTHA, AGED ABOUT 14 YEARS,

  VERY LIGHT SKIN, ALMOST INDIAN LOOKING,

  ABOUT 5 FEET 2 INCHES HEIGHT, FLESHY,

  LONG STRAIGHT BLACK HAIR WORN

  IN PLAITS AND BROWN EYES.

  JAKE, AGED ABOUT SEVEN,

  ALSO LIGHT SKINNED,

  ALMOND-SHAPED HAZEL EYES

  AND BLACK CURLY HAIR.

  TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS REWARD WILL

  BE GIVEN FOR EACH OF THE ABOVE-NAMED NEGROES,

  IF TAKEN OUT OF THE STATE,

  AND TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS EACH IF TAKEN IN

  THE STATE. THEY MUST BE LODGED IN BALTIMORE,

  EASTON, OR CAMBRIDGE JAIL IN MARYLAND.

  It was signed by Robert Dawes.

  Martha wrinkled her brow, squinted her eyes, and clenched her fists. How could Robert Dawes make such a wild claim? She handed the notice back to Miss Holden. It was not a remembrance she cared to keep.

  “We’ll be ready to leave as soon as you say,” she said.

  “First a good bath. Second, a good meal. Third will be getting you ready for the next leg of your journey.”

  “Are we still in Maryland?”

  “Yes. Near Denton.”

  Martha had no idea where that was.

  “Tomorrow, you travel up into Delaware near Dover.”

  She remembered Dover, Delaware, from the maps she had studied at home. It was indeed in the right direction, and she was confident they would soon be home now that they were in the capable hands of conductors and stationmasters of the Underground Railroad. Never was Martha so happy to be in the care of responsible adults.

  As she and Jake admired each other’s clean clothes, Martha heard the jingle of bells as a peddler’s wagon pulled into the yard.

  “Your train has arrived,” said Miss Holden.

  Martha peeked between the curtains to look at the vehicle that would carry her and Jake one step closer to Connecticut and home. There in front of the house stood a colorful wagon with pots and pans hanging from nails on its sides, knickknacks of all sorts dangling next to them, and a huge, brightly painted sign in beautiful cursive letters that said: “Solomon Giuseppe, Entrepreneur. Modern Household Conveniences, Fabrics, Decorative Items, and Medicines to Cure All That Ails You.”

  Martha heard Miss Holden next to her. “Samantha, please ask Solomon to lodge the wagon at the back of the house so no one can see us load our packages.”

  “Right away.”

  “What packages is he taking, Miss Holden?” she asked.

  “You and Jake.”

  Solomon Giuseppe did what was requested and then entered the house, giving Samantha a big hug and kiss and Miss Holden a courteous nod. Martha’s shock showed.

  “They’re married,” Miss Holden whispered in her ear. “He comes home when he can, but he feels safer when he’s away that Samantha’s with me.”

  Martha took a sly look in Solomon Giuseppe’s direction. He was deeply tanned and had a big bushy mustache that, she thought, must have tickled Samantha when he kissed her. He was also on the stocky side, but so tall that he did not appear obese. His hair was very dark and wavy and his deep brown eyes twinkled as he came up to her.

  “Miss Martha, I presume from the notices I’ve been seeing posted along the road.”

  For some reason she did not understand, Martha felt shy. “Yes, sir.”

  “Please call me Solomon. And where is little Jake?”

  Jake popped up from where he had been hiding behind the sofa. Martha saw his wariness, but somehow his curiosity got the better of him. Just as Solomon strode across the room with his hand out to shake Jake’s, Miss Holden interrupted.

  “Let’s have a bite to eat so that as soon as the sun sets, we can load up and you’ll be on your way.”

  “Won’t the slave patrols wonder why a peddler is traveling by night?” asked Martha.

  “I often travel at night so I can reach my next destination by daybreak. The patrols know me, and for some reason trust me,” grinned Solomon.

  Dinner was light, but delicious to the two hungry so-called runaways. Cold chicken, corn bread, and fresh tomatoes. Throughout it, Martha could not help staring at Solomon. Hadn’t her parents told her that her birth father might have been a peddler? One that was maybe Afric or Italian?

  Again, she could not stop herself from asking questions. She figured that if the questions were not about the Underground Railroad, no one would object. So she burst forth with an abundance of them.

  “Solomon, have you been a ped
dler for long?”

  “I would say about sixteen years, now.”

  Sixteen years, thought Martha. That fit within the time she was born.

  “Have you ever peddled up North?”

  “Sure have.”

  “To Connecticut?”

  “For certain. I used to like New England summers. They’re cooler than down here.” He turned to Samantha and gently touched her cheek. “But now I don’t like to go so far away from my lovely wife.”

  Martha could not care less about Samantha. She only wanted to know about Solomon. “Have you ever traveled with any Indians?”

  Martha saw him hesitate. “What a strange question. Why do you ask?”

  “I was just curious. I heard that sometimes peddlers travel with Indians that have no home and I’ve never seen an Indian and I was wondering what they’re like. Especially what the women are like.”

  Martha saw Solomon cast a quick glance Samantha’s way. “Can’t say that I’ve ever traveled with no Indian. I just visit them sometimes to sell items. A customer’s a customer, after all.”

  With that, he abruptly pushed himself away from the table, and said, “Time to start packing up.”

  Martha and Jake had nothing to carry, just her small bag with the knife and the leftover pieces of rope, and Jake’s carved horse and her embroidered handkerchief, which she had carefully placed in the pocket of her new dress. She planned to give Jake the horse when he grew restless. With Jake in tow, she followed Miss Holden and Samantha out the back door to the wagon, where Solomon had removed a fake covering over the bottom of the inside and placed a quilt and two pillows in the space. How inventive it all was.

  “I usually don’t have room for blankets and pillows for my cargo,” he said, “but you two are smaller than my usual passengers. Maybe these will help to make the ride more comfortable.”

  Jake balked at being placed in the bottom of the wagon.

  “I’m coming in next to you, Jakey,” Martha said. “We’ll be riding together.”

  He whimpered some, but allowed Solomon to lift him up and then help him to lie down. Then he took Martha aside.

  “I noticed that your brother is somewhat jittery,” he said. He then handed Martha a piece of candy wrapped in paper. “If he can’t control himself and it looks like he’ll put us all in danger, give him this. It’s laced with laudanum and will put him to sleep.”

  Martha’s forehead creased with concern. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “There’s only enough to help him sleep for a few hours. Our journey’ll take a good part of the night. I promise I wouldn’t give you enough to harm him.”

  Martha slipped the laudanum-laced candy into her pocket, allowed Solomon to help her up into the wagon, and then lay down next to Jake. He moaned as Solomon placed the phony floorboard back above them and their world turned dark.

  “I can’t breathe, Mattie.”

  “Don’t fret, Jake. Look to the side and you’ll see little spaces in the wood to let air in and even some light. It’s almost bedtime, anyway, and this’ll be just like going to sleep at home. We’ll sleep and in the morning we’ll be much closer to Mama and Papa than we are now.”

  But Martha, too, could feel the suffocating darkness around her, and it took all her inner strength not to panic. The space was small, too small, she thought, for a man or a family to hide in. How did they survive? While neither she nor Jake would be able to move around, it might be possible for them to turn just a little bit to ease their bones and stretch their muscles.

  Martha felt the wagon rock as Solomon climbed up to his seat. He gave a small clucking sound, and the horse started slowly down the road. Martha could feel every bump, every sway, every stop and start, but soon a steady rhythm from the horse’s hooves settled her nerves.

  Jake, however, was having a bad time of it. Martha stroked his hair and ran her hand gently over his body. “Relax, Jake.”

  Then from her pocket she took the small carved horse. Feeling for his hand in the dark, she pressed it into his palm. “Here’s your favorite little horse, Jakey. I’ve been holding it all this time to give to you. It carries Papa and Mama’s love.”

  Jake wrapped the horse in his fist and continued to whimper. Martha soothed him some more by humming softly. Soon after, she heard Solomon sing in a low, deep voice:

  Swing low, sweet chariot,

  Comin’ for to carry me home.

  Swing low, sweet chariot,

  Comin’ for to carry me home.

  As he continued singing, Martha felt Jake’s body relax and his breathing slow. Before long, he was sound asleep. And, with thoughts of home and her papa singing the exact same song, so was she.

  Martha awoke when she felt the wagon make a sharp turn and come to a stop. Dim light filtered through the cracks in the wood slats and she could hear two men speaking.

  “What have you got here, Solomon?” a new voice said.

  “Two small packages.”

  “Bring ’em back to the storehouse. We’ll unload there.”

  The wagon moved again, stopped, and Martha heard the closing of large doors. Quickly Solomon’s smiling face appeared as he lifted the phony floorboard and helped Martha and Jake out. “Welcome to Dover, Delaware. Next stop, Wilmington.”

  Somewhat embarrassed, Martha immediately asked if there was a privy for Jake, and the new man, whom Martha was told to call Daniel—just Daniel—led him over to a chamber pot behind a stack of hay.

  “When do we leave, Solomon?” she asked.

  “As soon as we get some food into you, let you stretch your legs a bit, use the privy, and settle you into your next conveyance.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Over there.” Martha saw a hay wagon waiting in the corner.

  “My uncle and papa use hay wagons, too,” she said.

  “Don’t tell me such things, child,” he said gently. “It can be dangerous.”

  “I know,” she responded. “But I always forget.”

  “Don’t you fret, sweet Martha. You’re doing a brave thing for a young girl. Coming all this way to get your brother. Your parents must be very proud of you.”

  This was her opportunity, Martha thought. Was Solomon hinting that he could be her father? As she opened her mouth again, Jake came running back and took hold of her hand. The moment had passed.

  After about thirty minutes, Solomon and Daniel took Martha and Jake to the hay wagon. Before helping them up, Solomon reached into his pocket.

  “Jake, my brave boy. Here’s a gift for you.” He handed Jake a small top. “When you get back home, you can play with this with your friends.”

  Martha could not tell Solomon that Jake did not have any friends. He had led as secret a life as any member of the Underground Railroad, and in school he had never been able to communicate well with other children. Maybe that had been for the best. A secret as great as his might have been almost impossible for him to keep.

  “And for you, Martha, a little keepsake.” Solomon then gave Martha a small wooden doll that fit into the palm of her hand. It was an Indian girl with a painted face, painted black braids just like Martha’s, and a little white deerskin dress with beading on it.

  Martha stared at it and then up into Solomon’s face. “I’ll never forget you, Solomon.”

  “And I won’t forget you either, you darling child. Now,” he coughed, “do you still have that piece of candy I gave you?”

  “Yes.”

  “We gotta hurry,” Daniel interjected. “There’s no time to waste for these passengers.”

  Solomon gently lifted Martha and then Jake into the wagon. The top was secured, the darkness descended, and Martha heard stacks of hay being tossed on top of them. The door to the storehouse opened, and once again she felt the horses’ hoofbeats, the swaying of the wagon, the ruts and bumps, and, all too soon, Jake’s persistent bouncing on his back and legs and his arms twitching. Although it pained her to do it, she took the piece of candy and offered it to him. Agai
n, she soothed his hair and stroked his arms and chest, and he calmed, drifting off to sleep as the laudanum took effect.

  CHAPTER 13

  MARTHA COULD not sleep. She tried to keep her eyes closed, but they popped open as if on a puppet’s string. Small rays of sunshine filtering through the thin airholes of the wagon distracted her, and soon she regretted longing to feel the sun’s warmth. Within an hour, the heat in the confined space drenched her in sweat. Dust from the hay tickled her nose, and several times she had to hold her breath until the need to sneeze subsided.

  Her anxiety grew as her thoughts turned involuntarily to Caleb. Did he think about her? Did he wish he had not uttered those cruel words the night she told him her parents’ secret about her birth? She could still see his shocked expression and the slight recoil of his body as she moved near him. One worry turned into another, this time about herself. Was she still plain old Martha, the same Martha she had always been? And Jake? Was he still the same person he had been? Would any of them be the same after this?

  Her thoughts were interrupted abruptly when she heard the sound of galloping horses and men’s shouts, and then felt the hay wagon come to a stop. Will and Tom, she shuddered. Why didn’t they just leave her alone? She had never done anything to hurt them, so why did they want to hurt her?

  “What is it you want?” she heard Daniel ask.

  “Slave patrol. We’re looking for two children. Runaways.”

  “Children? By themselves? How could that be?”

  “With a little help from their friends.” The slave catchers’ voices came closer to the wagon and Martha instinctively tensed her body and prepared to cover Jake’s mouth if he should mutter in his sleep. “Now, get down and unload the wagon.”

  Daniel spoke in a calm and quiet manner. “Sirs, this is a lot of hay. It’ll take me hours to unload it. But if you wanna wait, so be it.” He rocked the wagon as he slowly got down from his seat, lifted out his pitchfork, and stabbed a bale of hay.

  Sweat ran down Martha’s face as she strained to hear what would happen next. Will’s voice came closer as if he was about to look through the slats and discover her lying there. “You’re too slow, and we don’t have time to wait. Gimme that pitchfork, and I’ll just poke it around and see if I find anything.”